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kurowrites · 4 years

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This Cursed Broken Heart - Part II

Second part to this. All parts. I wanted to finish the entire thing, but I don’t have the energy right now, so well. Have part two of three or four, idk.

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Sunday comes, and Wei Ying’s nervousness has not abated one bit.

He doesn’t have to be worried about Lan Zhan, he knows that. Lan Zhan has always been a favourite with his extended family, because let’s face it, Lan Zhan is the kind of boy you want to introduce to your family. Lan Zhan is the kind of man that your family hopes you’ll marry one day.

Wei Ying is the kind of boy your family always warns you about.

That error in judgement really came back to haunt Lan Zhan later on. Wei Ying still remembers the moment when he looked at Lan Zhan and realised that they were stuck in a hole they couldn’t get out of. And that’s when he had known it was time to leave.

He doesn’t have to be worried about Lan Zhan, but he has to be worried about his own messy feelings.

He picks Lan Zhan up at 10 o’clock sharp, and as always, Lan Zhan is already waiting for him. He’s wearing a form-fitting white three-piece suit and a light blue shirt today, but has foregone a tie to break the formal stiffness of the look. Instead, a patterned silk handkerchief in tucked into his breast pocket. He looks effortlessly elegant, as if he’s just stepped out of the pages of a fashion magazine. Wei Ying hates it, because goddamn, it makes him feel inadequate. His own black suit and red shirt combo make him look crummy in comparison.

It also makes him want to worship at the altar of Lan Zhan again.

He slaps his best smile on his face and leads Lan Zhan to the car.

“Just tell Granny Yu you’ve been very busy with work if she asks anything private, ok?” he tells Lan Zhan as they drive off. “And ignore Jiang Cheng. He’s grumpy because I managed to recruit you. He has to face the aunties on his own now. They’re going to try and matchmake this year too, set him up with some unsuitable and unlucky girl, I have no doubt. He hates it, but he still never manages to tell them to stop.”

“You are not dating?” Lan Zhan asks, which isn’t really what Wei Ying intended Lan Zhan to take away from this conversation.

Wei Ying shoots him a quick, considering look, but Lan Zhan isn’t looking at him.

“No,” he says eventually. “That would be a little weird, wouldn’t it? ‘I know we’re dating but I need to take my ex to this party because Granny Yu expects him to come.’ No, that wouldn’t work out well. Might as well ask them to break up with me at once.”

Lan Zhan doesn’t deign an answer to that, and keeps staring out of the car window in silence. Wei Ying falls silent, too, not knowing what to talk about next. Every topic seems to be fraught with dificculties. He knows so much about Lan Zhan, but asking him about his rabbits, his brother or if work is going well seems either shallow or cruel, depending on how you look at it.

They drive on without speaking again, until they finally arrive at the venue.

“There we are,” Wei Ying sighs. “Okay, Lan Zhan, it’s time to put on your boyfriend hat. Have you decided what you want as your reward? Remember that I’m poor, though. I can’t get you expensive things.”

Lan Zhan doesn’t reply, but he gets out of the car and goes around to the other side, so he can help Wei Ying out. He often did that, when they dated; old-fashioned chivalry that never failed to make Wei Ying blush. As if it still comes natural to him, Lan Zhan’s hand settles on the small of Wei Ying’s back once he’s out of the car, and he guides him towards the entrance with an ease Wei Ying is jealous of. A pulse of white-hot electricity races up and down Wei Ying’s spine at being touched this way by Lan Zhan.

Not a single person has touched him like this for an entire year, and the fact that it’s Lan Zhan who’s doing it, doing it again, makes something in Wei Ying’s brain go a little fuzzy.

They step into the fancy restaurant that Jiang Fengmian reserved for his birthday party, and they are immediately welcomed by a stampeding horde of noisy relations. Everyone is here, from his little toddler cousins to that one great-aunt that’s like a hundred years old, and it’s both painfully familiar and yet also tinged with a sense of enduring strangeness. None of these people are connected to him by blood, after all. He’s not here because he belongs.

He never even met his actual grandparents.

Lucky for Wei Ying, Lan Zhan is a bastion of calm in the noisy chaos of the Jiang family coming to greet them. They congratulate Jiang Fengmian and enjoy the thirty seconds of attention he can bestow upon them, and then continue greeting all other members of the family. Lan Zhan sticks to his side, so he simply stays right where he is, half-shielded by Lan Zhan, and pastes a friendly smile on his face.

‘Yes, look here,’ he says to himself. ‘Your token gay cousin and his boyfriend are here.’

It’s a ridiculous notion, but it keeps him smiling. And it’s not wrong. Most of the offspring in the Jiang family has married early, and everyone married a heterosexual partner. All of them also got busy producing more offspring basically from the wedding night onwards. The only notable exception is Jiang Cheng, who is a late bloomer if there has ever been one, and Wei Ying, of course. Wei Ying, who always thought he was straight but never felt he should date or marry, until he fell head over heels for Lan Zhan. Wei Ying, who hasn’t looked at another person since.

Literally any other cousin in this family that is over the age of eighteen is married and has produced at least one child already. It’s kind of insane.

“Lan Zhan!” a voice drowns out the general cacophony of noise. “It’s so good to see you!”

And out of the middle of the crowd appears a tiny old woman, leaning heavily on her cane. Granny Yu is as old as stone, and her legs are bad, but her voice still carries with the vigour of a woman who’s used to being obeyed.

Lan Zhan obediently leans down so Granny Yu can inspect him. As usual, she seems to have no complaints as far as Lan Zhan is concerned. When she turns her eyes to Wei Ying, however, they become critical.

“Wei Ying!” she belts. “You are so thin! Look at you! Lan Zhan! Are you feeding him right?”

“Granny Yu,” Wei Ying tries to appease her, “I’m already an adult, I can take care of myself.”

“Nonsense,” Granny Yu grouses. “You’ve always been a terrible eater. Always hoarding your food until it went bad. Lan Zhan, you need to make sure that he’s eating.”

It’s embarrassing, to get reminded of the little habits he picked up while living on the streets. He got rid of that particular habit one year or so after he was adopted by the Jiang family, but Granny Yu never forgot about the time when she discovered his little food hoard, and has been checking his size, weight and general health ever since. She always tells her many grandchildren to eat, but with Wei Ying she’s that more tenacious. And once Wei Ying started dating Lan Zhan, she never failed to remind Lan Zhan to feed him properly. And Lan Zhan, with infinite patience, agreed with her every single time, promising to take care of Wei Ying.

Well, he did use to feed Wei Ying. But Wei Ying’s current state, which he thinks is hardly different from his usual state, is not Lan Zhan’s responsibility. If he’s a little thinner than usual, that’s on himself. Still, Lan Zhan nods seriously as he’s being admonished by Granny Yu.

“Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying says, and it’s easy to lay his hand on Lan Zhan’s chest to get his attention, as if he never stopped doing it. “Don’t listen to her. I can feed myself.”

Lan Zhan looks at him, and the mulish expression on his face is familiar enough that Wei Ying can read it immediately. Lan Zhan has said it to him before: ‘A little more weight won’t hurt you. And a little more food does neither make you greedy nor a glutton.’

“I will eat to my heart’s content today, Granny Yu,” Wei Ying says out loud, because he really wants to shut down this discussion as soon as possible. “So don’t blame Lan Zhan, hmm?”

Granny Yu seems slightly mollified by his promise. She huffs once, and then starts herding people towards where she wants them at the large tables prepared for them.

Wei Ying is relieved once Granny Yu is gone. The first test has been passed, and no one seems to have noticed anything out of the ordinary.

That changes the next moment when Jiang Cheng suddenly appears next to Wei Ying.

“I can’t believe you actually brought him with you,” he hisses into Wei Ying’s ear.

“Jiang Cheng,” Wei Ying warns him. “We’ve talked about this.”

“You’re just trying to garner points with Granny Yu,” Jiang Cheng shoots back. “Because she always liked you best.”

Before anything more can be said, Wei Ying finds himself pulled away from Jiang Cheng. He just catches Lan Zhan’s angry glare (directed at Jiang Cheng) out of the corner of his eye, then he’s maneuvered to the seats that have been reserved for him and Lan Zhan.

“Sorry,” Wei Ying whispers to Lan Zhan once they’re seated. “I warned him like three times not to say anything.”

Lan Zhan doesn’t reply, but he takes Wei Ying’s hand into his own and lifts it to press a kiss on his knuckles.

The lips that brush his skin are soft and warm. It’s so gentle, and so sweet.

It’s too much.

The gesture is far too intimate; too intimate for what they are no more, too intimate for the occasion, too intimate for Wei Ying’s heart.

He pully his hand out of Lan Zhan’s hold, attempting to make it seem natural and not like he’s trying to escape the affection of his own (fake) boyfriend. Still, he has to take a few deep breaths to collect himself. It’s too much. He feels shaky. He was a fool when he thought he could casually see Lan Zhan for one day and not be haunted by the ghosts of the past that he never managed to exorcise the entire time.

Lan Zhan doesn’t try to engage him again. Instead, he exchanges a few words with one of Wei Ying’s uncles seated across the table, and the bustling around them continues as if everything is perfectly fine, until the food finally arrives.

#kuro writes #the untamed #wei wuxian #lan wangji #wangxian #broken heart fic

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treatian · 3 years

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The Chronicles of the Dark One: Breaking the Curse

Chapter 12: Life After Death

He moved his dagger the following Thursday, a week after he'd been caught, on Thanksgiving afternoon when he could be certain Regina was busy with Henry. Not that it was a terribly difficult task this time around. In fact, he'd spent practically the entire week figuring out the perfect spot to bury it out by his cabin. He'd had time to do it, felt comfortable waiting, all because of one fact.

Sheriff Graham was dead.

It had happened on the same day that he'd spotted him burying the dagger. That very night. Whether or not he'd told Regina he saw him that morning was unclear, but after hearing the report from Dove, who was still watching Emma, he felt confident enough that he hadn't had the time and there had never been the place. Emma had run into Graham that afternoon. They'd followed a white wolf, a real wolf, around town before going to the cemetery and sneaking into the Mills Mausoleum. When they'd come out, Emma and Regina had engaged in some sort of argument which Dove couldn't hear, but he confirmed that they'd both taken swipes at one another. He hadn't seen Regina leave, but Graham had left with Emma. They'd gone to the police station. And there, less than an hour later, Emma had frantically called the paramedics saying that Sheriff Graham had collapsed. Dove couldn't confirm, but the rumor was that by the time they'd shown up, Emma had been the one to tell them that he was dead.

The funeral was ill-planned because of the Thanksgiving Holiday Regina had scheduled it for the Sunday afterward. When he arrived, it was standing room only. The only way he'd gotten a seat was by walking over to Belle's father, sitting on the end of a row toward the back, and motioned to his leg with a smile. "You know…cane," was all he had to say before the man grumbled out a sigh and resigned his seat to him. He didn't say another word, not even as he mentioned that his loan was coming due, and he was looking forward to doing business with the man who had killed his true love…though he might have left off that last little fact. Crowded as it was, the others in the row made plenty of room for him.

It felt like nearly half the town was packed into the tiny funeral parlor room. It figured. Regina had planned the service. Since he'd had no family, she'd seen it as her mayorly duty to make the arrangements. It figured that someone like her would have assumed that she'd be the only one to attend instead of considering the town that Graham kept safe and in order throughout the Curse. The former Evil Queen tried to maintain a façade of responsibility and valor, but he could see how his pupil swallowed hard, the way she blinked too frequently and dabbed at her eyes. If he didn't know any better, he'd think the poor girl had actually cared for the man, maybe even convinced herself that he cared for her. Magic and hearts and love…it was first and foremost messy stuff. He thought he'd taught her that.

To her credit, Emma Swan did not cry, but it was clear that she was affected by the Sheriff's death. She'd been with him when it happened at the police station, so it was ridiculous to think that she wouldn't be affected. And though he'd heard that she'd cried plenty that night, she didn't shed a single tear now. Sitting next to Mary Margaret, she stared straight ahead at the various speakers, unmoving except for the occasional blink. At one point, Mary Margaret had put her hand over her daughter's. Emma had winced at the contact, but when she looked over in her direction Mary Margaret smiled at her, and she'd managed to muster a half-hearted one before turning back to the service. Whether or not they knew they were mother and daughter, the connection they were starting to share was, without doubt, growing stronger by the day. Sad as all this was, that was positive thought.

He didn't stay for the reception, which he was sure, given the service, would lack both space and food. No, he didn't stay because he had work to do. Or rather work to oversee. Across town, he'd hired Dove and a few of his cousins to "clean out" Sheriff Graham's apartment. Though, of course, that was only half of it. In actuality, they'd been hired to comb through the apartment and locate any personal possessions and collect them for him to pick up.

Painful as it was, life went on. Life had to go on because this small town had been stuck in a rut for far too long. Not that he cared about anyone else but his boy, but he also knew that keeping this town moving forward was the only way to prevent more useless, wasteful death. And after watching Emma, who had dutifully been acting as deputy all this time, he was already working on the next steps in a new plan.

"This is it?" he questioned as Dove brought a single cardboard box to him and set it on the small coffee table in front of the equally tiny couch. "One box?"

Dove shrugged. "There wasn't really much to find. The apartment is fully furnished but not much of a home. He was married to his job, it seemed, so we didn't find many personal items. Guy didn't have any family, so no pictures or anything sentimental. Unless, of course, you found someone?"

Ah yes, when he'd explained the job to Dove, he'd told him it was because he was going to search for someone related to the man to take his possessions. The honest truth was that he hadn't even bothered trying. Dove was right. The man had no family; none with two legs that would appreciate any of his knick-knacks anyway. The Evil Queen's Huntsman had practically been raised by wolves, and since she'd wanted him to herself...she hadn't given him a family in the Curse. He was alone, even when he was with her. A lone wolf through and through.

"It seems our former Sheriff was a genuine man. What you saw was what there was. He had no family."

"Well…that's too bad. But this is it. Other than the clothes which we either donated or threw out, this was really all that was left of him. Given the circumstances, I'd ask if you wanted me to take these to the local pawn shop but seeing as how that's also you-"

"It's a job well done, Mr. Dove," he interrupted, peering into the box to look over what they had found. One item, in particular, stood out. It was a leather jacket, not the type that Emma Swan appeared to fancy but….

"I thought you donated or threw the clothes away."

"It was his favorite jacket, Sir," one of Dove's cousin's answered from somewhere behind him.

"That's Marc," Dove explained. "He played darts with Graham every Monday night."

"He wore it everywhere, Sir," Marc insisted sadly. "It's not really…ordinary. Remy said you wanted keepsakes…"

And so it appeared he'd gotten keepsakes. Some more helpful than others. Now that he was looking, he did see a dartboard with several darts bundled together in a coffee cup at the bottom. That was certainly not something he needed. In a rare moment of pity, he removed the board and darts and held them out for Marc. "I think these will have a happier home with you."

Marc took a breath, then turned red as he reached out and took them. "Thank you, Sir," he choked out.

"So what now?" Dove asked as his cousin looked the items over, and he saw him wipe his eyes on the back of his hand.

"Now the apartment is professionally cleaned, carpets and surfaces will be replaced, and it'll be rented out again. You know how this goes, Mr. Dove. Out with the old, in with the new."

"Rented out, wait…doesn't the Sheriff job come with the apartment? What about the new girl? Emma. She's only the deputy, but she's been acting as sheriff since he died? Shouldn't she be promoted? Shouldn't she move in?"

"I'd rather keep all that quiet for now," he smiled. Though that wasn't exactly in the cards, for now, it was reassuring that was where Dove's head had immediately gone for the future of the Sheriff. "She can't formally take the position until two weeks after it's vacated. As for the apartment when she does…well…you've been watching her Dove, does she seem the type to want to live in her dead former employer's apartment."

"Not particularly, but…Mary Margaret's place isn't exactly big."

"But it's not small either. No, I'd like to keep her where she's at. When she takes the job, we can keep her at salary instead of taking out for an apartment."

"And the box?"

"I think I'll hold on to it for a bit. You never know when it might come in handy."

"But, Sir-"

"Don't ask questions!" Dove shouted at another of his cousins. The corner of his own mouth twitched. It seemed that Dove had indeed learned his lesson. It seemed he might have even enjoyed the power trip that came from being in his employ. Good.

He motioned for Dove to pick up the box and carry it to his car for him, again motioning to his cane. Once it was set snug inside his trunk, he turned back to him. "Finish the cleaning; I'll see you're all paid, with a reminder, of course, that I expect services to come with discretion."

"We know. He knows."

"Good," he confirmed, slipping a pair of sunglasses on and fumbling with his keys. "I'll be in touch. There are things I'll need from you in the next few days. I will be looking to hire a couple of your cousins to help me with some other work. Just some little things, but I'm working on something special, and I need more eyes than you have. Be sure they know that discretion can buy them their way to the top of the list."

"Always happy to help, Sir. Any of us are."

He beamed. He might not have magic, but money did have a special sort of power in this world. "That's what I like about you, Mr. Dove. Wait for my instructions."

As he drove back to the pawnshop, he could hear Graham's belongings rattle and shift in the trunk. All that was left of a Cursed life. Nothing that would have been truly important to him if he'd died knowing who he was. If that was the case, he suspected Graham would have died happy, knowing Emma was with him. It was a waste. The only benefit from it that he now had a suspicion about where Regina was keeping her magic. Graham had no home, no family, no purpose other than being the Sheriff.

He had plans for Emma, though. She had a purpose and a family; she just didn't know it yet. As for the home part…that was something that would take time, but it wasn't contingent on the Curse breaking. He could begin that process now. He could make her invested in this place, these people, he could make this her home. He just had to wait a few more days, and until then, he had to proceed with caution. There were forces at work even beyond his control.

#Rumbelle #Rumple #Rumpelstiltskin #Dark One #Mr. Gold #Regina Mills #Evil Queen #Emma Swan #Savior #The huntsman #sheriff graham #ouat #ouat fanfiction #fanfic

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obliviouskind · 3 years

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There is a gift for Cyrus! It's a wooden abacus with coloured beads, the kind that children might play or learn with. This one is clearly second-hand, maybe even third-hand. One of the 'rungs' is missing entirely, along with all of its beads. The remainder of the beads have chipped paint, and the whole thing looks very scuffed and worn. Look on the bright side, though - maybe it's an antique? But probably not...

Merry Christmas

@mercenaryrocket

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---

Upon the palms of his hands, the pads of flesh beneath his skin. Against the plastic, rounded armrests of his modest desk seat; he leant. Broad windows spanned the very left of his office, inviting in the pale, artificial glow of lamp posts onto the hardwood floors, upon the Oakwood bureau… And Cyrus, quietly, reminisced over the fact that perhaps, just maybe, he wasn’t so different from his father as he had thought himself to have been. From that of height, to their shared appearance – the two men could be read as brothers had the younger of the two carried a bit more weight upon his bones. --They weren’t so different in the words that they choose, either; both spewing lies before crowds and seeking refuge from the world once their ire becomes too much to bear.

They were lonesome, when others, conceivably, wished for them not to be.

They both would be spending Christmas on their own, cooped up within offices that were not at home and all that he missed, perhaps, was a wife whom awaited his return and a son that he could bypass and ignore.

Josefina could, and most likely would, play the part of mother if only she were asked to; but a boy, he had not blessed her with. And he would not. No matter her wishes for one of her own.

(Oh, he knew very well that he was cruel, cruel, cruel…)

The chair bounced upon its feathers as he sat down within it. Turned, by the dip of his toes shoved into the ground below and it was in the waning light of the December eve that he blindly reached for neatly folded envelopes and unraveled them into that of pure and honest faults.

Perhaps he should’ve turned on a lamp to spare himself eyestrain…

It would seem that Annika had cried wolf.

That Elvira claimed witness of unbecoming behaviors while Stefan, in writing so hasty it bordered upon unintelligible, laid claim to his errors in a hope that salvation and forgiveness would come knocking upon his ajar door – as long as he confessed, after all, then the punishment would not be so harsh.

… Hannah went out with a crowd of three last weekend, where one select soul drank much more than their body could hold while the other sought romance from a boy whose age was far less than that of an adult… Robin and Miriam never confessed to these accusations, however, and held fast that between the three – it was Hannah who lied.

Veronika, Fanny, Linnea and Morgan believe that they have seen treason from Ylva, while Tove and Tristan have been exposed as secret lovers.

Malin was pregnant, and Cyrus had reason to believe a certain Commander may have fathered it.

