#specifically one based off Letters by Mother Mother

[canadianlucifer]

Am I thinking about a character that appeared for like, two panels and is never mentioned afterwards again? Perhaps. Anyways, Seina Takizawa headcanons-

-She studied psychology in college and became a therapist

-She sits with Rocky while the pup waits for her parents to come home (rip Michie and unnamed father)

-She works with the TSC and United Front providing her services to the countless traumatized ghouls out there

-I assume she had bleached her hair when we saw her in the manga and she has since grown it out back to a light brown

-She likes to wear her hair in a ponytail with a clip her mom used in her bun

-Her dad had a bunch of golf stuff and she plays tabletop golf when she's bored

-She watches the cop shows Seidou used to watch and while she didn't like them at first, they grew on her

-She visits her family's graves every Tuesday and leaves letters she wrote for them

-She saw a cloaked figure at their graves once, though it fled as soon as she saw it. She can't help but think about who it was...

-She found out the truth about her brother when a former investigator noted her last name and told her about him

-She went home and stared at the ceiling for the rest of the day, thinking about what he might be doing and what he had been doing when she thought he was dead

-It wasn't until she visited the graves again she broke down crying

-She wants to see him again but doesn't know what she'd say

-Seidou reads the letters she leaves him and after she left one telling him she knows, he left her one back (what does it say? no one knows (aka, I'm not sure what he'd write yet))

-And her favourite colour is purple

[marzipanandminutiae]

would you have any reading suggestions to learn more about the earrings are evil era??? I've never heard of that aspect of fashion history and I am curious

Oh man, it was wild

you saw the first stirrings of it in the 1890s, when you started to get (mostly white and middle-to-upper-class) proto-feminists arguing that ear piercing was barbaric- keep an eye on the racist undertones there; they will come up again-and forcing women to suffer for fashion. I cannot emphasize enough that, until that point, ear piercing had been pretty much normal for this race/class/gender group. For centuries. You see criticism of the practice here and there, but nothing that really stuck.

The objections slowly increased until roughly the mid-1920s, when everything reached a tipping point and pierced ears became largely taboo for most white Americans and Brits of northern/western European descent. If that sounds HIGHLY specific, it is- communities from southern and sometimes eastern Europe retained cultural practices of ear piercing, to the point where it was often used as a point against them by mainstream society. It was also associated with Latino people, Black people, and the Romani, which. Yeah. I don't need to tell you how that went down.

It also developed associations with sexual immorality and/or backwards thinking. One newspaper letter I read came from a teen girl in the 1940s, wondering why she shouldn't pierce her ears if her very respectable grandmother had piercings. The response was something like "well, they did all sorts of things in the Bad Old Days that we shouldn't do now." True in many ways, or course, but...piercing your ears? That's the hill culture decided to die on as far as antiquated behavior that we should leave behind? Apparently yes.

Earrings themselves never went out of style, which led to the birth of clip-ons and screwbacks. Ironic that the "don't surfer for fashion" crowd was so eager to embrace screwing tiny vices onto your ears, but there we are. My own mother (born 1953) remembers her mother (born 1926) always taking off her screwback earrings immediately after getting home from a party, literally in the foyer of their house the second the door shut. There had been adaptations for unpierced ears before- Little Women, published in 1868, describes Meg March hanging earrings from a flesh-colored silk ribbon tied around the base of her ear -but they'd never caught on like this before.

However, the pendulum was soon to swing back. After just 40 years of Piercing Panic, in the 1960s, girls began piercing their ears again in droves. As piercing moved from the slumber party or summer camp back to the professional jewelers whose families had been early professional piercers in the 19th century- and to befuddled doctors who had no idea what they were doing yet still received piercing requests -cultural commentators had no idea what to make of it. Some decried the new trend while most took an air of bemused neutrality. My personal favorite article expressed surprise that "Space Age misses" were adopting these "Victorian traditions."

(In 1965, my grandmother took Mom to the anesthesiologist down the street who was offering to pierce his young daughter's friends gratis, and got it done. My grandfather had strongly disapproved of the idea, but in the end it took him a week to notice the new earrings.)

As to sources...honestly, I've just gone to Google Books, specified a time frame, and typed in "ear piercing," "pierced ears," "pierce ears," etc. Tons of primary sources at your fingertips, though I'm not always great about documenting or saving what I find. There's not much written about it formally, I've found- no books or scholarly studies. It may just be too close in history to attract much academic attention, though I find it fascinating.

This little blip where something that's been normal for most of western history suddenly became taboo for a hot second.

Also my ear piercings just turned 20 five days ago, commemorating the date that I was taken with much ceremony to Piercing Pagoda (and that horrible gun; it's a wonder I didn't get keloids) to get me out from underfoot while the Thanksgiving feast was being made. Grandma got hers pierced on the same day, at age 78. Happy Birthday, Marzi's ear piercings!

[falloutcaldera]

Open Letter To Nukapedia

I have been informed me posting to tumblr is being assumed to be me trying to incite shit & assuming bad faith. As this was not my intention, here's the little good faith I have left:

I wrote that last message with the intention of leaving due to finding the situation unconscionable, while on a call with my disabled coauthor and friends who were equally as distressed as I was that someone like that had been not only allowed back into the server, but had been allowed to claim they had not said anything eugenicist. I then went to leave the sever only to discover it was no longer in my list - meaning I'd been banned before I could even leave. And then I had to learn the reason for my ban from a third party.

So my assumption was Not GreatTM. I was a little emotionally compromised! Let me elaborate as to why:

That user had called disabled children an 'empty resource sink' and a detriment to society in response to an ongoing conversation (one that I freely admit I had gotten frustrated with - what appeared at the time & what I am now almost certain was - sealioning - and thus been rude, and apologized for that) where I was attempting, in good faith, to explain contemporary fight for disability rights in the United states. I had previously mentioned IN SPECIFIC growing up autistic and seeing the murder of fellow autistic children being called 'mercy killings'. This user had previously in the course of this conversation specifically mentioned 'high functioning conditions' such as Asperger's being different from ones they considered debilitating.

(Its notable that this diagnosis has since folded into ASD, and with the name being considered controversial due to being named after Hans Asperger.)

This user then said that the 'mercy' of 'allowing' some people who 'could not function' to die was morally correct TO THE FACE OF A SPECED AUTISTIC PERSON WHO HAD JUST MENTIONED PEOPLE LIKE THEM BEING KILLED SPECIFICALLY.

From my perspective this is not even a fucking dog whistle, it is a whistle at best, more like a bullhorn. It is full on mask off 'actually people (who you say are like you) SHOULD die, if they cant ~contribute~'. It is directly saying people like me & my coauthor are justifiable losses. It is rhetoric which has directly killed people like me in recent memory.

It is so viscerally horrifying and evil of a rhetoric that I immediately felt their restored presence was an allowance. Even this I might have taken in good faith - except they (and the user supporting them) had Literally Stated What They Said Was Not Eugenicist. A mod Saw This, said 'drop the topic' - it is not a topic to drop, from your own commented policy after the first incident and for the safety of others, it is a instant ban situation - and moved on silently. From my perspective this was a giant red flag saying 'this is now a eugenicist bar'.

I am not exactly inclined to extend good faith when the fact is, we are currently in a wave of ableism rhetoric from the transphobic alt right especially against autistic and mentally ill people.

A former US president is well known for having mocked Serge Kovaleski's disability, and when then-12-year-old JJ Holmes protested this, he encouraged his followers to harass them, resulting in people shoving the boys wheelchair & sexually harassing his mother. Autism Speaks spokespersons talked about wanting to murder their children while they were still in the room. Dr. Phil openly platformed the attempted killer & mother of Izzy Stapleton just 10 years ago. We still face organ transplant discrimination, immigration discrimination, and we STILL to this day are being tortured in ABA 'therapy' that is based on the same attitudes that Ivar Lovaas's applied in his 'Feminine Boys Project', a series of abusive conversion tactics which led to the suicide of Kirk Murphy - a 'doctor' who once said "[autistics] are not people in the psychological sense."

That same former president was just alleged by his nephew to have said "Those people [...] The shape they’re in, all the expenses, maybe those kinds of people should just die."

How am I SUPPOSED to assume, in this political climate, good faith from 'empty resource sink' being allowed to be defended in any capacity, as a disabled person? Or hell, just as a person with disabled friends & loved ones. As a human being.

It is not that I am extending bad faith to your platform, I do not feel safe on your platform.

My coauthor did not feel safe enough to join your platform, my girlfriend would not feel safe on your platform, my friends do not feel safe on your platform. My THERAPIST read these messages and recommended I do not ever come back to your platform! I did not post on tumblr with the intention of causing problems but of protecting fellow disabled people from harm.

I have OCD & actively avoid posting issues outside of private chats because I have severe paranoia about being part of internet pile-ons in any capacity, to the point I STILL have avoided showing any user names or profile pictures. Yet this was still such an egregious situation that I felt I would be actively allowing people to come to harm if I didn't speak up.

I am not returning to the discord. I no longer feel comfortable talking about disability or queer representation in fallout in a space where people brushed off that rhetoric, and acted like it was an overreaction to be horrified - even momentarily. I am frankly unsure if I would feel safe even if everyone who did so was banned.

If you genuinely think I am overreacting, acting in bad faith - understand this comes from TWO DECADES of seeing people like me killed by caretakers every day and then hearing THAT & seeing people defend it.

Postcomment:

Hi. This is Ren, second author of Caldera and multiply disabled young adult. I proofread and editted this post as well as being present during a lot of this situation - either from being the person Cilantro stepped back to when they recognized they were getting emotionally intense about a situation or being on call with them during the incident in question, and I want to make some things clear.

I am absolutely Furious at the way my peers and loved ones have been treated during this time. Both directly in nukapedia itself and in the, haha, fallout that has followed.

You might ask why I have not been directly involved if I feel so strongly about it, the answer is simple. My absence Was an attempt at good faith. Through Cilantro's talks on what the atmosphere was like, I learned there would almost definitely be situations that lead me to feeling defensive, stressed and frustrated- emotions I admit to struggling to process. So I made the executive decision that I did not feel I could safely belong there and stayed to the sidelines.

Cilantro has never claimed perfection- and has multiple times apologized for allowing emotional reactions to lash into conversations and stepped away. And it is infurating to see their (and several other of our peers and friends) characters attacked like this. Own up to your own failures in protecting your members, or it will not be just our trust you have lost.

[danger-bird]

Touchstarved Astrology Headcanons🌠

Mostly based on my own irl observations over the years, as well as my bookworm era a few years ago . Also taking into account my own impressions & feelings for the LIs, so sufficiently biased and I'm not sorry. In the words of Danny DeVito: "I'm right, you're wrong, and there's nothing you can do about it!" /lovingly❤️

Ais

Venus in Virgo. Period. I'm dying on this hill. Fight me. No but fr, first he's a diehard animal lover and will jump into a dog fight to save a puppy. Second, he's giving "mother hen" behavior - says "watch your step", then grabs you when you trip and scolds you "told you to watch your step"(Virgo 101); sends you off with an ESCORT, jumps in fists first when the roughneck tries fighting you then hides you from the purple gang later and escorts you back himself - need I say more? Not to mention he VERY likely helped Kuras save us (his scent lingers in the clinic when MC wakes up), and helps in the clinic regularly (so a part-time nurse, most likely helped save Mhin too). Also, he was definitely watching over us even before the Seaspring (the scarred woman knew our name from somewhere, also the Unnamed can feel Ocudeus' presence outside the clinic). He craves taking care of someone - people, animals, soulless, poor unfortunate souls - you name it. And it's not for show - that's just how he is. That's how he shows love - by being attentive. All my favorite people have this placement, they're all like him in this regard - best Venus placement imo (yes, I'm a biased Venus in Taurus, BUT I'm also right, lol)

Scorpio Ascendant I mean... come on. Come on. He's LITERALLY a gang leader! Not that anybody needs convincing, but aside from the sharp, intense eyes and the fact he oozes sex appeal, this would place his Sun in 10th House- he is known publicly as a leader, his presence demands respect and attracts attention. BDE for sure. Also he's very smart, intuitive and observant. Very aware of his surroundings, can pick up on people's moods & intentions like it's nothing. I'm convinced he can literally read our mind. A smart, sexy and caring bastard, lord help me...

Kuras

Virgo Signature sign Kuras is very service-oriented, focused on helping the community and always looking for ways to assist others. Very mindful of people’s problems and what they’re in need of - and ready to provide it, no matter what it may cost him. He’s also very polite, but comes off rigid, like he’s read “Social Etiquette for Humans 101” and is following it to the letter lol. Also kinda nerdy – has his special interests, and if you let him he’ll talk about reductions and concoctions all day, every day. I don't think it's a specific placement that influences this behavior, it's the whole picture, thus - a signature sign!

Saturn Dominant This man is a Capricorn already, sure, but there’s a difference. Capricorn placements have an inner spark, a fire about them – they’re ambitious and driven while being practical and disciplined. Saturn, however, is a dry and dark, malefic - almost apocalyptic planet. It’s the last visible planet – the gatekeeper of the divine knowledge (depicted by the outer planets). It represents time, boundaries, a sense of duty and responsibility, guilt and the consequences of one's actions. A symbol of Kronos and the Devil, it represents the falling of God, the grotesque expression of divinity. Kuras has a curious mind, fascinated by science and humanity, and in light of the Kuras character lore (and his not-too-subtle mischievousness) he def has strong Uranus & Jupiter influence as well. But the Saturnian themes in particular parallel the themes and main conflict in his story most strongly.

Mercury Retrograde I had to. The way he's so precise and eloquent, but roundabout when he talks? How he's so tight-lipped and takes his sweet time before answering a question? Mercury retrograde, 100 percent. I don't make the rules.

Mhin

Moon in 1st House. How do I know? I have it. The color of printer paper (the sun hates us), emotions written all over their entire existence and impossible to hide, as well as rather intense emotional outbursts? Yes, yes and yes. Big-time tsundere? Yes. Big softy, too? Yes. We could be twins, honestly. I stg they have a crush on Ais, but unlike with Kuras they're not happy about it. I dunno, call it twin telepathy. The Christmas photo doesn't help either.

Water moon, most likely in Cancer. Not Scorpio, because their emotions fluctuate rapidly, and are overtly moody. The difference between big waves and a rip current, for example. But more so, this makes for a Sun-Moon square - the dissonance and lack of harmony between their outer persona and their inner needs and desires is clear. They have difficulty expressing their emotions, not difficulty as in showing them, but in a way where they come off wrong and get interpreted the wrong way. Very protective, like a smol soft crabbie shielding themselves with their shell. Pushes people away consciously, but hoping for someone to have enough of a "spine" to handle them and protect them, giving them a safe space to finally relax. Most of all they need love, reassurance and acceptance (my poor little meow meow💙)

Mars square Mercury That Mercury is in Aries, you can't tell me otherwise. The extra 'angry' coming from Mars in Capricorn is helping, too. But not only that, it also makes a square to their Sun AND an opposition to their Moon - a T-square, a highly difficult & stressful configuration. The Mars is in Capricorn because they like a partner with authority and attitude (Cap in 7th), and it makes for good synastry with Kuras (my cutie patooties). Also for how small they are, they're very agile and skilled with knifes (ruled by Mars).

Leander

Venus conjunct Pluto. Sexy. Magnetic. He pulls you in with the gravitational force of his tits. These people are the definition of an intense lover. Obsessive and hungry for love - and pain, equally, very big on extreme and overwhelming sensations. You have a terrible curse? Oooh, danger - gimme! You can never give them too much attention - they want it all, and they're not sharing. Possessive, wants to draw you into their little world and keep you for themselves.

Leo Ascendant, for a few reasons. I was initially thinking Libra, but after looking at everything, I decided on Leo. He has a noble presence - not surprising considering his upbringing. He's a very charismatic talker, well-spoken, lovely voice, can charm anyone into trusting him (Libra in 3rd coming through). To his credit, he takes his work seriously and comes off as a reliable boss (Cap in 6th, also Taurus in 10th). He wants to take care of people... or rather, wants to be seen as a savior. I really see him as a Gemini-Cancer cusp, but technically he's a Cancer so his sun will be in 12th house. It’s a house of self-undoing, the afterlife, illusions - ego and reality go to disintegrate here. All that connects into the life-and-death theme surrounding him and his design. The sun here becomes a fantasy, a goal rather than reality – a dream of being a leader, a hero, someone who people look up to for help and answers. He’s really giving Jesus-wannabe, with the resurrection and savior complex he has going on, as well as the over-the-top generosity. A big red crab, with a big red flag... and the tits to match (Cancer rules the booba).

Vere

Venus conjunct Midheaven, Midheaven being in Scorpio. With Sun in Scorpio. Lots of Scorpio. He’s so pretty! Pretty in an elegant, sensual, effortless yet manicured to perfection way. Apparently, the BBC (Big Bulky Collar) on him does not signal “DANGER!” to the rascals who take him for an easy target, because all they see is the approachable, delicate face and inviting voice. He knows the effect he has on people, and he’s using it to his advantage – to get a free drink, or to make people trust him juuust enough to get what he wants. He is attracted to power, powerful people, and wants power for himself – and he’s ruthless about achieving his goals, too (Scorpio in 10th); there’s a lot of gossip surrounding this man’s public image, his reputation. Venus conjunct Midheaven places a focus on art – he is an artist, appreciates art as well as creating it himself. He IS the art, or that’s the perception of him anyway.

