#MY CUTESY WEDDING GOWN

[seumyo]

“finally wearing your tie correctly, huh?” she asks cheekily. “it only took you like, how long? eight years?”

he huffs, “i wore it just fine during our second year, dummy.” he glances at her, momentarily unable to say anything. “had to make this one perfect.”

[the-blackdale]

My biggest weakness is Aziraphale in long flowy white robes with them big ass sleeves that move when he flutters his hands and it's all just so babygirl coded !!! Like yes girl, go frolick in a field, run through the daffodils, you deserve it !!

[luvoverdose]

‘ 𝐌𝐄𝐄𝐓 𝐂𝐔𝐓𝐄 ‘ — 𝐌𝐚𝐭𝐭 𝐒𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐨𝐥𝐨

▏in which. Matt never expected to find his forever at a friend’s wedding, but fate had other plans.

contains. super cutesy fluff, swearing,

Matt and his family trudged through the biting cold, their thick layers offering little protection against the sharp, relentless wind. Snow crunched beneath their boots, and the occasional gust sent icy flurries stinging against their cheeks.

"Who even gets married in the middle of winter?" Nick muttered under his breath, casting a glance at his brothers as they neared the grand entrance of the venue. His tone was equal parts exasperated and incredulous, his breath clouding in the frosty air.

"Someone with a serious love for frostbite," Matt replied dryly, adjusting his scarf and pulling his coat tighter as another gust whipped past them. Behind them, their mother shot them a look that could freeze water midair.

"Behave yourselves," she said sharply. "It's a beautiful day, and you're not the ones getting married."

Nick snorted but kept his thoughts to himself as the family reached the door. A wave of warmth and the sound of muffled laughter spilled out, promising a stark contrast to the frigid outdoors.

Meanwhile, you were upstairs with your sister, the bride, trying your best to ignore the icy chill seeping through the old walls. The small space heater in the corner did little more than hum uselessly, and you rubbed your arms in a futile attempt to warm up.

"Is there any heat up here? Holy shit," you muttered, smoothing down your crimson silk dress, the fabric offering no protection against the cold. The deep red shimmered in the dim light, but all you could focus on was the goosebumps prickling your skin.

"We agreed on no complaining, remember?" your sister teased, her voice light and steady despite the chaos of the day. She turned back to the mirror, tilting her head slightly as she adjusted the delicate lace sleeves of her gown. "Plus, I think I’m ready."

She smiled softly, her reflection radiating that surreal bridal glow you’d only ever seen in movies. Grabbing her bouquet—an elegant arrangement of deep reds, creams, and greens—she turned to face you fully, her excitement bubbling just beneath the surface.

"You sure? No cold feet?" you asked with a wry grin, crossing your arms to fight the chill again.

Her smile widened, her eyes sparkling. "None. But if my toes fall off from this weather, you’re carrying me down the aisle."

Downstairs, the final details were falling into place as the ceremony began. The seating was elegant but simple, white chairs dusted with evergreen sprigs and soft candlelight casting a warm glow over the room. The cold outside was forgotten in the cozy ambiance, and soon, it was time for the bridal party to take their places.

You stood in line with the other bridesmaids, gripping your bouquet tightly, your crimson dress catching the flickering light with every slight movement. The music began to swell, and Justin, Matt’s older brother and your assigned escort for the walk down the aisle, gave you a charming grin as he offered his arm.

“Ready?” he asked, his voice calm but tinged with amusement.

“As I’ll ever be,” you replied, looping your arm through his, hoping your heels wouldn’t betray you.

The two of you glided down the aisle in sync, all eyes on the bridal party. Well, almost all.

From where he stood at the groomsmen’s line, Matt caught sight of you, and the air seemed to leave his lungs entirely. He’d seen pretty women before, sure—but this? You were magnetic. The way the silk hugged your figure, the soft waves of your hair, the confident set of your shoulders as you moved with Justin—it was all too much and yet not enough.

His thoughts spiraled somewhere he probably shouldn’t have let them go in the middle of a wedding. He cleared his throat and tried to focus, but his eyes kept wandering back to you. Every curve, every subtle sway of your hips—it all demanded his full attention.

“Eyes forward,” his younger brother nudged him, smirking.

Matt forced himself to stare straight ahead, but his thoughts were anything but innocent.

After the ceremony and the dreamy reception filled with laughter, dancing, and endless champagne, Matt found himself standing at the edge of the room, nursing a drink and stealing glances at you across the crowd. You were laughing at something Justin had said, your head tilting back in a way that made Matt’s chest tighten.

Screw it, he thought.

“Hey, Justin,” Matt said, stepping up to his brother, trying to sound casual. “Who’s your date?”

Justin’s brow arched, a knowing smile creeping onto his face. “Not my date. That’s Y/N, one of the bridesmaids. Why?”

Matt shrugged, though the heat rising to his neck betrayed his nonchalance. “Think you could introduce us?”

Justin laughed, clapping Matt on the shoulder. “Man, you’ve been staring at her all night. Took you long enough to ask. Come on.”

Matt followed Justin across the room, his pulse quickening with every step. The moment Justin tapped your shoulder and said, “Hey, there’s someone you’ve got to meet,” Matt swore he forgot how to breathe.

You turned at Justin’s voice, your curious smile still lingering from whatever joke he’d told you moments before. When your eyes landed on Matt, that smile didn’t just linger—it deepened, and Matt felt it like a punch to the chest.

“This is my brother, Matt,” Justin said casually, giving Matt a little shove forward. “He’s been dying to meet you all night.”

“Has he now?” you asked, your voice teasing but warm, your gaze locking onto Matt’s.

Matt chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. “Not dying, exactly. Maybe… curious.”

“Curious, huh?” You tilted your head, your lips quirking into a playful grin. “Well, Matt, I’m Y/N. One of the bridesmaids, but I’m guessing you already knew that.”

Justin laughed, shaking his head. “And with that, my work here is done. Don’t blow it, Matt.” He clapped his brother on the back and walked off, leaving the two of you alone amidst the buzz of the reception.

Matt took a breath, trying to steady himself. “So… what do I say to someone who’s managed to distract me during an entire wedding ceremony?”

You raised a brow, your grin turning sly. “Is that your way of saying you were staring at me?”

He smirked, leaning slightly closer. “Guilty. But can you blame me? That dress is… dangerous.” His voice dipped, low enough to send a shiver up your spine.

“Oh, is that right?” you shot back, heat rising to your cheeks as you glanced away for a moment. “Careful, Matt, I might start thinking you’re trouble.”

He leaned in even closer, his voice dropping into a near-whisper. “And what if I am?”

Your breath caught for a second, but you refused to let him see you falter. You met his gaze head-on, a playful spark in your eyes. “Then I guess we’ll find out.”

The music shifted to a slower song, and Matt held out his hand without breaking eye contact. “Dance with me?”

You hesitated, just long enough to make him sweat a little, before finally slipping your hand into his. “Why not?”

The two of you moved to the dance floor, the world narrowing to just the two of you as Matt’s hand settled on your waist. His touch was warm, steady, and the way he looked at you—like you were the only person in the room—made your heart race.

“So, Matt,” you began, your voice light as you swayed to the music, “is this how you usually meet women at weddings?”

“Only the ones who make crimson look like a weapon,” he replied smoothly, earning a laugh from you.

As the night wore on, the conversation flowed as effortlessly as the dance, and by the end of the song, Matt knew one thing for certain: he wasn’t letting this be a one-time meeting.

The night carried on, the reception buzzing with laughter, music, and the kind of warmth that only weddings seemed to conjure. You found yourself mingling with family and friends, caught up in lighthearted conversations and the occasional glass of champagne. Every now and then, though, you’d catch Matt’s gaze across the room. He wasn’t subtle—each time your eyes met, a faint smile would tug at his lips, his eyes lingering just a beat too long.

It was after the cake cutting, when the crowd was thinning out on the dance floor, that Matt finally made his move. You were standing near the bar, swirling the last of your drink in your glass, when his voice broke through the din.

“Thought I’d find you here,” he said, leaning casually against the bar next to you.

You turned, your lips curving into a smirk. “Oh yeah? Stalking me now?”

“Not stalking,” he countered smoothly. “Just... gravitating.”

You laughed, shaking your head as you set your glass down. “Nice save.”

Matt grinned, his confidence growing with every second you stayed engaged. “So, how’s the night treating you?”

“It’s been fun,” you admitted. “Weddings have a way of making everything feel a little... magical.”

“Magical, huh?” He tilted his head, his eyes locking onto yours in a way that sent a flutter through your chest. “I’d agree. I think I got pretty lucky tonight.”

“Lucky how?” you asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Well,” he said, leaning in slightly, his voice dropping just enough to make your pulse quicken, “I met someone who completely stole my attention the moment I saw her. And now I’m trying to figure out how to make sure tonight isn’t the last time I see her.”

Your breath caught for a moment, his words catching you off guard. But you quickly recovered, your lips quirking into a sly smile. “You’re laying it on thick, huh?”

“Maybe,” he admitted, a soft laugh escaping him. “But I’m not lying.”

You tilted your head, pretending to consider his words. “Alright, then. Let’s say I believe you. What’s your next move?”

Matt’s grin turned boyish, almost endearing. “I was hoping you’d make it easy on me and just give me your number.”

You blinked, surprised by his straightforwardness, but the sincerity in his eyes made you soften. “Just like that, huh?”

“Just like that,” he said, holding out his phone. “Unless you want me to beg, but I’ve got to warn you—I’m terrible at it.”

You couldn’t help but laugh, shaking your head as you took his phone. “Alright, Matt. You’ve earned it.”

As you typed in your number, you felt his eyes on you, the weight of his attention palpable. When you handed the phone back, your fingers brushed against his, sending a jolt of warmth through you.

“There,” you said, your voice light but tinged with a hint of challenge. “Don’t lose it.”

Matt slipped his phone into his pocket, his gaze never leaving yours. “Oh, don’t worry. I won’t.”

For a moment, the noise of the reception faded, the two of you standing there like the only people in the room. And when you finally broke away to join the rest of the bridal party, you couldn’t help but glance back over your shoulder—only to find Matt still watching you, his smile soft and undeniably hopeful.

A year later, the two of you sat on the couch in Matt’s apartment, a warm blanket draped over your legs as the soft glow of fairy lights lit the room. His arm rested around your shoulders, pulling you close while you balanced a photo album in your lap. The album was new, one you’d put together after months of sorting through photos from your sister’s wedding—the day that changed everything.

“That was such a good day,” you murmured, running your fingers over a photo of the bride and groom sharing their first dance.

Matt leaned over to peek at the page, his lips curving into a smile. “It was. Perfect weather, cold but perfect, great food, good music…” He paused, his voice dropping into that familiar playful tone. “And then there was this one bridesmaid who completely stole the show.”

You rolled your eyes, laughing as you flipped to the next page. “Oh, please. No one was looking at me when my sister was in that dress.”

“Wrong,” Matt said firmly, his voice soft but certain. He reached out, flipping the album back to a photo of you walking down the aisle with Justin. The crimson dress shimmered under the light, your smile radiant as you glanced at the crowd. “I couldn’t look away. You were the most stunning thing I’d ever seen.”

You felt your cheeks warm at the memory, nudging him lightly with your elbow. “You’re ridiculous, you know that?”

“Maybe,” he admitted, pulling you closer, “but it’s true. I mean, come on, our whole story started there. If that’s not the definition of a meet-cute, I don’t know what is.”

You grinned, flipping to a photo of the two of you on the dance floor later that night. Your hand was resting on his chest, his head tilted down toward you as you laughed at something he’d said. The moment looked so natural, so effortless, that it was hard to believe it had only been hours after meeting him.