Two fingers settled against the bridge of his beaked nose. His arms, folded across his chest as he sunk into his seat as though a child within one that was far too big. A sigh expelled from his breast as aloud, in his lonesomeness, Cyrus simply confessed;

That he did not care for these quarrels, and that they were not his business to sort.

That he did not care to know what sins others held within their breasts.

… That he did not, in fact, have an obligation to care for the spawn of a commander who wouldn’t ever confess to his involvement in the very first place.

No, if Cyrus were to truly be honest; today, as snow lapped upon the streets of Veilstone and children’s choirs sang within sanctuary halls – he did not care for much of anything at all. --He would turn twenty-two in but an odd number of days – and time, it seemed, was running by fast.

The next mountain of letters were accompanied by that of supposed ‘evidence’.

Filip had managed a photograph of Jakob’s money meddling – sending earnings to foreign relatives without giving a notion that this was something that would be occurring. An act of treason in the form of trust, if nothing more, and though Cyrus felt the act was harmless in and of itself… it was a matter that ought not to be fostered. Trouble would begin to brew if it were.

Cyrus fingered at paper bags and sealed off packages. At boxes within boxes, notes within notes; all provided for the sake of letting him know whom it was he should trust, and whom he shouldn’t.

Anya claimed angels whispered into her ear at night, of wicked desires towards their one and true Messiah. The crude drawings were something he perhaps would’ve wished to have been spared, but their sorting system has yet to be properly defined, as well as refined.

It was a hiccup that could be dealt with by re-schooling… Perhaps psychiatric contacts would be a resource worth investing in…

“… Cyrus?”

Tired eyes redirected from the task at hand; to that of Jupiter. Stood against the frame of his office door, her hip jutted while her fingers daintily drummed upon finely carved wood. A prototypical uniform adorned her slender form, that of a pencil style skirt and blouse; something that he, in the now, saw as unfit and undesirable.

“One usually waits outside before entering a superior’s office, Jupiter,” Cyrus quietly remarked. No true authority, however, lingered within his tone; and so perhaps that was why she didn’t feel her actions were all that wrong. Noon, after all, had come to pass hours ago and in the presence of but the two… Well, exceptions had been made in the past…

He fiddled with the handle of one of his bureau desk drawers, fishing out a paper and pen to scribble down a note for their uniforms to be looked over and reconsidered once more. A hand, waving her way. “At least feign formalities if you can’t wait another minute or two.”

Her heels rhythmically clicked as she traversed the space between them.

“… I was heading out,” she began, raspberry eyes darting from side to side – anywhere that wasn’t him. Despite appearances, she seemed to hold some sense of shame within herself for her actions after all. “However, there was a package left at the front desk. Elinore left an hour early and so no one got the notice and, well, it seems the giver didn’t fancy themselves finding anyone to bring it to our attention which is just, really fucking inconvenient and-”

“Josefina.”

Her cheeks flushed.

“Right, sorry.”

However embarrassed she may have felt over his impatient promptness seemingly weren’t enough to stump her invasive ways; for rather than simply handing him the package, kneel and leave – Josefina rounded his desk and took a seat upon the armrest of his seat. A place that he, within himself, assumed to be a rather uncomfortable place to sit – though he wouldn’t be voicing this observation of his.

Least she asks if he had somewhere else in mind for her to sit.

“… I don’t know what it is,” she eventually said, after seconds had passed in simple and pure silence. The package was handed to him and now, Cyrus decided, it seemed ‘present’ perhaps was a better term used to describe the given item. The wrapping was plain, unassuming and lacking in any decorations that may have suggested it as such; but a neatly scribbled sticker was placed upon the brown wrapping. Upon which, his name was written neatly. “… But, I don’t think it’s a late report.”

“I think you’re right about that.”

Cyrus sat himself up once more – properly again, with his shoulders flush against the back of his seat. Room was lacking now, with candy seated against his left arm (his father came to mind once more…) --He grasped the supposed present from his commanders hands and begun unraveling its contents one section at a time.

---

“This, dear boy, is an abacus.”

Father Orlov had presented him with the wooden object one late afternoon, when Sunday schooling had long since passed and the boy – himself, in this case – hadn’t wished to leave for home. A question of why had been posed, and as often was the case with children whom fear punishment or ridicule; an answer had not been given. --Orlov had deemed it inappropriate, but understandable, and suggested they go to the sanctuary until Cyrus felt ready to return to his parents once more.

Something that Cyrus had appreciated very much, but hadn’t voiced.

“Did you know that man weren’t created with the idea of numbers in their thoughts? Counting, of course, occurred; but a visual means of presenting ones work hadn’t been presented in any academic sense.”

In an effort to find him something to spend his time with, however, father Orlov had taken to scouring the shelving for textbooks and scriptures to engage within and use. What he had found instead, however, had been said abacus.

It had sat awkward within Cyrus’s hands, though not unfamiliar. His elementary school had used these frames to present math as a less intimidating matter than one may first assume.

Cyrus, however, never had seen the utility of them – he could count, and knew how to do so well even before the children of his age range could count to one hundred and two.

“Miss Ulrika gave us one of these at the start of grade one,” he had expressed, gently placing the abacus down onto his desk. Ignore it, he wouldn’t – but play with it was another thing entirely. “I never needed to use one.”

Orlov’s large hands had placed before him upon the desk, then, and not for the first time in his life had Cyrus thought that his pastor was a man of significant stature. Not in the way his father was, certainly not; but he was towering, no matter whom it was he stood before. --And Cyrus was quite small, still.

Orlov’s smile had been warm. “Hm. Perhaps you didn’t… Or at the very least, not for mathematical calculations.”

“… What else would you use it for?”

---

The chair creaked as Josefina shifted where she sat and over his shoulder, her locks cascaded like imperial curtains. “A counting frame?” She said, reaching for the item as though it was hers, and not his.

He didn’t stop her. --It was held over their heads – the beads, sliding every which way it was tilted.

“Abacus.” He mindlessly corrected, settling his elbow upon the armrest of which was not currently occupied. “It’s an abacus.”

“Abacus, schoty, soroban…” He gave her a look. She waved her hand his way, returning the frame. “What? I like learning new words. Besides, it’s still a counting frame no matter what its ‘fancy’ name is.”

It felt heavier now, with one side holding most of the lingering beads. The fact that it was broken and old, was perhaps its only fault; counting upon it wouldn’t exactly be useful. “I didn’t know you were so knowledgeable about… arbitrary things such as these.”

His pastor had known a lot, too.

“I have hobbies outside of being your little helper too, you know…” Her shoulder nudged his. “Though, I will say being with you is by far my favorite of the… (one finger, two…) three.”

---

“The one’s your teacher offered you undoubtedly were one created within a factory somewhere. Carved by machinery and workers alike, with little care for the quality and style of the frame outside of the state requirements.” Father Orlov had spoken with certainty and poise, as though he was holding a lecture within the church halls rather than speaking about a simple wooden toy. Perhaps it was why Cyrus had cared to listen. “… This one however, my dearest boy, is nothing like what you have ever held before.”

His eyes had diverted, then, from that of his pastor – to the abacus within his hands. Its thick frame was carved out of oak, with its rungs created from metal surely found within one out of Sinnoh’s rich mines. --It was… Unremarkable.

Ugly, even.

“… It’s just an abacus, father.” He had expressed and the laugh that echoed afterwards caused his cheeks to flush with heat.

(Was he so wrong?)

Orlov’s voice was covered with mirth as he spoke. “It is indeed but an abacus, Cyrus. But even the most simple of things have history.” The item was taken out of his hands, as gently as though an infant was dealt with – and here, as the frame was held up against the backdrop of the setting evening sun, the beads glimmered as though honey gold.

It had felt almost magical.

“… We may not always see the value of the past when we first encounter it,” Orlov had stated, lines forming at the ends of his lips of which aged him beyond his given years. “However, if we allow ourselves to study it from a different angle… Perhaps we will be richer still.”

---

The pad of his thumb brushed over the beads, gently attempting to see – just tell – if there was something hidden within. --It seemed these were simply wood, and nothing more.

“Y’know,” Josefina eventually voiced – thumb set upon her plump bottom lip in thought. “… I don’t think this is a Sinnohan model, despite it being a… children’s toy.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah.” Instead of stealing the toy, this time the woman simply pointed. At the piece of wood of which separated a vertical row from the rest. “Sinnohan ones don’t have this separation, and the drops are usually oval shaped and round at their edges.”

He fingered at a red-chipped bead. “These are carved to a point.”

“Exactly.” Her hands clapped together in excitement as she stood from her seat. The chair rattled from its loss. “Sinnohan ones also have two differently colored beads in each row. Save for two, where there’s three, while this one only has two over all.”

His cheek settled upon the knuckles of his hand, the toy balanced upon his thigh by but a single digit. “… Is this one of your, what was it… three interests, commander?”

She stuck her tongue out at him like a child. “I write, boss… Sometimes it leads you down weird rabbit holes of information. This happened to be one of them.”

“I see.”

Her heels clicked as she rounded the bureau, met at their points once she stood before it and after that – she gently kneeled. Like the proper employee that she pretended to be. “Well, Merry Christmas, sir. I hope you enjoy your toy.”

With that, she left; a giggle surely bubbling within her throat.

Cyrus turned in his seat, so that he faced the broad windows to his left. The sun was long since gone, hidden by winters cold and even though he tried to – attempted, to mimic an act from so long ago – the streetlights outside did not give away any hidden truth within the abacuses broken frame.

… Perhaps not all things are valuable. --It was, after all, but a broken children’s toy.

#(ic - muse)#(Guest - Josefina)#(Guest - Orlov)#drabble #mercenaryrocket #deadass forgot to put a read more on it at first oop #jul

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blankdblank · 4 years

Text

Ridikulus Pt 17

“Thank you,” you said to the Lord and King following you who stopped at the edge of the Black Lake surrounding the Hogwarts grounds.

Thranduil, “For what?”

“For not being afraid of us.”

Glorfindel, “We have nothing to gain in fearing you. Together we could find peace for all of us.”

“I have to ask, you will raise our orphans to-,”

Thranduil’s hand claimed yours drawing your eyes to his, “We will raise your young to know our culture and yours. Already we have had requests from the fostering families to aid in learning Westron. Spoken and written. Estel has shared a few of your stories already. There is so much we have to learn from one another.”

Glorfindel, “We will not erase your culture. It is how we have survived, all of us keep our old lives and home alive in our hearts. Their pasts will not be forgotten.”

“Thank you.” In a turn a bridge of ice formed across the ice when the King released your hand. “Should I wait on suggesting Celeborn housing his girl until after Galadriel has chosen her path?”

Glorfindel, “When she consults the Valar they claim separate quarters. Celeborn’s watch over her will not be disturbed if that is your concern.”

“I just don’t want her to get attached to Galadriel then lose her too.”

Glorfindel, “I doubt Galadriel will disturb them at all.”

Thranduil, “It is not uncommon. Celeborn has taken infants before he raised alone.”

“Were they forced to marry or is she just that cold?”

Thranduil, “Her ring, Nenya, it is a hefty weight to wield a ring of power. A weight that has changed her greatly in the centuries wearing it. She is born of the line of Feanor.”

“Ooh, bet Elrond loves hearing that.” The comment made the men smirk beside you.

Glorfindel, “It is not a matter of joy. He found peace after pain with his captors, but by Celebrian’s birth the blood of Feanor had changed by matter of mothering. In her case fathering by Celeborn, her namesake, who handled a hefty portion of her raising.”

“Is that uncommon?”

Thranduil, “No. Galadriel sought power, as many of her kin. Celeborn sought his child’s every happiness. It did bring up a question, if he could choose a name for the child as your father did for you. That is, if she might be greeted as his child publicly. As Dwalin was able to for Lulu.”

“Lulu apparently is short for Melody in Khuzdul. Celeborn can always choose a nickname for her, though for the official adoption and to permanently change her name on our documents that would have to wait for the full process to complete. Has he chosen a name?”

Thranduil, “Tindoome, Starry Twilight.”

“That is adorable. Can’t argue with having a star based name.”

Glorfindel smiled to himself, “Ember is a lovely name as well, only, he feels she is more of a silvery light than the end of a flame.”

“He doesn’t have to explain it to me. He can choose what he likes to call her. He is wanting to adopt her.”

Thranduil, “That will lighten his day greatly when he has to hand her over. Having the treasured task to record the name on his family line.”

To finish his nursery properly Celeborn had asked to wait another week before bringing his little girl home and along with the others he returned home buzzing with excitement just like the other Elves about their little ones while the Dwarves were glad to see a few more children timidly claiming a possible family to talk with for the day. Dinner was shadowed by another visit to the little girl supervised by Regulus allowing you to sleep. It was a weekend but tomorrow was a packed day. The final touches on your next film was set to be filmed and it would be an all day ordeal leaving Em to Regulus’ watch joining him and Lindir on a relaxing day in Rivendell.

Early breakfast for you came too early for the Lords to catch more than sight of you warming up your voice for the singing portion of your scenes at the piano. The instrument puzzling them but the mixture of your partial hum along to the tune stirred up a curious wonder as to what the final product would be. Though you were gone before they could speak to you and all the way to dinner you were gone, only to be joined at the meal by the Pears coming to spend time with Em and to meet Fin.

The presence of the children was cherished by each of them after a basic set of questions to learn more of the Lords, who seemed to be stunned at how formal the Pears were now speaking to them in the longer time conversing with them after the brief first meeting. Yet through it they could tell a great deal more of the family you were still getting used to, who all lit up hearing about your day of filming and stated fact that the next Sunday should finish it off after grinding out so much of what was left.

Halfway through however Barty came sliding into the room excitedly hugging and kissing Em saying, “This is not a drill. I will keep you posted.”

Regulus chuckled, “Good luck on your boy.”

Barty gave him a playful smirk, “It is statistically in my favor to have one boy at least out of the four.” A firm kiss on your cheek had you giggling to yourself as he said, “I wouldn’t have this without you, Love.” After a second kiss for Em he darted out saying, “Off to Mungo’s!”

Turning from the door your attentions turned to Em and Estel focusing on their block castle you were folding tiny flags for while the Lords stole glances at you to see what you might be feeling in the blatant change of subject by the Pears to distract from your ex-lover having kissed you and called you his Love.

After putting Em to bed however in the nursery now housing three with Fin in Em’s old crib you were found in the kitchen making a grilled cheese sandwich you would pair with cocoa to help you sleep through the brewing rainstorm. Thranduil and Glorfindel approached the counter separating you and the latter asked, “Miss Black,”

“Hmm?” You answered pressing the bread down into the sizzling pan.

Glorfindel, “Are you excited, about Barty’s children?”

Your eyes shifted to him in a curious half smirk, “Why wouldn’t I be?”

Legolas popped up from behind his father having snuck in after them, “He is your former betrothed who just called you his Love and kissed you.”

Softly you giggled saying, “Oh,” you said moving the sandwich to the side, “Do you want some?” Curious nods to try and lengthen the questioning they accepted the offer and you grabbed more bread to start another to join your three. “There are so many ways to love someone. I do have love for Barty, however, we were never romantically in love. There is a deep seeded trust and affection there. When he found his wife I knew he loved her right away and once the danger was gone I publicly ended the fake engagement so he could be with her. I’m nervous for him, not upset at all. Besides, Love is a common nickname even for strangers in certain countries in our world. You have to add My to the front of it usually to deepen the meaning of it.”

Glorfindel, “The kiss would not upset his wife?”

In a sigh you caught his eye saying, “It was excitement. She knows I would never let it go past a kiss on the cheek. Not that he would ever try anything, unless he’s two bottles of rum in and we’re dancing. I think it has to do with the spinning.”

Thranduil, “That has happened before?”

“When we were together. Couple times after some rough nights.”

By the draining of your glasses news had arrived of the trio of girls and little boy for Barty after the confirmation that a c-section had been done just in time to ease her troublesome time in her final months. The Lords were far more impressed with the combination of food you had offered and went off home elated that you were contently off to your own bed and pleased with the news of Em’s siblings finally being here.

“Now, who can tell me,” tap tap, the sound was heard followed by a click, for a moment you paused to glance at Opal on her perch by the window to spot the little bird squeezing through the crack Norberta made for it. In a hop it found a place on the bookshelf there and shivered casting droplets of rain from the growing drizzle outside watching you in your approach to it. “Which would be more powerful, a blocking spell or a counter curse for a blasting charm?”

Your eyes skimmed over the students with hands raised and you called a name hearing their answer in untying the little pouch laying across its belly you opened to find a note there. A helping of fruit was brought over by Opal to help the little bird recover its energy after having carried the note so far. A vote was given and for the rest of the class you went through each of their choices on which charms would be the most effective you would have them try out in the RoR the following day until you heard the bell and watched the children gather their things and hurry to their next classes.

Curiously you reached back onto the desk you were sitting on to read across the front, ‘Miss Black’.

Unfolding the flower like folded note carefully you read the note inside,

‘Miss Black,

I am due for an evening of long meetings and was wondering to know if you might take Tuo out in my stead? I know he would enjoy running with you again and this time I would have him dressed for you if you should wish. Unless you would prefer to manage that yourself again. I hope this letter finds you well and does not disturb your students or teaching.

Thranduil Oropherion, King of the Greater Greenwood.’

Shaking your head in the few moments you had to yourself you brought out another sheet of your firefly stationary you replied that it wouldn’t be any trouble and you could be over at five. Though you left it open for whatever would be convenient on the saddle topic. A sentence leaving the King wide eyed a moment at the indecisive moment and muttering to himself that it wasn’t about the trouble but a stolen moment with you before his meeting.

But of course that ended with Legolas smirking as he said, “Unless, it’s a test. To see if I am willing to steal a moment with her. A test of my wish to be in her company before her ride and my meeting. Well I will be there! And I will have him partially dressed to prolong the encounter. I will show her that I prize her company and will make the Council wait!” With a glance at Tauriel Legolas turned the page in his book he was pretending to read while his father walked out muttering about his robes and possibly changing.

Tauriel, “Sometimes I wonder if Miss Black is doing this on purpose or if the King is imagining it all.”

Legolas chuckled replying, “Hard to say, both are reasonable options.”

***

“Lord Elrond says Dwarves have reclaimed Erebor. The explosions we heard were from construction on Dale and he does not require aid from attacks.” Ecthellion read making Denethor huff.

Thengel shifting on his feet after a long walk from the stables after the longer ride here from Rohan at the call of the Steward, “What does King Thranduil say?”

Denethor, “We do not write to that Elf.”

Thengel sighed asking, “Let me guess, still sore that he does not follow your pie recipes?”

Denethor, “It is a matter of principle! We were born to our position and our people expect a certain-,”

Thengel nodded turning to the table of drinks in pitchers, “level of respect and decorum to meet your hoity toity standards when visiting another Kingdom. I know.” Grabbing a pitcher his eyes shifted to his cousins and Ted, the new face in town he had invited here to show them the white city they had claimed to have never seen now peering at the table of maps splayed out near them. “Why should it matter? King Thranduil is closer to Erebor than Lord Elrond is.”

Denethor, “It matters!”

Thengel smirked in swallowing his sip of his drink seeing Ted glare at Denethor in his move to scoop up the maps and put them away making the new comer go to slump back to his chair propping his chin in his palm. “Alright then. I will inspect the matter myself once we return.”

***

Your final class was through and in a grumble you circled your head and passed through your doorway back home again letting the dragons roam free while you changed out of your dress and tights into jeans and a sweater. Boots were the last to be added and off to the King’s palace you went unable to shake the morning ride with Glorfindel. That single trip now stirring up reminders of the pair muddling with imaginings your brain was stirring up of just hauling off and kissing the pair of them to see if they were faking interest or just unknowingly giving off signals of interest.

Mint green robes hung around the King with a silver and orange wrap draped across the fence to the small walking pen for a pair of foals. The sound of your approaching steps made him turn and with even more red berries and golden leaves in his crown than yesterday you noticed he hadn’t dressed Tuo at all but was brushing the slightly irritated grunting Elk who all but smiled in your approach.

“Miss Black. I am a bit behind, though, how were your classes?”

Cleared throats and huffs from the line of trees eventually ended the in depth conversation the King had continued even at your noticing the group that had come to fetch him. Even Tuo seemed to be more impatient than ever after having been dressed for five minutes now after your help to do so trying not to distract the King from his meeting. Heavily Thranduil’s brows fell and he stated, “I will assist you up.” And in your turn you were gripped and raised up to the saddle you settled onto them watched him turn as Tuo began walking off to go storm his way over to the group now almost darting away.