Venus in Scorpio As Venusian as he appears, Venus is in detriment here – there’s conflicting emotions regarding his looks, and the perception of him – or rather, the expectations placed on him because of it. He'll break rules on purpose, act outrageous, play coy, use his beaty for all its worth – he’ll purposefully play the ‘bad guy’ as a form of rebellion, a defense mechanism. He can’t find comfort in a traditional relationship dynamic and has a hard time liking someone who likes them back - he’s afraid of commitment. I believe his confidence is a façade; there’s an underlying fear of betrayal and rejection, and a paranoia that any good thing that comes his way is a trick, a trap, or a lie. That he doesn’t deserve love or care, really. Buuut… if you’re like Ais and see him for all his ‘ugly’, and accept him anyway… then you’re really something💜.

1525 words. Yikes. I tried keeping the word count down.

Unsuccessful. Obviously.

If you’ve read this far, go have some water, a snack, a stretch – you deserve it! Doctor’s orders!!!

.

.

P.S. : Ais' side profile sprite is giving me "ex-punk mom wearing a cozy cardigan", is it just me? Anyone? Are you seeing it? Am I crazy? Do I need help?...

...I'll see myself out.

.

.

[anghraine]

Another Tolkien rant before I (finally!!) go back to BG3:

By and large, heredity and ethnicity in Tolkien cannot be understood through blood quantum logic. I don't think this is even seriously debatable, really—it does not work.

Yes, Imrahil of Dol Amroth is many generations removed from his nearest Elvish ancestor. Yes, he's still visibly part-Silvan to someone like Legolas, and is Silvan-style pretty to everyone else, and his sister was mystically susceptible to Mordor's miasma and died of sea-longing.

Yes, Théoden has as much Númenórean ancestry as Eldacar, a literal Númenórean King of Gondor, and has the same Elvish ancestor as Imrahil. No, Théoden is not a Dúnadan and does not inherit Silvan features. Tolkien specifically contrasted the visible Silvan Elvish heritage of Imrahil and his nephews Boromir and Faramir with Théoden and Éomer's lack of them, though in some versions, Éomer inherited remarkable height from his Númenórean ancestry (but not specifically Elvish qualities like beardlessness).

The only known member of the House of Eorl to markedly inherit the distinctive Elvish appearance of the House of Dol Amroth is Elfwinë, son of Imrahil's daughter Lothíriel as well as of Éomer, and Elfwinë's appearance is attributed firmly to Lothíriel-Imrahil rather than Théodwyn-Morwen.

Aragorn and Denethor are descendants of Elendil removed by dozens of generations, and Elendil himself was many generations removed from Elros. Aragorn and Denethor's common heritage and special status results in a strong resemblance and kinship between these incredibly distant cousins, including innate beardlessness and various powers inherited from Lúthien, and a connection to the Maiar presumably derived from Lúthien's mother Melian (great-great-grandmother of their very distant ancestor Elros).

Galadriel has one Noldo grandparent (half as much Noldorin heritage as Théoden has Númenórean). She has ties to her Telerin and Vanyarin kin and inherits some of their traits (most notably her silvery-gold hair), but she is very fundamentally a Noldo.

Túrin Turambar is a member—and indeed, heir—of the House of Hador via patrilineality. However, he's strongly coded as Bëorian in every other way because of his powerful resemblance to his very Bëorian mother, while his sister Niënor is the reverse, identified strongly with Hadorian women and linked to their father, whom she never met.

Elrond and Elros have more Elvish heritage than anything else, but are defined as half-Elves regardless of choosing mortality or immortality. In The Nature of Middle-earth, Tolkien casually drops the bombshell that Elros's children with his presumably mortal partner also received a choice of mortality vs immortality (and then in true Tolkien style, breezed onto other, less interesting points). Elrond and his sons with fully Elvish Celebrían are referred to as Númenóreans as well as Elves, with Elladan and Elrohir scrupulously excluded from being classed as Elves on multiple occasions. Their sister Arwen, meanwhile, is a half-Elf regardless of how much literal mortal heritage she has but also is identified with the Eldar in a way they never are.

There's a letter that Tolkien received in which a fan asks how Aragorn, a descendant of Fíriel of Gondor, could be considered of pure Númenórean ancestry when Fíriel was a descendant of Eldacar, the "impure" king whose maternal heritage kicked off the Kinstrife. Tolkien's response is essentially a polite eyeroll (and understandably for sure), but it's not like ancestry that remote (or far more so) doesn't regularly linger.

The point, I guess, is that there's no hard and fast rule here that determines "real" ethnicity in Middle-earth or who inherits what narrative identification. It's clearly not dependent on purebloodedness (gross rhetoric anyway, but also can't be reconciled with ... like, anything we see). It's not based on upbringing or culture alone. Túrin and Niënor, for instance, are powerfully identified with the Edain narratively despite their upbringings. Their double cousin Tuor, however, is a more ambiguous figure in terms of the Elves, whom he loves and lives among and possibly even joins in immortality—yet Tuor's half-Elf son Eärendil, whose cultural background is overwhelmingly Elvish, is naturally aligned with Men and only chooses immortality for his wife's sake.

Elladan and Elrohir, as mentioned above, are sons of an Elf, Celebrían, and of Elrond, a half-Elf who chose immortality and established a largely Elvish community at Rivendell. But the twins have a centuries-long affinity with their mortal Dúnadan kin and delay choosing a kindred to be counted among long after Arwen's choice.

Patrilineal heritages are more often than not given priority, which has nothing to do with how much of X blood someone has, only which side it comes from. Queen Morwen's children and descendants are emphatically Rohirrim who don't ping Legolas's Elvishness radar (though Elfwinë might, later on; we're not told). King Eldacar is firmly treated as a Dúnadan with no shortening of lifespan or signs of Northern heritage. Finwë's children and grandchildren are definitionally Noldor.

But this is by no means absolutely the case. The Elvishness of the line of Dol Amroth is not only inherited from Mithrellas, a woman, but passes to some extent to Boromir and Faramir through their mother Finduilas. Denethor and Aragorn's descent from Elros primarily comes through Silmariën, a woman (and also through Rían daughter of Barahir and Morwen daughter of Belecthor for Denethor, and Fíriel daughter of Ondoher for Aragorn). And of course, Elros's part-Maia heritage that lingers among his descendants for thousands of years derives from women, Lúthien and Melian.

So there's not some straightforward system or rule that will tell you when a near or remote ancestor "matters" when it comes to determining a character's identity, either to the character or to how they're handled by the narrative. Sometimes a single grandparent, or great-grandparent, or more distant ancestor, is fundamental to how a character is treated by the story and understands themself. Sometimes a character is so completely identified with one parent that the entire other half of their heritage is negligible to how they're framed by the story and see themself. It depends!

[worriedvision]

You lie to him - Wriothesley

Angst, gender neutral reader. A bit of a strange plot here - basically parents of reader are fatui agents and they try to get away from that. Wriothesley knows this, but unbenownst to him you hold back something serious.

There is a brief mention of children being snatched for experimentation. This is not graphic, however it is important for the story.

--

Receiving letters from your parents was a concern for you - your parents were both Fatui agents, devoted to the organisation and insisting you should turn to them. You never really liked it, how some innocent lives would be taken because of the Fatui - your earliest memory happened when you were out exploring by yourself.

--

People knew not to target you due to the insignia attached to your clothing, but unfortunately the same couldn't be said for another child. You had witnessed some of Dottores underlings snatching children that were clearly not attached to the Fatui, and based on the screams of the child they weren't going anywhere great. Before you could run along to protest, however, you felt a hand on your shoulder - your mother reassuring you the child was going to have a 'use'.

You didn't need to be a genius to know that was not true. Despite your concerns, however, you couldn't get any proper reassurance the child was fine whenever you asked your mother. From that point, you weren't permitted to leave the house alone. When you tried the first few times, you would be promptly dragged back to your home roughly, your parents punishing you once they get word of it happening.

Over time, you got smarter - you were taught by people who were good at their job, allowing you to read and write. When you caught wind of you being forcefully signed up by your parents when they left a letter out in the open - the two of them assuming you were too stupid to read and understand a letter - you made an elaborate plan to escape. You decide to play up the idea of not understanding anything your tutors were teaching you, attempting to buy you more time as you plan your escape, only to get impatient when you hear your parents talk gleefully about what you would be doing for the 'family' (you realise this was the company, not your own family).

One midnight, you run out under the blanket of night to sneak onto a boat. Bundled up with one bag to keep you going for at least a few weeks, you hope this boat takes you to a place where you can find where you belong.

That's how you met Wriothesley. More specifically, you were caught on the boat. Nobody on the boats team knew you, so you were handed over to Fontaine - thank goodness you had removed any evidence of being part of the Fatui. All insignias were off your person. You get sentenced to prison, which shocks you at the time. When you arrived, most of the folk around you were much older - as a child, that wasn't surprising for a prison. Nonetheless, you were scared.

However, one child was the same age as you. He seemed to be fidgety, but upon realising the new prisoner was around his age he was curious. With more conversations, you both grow closer. When you trust him enough to not tattle on you to the Fortress for a reduced sentence, he tells you his reason for being in prison. He was scared you would be disgusted, but you understand why he did what he did.

Upon becoming the new Administrator for the Fortress, you tell Wriothesley the real reason you were there. You had fled your parents house, knowing you'd be forced to help with the Fatuis plans, and Wriothesley smirks as he adds in a comment on how it explained how you didn't hate him when finding out his crime.

Everything was going so well between the two of you - everyone knew you were a couple, and everyone was supportive.

Unfortunately, the Fatui caught on to who you were. They send you letters, threatening to claim you the moment you slip up. Knowing you had nothing linking you to them, you weren't worried. Wriothesley didn't know about this, assuming everything was going well as you continued to try and evade capture by your parents.

Ironically, it's Wriothesley who slips up. He doesn't understand that your parents had a dedicated work ethic. He lets slip that you were a 'child' of the Fatui, and the Harbinger he was negotiating with feigns being insulted by the idea of someone turning on them.

After realising your time was limited, and you were going to either forcibly or willingly be sent back by the Fatui, you opt to burn the bridge you have with Wriothesley before handing yourself over. You know he can't do anything to stop this, even Neuvillette couldn't, and if you were to not 'turn' on him, he would be implicated on housing someone with a contractual attachment to the Fatui.

So, you do something stupid.

You tell Wriothesley you never loved him, that he was stupid for falling for your tricks. Wriothesley argues back, asking why you would do such an elaborate plan and remove all attachment from the Fatui all those years ago, only for you to laugh in his face. Showing a look of disgust, he turns to hide his face.

"Get out. I don't like who you are."

A correct statement for him to make, given the horrible lies you've been telling him to cut ties and protect him.

But this wouldn't be enough, you know. You get escorted out of the building, people turning heads as you make comments on how you were a 'proud Fatui agent' and Wriothesley had been 'played like a fiddle for information'. Of course, you were doing this to protect him, but nobody else around you knew this as people share looks of concern as they see you ruining your relationship.

Upon boarding the boat back to your homeland, you see a Harbinger.

"I see you know your rightful place." Pantalone hums out. "Consider yourself lucky your parents loved you enough to write up a good contract for your safety - even in the turn of betrayal." He smiles, leaning down to whisper into your ear. "If it weren't for the concrete contract your mother had written, you would be handed over as a test subject for Dottore."

Signing up their child to the Fatui? What a funny way of protecting your child, you think to yourself.

As the ship sails off, you turn as you see Wriothesley there, teary eyed but still wanting to see the person he loved for the last time. Unable to see how hurt he was without breaking your facade of being an undercover agent all this time, you sneer before turning away, crying as Pantalone chuckles at your actions.

[intheshadowsbehindyou]

Specifically the support team with a tall fem! Reader! (To be detailed like 6'0ft and over 6'0 if in heels)

Just admit you people have mommy issues. I cannot take this ask seriously lord please help me.

Tall Fem!reader with the TF2 Support mercs

Warning: mildly NSFW. why are you doing this to me. I’m a gay cis dude irl

Sniper:

- Fucking short circuits. Think brock levels of simping from pokemon. Maybe not outwardly but on the inside he’s promising you the world. Wishes to be your little step tool. Every time you play rough with him he becomes a submissive little shit. Goes “oowwww :(((“ when he’d otherwise not. Other Mercs are outstanded on how fast you humbled him. Regardless of your relationship with him he’ll ask you if you could be his mother figure because his current mother is.. Well I mean she’s dead. This is entirely non-sexual.

- 50 points if goth girl and 100 points if trans girl. He’s into men and nonbinary folk too but whenever it’s a girl, it’s always mommy? sorry. mommy? sorry. mommy? sorry.

- Gets oddly soft with you and nobody else. Becomes clingy and desperate for your attention to the extent of protecting you on the battlefield and overall showing off with his shots. Becomes more awkward than he usually would. Stumbles over his words and panics when speaking to you. You find it cute.

————————————————————————-

Medic:

- “Ah! Yes! the new person. Hello little fräulein!” He immediately turned around and waved to greet you the first time… Before slowly realizing your head was higher than his shoulders and trailed his eyes upward. Meeting your gaze with awkward silence. He had bent down suspecting an innocent, small and adorable woman and so had to immediately stand up and straighten his posture. A majority of girls from his village were abhorrently short.

- “Ah… I see…” He turns away and fixes his glasses. Going back to whatever the hell math he was jotting on his chalkboard. You could vaguely make out it was some sort of failsafe for in case the medigun failed to deploy charge. You were more intrigued over the fact you were taller than this man. You leaned over his head to check your height— Which made him nervous of course.

- “Must you be so nosey? Hah! Relax. It’s not a shrink ray or anything!” He joked. You didn’t know if you should be offended by that or that or not. “Of course, mind you, I do know how to make that. But I don’t have the time nor resources sadly. Then again, everybody must be shrunken to you.” Medic then proceeds to suppress his mild attraction to you; instead opting to tear you to shreds with his sick roasts about your height. Wow, somebody’s insecure.

——————————————————————-

Spy:

- BARK BARK BARK WOOF WOOF WOOF WOOF WOOF!!!!! Heterosexual beams primed. Neurons activated. Eyes bulge out of head awooga awooooga

- ONE single glance of you is all it takes and his seduction skills become second nature. The next day you find roses on the end table next to your bed. With a letter, written in flawless english incursive about meeting you on the roof of the base after sunset. The letter even had hints of his sweet smelling cologne on it. Talk about overkill.

- Well you see him there and he’s there, leaning against the railing with his suit unbuttoned. His tie hanging loose on his neck and treating himself to a glass of wine. “Ah, pardon me mademoiselle, I’m afraid the deserts of this country are a bit.. Harsh on me sometimes.” You have never seen such a cheesy display in your entire life. There’s even a picnic table there with candles and dinner. You almost wanted to dropkick him because of how disgustingly sweet this was. Yuck.

[ssparksflyy]

BELLS' 500 FOLLOWER + BIRTHDAY EVENT ! ✷༉‧₊˚.

HEYYY POOKIE SHMOOKS THANK YOU SOSO MUCH FOR 500 FOLLOWERSSS ♡ i seriously appreciate every single one of you, you keep me motivated and i thank you for allowing me to post my silly little posts and for supporting me sm :) i meant to do this event when i reached 400 followers.. but when i reached it, a lot of people were announcing events so i decided to wait a bit so they could get the attention they deserved :) now with 500 (nd my birthday coming up) i decided to finally do this event as a way to get me up a running again after the break i took :D i hope you enjoy this event and once again , thank you so much !! ily !!!

CERAMIC UNICORNS —

ill make you a moodboard based off your blog, a character, a ship, anything you'd like !!

CMON BLONDIE ! —

(moots only !) where we would go on a friendly date ♡

FLOATING LANTERNS —

ill write you a short blurb (romantic or platonic) for whoever u wish

FLYNN RIDER EUGENE FITZHERBERT —

(moots only !) what duo do i think we are most like ?

FRYING PAN —

ill assign you a random poster from the many i want to hang in my room >ᴗ<

HERE COMES THE SMOLDER —

ill give you an outfit based on you blog's aesthetic ! (include clothing preferences if u want something a little more specific ♡)

MAGIC HAIR —

ill give u a random animal crossing villager i think ur most like (cause i recently started playing again hehe)

MAXIMUS' APPLES —

ill tell you what taylor swift era u remind me of most !

MOTHER KNOWS BEST —

ill give you a 10 song playlist (on spotify) based on your acc, a character, a ship, whatever you'd like :)

PASCAL'S PALS —

ill assign you a plushie i think best fits you ♡

THE LOST PRINCESS —

ill give you a ts song + lyrics that best fits ur vibe !!