“It was kind of magical, wasn’t it?” you said softly, your fingers tracing the edge of the photo. “I mean, weddings are always special, but that one…”

“Was fate,” Matt finished for you, his voice playful but sincere.

You laughed, shaking your head. “Fate? Really? You’re going full rom-com on me now?”

“Hey, if the shoe fits,” he teased, brushing a kiss against your temple. “Think about it. If my brother hadn’t walked you down the aisle, if you hadn’t gone to the bar at the exact moment I worked up the courage to talk to you… it all just lined up.”

“Okay, maybe it was fate,” you conceded with a smile, tilting your head to look up at him. “But you were so smooth that night, Matt. I still can’t believe you just handed me your phone and asked for my number.”

“Hey, I knew what I wanted,” he said with a shrug, leaning back with a smug grin. “And clearly, it worked out pretty well for me.”

You rolled your eyes again, though your smile softened as you turned the page to the final photo—a candid shot of the two of you at the reception. You were standing outside the venue, your arms wrapped around each other, laughing at some forgotten joke while snow fell softly in the background.

“That was my favorite moment,” you admitted quietly, your finger brushing over the photo. “It was freezing, and my heels were killing me, but I didn’t care. It was just… us.”

Matt leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. “That was the moment I knew I didn’t want it to be just one night.”

You looked up at him, your smile warm and a little teasing. “Oh, you knew, huh? All because of a wedding?”

“All because of our wedding,” he corrected, his eyes sparkling as he pulled you closer. “The one we didn’t plan, but somehow turned out perfect anyway.”

©luvoverdose

⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪. cute idea, not sure i executed it exactly how i wanted but that’s ok. as soon as i saw the wedding photos of matt this idea popped into my head sooo i hope you guys enjoy

[fala-alfredo-pasta]

Imagine the wedding. Fuyuhiko in a suit with Peko, Mahiru and Nagito beside him in gowns. They do the "You may now kiss" part in pairs. Fuyhiko + Peko and Nagito + Mahiru passionately kissing. Then Fuyuhiko + Nagito and Peko + Mahiru. And finally Peko and Nagito do cutesy little pecks on the lips with a smile on their faces. While Fuyuhiko and Mahiru awkwardly lean in and do a double-peck on one another's cheeks. They find a way to make it work in the end of course.

I am picturing this so vividly in my mind lolol

Mahiru showing off her wedding photos: “That’s my lovely wife, Peko, my beautiful husband, Nagito and Fuyuhiko. My buddy friend whom I am also married to legally speaking.”

Also I can’t help but picture them doing this pose:

with Mahi and Fuyu on the ends but instead of holding hands they’re doing a fist pump or flipping each other off because they’re in a middle of an argument lol.

[zeynepxturkmen]

Sipping away, they figured that tonight couldn't possibly get weirder by allowing the stranger to sit with them. Wait... Knock on wood, it wouldn't. On god, it better not. The man before them seemed normal enough and wasn't instantly hitting them up like their date before, so perhaps he was okay and simply just wanted a drink. Escape the world for awhile from his own problems, whatever they may be. They certainly weren't going to pry. Okay, at least, not yet.

Chuckling, Hero shook their head. They signaled for another drink as they finished the one they already had. Needing to brace themself for recounting the whole experience. "Okay." Clearing their throat, they turned their body to face him. Giving the man their entire attention as they got into storyteller mode. Lifting their hands up, jazz fingers, before speaking, "Now, imagine this: your employee knows that you're not interested in dating, yet creates a Tinder profile for you. Within minutes, they match you with someone who, on paper sounds perfect for you. Same shared interests, seems witty during the text exchanges, matches what your physical type tends to be; Seems perfect. So, instead of being mad with your employee, you decide to take the chance and go on this date. Meet this person at one of the restaurants and have a dinner together.

"Only, this isn't a cutesy, romantic book: this person barely knows you, yet is already a Grade A clinger. Glaring at the server who was suppose to wait on us and threatening him after he complimented my wallet. Asking me if she can meet my kids right after dinner. Telling me how she has been imagining her perfect wedding since she was a child and that she knows the absolute perfect wedding gown for me—all the while, mind you, misgendering me and waving me off every time I reminded her of my pronouns. All within the first ten minutes of us meeting. And then, the real kicker? She pulled a steak knife on the server for 'staring at me too sexually' and the police had to come to arrest her. Resulting in me apologizing to everyone and giving the server a hundred dollar tip for having to endure her crazy ass for thirty minutes." Scanning his eyes, they reached for their drink. Raising it in a toast before saying, "To crazy first dates and contemplating making my manager endure inventory day by themself for making me go through that bullshit." They took a drink and hoped that the alcohol would eventually helped them forget this batshit night soon. Glancing back at Khalil, they nodded towards him. "Okay, your turn. How's your night?" ||👾@khalilhassan

A particular brunette's offer replayed in his mind like a broken record, each spin all the more tempting. It had taken every ounce of his will power to crawl from the depths of his apartment and into the world he'd lost his footing in. Step for step, he'd felt three bottles in before having a sip. His career, his relationship, he'd flushed it all down the drown and stood idle as it slipped from his grasp. Truth was, perhaps he hadn't been built for either.

The agent, though he doubted he'd hold that title much longer, offered a flick of a smile at the other in response to their agreement. Perhaps conversation, or the lack thereof, was the very thing he needed. "I'll bite," he exhaled, a muscle flexing in his jaw as he turned slightly to angle himself towards the stranger. Maybe they didn't want to bother him, but they'd piqued his curiosity in a matter of a minute.

"About the weirdest date in history." Khalil's dark hues panned to the bartender and after a beat, he ordered a gin and tonic, opting for a local bottle from the very distillery he'd attempted to take down from the inside. Shame he'd failed and had yet to fully accept it. The same could have been said for his ex, though he'd long accepted that stomach turning reality. As for that brunette and the missing person that had brought them together... he wouldn't fail her. He couldn't.

@zeynepxturkmen

[queensumomo]

Dinner Mate: The Finale

Sorry...but what was that ending all about?

I wasn’t really expecting too much anymore since the last couple of episodes have disappointed me in terms of story development.  There were inconsistencies and loopholes that were so glaring.  Yet all that did little to dim my love for this drama because, ultimately, I was there for Kim Hae-kyung and Woo Do-hee.  I fell in love with this quirky duo and their unexpected but beautiful romance from the get-go and it seemed that no amount of writer-craziness would stand in the way.

Which is why I was thoroughly disappointed with the final episode.

[spoilers ahead]

I understand that the purpose of the last 2 episodes is often to wrap up not just the main story but all other story arcs as well.  But I would have expected that the writer would have focused more on wrapping up the story of Kim Hae-kyung and Woo Do-hee.  They teased the viewers long enough with their interactions and although we did get scenes of them kissing passionately, I was expecting that the last episode would end with the most logical conclusion to the relationship that began when they decided to become dinner mates:  their wedding.  We did get a wedding, but it was CEO Nam Ah-Young and Dr. Kim Hyun-u’s.  And that even felt rushed.

There were so many scenes when Hae-kyung not just hinted but outright stated that he wanted to get married.  He even spoke about it to Do-hee and even to her mother.  So I would have expected that they would have shown the wedding in the end.  Instead, what we got was a sort of cutesy proposal by the food truck where they shared their first meal.  And the way the proposal happened was so meh.  I wasn’t expecting that kind of dialogue from Kim Hae-kyung’s character, after all those lovely dialogues he had from early episodes.  Not that I would have expected poetic, flowery words.  But the sincerity seemed lacking.  It felt as if he just wanted to get it over with.  And though Do-hee’s eyes shimmered with tears when she said yes, it still left me dissatisfied.  The one scene that should have generated all that warmth and connection and genuine emotion between them actually felt flat.  Perhaps it would have been better if they just talked and laughed first as they ate their rice bowls, and then they should have walked by the beach and that’s when Hae-kyung should have formally asked her to marry him.  It wouldn’t even have to have a ring, but with the kind of person that Kim Hae-kyung was, I would have expected him to do that for Do-hee.  Out of respect and because it would have shown just how much he cherished her.  Hae-kyung has always been a perfectionist.  It would have been in character for him to have planned this surprise down to the last detail. But even if he had decided to be spontaneous for the first time in his life, I wasn’t expecting the proposal to be that bland.  

It would have been lovely if the last 15 minutes showed their wedding preparations and their actual wedding.  It would have been fun and touching and quite heartwarming at the same time if we saw how Do-hee prepares herself.  There could have been scenes of her and her mom both crying happily because Do-hee is now on the brink of her happily-ever-after with a man who truly loves her and whom she loves with all her heart.  It would have been nice to see Nam Ah-young helping her protege prepare for the biggest production of her life.   And I would have wanted to see Lee Byung-jin getting all flustered and nervous and excited for Hae-kyung.  And then during the wedding, they would have shown Woo Do-hee all beautiful in her bridal gown.  Cliche-ish, but Seo Ji Hye is a stunningly beautiful woman.  She would have looked gorgeous and we would have seen Song Seung Heon as Kim Hae-kyung getting the shock of his life at seeing how beautiful his bride actually is.  We would have seen their friends being happy for them.  And maybe we would have seen Im So-ra catching the bouquet, a sign of better things ahead for her.  

And then the drama could have ended with them going off on their honeymoon and giving the viewers one final kiss and one last playful invitation to each other:  “would you like to have dinner with me?”

And then the end credits could have shown photos of them on their honeymoon, enjoying the food and sharing moments and building up memories for the rest of of their lives. 

But all we got was that ending.  What a waste!  Song Seung Heon and Seo Ji Hye’s chemistry was just magical.  And they never maximized it in the end.  I wonder if they thought that there was just too much hotness between them that the writer and director decided to pull back and tame it somewhat (though honestly, I don’t see any reason why they would if they really did.  There’s hardly anything risque about the drama.)  

Or maybe Song Seung Heon and Seo Ji Hye were exhausted.  They certainly looked like it.  There were times when you could see them being a bit sluggish in their movements.  Maybe they just really wanted to get it over with, not because they disliked each other’s company but maybe they were just plain tired.  

Or maybe it was just bad writing, because sometimes these KDrama writers write their scripts like a bad fanfic.  

I just feel shortchanged because I honestly loved this drama in spite of everything, but the ending kind of ruined it again for me.        

[ao3feed-tododeku]

The Letters of Our Life

The Letters of Our Life by Arborvitae918

Todoroki tries to ignore how much he wants Izuku to call him one of his cutesy names again: Strawberry Swirl, Delibird, Candycane. Hell, even Shouto, he'll take anything. But instead..

“I'm sorry, what did you say your name was again?” Asks the green-haired man with a shy smile, wedding ring and hospital gown.

Words: 846, Chapters: 1/?, Language: English

Fandoms: 僕のヒーローアカデミア | Boku no Hero Academia | My Hero Academia

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Categories: M/M

Characters: Todoroki Shouto, Midoriya Izuku

Relationships: Midoriya Izuku/Todoroki Shouto

Additional Tags: Short Term and Long Term Amnesia, Letters, i'm very sad, Awkward Conversations, Crying, Hurt, Post-Canon, Like 10 years into the future

Read Here: http://archiveofourown.org/works/23168623

[spacetimeconundrum]

For the fanfic ask jawn, let's get some writer commentary on a paragraph from Knots in Time that you're particularly fond of. :D

Oh hey, the Metacrisis/Rose wedding fic! Sure, we can talk about that one. :)

I dunno that there’s one particular paragraph that stands out, so you’re gonna get a few highlights and behind the scenes thoughts, bearing in mind that I wrote this story in (checks publication date on ff.net) 2012, so it’s been a solid 8 years since then. (Actually had to do a quick re-read and poke through my files for a bit to refresh my memory to answer this.)