In a shake of your head attention was shifted back to the Elk now beginning to pick up speed. Five minutes bled to ten and a shrill blur of a cry turned your head only to have Tuo rearing up and a blue blur crashing into your chest knocking you off his back with a panicked squeak. At once frigid water was sloshing around you in your apparent fall into a stream filled with tons of slick rocks you surfaced in only to come eye to eye with the now cockeyed peacock chirping at you. In a freezing pant you asked, “What did I do to have you attacking me?”

The bird didn’t answer merely turned around whacking you in the face with its tail using your body as a bridge to walk back to shore in your irritated huff. Onto your feet you stood seeing the bird fly off at Tuo’s loud bray right in his face. Regretfully his eyes met your lap seeing you stumble your way to shore casting the water off of you to dry yourself with a swish of your hand. “I apologize little Queenie.”

You shook your head, “Not your fault. Not sure how it’s mine,”

“I believe he might have taken you for a challenging male due to your bright hair.”

“Ah, well next time I’m turning him into a slug.” In a glance around you saw a propped up root and said, “Ah, that-,”

Tuo followed curiously then grinned to himself at your climb up onto the root he turned sideways at to help you back up onto his back, “There we are. You’re not hurt are you?”

In a shake of his head he replied, “Not at all, little Queenie.” He said starting to walk again to steadily build up his speed again while overhead in the roots an Elf on guard had already sent off word about the accident. The message making the King snap the pencil in his hand, unintentionally missing the second half of the message that you were fine, to leave the unanimously accepted concluded meeting that was sort of useless anyways over adjusting old trade routes for southern Greenwood. Not that they had the bodies able to pick up more trade routes or need to demand more supplies, it would merely be picking up old routes that would only mean to stretch patrols even thinner to use them. An endless conundrum.

A slowing of Tuo’s pace had you shifting on the saddle in his coming to a stop, “Tuo?” A sudden blur of mint dropping from above almost out of nowhere had your boot slip in a startled shriek as you started to slide off the left of tree saddle.

An arm looping around your side from the King now kneeling on the back of the Elk watching your wide yellow eyes matching your telling startled bright yellow curls pooling into your face kept you from falling. And the telling velvety voice filled with concern asked, “Miss Black,”

“Yes?!” You squeaked out in fearful agitation now knowing who had been the second culprit of falling out of the sky at you today.

“Are you-,” his eyes shifted to your rapidly rising and falling chest and helping you to brush back your hair over your back his fingers pressed to your thundering pulse exposed by the vein in your neck parting his lips. “I did not mean to frighten you.”

“So you just fall from the sky?!!” The crack in your voice stirred an upward twitch of the corners of his mouth he his as your eyes landed on his.

“I did not fall from the sky I jumped from the branches above.”

Tilting your head back you pointed up asking, “Those branches?” He nodded and you lowered your gaze to meet his, “Which are a good, let’s say seventy feet up?”

“Closer to 95” he said with a hint of pride on having nailed the landing from such a height only to say, “Ah, I see your point.” Hastily he wet his lips then stated, “It is, I heard word that you had fallen from Tuo. I wanted to check on you.”

“Technically I was knocked off Tuo.”

“What?”

“By that raving peacock from Rivendell.”

His brows clenched, lowly gritting out, “I explicitly warned them to keep him away…”

“How did you even find me?”

“The trees.” Your brow inched up and he said, “The branches above are interwoven as are the roots below, if you know how you can find anyone in these woods.”

“And then drop in on them suddenly into a heart attack.”

“I had no intention-,”

“Of scaring me, yes.” After a scanning glance over your face in your sigh his ears twitched in your asking, “What about your meeting?”

“Oh, that was concluded. Not much to do when one thing depends on four more and we lack the essentials for even the first task to begin with on top of what we already bear.”

His eyes looked you over again as a grin split across your lips, “You used me.”

“I, pardon me?”

“You used me falling to get out of your meeting!”

His mouth opened and a blush began to form on his cheeks stirring your grin wider in his clear search for a fib, “There was no solving-,”

“Uh huh. Keep telling yourself that.”

Suddenly he slid his feet outwards to be seated and reached around you to grip the reigns and turn you in one go, “Oh shush. I will show you something.”

In a mad dash he guided Tuo away into the distance using the speed as an excuse to hold an arm around you only for Lipte and Glorfindel to appear on your right with the latter calling out. “Are you injured Miss Black? I heard you had fallen.”

“Tackled more like. And I’m fine, thank you for not falling from the sky at me.”

Thranduil, “I did not-,”

“Excuse me, falling from a tree at me.” Making the King shake his head. “You didn’t skip out on a meeting to race here did you? This one’s missing a meeting to take me, where are we going?”

You asked in a glance back at him only for him to reply, “A surprise.”

Glorfindel chuckled to himself and replied, “No, I was not in a meeting. I was in conference with one of the other Lords.”

“Even better, now two groups of Lords will be upset with me.”

The pair of them said, “No one will be upset with you.”

Thranduil, “You were attacked-,”

Glorfindel, “Attacked?!”

“That peacock swooped at me-,”

Glorfindel let out an irritated grumble close to a growl making you smirk curiously as he said, “They were supposed to ensure he did not find the portals.”

Thranduil, “I have half a mind to make him into a hat.”

That made you nearly snort behind your hand trying to keep from giggling at the image making the pair glance at you. “Oh I doubt you have to be that extreme.”

Glorfindel, “That bird is a menace!”

Thranduil, “Exactly! Tried to destroy a tapestry from the Year of the Trees last time he snuck into my Kingdom.”

A trip to the rebuilt palace had you stunned but in showing you inside a former aviary and rare breed greenhouse had your lips parting at the climb up to a hidden ledge where you watched eruptions of golden rainbows of light over misty tops of trees coated with flocks of blue butterflies that shimmered under moonlight.

A yawn from you on the ride back again had the tea afterwards canceled and moved to another day to allow you to rest but the sudden hug you pulled the pair into through a soft thanks, albeit uncomfortable for the near cheek to cheek pair to be so close for the moment they had to rest their hands on your back. In a moment again though you were crossing the garden leaving the pair longingly staring at your back still partially leaning against one another’s sides. Yet in your vanishing a step between them was gained and discussions of what to do about the menace bird was brought up again to ensure for a safer ride for you the next time around.

…

For all the luck in managing to find relatives or family friends able and willing to form new households with the elder orphans a small group had become a difficult task to house. The teens no doubt were still housed in Hogwarts and settled in nicely for the next few months easing the troubles. But their younger siblings still in Muggle schooling and those even younger still in the rounds or guardians keeping them safe and entertained through their days of rotating groups of Elves, Dwarves and the Aurors and unemployed teens yet to find work.

The trouble had nothing to do with the children, sure the teens had been a bit rough on being re-homed at first. But in the planned future weekend supervised trips to the Elven lands and Erebor under their leader’s watches their moods lifted as even with a few language and culture barriers common interests were found weeding out a great number willing to house the children and teens that had bonded with them. For all the doubts you had the supposedly stubborn Dwarves were all too willing to follow the weekly check ins for the mandatory fostering probation period. As the Elves had mainly been claimed by the younger toddlers and infants they gladly took to setting up cots in their shared rooms to keep watch over their chosen kin through the nights with enamored smiles.

But a few snags were met of course, mainly in a group of children wishing to stay with their chosen Dwarf families, that were all too eager to house them in return, however relatives had been found for them and the case had to be monitored carefully. All instantly had agreed to allow the children where they felt more comfortable, mainly because the relatives worked in dangerous or demanding professions. With Aurors glad to add them to the mix of decided children in the fostering pool.

Thankfully the great number of willing Elves proudly accepted the terms as well and brought their gleeful bundles home finally, agreeing to keep the group play dates up so they could compare experiences and gain aid from the Witches and Wizards checking in on them for how to properly include their own culture with that of the Elves. Once again the sounds of children were heard through each Elven land with precautions being taken, enchanted barriers around bridges, steps and walkways under the aid of Witches to ensure the safety of their new little ones brightening the forests and mountain greatly.

All this easing the great weight of the task from the new Ministry, that could now focus on reinstating the apparating laws and restarting the Flue system to ease transportation again. The latest of Draco’s models had been voted as the best option for all leaving only the confirming of the design with the Dwarves and Elves before the Aurors would begin to form the final structure checks and clear what was in the way of the new structures.

Added to the lower half would be a small Muggle born city the schools for the younger students would be moved to after the Muggles had begun showing suspicion of their strange behaviors feeling far too similar to the trials that had initiated the split of your races again. Included in this would be the Dursleys, including Dudley, who found it hard to settle into the new ways and previously took you up on your offer of helping you and the twins out in your shop. A decision also easing Petunia and Vernon into learning more about your world they had been so vehemently against while Harry was in his early days and making the distance between Vernon and Arthur Weasley shorter by a great deal aiding their new found friendship.

@himoverflowers, @theincaprincess, @aspiringtranslator, @sweeticedtea, @ggbbhehe4455, @thegreyberet, @patanghill17, @jesgisborne, @curvestrology, @alishlieb, @jogregor, @armitageadoration, @fizzyxcustard, @here2have-fun, @lilith15000, @marvels-ghost, @catthefearless, @imjusthereforthereads, @c-s-stars, @otakumultimuse-hiddlewhore

@long-cosmos-overhead, @partoftheminfamily, @alishlieb

Pt 18

#HP Crossover #Thranduil x Reader OC #Glorfindel x Reader OC

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blueboxesandtrafficcones · 5 years

Text

Queen of Hearts - Chapter 8

Thirty-year-old Rose Tyler’s matchmaking business is doing very well indeed, bringing her clients such as celebrities, athletes, and the now-happily-married son of the mayor. All of which brings her to her newest client - one whose royal rank is a far cry above her own title as Queen of Hearts.

Ian, King of Gallifrey, calls off his wedding four weeks before the happy day as he realizes he can’t spend another minute of his life with his betrothed. The catch - he must take a wife before his Coronation, only a month away. In desperation, his sister and aunt conspire to find him is happy ever after - and it’s going to take a master matchmaker to do it.

Based on the Hallmark Movie ‘Royal Matchmaker’. Chapters will be posted every Sunday.

As always, beta’d by the wonderful @stupidsatsuma! @doctorroseprompts

Masterlist | AO3

—

Monday, April 8th

Rose essentially spent all of Monday on Skype, interviewing their shortlist. Each candidate got twenty-five minutes, and the list was fairly easy to pare down – too easy.

“Why does Reinette have to be out of the country?” she whined, going to the corkboard and crossing off another name. “My gut says she’s the best of them all. I just… don’t get the sense that any of them will be able to get past the gruff exterior.”

“Are we sure there is anything past the gruff exterior?” Mel asked, queueing up the next interview but not yet connecting.

Rose nodded, folding her arms tightly across her stomach and staring out the window. “Absolutely. The question is, will he let any of these women in?” She thought about how he had behaved when they were alone, first on Saturday at the festival and then again on Sunday, in the library. She’d seen another side of him, a softer side, one that just wanted to take care of the people he loved.

Her theory was that was what attracted him to his previous fiancée; the anonymity. The ability to just be, with no duties or expectations. Someone who wanted him for Ian, not for ‘the King’.

A normal life.

Ian scowled at his closet, wondering how he could have so. much. clothing. and nothing to put on. Another evening, another dinner shared with Rose, and he couldn’t decide what to wear. Rather than try to analyze the why of that particular angst, he instead started at one end again and flicked through his options.

Typically after a day full of pomp and pompousness, or more specifically meeting with the Privy Council, he tried to go casual with his dress, normal trousers and a rock band tee – but this was the first one since his daily dinner dates arrangement with Rose started. He wanted her to have a good impression of him, wanted to appear dignified and royal, but he also wanted to be himself.

A fresh suit hung on the back of the door and he crossed his arms, staring between it and the Beatles tee he wanted.

I want to know you, she had said when she first arrived and he got blindsided by Donna and Sarah’s treachery. The real you, the one your wife will know.

Well, that settled it. Nodding sharply he pulled the tee off the hanger and over his head, smoothing it down before searching out an old, worn pair of jeans he loved. His queen would have to understand that Ian Reginald Docherty was a force unto himself, and in the privacy of his own home (palatial as it may be) he was going to be comfortable. If she didn’t like rock music, they would have an issue.

He made it as far as opening his bedroom door before stopping with a sigh, slowly turning back and grabbing the jacket from a black suit and shrugging it on to add a bit of decorum to his look.

Rose was waiting in the hallway outside the closed dining room doors, fidgeting, and he took a moment to stop and watch her.

She was all dolled up in a dress and heels, turning to check her reflection in a mirror hung on the wall.

Gazing at her his heart gave a painful thump, one that was growing steadily harder to ignore. After spending the last several days answering her questions and being forced to reflect on the kind of partner he wanted for the first time, he was slowly coming to form a picture of his perfect wife in his mind, and the image was perhaps a little too clear.

She turned then, catching sight of him, and her face lit up like the sun. “Your Majesty,” she shot him a teasing grin, dipping into a curtsey that grew more natural and less formal by the day. “Nice shirt.”

“Thanks.” Ian could not have stopped his answering smile for anything on Earth as he joined her, and in a fit of whimsy, offered her his elbow. “May I escort you to dinner?”

“Why thank you.” She laced her arm through his, letting her tongue peek between her teeth and wiping his mind clear. “Shall we?” she prompted when he didn’t move.

“Yes.” His pulse thundered in his ears, and he turned to guide her back up the hallway closer towards his inner sanctum.

She trotted along with him easily enough, though he could feel the heat from her curious glances. “Where are we going?”

“In here.”

As if by magic a door on their right swung open, and they walked into a far smaller room than the usual. A table that sat six took up the majority of the space, with two places set across from each other. Ian guided her to the closer one and helped her into her seat, before coming around the table and settling down across from her. The head of the table sat empty, and the only decoration was a vase of flowers.

“This is lovely,” Rose murmured, looking around the room, “but I don’t understand.”

“It’s a bit less formal in here,” Ian shrugged, delighting in the awe and wonder on her face as she noted the details in the space. “When I take meals alone, or with just Donna or Sarah, we eat in here.”

She nodded slowly, opening her mouth as if to speak before snapping it shut again. “How was your day?” she asked instead, and leaning forward he began to tell her, pushing away the soft voice in the back of his mind that grew louder every day.

If you play with fire, you’re bound to get burned.

After dinner they attempted another stroll on the grounds, though this time, Ian did his best to avoid controversial topics.

“What’s your favorite thing about Gallifrey?” Rose asked, once they’d made it a few yards from the patio.

“What?”

“Your favorite thing,” she repeated. “Just… when you think about Gallifrey, what do you think of?”

The first thing that came to mind was so surprising he stopped dead, barely noticing when Rose continued on for a few feet before turning back.

“Your Majesty?”

“Home,” he said roughly, blinking rapidly and meeting her eye with no small amount of wonder. “When I think of Gallifrey, I think of home.”

“That’s good, isn’t it?”

Ian shrugged. “I suppose,” he allowed, starting to walk again. “Especially now. It’s just something I never expected. Donna is home, Sarah Jane is home, but Gallifrey?” he trailed off.

Rose nodded, peeking shyly up at him. “I never thought I’d miss living with my Mum, but it only took a few weeks of living on my own to make me. Even now, after almost eight years, ‘home’ is still her flat, not mine. Not really. I call it home, and it is home, but it’s also not… home. It’s strange.”

“I felt that way when I moved to the States for school. When my grandfather was alive and king we lived down at Lungbarrow House, by the edge of the lake, but he died when I was young, and my father ascended. After that we moved into the palace, but there’s a bit of me that still thinks of that place as home – especially since Donna had her twins and moved down there.”

“I’ve always quite liked the idea of home as a person,” Rose murmured, sticking her hands in her pockets, giving him a fleeting smile when he glanced down at her. “You know, ‘home is where the heart is’? I think I’d quite like that.”

“Can I ask…”

“Yes?”

Ian hesitated, but her open expression made him ask, “You don’t seem to be attached. How can you be a matchmaker without finding your own love?”

“Fair question,” she allowed. “I’ve seen love, absolutely. I believe in it, clearly, but I’ve seen it in action. My parents… Mum never remarried, and when I asked, she said she’d had offers now and again, but that Dad was it – he was her true love, and nothing could compare. I see it in my clients’ eyes, when they’re dancing at their wedding. I see it in people’s smiles everywhere. I know it exists, and I know it exists for me, I just haven’t found him yet. But I will, when it’s time.”

“I admire your optimism,” he said diplomatically, “and I certainly hope that’s true for you.”

“It is,” Rose spoke with such confidence she had him half-convinced. “And it’s true for you too.”

“I’m so tired of being alone,” slipped out, his eyes widening slightly in surprise at the confession. “I’m so tired of having no one to share my evenings with, my life with.”

“You’ve your sister, and aunt, and a kingdom full of people who love you!”

Ian shook his head slowly. “I’m utterly alone at this time of night, if you haven’t noticed.” He stared out towards the lake, able to see it only after decades of experience – it was a cloudy night, the sky pitch black.

Rose tugged on his sleeve and he stopped, mostly at her audacity, and he glanced down at her again. “What?”

“There’s me,” she said earnestly, giving him a smile bright enough to power the entire kingdom. “At least until you find The One, there’s me.”

And suddenly, he could see.

Tuesday, April 9th

The next day was full of engagements, Rose continuing to shadow the King. Most of the morning was spent standing back with Sarah Jane and watching him work, and she relished the opportunity to see him interact with his subjects.

“How goes the search?” his aunt asked, as he read a story to a preschool class.

“What?” Jarred from her thoughts Rose blinked, tearing her eyes away from where they’d been studying him. Despite his brusque personality with adults he was a hit with the kids, giving Rose an idea of what he might be like as a father; it certainly improved her opinion of him as a future parent. She could almost see it, him sprawled on a twin bed next to a tiny blond tot, reading bedtime stories and using funny voices as he was doing now, pretending not to notice her watching.

Wait, what? She shook her head violently to clear the image, though it only faded into the background versus vanishing completely. I’m certainly not going to be there! Her heart gave an uncomfortable lurch at the idea, and she promptly promised herself to lay off the fine wine they’d been plying her and Mel with since they arrived.

“Rose? Are you all right?”

“Yes! Yes, fine, everything’s fine,” she said brightly, trying to focus on the woman next to her. “He’s awfully good with them, isn’t he?”

The other woman gave her a speculative look, but merely nodded. “He would never admit it, but he likes kids. You should see him as ‘Uncle Ian’ – he loves Donna’s children something fierce. And Luke, though he was obviously older when they met.”

Rose hummed, distracted once again by Ian. Every so often he would catch her eye and his smile would widen, sending her heart racing and stomach clenching. The better she got to know him the less severe his features seemed – what once seemed impenetrable ice blue eyes now held a brightly burning fire, one he seemed to keep well hidden.

“I did have a question, though,” she started carefully, peering at the other woman’s expression, but Sarah Jane just blinked.

“Yes?”

“I can’t help but notice that these engagements aren’t particularly well attended,” Rose bit her lip, trying to choose her words wisely. “It doesn’t seem as though people are terribly interested in seeing their king.”

Sarah Jane burst into laughter, catching her nephew’s attention and earning her a frown. “Because he’s so accessible,” she said, smiling. “Things have been busy so he hasn’t had a chance since you arrived, but roughly once a month he dedicates a whole day to hear the complaints of the kingdom. You know, if you have a squabble with the law, or a neighbor, and you want him to pass judgement. There are events like this two or three times a week. Sometimes he goes for a stroll down High Street. It’s… it’s like seeing the mayor. You’re pleased to see him, it’s a bit of a celebrity event, but also not. That’s not to say they don’t love or respect him, that they don’t want him, but it’s more that he’s such a permanent fixture that it’s not necessarily something special. We’re a tiny country, you can drive the perimeter in less than an hour.”

“I see,” Rose nodded, still surprised. “I just know at home, whenever the Queen goes anywhere it’s a big deal, but here…”

“It’s nice, I think,” the other woman said. “There’s still the… mystique that one needs as a monarch, the distance, but he’s not so high up on a pedestal that people think about knocking him down, even in this day and age. Quite frankly, he’s too valuable to lose.”

Rose looked back at the King to see him coming straight towards them, the children’s young, pretty teacher left standing where he’d been sat, looking disappointed.

“We need to be going, don’t we?” he asked his aunt brusquely, the look in his eye suggesting the answer better not be a no.