THE SNUGGLY DUCKLING —

i'll tell u what pjo cabin i think ur in !! ( warning: im stupid :) )

JULY 26 —

(moots only!) ill give u a small love letter to send overseas to you while you fight bravely in the war and i stay home with our two children hoping and praying you'll return safely (its just a love letter lmao)

i literally copied my 200 follower event layout which was inspired by @flowers-for-em so credits to my lovely lovely emma !!

i ask that you keep it to 2 requests per ask please :)

this event will be ending august 15 !

i try to complete requests as quickly as possible but i do ask that you remain patient ( this has never been an issue on my blog but i thought id still mention it ♡♡ )

i hope you enjoy !!

ah yes. the tagging of the mutuals. ( in no particular order but lmk if u wanna be added or taken off !! )

@mqshido @riordanness @hope92100 @jgracie @hopelesslyromanticshark

@flowers-for-em @pinkdiorluvr @lastolympus @s1utlvr @brodieland

@over-the-oceancall @sunnitheapollokid @cinemaconrad @chxcolatefrogs @pumpkinbxtch

@kozumesphone @satelitis @stvrlighttgabss @juneberrie @waitingonher

@maybxlle @alexwritingspot @missedyour21st @leovaldezluvr @jvpiterzs

@aezuria @puffoz @mqstermindswift @aryxchse @colettesonpluto @starrynightmovietheatre

[randomsufff]

ALRIGHT since at least 6 of yall wanted it here it is- my Adachi Channel concept 🎉 (ft. a quick comic of how their intro dialogue would go)

Boy where to start- there’s quite a lot under here so beware

Ok so- my first thought was “ if Adachi had a channel, what would his dark secret be” and I thought it would be that he secretly loves the Dojima family and wants so bad to be officially part of that (the adajima shipper in me saying he would love to get with Dojima and sort of become an official dad figure to Nanako) and so scared of them leaving him

I think in game, it’s shown Adachi actually cared for Nanako a lot, as he was always looking out for her and felt remorseful that she got hurt because of his actions and he even says in his letter at the end that he valued his times with the Dojimas

But it’s also largely based off of the Persona 4 Golden anime, where there’s a little section that expands upon Adachis background and his relationships with the Dojima’s. Specifically, that one part where Dojima, Nanako and Adachi are all holding hands before Nanako runs off to greet Yu and then it cuts to those three walking while Adachi stands dejected behind.

Anyways- within this background it’s shown that Adachi has pushed away every opportunity to connect with his peers in any way, no matter how much he wanted to, because he wanted to focus on his studies. And it ended up being all for not anyways because he never won any awards or got any serious recognition for his efforts and was instead relocated to Inaba (middle of nowhere town as someone says).

So here Adachi is- no serious friendships or relationships, who just moved to a town where there isn’t much to do anyways, who meets Dojima and his daughter who end up being his first genuine friends/companionship in YEARS.

Despite Adachis whole thing about thinking relationships are stupid and restricting, I think he finds himself caring about these two, and having them care for him, in a way he’s never experienced before. OF COURSE he going to latch onto that, and is going to be terrified to lose it when Yu- someone who’s ACTUALLY blood related to the family and not some sad coworker who tags along cause he got no friends- swoops in out of nowhere and starts taking their attention and affections.

So how does that relate to 1950s American housewives- well, again, if Adachi whole thing is wanting to stay together and wanting to keep their affections- and Yu who’s a part of the family is taking priority over him- best course of action would be to place himself into the family. Becoming a wife type to Dojima and a mother to Nanako.

Now not sure if Japan had a similar era, but I know the 50’s were alllllll about appearances and LOOKING like a perfect family; the woman stayed at home and were perfect wives and mothers who did all the cooking and cleaning while the men did all the work. I think that’s also why the “killer housewife” trope came around, cause they snap under being so much pressure. This not only fits into Adachi mask of being a dumb detective when he’s actually a villain but also how he views his relationship with each of them.

Adachi is an assistant for Dojima, and we see in game how mistreated he is: getting coffee and beaten around. Unfortunately, I feel like that’s very similar to how woman in the 50s were often treated by their spouses- as assistants rather then wives. Obviously, as I’ve said, he’s taken on a motherly role towards Nanako- being concerned over Dojimas lack of parenting towards her and trying to look after her himself.

And since Palaces often take these sentiments to the extreme- I thought Shadow!Adachi would think himself as a replacement of the dead mother, (I forgot her name 💀) saying he can take her place and give them everything they need.

OK SO HOW WOULD THIS FIT STORY WISE IN THE GAME? So people show up on tv if they’ve caught the eyes of the public right? And Nanako got on cause of an interview so I would think Adachis rise of interest in the public would be the similar. At the very least, when the tv covers the two murders, Adachi would do some stupid thing that would accidentally be caught on camera and everyone would wonder who that bumbling idiot was. In my eyes, I think this happens after everyone had joined (so after Naoto) but before any of the endgame stuff with the red herring and Nanako and stuff. So perhaps the news does a follow-up on the lead detectives on the Telephone Pole murders since there’s not been anything new happening and they want to know if it’s passed or if they still have to keep working, and eventually Adachi comes along and like- idk spills coffee on the reporter or something, and since it’s live- the everyone figures out Adachis name after Dojima barks it at him to get his act together.

Boom he’s on the tv, boom the guy chloroforms him and throws him in the tv, boom Adachis like aw fuck.

I don’t understand how Adachi got his persona in the first place? I looked it up and it said it was cause he was so fucking lonely and because he had no relationships he developed a persona. Ok???? Didn’t know that was an option??? But in this universe- Adachi doesn’t have his persona and instead awakens it after confronting his truth like every other person, because thems the rules, instead of just developing one because you’re chronically lonely. (If we REALLLY wanted to it could be like a Akechi situation where he has two- but eh )

(Oh also- I’d imaging his channel introduction scene thing would be like, sitcom esc? Like a- ha ha come see how quirky my family is or something? Like I Love Lucy or any of those old American sitcoms)

So anyways he’d be like “fuck, welp this can’t be too hard to survive, I just have to keep being in heavy denial like I always have-“ and tries to keep up the stupid act, especially when the Team rolls in, but then the Shadow gets to him by implying he has a meaningful relationship with the Dojimas (aka he NEEDS them cause he prolly would have offed himself months ago from boredom and/or lack of friends ) which pisses him off and triggers the fight.

(This could be some slight foreshadowing the Adachi is not what he seems as his masks slips and as his Shadow occasionally spits out some of his ideology and stuff)

Boom, fight ends when Adachi confronts that yes, maybe he does have a meaningfully relationship with the Dojimas. He’ll then be like, well obviously I can’t join your team, I’m part of the actual detective team, but maybe I can share insider info with you guys- while he secretly gets the first hand scoop of the Teams plans.

Obviously this does not undo what has been done, and with everything rolling to its natural conclusion there’s nothing Adachi can do to stop what has been started. He’ll keep doing what he’s doing tho, It’ll be even more tragic when he realizes he’s put both Nanako and Dojima in serious danger and make him spiral more into denial towards the end. Saying how those relationships don’t actually help him with anything, that they cause him more pain more suffering then when he had no one to care for but himself, that’s he’s still in a shitty place in the world etc etc.

Bam- after he’s defeated and the God is defeated it’ll smooth his transition into slowly accepting that friendships do help, and his connection with Dojima and Nanako stay strong after everything is proof of that

Ok I’m kind of just writing shit now- it is very late and I wrote a lot so if it doesn’t make sense, oof, but I how you get what I mean cause this concept fits like perfectly in all aspects into Adachis character 👍

[bradshawsbaby]

Letters to My Love // Part I

The Night We Met

Series Masterlist

Pairing: Bob Floyd x Female Reader

Summary: When you signed up to volunteer with the USO, you never anticipated that you would meet a man like Ensign Robert Floyd. Fate brings you together one balmy spring evening in Charleston—the night before Bob is set to ship off across the Atlantic. Pen and paper become your only means of sharing your heart with the naval aviator who’s captivated it, igniting a correspondence that spans the distance between you. Can love blossom even as war rages and thousands of miles keep you apart?

Word Count: 20k

Author’s Note: This story feels like it’s been living in my head for so long, and I’m so excited to finally have Part I up and ready! It’s a long one, I admit. The majority of the story is going to be told through letters, so I wanted to take the time early on to set up the narrative and introduce you to the major characters. I suggest curling up with a nice cup of tea and a cozy blanket. I hope you enjoy!

Set the Mood: If you’re looking for some 1940s vibes, check out the playlist I made to pair with the story!

Songs specifically featured in this chapter: Sandman // Tuxedo Junction // The Way You Look Tonight // Someone to Watch Over Me // Moonglow // A Nightingale Sang In Berkeley Square

Dedication: This story is dedicated to my sweet friend, Clara, also known as @luminousnotmatter​! Her support and input have been invaluable, and she’s a big reason why this story got off the ground. Thank you, Clara! Love you!

Warnings: Alternating POV, allusions to social anxiety, references to war, extremely subtle innuendos brought up in conversations between friends, fluff.

May 9, 1942

Bob’s POV

Naval Air Station Charleston

Goose Creek, South Carolina

“Come on, Floyd, it’s our last night stateside!”

“Don’t be a killjoy!”

“Come with us to the dance!”

“There’ll be lots of pretty girls!”

Sighing softly, Bob lifted his head and lowered the pen he’d been using to compose a letter to his parents back home in Iowa. He wasn’t sure when he’d be able to send another one, so he’d been trying to concentrate on getting everything down on paper that he wanted to tell them. But his fellow officers were evidently determined to distract him.

Sliding his glasses up his nose, Bob’s gaze shifted from face to face, taking in the group of men who had stealthily surrounded his bunk while he’d been focused on assuring his mother he would keep safe and see her soon. They were all dressed to the nines, decked in their dress blues and looking as eager as anything to get off base.

He couldn’t say he blamed them. Tonight was their last night stateside, as Andrews had pointed out, and who knew when the next time they’d have an opportunity to go to a dance or talk to a pretty girl would be? Of course, based on the conversations he’d heard buzzing around base all day, talking wasn’t the only thing the boys had on their minds for tonight.

He couldn’t say he blamed them for that either. Most of the guys in his squadron were young officers like him, recent graduates of Annapolis who’d finished school just in time for the United States to plunge itself into another world war. They’d barely had a moment to celebrate their commissioning into the United States Navy before Uncle Sam was calling them up to the frontlines. Some of the boys had sweethearts back home, pretty young things whose pictures served as talismans and whose letters promised that they’d be faithful and true. But most of them, like Bob, had no one but Mom and Pop to write letters to. And they were more than happy to seek out a little bit of tender loving care, if only for a night, in the arms of pretty volunteers at the USO dances.

Well, they were. Bob wasn’t. Sure, he’d gone to plenty of dances the USO had graciously hosted in an attempt to boost the morale of boys who were shipping out, knowing in the back of their minds that there was a good chance they’d never be coming home again. And he’d even danced with a few lovely girls. But he found that he always got tongue tied around them, always said the wrong thing or got too flustered to be smooth and suave the way his fellow officers were. He also wasn’t one for dancing, as many an unfortunate partner had learned.

So even though tonight was his last night on American soil, and the USO was hosting a dance just thirty minutes away in Charleston, Bob had made the decision to stay behind. He’d finish his letter to his parents and try to get some shuteye so that he’d be well rested for their deployment come tomorrow morning.

The thought was apparently inconceivable to the rest of his squadron.

“What are you gonna do? Stay here by yourself and rot?” Andrews demanded, flicking a bit of lint off the sleeve of his uniform. Thomas Andrews, or Tommy Boy as everyone referred to him, was the sort of good-natured guy who always had a beautiful woman on his arm, but wanted to make sure that all his buddies did, too.

“I don’t think I’d rot in just a few hours,” Bob replied, shaking his head as he turned over the page of the letter he’d been writing, not necessarily needing all the guys to see the message he’d been penning for his mother.

“That’s Floyd for you. Always taking things too literally,” Johnston grinned, plopping down beside Bob on his bunk and slinging an arm around him. Benjamin Johnston—Benny, as he preferred to be called—had been one of Bob’s roommates at Annapolis. He was as good a guy and dependable a friend as you could come by, but that didn’t mean he didn’t love to rib Bob, and anybody else, whenever he got the opportunity.

“We leave tomorrow, boys. I’ve got a few loose ends to tie up here, letters to write and things to see to before we leave. You go have fun at the dance. You won’t even notice I’m not there,” Bob insisted, clearing his throat and adjusting his glasses once more.

“Trace, would you come talk some sense into your rear-seater?” Tommy Boy scoffed, hooking his thumb in Bob’s direction with a shake of his head.

A familiar chuckle rippled across the space between them as Paul made his way into the room, clearly wondering where everyone had gone, considering they were supposed to be leaving soon for the dance.

Paul Trace was not only a fellow Annapolis graduate and Bob’s front seat pilot, but his best friend. The two of them had grown up together in Linn County, just outside Cedar Rapids. With both their fathers being officers in the Navy, and veterans of the Great War to boot, it hadn’t exactly come as a surprise to anyone when the two of them had ended up at the Naval Academy.

“Come on, fellas, leave Bob alone,” Paul said, smirking knowingly in Bob’s direction as he approached the group of them. 

The rest of the guys shifted instantly, making room for him. Paul had always had that way about him, that quality that made everyone else in the room pay attention to him and listen to whatever he had to say. Bob had always admired that about him. He knew it was certainly a quality he didn’t possess. Even on his best days, he never seemed to be able to do more than fade into the background, unnoticed by almost everyone around him. But Paul never made him feel small for that, and that was something for which Bob had always been grateful. He was a good friend, and an even better pilot, and Bob thanked his lucky stars every day that they’d managed to be paired together.

“It’s hopeless, Trace. We’ve tried everything. Talk some sense into this best buddy of yours and convince him to come to the dance with us tonight,” Benny begged, clasping his hands in a pleading fashion and shooting Paul his best wounded puppy expression.

“And convince him soon,” Tommy Boy added, glancing down at his watch. “We’ve got to get a move on soon if we want to make it to Charleston in time for the dance.”

“Gotta get there early if you want to dance with the prettiest girls,” Benny added with a wink, rising from Bob’s bunk and straightening out his uniform. “We’ll wait for you outside, Trace,” he said, lightly slapping Paul’s arm. “And you better be with him, Floyd!” he called out as the group of them started to walk away, pointing at Bob before ducking out of the room.

Bob chuckled softly, shaking his head once again and rubbing the back of his neck.

Paul sat down at the end of the bed, clasping his hands in his lap and lounging comfortably. “You know you’ll never hear the end of it if you don’t come with us, right?” he grinned.

“I really am busy,” Bob told him, gesturing at the papers he had scattered across his bed and picking his pen up once more.

“One last letter home?” Paul asked, peering over at the papers without prying.

“One last letter home,” Bob nodded, sighing softly as his eyes quickly skimmed what he’d already written. “I’m just not sure when I’ll get an opportunity to write to them again. They know we’re shipping out tomorrow, but I just want to give them a few more updates before we leave.”

“I understand, Robby,” he replied, using the nickname he’d had for him since childhood. And he did. That was the great thing about Paul. He was the kind of guy who meant what he said. And Bob knew that he understood better than most.

“Did you write any last letters home for Natasha and the kids?” Bob asked, lowering his pen to focus on his friend.

Paul smiled, a touch of sadness in his eyes as he nodded. “Just yesterday. Promised them I’d write as often as I’m able. Nat gave me this before I left,” he murmured, reaching into the breast pocket of his uniform and pulling out a small photograph. It looked to be new, though the edges were already starting to fade from where Paul had obviously been clutching it tightly. He handed it off to Bob with a proud grin.

Taking the photo from Paul’s grasp, Bob smiled at the sight. It was taken at Christmas, Paul and Natasha smiling brightly for the camera, their three-year-old daughter, Clara holding up her baby doll proudly, while their newborn son, Paul, Jr. lay nestled in his mother’s arms.

“It’s a beautiful picture, Paul,” Bob said sincerely, handing it back to him.

“That’s all Natasha and the kids,” Paul beamed, pressing a kiss to the photograph before slipping it back into the pocket right above his heart, patting it as if for security. “Certainly doesn’t have anything to do with this ugly mug,” he laughed self-deprecatingly.

Bob laughed as well, knowing from the way girls had always ogled his best friend that that couldn’t be further from the truth. “Speaking of Natasha, how’s she going to feel about you going to this USO dance tonight, huh?” he teased, lifting an eyebrow.

Natasha and Paul were childhood sweethearts. Bob couldn’t recall a single memory growing up that didn’t involve both of them. He’d been proud to stand beside Paul as his best man when the two of them had gotten hitched the summer before they left for Annapolis, and even prouder when his friends had asked him to be their daughter’s godfather.

“Nat knows she’s the only one for me,” Paul replied with a wave of his hand, as if the thought of him having eyes for any woman but his wife was preposterous. And that’s because it was. “She told me she’s more concerned with finding you a nice girl, and she’s tasked me with making it happen,” he went on, waggling his eyebrows.

Bob groaned, running a hand through his hair. “Not you, too, Paul. Weren’t you just telling the other guys to leave me alone about the dance tonight?”

“That was the other guys,” Paul smirked, his eyes sparkling mischievously. “Now this is me asking. Your very best friend in the whole world. You’re not gonna let me down, are you, Robby?”

Bob groaned again in response, pulling his glasses off and pinching the bridge of his nose. “You know how I get at these things, Paul. I can’t get through a dance without stomping all over some poor girl’s feet, and I can’t flirt worth a lick. What’s the point?”

“The point is that this is your last night stateside, buddy o’ mine. You’re about to get shipped off halfway around the world, risking your neck to defend your country and all those pretty girls you’re so convinced you can’t talk to. You deserve one last night of fun,” Paul insisted, his expression serious even as his lips turned up in a cajoling smile. “Who cares if you can’t dance? Just come and have some drinks with me and the fellas. Let’s celebrate our last night together in the land of the free, home of the brave,” he grinned.

Bob’s eyes flickered down to his unfinished letter, hesitation written all over his face as he mentally debated what to do.

“Come on, Robby, do it for me! And for Natasha! She’ll never let me hear the end of it if I let you stay in tonight,” Paul pleaded, nudging him teasingly.

How could he argue with that? Shoulders slumping in defeat, Bob felt his resolve crumble as he mumbled. “Alright, fine. I’ll come with you.”

Paul let out a whoop of victory. “Break out those dress blues, pal. What girl in her right mind will be able to resist?”

Bob chuckled softly at that, organizing the pages of his letter and slipping them into his trunk before moving to get changed. “You better not make me regret this decision,” he joked.