Popping the rest behind a ‘read more’ because it got long and also, spoilers?

There was a sharp "CRACK", a brilliant flash, and the scent of ozone in the air. The Doctor stood stupefied, part-Time Lord senses tingling, staring at the empty space where Rose had been standing.

"What?"

He blinked. "What!"

The guests looked as shocked as he was. But they weren't left staring with him for long; they were interrupted by a distinctly curious wheezing sound. The Doctor's eyes raised in disbelief in time to see a very familiar, very blue police box appear at the back.

"What?"

Ah yes, I thought I was very clever here, with this call-back to Ten’s favorite reaction to anything unexpected happening / Donna’s first appearance on DW. Feels a little too cutesy-clever now, but maybe it’s fine and I’m just being hard on my old writing.

Also! Why does it matter that the police box is blue here? Of course the Doctor’s TARDIS is always blue, you say, what other color would it be? This is actually because of a different story I hadn’t actually written yet at the time, Unsinkable (and later And Then There Was One), wherein I posit that the Pete’s World Universe actually does have its own Doctor, and his TARDIS is red, because in this parallel universe, most police boxes came in red instead of blue.

(Incidentally, there ARE in fact real red police boxes in the UK, or there were, see proof here.)

I had originally intended (spoilers for a long unfinished/abandoned fic) to have Rose and the Metacrisis Doctor meet the Pete’s World Doctor in Parallel Adventures, which takes place chronologically before Knots in Time, and thus, they’d recognise the red TARDIS if it showed up unexpectedly, so having a blue one pop up means Something is Definitely Up. Well, okay, since I hadn’t actually written those other stories yet, when I did go to write them, I realised I needed a reason why the TARDIS appearing here would be so shocking to everyone, thus the color change for Pete’s World Doctor’s TARDIS. (Overthinking details, in MY fic writing? It’s more likely than you think.)

Other fun things - at the time I actually did some little sketches of a few scenes / bits from this fic, and this is one of them:

Next!

Rose dug through her skirt until she found the hidden pocket she'd had sewn into the dress. Her mother had protested, telling her it was her wedding gown, why would she want to risk spoiling the lines of the skirt with pockets? What could she possibly need to be carrying anyway? Rose was glad she'd insisted. Grinning, she pulled out the two items she never left home without: her Torchwood communicator and the sonic screwdriver the Doctor had made for her as a surprise when he'd recreated his own.

Turning on the communicator, she wasn't exactly surprised to find it was out of range of the Torchwood network. Brilliant. She keyed in the code for the 'Agent in Distress' locator beacon and was rewarded for her efforts by the lights in the room flashing green and a mechanical voice announcing what could only be some sort of warning or displeasure at her actions.

"Didn't like that, did you?" She grinned up at the ceiling, tongue between her teeth. "Just wait for my next trick."

So, I may have a thing for competent!Rose. It was important to me that she not end up the generic ‘helpless companion in need of rescue’, even though, yes, she does need a little help getting back to her wedding from the space ship she’s been teleported to, because plot, but Rose has agency here beyond plot McGuffin, dammit!

See also, Rose engaging in diplomatic relations (good grief those aliens look lame, what the hell, 2012-me) with her captors:

And...

Rose stared at her, struggling to think of something to say as the pieces slowly came together in her mind. The girl had a soft London accent and her mannerisms felt so like someone she knew, it was unsettling. It wasn't until she looked down and noticed the scuffed blue Converse trainers that it finally clicked. She couldn't be.

As if to confirm her suspicions, a familiar voice called out and Rose looked up from what could only be her daughter to see the Doctor come jogging around the corner.

"Jane! How many times have I told you not to wander off? If you're not going to listen then you can go back to wait in the Tar-" He paused mid-sentence when he saw who she was standing next to. "-dis. Hello, Rose."

Fun with time travel! You never know when you’re going to run into your own future, whoops. :)

Sudden, unexpected kid!fic! Because if you’re going to write a ‘happily ever after’ fic, might as well go all-in, right? Not that everyone’s happily-ever-after should or would involve marriage and kids, but it seemed like the sort of future the non-Metacrisis Doctor very specifically can’t have, so why not give it to his half-human double? I dunno.

Upon reflection, this might be the fluffiest thing I’ve ever written, I think.

Future Metacrisis!Doc and kiddos:

-

That’s probably way more information than you wanted or expected about this story, huh? Hope it was entertaining at least!

PS - still kinda proud of myself for the terrible pun in the title of this story

[foxofthedesert]

RQ OUaT FF | OGA: Ch. 5

Chapter 5 – A Chilling Report

After actually cleaning up in the shower like they were supposed to instead of carousing like newlyweds, Regina and Red prepare for the rest of their day. Since they are already late to court, Regina throws on a black satin slip then meanders over to one of her three wardrobes. She takes her time perusing her vast collection of dresses, deliberately fingering the fabric of each exquisite item until she comes across the one that catches her appraising eye. Pulling it out reverently, she studies it for a moment before gliding over barefoot to the body length mirror to admire it against her figure.

Sporting a collar adorned with long, inky raven feathers, the long-sleeved black and maroon garment with enormous frilly lace cuffs dotted with diamonds, some large enough to be set in a crown and some small enough to be fit for earrings. Silver and gold filigree piping accents the plunging jewel neckline, innumerable diamonds of various sizes attached all along the ornately shapes of the ornamentation which actually stretches past the end of the bodice. The skirts are accented a wide, flaring strip of ruffled raven feathers all the way down to the hem. It's an ostentatious number to be sure, but one of Regina's favorites.

"I love that dress. It's the one you wore the night you proposed," Red says, eyeing said garment – and Regina – wistfully from her perch on the corner of their bed.

Covered only by her thinner, less modest crimson slip, Red drapes a shapely leg over her knee and leans her weight on one arm, causing the hem to ride up high enough to reveal a hint of her underwear. Regina swears under her breath, fingers itching to delve underneath the fabric and dip into the fertile field so tragically concealed by silk and lace. The woman really is a shameless tease who enjoys taking advantage of the effect her womanly wiles produce in Regina. Thankfully the movement is clearly innocuous, as Red's expression betrays her submersion within the effervescent haze of a memory that is forever etched in both of their minds.

"You had your hair up in this high windswept bun and were wearing these tear-drop shaped earrings with onyx settings," Red goes on, her voice light and breezy, full of the wonderful magic of that most special night that comes to life with every passing word and second. "There was a bejeweled talon ring on your left index finger. And I'd never seen such a fancy necklace like the one that goes with that dress, either. The way it dipped into your cleavage..." she trails off, blushing alluringly, "Wow. To say I was awestruck doesn't begin to cover it, especially not when you were looking at me like I was your whole world, like you loved me beyond your own ability to comprehend it. I'd never felt so loved, so appreciated and cherished and desired. I was ready to fight the world for you before, but that night I realized I was ready to die for you."

Regina has heard all of this before, of course, though it never hurts to hear it again. It's nice to be reminded from time to time that the gamble she took that night has paid off in such spectacular fashion.

Having decided she would endure no more calls for her to abandon Red in favor of a suitable husband to further the kingdom's interest, the only natural course of action remaining was for her to elevate Red from the Queen's consort to her co-ruler. It was a risky move that flew in the face of powerful people who already did not particularly care for her, many of whom would be all too happy to see her dethroned or dead. deeply unpopular amongst the nobles, it accomplished Regina's ends just fine. Not only did all calls for her to but she got to make an honest woman out of the love of her life.

Knowing the night she proposed was to be momentous for them both, Regina pulled out all the stops. She spared no expense in arranging the exotic ingredients for their dinner to be imported from Chansiréne, a coastal town many leagues to the south. The seafood dish features something the local inhabitants of that realm refer to as lobster mornay under a bed of rice baked in a mix of onion soup and consommé, preceded by mussel and saffron soup, and is capped off by a rich chocolate mousse topped with sugary whipped cream. The meal became Red's favorite the first time she sampled it at a gala they were invited to while visiting Prince Eric and Princess Ariel shortly after the birth of their daughter Melody. With Red, Regina quickly discovered the old saying that the way to a man's heart is through his stomach is also only applicable women, especially when they are werewolves that require twice the caloric intake of a normal human female – and even more during Wolf's Time.

The royal dining hall was cleared out of all décor for the occasion save for the banner boasting the old family crest, the rearing stallion and dashing cavalier. The grand table large enough to host a party of fifty was disassembled and moved so a smaller, more intimate one could be brought in that seated only two. A lush red orchid was procured to decorate the table, again Red's favorite, and the best china and silverware in the castle was brought out. With much room to spare due to the lack of the grand table, a bevy of musicians were hired to keep up a constant stream of romantic music, all the most accomplished upon their instrument, featuring two violinists, a cellist, a flutist, and a guitarist from the realm of Xavier from whence Regina hailed. A recently developed instrument was debuted in the castle that night as well, the piano, a gorgeous piece of craftsmanship invented some years before in Drakkenhall – King Stefan's realm – and which only just caught on in Misthaven. New candelabras were ordered for the occasion with wolf's head cups, howling maws fashioned to hold the lavender scented candles Red prefers, and she had red orchid petals strewn about the floor as if the litter of their cozy stone forest with no trees and a canopy of thick cedar braces and rosewood paneling.

Regina can remember the moment Red walked in, arrayed in the dress Regina had requested her to wear that she instructed her personal designer to make just for that night. It was a slightly more sleek dress than Regina's, also brocade dyed, though instead of maroon accents upon a black background the colors were reversed and the designs deliberately depicting the branches of an apple tree whose fruit was shaped as a crescent moon. It had a unique neckline sewn to also resemble a crescent moon, though it was lacked the gaudy ornamentation as Red prefers simpler garments. All of her jewelry, the wolfshead necklace with burning red eyes and moon-shaped earrings, were gold and set with ruby gemstones, as Red cannot abide silver touching her skin due to her genetic condition. Meanwhile her hair was left down, curls tumbling over her shoulder and splaying down her back all the way to the small, a golden floral headband wound into the thick strands at her crown. Taken as a whole, she was a vision from the otherworld, an ethereal being wrapped in flesh whose skin was flush with joy and whose eyes danced with unfathomable devotion. Regina has only ever seen a more beautiful sight once, on their wedding day, when Red walked down the aisle in her wedding gown clinging to her grandmother's arm.

"You know I feel the same, darling," Regina says, reaching back for Red's hand, needing to feel their skin touch with undeniable fervency. When they join together, Red having slid off the bed, she tugs her wife over to the mirror. "For whatever reason I'm feeling nostalgic right now, not that it's a bad thing. That was a night I'll never forget."

Red bumps her hip, smiling at her. "Me either. I know why you're all sentimental right, though." When Regina arches a brow, Red's smile spreads into a cheeky grin. "It's 'cause of what happened in the shower a few minutes ago." Regina's amused scoff only makes Red chuckle and bump their hips together again. "C'mon. Admit it. I'm just that good."

A blush colors Regina's cheek, though she plays it off with her typical bluster. "Ha! And who was it that did all the work? I seem to recall it wasn't you..."

"Oh, yeah?" Red interrupts, her own cheeks glowing, "I seem to recall not even needing to touch you to make you cum. So tell me, who's the one with magic, huh? Bet that's a trick not even that old devil who taught you couldn't figure out."

A full body wince corkscrews through Regina at the mention of her old mentor. "Forgetting any thought of associating...him...with what we just did," she says, "I must grant that you have a unique ability to make me see stars that is quite magical indeed. It's why I keep you around, my love."