“Of course,” Sarah Jane said quickly, and with a quick wave ‘Goodbye!’ from Ian, they hurried out to the car. Once they were pulling away, though, she raised an eyebrow. “We were scheduled to be there for another hour. What do you propose we do with that time?”

Staring out the window, Rose caught sight of the building from the festival and gasped, an idea coming to her like lightning.

“Stop the car!”

#bbatcfic #doctorroseprompts #ficandchips #Doctor Who #12xRose #12th Doctor #Rose Tyler #AU #Queen of Hearts #royalty AU

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ceescedasticity · 5 years

Note

i looked thru your writing babble tag and couldnt find it, do u have a link to the start again timeline? i get confused trying to figure out when everyones remembering relates to each other

Assuming that P5 takes place in 2016…

(Spoilers for everything posted so far…)

Late December 2013 –

Very beginning of Escher. Futaba starts getting a weird feeling of deja vu.

Yusuke wakes up remembering everything but isn’t sure it’s real.

Morgana also remembers at this point, though details have not been revealed.

January 2014 –

Futaba continues to feel deja vu.

Morgana leaves a warning note in the Isshiki mailbox.

Yusuke looks for Leblanc, but it isn’t there.

Goro starts having interrogation room dreams, usually about once a week.

Yusuke is dreaming of Madarame’s Palace almost every night. This doesn’t really stop.

Reserved-parking-place-related breakdown/rage fugue

February 2014 –

Goro cases the exterior of the Jikken Palace.

People are noticing Yusuke’s not sleeping well.

March 2014 –

Goro tips the police off about a drug dealer – why hasn’t been explained, but it may have been as a favor to Sasaki

Hitoshi has a manic episode.

April 2014 –

New school year! Probably April 7.

--Haru and Makoto start first year of high school at Shuujin

--Goro starts first year of high school at Jikken

--Yusuke starts third year of middle school

--Futaba starts second year of middle school

--Kiyomi starts third and final year of high school; Hitoshi starts second year of high school

--Hifumi starts third year of middle school

--Ryuji and Ann start third year of middle school at the same school, somewhere in Tokyo

--Akira starts third year of middle school somewhere outside Tokyo

Haru remembers; Count of Monte Cristo begins. Haru meets and befriends Makoto but verifies she does not remember anything.

I didn’t consult a calendar while writing COMC so I’m not 100% sure everything will line up.

Yusuke refuses the ‘life drawing’ proposal, starts painting Self-Portrait as a Cognition.

Haru tracks down Goro and blackmails him for Metaverse access.

The next day, shows Makoto Kamoshida’s Palace but doesn’t take her inside.

That Saturday, probably 4/19, Haru gets careless and runs into trouble in the castle, has to be rescued by Makoto and Goro.

Tuesday (4/22?): breakdown/rage fugue with the attacking people with shoes.

Thursday (4/24?), first joint trip into Jikken.

Goro’s interrogation room dreams turn into engine room dreams.

After the first joint trip to the space station (4/26?), Haru and Makoto get a look at Goro’s notebook, Goro hears about navigator abilities and recruiting personas.

Yeah I think I was thinking school started earlier in April than it probably did, the end of the month is getting a little rushed. Not completely implausible at least.

May 2014 –

Early in the month, Goro gets Defarge persona; his Akira dreams turn lucid.

Sometime this month, Yusuke makes sure exhibition tickets are sent to Kunikazu Okumura. One way or another Haru never sees them.

About 5/5?, Kunikazu announces Haru is engaged.

Almost a week later (5/10?), introduces Tomioka-san.

Little Palace activity in the next week. Makoto snoops around the volleyball team, Goro takes down Sasaki.

The weekend (5/17-5/18?) is rough.

Another week of little activity. Makoto breaks the starship log code and Goro scouts out Tomioka in Mementos.

Saturday (5/24?): rage fugue/breakdown for Tomioka

Sunday (5/25): Goro offers to prioritize the space station

June 2014 –

Futaba is subconsciously aware that Wakaba “will” have a mental shutdown, and very anxious.

Hitoshi/Kiyomi/Madarame start noticing there’s something kind of funny about Self-Portrait as a Cognition.

Haru, Makoto, and Goro secure a route to the Treasure, then wait a little longer to gather strength before sending the calling card

Kunikazu’s heart changed

July 2014 –

COMC crew focuses on studying and exams until the end of the term (probably about 7/20).

August 2014 –

Futaba is subconsciously aware that Wakaba “should” have had a mental shutdown. Deja vu turns into disorientation.

Madarame decides Self-Portrait as a Cognition is too creepy to plagiarize.

COMC crew reaches the top of the laboratory and the Treasure and Shadow aren’t there – now they have to go down.

Goro admits he’s not actually working for Shido.

September 2014 –

Self-Portrait as a Cognition is mostly complete.

9/1, school term starts.

9/8, Haru informs Goro he will be transferring.

9/15, Goro moves to Shuujin.

Unlike the original timeline, Kiyomi does not leave.

A politician who had a mental shutdown last timeline dies in a “car accident”.

October 2014 –

Hitoshi has a depressive episode.

Nakanohara leaves the atelier, roughly at the same time as he did last timeline.

November 2014 –

COMC crew reaches the Jikken Treasure, decides they need to scout.

11/8-11/9 – Cultural festival weekend:

--At Shuujin, there is a ‘syrup incident’, but otherwise uneventful.

--Makoto sees Kamoshida smarming at potential students.

--At Kosei, Yusuke runs into Ann, who doesn’t recognize him, and Hifumi, who he blurts out some information to.

--That evening, Yusuke and Hifumi fall through Self-Portrait as a Cognition (in front of Kiyomi) and return an hour later (in front of Hitoshi).

11/10 - Ryuji remembers, verifies that Ann does not

Yusuke starts visiting the museum Palace frequently. His sleep gets a lot better.

Wakaba’s lab succeeds in opening a portal into the Metaverse.

Futaba bugs Wakaba’s phone.

11/15 – COMC crew checks out the SIU Director’s Palace, Goro gets Medea.

11/16, Yusuke and Hifumi visit Mementos.

COMC crew defeats the Jikken Palace, changes Ishikawa’s heart.

11/29, Hifumi grounded after a fight with her mother over forfeiting a game.

11/30, Ryuji dyes his hair

December 2014 –

12/1, Ryuji mistakes a stray cat for Morgana. Ooops.

12/7, Yusuke and Hifumi visit a Palace at her middle school.

~12/15, Goro has the flu, tells Makoto his time travel theory.

Atelier water heater breaks, Madarame leaves for “retreat” (read: resort).

12/25, conspiracy tries to have Wakaba killed and fake an accidental overdose.

12/26, power in the atelier is cut off due to lack of payment. Futaba remembers everything after her uncle yells at her in the hospital. In the evening, runs into Yusuke. Yusuke & senpai go to stay at Isshiki apartment.

12/28, Futaba, Yusuke, and Hifumi go after Uncle Yoji in Mementos. On the way out pass Goro interrogating a Shadow (Ito) about judges, prosecutors, school sponsorship.

12/30, Futaba discovers Wakaba’s Palace.

12/31, Futaba, Yusuke, and Hifumi scout Wakaba’s Palace. Someone at the “spiritual retreat” sets fire to the buffet.

January 2015 –

Yusuke, Kiyomi, and Hitoshi return to the atelier. Sojiro moves into the Isshiki apartment but is mostly at the hospital.

First two weeks, Escher crew practices in the museum Palace, make tools, gather supplies.

Make it up the outside of the pyramid in one go.

Hifumi stops competing formally for the year, has another fight with her mother.

Another Palace trip: top of the pyramid to Hedonistic Braggart

Another trip: Solve the puzzle to clear the way up

1/17-1/19, university entrance exams

Another trip: up through the adyton, have to run from the Hundred-Armed Slave.

Yusuke contacts Dr. Takemi, Hifumi starts sneaking out with a rope ladder.

~1/22, beat the Hundred-Armed Slave, clear the crawlspace.

At least one Palace trip just getting money. Sojiro is alienating the nurses.

First trip into the pagoda section: have to run from Cognitive Sojiro.

Second pagoda trip: run from Shadows.

A few days of downtime before pagoda Attempt 3.

Attempt 4 on the pagoda – end up at the top of the temple, confront Asherah.

Next day (Sunday, probably 2/1), Wakaba wakes up.

February 2015 –

~2/6, Futaba remembers to look into Okumura Foods

Escher & COMC crews meet up

[some other stuff is going on with Escher&COMC crews after this but it hasn’t been revealed]

April 2015—

April 6 — new school year

April 11 — “interview” dumps Ryuji & co in Metaverse

April 13 — Ryuji & co return from Metaverse a little after midnight. Weapon shopping in the evening.

#fleecy #start again fic #writing babble

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whoisleft-rp · 5 years

Photo

WIL Holiday Season – Event & Timeline Masterpost

Out of character, all of our wonderful writers – and the very excited admin team – have just finished closing out the holiday season and entering a new year! Now it’s time for us to do the same with our characters.

Outlined below is our plan for moving through the in-game holiday season, ending with the New Year’s celebration into 1978! More details on timing, events, excitement and tags are below! As a quick overview...

Phase One [early break]

In character: beginning of break - December 23, 1977

Out of character: now through Sunday, January 13th

Phase Two [actual Christmas]

In character: December 24 & December 25

Out of character: Monday, January 14th through Wednesday, January 16th.

Phase Three [late break]

In character: December 26 – December 30, 1977

Out of character: Thursday, January 17th until 11:59pm on Sunday, January 20th

Phase Four [New Years]

In character: December 31, 1977 – January 1, 1978

Out of character: Beginning Monday, January 21st

Also, some quick reminders and encouragements for all our members...

AS ALWAYS, we love all of you and are so happy to have you with us! We know the holidays have been a little slower as everyone’s busy with real life, etc. but we’re so pumped to get back in the groove and know all of you are, too!

There will be reminders posted to the main marking the beginning and end of each ‘phase’ below.

You are absolutely allowed to spring clean, even though it’s winter! If a thread has died out, or is just past its expiration date – especially after a time when all of us are so busy and we know our drafts have some dust on them – don’t feel bad about reaching out to your writing partner to see about dropping it and/or starting a new one! If it’s plot relevant, by all means, keep it. But there’s no reason to make yourselves stressed over a Summer 1977 Thread that you’re fully aware of the ending of.

The discord and plotting tag are great for getting ideas and posting your own – but they aren’t substitutes for reaching out to your fellow members and contributing to the plotting discussion! Don’t be afraid to share your ideas, and never be afraid to try out something new.

Any questions? Just ask!

PHASE ONE • Beginning of Break – December 23, 1977

Release the students! The Hogwarts Express is fueled up, and the holiday season has officially begun. The first phase of our holiday break corresponds to the time from (roughly) December 19th through December 23rd. It’s a great time for pre-holiday celebrations, last minute shopping, catch-up meals between in- and out-of-school characters, as well as anything else you can think up!

Starters for this block of time are permitted from now until 11:59PM ET on Sunday, January 13th.

No special tag is required for general starters; the events below all feature their own tags, which used be used in addition to the general WhoIsLeftStarter tag.

Available events include the following...

The Annual Malfoy Christmas Fundraiser & Formal Ball

The Malfoys are an enterprising family who loves to show off their wealth. While families like the Blacks are more traditionally tight knit (see: unwelcoming) and families such as the Greengrass clan are known for throwing lovely balls for close family and friends, Abraxas Malfoy and his ilk have always loved mixing business with pleasure.

This evening, held on the 21st of December annually, combines all the fun of dressing up in your finest dress robes and sipping champagne with the dutiful pureblood birthright of networking and kissing up to the right people.

Notes to consider:

+ Invitation only (up to players to decide their status)

+ Primarily a pureblood guest list, with exceptions for notable or useful people (who are then treated as more useful object than treasured guests)

+ All invitees are given a +1 to bring a date; dates will not require host approval (as is the case with the family’s more formal Easter celebration in the spring)

+ The old, important pureblood families are invited as well as families such as the Boneses and Potters, who are active in the Ministry or business sectors of the magical world.

Starter Tag: WILHolidayMalfoy

Sebastian Nott’s Christmas Eve Eve Party

If you’re surprised that Sebastian Nott’s townhouse affair – the first annual of which is being thrown this year, on the 23rd as suggested by the name – is less formal than the Malfoy’s shindig, you haven’t been paying attention. For this fête, Sebastian(’s party planner) has gone all out and transformed his London townhouse into an Alice & Wonderland type rabbit hole. Upon entering, reality ceases to matter – exactly what he’s after to close out what’s been a rough year.

Each room has a distinct theme, ranging from ‘nighttime’ to ‘exotic greenhouse’ to the wonderfully trippy ‘in the sky with diamonds’ smoking room upstairs. Magic has, of course, been incorporated into every last detail to give the house a living feel. Beyond the decorations, though, it’s a party at its core. Performers such as contortionists, musicians and fire eaters are strewn throughout the house, not always sticking to the room to which they were assigned. One room at the back of the house, simply themed as ‘future’ and marked with a plain sign, is completely black within its interior and features the services of a tried and true Seer offering tarot readings and palmistry.

Food and drink are strewn throughout the house as appetizers and general refreshment. The party’s midpoint will be marked by a four-course, sit-down meal in the dining room. The first course will be served promptly at 12:01AM and seating has been pre-assigned in order to promote interesting conversation.

Notes to consider:

The party is ‘technically’ invitation only, but not only is Sebastian not checking invitations at the door, he was less discerning in his guest list selection than the Malfoys.

Every person on the list was invited for a ‘reason’ but that reason could be anything from ‘we had a great time that one time you bought me shots’ to ‘we went to school together and your name popped into my head’ to ‘you have a really interesting talent and would be good for conversation’ to ‘my moms/dad/Antonin told me to invite you’.

Every currently taken character in the group can safely assume they were invited for some reason or another, even if they’re not aware of what that reason is.

Starter Tag: WILHolidayNott

Diagon Alley Holiday Market

Did you wait too long to do your Christmas shopping? Do you want to support local vendors? Do you know that your family has no idea what to get you and decide to step out and buy yourself something you’ll actually like, for once?

Then come on down to Diagon Alley’s annual Holiday Market! In addition to the dozens of wonderful stores the Alley usually houses that are bustling and brimming with activity, the street itself is now filled with tables, booths, tents and vendors eager to sell their wares.

Starter Tag: WILHolidayMarket

PHASE TWO • December 24th & 25th, 1977

For those that celebrate, Christmastime has come at last! Is your character spending it with family? With friends? Avoiding everyone and hunkering down with some Indian takeout and a glass of wine? All great and valid options!

This phase of time corresponds to Christmas Eve and Christmas Day directly; we expect most starters will be closed rather than the more general open starters taking place during the pre-holiday and NYE blocks of time, which is why this event window is smaller.

Starters for this block of time are permitted from 12:01AM ET on Monday, January 14th until 11:59PM ET on Wednesday, January 16th.

PHASE THREE • December 26 – December 30, 1977

Christmas is over, and New Years is steadily on its way! This time represents necessary downtime for travel, relaxing, decompressing and playing with shiny new gifts.

Events during this time will include a special engagement announcement and party! Please keep the shorter time window for this phase in mind, especially if planning to put up a starter related to the aforementioned; starters can be replied to at any time following the starter window closure.

Starters for this block of time are permitted from 12:01AM ET on Thursday, January 17th until 11:59pm on Sunday, January 20th.

PHASE FOUR • December 31, 1977 – January 1, 1978

There will be a special plot drop post specifically for New Years. This post will give more details about the various NYE celebration options and will also contain an RP-wide plot drop with information on the shenanigans that go down during the night.

It will be posted during the morning of Monday, January 20th, at which time starters will be allowed for the evening of NYE, and the morning after. We’re still working on the time window for this event; however, we expect it to be about a week before we close out the starter eligibility and move into our next ‘special’ event, Timeline Week.

#whoisleftevent #whoisleftadmin #whoisleftmonth

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artofdigression · 5 years

Text

I’m 23 years old. The 2 years leading up to now have been a complete whirlwind, but somehow, in this time, an actual music career has begun. I’m a composer, a producer, a singer, a songwriter, a visual artist - among many labels.

I sit in front of my piano. I know how to play all of 2 pieces - Gnossiennes 1 & 2 by Erik Satie. I learned them by ear 4 years ago while working the reception desk of an art gallery that had two baby grand pianos hidden underneath the stairs. I would get bored when no one else was in the gallery and venture down.

In my studio, I have piles of introductory music books, minuets and ballads laying around - some given to me at a young age, some passed down by dead relatives who knew I had a ‘good ear’ - or were maybe too dead to give a shit about where their old sheet music went by the time I got my hands on it.

I decide, for what feels like the 100th time, that I will learn how to read music.

I had my first piano lesson when I was 10 years old. My piano teacher was nice - a young, lanky, 20-something music student who wore beanie hats and played electric guitar in a rock band. I thought he was pretty much the coolest and wanted to be him. Unfortunately, I don’t think he was particularly ‘stoked’ in the same capacity to work with me. I had very little enthusiasm for any of the mind-numbingly boring rudimentary theory curriculum, the limited repertoire I had to choose from (away in a manger or… the other version of away in a manger) made me want to rip my hair out, and reading sheet music would send my mind into kaleidoscope-vision.

I would also have kaleidoscope-vision in school. I struggled with school. I was a rambunctious little human. My attention span was uncontrollable (unless we were reading or drawing, then I absolutely paid attention). Looking over old report cards, there was a lot of ‘needs to stay on task’ and ‘could use help with organization’ - anecdotal pieces of advice I heard so much, I think the meanings eventually became hollow to me (or maybe the meanings were just hollow to begin with).

Getting me to sit still for 30 minutes was an excruciating feat for any adult in my life, so 2 hours? 3 hours? 6 hours? Good god, I wanted to climb the walls. When the teacher would start talking, I would look past their gaze - into Lala Land as adults disdainfully called it. (I still deeply hate calling it Lala Land, but, for continuity purposes, we’re going to reclaim the name in neon lights.)

Lala Land was great. Real life? Not so much. In real life, from third grade until high school graduation, my teachers (with the exception of 3 gems) were blatantly judgemental of me. They’d think nothing of admonishing me in front of my peers if I fidgeted or looked out a window.

Because the amount of physical energy I had was not conducive to a classroom environment, I learned to dissociate from my body. Because looking out a window meant I was not looking at a chalkboard, I learned to look past the chalkboard to find Lala Land, its neon letters burning behind my absent gaze. Past the letters, there would be a window. I could look out the window and its glass panes could evaporate and autumn’s leafy gusts of wind could sweep me away and I’d never have to worry about a messy desk or a missed assignment or classroom of judgemental eyes looking at me again. The next day’s fantasy would be the same, but different.

Children’s imaginations are often playful and fantastical. Take a kid with a traumatized brain, however - and imagination can give them a seemingly supernatural ability to create, in their mind, what they need for emotional survival. That was me.

There were parts of my childhood that were truly blissful, gorgeous, hilarious and nurturing. But I’d be denying you, dear reader, important context if I didn’t tell you that a significant part of my young formative years was steeped in grief, chaos and abandonment. I assure you need not build castles in the air in understanding that I was a child with a traumatized brain. And though I was surviving, trauma had created a faceless, nameless internal chaos for me that I didn’t truly even recognize until adulthood. Trauma changes the way brains function. That’s a lot for a kid to be dealing with.

In piano lessons, my teacher would sit with me and we would go over the theory of a piece of sheet music - that was my brain’s cue to look past the kaleidoscope paper, nodding “yes, mhm, got it.” But then, when he’d clap the rhythm of the piece, my brain would engage and I’d clap the same rhythm back, no problem. After that, he would play the piece for me as an example - this was where my brain would hyper-focus. I would retain, retain, retain, and I would play the piece back, not reading a note, but looking past the page all the same. This wasn’t a ploy to dupe him. This was a system of which neither of us were consciously aware. I was just 10, and playing piano.

Outside of school, I was different. I was encouraged to sing, I would go to my parents’ choir practices every week and sit in the pews of Saint Mary’s Church and listen to 30 voices reverberate through it. I would shoot the shit with adults and carry around books about Roman mythology and Egyptian hieroglyphs and I would talk about how I wanted to travel the whole world and I would make 1-page comics and I would dress up my dog and I loved the ballet costumes from Stravinsky’s Firebird and… I digress.

Outside of school, I was different. Music calmed my internal landscape enough for me to be myself. No - actually, music calmed my immediate surroundings enough for me to make sense of my internal landscape… Actually, both.