Paul just smirked, leaning against the wall as he waited for Bob to get ready. “Nah, you won’t regret it. I have a good feeling about tonight.”

Your POV

Charleston, South Carolina

“Stop fidgeting,” Dottie chided, poking you playfully in the side. “I’m nearly done,” she hummed, applying a light coating of rouge to the apples of your cheeks and then brushing it up along your cheekbones with a practiced hand.

“I can’t help but fidget. It feels like we’ve been at this for hours,” you laughed softly, dutifully keeping your eyes closed and your chin tilted upward as your older sister finished up her careful ministrations.

“Well, perfection takes time,” came Dottie’s quick retort. Even with your eyes closed, you could hear the smile in her voice. “And perfect you look, my darling,” she added gleefully, tapping the tip of your nose with affection. “Open your eyes and take a look.”

Slowly opening your eyes, you swiveled on the vanity chair in your sister’s bedroom and faced the mirror. Your breath caught slightly in your throat and your eyes widened, something that Dottie didn’t fail to notice.

“You look stunning, sweetheart,” she grinned, wrapping her arms around you and bringing her face down to your level, beaming at your dual reflections.

Normally, you would have shyly brushed off the compliment, deflecting by pointing out something lovelier about Dottie or changing the subject altogether. But gazing at your reflection in the mirror tonight, you found it hard to deny that your sister had certainly worked wonders. You felt like a movie star. Between the victory rolls that Dottie had spent hours setting, ensuring your hair fell in the softest, sleekest ringlets imaginable, the light pink rouge that accentuated your cheeks, and the dark black mascara that framed your eyes, you had never felt more beautiful or grown up in all your life.

“Oh, Sissy,” you breathed out, unconsciously reverting to the affectionate childhood nickname you’d had for your older sister when the two of you were growing up.

“You’re gonna knock ’em dead tonight, kid! The boys are going to be lining up for the chance at a dance with you,” Dottie told you, with that air of cool confidence that she had always seemed to possess, even when you were little girls.

“Oh, no, I don’t think—”

“Hush,” Dottie silenced you immediately with a finger to your lips. “None of that now. You’re going to be the prettiest girl in the room, I just know it. Not to mention the sweetest,” she smiled with a wink, chucking you under the chin.

You knew there was no point in arguing with her, so you just smiled and kept your mouth shut. You did look pretty. You felt pretty, too. But you knew that would only get you so far when your own painful shyness kept you from being able to string two sentences together.

Dottie was the social butterfly. She was the one who could carry on a conversation with anyone about anything. You’d always admired that about her, and looked up to her in every way imaginable. But you’d also come to accept long ago that you were never going to be like your big sister. You panicked at the mere thought of holding a conversation with someone you’d just met, and when you threw handsome men into the mix, it turned you into an awkward fool who fumbled over the few words you managed to squeak out.

Yet, despite all that, you’d somehow allowed your very persuasive older sister to talk you into volunteering with the USO.

“It’ll be a good opportunity for you to get out of your shell a little bit! Meet new people. Including handsome men,” Dottie had told you with a wink and a playful nudge. “Plus you’ll be doing your part for the war effort!”

You knew Dottie would never let you hear the end of it if you didn’t agree, so you had. And the truth was that you did enjoy helping out at events, offering refreshments and kind smiles to the men who were leaving everything behind to serve on the frontlines of the war. But there had been no love connections, much to your sister’s chagrin.

Dottie was certain that the dance tonight was going to change that.

“Here, sweetheart, can’t forget this,” she told you, holding out a gold tube of red lipstick. “It’ll match your nails perfectly.”

“You’ve really thought of every detail, hm?” you asked teasingly, smiling as you leaned in closer to the mirror to carefully apply the lipstick. It was bright and flashy, just like the polish that Dottie had insisted on painting your nails with yesterday.

“Of course,” Dottie giggled, disappearing into her spacious closet for a moment. “Including this!” she exclaimed a moment later, reappearing with her most stunning party dress in hand. It was cream-colored and covered in a design of delicate pink flowers, with pearl buttons adorning the back.

“Oh, Dottie, I couldn’t!” you gasped, nearly dropping the tube of lipstick in your rush to rise from the vanity seat.

“You absolutely could,” your sister insisted, laying the dress out on her bed and smoothing it with gentle fingers. “It doesn’t even fit me anymore after the baby. My hips are stretched beyond repair,” she laughed, sliding her hands down her curvy figure. “You’ll be doing me a favor by wearing it. At least then I’ll have the satisfaction of knowing it’s being enjoyed by someone.”

“You’re too good to me, you know that?” you murmured, stepping beside your sister and wrapping her in a tight hug.

“Says the angel who dropped everything back home to come to Charleston and help me keep my head on straight,” Dottie smiled, hugging you back and pressing a kiss to your forehead.

“I love being here with you and Paddy and Frankie,” you told her, taking her hand in yours and giving it a light squeeze.

“Not as much as we love having you,” Dottie replied, cupping your face in her hands and smiling warmly. “Oh, but look at me! I’m going to muss your makeup! And we have to finish getting you ready!”

Five minutes later, you were twirling dutifully in front of the mirror in the prettiest dress you’d ever worn, Dottie eyeing you carefully from every angle to make sure everything was perfect.

“Oh, I’m just sad I’m going to miss you being the belle of the ball tonight!” she sighed dramatically, eyes twinkling with humor when you rolled your eyes at her. “Come on, let’s show you off to the boys,” she beamed, taking your hand and practically dragging you out of her bedroom and down the stairs.

“Dottie, I’m going to twist my ankle and then I won’t be able to go to the dance at all,” you laughed breathlessly, straightening out the dress as the two of you bounded into the living room.

“Paddy, look!” Dottie announced, holding out her arms to show you off as if you were one of Hollywood’s newest starlets.

Your brother-in-law let out a loud whistle, grinning jovially as he looked you up and down. “Hey, look at you, kid! I think you might be a little lost. The MGM lot is over in Hollywood,” he teased.

Blushing slightly at the compliment, you waved it off. “Oh, stop,” you smiled, walking over to him and lifting your soon-to-be five month old nephew out of his arms, nuzzling his soft head.

Frankie babbled happily in your arms, reaching up to tug at the pearl necklace you were wearing, the one your parents had bought you for your sixteenth birthday.

“Oh no you don’t, little monster,” Dottie laughed, taking her son out of your arms and pressing an affectionate kiss to the top of his head. “Auntie’s going out tonight, so there will be no pulling on her jewelry or tugging on her hair.”

“Or spitting up on her dress,” Paddy sighed, indicating a large stain on his shirt.

“Yes, none of that either,” Dottie gasped, looking horrified at the prospect.

You laughed, gazing with love at your family. “You act as if I’m off to be crowned Queen of England. It’s hardly so serious as all that, Sissy,” you winked.

Dottie just shook her head, bouncing her baby boy in her arms. “You’re going to break so many hearts tonight, baby doll. Don’t you agree, Paddy?”

“Don’t indulge her,” you laughed, reaching for your purse and making sure that your wallet and house keys were inside.

“Listen to me, kiddo,” Paddy said, moving beside you and wrapping a brotherly arm around your shoulders. “None of these lugheads are worthy of you, you hear me? And if even one of them looks at you the wrong way, or hurts you, I’ll give him a knuckle sandwich, okay?”

“Oh, Paddy!” Dottie huffed in exasperation, lowering Frankie into his bassinet and crossing her arms over her chest. “Shush! Don’t listen to him!”

You just laughed softly, shaking your head. “Thank you, Paddy, I appreciate it,” you grinned, pressing a kiss to your brother-in-law’s cheek.

“You sure you don’t need me to give you a ride over to the dance, kid?” Paddy asked, resting his hands on his hips. He was in a jolly mood, like he always was, but you could tell from the pinched look around his eyes that he was exhausted from a long day of work.

“It’s alright, don’t worry about me,” you insisted, reaching for the white sweater you’d left sitting on the back of the armchair. “I’m walking over with some of the other girls. And the community center isn’t far. Plus, it’s a nice night.”

“Mhm, it is. A perfect night, in fact,” Dottie nodded innocently, slipping her arm around her husband’s waist. “Perfect for a little evening stroll with a handsome fella, wouldn’t you say so, Paddy?”

“Why, Dot, are you proposing to take me on an evening stroll? Or are you just hoping your baby sister comes home with a marriage proposal tonight?” Paddy smirked, loud laughter booming from his chest when his wife smacked his arm.

“Oh, shut up, you idiot,” Dottie laughed as well, a huge smile breaking out across her face as Paddy bent his head to press a kiss to her cheek.

Even as you smiled, you felt that familiar ache bloom in your chest as you witnessed the easy affection and love that your sister and her husband shared with one another. You’d always desired a relationship like that, a marriage like that. You’d just never seemed to find the right man.

Maybe Dottie was right. Maybe he would be at the dance tonight. As improbable as it felt, crazier things had surely happened. And evidently your sister had given you permission to stay out as long as you wanted, taking moonlit strolls with perfect strangers.

“We’ll be here, kid, if you need anything,” Paddy told you, resting a protective hand on your shoulder. “Don’t hesitate to call.”

“But also don’t hesitate to spend all the time you need with whatever handsome man happens to catch your eye,” Dottie winked, shooting both you and Paddy an impish grin.

“Okay, on that note, I think it’s time I took my leave,” you giggled, draping your sweater over your arm and checking your purse one more time as you headed towards the front door, Paddy and Dottie following behind you.

“Have fun, kiddo. Be safe,” Paddy murmured as you turned to give him a hug goodbye.

“I will,” you promised, moving to wrap your sister in a tight hug. “Thanks for everything, Sissy,” you whispered to her, squeezing her hand before slipping out the front door.

“Have fun! Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do!” Dottie called after you with a laugh, waving you off excitedly.

A block away from your sister’s house, you met up with a few of the other girls who were volunteering with the USO, including your friend, Emily. The two of you met at the first USO event you’d volunteered at, and had become fast friends.

“You look beautiful!” Emily exclaimed brightly, slipping her arm through yours as your group began strolling in the direction of the community center, all the other girls chirping and babbling excitedly.

“So do you,” you smiled, knowing the boys wouldn’t be able to keep their eyes off your friend. She never had a shortage of dance partners at these sorts of events.

“Oh, I’m so excited!” she giggled, beaming up at you. “Tonight is going to be special. I can just feel it.”

You hoped Emily and Dottie were right.

Bob’s POV

“Here we are, boys!” Tommy Boy grinned as the squadron pulled up in front of the Charleston Community Center, the red, white, and blue balloons and streamers floating in the warm spring breeze a good sign that they were in the right place. “Our last night stateside,” he announced loudly, rubbing his hands together with a cheeky smirk. “Better make it count!”

The rest of the guys let out a loud whoop of agreement, laughing and shoving each other as they each hurried up the stairs, hoping to be the first inside and the first in the arms of the prettiest volunteers.

“What do you say, Bobby Boy?” Benny beamed, squeezing Bob’s shoulders as he came up behind him. “Gonna get yourself a girl tonight?”

“Oh, I just—I don’t think that I—” Bob stuttered, his ears burning red as he adjusted his glasses, pushing them up firmly onto the bridge of his nose.

Benny guffawed amicably, not actually possessing a mean bone in his body. “Aw, c’mon, Floyd,” he coaxed, slinging a friendly arm around his shoulders. “Think of it as a little ‘going away’ present for yourself. Lots of pretty girls who can’t resist a man in uniform—especially an officer’s uniform,” he winked, nudging Bob with a devilish expression.

When Bob just continued to stammer and blush, Paul stepped in smoothly, giving Benny a teasing punch to the arm. “C’mon, Benny, leave him alone. He’s here, isn’t he? Let the man have a drink in peace. We haven’t even gotten inside yet.”

“Trace here is the perfect wingman, Bob,” Benny went on, clearly determined to get his old classmate a girl before the night was through. “He’s already got himself a pretty girl—”

“The prettiest,” Paul cut in, grinning.

“Alright, the prettiest girl,” Benny amended, smirking. “So he’s not on the prowl like the rest of us lugheads. Let him help you find a nice girl to give you a proper sendoff.”

“If I say I will, will you let us go inside?” Bob asked, smiling ruefully.

Benny laughed at that, smacking Bob on the back. “You crack me up, Floyd. You really do. Fine, fine. Let’s go inside. I’m getting myself a girl, even if you aren’t,” he insisted, waggling his eyebrows suggestively before hurrying up the stairs with a shameless grin.

“Just have fun tonight, pal,” Paul smiled, patting Bob on the back. “Our last night stateside. Let’s make it one to remember, huh?” He held out his hand for Bob to shake, the way they’d always done as kids before embarking on some grand adventure.

“Yeah,” Bob grinned, nodding as he reached out and clasped Paul’s hand, shaking firmly. “Let’s make it count.”

Chuckling, the two friends shook their heads in amusement and followed the path their fellow officers had already disappeared along, their long legs carrying them up the stairs and into the central foyer, the sound of music and raucous laughter drawing them in the right direction.

Pushing open the doors to the main hall, Bob and Paul were instantly met by a sea of uniformed men from all branches of the service and pretty girls in all their finery whirling across the dance floor. The band was enthusiastically giving their best rendition of Benny Goodman’s “Sandman,” the music reverberating throughout the room and setting a jovial atmosphere that almost made them forget they were shipping off to war tomorrow morning.

“At least we know the men we’re flying with are true to their word,” Paul called out over the din, grinning as he pointed in the direction of Tommy Boy, Benny, and the rest of their friends, who were already chatting away with a group of giggling girls, each one more dolled up than the last.

Bob grinned as well, shoving his hands into his pockets nervously. “I never doubted for a minute they’d find the girls they were after,” he shouted back, finding it difficult to make himself heard over the music and loud conversations buzzing around them.

“C’mon, let’s go grab a drink,” Paul suggested, nodding his head in the direction of the punch table that was situated across the room.

Bob trailed behind his best friend, keeping his head down as he passed by flirtatious couples and older volunteers who were trying to maintain an ounce of decorum in the dance hall. It was a difficult job that he didn’t envy. With the war on, and the majority of the men in the room tonight deploying within the next few days, there was a sense of urgency pulsating in the air—a desperate, hungry need to cling to anything and anyone that reminded them, if only for this moment, that they were alive. Lingering glances from across the room, longing touches on the dance floor, stolen kisses in the shadows—they would all be traded soon for bitter nights in the trenches and the deafening boom of gunfire and the stench of death. So tonight, they had to squeeze every last drop out of life. Because who knew when it would be their last?

Bob was jolted out of his silent musings when he realized that Paul had come to a halt in front of him, joining the ring of men waiting for a glass of punch. Clearing his throat and trying to shake all dire thoughts from his mind, Bob raised his head and fixed his gaze straight ahead.

And suddenly he forgot how to breathe.

There, standing behind the punch table with a couple other volunteers, was the most beautiful girl he had ever seen in all his life. Hollywood could keep their Judy Garland, Rita Hayworth, Joan Fontaine, and all the rest—she outshone them all. She wasn’t looking in his direction, but he couldn’t help but stare as she handed a small glass of punch to a young sailor, her lips curving in the sweetest smile and her eyes sparkling brightly in the loveliest face he had ever beheld. The pink flowers on her dress brought out the rosiness in her cheeks, and Bob was certain that she had to be an angel sent down from heaven. She just had to be.

He only became aware of the sound of Paul loudly clearing his throat when his friend nudged him sharply in the ribcage, bringing him back down to earth. He tore his gaze away from the lovely angel hesitantly, half afraid she’d disappear forever if he lost sight of her.

“Welcome back to earth, pal,” Paul laughed, the corners of his eyes crinkling in amusement. “See something you like? Or, should I say, someone?” he winked, craning his neck to seek out the object of Bob’s intense focus. “Ah, yes,” he murmured, nodding sagely. “A very pretty someone. I think Nat would approve of her for you.”

“Paul, no,” Bob stammered, his cheeks flaming red in embarrassment as he rubbed the back of his neck. “I—I was just—”

“You were just what? Hm?” Paul demanded, smiling knowingly. “Are you really going to stand here and tell me—me—that you weren’t just looking at that girl like she hung the moon and stars?”

“Well—I just—I mean—” Bob fumbled hopelessly, scuffing one of his newly polished shoes across the hardwood floor.

“Robby,” Paul cut him off, grinning as he grabbed him by the shoulders and shook him once for good measure. “Go talk to her.”

“Me? T-talk to her? Oh no, I couldn’t,” Bob insisted, shaking his head determinedly.

“It’s the perfect opportunity! She’s handing out punch to all the guys,” Paul said, indicating the table just a few feet away from them. “Just say something nice to her—compliment her dress or her hair or that string of pearls around her neck. Anything. C’mon, Robby, you can do it. I have faith in you,” he encouraged.

“I—I—” Bob turned his head to look at her again. Maybe he’d just been feeling lightheaded and she wouldn’t have so much of an effect on him this time. But as soon as he caught sight of her once more, his stomach promptly performed an Olympic-style somersault, his mouth suddenly feeling as dry as Iowa farmland in the middle of a summer drought.

She was so beautiful. A girl that beautiful would never want to talk to him. Not when she could have any man in the room that she wanted.

“I—I’m actually not thirsty,” Bob declared, turning quickly on his heel and making a beeline as far away from the punch table as possible.

“Bob!”

He could hear Paul calling after him, but he had to get as far away from the angel in the dress with the pink flowers as possible.

God, he was a coward. He could ship off halfway across the world to face the Nazis in Europe, but he couldn’t talk to a girl at a dance? Pathetic.

Why had he let the guys talk him into coming tonight?