"Aww, and here I thought it was my rustic charm and pretty face that kept you coming back for more." Red bats her eyes prettily for effect. It works, which isn't all that shocking. Regina is long used to Red getting what she wants with a sly ability manipulate she would never have guessed the outwardly common woman to possess. She has paid dearly for that underestimation over the years. The only silver lining is that it is mostly to her benefit. Red hardly ever asks for anything that is purely selfish.

"Well, those admirable virtues certainly don't hurt your undeniable appeal." Regina adds a lighthearted wink at the end that tickles Red, who giggles in that genuine, cutesy way of hers that is endearing, unlike most other noble ladies who put on airs of a perpetual debutante incapable of achieving emotional or intellectual maturity. "That said," she adds, "best not brandish that charm too much lest we be even later for court than we already are."

The conversational redirect, although abruptly interrupting their enjoyable interplay, was a necessary step to get them back on track for the rest of the day. Sometimes in the heady aftermath of their lovemaking, Red is easily distracted and a chore to keep focused, which means Regina has to do some subtle steering. Such as now, when she would much prefer to loiter in their bedchambers and reminisce about the night she proposed and perhaps have a repeat of their positively volcanic tryst in the shower. Ah, the oft maddening frustrations of being a ruler…

"I'll try to keep it to a minimum then," Red says, amiably accepting the shift in direction. "Any suggestions for me? Or should I just pick out whatever I'm in the mood for?"

Regina taps her chin thoughtfully for a few moments before her mind is drawn once again to the night of her proposal. She snaps her fingers gleefully, eyes alighting.

"Why don't you fetch the dress you wore that night?" she says. "We can both enshroud ourselves in pieces of our history and let the memories bolster us through the coming hours of tedium."

"Ooooh! That's a great idea!" Clapping with delight, she skitters away toward her own wardrobe, throws it open and begins rifling through it to find the correct dress. When she finds it, she pulls it out and sweeps a hand across the fabric, inhales deeply then lets out a slow, dreamy sigh. "Oh goodness, I haven't worn this in so long." Her face then scrunches up, nose crinkling adorably as if she's smelled something rotten all of the sudden. "I wonder if I still fit in it. Gracious me, I bet I've gained fifteen pounds since we got married..."

She most certainly has not gained a single pound and she does still fit in the dress as perfectly as the first time she wore it. Regina deliberately points this out when Red is all buttoned up and looking so beautiful she cannot breathe for several seconds. Seeing Red in that dress dredges up so many emotions, all of the best kind – warmth, happiness, security, hope, a feeling of home that supersedes all other places or people that were formerly with that word, and so much love that her chest can hardly contain it and her heart barely withstand it. And when Red smiles that smile, the one that announces she is feeling all the same things, Regina has to force herself to behave when all she wants is to reenact the epic culmination of that supremely wonderful night.

With much difficulty she limits herself to three kisses before rechecking their dresses to smooth down any remaining wrinkles and making any last minute adjustments to their hair or the pounds of priceless jewelry they are expected to wear at such occasions as Petition Day. And then they are off hand-in-hand toward the throne room to get on with the never-ending business of being monarchs.

For the past four years the first Thursday of each month has been dedicated as the official day the Crown receives petitions. Today happens to be one such Thursday, although Red certainly has made them fashionably late. No matter. It is not the first time, nor will it be the last.

As per tradition, until sunset the royal couple is availed to their subjects so that they may receive complaints in matters either successfully appealed to a higher authority than their local magistrates or too broad in scope to fall under the umbrella of local or regional adjudication. Sometimes Regina defers judgment to Red, who presides alongside her, while sometimes she handles matters herself. In the most critical cases they confer with one another and do not render judgment until a consensus is reached.

No matter who is deciding the outcome of the various cases, the days are invariably long and mentally arduous. By the time they are back in their chambers, weary of mind as of body, Regina is usually rueing her vulnerability to a certain brunette's ridiculously effective appeals. It was Red's fault, after all, she was convinced to reinstitute the monthly event she had canceled upon her ascension to the throne. Previously, she had foisted responsibility to oversee the relevant cases upon the Council of Nobles. The system worked well enough, just not for Red, who had an idealistic view of the monarchy primarily inspired by any number of Snow's sanctimonious sermons about the Crown's accountability to the people. Anyone else's pleading would have been dismissed with prejudice. The thing is, with anyone else Regina did not have to contend with soulful green eyes tugging imploringly at an invisible string tied around her heart and an exaggerated pout accentuating lips that were always begging to be kissed.

"It really isn't fair," she often laments to Iris, their handmaid, "how easily the woman can weaponize a pout." Iris, usually struggling to contain a smile, simply reminds her she wouldn't wish it any other way. Which is true, not that Regina would ever admit to that.

On this particular occasion, there is an endless stream of claimants. They span the broad spectrum of society from nobles with petty squabbles over money and land to commoners whose penchant to be ruled by their passions has landed them into a variety of troubles. Most of the claims are easily handled within a matter of minutes, which leaves Regina to wonder why so many are left unattended by the local authorities.

Perhaps it is time for me to intervene, she tells herself as Red listens sympathetically to a woman's woeful tale. Apparently, her husband absconded to a neighboring kingdom with all of the capital from their business. Along with their most valuable, and much younger, employee. That this was not dealt with in the woman's district is revealing. Her subordinates are getting lazy, she decides, and she won't stand for it.

"I will personally write to Queen Abigail to negotiate the recompense of your lost capital," Red tells the woman, completely composed and in her element.

Red's current conduct is so unlike the uncertain, out-of-depths, skittish young commoner without an inkling about nobility, who for love of a Queen suddenly found herself thrust into the high pressure obligations of a monarch. There was a time she could not have spoken so many words without stammering or her voice being riddled with timidity. Years of practice have erased those hallmarks of what some might refer to as ineptitude, and Regina could not be more proud of the astounding progress that has been made. Red is every bit the graceful ruler she always knew she could be.

"Since taking the reins of rule, she has proven herself to be very reasonable," Red continues addressing the aggrieved woman who is hanging on her every word. "Also, the Queen and I have an excellent rapport with her that I'm sure she will take into account. Now, I cannot force your husband to come home, nor can I compel Queen Abigail to have him put in the stocks for a few days as he clearly deserves. But I can promise to do all I'm able to recoup your livelihood." When the woman nods gratefully, choking back a cry of thanks, Red gives her one of those patented smiles. "In the meantime, you will be extended a usury free loan to keep your business afloat. Should the overtures to Queen Abigail bear fruit, the treasury will simply account the incoming funds as your due repayment. Should they unexpectedly fail, you will be immediately forgiven half the debt and the rest you may pay as you are able over the course of five years. Does that sound fair?"

That question that causes Regina to wince, though she schools her features quickly lest her highly perceptive wife notice. Red is an excellent judge of character and has a keen mind for numbers, but sometimes her benevolent tendencies gets the better of her. She would be better served to care slightly less about what seems fair to those she is judging when said parties have a vested interest in exclusively and aggressively pursuing their own favor. What is fair to the petitioner is nearly always at odds with what is advantageous to the Crown.

But Regina has learned to pick her battles where her wife is concerned. In some areas, Red is as resistant to change as she is. And ultimately, she can't complain too much when Red's compassion offsets her own pragmatism, thus keeping the scales of justice in precarious balance. It's just another example of how well suited they are for one another. In this case, the kingdom just so happens to be the beneficiary.

"Yes, Your Majesty, very fair," the woman says, effusive with gratitude, as she ought to be considering the extraordinary mercy she's been shown. "I swear I won't forget this. Thank you! Thank you so much!"

"You're welcome," Red says, still smiling as she waves for the Chamberlain, who scurries at her beckoning. "Richard! Escort this lovely lady to the Treasury and instruct Ebeneezer to extend her a loan of twenty-five gold pieces, thirty-seven silver, and forty coppers." Eyes sharpening, she leans forward deliberately. "Make certain he understands the credit is to be without interest. If he gives you any lip about it, tell him I know what he did for Bob Crachit's boy and wouldn't mind one bit widely disseminating that little glimpse of his humanity."

"Yes, of course, Your Majesty. Right away," Richard replies, then bows deeply before gesturing toward the doors of the throne room. "Come along, dear. Let's get you sorted out. Shall we?" Still mumbling her thanks, the woman follows the Chamberlain out the door.

Regina chuckles lowly at Red's choice of tactic to handle their treasurer. "Well, well. Blackmail? I didn't know you had it in you."

Red harrumphs. "Serves the old codger right. What he did for Timmy was sweet. I don't see why he's so embarrassed about being kind to a sick kid on Yule. He could stand to do it more often."

"Not too often," Regina says, one corner of her lips twisting up wickedly. "Having an implacable Scrooge for our Treasurer has made us incredibly wealthy."

Red just laughs, shaking her head in exasperation as Regina waves the guard at the door. Obeying the silent command, he goes about granting admission to the next petitioner. While she waits, she relaxes into her throne and adopts an air of irritated boredom. Best to keep things moving along. Her old reputation still has it's uses. If people think she's on edge, they won't be as apt to take their liberties with time or tone.

Expecting another tedious case, she is not at all prepared for the panicked messenger who bursts through the grand double doors with all the delicacy of one of those berserkers from the north on the warpath. The man's face is awash with tension and sweat trickles down the long line of his square jaw. He is limping noticeably, favoring his left leg, while his left arm hangs uselessly at his side.

Regina jerks forward upon her throne and she hears Red gasp upon recognizing the knight as one currently serving in the far reaches of the realm. There is a garrison near the border shared with the realm Snow White and Prince Charming rule that he commands. It is one of the kingdom's most vital outposts. She has not suspected Snow and Charming of being up to no good for some time, but she cannot afford to leave anything to chance where her long-time enemy is concerned. An ounce of prevention and all that.

"Captain Locksley," she says to the faithful soldier. Her tone is strained as she was immediately set on edge by his frightful condition. "I am surprised to see you here seeing as I have not requested your presence. You are not due to give your yearly report for another six weeks. Why, then, have you abandoned your post?"

There are few more dependable men in service to the crown than Robin of Locksley. He is another one of Red's pet projects. A rugged survivalist who once made Sherwood Forest his home, he made an unlikely friend out of Misthaven's new Queen when he attempted to rob her carriage passing through on the way to visit her grandmother and her pals, Snow and Charming. Long had the Prince of Thieves been a nuisance to all three monarchs whose realms trisected the sprawling, labyrinthine forest most sane individuals preferred to avoid.

Bandits and thieves were not the only dangers that lurked in the deep shadows of Sherwood. There were unnatural terrors that made their home in the crevices and hollows of a forest as famous for not allowing light to penetrate its thick canopy as for being the last known location of the missing and presumed dead. Robin and his Merry Men scraped out a living there, what's more, they made it into a home. They were a formidable bunch of miscreants and outlaws. Just not formidable enough to take on a werewolf capable of destroying elite squadrons of highly trained soldiers all by herself. They had thought it a once in a lifetime stroke of luck spotting the Queen's carriage cutting through Sherwood's eastern flank. Red proved them wrong. When she was done, all eight of Robin's men were incapacitated and the legendary bowman himself treed by a wolf so massive even the skulking horrors of Sherwood fled from her in fear.

Of course, being the push over that she is, Red let them all go. She swears to this day Robin persuasively talked himself out of being brought in by offering to take her to their camp where he introduced her to his family and the families of his larcenous entourage. It is the exact same story she used to convince Regina to drop all charges against the exiled nobleman who was forced to flee for his life after his father was murdered and his good name ruined by a corrupt Sheriff who was angling to ingratiate himself to an equally unscrupulous Prince. When Red sets her mind to something, there is no changing it. Championing Robin's cause is proof enough of that. She was relentless in his defense and visited Sherwood often until she eventually wore down Regina's resolve. That Prince John was decidedly furious with her granting Robin and all of his Merry Men sanctuary provided an additional benefit to a decision that she has yet to have cause to regret.