On a borrowed piano, I would sit and endlessly ear out songs (Carmen, movie soundtracks I liked, songs my mom sang, etc). I would walk into my Saturday lesson and proudly showcase the self-taught triumphs of Sunday through Friday for my teacher, only to be met with a brief pat on the back and the god-damn sheet music to 'away in a manger’ - which I still hated and still couldn’t read, but played anyway. After 5 months, I eventually made it clear to all parties involved that I was done with piano, and my parents finally gave into my weekly protests.

When I was 7th grade, I started playing french horn in the school band and, for whatever reason, continued for 6 and a half years. I still saw through a kaleidoscope when I got a piece of music, but there was one other french horn player in my class so I usually copied what she did - Unless we had different parts in which case I fumbled constantly through band practice until I finally figured out what I was playing. Band, generally, had a negative impact on my relationship with music. I think the only reason I stuck with it was because the feeling of playing music with such a large group of people triggered some kind of dopamine rush that my brain loved. I would get ASMR - auto sensory meridian response - also known as “that fuzzy, warm, calm feeling in the centre of your brain” - some folks experience it and some folks don’t.

A lot of changes in my home life happened in that 6-and-a-half-year period. After years of week-on, week-off pivots between my mother and father’s separate homes, my father permanently moved to Sweden when I was 13. My mother became my primary parent while dealing with the loaded blows of bankruptcy and multiple reckonings around her own life challenges. We moved into a home that had completely gutted walls and plywood floors (left unfinished by previous tenants with renovation goals too ambitious to finish). The situation was chaotic. So, so chaotic. But, from that time up to now, my mother was (and continues to be) an incredible support to me. She could see that I was struggling, and did everything in her power to advocate for me when I couldn’t advocate for myself. I can only imagine the feeling of knowing something is not right with your child and being told by everyone around you that your child is fine. Her support was integral.

When I was in 9th grade, she and my homeroom teacher (also a phenomenal support to me at the time) pulled some strings to have an initial psychological assessment performed on me - not technically “official” - as it was conducted by a student of psychology, I recall - nevertheless, it provided enough insight to validate that there was an underlying dissonance between what most of my teachers were saying about me (lazy, bad attitude, etc) and what was actually going on in my head, and that a formal assessment would be necessary to help me. My name was put on the waiting list for a psychologist that year. But, the entire island had only 1 or 2 psychologists available (Totally appalling). And so I waited... And waited... And waited... And while I waited, I continued to find refuge in my visual art practice, as well as learning other instruments on my own terms.

I refuse to say something cliche like “art and music saved my life” because creativity isn’t a sustainable singular lifeline for anyone, and believing so feeds into the highly problematic mental health stigma as it pertains to those who create for a living... But art and music did play key roles in tempering my inner storms. Now, as a musician, I allow my craft to be a teacher, not a therapist.

When I was 16, I went to my first voice lesson. I kept at it for a year, and… excelled? I totally excelled - personally and musically. This did wonders for my confidence (I attribute a lot of that to my voice teacher at the time, who had a really supportive and receptive approach to my weird energy levels and the idiosyncratic ways I learned). I did festivals, took a Royal Conservatory exam - and I was still excelling, which honestly shocked me at the time because I was so used to failing everything.

Oh, also, I could still barely read the music. Kaleidoscopic forever.

Many classically trained musicians describe the experience of being overwhelmed when they get a new piece of music (especially if it has theory components they may not be familiar with or something) - totally normal. But then, they concentrate, deconstruct it from the page section-by-section and eventually learn to play it with neurotypical grace. Deconstructing written music on the page to understand what was happening became a little bit less nauseating as I was exposed to it more. I WORKED at theory and understood parts of it, but only… theoretically. Being able to transcribe that (limited) understanding into playing? That never happened for me. The page would remain kaleidoscopic until it felt like my brain was just going to short-circuit and cave in on itself. It was weird, and trying to describe to anyone in band class (teachers and students alike) made me feel like I was on a different planet. So, when the heat was on (whether that was in performance or in private lessons or “sight singing”) I kept relying on my ears and refined my ability to hold my own in band concerts, private voice lessons, choirs, musical theatre productions.

Meanwhile, in high school, my academic life was still basically the worst. I had adversarial relationships with nearly all of my teachers. I barely passed each year. Emotionally, I also had a lot of anger seething below the surface of my consciousness. I had internalized so much of what so many teachers had told me - that I was smart but lazy, that I had a bad attitude, that I was disruptive, distracted, manipulative etc. - and having gone through some pretty drastic events that effectively destabilized my home life, this all had a profoundly negative impact on my self-worth.

One year later, I was 17, in 12th grade and school issues had not gotten any better (still muddling through - grades between 40% and 60%). I had just given up at this point… Except now, instead of having the teachers before, who were mostly unhelpful, but at least straight-up about being judgemental of me based on my “laziness” diagnosis, I had a haul of teachers that were giving me these new weekly out-in-the-hall John Keating-wannabe-motivational speeches, telling me how much “potential I have” and how “I’m wasting it away” by “not trying” in class (every hollow pull-up-your-socks/nose-to-grindstone idiom in the book. It was infuriating at the time). I’m sure most of them just wanted to help. But I needed someone to listen more than I needed someone to talk at me.

A helpful thing that DID come out of 12th grade (4 years after my name had been put on the list… shoutout to our provincial government for still not caring about investing in public mental health) was that I finally got access to a provincial psychologist. She came during the second semester of grade 12 and did extensive testing on me to find (surprise! but… not really) ADHD - which explained the colossal difficulties I was having in my academic life due to my chaotic brain not letting me get my shit together in the ways I was being told by neurotypical folks around me to get my shit together.

For those that aren’t informed about ADHD - it’s a form of neurodivergence that can manifest in too many ways to name here, but to fit an elephant in a minivan: There’s that part of the brain that naturally helps you regulate your attention/concentration/sleep/energy levels/appetite/feelings/working memory/pretty much anything remotely involving executive functioning… That’s nice, right? I wouldn’t know because apparently mine’s broken. There is also extensive research that directly links ADHD to childhood trauma, as well as biochemical imbalances in the brain.

I could get all in-depth about ADHD science right here, but this is my story, not an essay, and it would make for an even longer and more digressive tangent that would likely overshadow THE OTHER SIGNIFICANT THING the psychologist noted in my evaluation.

Amidst a bunch of my brain skills that were, statistically, above average for my age - like my working vocabulary and ability to retain auditory information - many of my visual processing skills - meaning, things like reading something and copying it down accurately or following written instructions without constantly needing to reference them - were shockingly below average for my age. The tests showed that this was something my brain had immense difficulty doing.

What’s an example of a visual processing issue in school? Well, I was always the last kid to finish copying text from the board (and I mean, like, multiple paragraphs behind my peers) before the teacher could move on to the next page.

What’s an example of a visual processing issue in music? Reading written notes and playing them on an instrument. When I heard a piece of music, however, I could learn it very quickly.

Knowing what was going on in my brain brought me a whole world of clarity and validation. I knew that I was going to lead an unconventional life because of it (whatever “a conventional life” means these days). I knew that most post-secondary education would be inaccessible to me as a result of my grades and probably be, at that point, more harmful than helpful.

Knowing what was going on in my brain helped me to understand what I didn’t need anymore. I didn’t need the validation of my teachers or my peers. I didn’t need a number on any piece of paper to determine my competence or ‘work ethic.’

Letting go of school was the best thing I’ve done for myself.

I graduated high school with nothing but a 64% average, and an ADHD diagnosis as my only tools in understanding how to get on a path to thriving as an adult human. liberating. frustrating. terrifying - but not really. mostly liberating.

Then, my ADHD became manageable and my life got easy and I had no self-esteem issues ever again.

… No. That’s not how life works. I’m 23 years old. I’ve been out of the school system for 6 years. I have deeply instilled productivity guilt (ie. I take on way more tasks than humanly possible to finish in ridiculously tight deadlines), I struggle with anxiety in thinking that friends and coworkers are saying negative things about my personality or quality of work behind my back (maybe my exes and high school math teachers are hanging out?? THE HORROR), my heart sinks into my stomach anytime any human watches me work over my shoulder (I’m a music producer, so if I’m working on songs with people, I become a blundering internal wreck when they understandably want to see what I’m editing). School did those things to me - which leads me into the accountability part of this long-winded ADHD realtalk.

I’d be withholding the truth from you if I didn’t say my teachers played key roles in aggravating my behavioural/emotional/learning difficulties by disputing them as personality flaws. My frustration in learning would be met, at worst, with punishment and put-downs (I remember not having recess for nearly an entire week somewhere in the first half of 4th grade - which I think is a cruel thing to do to any child, let alone one with energy levels like mine). I would be met, at best, with more hollow, invalidating advice - more ‘need to stay on task’ with a twist of ‘gotta give it yer all’ and ‘well, maybe if you actually tried…’

None of these messages sent to me were helpful. I’m still working to unravel those knots.

This is not a dig at those teachers who saw me as the problem child (rather than seeing me as a kid who just needed support and a different work environment. There were about 3 teachers in 10 years who understood that, and did everything in their power to help. They know who they are and I’m grateful for them.) I understand how frustrating it is to be pushed to your limit - especially within the bounds of a job that requires you to keep your shit together in some capacity. I understand that we that we all do our best with the tools we have at the time. There are no hard feelings - But, I encourage self-reflection and future accountability for your impact on the way you treat any child in your life - because they are just that: a child. Your impact can be profoundly helpful or harmful. You will never know what a child is going through until they feel safe enough to tell you. I didn’t feel safe with many adults - which is why most of my relationships with authority were adversarial ones. I’m not offering a solution. I’m just offering a glimpse into my experience. That’s all this is. Take it or leave it.

When a child is told again and again by the daily authoritative figures in their life that they have an attitude problem, that they are disruptive, lazy, manipulative, attention-seeking, a liar, a cheater (the list can go on but I won’t let it) - I guarantee you, the child will eventually believe it. And I did. I deeply internalized these labels to the point of identifying with them. I’m still working hard as an adult to remind myself that while many of my teachers accused me of causing chaos in my learning environment, I was simply (and unknowingly) mirroring my own internal chaos. The chaos I had created around me was a cry for help, not admonishment.

To further the accountability segment of this experience I’m sharing with you, though I can’t offer a solution to “fix” the institution of public education (because institutions generally don’t function unless they’re flawed to begin with), I think a set of solutions may lie somewhere within trauma-informed and neurodivergence-informed teaching and the public school system being provided with the adequate resources to embrace neurodivergent students - to embrace traumatized students, not accommodate them. I think a set of solutions may lie somewhere within mental health being taken seriously (with FUNDING, not lip service) by the Government of Prince Edward Island. That’s all I’ll say for now.

I don’t think my experience is special - far from it. In fact, I know that my experience is not, and never will be one-of-a-kind. I started writing this when I sat in front of a piano and tried to do what my brain would never let me do. I looked past the page and saw this part of my life staring back at me. I’m not even a writer, but I felt like I had to write it down. Looking back, I realize that I didn’t even begin to understand my own story until someone else told me theirs.

So - whether you’re a teacher or a student or both - if you’re struggling in the school system, this is dedicated to you. If you have been turned away and invalidated by those supposed to help you, you need to know that the labels placed upon you only hold as much power over you as you allow. Being pained by what you can’t control doesn’t make you weak, it makes you a survivor. Surviving is hard. Surviving is so hard, but you will begin to heal.

I’m 23 years old. I’m many things. I read music with my ears. I’m mastering the art of looking past what’s in front of me.

- Russell Louder

#adhd #music #neurodivergence

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frickfrackjimin · 6 years

Text

The One With The Prom Video

⇻ For twenty years, you had always viewed Jung Hoseok as your best friend’s cousin, who you could also probably call a close friend considering all he had done for you. It takes you one night and a home video to realize just how much he has done, and just how much you truly feel for each other.

Pairing: Hoseok x reader Genre: Fluff, mild angst (if you squint really hard?) Words: 5k Inspired by: Friends Season 2 episode 14, “The One With The Prom Video” Warnings: Mild language, mentioning of alcohol, mentioning of drugs

You were ten years old when you first met Jung Hoseok.

You don’t remember anything special about the details of the day. What you were wearing, what he was wearing, what you said to each other. You assumed you were wearing something along the lines of Bermuda shorts with a camisole over t-shirt combo from the department store you always shopped in with some obnoxious neon jewelry that you seemed to always wear in the fourth grade. He was probably in something like basketball shorts and a t-shirt, like most other boys his age wore. None of it really seemed to be that important at the time.

Jung Hoseok was always just your best friend, Hana’s, older cousin. He was constantly hanging around at her house since the two of them were stuck together more than glue itself. His family lived right next door so it was uncommon to find the two of them separate. This, unsurprisingly, meant that you saw quite a bit of him as well.

You never attended school with him. Aside from him being two years older than you and Hana, you also both attended an all-girls private school until high school, while he attended a co-ed public one. Once you hit high school, you both finally convinced your parents to let you attend a co-ed private school instead.

In your elementary and even middle school years, you loved being able to have Hana all to yourself at school, since you knew once she went home, she would practically be at Hoseok’s beck and call.

Even though Hana and Hoseok were close, when they were younger it was less of a friendship/close family relationship. More like Hana following Hoseok around trying to do everything he did, since he was older and in association, cooler. It took until she finally hit her moody teenage years to grow a backbone and stop doing everything Hoseok asked her to.

For a while, you didn’t see much of Hoseok. He was around age sixteen, and you and Hana were fourteen. Hana had said that his parents had shipped him away to some dance camp for the summer. It was in hopes that his semi-“rebellious” phase – that honestly was the worst way to define Hoseok getting detention twice for being late to school – would dwindle down.

When he had returned at the beginning of the school year and you saw him again, he had changed. He was a lot friendlier towards both you and Hana, and had grown about three inches. His jawline had slimmed down and he looked a lot older than he had in June when you last saw him. Even though he looked different and was a bit kinder, he was still the same Hoseok you knew before the summer had started. This was proven when you went to pour sugar in your cereal one morning after sleeping over and the top fell off, making all of the sugar in the container dump into your Rice Krispies.

Yep, the same, annoying Hoseok.

To be fair though, you had changed as well. You turned fifteen over the summer and one of your birthday presents from Mother Nature was boobs! Yep, that’s right. Boobs. You had gone up two whole cup sizes and had grown an inch as well. You and Hana had also spent the summer learning how to properly do makeup – no more of that too dark foundation and blue eye shadow from the local drug store. You spent almost all of your birthday money at Sephora and stayed up all night watching tutorials on YouTube in preparation for the start of high school in September.

Looking back on that summer now, fifteen years later, you find yourself laughing. You cared so much about how others would perceive you as you entered what you thought would be the most important years of your life. It’s comical now, at age thirty, that you really thought high school would be the prime of your life.

Now, at age thirty, you had already been engaged once. That lasted for a hot second before you realized you had more attraction to a closet door than you did to the guy and broke it off after a month. You had also gone to college and gotten your degree in secondary mathematics education and had a full-time, paying job as a geometry teacher at the local high school. You were still wallowing in student loans, especially since a teacher’s pay is pretty much shit. The kids could be assholes sometimes too, but when you’ve had a rough day, you still had Hoseok and Hana to cheer you up after all these years. Except now the cheering up included a bottle or two of wine.

That’s how you ended up here, sitting on the couch in Hana’s living room on a Friday night. Your group had expanded over the years, now including a girl named Yeona that Hana met in her first college class, and two boys named Namjoon and Jimin. Hoseok and Namjoon were roommates all throughout college and stayed in touch even when Namjoon moved in with Jimin, who had posted an ad online about needing a roommate. The six of you had been there for each other throughout the good, the bad, and the ugly over the course of the past decade.

It was finally time for Hana to join the club: the “I’m in my 30’s and still don’t know what the fuck I’m doing” club. Her birthday was on Sunday and in preparation for the huge party you would all have to tolerate tomorrow, you decided to pre-game with some alcohol and old home videos from the comfort of Hana’s living room. She had found a huge box of unlabeled DVDs at her parents house the previous week and decided that in celebration of her thirtieth time around the sun, she wanted to spend her Friday night watching the lot of them. The sixth movie of the night was playing on her flat screen, where a video of Hoseok and Hana playing his dad’s drum set at ages three and five could be seen by the six pairs of eyes glued to it.

“Hoseok, why the hell are you holding the sticks like that?” Yeona choked out through her laughs.

“I could barely hold a pencil at age five, how the hell was I supposed to know how to properly hold drum sticks back then?” he retorted back, taking a swig of his IPA.

“I bet you still wouldn’t be able to hold them correctly now,” you giggle in response from your seat on the floor.

“Hey! I’m very musically inclined!”

“With your voice and your dance steps you might have called yourself as J-Hope, but when it comes to instruments you’re J-Hopeless,” Hana retorts.

“Wow, very original, never heard that one before,” Hoseok mutters, lips touching the beer bottle but not taking another sip. “I thought we agreed to not bring up that nickname ever again?”

“Oh come on Hoseok, this is a night of reminiscing. I for one, would love to reminisce on how you insisted we call you J-Hope the first summer after you went to dance camp because you thought you were some hot shot with every ounce of swag you could have,” you say, trying desperately to hold back a string of laughs.

The rest of the group let out laughs of disbelief at the mention of Hoseok’s short-lived teenage nickname.

“Okay that’s enough, onto the next one,” Hoseok announced, trying to ignore the comments Hana was making about no doubt more embarrassing things from his adolescence. He stood up from his spot on the armchair and placed his beer on the side table before walking over to the DVD player. He ejected the disc and without looking placed another one in the slot and pressed play.

The laughter had finally died down by the time Hoseok had sat back down on the blue armchair placed next to the couch.

Everyone focused on the TV, waiting to see what memories would appear next.

When the screen finally loaded, you were met with the image of your parents standing with Hana’s mom in her kitchen. Hana’s dad’s voice could be heard from behind the video camera. Your dad had a regular camera in his hands, and they all seemed to be excited about something.

“Are they coming downstairs soon?” your mom asked Hana’s, looking excited.

“Yes, mom, we are,” you heard your own voice from behind the camera. It panned around and you’re all met with the image of you and Hana, dressed in gowns with hair and makeup done, ready for your senior prom.

You smile faintly, remembering how much effort you had put into looking nice that night.

You shopped for months for the perfect dress before deciding on a champagne colored mermaid dress with beading up the bodice. Hana had done your hair in a half-up, half-down look and you had done a dramatic smokey eye to compliment your bronzed skin. You remember tanning outside with Hana for two weeks straight trying to get enough color to look good in the dress.

Hana had spent just as much time on her appearance, wearing a silver dress that was also beaded from head to toe. Her hair was completely up with loose curls framing her face and even though she had done formal makeup, it looked minimal on her but it worked. She never needed to wear much anyways.

You heard saw Hoseok shuffling in his chair from the corner of your eye. Turning to look at him, he stutters out, “Oh, we don’t have to watch this.”

Complaints came from the others, insisting that they all wanted to continue watching. Hoseok continued to shift uncomfortably in his seat as his attention shifted across numerous objects in the room. You stared at him confused, but returned your attention to the screen again.

“Oh you look so great! So beautiful!” you hear from your parents behind the camera.

“Dad! Turn the camera off!” Hana whines, attempting to push the camera away from her face.

“This is a momentous occasion sweetheart! You only go to senior prom once!” he chuckles.

“Unless you’re Hoseok, then you don’t go at all,” she snickers.

“Oh you hush,” Hana’s mom scolds.

“Damn, you guys got THAT dressed up for prom? I went in a dress I found at JCPenney for $50, straightened my hair and called it a day,” Yeona states, shoveling a handful of popcorn in her mouth.

“I didn’t even go to my prom. My friends and I skipped and went to the beach that weekend instead. Smoked a fuck ton of weed,” Namjoon laughed.

“It was important to us!” you exclaim. “We happened to have been asked by some of the cutest guys in our school!”

“Guys from a private school? I don’t trust it, those guys are always dickbags,” Jimin replies.

“Shush, you’ll see! When we were eighteen they were peak cute.”

“How about now? Still peaking?” Jimin chuckles.

“Shut up, Jimin.”

Chuckles emit from the group as you all turn back to the TV.

“Now that you mention him, where is Hoseok?” you hear Hana’s dad ask, turning the camera around to inspect the room. Hoseok is now visible, leaning against the kitchen counter, staring at the two girls as they walk towards him.

“Oh, there you are,” he says, moving the camera to be more in Hoseok’s face.