Your POV

“Emily, why don’t you go dance? I can handle things here,” you offered, not failing to notice the wistful glances your friend kept tossing towards the center of the room—most notably in the direction of a cluster of handsome officers.

“Oh, no!” Emily exclaimed, pulling her attention back round towards the task at hand and shaking her head. “I wouldn’t leave you and Marilyn all alone,” she insisted, referring to the bubbly redhead who’d been put on punch table duty with the two of you this evening.

“It’s not such a hard job,” you laughed softly, ladling some of the fruity drink into a set of fresh glasses. “And I don’t mind. Really. I can tell how much you’re itching to get out there,” you smiled, shooting her a knowing look.

Emily bit her lip, seemingly contemplating your offer for a moment, but then shook her head once, firmly. “No, I’ll stay here. Some of the other volunteers will rotate in soon, and then we’ll both get a chance to dance,” she chittered brightly.

Your smile waned somewhat at that, and it was your turn to shake your head. “Oh, I don’t think so. I’m not much for dancing,” you admitted quietly, chewing on your lower lip. It took you a moment to recall the red lipstick Dottie had given you, and you flushed, hoping you hadn’t gotten it all over your teeth.

“Oh, don’t be silly! You volunteered for a dance and you don’t want to dance?” Emily teased gently, nudging your arm as she handed a glass of punch to a soldier who looked like he couldn’t possibly be a day older than eighteen. “I’m sure the fellas will be lining up to dance with you!”

Emily was so sweet and earnest that you didn’t have the heart to tell her that the boys would be lining up to dance with her, not with you. So you just smiled tightly and offered her a small nod in response, handing off a couple glasses of punch to a young couple who looked wholly out of breath after a few turns on the dance floor.

“The men look so handsome, don’t you think so?” Emily chattered excitedly, carefully setting out a new stack of napkins on the table. “And so many officers are here tonight!” she giggled, blushing prettily.

Marilyn suddenly leaned over at that, lowering her voice conspiratorially. She always was one to know the latest gossip. “I heard there’s a whole squadron of naval officers here tonight who are shipping out first thing tomorrow morning. It’s their last night in town, so you know what that means,” she finished with a wink.

You just blushed furiously at her innuendo, but Emily’s eyes widened innocently.

“No,” she murmured, admitting to her naivete. “What does that mean?”

Marilyn giggled in a way that indicated she had rather intimate experience with servicemen who were spending their last night stateside. Covering her mouth with her hand, she leaned in closer and whispered, “They’re looking for girls to give them a fun sendoff, if you catch my meaning.” She winked, flipping her red curls over her shoulder.

If possible, Emily’s eyes widened even further, looking like a pair of light blue china saucers. “Oh,” was all she managed to squeak out, her cheeks turning bright red.

Giggling some more, Marilyn turned away to resume her punch table duties, while Emily turned to gape at you.

“I never—well, I mean, I’ve flirted with a few boys and even kissed one or two,” Emily confessed, her blush extending down her throat and up to the tips of her ears. “But I never—did you know that? About their last night in town, I mean?”

You shrugged a little bit in embarrassment, thinking of the things you’d heard from Dottie and Paddy. “Well, I’ve heard. But I wouldn’t know from personal experience,” you hastily amended, clearing your throat shyly.

“Hm,” Emily murmured, more to herself than anybody else, turning to look out at the sea of eligible men with fresh eyes. “Well a dance and maybe a kiss is all they’re getting from me,” she announced firmly, her expression so serious that you couldn’t help but giggle slightly.

“I mean it!” she laughed, playfully slapping you on the arm. “Oh, there are a lot of cute ones out there though, aren’t there?” she simpered, her eyes turning big and doe-like once more. “Do you have your eye on any of them?” she asked curiously.

“Me? Oh, no,” you replied, shaking your head. “I’ve found that I’m much better off keeping to myself and doing my job at events like these,” you explained, biting down on your lower lip again.

“That’s nonsense!” Emily scoffed, almost looking offended on your behalf. “You’re beautiful! The boys here can’t stop looking at you!”

You grimaced slightly at that, face flushing in awkward embarrassment. The boys might be looking, but as soon as any of them tried to strike up a conversation, they quickly discovered what a shy, nervous little churchmouse you were, and their interest quickly faded.

You’d already fumbled clumsily over three flirtatious interactions with a sailor, a soldier, and a pilot. One poor Marine had even ended up with bright red punch spilled down the front of his uniform. You’d been mortified, and he’d been gracious, but you could tell he planned to stay as far away from you as possible for the rest of the night.

It wasn’t that you didn’t want to meet somebody. In fact, you wanted that more than anything. Living with your sister and brother-in-law for these past few months had only solidified the yearning that had long since taken up residence in your heart, the aching desire to find someone to love and cherish—someone who would love and cherish you in return. But as soon as any nice, handsome, eligible man approached you, you suddenly found yourself wishing the earth would swallow you whole. Dottie was always telling you how smart and funny and sweet you were, but you never seemed to be able to show that to any man who talked to you. Instead, you clammed up like an oyster and stammered and stuttered over all your words. It was humiliating.

You’d learned to accept long ago that you weren’t the kind of girl who got asked to dance. You were the girl who handed out punch and offered kind smiles and volunteered to man the table alone so that the other girls could dance. Even your big sister’s prettiest party dress wouldn’t change that.

But you didn’t mind. It made you smile to see how excited all the other girls, like Emily and Marilyn, got when they were pulled out onto the dance floor, swept up in the arms of handsome strangers. You might not get to experience it yourself, but you enjoyed living vicariously through them.

Lost in your private reverie, you almost didn’t notice the handsome gentleman who approached you, his dark gaze fixed on you as opposed to Marilyn or Emily.

“Evenin’,” he smiled, tipping his hat respectfully. He looked to be an officer in the Navy, judging by his uniform.

“H-hello,” you stuttered shyly, mentally kicking yourself. All he’d done was wish you a good evening. There was no need to be nervous about that.

Your nervousness didn’t seem to be off-putting to him, however. In fact, he smiled even wider.

“Ensign Paul Trace,” he introduced himself, offering you his hand in a gentlemanly manner. Again, he didn’t seem to be disconcerted by the fact that you just stared dumbly at him for a moment.

Coming to your senses, you reached out and slipped your hand into his, shaking gently and telling him your name.

“A very pretty name,” he told you with a smile, which had you staring at your shoes and avoiding all eye contact. “And that’s a very pretty necklace you’ve got there,” he added. You could tell from your peripheral vision that he was indicating the pearls strung around your neck.

“Oh, th-thank you,” you murmured, tripping slightly over your words. You wanted to mention that they were a gift from your parents—anything to keep the conversation moving forward, as Dottie often reminded you—but the words got stuck in your throat.

“I’ve been meaning to buy my wife a necklace like that,” Ensign Trace said kindly, his smile friendly and warm.

Oh, thank goodness, you thought to yourself. He’s married. Strangely enough, the revelation was a relief. Knowing that he was a married man instantly put you at ease. He wasn’t trying to flirt or make time with you. He was just being nice. And that you could handle much more easily.

“I’m sure she would love that very much,” you smiled, lifting your chin slightly so that you could meet his gaze once more.

He grinned in a way that seemed to indicate that he was aware the pronouncement of his marital status had made you more comfortable. “I think she would, too. Maybe for her birthday,” he mused, tapping his chin thoughtfully and shooting you another good-natured grin.

“That sounds nice,” you nodded, feeling the familiar tug of anxiety that the conversation would lag. “Oh, would you like some punch?” you asked. As you reached out to grab him a glass, however, you accidentally tipped one over with your hand, spilling the sticky liquid across the table.

Ensign Trace immediately jumped to grab some napkins as you gasped, cheeks flaming as you rushed to fix the mess you’d made.

“Oh, I’m so sorry!” you exclaimed, soaking up the punch with a handful of napkins. You felt the tips of your ears burning and you wanted nothing more than to flee the dance hall at that moment. “Did any of it get on you? I can go get some more napkins,” you stammered, trying to look anywhere but directly at him.

“Oh, don’t worry about me,” he insisted, shaking his head as he helped you sop up the juice. “I’m right as rain. Accidents happen,” he told you with a comforting smile.

“They should probably take me off punch duty,” you mumbled, tossing the soaked napkins into a garbage pail. “That’s the second glass I’ve spilled tonight.”

Ensign Trace just chuckled at that, gazing at you thoughtfully.

You grew even more self-conscious under his scrutiny, brushing your hair behind your ear and shifting nervously from foot to foot. He seemed to become aware of this, and held up a hand in atonement.

“I’m sorry, miss, I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable,” he apologized, taking a step back to put you more at ease. “I just—I just can’t help but think how perfect you’d be for a buddy of mine,” he laughed, grinning again. The man seemed incapable of going more than a few seconds without smiling.

Your heart plummeted at his comment, however. After your foolish display, you couldn’t help but suddenly feel like the butt of a joke. Why would this handsome officer’s friend have any interest in a klutz like you?

Your face must have given away your inner turmoil because Ensign Trace’s grin suddenly faltered and his eyes filled with a glow of compassionate awareness. “Oh, I’m not trying to make a joke, miss,” he told you earnestly, placing his hand over his heart. “I would never insult a lady like that.” His expression was open and sincere. “I really do have a friend who I think you’d get on with real well. He’s here tonight, too! He just—” He turned at that moment, peering around the room. “Well, he’s here somewhere!”

“It’s alright, Ensign Trace,” you told him with a small smile, holding out a fresh cup of punch for him.

“No, no, he really is here. Darn fool’s just gone off and—”

“If you find him, you can send him over for a glass of punch,” you suggested, having a feeling his friend would probably be much more interested in Emily or Marilyn anyway.

The naval officer looked at you seriously, nodding his head. “I’ll do that, miss. Have a nice night,” he said, tipping his hat once more before taking his punch and walking away, a rather determined look in his gait.

Sighing softly to yourself, you turned and went back to replenishing the glasses of punch, putting all thoughts of Ensign Trace’s mysterious buddy out of your mind.

Bob’s POV

“Where the hell did you go?” Paul demanded, punching Bob in the arm when he finally found him in the main foyer, near the front doors of the community center.

“Ow,” Bob frowned, rubbing his arm with a slight scowl. For all his congeniality, Paul also had one hell of a right hook and he wasn’t afraid to use it. “What was that for?”

“For being an idiot!” Paul exclaimed, shaking his head. The severity of his words was softened by the reluctant grin that slowly spread across his face. Natasha had always joked that Paul couldn’t stay mad at anyone for longer than the span of two breaths.

“I was just…getting some air,” Bob said lamely, giving his sore bicep one last quick rub and adjusting his glasses. Though he’d worn them for most of his life, the darn things never seemed to want to sit correctly on his face.

“Sure,” Paul shot back skeptically. He was the best, most supportive buddy a guy could ask for, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t quick to call Bob out when he felt he needed a swift kick in the pants.

“I—I was just—I said I’m not thirsty,” Bob explained, knowing before the words even left his mouth that it was a paltry excuse. “What does it matter?” he asked, trying hard not to conjure up in his mind’s eye the image of that vision of loveliness standing behind the punch table.

“What does it matter? I’ll tell you what it matters,” Paul declared, shoving his untouched glass of punch into Bob’s hand. “The girl who gave me that may very well be your future wife, Robert Floyd. And as your best friend and wingman, I’m not going to stand by and let you throw an opportunity like that away!”

Bob’s blue eyes widened at his friend’s impassioned speech and he stood silent for a moment or two, too dumbfounded to speak. Gazing down at the glass of punch in his hand, he cleared his throat and stammered, “You—you talked to her?”

“Yes, I talked to her,” Paul nodded emphatically. “Since you were too scared to do it,” he added with a teasing grin, nudging Bob’s other arm—the one he hadn’t punched. “Aw, she’s a doll, Robby. A real doll. Sweet as apple pie and timid as a rabbit. I know you’re scared to talk to her, but you’ve got no reason to be. Trust me when I say she’s probably more scared to talk to you,” he said gently, resting a hand on his shoulder.

Bob’s jaw fell open at that, flabbergasted. “She’s more—are you sure you talked to the right girl? The one in the dress with the pink flowers?” he questioned, hardly daring to believe a girl that beautiful would be scared to talk to anyone, least of all him.

“The very one,” Paul beamed. “You’ve got a good eye, Bobby Boy, because I’ve never met a girl more perfect for you in all my life,” he insisted, slapping Bob on the chest for good measure. “Go talk to her! Ask her to dance!”

“Aw, gosh, I don’t know, Paul,” Bob faltered, shaking his head and staring down at his feet. “She’s just so—and I’m so—and, well, we leave tomorrow,” he reminded him plaintively, as if it wasn’t something his best friend was already keenly aware of. “What’s the point in trying to get tangled up in something when we ship out in less than twelve hours?” He deflated slightly, tugging nervously on the cuff of his uniform jacket.

Paul sighed softly, nodding his head in understanding. “I get where you’re coming from, pal. I really do,” he said sincerely, lowering his voice as their conversation took a more serious turn. “Look, I don’t know what tomorrow’s gonna bring. I don’t know what the weeks and months and—hell—years ahead are gonna bring. And I’m not telling you to walk back in there and marry the girl. But if there’s anything we’ve learned these past few months, Robby, it’s that life turns on a damn dime. Not one of us knows when everything will go to hell. So we might as well enjoy the bits of heaven while we’ve got ’em, huh? Who’s to say that girl in there isn’t your little slice of heaven?”

Bob looked up and met his best friend’s dark gaze, seeing the sincerity shining there. Paul truly believed every word he said. And Bob couldn’t deny the way his words had stirred something deep inside his heart, a desire to make this night count—to make his life count—before he lost the chance forever.

“Go talk to her, Robby,” Paul told him encouragingly, patting his back with a firm hand. “At the very least, she’ll be a nice girl to dance with the night before we ship off. And who knows? At most, maybe she’s the girl who’ll turn your world upside down,” he grinned, winking pointedly.

“Well…” Bob stammered, the tips of his ears turning pink.

Paul chuckled, taking the glass of punch out of his hand. “Go,” he said again, lightly pushing his best friend in the direction of the dance hall.

Doing his very best not to stumble over his own two feet, Bob adjusted his uniform and straightened his tie, clearing his throat once, twice, three times before pushing open the doors, the brassy instruments of the band slamming him in the face once more as he reentered the hall. The notes blended together in a familiar fashion as Bob nervously crossed the room—he recognized it as ”Tuxedo Junction.” He’d always liked that one. His mother was a big fan of Glenn Miller and played his records all the time back home. Maybe he should take that as a good sign.

“Hello,” he murmured softly under his breath, ducking as he moved across the dance floor to avoid bumping into twirling couples. “My name’s Robert Floyd. Would you like to dance with me?” He scoffed at himself in frustration. “No, too stiff,” he decided. “Hiya, my name’s Bob. Care to dance?” he tried again. “No,” he muttered, shaking his head. “Too…stupid. Oh, God, I can’t do this,” he moaned, nearly turning on his heel right then and hightailing it out of there.

He was halted in his second attempt to flee, however, when he thought once more of Paul’s words.

“Gotta enjoy the bits of heaven while we’ve got ’em,” Bob echoed, taking a deep breath. “You can do this, Floyd. Quit being such a coward,” he chastised himself. He blushed crimson when he realized a couple of the older volunteers were staring at him, obviously having overheard his one-sided argument “Uh, ’scuse me,” he mumbled, hurrying off.

Craning his neck, he tried to scan the crowd, wondering if maybe the angel from the punch table had been relieved of her shift in the time he’d been hiding out like a scared little boy. But as his eyes alighted on the refreshment table, his heart squeezed painfully inside his chest.

There she was.

He wanted so badly to ask her to dance.

He was going to ask her to dance.

Oh, God, no. He couldn’t.

No, he could.

He couldn’t.

He stood there like a fool, floundering as he frantically went back and forth in his mind, wanting so desperately to overcome his fears and go talk to her.

She was right there.

If he could only muster up the nerve… 

Your POV

“That Navy man you were chatting with was a real looker,” Marilyn grinned, sidling up beside you and nudging you surreptitiously as you fanned out a new stack of napkins on the refreshment table with nimble fingers.

“Yes, I suppose he was,” you nodded in agreement, cheeks warming slightly, as they were wont to do whenever discussions of attractive men took place.

“You suppose?” Marilyn teased, smirking salaciously. “He was gorgeous. I couldn’t take my eyes off him! Lucky you. I wish he’d asked me for some punch,” she pouted, fluffing her red locks.

“He’s married,” you clarified, feeling strangely defensive of the kind naval officer you’d just met, even after you’d made a fool of yourself in front of him.

“So?” the redhead asked, her eyes twinkling wickedly.

“Marilyn!” you gasped, horrified at her implication.

Marilyn threw back her head, laughing. “Oh, don’t get your nylons in a twist, I’m just teasing,” she told you, resting a hand on her slender waist. “Besides, there’s plenty of unmarried fish in this sea,” she dimpled, nodding towards the massive congregation of servicemen. “And I think it’s time I found myself one! You and Emily don’t mind keeping an eye on the table without me, do you?” she asked expectantly.

“Um, well, I don’t, but—”

“Great! Thanks, doll!” Marilyn beamed, blowing a kiss in your general direction and flouncing off towards the dance floor without a backwards glance.

“Where’s she going?” Emily asked, reappearing at your elbow with a new stack of punch glasses.

“Off to dance, it would seem,” you sighed softly, sharing a knowing glance with your friend. “I told her that I didn’t mind, but I’m sorry if you—”

“Don’t apologize,” Emily said, waving off your concern. “I don’t think anyone can stop Marilyn once she has her mind made up about something,” she added with a giggle.