There are few better suited for leadership than Captain Locksley. Before his exile, he had served in the army of his king and been a veteran commander of many battles on foreign soil. His experience with banditry only sharpened an already keen tactical mind and a broad, strong frame built for combat. It is little surprise that Mulan took an instant liking to him and brought him on as her second. Approving Mulan's appointment of him to commander over the strategic outpost nestled against the border with the White Kingdom was a foregone conclusion. Outside of her Commanding General, Captain Locksley is one of her finest soldiers.

Robin is also a good, kind, lionhearted man. He is an excellent father and a loving husband and very good friend to both Regina and Red. Which made discovering his lion tattoo a bit more palatable. Make no mistake, it threw her for a loop for a long time, but when she got over the shock, she realized who they might have been to one another made no difference in the present. When she walked away from the tavern, and him, that day so many years ago, she had made the right choice. Both of them were happier for her cowardice, and far better off. Having come to know Robin personally through Red, she is convinced they are fundamentally incompatible. How Tinker Bell's fairy magic linked them together, she has no idea except to theorize the bungling wasp made yet another mistake. Which is not out of the realm of possibility when Blue thought Tink so incompetent she was stripped of her wings then banished to Neverland of all places. Whatever the case for the mishap, Regina is glad she didn't listen to Tinker Bell. And so is Robin, who agrees wholeheartedly with her dubious assessment of them supposedly being Soul Mates. For him, that is Marian, while for her that is Red. No one can convince either of them otherwise.

Anyway, seeing Robin injured is unsettling enough without him having left his post. Deep in the pit of her stomach, she suspects that whatever brought him here today is about to shake the foundations of her life. She cannot imagine how right she is.

In response to Regina's pointed question, Robin ducks his head as he approaches the dais, kneeling before his Queen like the good soldier that he is, in spite of the pain the action causes. "I have not, my Queen," he replies after raising his head to meet her demanding gaze. His injuries aside, there is something in his tone that she's never heard before, a terror and fury that is reflected in his eyes. When Regina raises a brow at the deflection, he sighs, then proceeds to amend his statement. "I mean to say, Your Majesty, that there is no post left to abandon. The garrison has been burnt to the ground and the regiment slaughtered. I am the last living of seventy-five."

"What?!" she snaps, rising abruptly. Beside her, she feels Red stiffen in horror, and though her wife and fellow Queen remains seated, Red does scoot to the edge of her seat. Gripping the armrest so forcefully it groans out a creak, concern wafts out from her in waves. Regina does not have to glance down to know her wife's expression gives off much the same impression as her posture. "What the hell happened, Captain?" she then demands of her subordinate.

Captain Locksley's proud shoulders shrink inward at her tone. He is clearly haunted by the events that have lead him here, and Regina's harshness has only exacerbated the trauma he has suffered. She takes several slow breaths to calm her rising temper. Though her control returns, his reaction has ratcheted up her concern several degrees.

"I left my second in command in charge while I accompanied a patrol of new recruits in the local forests to personally gauge their mettle, as is my custom," he replies. "When I returned two hours later, the garrison was burning. It was unlike anything I had ever seen before. Green flames engulfed the entire structure, and the heat was so intense that I and the men who accompanied me on patrol could not get within twenty yards without being overcome. Inside, I could hear the tormented screams of those trapped and burning alive. That's when she appeared." He looks away, his speech petering out as he gives a barely noticeable shudder.

"Who appeared, Robin?" Red then asks, much more gentle in her prodding.

Whereas Regina respects and trusts Captain Robin Locksley as a loyal soldier, Red values him as a friend. Affection for Red is not uncommon among the military. Their junior Queen is often to be found among them, having joined in on their training to keep her combat skills sharp or to simply enjoy the camaraderie of a tight-knit unit who depend upon one another to survive. They welcome her because she is one of those rare individuals whose smile unleashes the sun and whose eyes reflect the best version of those around her. Morale is measurably boosted whenever she is around. Her prowess in hand-to-hand and with the bow have earned their admiration, but it is her innate kindness and her unique ability to make them all laugh that inspires their undying love. For that reason alone, Regina tolerates her Queen spending so much time with a rough and tumble and often uncouth crowd. Held to an exceedingly high standard of comportment they may be, but her soldiers are still soldiers.

When Regina once expressed concern that Red was sacrificing her authority over them to gain their friendship, she refused to heed the warnings. She was determined to be uncomfortably close to the men and women she may one day have to order out to their deaths.

"As Queen, I have sent legions to their inevitable doom," Regina had explained. "I was groomed to be able to deal with the repercussions, but I worry about your tender heart and the effect such a heavy weight might have on it. When factoring in your personal relationships with them, that worry gets a little too close to fear for my liking. You endanger yourself needlessly by befriending those who might be called to die tomorrow on your command."

"If they are going to be sacrificing their lives for me at any time in the future, then I owe them the respect of knowing them as human beings," Red had countered, fierce in her stance. "And don't be so concerned for my heart. I'm tougher than I look. You of all people should know that."

"I do know that," Regina had sighed. "But you're my wife. My job is to protect you at all costs, even if that means the threat is from yourself."

And it is a job she will never relinquish by choice. That Red's goodness is only equaled by her toughness does not eliminate the obligation to shield her spouse from any and all pain she can. Red gets close enough to the troops as is considering the cold truth that armies are expendable. For that reason alone, she instituted a policy that keeps her companies out on rotations rather than permanently assigning one to the Citadel. Red cannot grow dangerously attached to men and women who are not constantly stationed in such close proximity. Selfish though it was, the change was what she believed to be best for Red at the time. That opinion has not changed one iota since.

Still, Red stubbornly finds ways to keep in touch with those she has grown particularly fond of. Such as her favorite drinking buddies, preeminent among them Captain Locksley and General Mulan.

In recognition of that friendship, Captain Locksley gives Red a small smile before his grimace returns in full force. "She did not speak her name," he then answers Red's question as to the identity of the person who has destroyed a vital garrison in the realm's defense. Regina is burning to know who it is so that she can personally see to it that they are captured and punished.

"Is there anything of value that you can tell us?" Regina inquires. She doesn't mean to come off so harshly, but her hackles are raised and she is angry, an emotion she has always found incredibly difficult to conceal.

Captain Locksley winces, then nods in affirmation. "She was tall and beautiful, with pale skin and hair the color of the setting sun. She dressed in all black. I can also tell you also that she wiped out my men with little effort, wielding power that surpasses any I have witnessed. And I do not disrespect Your Majesty with that statement. It is merely an observation."

"Duly noted," Regina says through clenched teeth and then gestures in his direction. "So this woman is a tall and beautiful sorceress of great power. Is there anything else?" He nods, and she says, "Then by all means, continue."

"The most distinguishing thing about her," he goes on after a rasping cough, "is her skin. It is green, your Majesty, just as her magic."

Regina raises a judgmental brow. "And yet you say she was beautiful? If I didn't know your wife to be such a lovely woman, I would be inclined to question your tastes, Captain, if not your eyesight."

"Regina..." Red sighs, and Regina rolls her eyes.

"My apologies." She is insincere in her delivery. And while both Red and Captain Locksley are well aware she does not mean the apology, they accept it all the same. The soldier does so because she is his Queen whereas Red simply loves her unconditionally. "Was there anything else?"

"Yes, my Queen," Captain Locksley replies. "She did not kill me for a reason. She left me alive, though maimed, to deliver a message."

That grabs Regina's interest. "Oh? And what might that message be?"

He grunts and then coughs again, this time covering his mouth with the sleeve of his white tunic. When it comes away bloody, Red rises and makes to rush to his aid. Regina halts her with a hand on her forearm.

"Let the man speak," she says, not unkindly, "and then I will have him taken straight to the physician."

Red clearly has objections to this sequencing, but she defers out of propriety and trust. Although Regina has made Red a Queen in equal standing with her, as Red's elder, both in age and experience, it is common knowledge that Regina's word is the highest in the land, something with which Red is perfectly agreeable.

"The message is this," he says, and as he speaks, his voice morphs from his masculine timber into something altogether feminine. His accent shifts along with the change, making the effect jarring. Silence falls over the court as the Captain rises to his feet as if completely against his will.

Regina suddenly understands what is going on and she shifts herself to stand between her wife and the soldier whose will and motor function have been usurped in an act of magical prowess few are capable of. It's as if the man has been possessed, and in a manner, she knows he has been. Or at least a very specific part of him has been. A cold chill shoots down her spine. The taking of hearts is the darkest of magicks that only the Dark One and his disciples can perform.  Is it possible Rumplestiltskin is behind this?

"No longer is this realm safe," the new voice proclaims. It is the witch, Regina knows, speaking through the Captain's heart, which she has wrenched from his chest. "There is a new ruler in Misthaven. Just as Oz before, Misthaven will fall and all shall bow to me. Beginning with you, Queen Regina." At that, Locksley's eyes level square on Regina. They are cold, so very cold, and devoid of humanity, and Regina can see by his corresponding expression that the individual controlling him is completely insane. "Let this be your one and only warning. I am coming for what is owed to me, and I will take it, leaving you broken at my feet before I end your miserable life. Prepare yourself accordingly, Your Majesty. The days of your reign are numbered."

And with that, Captain Locksley suddenly returns to himself. "My Queen, she intends to pois-" But he does not get to finish his sentence. He straightens with a sharp gasp and his eyes bug out in untold agony before he goes limp. He slumps face first to the floor as if a rag doll. Regina does not need to feel for a pulse to know he is dead, his heart having been ground to dust.

Shocked, she stares the prone, unmoving figure of her friend and faithful servant. Her heart races in her chest, anger and despair cascading through her torso with its every fierce collision against her rib cage. Poor Marian and Roland. How is she supposed to break this news to Robin's family? She aches for them and the pain they will soon have to endure. And for what? Because some crazy bitch hates me?

"Robin!" Red's voice suddenly rings out, shrill in her dismay. She scurries gracelessly to the fallen man's side and turns him over, cradling him in her arms. She calls his name several times as she paws at his face, trying to rouse him from a slumber that will never end. When reality finally dawns, she turns brimming eyes up to Regina, desperate for answers she can't give.

"I'm so sorry," Regina says, and then gestures for her guards to come and take the body. Red resists their initial attempts, growling at them through baleful yellow eyes. They spring back in fear. "Stand down, my love. You must let them take him," Regina then says, gathering her skirts to descend the dais. Once standing beside her grief stricken wife, she lays a gentle hand on her shoulder and the gestures for the guards to try again. When they come and crouch to gather the body of their fallen comrade, Red does not protest, although she whimpers as Captain Locksley is taken from her arms and carried away.

Only after the doors close behind the guards does Red lift herself from the floor. She stands for several moments, breathing heavily and trying not to cry in front of the entire court. Regina takes her hand and gently cups her face.

"Go to our chambers and do as you must away from prying eyes," she says, eyes imploring Red to listen. She knows Red needs to have a long, miserable cry and can't unless she is sequestered somewhere private – it is not becoming for a queen, even one as informal and famous for her gentle heart as Red, to show such sentimentality in front of her subjects. "I will take care of business here and then come to you directly." Red begins to protest, but Regina does not let her. "Please, darling. For me."

"Okay. For you," Red agrees after a moment of silence. A solitary tear rolls down her cheek.