“Seriously Uncle Jihun?” Hoseok mutters before pushing the camera out of his face.

“Alright, alright, I’ll turn it off.”

The screen turns black for a few seconds before transitioning into the next clip. The screen is mostly black, like the clip was filmed secretly. The top halves of both Hoseok and you are visible to the screen. You’re pulling up the top of your dress.

“You uh, look really pretty tonight,” Hoseok murmurs, his arms crossed over his chest as he looks at the ground.

“Oh, thanks,” you reply back, awkwardly playing with your earring. “So, any plans this summer?”

“Not really, probably just going to the studio with Jungkook to create choreography for next year’s fall showcase. Kid practically idolizes me,” he shrugged.

You, Hana and Namjoon all laugh at that.

During his sophomore year of college Hoseok met this kid named Jungkook after he joined the same dance troop as Hoseok. Hoseok treated Jungkook like a little brother and mentored him, always allowing him to stay with him later to practice the choreography for their showcases. He would find out the next year that Jungkook had a crush on him and that was why he followed him around all the time. Hoseok was shocked to say the least and had a hard time believing that 1: Jungkook was gay and 2: that Jungkook had a crush on him. He had to let him down as easy as he could and Jungkook was so embarrassed that he stopped talking to Hoseok for a few months. They finally reconciled after Jungkook met a boy named Taehyung, who became his boyfriend and later fiancé.

“Was this pre or post confession, Hobi?” Yeona chuckled.

Hoseok shrunk even further into the chair.

“Oh, that’s cool,” you reply back, still awkwardly lifting up the top of your dress. “Hey, is this thing hooked all the way? It keeps falling down.”

You turned around to have Hoseok take a look and attempt to aid you if necessary. What the camera captures that you didn’t see is Hoseok looking startled as your back practically meets his front. He stutters out a “let me check” before his fingers stumble over the clasp on the back of your dress.

“L-looks good to me, you look go-“ The doorbell interrupts him.

“Oh my God, they’re here!” you squeal in excitement with Hana, running away from Hoseok before he can finish his sentence. His hands fall to his sides and his gaze continues to follow yours as you run out of the camera’s range.

The next clip cuts to you standing in the hallway while Hana’s date, a boy with dyed blonde hair named Min Yoongi, gets his red rose boutonniere pinned to his tuxedo lapel. Flashes from your dad’s camera are seen against the two of them.

You lean over from your spot hidden from the camera’s flashes to ask him, “Where’s Seokjin? I thought you guys were coming together?”

“He’s on his way, relax,” Yoongi smoothly replies. “Had to pick up the bouquet or something, I don’t remember what exactly.”

You sigh, starting to wring your hands together in anxiety. Yoongi had arrived nearly ten minutes ago and your date, Kim Seokjin, still had yet to show.

“Damn, did you get stood up to your own prom?” Jimin asks from behind you on the couch.

“Just keep watching,” you murmur, eyes focused on the TV.

The next clip cuts to about thirty minutes later, when Seokjin still had yet to arrive to Hana’s house. You are starting to panic.

“I texted him but he hasn’t replied. He can’t be standing me up,” you say, looking at Hana sadly. “I can’t go without a date to prom, I can’t, its too embarrassing.”

Hana grabs a tissue from the box behind you on the countertop and dabs it under your eyes. “Don’t cry, your makeup will run. And hey, if you don’t go, I won’t go either.”

Yoongi walks closer to the two of you, seething out, “I’ll kick his ass, I swear,” before walking away.

The group chuckles at that, seeing how heated Yoongi had gotten over the possibility of not being able to attend prom too.

The camera had followed Yoongi down the hall to the staircase, where Hoseok was apparently in a conversation with Hana’s mom.

“Hobi, I have a great idea. Why don’t you take Y/N to the prom?” she asks in a hushed tone as Hoseok is looking at his phone.

He chuckles before sarcastically replying, “Yeah, okay Aunt Jisoo. Like that’ll happen.”

From behind the camera, you can hear Jihun chime in.

“Your Aunt is right, Hoseok. You should take her. You can wear my tux, we’re practically the same size.”

“She wouldn’t want to go with me anyways, even if I did offer to take her,” Hoseok retorts dejectedly.

“Oh come on Hoseok, you’re a college man! Who gives a shit about some high school guy; you’re the real deal! Even if you weren’t in college, she would still be lucky to go with you,” you hear Jisun argue.

Your eyes are practically glued to the screen at this point. You had no idea that this conversation ever happened. Apparently, Hana is the same way as she can’t seem to look away either.

Hoseok locks his phone before shoving it in his pocket and meeting Jihun’s eyes. “I don’t know, she just sees me as Hana’s cousin that’s a pain in her ass all the time.”

“Oh come on, Hobi, look at her. She’s devastated,” he says, turning the camera back towards you and Hana standing by the counter.

You’re trying so hard to hold back your tears, as you whimper, “I can’t believe I’m not going to get to go to my own prom. I’ve literally dreamed of this since I was thirteen, Hana. We’ve dreamed of this since we were thirteen. Why is the universe playing this cruel joke on me?”

Hana continues to comfort you as the camera pans back to Hoseok talking with his aunt and uncle.

“…Okay,” he finally agrees. “Show me where the tux is.”

“Guys, I think we’ve seen enough,” Hoseok’s voice chimes in from your side. “Let’s change it to something else now.”

A chorus of denials comes from the group behind you, but you’re still in shock, eyes never once leaving the TV.

“Fine, but I’m not going to watch anymore,” Hoseok states, standing up from his chair and walking behind the group into the kitchen.

“Alright Hoseok, let’s see!” Aunt Jisoo says, now the one behind the camera. Uncle Jihun walks out of their bedroom first, followed by Hoseok. He is clad in a classic black tuxedo with a white shirt and a black tie. His hair has some product in it and is styled in a sexy kind of messy way, courtesy of Jihun.

“Oh, don’t you look handsome!” she exclaims. “Let’s go show the girls!”

Aunt Jisoo begins to walk backwards down the stairs, camera still on Hoseok as he closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, muttering to himself. What sounds like ‘be cool, it’ll all be fine,” appear to come from his mouth a few times before he reaches the top of the steps. He grabs some flowers from their vase in the hallway before beginning his descent down the steps.

“Y/N! Wait until you see who-“ you hear Jihun begin, before he stops himself at the bottom of the steps.

“Oh.”

“Look who finally showed up!” you exclaim excitedly, in the process of taking pictures in front of the fireplace with your date, Seokjin. Hana and Yoongi are standing on the other side of you, looking equally as happy with his arrival.

“Oh dear,” you hear Aunt Jisoo whisper from behind the camera. Hoseok had stopped at the top of the stairs at the sound of your voice, the words from your mouth halting him in his place before he could be visible to anyone else.

“Jihun, how do I turn this off?” you hear her ask. Hoseok’s face is still in the frame. You can see him visibly swallow before looking at the camera and turning around to walk back into the bedroom he just came from, slamming the door behind him.

The screen then cuts to black.

The tension in the room couldn’t even be cut with a sword if anyone tried.

So that’s where he had gone when he disappeared? You assumed he got bored of all of the prom stuff and dipped without saying goodbye in true Hoseok fashion. Never in your life would you have guessed he was getting ready to take you to prom since your date had assumingly stood you up.

Everyone turns to look behind the couches to the kitchen where Hoseok stood. His one hand is on the counter, the other fidgeting with the bottom of his old Supreme t-shirt.

“I can’t believe you did that,” Hana breathes out.

Hoseok remains silent for a few seconds before responding with, “Yeah.”

You can hardly manage to look at Hoseok, still overcome with so many thoughts and emotions.

Why on Earth would he do that for you? For years Hoseok had always just been your best friend’s annoying cousin that always made you feel like the odd guy out in their friendship. That only changed once you went to college and could finally be seen as a somewhat equal to him, you assumed.

“You’ve liked her for THAT long?” Hana asks. “I thought it was just a recent thing.”

That breaks you from your trance. “What are you talking about?”

“I’ve been noticing something was up with him recently, I figured maybe it was stress from work but I realized that he only acted that way whenever you were around or even just mentioned. I just assumed.”

“Oh no, it’s been going on way longer than you think,” Namjoon chimed in.

“I’ll fucking rip your hair out of your head if you say another word, Namjoon,” Hoseok threatens from the kitchen.

Namjoon ignores the blatant threat of violence to his scalp and continues. “Freshman year he wouldn’t shut up about how much he missed this girl from back home. Told us all about how she had one of the worst temperaments out of anyone he knew, but it was charming. After every vacation we would come back to school and he would say that she just keeps getting more beautiful every time he sees her. Super corny if you ask me, but the dude was clearly in love so hey, who was I to judge? Imagine my surprise now to find out that it was Y/N after all this time.”

Your eyes are glued to Hoseok and his eyes are glued to the floor. His knuckles are white from gripping the counter so hard.

You slowly stand up, before softly asking, “Hoseok, how long have you felt that way about me?”

His gaze doesn’t lift from the floor as he awkwardly chuckles. “Do you remember after your first day of high school, where you came home so excited because some guy asked you for your number?”

You stare at him in astonishment. “Hoseok, that was over fifteen years ago.”

He nods. “Embarrassing, right? To be in love with your cousin’s best friend for nearly two decades, with absolutely no expectation of reciprocation? Trust me, I tried to get over you. I dated other girls, I slept with other girls; you know that. At the end of the day though, I could be cuddling someone else and still be disappointed that it wasn’t you instead.”

His eyes lift from the floor to finally meet your wide ones. Your jaw drops a bit unexpectedly.

Of course you had always considered the fact that maybe one day you and Hoseok would end up together. It made sense, you had grown up together and he was that kind of friend where at 16 you make the agreement to marry each other if you aren’t already married by 30, but never actually take it seriously because you both know that it’ll never happen.

You had never suspected that he had felt this strongly about you for this long.

You rack your brain trying to think of any signs that you could have missed.

There was that one time when you were a junior in high school and you had just broken up with your first boyfriend after finding out that he had been texting other girls behind your back. Hoseok and Hana comforted you the whole day Saturday, watching reruns of That 70’s Show with you and stuffing your faces with cheesy breadsticks from the local pizza place. The following Monday at school, your ex-boyfriend showed up with a black eye. You were surprised but never questioned what had happened.

There was also the time when you were a senior in college doing your student teaching, and you were convinced that you had chosen the wrong major because the students you had to teach were so awful and rude to you. Hoseok had listened to you ramble on in tears about how you had screwed up your whole life and credit report for a profession that wasn’t right for you. He had calmed you down and talked some sense into you, and even helped you to develop a new lesson plan and teaching approach that might work better with the students, even though he knew close to nothing about math education or making lesson plans.

Then there was the time that you were all out at Yeona’s birthday dinner when you got the call from your mom that your grandfather had died. Hoseok was the one to drive you home and hold you all night as you sobbed over the loss of the man you had looked up to for so many years.

Then of course, the memory you didn’t even know was a memory until three minutes ago. Hoseok had dressed in his uncle’s tuxedo to take you to your prom, knowing how much you had gushed over going to prom since he had practically met you.

More memories came into play and hit you like a ton of bricks. You fell forward a bit, catching yourself on the arm of the chair previously occupied by Hoseok.

“Oh my God,” you whisper. You finally met his eyes and slowly began to walk over to him, a disbelieving pout on your face.

As you come closer to him, you’re hit with a new wave of emotions. This time, reminding you of all of the things he has done that have made your own heart flutter that you continuously pushed away.

The time that you first saw him after dance camp, and you noticed the way that his arms were a bit more toned than they were in the spring and you felt you heart rate increase, but blamed it on the frappucino you were drinking.

The time that you watched him in his first college dance showcase and you could see the passion in his face. The fluidity of his moves was enthralling, and continues to be to this day. You remember not being able to look away and getting a fluttery feeling in your stomach, but blamed it on the cold you were still getting over.

The time that you attended your first college party with him and he made sure that you didn’t get too out of control. He was dressed in an all black outfit that didn’t seem to suit his personality, but he still made it work and you felt your heart flutter again. When he pushed away the creepy guy that attempted to feel you up on the couch and your heart dropped into your stomach at the protectiveness you thought was coming from a big brother perspective.

The time that you got the offer for your full time job and he hugged you so tightly you thought he might snap you in half, and you got that same fluttery feeling in your stomach that you had all those times before.

How had you been so blind for so long?

Standing in front of him now, you look up at his face and graze his chin with your fingers, gingerly tilting his head up to look at yours.

Looking into his eyes briefly, you know instantly that you will not regret what you are about to do.

So you kiss him, and dear God it was like you had done it a million times before.

The way that you fall into each other so effortlessly, his hands grabbing at your sides as yours cupped his cheeks.

“I told you it would fucking happen! I knew she felt the same way!” Yeona yelled from behind you.

You break away from the kiss and immediately pull him into a hug, your head resting on his shoulder.

“You should have told me sooner,” you whisper.

“I couldn’t. I didn’t want to risk losing you completely,” he whispered back.

“Jung Hoseok,” you say in disbelief, pulling back a bit to look at his face. “Did you really think that little of me that you think I would cut you, someone that has stuck by my side for over twenty years, off in the blink of an eye because you have feelings for me that you thought I didn’t reciprocate?”

He simply stared at you, not knowing what to say.

You leaned your forehead against his, before whispering onto his lips, “You’re even stupider than I thought you were,” and kissing him again.

“Eh-hem,” you hear a throat clear from behind you again. Breaking away, you meet the eyes of Hana, arms crossed and giving you a smirk.

“Hana, if you’re not okay with this, we don’t have to-“

“Save it, I’ve been waiting for Hoseok to make a move for months. I’m glad you finally did. Just please keep the PDA to a minimum. I don’t need to see my cousin and my best friend sucking face and groping each other in front of me,” she shudders.

You laugh before turning back to Hoseok.

“Does this mean you’ll give me a chance?” Hoseok asks breathlessly.

“Of course it does, you idiot. Now kiss me again before I change my mind.”

#ffjwrites #hoseok #jung hoseok #hoseok fluff #hobi #jhope #jhope fluff #jhope fic #hoseok drabble #jhope drabble #hoseok x reader

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psychicmedium14 · 6 years

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December's Gemini supermoon is also known as the Full Cold Moon, and as the year's only full supermoon, it will appear brighter and larger than any other moon in 2017, appearing up to 14 percent larger and 30 percent brighter than usual. While la luna blossoms to her fullest point Sunday morning, the supermoon will reach “perigee“—the point in her orbit at which she is closest to Earth—in the wee hours of Monday morning, December 4. Believe it or not, the Gemini supermoon is the first and last full supermoon of 2017, however, it's also the first of three supermoons in a row! The next two lunations arrive at the beginning and very end of January 2018, bringing us two full moons in the same month. As the star sign of the chatty Twins, Gemini governs dynamic duos and synergistic connections, and kindred spirits are spotlighted under the potency of these "twinning" moonbeams. For the next two weeks that follow, the missing piece to your partnership puzzle could manifest. Gemini's energy is often more platonic than romantic, but that's not to say that love can't spring forth from the friend zone. Hey, you just never know! A mistletoe moment could spark with a coworker, bandmate, or even a partner on an important project. You could think of your "other half" as your playmate—or revamp your dating app profile to reveal as much about your extracurricular interests as your long-term life plans. Gemini is the zodiac's curious communicator and the cosmic mayor of the local scene. Explore hometown happenings or help to create a thriving social scene in your 'hood. This supermoon also comes with a warning label, however, as messenger planet Mercury—Gemini's planetary guardian—turns retrograde on the very same day. From December 3-22, the trickster planet will backspin through outspoken Sagittarius, messing with our holiday travel plans and scrambling signals. Here are some tips for tapping into the supermoon potency of the Gemini full moon: 1. Practice active listening. Listening is a form of communication. When you actively listen to another person, you create a space for sharing between you. This channel can either be or cluttered with judgment, depending on how you're listening. For example: "I already know what they're gonna say, so why don't I finish their sentence" is NOT a practice of active listening. During this weekend's Gemini full moon/supermoon, aim to be a better, cleaner listener. Be direct: Grab your partner by the wrist, sit them down, and ask thoughtful questions to understand them better. Instead of mentally crafting a response while they talk, give them the opportunity to be seen and heard. We're all familiar with post-conversation exhaustion—what happens when someone has monopolized the entire dialogue. So give what you want to receive: the attentive, thoughtful, engaged and sincere listening that you desire. 2. Partner up, and prosper! Synergy-seeking Gemini is all about rocking out, tag-team style. Two is your magic number at this full moon/supermoon, so collaborate with someone whose skills complement your own. Step up and step back. Repeat. Gemini knows how to pass the baton. This dynamic duo energy is especially helpful if you've been struggling to get a project off the ground. Perhaps the missing link in the chain is another person. Be open to the kindred spirits that enter your sphere now. In the case of business dealings, consult a lawyer. Alliances that have been bubbling over the past six months since the Gemini new moon may become formalized within two weeks of the Gemini full moon. Drafting an official agreement is always a smart idea, if only to prevent miscommunications from happening down the line. Cosmic tip: Try to hold off on getting the first draft of the deal proposed in writing until Mercury turns direct on December 22 if you can. 3. Be a mirror. Gemini is the sign of communication, and the Twins provide us with the ability to mirror back what someone is trying to articulate. After you've heard them out, try repeating back what the person just told you. Not in an awkward parroting way, but in the "What I think I hear you saying is (fill in the blank) Is that right?" Maybe they'll correct you a little, or maybe they'll just thank you. But, it's incredibly validating to feel like someone really "gets" it. As the sign of the talkative Twins, we are all encouraged to speak up at the Gemini supermoon—voicing what's on our mind and in our hearts. Geminis were born in conversation with another, which is why they're so sensitive to verbal nuances. Between two people, there could be some interesting declarations and confessions—and yes, a few misunderstandings, alas. Because Gemini is ruled by Mercury the messenger planet, you could also receive intriguing news by email, phone or DM. Just be sure you read between the lines, too! 4. Channel someone else's "higher self." Have you ever waited for someone to properly say "I'm sorry"...only to find yourself waiting around forever? And if you did get some kind of half-baked amendment, it left you feeling unfulfilled inside? Well, here's a technique we've tried before, which can help you gain some resolution: Put pen to paper. Relax. Imagine yourself as the person who hurt/betrayed/upset you—and write YOURSELF a letter, as though it's from them. This person may never apologize to you in real-time, but you'll find as you channel their higher self (it will happen as the words flow), you resolve some of the energetic conflict, on a higher plane. It doesn't mean you have to bring this person back into your life, like, ever. You'll just have the satisfaction of experience "them" say things like, "I'm sorry I stopped calling. I was insecure and afraid you'd reject me first." You might even find that it doesn't matter who actually wrote that words—but just that they got expressed.

#astrology #full moon #december #gemini #supermom

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gobigorgohome2016 · 7 years

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Jury Duty, Wedding Planning, and Mileage Ramping

Hi. I’m still alive! ...there’s nothing quite like serving as a juror on a murder trial to remind you of that fact. The past few weeks have been a bit of a whirlwind. In a nutshell: I am steadily building mileage, I got engaged, and I learned that serving on a jury is really stressful while balancing mileage, wedding planning, and having your puppy-parent-co-pilot out of town.

On May 31st, Dave and I decided that after 7 years of being together (4 living together) it was time to get married. Let me rephrase in an utterly unromantic way: after me not having health insurance since July 2015 and Dave having an adult job with benefits, we decided it might be time for me to stop playing Russian roulette. Let me rephrase in another utterly unromantic way: this was all decided through tears in the Whole Foods parking lot (let’s be real…how many excursions to Whole Foods don’t end in tears, though?) We bought a simple ring together two days later and have been wedding planning ever since.

Unintended consequence: it turns out that getting engaged – no matter the circumstances – makes you really happy and remember why you got together in the first place. I thought that after spending so much time together, getting engaged would just be a formality. Instead, there seems to be an ever-so-slight shift in the way we interact with one another, which has been a lot of fun.

Now, obviously we are both extremely nontraditional people. We chose a date (July 29th of this year) solely around the fact that my two best friends (who now live in Idaho and Australia) were just randomly going to be within an hour of my hometown that weekend. I was in their weddings, and I would love for them to be in mine.

So, yeah, we planned our wedding around two my bridesmaids’ schedules.

I don’t fancy myself to be a bridezilla (I mean…my engagement ring and dress combined cost less than our celebratory meal…), so I never thought our wedding planning would be stressful. We are funding the day ourselves, which already relieves decision fatigue. Seat covers? Table linens? Wedding favors our guests will leave at the table? Can’t afford them, doesn’t matter!