“No, that’s true,” you agreed, smiling ruefully. Helping your friend fill the new glasses, you glanced over at her. “You can go dance, too. Emily. Really. It’s like I told you before—I don’t mind.”

“I’m not going to leave you here all by yourself!” Emily exclaimed, relentless in her determination not to abandon you. She was a good friend.

The crowd around the refreshment table slowly began to thin out as more and more couples made their way onto the dance floor, allured by the heady beat of the music and the intoxicating possibilities of what they might discover in one another’s arms.

Emily sighed softly as she tapped her feet along to the swing music. You were tempted to try to nudge her towards the dance floor for the third time, but you knew she’d just refuse, so you kept quiet. The two of you chatted softly, handing out glasses of punch to anyone who walked by and offering sweet words of thanks to the men.

“Oh, I love this song!” Emily cried out, clapping her hands excitedly as a young singer stepped up to the microphone and began crooning “The Way You Look Tonight,” wrapping her hands around the mic stand and accentuating each word.

The couples that had been kicking their feet frenetically and swinging their arms wildly on the dance floor gradually shifted into a slower, gentler rhythm, hands pressing against waists and cheeks resting upon shoulders as their bodies intertwined, allowing the romantic lyrics to wrap around them like a cozy shawl.

Emily began softly singing along, caught up in a dreamy haze as she watched the couples dancing with a gentle grin curving her lips.

You just smiled at how much your friend seemed to be enjoying herself, wiping up a small spill as you hummed quietly under your breath. You also loved this song.

“Excuse me, miss?” a masculine voice cut through the hazy silence, catching you off guard. Your head snapped up in surprise, and you found yourself looking into the eyes of a young Army corporal. He looked a little nervous, which only ratcheted up your own anxious feelings.

“Yes?” you murmured softly, cheeks growing warm despite yourself.

“I—” He cleared his throat slightly, shifting from foot to foot. “Well, um, I was just wondering if—”

Oh my goodness, you thought to yourself, butterflies batting their wings violently in your stomach. Is he going to ask me to dance?

The thought terrified you, but also filled you with a kind of giddy excitement. You’d never been asked to dance at any of the USO events. Was this finally your chance? Maybe Dottie had been right about tonight.

The soldier rubbed the back of his neck, grinning sheepishly. He looked so nervous, and you couldn’t help but find it endearing. “I was wondering if—do you think your friend would like to dance with me?” he finally asked, his gaze moving away from your face and landing on Emily.

You felt your heart sink like a stone.

Turning slightly, you caught sight of your friend, who was still swaying to the music, lost in her own little world. Of course this handsome soldier wanted to dance with Emily, your sweet, bubbly, extroverted friend. It shouldn’t have necessarily come as a surprise that he saw you as more of a gatekeeper than a viable dancer partner, but that didn’t make the reality of it hurt any less.

Pasting a bright smile on your face, you nodded your head, not missing the way the young man’s eyes lit up excitedly. “I’m sure she would love to,” you assured him, swallowing past the lump that had suddenly formed in your throat. “Her name is Emily,” you told him, fisting your hands in the folds of your dress and watching as he shyly approached her.

Emily looked surprised when the corporal tapped her on the shoulder, but she beamed immediately, offering him one of her megawatt smiles. You couldn’t hear their conversation from the angle where you were standing, but you saw him offer his hand to her, which she eagerly accepted. Seconds later, however, she tilted her head to catch your eye, a questioning look on her face.

“Go have fun,” you told her, waving her off with a delicate hand.

“Thank you!” she mouthed back, grinning happily as her new partner whisked her off onto the dance floor.

Lifting your chin and straightening your back, you did your best to focus on the tasks that were in front of you—rearranging the napkins, replenishing the punch bowl, filling the glasses. Never mind the fact that you were crumbling inside, feeling near tears.

Dottie was going to be so disappointed. The thought made you sad. Despite your big sister’s best efforts with your hair and make-up—even lending you her prettiest dress—it didn’t change the fact that her baby sister was a wilting wallflower, too shy to earn anyone’s attention.

It shouldn’t have bothered you as much as it did. You were used to remaining on the sidelines during dances. You always told everyone you were more comfortable that way.

You had just hoped tonight would be different.

Bob’s POV

Bob generally considered himself to be a pretty mild-mannered, level-headed guy. There wasn’t much that got his temper flaring, but as he watched that corporal waltz off towards the dance floor with one of the other girls who’d been working behind the punch table, he felt his hand instinctively curl into an angry fist, his nails biting sharply into his palm.

He’d been pacing back and forth a few feet away from the refreshment table, anxiously trying to work up the nerve to finally approach the angel in the pink and white dress, when he spotted the Army officer making his way straight towards her.

That’s what you get, Floyd, he thought to himself. You waited too long, like a coward, and now someone else is seizing the opportunity you missed.

Shoulders sagging in disappointment, Bob was about to turn and go find Paul to tell him that he was heading out early. There didn’t seem any point in staying any longer. He’d just return to base and finish the letter he’d been writing for his parents, then get some sleep and try to avoid dreaming about the reality that he’d be on his way to Europe tomorrow morning—and not for the Grand Tour, either.

Just as he’d determined to walk away without a backwards glance, however, a lull in the music allowed him to catch a snatch of the conversation happening behind him. He froze. He couldn’t have heard that right.

“I was wondering if—do you think your friend would like to dance with me?”

Bob’s mouth hung agape as he swung back around, certain he would find the soldier talking to some other girl. But no! He was talking to her!

He was talking to her and asking if he could dance with some other girl? What was wrong with him?!

“I’m sure she would love to,” came the soft reply, so soft, in fact, that Bob was surprised he could hear it at all. It was the first time he’d heard her speak—God, she even had a beautiful voice.

A beautiful voice that was very clearly trying to hold back tears.

Bob’s eyes narrowed behind his square, wire-framed glasses and he felt his pulse begin racing in his veins, a dark flush creeping up his neck and staining his cheeks. How big of an idiot could one guy be? How could that corporal see the stunning treasure that was standing before him and just toss her aside like yesterday’s newspaper? How could he be so unfeeling, to get a girl’s hopes up like that, only to choose her friend over her?

Taking a deep breath, Bob unclenched his fist and tore his gaze away from the moronic Army officer, turning his attention back to the one person who really deserved it.

He felt his heart sink like a stone.

She looked so sad. So crushed and defeated. He ached as he watched her put on a brave face and attend to the tasks set before her. Anyone else might have walked right by her and not even realized that anything was wrong, but not Bob. He knew. He could see it in her eyes, read it in her body language—the woundedness of being overlooked. Disregarded. Forgotten.

He knew what that felt like, and he hated to think that she did, too. He hated to think that she had spent one moment wondering what she could have done differently to make people take notice of her; that she had spent even a fraction of a second thinking that there was something wrong with her, something she needed to change. He hated to think that anyone had failed to make her feel as beautiful and special as he knew she was.

Maybe Paul had been right. Maybe she really was the one for him—his little slice of heaven right in the middle of hell.

Somewhere in the back of his consciousness, he became aware of the fact that the band was striking up another song. Keeping his blue gaze fixed on the beauty before him, he observed her lift her head and stare out at the dance floor, an honest and painful expression of yearning crossing her lovely features.

Bob actually had to look away in that moment, feeling like he was intruding upon her in her most private, intimate moment. Obviously she believed herself to be alone, he was sure of it. When he looked up again a few seconds later, too weak to tear his eyes away for long, he caught her brushing at one of her eyes.

He couldn’t stand there and let her hurt like that.

As nervous as he was to approach her, as terrified as he was to ask her to dance, Robert Floyd would never leave a lady all alone on the sidelines. No one deserved that, least of all her.

Breathing in a lungful of air, Bob started moving before his brain could try to stop him again, placing one foot in front of the other until he was finally standing right in front of the refreshment table.

She lifted her head in surprise and he cleared his throat nervously, trying not to get thrown by those gorgeous eyes staring up at him.

“Hello,” he smiled shyly.

Some opening, Floyd.

Your POV

You wanted to go home.

As much as you were trying not to let your interaction with the corporal get to you, the truth was that your feelings had been hurt and you weren’t sure how much more your battered pride could take. At the same time, however, you knew you were being ridiculous.

You came here tonight to volunteer, not to meet a husband, you mentally chided yourself. You can’t just up and leave now because your ego was wounded.

Clenching your jaw determinedly, you doubled down on your efforts to continue performing the duty you’d been tasked with for the night. As you wiped away sticky stains, straightened the tablecloth, and set out fresh glasses of punch, you forcibly quashed any feelings of self-pity that threatened to bubble to the surface against your will.

You were here in a strictly professional capacity. You were a volunteer, not some serviceman’s date.

So why had you allowed your hopes to peak when it seemed as though you might finally receive an invitation to dance? That had been a foolish mistake on your part.

Sighing softly under your breath, you nervously fidgeted with your hands, realizing there wasn’t much more you could do at the refreshment table until someone actually approached in search of some punch. Lifting your head, you took in the sight of all the happy couples on the dance floor with a broken smile. You didn’t begrudge a single one of them their excitement and joy, but oh, how you wished you could be out there among them, twirling around in the arms of a man who thought you were the bee’s knees.

Your heart yearned so acutely in that moment that it was almost a palpable ache, your body practically vibrating with a need that you couldn’t quite put into words. You pressed your hands to your chest, as if that could somehow stanch the desire that was throbbing in your heart—the desire to be seen, known, and loved exactly as you were.

Oh, stop it, you scolded yourself when you felt one fat, hot tear roll down your cheek unbidden. There’s certainly no need for tears.

Reaching up with delicate fingers, you carefully brushed away the tears that were pooling against your bottom lashes, not wanting to make a mess of the make-up Dottie had worked so diligently on.

So caught up in your own thoughts were you that you didn’t even notice the man who was approaching the table until he was suddenly standing before you, clearing his throat and smiling shyly.

A little startled, you looked up at him and felt your heart flutter softly against your ribcage. For some reason, the feeling reminded you of the pretty yellow canary that your family had kept when you were a little girl, its soft, delicate wings flapping gently within the confines of its gilded cage.

“Hello,” the young man—another officer in the Navy from the looks of it—greeted you. Was it your imagination that his voice trembled slightly? Even if it had, it didn’t matter. He had a nice voice, one that somehow managed to make you feel comfortable and at ease, even though he had only uttered one word.

“Hello,” you smiled back, your cheeks growing warm when you realized you were staring at him. You couldn’t help it. He had the most breathtaking blue eyes you had ever seen. It wasn’t just the color of his eyes that drew you in, however. It was the kindness and gentleness that you saw residing there, something that struck you as so utterly paradoxical in a man about to ship out to war. They were the most captivating eyes you had ever seen.

He just stood there for a moment, not saying anything, and you felt yourself start to grow nervous once more. You realized, at that moment, that he’d probably just come over to the table because he was thirsty. Not wanting to make the same mistake you’d made with the corporal in getting your hopes up, you quickly reached for a glass of punch and held it out to him, expecting him to thank you and be on his way.

“Oh,” he murmured, those blue eyes widening slightly behind his glasses. He shook his head, removing his hat and playing with it in his hands. “Oh, no, I didn’t—I mean to say that I wasn’t—I mean, I’m not thirsty,” he stammered, sounding a bit unsure of himself.

Not quite knowing what to say in response to that, you lowered the cup of punch back to the table, unable to tear your eyes away from him for more than a few seconds at a time. You noticed, as you gazed at him, that the tips of his ears were turning pink, as were his cheeks and the tip of his nose. Your heart did that strange little flutter once again, and you felt yourself drawn to him in the most inexplicable of ways.

You didn’t even know his name, and yet you knew this man was different from all the rest.

“I–I’m sorry, that must have sounded terribly rude,” he apologized, clearing his throat and putting his hat back on. “What I meant to say was—well, the reason I came over here was—would you, um, like to dance with me?”

It was your eyes that widened now, your heart fluttering more rapidly in your chest. You were reminded again of that tiny yellow canary, the one that had seemed to yearn so ardently for freedom from its little gilded cage.

“M-me?” you asked softly, pointing to yourself as if there was anyone else around for him to be talking about instead. “You want to dance with me?”

“I do,” he nodded, his cheeks growing even more pink, which you found incredibly endearing. “Very much so. I mean—um—only if you want to, that is,” he added hastily, seeming even more unsure of himself than before.

Never in your life had you ever seen your own shy heart so clearly reflected in the heart of another.

“I—I want to,” you told him with a little nod, a soft smile curving your lips. You couldn’t help but notice the look of relief that washed over his face, and it almost made you want to giggle with giddiness. But you didn’t want him to think you were laughing at him, so you swallowed it down. You hesitated for a moment, then shyly asked, “May I ask who’s asking?”

The young officer nearly smacked his forehead with the palm of his hand. “I’m sorry, miss, where have my manners gone?” he asked, his voice lilting in a sweet midwestern accent. “I’m Robert Floyd. Um, Ensign Robert Floyd,” he amended, seeming to remember his rank at the last second. He held out his hand to you and you couldn’t help but notice how large and well-shaped it was. Was it odd to admire how lovely a man’s hands were? You’d have to ask Dottie about that.

Ensign. The same rank as the kindhearted Paul Trace. You suddenly recalled Ensign Trace’s comments about his friend who’d slipped away, the one he claimed you would be perfect for. This couldn’t possibly be—could it?

You told him your name as you slipped your hand into his warm, surprisingly soft palm, and shook gently. He echoed it, almost reverently, and it made you shiver in delight and feel your skin grow warm.

“I’m not normally one for dancing,” he confessed sheepishly, looking a bit embarrassed.

Feeling an almost instantaneous urge to comfort him, you hurried to reassure him. “Don’t worry. That makes two of us then,” you confided, offering him a bashful smile.

His face lit up at your words in one of the most beautiful, charming smiles you’d ever seen. “Should we give it a try then? They do say practice makes perfect,” he murmured with a soft chuckle, holding out his hand to you, this time with his palm upturned in an invitation to lead you out onto the dance floor.

Your heart fluttered in your chest for the third time, reminding you once again of the precious little canary from your girlhood—the canary that had wanted nothing more than to be free. One night, watching the pretty yellow bird flap its wings desperately against the bars of its cage, you made the choice to grant it the freedom it so desired, carrying it outside into the backyard and opening the cage, allowing it to spread its wings and soar.

Maybe tonight, you could let your heart be just as free as that yellow canary.

Lightly resting your hand in Ensign Floyd’s, you let out a hushed laugh and nodded shyly.

“Yes. Let’s give it a try.”

Bob’s POV

She said yes!

He could scarcely believe it, the whole thing feeling like a dream. It couldn’t possibly be real.

And yet, when she placed her hand in his, her hand so delicate and soft and solid against his palm, it dawned on him that their conversation had not just been a figment of his fantasy after all. This beautiful girl—sweet as apple pie and timid as a rabbit, just as Paul had described her—had really agreed to dance with him.

He felt like the luckiest man in the world.

Fingers closing gently over hers, he held her hand as she made her away around the refreshment table, the manicured fingers of her other hand brushing at an invisible wrinkle in her dress. He recognized it as a nervous tick. He did the same thing all the time when he was feeling shy or anxious—picking at an imaginary piece of lint or rubbing at a stain that wasn’t there; anything to make himself small and avoid feeling like people’s eyes were on him.

In that instant, he felt a deep sense of kindred connectedness to her. He’d met her only moments before, but he felt he knew her better than some people he’d known his whole life. Paul had seen it, too, and Bob was immediately flooded with a sense of gratitude that he’d listened to his bullheaded best friend.

Suddenly remembering Paul’s advice from earlier in the evening, he looked down at the lovely young woman whose fingers were intertwined with his and opened his mouth to say something, just as his glasses started to slide down his nose.

She looked up at that moment, and he could swear that the smile that lit up her face could stop traffic. Maybe if the War Department had used her likeness instead of Uncle Sam’s on their recruitment posters, more men would have been lining up to serve.

“You have a beautiful smile,” he told her, the words slipping out of his mouth before he could stop himself. Blushing, he pushed his glasses back up his nose, shoving them firmly against his face. The darn things refused to stay in place.

He heard her slight intake of breath, saw the way she ducked her head at his words, and for a moment he panicked that he’d said the wrong thing and turned her off. But then he spotted the shy, almost tentative smile touching her lips and he relaxed slightly. His words seemed to have more of an impact on her than he could have imagined.

“Thank you,” she murmured, her voice so sweet and light. It reminded him of the soft summer breezes back home. “So do you,” she added, blurting the words out just as he had done and then looking flustered.

Bob chuckled at that, pleasantly surprised by the compliment. He squeezed her hand ever so slightly, wordlessly letting her know that she had no reason to be embarrassed about what she’d said.

Just as they made their way onto the dance floor, Bob making sure to find them a spot that wasn’t too crowded, the singer in the blue gown made her way back up to the microphone, smiling out at the sea of couples as the band struck up a familiar Gershwin tune.

“Oh, I love this song,” she breathed out, looking up at him with bright eyes. She had the most gorgeous eyes he had ever seen, rimmed in dark lashes that kissed the tops of her cheeks whenever she blinked or lowered her gaze.

“I’m glad,” Bob murmured softly in response, his voice almost a whisper as he drank in the sight of her, standing so close to him that he thought his heart might jump straight out of his chest.

“There’s a saying old, says that love is blind,” the singer crooned, closing her eyes as she began warbling “Someone to Watch Over Me,” a song that Bob had heard many times without ever really listening to. After tonight, he thought it might just be his new favorite song.