Heedless of the impropriety, Regina leans in to give her wife a kiss upon the forehead, hoping that it helps, even if just a little, to alleviate her grief.

It is unbearable to see Red in any kind of pain, making for a stressful life considering Red is a werewolf who enjoys getting into trouble at every opportunity. Often she incurs injuries that, were she human, would be lethal or at best have severely maimed her. Being that she is a werewolf, she bounces back quickly, but that doesn't assuage Regina's anxieties any at all. She still frets over Red every time she limps home wounded from a scuffle with a bear or some other large animal during Wolf's Time, and still hovers like a worried mother hen whenever something happens that wounds Red's sensitive heart.

To her relief, Red ducks her head to accept the kiss, and seems to marginally calm down before giving Regina a weak smile. Without another word, she departs the throne room. And though her shoulders are drawn in and her gait is a bit uneven, she holds her head high.

Knowing that Red is processing what has happened without becoming mired in anger or sorrow helps Regina to go about the rest of her day. She finishes taking petitions an hour past midday, having cut them short due to recent events. That she'd continued on at all surprises even her. Routine, she has discovered, helps to soothe frayed nerves so she can think more clearly. By the time the last of the petitions is heard, the burning outrage from the Captain's news and his subsequent death have been reduced into smoldering embers. A manageable state through which she can plan without being reckless.

Afterward, she retires to her chambers to check on Red, whom she finds curled up asleep in their bed. She did not need to see reddened, splotchy cheeks or smeared mascara around the eyes for her to recognize an almost palpable grief. She had heard snoring before she opened the chamber door, and that was more than enough evidence. Red only ever snores when she is totally exhausted, suffering from a rare bout of allergies at the changing of the seasons, or is overly worried about something that plagues her mind even in her sleep.

Knowing how deeply wounded Red is by the Captain's death hurts, and not in a way that indicates any kind of jealousy. This is one of the reasons she so worries about Red's frequent interactions with the men and women sworn to protect the realm and the royal family. Soldiers die. It is a hard, inescapable fact of life in a world torn by strife between rival kingdoms and factions often at each other's throats. Conflicts spark into life with such regularity and with so little advanced notice that every monarch with the means to do so keeps standing armies in battle-readiness year around. Whether small or large, battles mean a pile of wounded and dead for both sides.

Regina has attempted countless appeals for Red to be careful with her heart. A sensitive one such as hers should not be made to endure repeated losses, which it will because many of the soldiers she has befriended will die in combat long before reaching middle age. But Red ignores those pleas in favor of continuing to spar with the castle's garrison and clandestinely patronize her favorite pub with her friends of military persuasion. Twice a month they gather in the little town located at the base of the mountain upon which the castle sits to carouse and tell stories and laugh until their bellies hurt. The only reason Regina hasn't put a stop to it is because of how happy it makes Red to have that time to unwind with folk cut from the same cloth as her. Commoners have this universal thread of acceptance as to the importance of having fun in the grand scheme of life. Regina thinks it is because they all understand, much more clearly the nobility, how tragically brief and ruthless life is.

There was a time in Regina's life she valued fun also, but her fun had been of a different sort. To her, riding horses or fencing with her private instructor or passing a lazy afternoon reading were ideal forms of recreation. Not that she can indulge in such things when being Queen imposes strict restraints on very nearly her every waking hour. The majority of what precious spare time she has is allocated for her family. Only what remains is spent on hobbies. But that doesn't mean she begrudges Red her outings. Quite the opposite. She isn't so callous that she would deny Red any opportunity to enjoy herself when that would be just the same as locking her up in a cage, gilded as it may be.

Werewolves are social creatures who require interaction not only with other wolves but with other people. Normally the pack would meet both of these needs. But Red is without a true pack, which means she has to find stimulation elsewhere by running in her fur with the wolf packs native to Misthaven and by commiserating with what human friends she is able to make that Regina approves as trustworthy. That stipulation rubbed Red the wrong way many a time, but it was the only way Regina was going to let her Queen spend time away from her personal guard and outside of Regina's proximity. Captain Locksley was the first person Red met in the Dark Palace that Regina found worthy of that trust. He was, other than Snow, Red's oldest friend.

The sorrow written upon Red's face and evident upon her still form even in slumber elicits an acute need to crawl into bed with her wife, if only to give her what comfort she can. It's a crying shame their Huntsman is so far afield, else she could indulge her selfish desires. But Graham is even more indisposed than Mulan, and with no one else she trusts enough to handle this crisis, the responsibility falls to her. It is with great difficulty that she scrounges up enough strength to leave after watching over Red for only a few precious minutes.

Before departing, she again brushes her lips against her wife's forehead and whispers, "I love you. I really am so sorry."

Here’s a link to Regina’s dress.

[xswestallen]

Westallen Wedding Week: Day 1-Wedding Preparations

A/N: This is my first time actually writing for a prompt. I usually just get an idea on my own and start writing. This is also the first Barry x Iris fic I’m publishing so I’m a little nervous. I went with wedding dress shopping because to me that’s the most exciting part of wedding planning. It’s kind of long because I just get carried away.

A rosy scent hit Iris the moment she opened the door to the bridal salon. A woman in a black pantsuit with bleach blonde hair and a wide grin approached.

“Welcome. I’m Karen, your consultant. Congratulations!” she said with an outstretched hand.

Barry shot an Iris a look she knew meant ‘Are you sure you want me here?’ As if he hadn’t asked enough times already. Iris shuffled the bridal magazines and dress photos she was carrying to shake Karen’s hand.

“Nice to meet you. I’m Iris and this is my fiancee, Barry.”

Barry waved his hand in acknowledgment and peered around the salon. It was a little overwhelming. There were hundreds of white dresses surrounding them. Some were simple, some classic while others were dramatic, even sexy. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen so many white dresses before.” Iris told Karen as they made their way around the salon.

“What silhouette did you have in mind?” Karen asked. Iris wasn’t sure what to say. This was her first time trying on dresses. A poofy ballgown drenched in glitter caught her eye and she was certain that ballgown weren’t for her.

“I’m open to trying different styles. Just nothing like that.” she pointed to the poofy catastrophe of dress. Karen laughed and Barry nodded in agreement.

“Well, a young bride with a stunning figure like yours should show it off. I think a fitted dress a long train and lace detail. Let me show you one of our newest arrivals.” Karen walked Iris and Barry over to a corner with the fitted gowns and pulled a few off the hangers. She gave detailed descriptions of each one with more enthusiasm than Iris felt was necessary.

After listening to Karen’s ramblings about chantilly lace for a solid two minutes, Barry nudged Iris and locked eyes with her.

“I don’t need to be here. I don’t care which dress you pick. I know you’ll look beautiful in all of them.” he said pleadingly. Iris made a face. The same face she always made when he gave her those cliche compliments about looking beautiful. “I’m serious. You could walk down the aisle in a t-shirt and sweatpants and I’d still cry.” This time Iris couldn’t help but smile because she knew it was the truth.

“I want you to help me pick out the dress. I don’t have a lot of close female friends and my dad would start out way too emotional and then fall asleep on the couch by the end of the appointment.” Barry nodded as he started at the bouch. Iris knew he was imagining the scenario. “Besides, your opinion is the only one I care about.” She gave him a sweet smile and interlocked their fingers. Karen hadn’t noticed that her lesson on why organza fis overrated was falling on deaf ears. Barry and Iris gazed into eachother’s eyes and smiled like fools for a moment. Neither of them could believe that this was finally, FINALLY, happening. They were going to be together. Well…. They’ve always been together but now it would be official.

“Ok. If it’s important to you I’ll try to do my best impression of all the entourages we’ve seen on Say Yes to the Dress.” They both laughed. Barry claimed it was boring but Iris caught him watching it without her once.

The first dress Iris tried on was a lace fit and flare with a sweetheart neckline and open back.

“What do you think?” Karen asked without giving Iris time to reply. “Do you think you look gorgeous? I think you look gorgeous!” Iris was staring at herself in the mirror. This was her first time in a wedding dress. But, she wasn’t thinking about the dress at all. She was consumed in a daydream of walking down the aisle. Joe was squeezing her hand as he escorted her to the alter. She finally made it to Barry who looked happier than ever. He takes her hands and they say their vows. Exchange the rings. Kiss. And then they are husband and wife. Iris was pulled out of the fantasy by Karen who was gently pushing her out of the changing room and onto the pedestal in front of Barry.

This time Iris did focus on the dress. She liked the silhouette and open back but wasn’t sure about all the lace. She didn’t want to look like Grandma Esther’s table cloth. After a moment of examining the dress she turned around to Barry. He was open-mouthed and unblinking.

“I like it but I’m not sure it’s the one.” Iris said looking at Karen. “What do you think Bar?”

Barry didn’t respond. Her words seemed to jolt him out of his stupor but he was still unable to form a coherent sentence.

“It looks…. You…. I love…. I love you.” He finally got out. Karen placed a tissue box at his side and he quickly used one to dab the tears starting to form in his eyes. Iris couldn’t help it, she burst into tears. Barry got up and embraced her. His hands rubbed her sides before settling on her hips. His face was buried in her hair.

“Oh you two are so in love! It shows! It shows!” Karen applauded as if she were witnessing the end of a great show. Barry kissed Iris on the top of the head and walked her to the dressing room with his arm around her.

She wasn’t caught off guard and swept into fantasyland when she tried on the next dress. It was a mermaid that Iris didn’t like so she didn’t bother showing Barry. It was followed by an A-line with a corset back. Barry and Iris ruled it out for being “too cutesy”. Iris was excited about trying on the last dress, a fit to flare with floral detail, long train, and the low back Iris likes. She turned in front of the mirror and couldn’t decide if it was appropriate to comment on how spectacular her butt looked in the dress. She emerged with arms in the air and a huge smile. Barry was started tearing up again. Once on the pedestal, Iris knew this dress was the one. She felt beautiful.

“I think this is it.” Iris and Barry said at the same time. They exchanged grins and Karen started to dramatically ramble about how in sync and perfect they are for one another. Iris couldn’t stop looking at Barry’s eyes. They were so full of happiness and hope. She wished they always looked like that and felt a sting of pain remembering the sorrow she’d previously seen in them. It meant the world to Iris that the sight of her in her wedding dress made Barry so happy.

They left the bridal salon hand in hand. Iris rested her head on Barry’s arm as they walked. “I love you so much.” she said gazing up at him. “I can’t wait to marry you.”

Barry kissed the top of her head.

“I love you too. I’ve wanted to marry you since we were kids. I didn’t mind waiting till I saw you in your dress. Now, I’m starting to get impatient.”

[cheapmermaidweddingdresses]

women cheapyjsojcje-khs or business suits also offer formal suit dresses for women purple prom dresses

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Also, prudently choose your embellishments. The cost of a dress is quickly driven up by the kind of intricate embellishments (such as beadings and laces) it has. Therefore, opt for a classic gown without any embellishments, or opt for a wedding dress with great details on its design such as stylish stitches, pleats, tucks, and sterling ruffles. Any wedding attire design accents that are created through fabric manipulation rather than through intricate handwork are quite cheaper. I am fortunate enough to have my own sets of designers who do this work for me so I really haven’t done any logo contests projects before. But if you’re starting out from scratch, meaning you don’t have any connection, it would be a little bit tough to find a designer willing to do work for you. In fact, most of the designers that you can find through forums are the crappy ones as most of the premium ones aren’t usually available for work. Another downside is the high cost. The multifariousness of women swim cover ups can be easily enjoyed when you use these garments to your advantage prom dress stores. While nothing new, and really a primary product of the 40s and 50s, when modesty was the key note in the swimwear that women wore, the truth is that the cover ups of today are intended to play an entirely different role in society. No longer are cutesy and skimpy bathing suits considered to be taboo in society. Yet a cover up still has much to offer that you may not even be aware of. Several hidden benefits they can enable for you are about to be revealed, so stick around. Related recommendations: at lalamir%ef%bc%8csoft wedding dresses are making a come back this season what is it about french women and their seemingly effortless style What makes this collection unique? All gowns are made to measure to your unique size you can understand how to choose the best colors for your summer bridesmaid dresses better

[foursproutlove-blog]

What Does It Mean If I End Up Being Alone For The Rest Of My Life?