Putting together our website has been a lot of fun...and a lot of work. The biggest stressor has been that we had so little time to secure a venue (found one- the Washington Park Zoo!) and send out invites (they arrive tomorrow and will be sent out Friday) that we had to cram A LOT of planning into a short period of time. Oh yeah, add to that the fact that Dave was out of town for 3 days last week and 4 days this week, which has made things slightly more difficult, since he is very much involved in the planning of our day. [if I was making statuses saying “Future hubby asked if he could help make a small decision with our wedding! So #blessed” he definitely wouldn’t be the one I am marrying.]

All of this wedding planning reminded me how terrible I am at multitasking. Suddenly, 5 hours have gone by while we are at my computer designing our invitations (which ALMOST got purchased without the wedding date on them…) and I haven’t had a bite to eat, much less gone for my run. I have had to really double down on planning the day and doing a better job about compartmentalizing tasks, as well as taking time to care for myself. I am living off of Orgain nutritional drinks, cheese, and Lara bars.

Over the weekend, my (20 year old) niece/ bridesmaid spent a few days with me. She helped me plan a few things since she is in another wedding this summer, and also kept me focused (apparently she has never seen a person have so many internet tabs open at once..). Even though having her here was awesome, I definitely didn’t get as much sleep as I needed, especially because I was getting up extra early to run and work so that we could spend uninterrupted time together. On top of a lot of late nights the previous week so that Dave and I could do wedding stuff, I was already pretty tired. She reminded me on Sunday night to call the courthouse to see if I had jury duty, and unfortunately I did. So, I woke up at 6 AM, grinded out some work, and arrived to the city county building by 8 AM. Nbd, I’ll just get my run in after I’m released from the jury pool, I thought, because surely a far left liberal feminist with a master’s degree in analytical chemistry isn’t going to make it onto a jury for a murder trial, right? (at least that’s what everyone told me).

During jury selection, I was asked if I felt that certain circumstances could justify a crime, and how I felt about false confessions. I was honest: I do not believe in victim blaming, and I think if someone falsely confesses to a crime I would have to question the person’s mental capacity, which makes me wonder why he/she is fit to stand trial in the first place. Surely my honestly meant that I wouldn’t be chosen for this murder trial right? Wrong.

Until 5 PM on Monday we listened to the strangest case I have ever heard in my life. Side note: in middle school/high school I was involved in a volunteer organization called Teen Court, which taught me a lot about the legal system. If you have kids that need to volunteer for honor society or whatnot, I HIGHLY recommend.

Since the trial is now over, I can legally share details:

Woman 1 (W1) was (unhappily) married. Husband brought home Woman 2 (W2) (who was married to W1’s ex-husband) and suggested W1 and W2 be sister wives. W1 said no. Meanwhile, W1 brings Man 1 (M1) home and has him sleep in her bed “for security purposes.” She also meets Man 2 (M2), who happens to be her 4th cousin, and they develop a close (romantic?) friendship. Husband upsets W1 by continually sleeping with W2, so W1, M1, and M2 plan to murder Husband. M1 and M2 murder Husband, but leave body, vehicle, and murder weapon at the scene. M2 (who was on trial – M1 and W1 have already been convicted) was charged with murder and conspiracy. He confessed to the crime, but defense was arguing it was a false confession given under duress.

We made it through most of the witnesses on Monday, but the defense motioned to break for the day right before we were shown the confession tape. We had to be back by 9:15 on Tuesday.

I make it home around 6 PM and have two attention starved dogs. I take care of them and then am utterly EXHAUSTED. I still need to run.

In my own personal coaching, I tell my athletes that sleep comes first. Never force a run when you are completely sleep deprived. So, I listened to my own advice and took a nap…and fell asleep for the rest of the night. I got up at 6 the next morning and took the dogs for an hour long walk, then went for an hour long run. I hurried up and made it to the courthouse, only to wait. And wait. And wait some more. At noon, the judge told us that we were released, but had to return by 9 AM on Wednesday.

Fortunately, this meant I would be able to catch up on wedding stuff, go for another run, and tire out the dogs, since we were told that the case would last all day and into the night on Wednesday. I woke up at 5:35 AM today, took the dogs for another hour long walk, and then went for an 8 mile run. I can’t believe I would regularly meet my friends at 5 AM to run in grad school. I was dragging both yesterday and today. When that happens, I break my run up into 10% segments. Today, I just thought about 6.5 minutes at a time. Make it to 10%, then 20%, then 30%.... It helps. I got to the courtroom only to be greeted by the bailiff and both attorneys. It turned out the defendant signed a plea agreement and we were no longer needed. Kind of a bummer that I drove all the way downtown, BUT, the bailiff said that we still get our per diem for the day. I will walk away from the last three days $120 richer (plus whatever they give me for mileage). Not a bad way to make a little extra cash for the wedding.

As for running, I’m actually really happy I had this experience. I am aiming for 70 miles this week, which has always felt like a hard in-between mileage week. It takes more effort than 50, because it is usually when doubles start, but it isn’t as exhausting as 100 mile weeks. However, since you’re in the process of building, it feels like you’re running more than you are. Having a sleep deprived schedule has reminded me how fortunate I am that I’ve been able to build my life around training, and I’m going to try and remember not to take that for granted!

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mrsbenedictbridgerton · 7 years

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Fragile Heart: Part 2

Part 2 of this Austen-esque historical drabble with a little frozen jewel thrown in.

Also, posted as one comeplete story on AO3 and FF.NET

2.1K

(For @lenfaz)

The sun was shining when she awoke. Her fitful dreams began to fade. She felt a hand holding hers. When she opened her eyes, she saw it was Elsa.

“Elsa,” she hummed, her voice unexpectedly hoarse.

“Oh my lord,” her friend cried, “You’re awake!”

Emma’s eyelids fluttered. “Elsa…” she whispered.

Her friend was pressing her hand against her forehead. Emma looked at her, waiting for her eyes to focus; Elsa’s eyes were rimmed red.

“Hush,” Elsa said, a small smile lighting up her face, “You must rest your voice.”

Nodding, Emma ran her tongue over her lips. They were dry and parched.

“You’ve been confined to bed for a fortnight now.”

“A fortnight…” Emma repeated.

“Yes, your fever-” Elsa’s voice cracked. Emma blinked until she could see clearly. Emma laid her hand on top of her friends and squeezed as tightly as she could in her weakened state. “But the physician advised us to wait. So… we have. Oh Emma.”

Tossing her arms around her, Elsa held her friend, her breathing shuddering a little.

“I’m fine, I promise.”

Next, Elsa took a wet rag and pressed it against her skin. The relief was palpable. “You’re family are at church, I offered to remain with you.”

“Thank you.” With shaking arms, Emma began to push herself to sit up. Elsa tried to keep her lying down, but Emma shooed away her hands. As she rose, flashes of her feverish days peppered her vision. Being tangled in the linens of her bed. Hot skin and cool hands. Dark, light, dark. She wanted to push away those unpleasant memories. “What have I missed?” she smiled, “A fortnight is an age in terms of gossip.”

The expression on her friend’s face was most unexpected. “Oh, well…”

Elsa brought her chair a little closer to the edge of the bed.

“Emma… it’s most wonderful. Captain Jones, well, he loves me. And he wants to marry.”

Emma’s heart felt fit to burst, “Oh Elsa, my dearest friend.” She clutched her hands tightly. “How...when?”

Elsa’s smile became wide and bright. “Last Sunday, when he returned from the city. He begged an audience after church and declared his affections. He wanted to ask my father for my hand immediately.”

“And what did your father say? I imagine he was most agreeable to the idea.” Elsa’s father had always been the protective type when it came to his daughter. It came from his military background, an old colonel in the army who had retired with a peerage and much time on his hands.

“I asked him to wait. Until you were well. I wanted you to know first.”

“Oh Elsa,” Emma sighed, tears in her eyes. She was so happy for her friend. “Well I heartily give my approval.”

There was a light giggle that pealed from her lips, that was quickly bit back by a serious expression. “There is more. News, I mean.”

Emma pursed her lips.

“While you were sick. Oh Emma, he was so worried. He wanted to see you but of course it was out of the question. He visited every day - sometimes more than once. Oh Emma, if you could have seen his face…”

“Who? Who do you speak of?”

Taking her hand, Emma pressed it against her forehead to try and ward of the ache that she could feel threatening to come.

“Lieutenant Jones,” Elsa exclaimed, as though it was the most obvious thing in the world. “I’ve never seen a man so worried. I had no idea he had feelings for you.”

Emma squirmed against the bedclothes. The idea that Killian Jones had been worried for her was unsettling. Not unwelcome, but strange and somewhat jarring.

But if it were time for confessions, perhaps she had one of her own.

“He proposed,” Emma said flatly.

Elsa stared at her.

“In the church yard,” Emma went on.

“And you…”

“I told him he was the last man I would ever consider marrying.”

Elsa’s shoulders slumped. “Oh Emma, I’m sure you can fix this. He really did seem most concerned for you.”

“Probably guilt,” Emma snapped, surprising herself with the bitterness in her words. “The reason I got caught in the rain was because of his unwanted proposal.”

Shrinking back a little into her seat, Elsa nodded, “Perhaps?”

Emma began to tug the blankets further up her body, the aches that her fever had brought with them, suddenly apparent. “I think I should sleep. Please let my family know when they return.”

Nodding, Elsa stood. She hesitated a moment as if she was going to say something, but then she changed her mind and quietly left the room.

It was another two days before the physician agreed that she could leave her bed. And another week before she was fit for company.

Elsa and Captain Jones’ engagement was announced in time for Emma to attend a supper in their honour at Elsa’s home. Representatives of the main families of Storyton were in attendance as, of course, were the officers. Emma sat stiffly beside her friend, coarsely aware of the burning gaze of Lieutenant Jones from across the table. Still a little weakened from her illness, Emma ate sparsely. Whilst genuinely happy for her friend, the presence of her would-be suitor had placed a fly in the ointment.

If truth were told, she was a little embarrassed.

Her words to him had been so hasty. Now coloured by the events that took place in her absence, they seemed even more foolish. She couldn’t look at him. She couldn’t bare the thought of what he thought of her now.

After dinner, she excused herself and explained that she wished to take in some fresh air. But she didn’t head for the small garden at the rear of the house, instead she found herself entering the library where she sat on one of the old arm chairs where her and Elsa would wile away the winter evenings in front of the fire.

But that would all change now, she realised as the darkness enveloped her. By winter, her friend would be married. Perhaps she would even have moved to another posting, the regiment was prone to relocation at a moment's notice.

Loneliness enveloped her. It was a familiar emotion. One she wore well. She became lost in its tangible embrace even as the door to the library opened and she was joined by another.

“Miss Swan.”

His soft, melodic voice pierced through her dark reverie.

She looked up, eyes wide. “Lieutenant,” she whispered.

They both took a moment just to look at each other. She ashamed and miserable; his expression part hopeful and part resigned.

“May I have a moment of your time?”

She nodded. That was the least she could do, was it not? To redeem herself for the way she treated his proposal.

He walked through the shaft of moonlight that the tall windows allowed into the room, taking his place a respectful distance from her. Not sitting but standing stiffly, formally.

“I am glad you are well.”

She nodded again. She wasn’t quite sure what to say.

His eyes darted around the room.

“I am sorry that my words played a part in your illness, Miss Swan. I would never have expressed my feelings for you had I anticipated your reaction.”

Emma sat a little straighter.

“I’ve ran that afternoon over and over in my mind so many times and how I wish I had gone after you. But I was a coward stung by the rejection. Even as I saw the rain begin to fall, I didn’t think-”

His voice broke and Emma rose.

“You have no guilt to bear, Lieutenant. I chose to storm away so childishly.” She looked him in the eye. “I was raised better than to treat a gentleman so.” His expression softened, his mouth relaxing into it’s usual pretty arrangement and the furrow in his brow fading away. “Therefore I believe it is I who needs to provide an apology.”

Emma was suddenly aware of the ticking of the mantle clock and the muffled sounds of the ongoing dinner party. She allowed herself the indulgence of really looking at his face for a moment. His dark curling lashes. The scar on his cheek. This would no doubt be the last time she could be privy to such close inspection.

“I should return,” she said, offering a small smile to him.

“Please don’t,” he replied. His voice so small that she would not have believed it to be his had he not been before her.

A thickening in her gut accompanied a heavy blush. He was staring at her. So intensely. So… longingly. He had this way of looking at her that no one else had ever managed.

(She was scared it might be love in his eyes-)

“I was so worried, Miss Swan. I worried that I may never see you again.”

“You have made your apology-”

“No. Not to apologise.” He sighed and looked down. “I feared I would never see your smile again. Or the way your eyes dance when you laugh. And that I would never again feel the way I do when in your presence.”

Emma sucked in a dizzying breath of air.

“You told me that I was the last man you would ever consider marrying and I do not take that lightly. But- my brother, he tells me that a man is measured by his actions. So I am hereby pledging myself to prove that I am not the man who I have at first appeared to you.”

It took a moment for her to understand.

“You told the Captain of our conversation. You united him and Elsa.”

“I spoke of it. I apologise if those words were meant to be kept private but I see all has turned out for the best on that score. And I promise, for as long as it takes, to do all in my power to improve your opinion of me.” He gave her an earnest look. He looked so noble and honest.

Boldly, she reached out and took his hand.

“My opinion of you is far better than you suspect.”

It was true. It had been since she had first met him and seen the kindness that lingered beneath his formality.

“It is?”

“Why yes,” she nodded, taking a step closer. “In fact, my dearest wish is that our last conversation be forgotten.”

Then his face fell.

“Of course, Miss Swan, I never intended - I mean, I will not speak of my proposal again-”

“That’s not what I mean.” She grinned at his babbling. It suited him, this shyness. “I meant my reaction.”

He tilted his head, as if her were assessing her words.

“Am I to take it that your reaction may differ should happenstance cause that situation to arise again?”

She surprised herself by nodding.

He surprised her by sinking to his knee.

“Miss Swan. Would you do me the honour of agreeing to marry me?”

Her heart raced.

“Marry me, Emma ?”

Her name sounded so good on his lips. Deliciously soft and loving. She wanted him to say it again. A thousand times.

“Yes,” was her simple reply.

Tentatively, he rose, her hand in his, both staring at each other in wonder.

“This is a most unexpected turn of events.”

She nodded, “Indeed, it is a dream.”

He smiled and she lost another piece of her heart to him. Not that there was much left for him to take.

“There is a way to dispel notions that this is anything but reality.”

“Oh,” he whispered, his face so close that she was wrapped up in the blue of his eyes.

“A kiss,” she suggested, her own eyes falling to his soft, pink lips.

“A kiss,” he smiled.

Their kiss was certainly not a dream, though she felt as if she was floating on her air, her legs losing their traction as he pulled her into his arms. Brief though it was, she was left with no uncertainty of the passion of his feelings.

The rest of the evening was torture. His glances, both loving and heated both tormented and sustained her. That night she slept fitfully, dreaming of him. Of their kiss. Knowing that come the morning he would speak to her father. That sometime soon she would be Mrs Killian Jones.

And that sometimes a fragile heart can be healed by the gentlest kind of love.

Also tagging those who liked part 1:

@artielu @tehgreeneyes @pirateherokillian @klar425

And @cat-sophia @captainswanismyendgame

#captain swan #cs ff #cs au #jill writes things

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blueboxesandtrafficcones · 5 years

Text

Queen of Hearts - Chapter 11

Based on the Hallmark Movie ‘Royal Matchmaker’. Chapters will be posted every Sunday.

As always, beta’d by the wonderful @stupidsatsuma! @doctorroseprompts

Masterlist | AO3

---

Sunday, April 14th

“Ta da!” Rose said triumphantly, laying three pictures down on the desk.

The first was Peri Brown - twenty-three, she was the daughter of an American newspaper magnate. A botanist by trade, they shared a love of science and nature. A (potential) marriage of opposites meant she would be ideal to breathe life and fun into the palace, with her bubbly optimism and can-do spirit.

In the middle was Romana Trelundar, a brunette beauty and Italian Countess. The epitome of elegance, she would bring grace and decorum to the role. At thirty-five she was the oldest of the three, but brought a level of maturity to the match the younger women might not.

Then, third, was the highest-rated of the three, Rose’s top choice if Reinette didn’t pull through.

Twenty-seven year old Clara Oswald was the daughter of an English Earl from the Midlands. After a few aimless years out of uni, she’d found a love for teaching literature. After discovering the King’s dedication to the Children’s Center, Clara’s roots in educating and tending to children put her near the top of the list.

All three smiled up from candid photos Mel had pulled from their Instagrams. They were the final three, the culmination of two weeks of frantic matchmaking, and one of them would hopefully result in an untarnished reputation for Rose, when the lucky one married the King.

Her heart clenched.

“Great job!” Mel gushed, as they peered down at the photographs together. “I knew you could do it.”

“We’re not done yet,” Rose warned. “Not until the King says ‘I do’. Then we can relax and celebrate.”

“Oh, I’m sure we’ll be celebrating,” her friend said, with just enough of a hint of mystery in her tone to catch Rose’s attention.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Mel shrugged, slurping at her ever-present glass of carrot juice. “I’m just looking forward to seeing how this all turns out. Attending a royal wedding. On your birthday!”

“Me too.” Rose worried her lip. So much was riding on the success of this job, the idea of failure was unthinkable, and every time it was alluded to, her breath caught and her heart ached with nerves and worry.

“Did we get his surveys back?”

“Nope. He said he’s not quite ready to hand them over yet. Starting tomorrow he’ll spend a full day with each of them – Wednesday night he’ll let me know. He said he wants to be sure.”

Studying the three pictures in front of her, Rose let her gaze drift up towards Reinette’s picture, which was still tacked onto the corkboard mostly out of hope.

Please let him find someone. Please let him find the one.

Wednesday, April 17th

With nothing to do but wait, Rose and Mel spent the first half of the week getting in touch with Reinette and arranging her travel. With her job almost complete but for him to make his decision, she had no excuse reason to spend the day shadowing him, though she continued to be summoned to share meals.

She told herself (and Mel, not that her friend ever asked) that her enthusiasm was for the opportunity to hear about how his relationships with the women were progressing.

Which would have been true, if he told her anything.

By Wednesday night she was ready to tear her hair out with frustration, equally eager and terrified to hear who he would choose.

It has to be Clara, right? she worried her thumbnail, as Ryan led her through the palace ostensibly for dinner. Will she be there? Where are we going, anyway?

“His Majesty is down by the lake,” Ryan said, stopping at the doors to the patio that faced said lake. Holding out her coat to her, his expectation that she would join the King was clear.

“Thank you,” was all she said, wrapping the trench coat around herself and stepping out the door, grumbling to herself. If I‘d known I was coming outside, I would’ve worn pants. Thinking they’d be inside for the night, she’d worn a cocktail dress and heels just as she had most of the evenings, leaving her legs bare and freezing. Her only consolation was that the ground was so solid, her stilettos didn’t sink into the dirt.

First thing that check is buying are new shoes, she thought, picking her way down the worn dirt path. She could see him, now, a solitary figure at the lakeside, illuminated by the moonlight.

In another life, it would be utterly romantic, and if she were one of the three potential matches she would think he was about to propose.

“Hi,” she said quietly when she got close enough, not wanting to startle him.

“Hey.” The King let out a heavy sigh, and Rose’s heart simultaneously clenched and eased.

Stepping up she stood shoulder to shoulder with him, only inches away from touching as they stared out at the water together.

“What’s going on?” she finally asked, after several freezing minutes. She didn’t want to rush him, but the air was even colder down on the shore, and she would shortly shiver herself to death. “How did your days with Peri, Romana, and Clara go?”

The King shrugged, glancing her way, an unenthused expression on his face. “Fine. They were all lovely women. In another universe I could have been friends with any one of them, maybe.”

“And in this one?”

He licked his lips. “Nothing. Not one damn butterfly. I’m sure they’re perfect for someone, but that someone isn’t me.”

“Nothing?!” Rose demanded, incensed and a little offended. Did he even try? Is he just trying to waste my time, run out the clock? “Okay maybe not love, but nothing? What’s wrong with you!”

“Oi!”

“I know what I’m doing,” she insisted. If he doesn’t marry one of them, someone, then my career is done. “Those women could be perfect for you! Were you open to it? If you don’t open your heart you won’t find anyone! Are you just determined to- to- to make me fail?”