She fidgeted subtly as she stood before him, twisting her hands in the folds of her dress, and it struck him that she was just as nervous as he was. She had, after all, admitted that she wasn’t much for dancing herself.

“Still we’re often told, seek and ye shall find. So I’m going to seek a certain lad I’ve had in mind…”

Clearing his throat and adjusting his glasses for what felt like the millionth time, Bob held out a hand to her, wanting to make her feel comfortable and at ease. His pulse hammered as she smiled at him again and gratefully slipped her hand into his, lifting her chin and meeting his eye.

“Looking everywhere, haven't found him yet. He's the big affair I cannot forget. Only man I ever think of with regret…”

Trying to quell the butterflies exploding in his stomach, Bob slowly reached out and placed his other hand on her waist, keeping his touch light and almost stiff. He didn’t want to presume any intimacies with her or scare her off.

“I'd like to add his initial to my monogram. Tell me, where is the shepherd for this lost lamb?”

After a moment’s hesitation, she raised her free hand and rested it on his shoulder, her touch just as sheepish and reticent as his. Anyone looking on might think that they looked tense and even a tad bit uncomfortable, their body language stiff and fumbling. But they were each dipping a toe into the water, trying to wade across the chasm and safely find a way to one another.

“There's a somebody I'm longin' to see. I hope that he turns out to be…someone who'll watch over me…”

As the chorus of the song reverberated throughout the room, they began slowly moving in rhythm with the music, swaying side to side as they gazed silently at one another. It wasn’t the anxious silence Bob so often experienced when he was trying to talk to someone new—it was the comfortable silence of two people who knew that words weren’t always what was most important.

“I'm a little lamb who's lost in the wood. I know I could always be good…to one who'll watch over me…”

It took him a second to realize that she was softly humming underneath her breath, her body relaxing in increments as the song went on. His was, too, he realized with some surprise. And he hadn’t stepped on her foot once. As he felt her hand start to melt into his shoulder, becoming almost an extension of his own body, his hand slowly slid around to her lower back, instinctively pulling her closer.

She followed his lead without hesitation.

“Although he may not be the man some girls think of as handsome, to my heart, he carries the key…”

“You have a real pretty voice,” he said softly, gazing down at her with a look of awe etched into his features.

Her eyes widened and she grinned sheepishly, as if a little embarrassed to have been caught humming. “How can you be sure? I wasn’t even singing,” she giggled, a sound that would be seared into his brain and his heart for the rest of his days, he was sure of it.

“Oh, I can tell,” Bob nodded sagely, grinning in return. “It’s lovely.” Just like you.

“Thank you,” she murmured, beaming. He felt a rush of pride that he’d been the one to put that smile on her face.

“Won't you tell him please to put on some speed. Follow my lead. Oh, how I need…someone to watch over me…”

As the song reached a crescendo, she suddenly leaned closer and rested her cheek against his shoulder, her eyes closing as they continued to sway to the beat of the music.

Bob had never wished for anything in his life the way he suddenly wished that time could stand still, his pulse stuttering in his veins as he held her close, resting his cheek against the top of her head as they moved almost in slow motion.

“Someone to watch over me.”

The music came to an end and the crowd burst into applause, but neither of them moved, holding onto one another even as the band struck up a new song.

Bob never wanted to let her go.

Your POV

You never wanted to let him go.

You had always considered “Someone to Watch Over Me” to be a perfect song, but now you realized it had one flaw—it was too short.

Though you’d admittedly been filled with trepidation when Ensign Floyd had first led you out onto the dance floor, you’d been shocked at the speed in which you found yourself growing more relaxed in his arms. The chivalry of his gestures, the gentleness of his touch, the kindness in his eyes and smile—you’d never felt more at ease with a man in your life, especially one you’d just met. Towards the end of the song, you’d even felt brave enough to rest against his chest, which somehow felt warm and comforting, even within the confines of his austere officer’s uniform.

So when the song sadly reached its conclusion, you found that you weren’t quite ready to let him go.

Much to your pleasant surprise, he seemed to feel the same way. Even as the band struck up a rendition of “Moonglow,” his hand remained resting firmly against the small of your back, holding you close to his chest in a way that set your heart racing faster than a freight train.

“I’ve always liked this song,” he murmured quietly as the two of you swayed from side to side, hardly moving at all as the music washed over you.

“Me, too,” you nodded with a smile, lifting your head off his shoulder so that you could gaze up into his piercing cerulean eyes once more. “My sister has a Jack Teagarden record, and this one has always been one of my favorites.”

“I had a feeling you were a girl with good taste,” he replied with a grin that made your stomach do a couple quick flips.

You giggled shyly at that, biting down on your lower lip. You’d always been terrible at flirting. Dottie always tried to give you tips, but you never knew what coquettish, cute things to say to gain and keep a man’s attention. If you were as witty as girls like Marilyn or Emily, you might be able to come up with some little quip to volley back at him, but as it was, you just smiled and rested your head on his shoulder once more.

Thankfully, Ensign Robert Floyd didn’t seem to be a man who minded. In fact, he didn’t seem to be a man who needed many words at all. The two of you were perfectly content to dance in companionable silence for the rest of “Moonglow,” and then for the next couple songs after that.

You knew the room was packed to the rafters with couples, but for a while, it felt like it was only the two of you, lost in your own blissful bubble. It was only when you felt someone bumping into you from behind that you were startled back to reality, turning your head to see another naval officer grinning at you. You instantly recognized the redhead in his arms. It looked like Marilyn had found herself one of those unmarried fish after all.

“Hey, buddy boy! Looks like you did find yourself a pretty girl after all,” the officer guffawed, winking at Robert and then smiling at you. “Has Floyd here been treating you well?” he asked teasingly. “I’ll have to report him to our superiors otherwise.”

Obviously the men were friends, but you still felt your cheeks growing warm as you lowered your gaze and stammered softly, “Oh, yes, very well.”

At the feel of Robert squeezing your hand gently, you looked up and caught his eye. He was smiling at you warmly, comfortingly.

“Good, good,” the other man went on, his expression open and friendly. “You know, this guy—”

“Okay, Benny,” Robert cut his fellow officer off, smiling sheepishly. “Good to see you. We’ll talk later, okay?”

“Okay, pal, okay. I can take a hint,” the man—Benny—nodded, winking over at Marilyn. “Come on, doll, we’ll give the kids some privacy,” he chuckled, twirling her away from you and your dance partner.

“Sorry about that,” Robert chuckled, shaking his head and flushing slightly. His glasses started to slide down his nose, and he quickly pushed them back up. You noticed that it was something that seemed to keep happening, and you thought it was adorable.

“I don’t mind,” you told him, smiling. “Friend of yours, obviously?”

“Yes,” he nodded, grinning fondly. “Former classmate, too. We went to Annapolis together. Commissioned at the same time,” he explained, spinning you gently in time with the music.

“Ah,” you nodded in understanding, glancing down at his uniform jacket before looking back up at his face again. “So you always wanted to be in the Navy then?” you asked curiously.

“Oh, yes,” he replied without missing a beat, the tilt of his head confident and firm. It was clear that this was something that meant a great deal to him. “My father is a captain in the Navy. He went to Annapolis, too, and served during the Great War. Or, I suppose I should call it the first world war now,” he said with a grimace. He cleared his throat slightly before continuing. “Anyway, I’ve always been proud of my father. He was awarded the Navy Cross for his service in the war, and he’s always been the most stand-up guy that I know. I guess I always just wanted to follow in his footsteps.”

You smiled warmly at that, touched by the obvious love that he felt for his father. “I’m sure he’s very proud of you,” you told him.

“I think so. I hope so, at least,” he laughed softly, his blue eyes settling on your face in an expression so soft that it made your heart ache slightly.

“My father served in the Army during the first world war,” you said, finding it easier and easier to make conversation as the moments slipped by. “He doesn’t like to talk about it much.”

“That’s fair,” Robert replied solemnly, his eyes glowing with understanding. “I don’t think it’s an easy thing for anyone to talk about.” A pregnant silence fell between the two of you for a few moments, unspoken words hanging delicately in the air. He finally broke the silence with a bashful grin. “Army, huh? Maybe we shouldn’t be seen together then. The Army and the Navy are notorious rivals,” he joked.

A surprised laugh burst from your mouth at his words, your eyes crinkling in the corners as you smiled wide. “Don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone,” you teased in return.

The two of you stood there, no longer swaying with the music, but simply smiling at one another, still wrapped together in each other’s arms.

A thought seemed to strike him as he gazed down at you, but whatever it was must have made him nervous, because he suddenly averted his eyes and started clearing his throat again, looking as shy as he had when he first approached you.

“Um, say,” he began, rubbing the back of his neck and staring at a point just over your shoulder, as if too afraid to look directly in your eyes. “I hope this doesn’t seem too forward or anything, but I was just wondering—do you think you’d maybe like to take a walk with me?”

“Tonight?” you asked, raising your eyebrows as you looked up at him. Your pulse quickened at the notion.

“Um, well, yes,” he nodded, his cheeks turning a dark shade of red. His glasses even seemed to be fogging up slightly.

You bit your lower lip, glancing around the room. “Well, it’s just that I’m a volunteer with the USO. I don’t think I can leave until my shift is over,” you explained, stepping back and twisting your fingers together.

“Oh, of course,” Robert mumbled, deflating slightly. You hated the look of defeat in his expression. “I understand. Thank you for the dances. I’m sorry if I—”

“My shift is over at ten o’ clock,” you hastened to interject, not wanting him to get the impression that you weren’t interested. You had never been more interested in your life. “I know you’ll have to be getting back to your base, but maybe—”

“Oh, that’s perfect,” he cut in, the two of you pausing and laughing bashfully at his enthusiasm. “Ten o’clock works just fine,” he grinned.

“Okay,” you beamed, feeling your own cheeks grow warm as he smiled at you. “I’ll just go help clean up a little bit. Should I meet you by the front doors at ten?”

“That sounds perfect,” he agreed, his expression bright and uplifted once more.

“Okay,” you said again, finding it hard to get your feet to move in the direction you needed them to.

“Okay,” he echoed, continuing to stand there as well, a foot or two away from you.

The both of you laughed sheepishly when you realized neither of you had moved, each of you looking away shyly.

“Alright, I’ll see you soon then, Ensign Floyd,” you murmured, brushing a lock of hair behind your ear.

“Please, it’s Robert. Or Bob. Lots of people call me Bob,” he amended.

“What about Bobby?” The question popped out of your mouth before the thought had even been fully formed in your mind. You had no idea what on earth had possessed you to ask it.

He smiled at your question. “No, no one really calls me that. It’s usually either Bob or Robby, depending on who it is,” he explained. He paused for a moment, thoughtful, then added, “But you can call me Bobby.”

Your cheeks, which had just been starting to cool down, grew instantly hot at his words, which gave you more of a rush than they had any right to.

“Okay,” you nodded, the tiniest of smiles curving your lips. “I’ll see you soon then, Bobby.”

Bob’s POV

Bob felt like he was floating on air as he made his way across the dance floor, spotting his friends near the doors through which they’d entered the large hall.

She was without a doubt the most extraordinary woman he had ever met. Beautiful, sweet, kind, thoughtful—an angel, just as he had thought from the very beginning. And she actually seemed to like him! What kind of lucky star had he fallen under tonight? Whatever it was, he hoped that the pixie dust from it didn’t wear off anytime soon.

As he got closer to the gathered members of his squadron, he noticed that the redhead Benny had been dancing with was still firmly attached to his side. Tommy Boy had a stunning blonde on his arm—though Bob would argue she was nowhere near as gorgeous as his girl—and most of the other guys had pretty young things draped around them as well.

The only member of the group, in fact, who was standing on his own was Paul. Bob could tell that behind his best friend’s happy-go-lucky smile, there was a tinge of sadness. He knew that Paul wished more than anything that he could be holding Natasha right now. That was, Bob realized with painful clarity, the cost of loving someone so much.

“Hey, there he is!” Benny exclaimed with a cheerful grin when he turned and caught sight of Bob. “Floyd! The man of the hour! Where’s your pretty date?” he asked, waggling his eyebrows and ignoring the way the redhead smacked his chest with a huff.

Bob blushed at Benny’s choice of words, pushing his glasses up onto the bridge of his nose with his pointer finger.

He was saved from answering Benny’s question directly when Tommy Boy cut in, grinning smugly. “See? I told you it was a good idea for you to come to the dance with us tonight, didn’t I?” He chuckled, slapping Bob good-naturedly on the arm. “We’re all getting ready to head out to The Tropicana Room,” he went on, referring to a nightclub downtown that their squadron had frequented a couple times in the past. “You’ll come with us, won’t you? Bring your pretty date,” he added with a knowing smirk.

“Oh, well, um, actually I was just coming to let you guys know that I’m going to be going for a walk with, um—with my—”

“Your date?” Benny drawled slowly, grinning impishly. “A walk, huh? Is that what they’re calling it now?” he teased with a mischievous laugh.

“Oh, shut up, Benny,” Paul interjected, his tone friendly, but firm enough to let Benny know that he meant it. Their fellow officer put a lid on it immediately.

“That sounds real nice, Bob,” Tommy Boy jumped back in, nodding at him with an encouraging smile. For a guy as popular and handsome as Tom, a guy who could have any woman he wanted without lifting a finger, he really was one of the nicest and most supportive friends a guy like Bob could ask for. “So we’ll see you back at base then?”

Bob nodded, having a feeling some of his friends would be out much later than he expected to be. “I’ll see you back at base. Have fun at The Tropicana Room,” he told them all with a little wave.

Paul hung back as the rest of their group began making their way out of the dance hall, loudly laughing and letting out whoops of excitement as they headed into the final stretch of their last night stateside. At his knowing smile, which teetered right on the edge of being smug, Bob chuckled and held up his hands in surrender.

“Alright, alright. I can admit when you’re right,” Bob said, shaking his head with a good-humored smile. “Thank you for pushing me to go talk to her. She’s—she’s amazing, Paul,” he gushed, still in awe. “What you said—you know, about her maybe being the girl for me? I—I don’t know, Paul. I think you might have actually been right.”

“When am I not right?” Paul smirked, throwing an arm around his shoulders. “Ah, I’m just kidding. But I am happy for you, Robby,” he told him sincerely. “You deserve a nice girl. And wait until I write and tell Nat that it was me who helped you find her,” he grinned.

Bob laughed, jokingly pushing his friend away from him. “Okay, sure, take all the credit. I am the one who asked her to dance, you know,” he playfully shot back.

“At my insistence,” Paul emphasized, winking. He glanced over his shoulder for a moment, then asked, “Leaving soon then?”

“At ten, when her volunteer shift ends,” Bob explained, glancing across the room and spotting her helping to clean up at the refreshment table where he’d first spotted her. His heart warmed at the sight.

“Have fun, buddy. I mean it. You really do deserve it,” Paul said, more seriously this time.

“Thank you, Paul,” Bob replied. “Are you going to The Tropicana Room with the others?”

“I’ll probably swing by for a quick drink,” Paul told him with a shrug. “Maybe it’ll take my mind off how much I miss Nat and the kids, at least for a little while,” he added, a touch of melancholy in his voice.

“You’ll see them again soon,” Bob said quietly, patting his friend’s shoulder. “And they’re always with you,” he added comfortingly, tapping the pocket where he knew Paul was carrying his family photograph.

“Yeah,” Paul nodded, forcing himself to smile once more. “You’re right. Have fun, Robby. I’ll see you back at base,” he said, holding his hand out to give Bob a quick shake.

“See you later,” Bob nodded, firmly shaking Paul’s hand before he, too, slipped out of the dance hall.

Figuring a little fresh air would do him some good, and since there had been an arrangement to meet by the front doors anyway, Bob slipped out of the dance hall and made his way through the foyer of the community center. Evidently some of the USO volunteers had also determined that some fresh spring air would do everyone some good, for some of them had propped the front doors open, revealing an inky black Charleston sky peppered with stars.

Stepping up to the doorway, Bob dragged in a lungful of the balmy air, grinning up at the sky. Not for the first time in the past hour or so, he found himself eternally grateful that he’d listened to his friends, particularly Paul, and come to the dance tonight. The reality of his deployment still hung heavy in the back of his mind, but for this brief, blissful moment in time, he was giving himself over to the joy he felt bubbling up inside his chest.

So enamored was he of the warm southern air and the happy thoughts filling his mind that he lost all sense of time until he felt a gentle finger tapping him on the shoulder. Turning around, he felt his heart squeeze inside his chest when he took in the sight of her standing before him, a sweater draped over her arm and her purse in her hand.

“Ready, Bobby?” she asked with a shy grin.

With her, he felt ready for anything.

Your POV

When Bob informed you that he was originally from Iowa and that this was his first time being in Charleston, you immediately suggested taking your stroll down King Street, one of the most historic and lively streets in the whole city. 

The street was bustling and busy almost every night of the week, but this Saturday night in particular, it was practically bursting at the seams. Servicemen from all branches of the military took to the streets in droves, most with a girl or two on each arm, all of them looking for a good time as the reality of a global war loomed heavily over everyone.

Robert—or Bobby, as you were giddily becoming accustomed to calling him—had been a perfect gentleman when you’d left the community center, carefully draping your sweater over your shoulders and offering you his arm, which you’d happily accepted. As the two of you walked along, you pointed out different sites and interesting spots to him, all of which he drank in eagerly, as if every word that fell from your lips was a fascinating treasure. No one had ever made you feel that way before—it was a heady sensation.

“So you’ve lived in Charleston all your life then?” Bobby asked interestedly, his warm fingers coming to rest over yours where they lay in the crook of his elbow.