New Post has been published on http://foursprout.com/love/what-does-it-mean-if-i-end-up-being-alone-for-the-rest-of-my-life/

What Does It Mean If I End Up Being Alone For The Rest Of My Life?

I always thought being married would make me happy. It didn’t. Now what?

Ever since I was little, I’ve dreamed about being married.

Maybe it’s because my mom leaned too much on me after her divorce, filling me up with stories about how all she’d ever wanted to be was a wife and mother, and how my father broke her heart and ruined her life by leaving her. I got the message very young that having a man is what it’s all about – the ultimate validation of a woman’s worth – and decided I was going to succeed where my mother had failed. (Because from my childish Daddy’s-girl perspective, the divorce was due to my mom’s failure to hold on to my dad, rather than my dad’s failure to keep it in his pants around his students.)

I became marriage-obsessed. Until I was older than I’d like to admit, I staged elaborate weddings for my Barbie dolls, fashioning gowns out of Kleenex and Scotch tape and playing “One Hand, One Heart” from the West Side Story soundtrack on a loop. When the JC Penney catalog arrived in the mail, I stashed it in my room and dog-eared the pages of the wedding section; I spent my allowance on glossy bridal magazines and debated the merits of Barbados vs Hawaii as a honeymoon destination.

It’s embarrassing to admit all of that. After all, I was born in 1975, not 1950. My generation isn’t supposed to depend on men, or relationships, as proof of our worth. We’re supposed to be enlightened, independent, and career-driven. We’re feminists. And I am a feminist. I would never want my daughters to think they have to be married in order to have a fulfilling life.

But let’s be real. Feminism hasn’t put a damper on women’s wedding-fever. We still squeal and grab each other’s hands to check out engagement rings. Couples spend tens of thousands of dollars on photographers and dresses and catering. We work hard to come up with the perfect cute-but-not-cutesy wedding hashtags. If anything, the advent of social media has made weddings an even bigger deal than they used to be. When I was a kid, weddings were held on Saturday mornings at the church. Afterward, there was a cake in the fellowship hall, along with a bowl of punch and maybe some dishes of nuts and mints. No one danced at the weddings of my youth. And yet somehow, this was still my life goal.

When I got married, I got everything I’d wanted. I got the diamond ring, the tulle skirt, and the tiered cake. But most important, I got the husband to prove I was worthy of being loved. Someone had claimed me for the rest of time – someone I was sure would never leave me. And he didn’t. I left him.

Marriage is not a cure for loneliness

The thing I didn’t understand when I was younger is that being married doesn’t mean you won’t be lonely anymore. It doesn’t mean you’ll feel like you’re finally good enough, if you didn’t think you were good enough before. You’ll look around at your married friends and think they must have it all figured out – they must have real marriages – while yours is a sham that you settled for out of desperation.

I don’t mean to say that my entire marriage was miserable. It wasn’t. I was very much in love with my husband for a very long time, and I think he would say the same about me. Our children are a testament to our love for each other, something beautiful we created together, who brought us – and still bring us – endless joy and love. But in the end, being married just couldn’t live up to my expectations, because my expectations were all wrong. I thought marriage would cure my loneliness and low self-esteem. I thought it would make me happy. Instead, my unhappiness poisoned my marriage, and my loneliness grew even sharper.

After my divorce, I told anyone who asked that I had no regrets whatsoever about leaving. Getting divorced is brutal, especially when you have kids, and there were some terrible days. Still, I never looked back – until recently. Five years after we signed our divorce papers, regret finally wormed its way in. Things were not going according to plan; my 40th birthday had passed, and I wasn’t yet remarried. I’m going to be alone forever, I thought. I realized I’d have been celebrating my 16th wedding anniversary and felt a deep sadness. Every time one of my friends posted a social media brag about their anniversary, I felt like a quitter.

Finding happiness alone

This summer, I traveled by myself more than I ever have before. At first, I hated it. I slept alone every night, boarded airplanes alone, went on long drives alone, went running alone, and worked alone.

Gradually, I got used to it, and at some point, I started to feel like myself in a way I hadn’t for a long time. I thought of the line from my favorite Derek Walcott poem – “Give back your heart to itself, to the stranger who has loved you all your life, whom you ignored for another, who knows you by heart.” I made friends with myself again, and I felt a sense of happiness and peace that had been eluding me for months.

When I came home, I was different. For one thing, the regret I’d been feeling about my divorce had evaporated. I remembered the way I’d felt near the end of my marriage – the hopelessness that things would ever get better, the feeling of being trapped. I left my husband because I needed to believe there was something else out there for me; I couldn’t be stuck in that marriage forever, when I’d entered into it for the wrong reasons. It wasn’t fair to me, or my husband, or our kids. But I realized I was looking for that “something else” outside of myself, in a partner, without stopping to consider that that’s how I went wrong the first time. Did I want to simply trade in one problematic relationship for another one? Or did I want to stop and think about what I want for my life – what I really want, outside of acting out childhood wedding fantasies and attempting to redeem my parents’ mistakes?

I still wouldn’t say that I want to be alone for the rest of my life. But, what if I am? I have to admit that none of my own plans for my life have turned out very well. I like to be in control – I like getting my way. But “my way” has all too often ended in heartache. So why do I keep insisting on it? And so, I’m trying to listen. I’m trying to be patient. I’m trying to “take my sticky fingers off the control panel,” as Anne Lamott puts it. If I get to wear a big dress and have a fancy cake and come up with a cute wedding hashtag someday, great. If not, great. Either way, I’m OK. Because if life has taught me anything, it’s that I’m not very good at knowing what will make me happy. And just maybe, being alone is not so bad after all.

Elizabeth lives in Brooklyn with two daughters, occasional mice and innumerable to-do lists. She runs a nine-minute mile, bakes a mean chocolate chip cookie, and can always be persuaded to sing at a karaoke bar. Follow her on Twitter.

This originally appeared on SHESAID. Republished here with permission.

Other Links:

Why Calling Roy Moore A Pedophile Lets Him, And Men Like Him, Off The Hook

On Victim-Blaming And ‘Five Seconds Of Fame’

On Giving Second Chances And Getting Burned

The post What Does It Mean If I End Up Being Alone For The Rest Of My Life? appeared first on Role Reboot.

[rusticrevivals]

Take Dorothy out of Kansas, stick her in a fantasy world where she meets fairy god-mothers with crowns and magic wands and high-heeled slippers… and whaddaya got?  You’ve still got ginghamized Dorothy, bless her, headin’ back to Kansas- just a little older and wiser.  “There’s NO PLACE LIKE HOME”…

  Here in the Appalachians, you send a tomboy, “Chip”, (me, see below, age 10 and 14)  to a new place, and she’s confronted with crowns and high heels and told she’s expected to help organize a bunch of princesses, and she’s in a tail spin… but guess what? The mail lady (Glinda the Good Witch?) knows everybody, waves her magic wand, steps in with her ruby shoes and all is well… turns out those princesses are just good ole country girls like Chip herself!  The tricky bit’s gonna be getting them OUT of Kansas!

Apparently Queens’ Pageants (formerly ‘beauty pageants’ but no longer quite so exploitative of women) are popular in every single town in New Brunswick.  The crowned gals are even EXPECTED to wear their tiaras and sashes to school the following day, and actually aren’t laughed out of the building, either! (Having taught in 4 rather rough schools in 3 different countries, I find this VERY difficult to come to terms with, but apparently it’s common practice and just as accepted as one of my 12-year-old students carrying an ankle knife to school in inner city Leeds, U.K. or my 15-year-old pupil breast-feeding her baby in my English class ‘on the rez’ in Browning, Montana!)

I’ve often been surrounded by lovely young women while teaching in Canada and abroad.  Some of the girls I’ve had the pleasure of working with onstage have even gone on to become actresses/models/singers and strong professionals who use some of the public-speaking and debate skills I helped them work on in their high-school days. However, this pageant thing is a very new concept to me.

(above, some of the lovely young ladies to whom I taught Drama and coached in a variety of musicals, ‘on the rez’ in Browning, Montana – please note, the above were NOT the same students who breast-fed their babes in class!)

For those girls, and some of the others I’m so proud of, I made a banner last year on International Girls’ Day, (although they are no longer ‘girls’, but very strong and talented  women now, and can all be seen or heard in public forums in one way or another).

above, some of my beautiful former students – from the USA, the U.K., and yes, Canada, too!

However, none of those girls are really the tiara-wearing types, either.  Up until a month or so ago I was feeling very much ‘out of my element’!

New Denmark is a wonderfully-close-knit community, as you’ll know from reading some of my previous blog postings.  It’s not just a mountain area where everyone pitches in and helps each other and attends church, dances, games’ nights, luncheons, etc. on a weekly basis – it’s got the additional distinction of being the largest AND oldest Danish community in Canada, and is thus rooted in tradition.  Founder’s Day in New Denmark has always been an important celebration, and until recent years was an annual event.  The little rural museum just up the road from us is a Provincial Historical Site, as “Immigrant House”, where the majority of settlers stayed in 1872 before being granted their land, was on that corner. There’s a great video posted online about the Centennial Parade from 1972, which I just love watching! It’s so dear and even, now, familiar!  www.youtube.com/watch?v=hAvS-3M78rQ

This year, by accident (I was meant to be going to a meeting of the historical committee and ended up at the 145th planning committee meeting instead!) I am helping organize the Founder’s Day activities, and thus you’ll see lots more photos from this fun event later in June. It’s held around the 19th of that month every 5 years now, because that’s when the first ship with the majority of Danes landed here.  One of the events is a big parade from near our farm, at the rural museum corner, up the hill past the church and on to the little rural ‘rec centre’.  And what’s a parade without a bevy of beautiful young ladies waving their delicate hands and straightening their tiaras on a floral-decorated float?    Here’s a screen shot  with their centennial year’s Queen and Princess, 1972:

About the only thing I’m familiar with in that picture is the TRUCK.  But I digress… Having heard rumours (I guess) that I was a former Drama teacher – and NOT having heard rumours that I was a tomboy who despised cutesy, demure women, frivolous ball-gowns, high heels, and anything superficial or commercialized, a former director of the Founder’s Day planning committee pointed his over-large finger at me at the very first meeting and delegated me in charge of the pageant.  Luckily for me, Mary Beth the Mail-lady (secretary of no less than FOUR committees in this small “happenin’ ” place!) immediately stepped in and organized a bunch of people who knew a lot more about pageants than I EVER will, to help!  Mary Beth has ordered the tiaras, too, so thank God that’s out of my hands, as they’d have ended up with Stetsons or dressage top hats!  (We suspect M.B. ordered the extra one so she can be seen driving about the hills and dales delivering her letters and feeling “special” ).