Surprisingly, the King managed to keep his cool, though he gave her a severe look. “You said I’d know,” he maintained, “and I did know – that they weren’t right. Surely there must be other women. What about that French girl?”

“Reinette,” she snapped, “will be arriving tomorrow night. Your engagement party is a week from today. I suggest you think very carefully before dismissing her so quickly as well. At this point, there are no guarantees.”

And turning on her heel, she stomped back up to the palace without waiting to be dismissed, fuming all the way.

Ian watched her go, too amused to be surprised or offended by her lack of consideration for protocol.

You’re a total goner, Ian Reginald, the little voice in the back of his mind whispered, and sighing, he knew it was right.

Sticking his hands in his pockets he made his way to the palace, surprised but pleased to enter his dining room to find her already in her chair, arms crossed. She was still stewing, but she was there, and at the moment that was all that mattered.

She pointedly didn’t rise when he entered, not saying a word until their first course was served and they were alone. “Tell me why you didn’t like them.”

“They weren’t-” you “-right. They were interesting, but I wasn’t interested. No spark, no butterflies. No fireworks.”

“Was there something specific? Something I can use to adjust the formula, I mean? Too… old, too young, you want a blonde or a brunette or a redhead? Spanish, Eastern European, American? Nobility? Wealthy? I just- I don’t understand how all of them could be so wrong!” Rose viciously stabbed at her salad, and he had to hide a smile.

“Let’s see how it goes with Reinette,” he said gently, “and then… then we’ll see.”

He would play along, meet the woman, spend time with her.

And then, he would figure out how to convince his sister to let him marry Rose.

Happy indigestion indeed.

Thursday, April 18th

Ian spent the next morning in a state of placid panic, as he waited on pins and needles for Reinette to arrive at the palace. He felt a tiny bit bad about dragging her to Gallifrey just to waste her time, but it had to be done, and he had to give her a fair chance before dismissing her.

Rose had arranged a late dinner for them to meet, in the restaurant attached to the largest inn in town.

She went along for the ride, ostensibly so she could formally introduce them, though he suspected it was mainly to badger and lecture him when he couldn’t escape.

With a desperate seriousness and blazing eyes, she let him have it, and he could hear the occasional snort from Graham as she ranted, but Ian paid far more attention to her mouth than the words coming out of it. With every severe gesture the pom on the top of her beanie waved.

It was adorable. She was adorable.

“Are you even listening to me?!” she demanded, snapping him out of his daze.

“Of course,” Ian rolled his eyes, blatantly lying; judging by her narrowed gaze, she knew it as well.

Pursing her lips and crossing her arms, she said, “I’m working on finding more candidates if you’re not happy with her, but please give her a chance. The wedding is in nine days. You need to decide.”

“All right, all right,” he dismissed, not quite ready to tell her he had decided. He would have dinner with Reinette, then tomorrow morning sit down with Donna and Sarah and tell them his plans. Provided they agreed, Rose could be wearing his ring in less than twenty-four hours.

His stomach rioted at the idea, but in a good way, and he found her description of happy indigestion to still be on the nose. “Wish me luck.”

“Good luck! And behave.” The car pulled to a stop and they got out, Ian offering Rose his hand and thrilled when she took it.

She led him into the restaurant and towards the booth tucked in the corner. The locals in the restaurant recognized him, starting to stand, but he just smiled and shook his head.

A lithe blonde poured from the booth at seeing them to stand next to it, dropping into a technically perfect curtsey. “Your Majesty,” she murmured, the words rolling off her tongue with a delightful French accent.

“Your ladyship,” he replied, taking her hand and kissing it gently. To his amusement Rose’s face twitched, a sour expression flashing across it, in jealousy he hoped. “A pleasure.”

“I’ll leave you to it,” Rose bit out, smiling so brightly he thought her face would crack. After seeing so many genuine grins from her, it was easy to tell how fake this one was. She is jealous! “Bon appetit.”

And she spun on her heel and left, Ian watching her go with a twinkle in his eye before settling down on the far side of the booth, across from Reinette and giving him a visual of the entire room.

Picking up his menu, he peeked towards the door to see Rose standing there, door half open, watching with what could only be described as a longing look.

I just have to get through tonight, then tomorrow she will be mine.

Despite his preoccupation with Rose, he found Reinette to be a decent dinner companion. If he wasn’t already arse over teakettle for Rose, he might have even found himself drawn to her. She was clever and witty, full of confidence but not herself. They shared many interests, and even knew many of the same people – her family home in France was less than an hour’s drive from the Gallifreyan/French border.

Exactly as Rose had predicted, she would make the perfect queen of Gallifrey.

But she wasn’t Rose.

Deciding to forgo a ride back to the palace, after seeing Reinette to the stairs as she was staying in the attached hotel, he stuck his hands in his pockets and walked back. It was a solid two-mile walk, but for as often as he did it it was nothing to him.

The crisp, clean air helped clear his mind, and he plotted out first his conversation with Donna and Sarah, and then how he would broach the subject with Rose. The first he wasn’t concerned about; the two women were constantly raving about her, how impressed they were with her, and had nothing but good things to say about how she had organized the benefit for the Children’s Center.

His worry was how to start the conversation with Rose. His gut said she felt as he did, that his feelings were not unrequited, but that she would take convincing. She hadn’t come to Gallifrey to marry, and if she did become Queen, she would have to give up the life she knew. Her dedication and love for her career were obvious, and he was sorry to know if she accepted she would have to leave it behind.

Whistling softly to himself as he climbed the steps to go around to the back patio, wanting to avoid the fuss of walking in through the front door, he spotted her leaning on the balcony of the upper level of the garden, staring out at the lake. Walking on the lower path to stand beneath her, feeling like the Romeo to her Juliet and trying to remember how exactly the scene started so he could quote it to her, he heard her speak.

“I’ll be home once the King is married on Saturday.” A pause, and he realized she was on her mobile. Talking to her mum? He knew the two were close, and he wondered if he should announce his presence; given the angle and darkness, she probably couldn’t see him. “Come on Mickey, don’t be like that.” Mickey? Who was Mickey? “Of course I miss you.” What? “I’ll be home soon, we can start planning the wedding then. I’ve got to go though, it’s late.” Wedding? “Love you too. Night.”

Love you. Love you. Love you.

The words repeated in his mind as Ian’s heart shattered into a trillion tiny pieces, laying broken and bleeding on the flagstones.

How could I have been so wrong?

#bbatcfic #doctorroseprompts #ficandchips #Doctor Who #12xRose #12th Doctor #Rose Tyler #AU #Queen of Hearts #royalty AU

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kashmiresims · 7 years

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Bridal Pains

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The setting was rather decadent in the worst of ways. Frills, flowery perfume, and an exorbitant amount of white décor. The only thing L'Amour Bridal Boutique had going for it was the classical music playing in the showroom.

Evelyn Jane was there at her elder sister's request. Speaking of Victoria, she was standing in front of a series of mirrors in a wedding gown while a tailor was fiddling with the petticoat.

"Can you take that bit up, Gene?" Victoria asked. She didn't look pleased. Evelyn Jane couldn't see why. The dress was absolutely beautiful and looked gorgeous on her.

"You don't want to disturb the material it too much, I can take it away but adding it back is tricky. I'd advise you not to Miss Orbinson," the tailor said from where he was crouched at her feet.

"Nice dress," Evelyn Jane commented as she approached.

Victoria's expression of displeasure lifted at once at hearing Evelyn Jane's voice. She turned and pulled her sister into a tight hug, "Evie! You made it!"

She then turned to the tailor and said, "Fine. I won't take any of it up."

The tailor looked relieved. He'd probably been dealing with Victoria's bouts of Bridezillah-ness all afternoon.

"What did you need?' Evelyn Jane asked as she followed Victoria into the changing room. Victoria gestured to the laces at the back of her bridal gown and Evelyn Jane obliged by loosening them. Her sister then went on the other side of a dressing screen.

"You're picking out a bridesmaid dress today, dear sister."

When Evelyn Jane got a call from Victoria earlier that day to meet, she didn't expect this was what it was for. Victoria knew Evelyn Jane would try to avoid it until the last minute, so never mentioned exactly what they were to meet about. Curse Victoria for knowing Evelyn Jane’s habits too well.

Victoria had piled a few dresses on hangers for her sister to try on. All were pink as previously promised.

"Why do I have to choose? It's your wedding." Evelyn Jane bemoaned and looked at the choices with distaste. Victoria was done changing back to her casual clothing. She rolled her eyes with a playful air as she passed.

"Evie, I know you dislike the color but it's important to me that you pick something that you’re most comfortable in," Victoria smiled and took a seat to wait.

Evelyn Jane pulled her striped shirt off and set it in the changing booth, exchanging it with a short peplum-style dress. It squeezed against her thighs but as she checked herself out in the mirror, she realized her legs looked awesome. The color was wrong on her though.

She stepped out and gestured toward herself for Victoria's appraisal, caught site of herself from the side and grimaced. While her legs looked great, her behind looked larger than usual.

"Oooh you look so good in that!"

"Well then that's settled," Evelyn Jane said dryly and made to go back and get dressed.

"No! You have to try them all on. What if you look better in the next?"

Evelyn Jane rolled her eyes but acquiesced and tried the second dress on. It was long, invoked more of a formality than the first. She made a disapproving face at seeing her reflection. It might have been exquisitely flattering but it made her look like some sort of spring maiden, something she was definitely not.

"How is Sawyer" Evelyn Jane inquired, making a quick appearance to show Victoria the second dress and intended to go right back in.

"He's fine," Victoria answered but stopped Evelyn Jane from returning and asked her to do a twirl.

When they were girls, they would spend their summer days inventing elaborate dance routines to show their father when he returned from work. Evelyn Jane had become very graceful through that practice. She executed a perfect twirl much to Victoria's amusement. The skirt of the dress flowed outward. Okay, she had to admit It was fun to wear but she doubted she'd be able to twirl much at the wedding.

"Has he found a job yet?"

Victoria briefly scowled at Evelyn Jane for the doubtful tone. Sawyer was Victoria's husband-to-be. He was a nice guy but he was a dreamer—wanted to travel the world and sweep Victoria off her feet. Their family had reservations at first at Victoria's pick in a partner.

He had a lot of good ideas for business start-ups through if he could just find an investor...

It wasn't like he was soon to have a wealthy father-in-law who could provide a means to lift a fledgling business off the ground.

"He's going to be his own boss. He has a series of investment meetings this week. Tomorrow is the first one."

"Well good luck with that," Evelyn Jane said and returned to the changing booth to try on the last dress.

It made her look like their grandmother. Despite her protests, Victoria insisted on seeing how it looked and once Evelyn Jane stepped out from behind the dressing screen, Victoria was sent into pits of laughter.

"That's the one!"

"Vicky, NO," Evelyn Jane started to mildly panic, "Besides you said I could choose!"

It would be disastrous if she was seen wearing something so gaudy. There would be photographers and possible even journalists since it was an Orbinson wedding.

"I'm just teasing. Plumbbobs, calm down," Victoria finished laughing, making a show of how funny it was by clutching her tummy. She often riled her little sister up as older sisters tended to do, ever since they were children.

Evelyn Jane grit her teeth together, she disliked being teased—mostly because it caused her to lose composure. There was something she found shameful in being set up for a reaction and taking the bait. At least that was the impression her parents had always given her. There was a careful and delicate tightrope of personal versus public face the Orbsinons always maintained.

"Are you bringing anyone to the wedding? You know you can have a plus one," Victoria asked after finishing off her laughter. Evelyn Jane quickly disappeared behind the screen once more to change back into her regular clothes; she couldn’t stand to be in that baby pink nightmare any longer than needed.

And regarding Victoria’s comment, Who could Evelyn Jane even bring? She couldn't think of anyone to suit a spot.

"I don't know," she finally admitted after pulling her shirt over her head.

"What about the Ambassador?"

Evelyn Jane didn't hide the derisive snort at the suggestion, as she pulled on her white skinny jeans and heels.

Like hell she was going to take someone her parents wanted to match her up with.

"I don't even know him. I'd rather just go alone."

"You don't mean that, Evie," Victoria said. It annoyed Evelyn Jane that Victoria thought she knew everything Evelyn Jane felt.

Evelyn Jane popped her head around the screen and frowned, "Yes. I. Do. Now drop it."

It wasn't like she had a secret stash of male escorts to pick from. She hadn't had time nor interest to cultivate any kind of relationships with men in college, not when Shaun Piper's shadow constantly lurked over her head.

She bitterly thought about how every other Sunday she was expected to meet him. To collaborate.

She wiped that melancholy thought from bleeding into a facial expression and returned to Victoria with the dresses draped over her arm.

"So...which dress do you want? I'll buy it for you," Victoria smiled, now concerned with the matter at hand and thankfully not on her sister's love life.

"If I must choose—the first one is acceptable enough."

"Don't sound so excited. You could be having to wear the one in grandmother's style," Victoria was back to teasing but Evelyn Jane was prepared and didn't lash out with a reply. Victoria then took the dresses, placed the rejects on a rack and they walked to the front of the boutique to the check-out.

As promised, Victoria paid. Despite the dress not being something Evelyn Jane would ever buy herself, she was appreciative that Victoria was kind enough to realize that and purchase it for her. She really was a princess from a fairy tale, despite her elder sister tendencies to provoke Evelyn Jane at times. Evelyn Jane gave a genuine smile but before she could thank Victoria, her cell phone rang.

Evelyn Jane's smile vanished as she saw who it was that was calling. She should have just not answered—but that was risky. She told Victoria she would be a minute and went outside, leaving her sister to banter with the dress tailor.

"What do you want?" She asked as soon as she answered, "You aren’t supposed to call me."

"Miss Evie, that is no tone to take with me. I was calling to inform you that I am moving our collaboration meeting to tonight."

"What? You can't do that!" She hissed.

"I can do what I damn well please. If you don’t like it, take it up with the reporters who will be on your father's doorstep first thing in the morning. I hear your sister's wedding is coming up soon not to mention he's is running a re-election campaign. It would be a shame for everyone to discover our relationship so close to these events."

The way he referred to it as a 'relationship' made her skin crawl.

"Wait!" Evelyn Jane's eyes went wide as she struggled to maintain composure and not resort to shouting expletives at the maestro in front of L'Amour Bridal Boutique. It had been a long time since he'd openly threatened to leak their affair to the public, "Fine. What time would you like to meet?"

"The usual. nine o'clock this evening. Wear something fine."

She was about to ask him why but he had ended the call. She made a frustrated noise at the back of her throat.

"Hey Evie! Are you free tonight? Sawyer is flying to Quincy this evening to present to a prospective investor tomorrow and I thought we could get dinner and have a sleepover!" Victoria startled Evelyn Jane by coming up behind her and asking.

Evelyn Jane shook her head regretfully, and it pained her to say "Sorry, but I have a previous engagement."

#ts2 #kashmiresims #the sims 2 #sims 2 #nov arc #my shots #sims 2 story

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kansascityhappenings · 5 years

Text

House to hold formal vote on impeachment inquiry this week

WASHINGTON (AP) — The House will take a vote this week to formalize Democrats’ impeachment inquiry amid President Donald Trump’s criticism that the probe is “illegitimate.” House Speaker Nancy Pelosi says the step is being taken “to eliminate any doubt” about the process as the administration tries to block witnesses and withhold documents.

In a letter to colleagues on Monday, Pelosi said the resolution will “affirm the ongoing, existing investigation” and lay out procedures for open hearings and the next steps going forward. She dismissed the White House’s argument that impeachment isn’t happening without a formal vote, saying that “of course, this argument has no merit.”

The Constitution doesn’t require a vote to begin impeachment. But Trump and his Republican colleagues have cited the lack of one to say that the probe is not real. Trump used that argument in a lengthy letter to the House earlier this month saying that he wouldn’t cooperate.

Many government officials have cooperated with the inquiry despite Trump’s orders. But Pelosi’s letter comes as a national security official defied a House subpoena Monday, escalating the standoff between Congress and the White House over who will testify.

Charles Kupperman, who was a deputy to former national security adviser John Bolton, failed to show up for a scheduled closed-door deposition after filing a lawsuit asking a federal court in Washington to rule on whether he was legally required to appear. In a statement, Kupperman said he was awaiting “judicial clarity.”

House Intelligence Chairman Adam Schiff said Kupperman’s suit has “no basis in law” and speculated that the White House didn’t want him to testify because his testimony could be incriminating. Democrats are investigating Trump’s pressure on the Ukrainian government to pursue politically motivated investigations as the administration was also withholding military aid to the country.

“If this witness had something to say that would be helpful to the White House, they would’ve wanted him to come and testify,” Schiff told reporters. “They plainly don’t.”

Schiff said the three committees leading the impeachment inquiry will move forward, with or without testimony from Kupperman and other witnesses. Democrats have indicated that they are likely to use no-show witnesses to write an article of impeachment against Trump for obstruction of justice, rather than launching potentially lengthy court battles to obtain testimony.

“We are not willing to allow the White House to engage us in a lengthy game of rope-a-dope in the courts, so we will move forward,” Schiff said.

Two current National Security Council staff members, Alexander Vindman and Tim Morrison, are scheduled to appear this week and would be the first White House employees to testify in the inquiry.

Morrison’s attorney, Barbara Van Gelder, said in an email Monday that if Morrison is subpoenaed, he will appear.

The argument advanced by Kupperman’s lawyers turns on his status as a close adviser to the president and may not be available for other administration officials who are lower down the executive branch organization chart or who did not have regular contact with Trump.

Kupperman, his lawyers say, met with and advised Trump on a regular basis and therefore cannot be compelled to testify.

Schiff said over the weekend that he wants Bolton to testify, though that has not yet been scheduled. He told ABC’s “This Week” on Sunday that Bolton, who, according to other witnesses, had concerns about the Ukraine policy, “has very relevant information.” But he predicted that the White House, which has vowed to obstruct the investigation, would fight a Bolton appearance.

After hearing from a series of State Department officials, the three committees leading the impeachment investigation are turning their focus to the White House. Lawmakers say they are hoping to get more answers about what aides close to Trump knew about his orders on Ukraine policy.

“They’re in the White House, so they’re much closer to where the policymaking supposedly was supposed to happen with regard to the Ukraine, and they can really shine a light on whether it was happening properly or not,” said Illinois Rep. Raja Krishnamoorthi, a Democratic member of the House Intelligence Committee.

Several of the State Department officials have already told lawmakers of their concerns as Trump’s personal lawyer Rudy Giuliani took charge of Ukrainian policy and as Trump pushed out the U.S. ambassador there.

William Taylor, the current top diplomat in Ukraine, testified last week that he was told aid to the country would be withheld until the country conducted investigations into Trump’s potential 2020 Democratic rival Joe Biden and his family and into Ukraine’s involvement in the 2016 U.S. presidential election.

In Kupperman’s lawsuit, he asked a judge to decide whether he should accede to House demands for his testimony or assert “immunity from congressional process” as directed by Trump. He said he “cannot satisfy the competing demands of both the legislative and executive branches,” and without the court’s help, he said, he would have to make the decision himself — one that could “inflict grave constitutional injury” on either Congress or the presidency.

“Given the issue of separation of powers in this matter, it would be reasonable and appropriate to expect that all parties would want judicial clarity,” Kupperman said in a statement.

The court had yet to rule by Monday morning, and his lawyer said in a letter that he was waiting for a judge to step in before committing to testify.

The three chairmen of the House committees overseeing the inquiry told Kupperman’s lawyers in a letter over the weekend that the suit was without merit and appeared to be coordinated with the White House. They called it “an obvious and desperate tactic by the President to delay and obstruct the lawful constitutional functions of Congress and conceal evidence about his conduct from the impeachment inquiry.”

Kupperman’s attorney, Charles Cooper, wrote in a letter that it was not his client who was challenging Congress’ constitutional claims.

“It is President Trump, and every president before him for at least the last half century, who have asserted testimonial immunity to their closest confidential advisers,” Cooper wrote. “If your clients’ position on the merits of this issue is correct, it will prevail in court, and Dr. Kupperman, I assure you again, will comply with the court’s judgment.”

from FOX 4 Kansas City WDAF-TV | News, Weather, Sports https://fox4kc.com/2019/10/28/house-to-hold-formal-vote-on-impeachment-inquiry-this-week/

from Kansas City Happenings https://kansascityhappenings.wordpress.com/2019/10/28/house-to-hold-formal-vote-on-impeachment-inquiry-this-week/

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