Another lucky thing: ’twas Mary Beth herself who said “why don’t we just make the theme ‘COUNTRY’ this year?  Well, ole Chip of Rustic Revivals can do THAT!  And it ties right in with our enormously talented photographer, a former New Denmark pageant gal herself, Miss Tiffany Christensen.  As I’ve organized and decorated so many rustic weddings and events in my rural-based businesses, so has Tiffany taken plenty of rustic and rural-based photography, because it’s not only what we see and live out here, it’s ALSO become a world-wide fad even for those who’ve never set foot in a barn or old klunker of a pick-up truck before!  (On Saturday, my Rustic Revivals was at our first N.B. craft sale, right at the little rec centre where the pageant will take place, and had some of the best attention ever, because folks in the mountains ‘get’ primitives, and several custom orders are coming in also for yet more ‘Burlap Bags’, ((as Richard calls me)) creations.  I’ll be doing a special Easter blog with my latest line next week.)

Thus, Tiffany and I have both been involved in promoting the beauty and history of the rural landscapes around us.  Here’s a lovely photo she took recently, and she’ll be doing a number like this for the pageant girls, as they are to have a ‘spa and photography day’ together in May.

You can see the rural and rustic trend that is so popular now for both weddings AND grads/proms, etc, so why not in our own rural pageant?   (Excuse the blurriness of the following – this is obviously not in Tiffany’s originals, but my ad program isn’t always in love with the wordpress one!  Isn’t her logo neat?  Look how the camera is subtly wrapped into her initials!  And the natural leaves/sheaves represent the countryside we love!)

As Rustic Revivals  has also now debuted locally (after 7 years of ‘touring’ the back roads of Montana, Yorkshire, Aberdeenshire and Ontario!), we realize the mountains here in Appalachia are just the right spot for us!  Although online selling isn’t to be ruled out :  www.etsy.com/shop/rusticrevivals

And RURAL Revivals, (its sister company), as special rural events organizer and country-themed decorator/interior designer (www.facebook.com/rural.revivals   and  http://rusticrevivals.wixsite.com/ruralrevivals ) will also be comfortably-based and definitely using Miss Christensen for all events photography and official before-and-after shots of our specialty rooms with shabby chic/’country’/French Provincial/ ‘cabin’  make-overs (if you haven’t yet viewed my own crappy before and after photos, see previous posts on renos).  Former campaigns which have included us in newspapers and on television have resulted in less attention than in just having the good readers of this blog spread the word…

…so I’m hoping that those of you who are in New Brunswick or who have the money to fly her out to you, will consider using Tiffany Christensen as YOUR official photographer as well!

Of course she doesn’t just take portraits in rural settings; have a look at all her lovely work on her FB page:

http://www.facebook.com/TiffanyChristensenPhotography

I tried 3 times to catch the magic of the hoar frost on the mountainsides, for instance, this winter, and failed spectacularly, but Tiffany has a real talent:

She was also able to capture the stunning autumnal colours here better than I!

Having said that, I’m not a COMPLETE amateur when it comes to pretty country girls posting for the camera.  Last spring, nearly a year ago, in fact, a gorgeous former riding student from Scotland came for a visit to Ontario and wanted the ‘typical’ Dukes of Hazzard/’Western’-and hill-billy-style pics. So, I introduced her to my native friend and her teepee,another former riding student and her horse, Richard’s ’73 Nova for that Dukes of Hazzard effect and also, of course -his moonshine jug. Then I got my camera out. Here’s a slideshow for fun:

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I also loaded up all my rustic decor and we spent an all-afternoon photo-shoot with some work that I’m pretty proud of, and she SHOULD be as well:

The ‘other type of riding’…

While I wouldn’t suppose to be as good as Tiffany, and while it DID take us about 50 photos just to get one good one, I am rather proud of the above.  Now, someday, especially with the gorgeous gals we have in this year’s pageant as models, Tiffany might even have a front cover for some real fashion mags.  I do like to think that ours could have just as easily been on a Vogue special issue:

And, funnily enough, here she is even posing as a MaryBeth !

That’s right, I’ve worn many hats in my time, in many different places around the world… Off-stage, On-stage, Mounted, UnMounted, in various positions for the Ministry of Natural Resources, Ministry of Education etc.  Mom/Joy even thinks that should be the title of my autobiography.  Either that, or she’s suggested “The Many Beds in Which I’ve Slept”?  I keep telling her that just makes me sound like a slut…

HOWEVER, AS MANY HATS AS I’VE WORN, I’VE NEVER WORN A TIARA!

  The pageant girls, and I won’t name them here, are all eager, however, to be dubbed “Queen”, or at least “Princess”, despite them being very much Appalachian Country girls in their own right.  One of them is line-dancing for her talent, and another even asked if she could ride her DIRT BIKE for her talent portion!  So I’m no longer worried about dealing with the demure, prissy type – these young ladies are up for anything!  Ironically, not only has the group dance which I’m choreographing morphed into a hill-billy dance in barefeet (and I was a chorus dancer in L’il Abner onstage in barefeet forty years ago!) but the other talents a few of the girls wish to show-case are Poetry Reading and doing a Monologue.  With NO suggestions even, by me, an English/Drama teacher, with published poetry and an award on her wall for doing Dramatic Monologues!  Well, really, since MaryBeth rounded up all this extra help for me to have the promenades, turns, waves and poise stuff looked after, I can do this! Who’d have thought this pageant gig would end up being so close to my own propensities  (ie: rustic decorating, slopping out verse, projecting loudly, and strutting about in patched clothes with a heavy emphasis on the balls of my feet!!!!   Yeeee- hawwwww!)

By the way, speaking of all-things-hill-billy:  In regard to this week’s title, did you know a ‘hootenanny’ is actually a SCOTTISH word, which should please Mom/Joy?  According to Wikipedia, it is simply “a Scottish word meaning ‘party’ or ‘celebration’. With the Scots being one of the biggest groups of settlers in the Appalachian region (bringing with them their whisky-making tradition and methods, leading to the area’s moon-shining tradition) it is not surprising that hootenanny became an Appalachian colloquialism. ”     Besides I like it better than ‘hoedown’, although that is an equally pleasant-sounding alliteration to match with ‘hill-billy’. It’s just that ‘hoe-down’ will likely be needed in future titles to represent our extensive gardening, which is a must when living self-sufficiently!

Every Monday night we are in rehearsal now with the girls.  Chantal, one of the moms, a MaryBeth recruit to our committee, and herself a participant in numerous provincial pageants (“but that was HOW many years ago?” her daughter piped up last night) is an invaluable wealth of info. for both me and the young ladies, as she is instructing them in poised walking with books on heads, and my old Tickle Trunk petticoats on their lower half to aid in twirls and turns.  Even with ‘cammo’ and baseball hats, Chantal can get these ladies to SPIN!

  (above, note the Danish ‘welcome’ in our church basement:  “Velkommen” – it’s seen in every public building here in the community, and the Danish flag, on Mary Beth’s cartoon mailbox and picket fence, is seen flying on at least every other farm!  Also, please note that while I have permission to publicly post these photos of the pageant gals, I am not going to name them, as a respect to their underage privacy!)

I also asked Chantal to please choreograph the girls’ initial ‘promenade’ in their casual clothes (which they are piecing together with only $10.00 from second-hand and rummage sales, don’t you think that’s a wonderful tradition?) and also their ball-gown finale, when they will be escorted on to the stage by two little 7 year old boys dressed in flannel shirts and wearing cow-boy hats and boots to keep in line with our ‘Down-Home Country’ theme.  I can’t wait to see that!

Here are some photos I took last night of Chantal rehearsing the girls in high heels to prepare for their intro-dance, which will be to Shania Twain’s “Man, I Feel Like a Woman” (’cause I wanted to have only women singers, we needed country songs for the theme, and we DEFINITELY needed a Canadian!)  As always, please click on each photo to blow up and read the captions:

Balancing Precariously ‘in format’

Chantal instructs, with Tiffany, to left, taking her ‘official photos’ for a wonderful behind-the-scenes slide show she has planned for pageant night!

another format that should be a fun ‘intro’

Chantal ‘gets down’ with some finger-snapping, hip-swinging, trying to impress on the girls the importance of having that ‘attitude’

Tiffany asked the girls and Chantal to hold the final pose of their first dance while she snapped an official shot. This is my much-less clear one!

To give their poor tootsies a break from the high-heels they aren’t all used to wearing (and certainly not dancing in!) we next went to my ‘group dance’, a bit of a production into which I’ve of course introduced a touch of ‘drama’ (bit of business at the beginning).  Here’s another big irony:  those poor girls, who are country/mountain gals at heart, have to learn to walk gracefully and to show off their feminine wiles one minute, switch to being what many of them (like me) would rather walk like – a relaxed mountain-girl hill-billy in bare feet, and then throw on a ball-gown and go back to that poised, tall, no-slouching grace again.  It’s really going to be an amazing challenge for them!

Here are some of last night’s rehearsal for the group dance, which will be to Lisa McHugh’s ‘Hill-billy Girl’ – but I dislike her line-dance to the same, and as one of our girls is doing a line-dance for her ‘talent portion (she goes for lessons every week with her grandfather, but he declined doing it in the pageant with her!) I’m putting in my own choreography.  (Though my back has been much better since the 3rd surgery in 2008, the knees, since the last crashing somersault fall off Junior in 2004 are progressively worse with osteo-arthritis.  Since they won’t do knee surgeries now until we hit age 60, and because I refuse to let the pain take away ALL my activity levels, I ‘strap up’! ) Click on any of the below to enlarge and read the captions:

plain old ‘grapevine’

now, that lean back, inside leg out thing…

Within the Hillbilly Girl dance there are two instrumental bits and I’ve planned a ‘showcase’ of each girl’s gymnastic talent aka “hillbilly jumps and kicks” to add some excitement… Here’s one from last week’s rehearsal, with faithful Tiffany taking photo:

Lastly, the girls put their high-heels back on to practice their more formal ball-gown finale. Chantal is playing the part of the little 7 year-old boys, as she escorts each to the stage and instructs them on their ‘turns’. They will then be asked a question on their thoughts or beliefs on a certain subject, by the M.C., prior to the judges making their final decisions.  Here’s each of the lovely girls as they come down the aisle to Jessica Andrews’ ‘Who I Am’ (Rosemary’s Grand-daughter).  And one of them actually IS a Rosemary’s grand-daughter, too!  I suggested that her grandmother would LOVE this song, then. However, we were informed that Rosemary was quote/unquote ‘unable to attend’.  We said ‘oh, that’s too bad, why not?’.    ‘Wal, ’cause she’s dead’ was the drawled response.

  By the way, when you see very ripped jeans (above) please note that these are not being worn in preparation for the Hill-billy Girl dance with me.  For those of you not as ‘hip’ as I am to the modern fashion (the very use of the term ‘hip’ proves this is entirely tongue-in-cheek) these are the designer pants that cost so much nowadays, and another bit of irony is that the girls are going to be buying their ‘casual wear’ for the pageant at rummage sales for under $10.00, and likely (because their grandparents won’t approve) leaving these jeans at home!

Thus, the ironies of my life in the Appalachians continues.  Just when you think something is being introduced into your life which you just can’t come to grips with, you take off your shoes, your bare feet help you get sticky purchase, and there you are.  You’ve come to grips!

Kick off them ruby slippers, Dorothy.  You’re back on the farm, baby.

Funnily enough, the above “Find Your Style” meme is at the top of our Rural Revivals’ website, http://rusticrevivals.wixsite.com/ruralrevivals  and is not only what the girls are considering wearing for their group dance, but the ‘find your style’ motto is how they are being told to go find their rummage sale casual outfits for both their Princess tea and their Introductory walk onstage the night of the pageant!  So maybe I DO know more about this then I at first thought!

        Hill-billy Hootenanny: Purty Pals & Gingham Gals Take Dorothy out of Kansas, stick her in a fantasy world where she meets fairy god-mothers with crowns and magic wands and high-heeled slippers...