“Oh, no,” you told him, shaking your head with a smile. “I’ve actually only been living here for the last five months,” you confessed, which seemed to surprise him. “I’m originally from Georgia.”

“You don’t say!” he exclaimed, smiling down at you. “They’re known for their peaches down in Georgia, aren’t they?”

“They are,” you giggled, nodding your head. “We have very sweet peaches back home.”

“Makes sense that you’d be from there then” he mused softly. When you looked up at him with a curious expression, he explained, “You’re as sweet and pretty as a Georgia peach.” He blushed at his own words, perhaps worried that you’d find his comment too hokey.

You thought it was wonderful. Just like him.

“Thank you, Bobby,” you smiled, lowering your eyes demurely.

He smiled in return, and you heard the soft sigh of relief he let out under his breath. “So what brought you to Charleston from Georgia then? If you don’t mind me asking,” he added quickly.

“My sister,” you replied with a smile. “Her name is Dorothy, but everyone calls her Dottie. She and her husband moved to Charleston after they got married, and she just had her first baby back in December. My nephew,” you added with a proud and affectionate grin. “His name is Frankie—well, Francis, but we call him Frankie. He’ll be five months old in just a few days.” You could scarcely believe it. “To answer your question, I moved to Charleston not long after Frankie was born. He came just a week after the attack at Pearl Harbor,” you explained, sobering slightly.

Bobby let out a soft hum in response to your words, his eyes flickering with emotion. Pearl Harbor had been a naval base, which must have made the attack feel all the more personal to him.

“My brother-in-law is a naval engineer,” you went on, eyes twinkling softly. “So I do have a connection to the Navy after all,” you told him teasingly. “When we entered the war, his work hours doubled overnight, and it became really tough for Dottie, trying to care for Frankie and the house all on her own. So I offered to come stay with her to help out.”

“I’m not surprised by that at all,” Bobby said with a tender smile, squeezing your fingers lightly. “You seem to be a very good volunteer.”

You flushed at his compliment, sheepishly trying to brush off his words of praise. “I’m afraid it was purely selfish on my part. I missed my sister terribly, and was desperate to spend time with my new nephew,” you laughed.

“Sounds like it was a win-win for all of you,” Bobby chuckled. He gazed down at you curiously. “Where does your brother-in-law work?”

“He works mainly at the naval air station in Goose Creek. It’s only about thirty minutes away from here,” you replied.

“That’s where I’ve been stationed!” Bobby said brightly. “What’s his name? Not to say that I know him, but it’s always possible.”

“What a small world!” you noted. It made sense that Bobby would be stationed in Goose Creek, so you weren’t sure why you were so surprised, but it was a funny coincidence all the same. “His name is Patrick Sheridan, but everyone calls him Paddy.”

“No kidding!” Bobby gaped, eyes wide. “You’re Paddy Sheridan’s sister-in-law?”

“You do know him?” you gasped, your eyes widening as well. Then you laughed. “I shouldn’t be surprised. Everyone knows Paddy,” you grinned, your heart warming at the thought of your jovial brother-in-law, who had become more like a big brother to you over the years.

“Aw, he’s a great guy,” Bobby insisted, smiling from ear to ear. “He’s played cards with us fellas a few times on our lunch breaks. What a personality. Your sister must be some firecracker to put up with him,” he joked. Then his smile faltered slightly. “Oh, I didn’t mean to offend—”

You cut him off with a wave of your hand, laughing. “No, you’re right. Trust me, if you think Paddy is a handful, your head would spin if you met Dottie. They’re quite the pair,” you giggled, covering your mouth with your hand.

Bobby laughed, grinning thoughtfully down at you. He was quiet for a moment before saying, “I can tell how much you love them from the way you talk about them. Your whole face lights up.”

You smiled warmly at that, your eyes meeting his. “I do love them. Very much. I’m glad to have this time with them.”

“I’m glad for you. Family is important,” Bobby nodded, pressing himself a little bit closer to you as a cool evening breeze passed by.

“Would you tell me about your family?” you asked shyly, not wanting to press him.

He did. As you continued your peaceful stroll down King Street, he told you all about his life back in Iowa, about his family’s farm and his hardworking parents and his two little brothers who were still in grade school. He told you about all the things he missed from home—home cooked meals with his family around the dinner table his great-grandfather had made, his mother’s sweet tea, long chats with his father on the porch in the evening, playing with his brothers and their family dog.

“I can tell you love your family, too,” you told him, echoing his words from earlier. “They sound very special.”

“They are,” Bobby nodded, a soft, almost faraway smile on his face. “It’s nice having Paul with me at least. Feels like a little piece of home,” he said.

“Paul?” you asked curiously.

“Paul Trace,” he explained. “He and I have been best friends since we were kids. We went to the Naval Academy together, and now we’re flying together, too.”

“Oh!” you gasped, eyes sparking in remembrance. So you had been right about his connection to Ensign Paul Trace! “I met him earlier tonight. He seems very kind. He was talking to me about buying his wife a set of pearls like mine,” you said, fingering your necklace.

Bobby grinned at that. “Sounds about right. He adores his wife, Natasha. She grew up with us, too. They’re childhood sweethearts.”

“How romantic,” you sighed softly, smiling at the thought.

“They have two children. Clara is three and Paul, Jr. is only about a month older than your nephew, Frankie,” he told you.

“Oh, I’m sure he must miss them all terribly,” you murmured sympathetically.

“He does,” Bobby nodded, his smile slipping. “I try to remind him that it’ll all be alright in the end. That he’ll see them again soon. But I know I’m one to talk. No wife, no kids.”

“But that doesn’t mean you don’t have people you love. People you’ll miss,” you assured him, squeezing his arm gently. “I’m sure he appreciates you very much, and is just as grateful to be stationed with you as you are to be stationed with him.”

“Thank you,” Bobby whispered, looking touched by your words. “I know he’ll always have my back, and I’ll always have his. Literally. I’m his rear-seater,” he chuckled.

You grinned. “And what does that mean exactly, in layman’s terms?” you asked with a giggle.

Bobby laughed sheepishly. “Of course. I’m sorry. We’re fighter pilots for the Navy. Paul and I fly together in a double-seat aircraft—he sits up front and I sit in the rear, handling the radio and the guns.”

“Sounds dangerous,” you murmured, suddenly feeling frightened for him. You’d known since you met him that he was going off to war, but somehow hearing a description of what his job actually entailed had your stomach turning sour.

“It is,” Bobby admitted, the smile gone from his face as he looked down at you. “But we’ve been well-trained. And I trust Paul with my life.”

You nodded, not saying anything as you lowered your head.

“Hey,” Bobby said suddenly, drawing your attention upwards once more as he pointed to a storefront across the street. “What do you say to some ice cream?”

Smiling slowly, you nodded in response.

Ten minutes later, the two of you resumed your stroll down King Street, two large ice cream cones in hand. Bobby had opted for classic vanilla with chocolate sprinkles, while you’d gone with chocolate ice cream and rainbow sprinkles.

“Wait, wait, so why do you all call him Tommy Boy?” you asked with a laugh. Bobby had started telling you about his other friends from his squadron while you were in the ice cream parlor, and you were still seeking some clarification.

Bobby laughed as well, licking up the ice cream that was starting to melt down the side of his cone. “Honestly? I can’t even remember. His name is Thomas, so we all naturally started calling him Tom. Then Tom turned into Tommy. And somewhere along the line it transformed into Tommy Boy. Now that’s what everyone calls him, and I guess we’ve never thought much of it,” he admitted with a grin.

“And Benny is the one we bumped into on the dance floor?” you questioned, licking your ice cream quickly so that it wouldn’t drip onto Dottie’s dress.

“Yes. Loudmouth Benny. One of my roommates at Annapolis,” Bobby chortled, shaking his head with obvious affection for his friend.

“I know the girl he was dancing with,” you said, glancing up at him. “She’s a talker, too, so they’re very well matched,” you giggled.

“Oh, good,” Bobby grinned. “A perfect way for Benny to spend his last night stateside.”

“Last night?” you repeated, startled. Suddenly, in the back of your mind, you recalled something Marilyn had been saying about a squadron of officers who were spending their last night on American soil at the USO dance. You felt your stomach drop.

Bobby sobered immediately, realizing what he’d said. “I–I’m sorry,” he apologized instantaneously, lowering his ice cream cone. “I should have said something earlier. I just—would you like to sit down for a minute?” he asked, indicating an open bench just a few feet away.

Nodding wordlessly, you followed him over to the wrought iron bench and took a seat, the blood rushing in your ears and your heart suddenly pounding painfully in your chest.

He said your name softly, waiting until you turned your head and looked up at him. “I’m so sorry I didn’t tell you tonight was my last night in town. I don’t know why I didn’t. I guess I just…didn’t know how,” he admitted slowly. “We’ve been having such a wonderful time—or at least, I have—and I guess I didn’t want to ruin that. But that was selfish of me. I’m sorry.”

You were quiet for a moment, absorbing his words. “You don’t have to be sorry, Bobby,” you said softly, staring down at your lap. “I’m not upset that you didn’t say anything about it. I just—I wasn’t expecting you to have to leave already,” you murmured, feeling tears pricking the backs of your eyes.

Oh, how embarrassing. You couldn’t cry in front of him. You’d just met him! He’d think you were insane if you started crying over losing him already.

But you were losing him. The first man you’d ever met who made you feel safe enough to come out of your shell, and he would be gone by morning light. Fate could be so unkind sometimes.

“I’m—I’m so sorry,” he said again, reaching out with a tentative hand and lightly brushing his thumb across your cheek. His touch was so gentle that it made you want to weep. “I’ve been preparing to ship out for weeks now. And I thought I was ready. I really did. But now—meeting you tonight—now I wish I didn’t have to go,” he whispered, leaning in closer to you.

A soft sob caught in your throat at his words. “I know it sounds so silly, but I feel as if I’ve known you for longer than just one night,” you confessed, biting down on your lower lip.

“I feel the same way,” Bobby breathed out, making your heart ache all the more. “I—I don’t want to presume anything, and I probably don’t deserve it after not even telling you the whole truth, but do you think—would it be alright if I wrote to you?”

You let out a soft little gasp at his words, eyes widening. He wanted to write to you? You?

“You don’t have to say yes,” Bobby stammered, blushing furiously. “I understand if you don’t want me to. I just—I’ve enjoyed getting to know you so much, and I hate thinking that I’ll never get to talk to you again after tonight and I was just hoping that maybe, if you don’t mind, we could maybe write to each other sometimes while I’m away,” he rambled, growing breathless.

“Yes,” you told him, nodding your head vigorously.

“Y-yes?” he asked, blue eyes widening behind his square glasses.

“Yes,” you repeated, laughing softly. “Yes, I would like that very much, Bobby.”

He looked as if he might fall over, his eyes as wide as saucers and his mouth hanging open. You had to bite back a laugh as the butterflies danced in your stomach.

“I’ll be staying with Dottie and Paddy for the foreseeable future, so I’ll give you their address, if that’s alright?” you asked, biting your lip.

“Of course! Of course that’s alright,” Bob agreed enthusiastically. “I just need to get you some—oh, gosh, I need some paper,” he scrambled, searching in his pockets with the hand that wasn’t holding his ice cream cone. The look on his face told you that he was coming up empty.

“Wait a second,” you told him, an idea suddenly sparking in your mind. You carefully tore off the paper that was wrapped around your ice cream cone, spreading it out on your lap. “Would you mind holding this for a moment?” you asked, holding your cone up to him. He took it instantly without complaint.

Reaching into your purse, you found the short little pencil stub that you thankfully hadn’t taken out. Flattening out the ice cream cone wrapper with your fingertips, you carefully wrote out your full name, as well as your sister’s address, in a clear hand.

“Here you go,” you told him with a smile, holding out the paper and taking your ice cream cone back from him.

Bobby looked down at that little piece of paper as if it was a priceless treasure map, carefully slipping it into the breast pocket of his uniform jacket. “Thank you,” he murmured, putting his hand over it. “As soon as I get to where I’m going, I’ll write you and let you know how you can get in touch with me. If you still want to, that is,” he hastily added.

“I’ll want to,” you assured him with a smile, scooting a little closer to him on the bench.

The two of you sat side by side, eating the rest of your ice cream in comfortable silence. You rested your free hand down on the edge of the bench between the two of you, your manicured fingers curling around the wrought iron. A few seconds later, Bobby’s hand was resting next to yours, his pinky finger brushing lightly against yours, which caused goosebumps to rise on your skin.

Suddenly, the sound of either a radio or someone’s record player began trickling down onto the street from one of the open windows above. You recognized the tune almost instantly as Glenn Miller and his orchestra’s version of “A Nightingale Sang In Berkeley Square.”

“I love Glenn Miller,” you said aloud, smiling.

Bobby smiled, turning his head to look at you. “So does my mom. She plays his records all the time.” At that, he stood from his spot on the bench, brushing the remnants of crumbs from his ice cream cone off his hands and pants. Then he held his hand out to you. “Would you like to dance?”

You looked up in surprise, your heart fluttering. “I thought you said you weren’t much for dancing,” you smiled.

“I’m not,” Bobby shrugged. “But for you, I’m happy to make an exception,” he beamed brightly.

With a bashful giggle, you rose and accepted his proffered hand, allowing him to hold you close as the two of you finished your evening together the same way you’d begun it—dancing in each other’s arms. It didn’t matter to you that you were swaying in the middle of the sidewalk to the muted sound of someone’s record player as opposed to on the dance floor to the accompaniment of a big band. All that mattered was the way he made you feel and the way you felt your heart blazing to life inside your chest.

All too soon, the song came to an end and Bobby pulled back slightly, gazing down at you.

“I should get you home,” he whispered, a tinge of regret coloring his voice.

You nodded, biting back a sigh as you slipped your arm through his once more, pointing him in the direction of your sister’s house.

There was still so much more to be said, so much more to be learned, but you and Bobby opted for a peaceful silence instead. You knew he wouldn’t have much peace and quiet in the weeks and months ahead, so you wanted to give that to him on his last night.

All too soon, you were standing outside Dottie and Paddy’s house, the lights still on in the front room. Your sister had given you full license to stay out, but you knew that didn’t mean that she and Paddy weren’t going to be sitting up waiting for you.

“This is me,” you murmured, a little sadly. You looked up at him, wanting to get to memorize his face one last time, especially those beautiful blue eyes. “I had such a wonderful time tonight. Thank you, Bobby.”

“No, thank you,” he replied, reaching out and taking one of your hands in his. “Thank you for everything. This was the best last night I ever could have hoped for.”

You smiled wistfully at that, wanting to hug him or give him some proper goodbye, but not wanting to come across as too forward. The two of you just stood staring at each other for a few minutes, both of you too shy to move or say anything.

“I promise I’ll write,” he finally told you, patting the pocket where he’d slipped your address.

“And I promise I’ll write back,” you vowed, twisting your hand in the pleats of your dress.

“Good night” he breathed softly, reaching out to lightly touch your cheek.

“Good night, Bobby,” you whispered back, feeling a small crack form in the crevice of your heart.

He hesitated a moment, looking as if there was something more he wanted to say—or do. “Can—c-can I kiss you?” he asked shyly, his blush evident even in the moonlight.

When you nodded slowly, he leaned in close and brushed his lips against your cheek in a kiss so soft and chaste that you felt tears forming against your lashes. “Goodbye,” he murmured against your ear, pulling back respectfully.

Thinking of the words he said he often shared with Paul, you smiled at him. “We’ll see each other again, Bobby.”

He smiled at that. “I certainly hope so.”

Bobby watched as you made your way to the front of the house, pulling your keys out of your purse and unlocking the door. You turned and waved. He waved back.

Stepping inside and closing the door behind you suddenly felt like the hardest thing you’d ever had to do.

Before you even had time to process any of what had just happened, Dottie suddenly came bounding in from the family room, looking like a cat who got the cream.

“Who was that?” she demanded eagerly, wrapping her arms around you and squeezing tightly.

“Dottie! Were you spying on me?” you gaped, your cheeks growing hot in embarrassment.

Your older sister threw back her head, laughing. “Of course I was!” she told you. “Paddy!” she called over her shoulder. “Put on a kettle for some tea!” Turning back to you, she grinned excitedly and cupped your face in her hands. “I want to hear all about your night!”

For once, you finally had a story to tell.

Bob’s POV

Bob had never quite known what it was to both ache and rejoice in equal measure, but now he did. As he strolled away from the Sheridan residence, hands in his pockets, his heart ached at the possibility of never getting to see that beautiful face again. Yet at the same time, he rejoiced at the wonder of getting to meet her, of getting to hear her laugh and make her smile.

Even more, he rejoiced at the little scrap of paper pressed against his heart, the paper that reminded him of the endless possibilities that lay ahead. He was leaving her, that was true, but maybe, just maybe, there was a chance that he could carry her with him through it all—a little slice of heaven in the midst of hell.

Smiling brightly as he strolled the streets of Charleston for the last time, Bob began penning his first letter to her in his heart.

[dailydegurechaff]

Sometimes half way through making something I find myself self-conscious about it like "Oh, this is so far diverged from canon. People are gonna hate this. It's cringe, don't post it." And then I remember this is my blog that I can do whatever with and I don't have to be a people-pleaser.

Anyway, Very Very Post-War Degurechaff family tree:

Warning for yapping under the read more.

I think perhaps its more accurate to call this AU instead of headcanon, purely because of how much I'm diverging from a realistic sequence of events. Honestly, it's not meant to be canon compliant, it's meant to be me playing with the characters like dolls lol

So, to start. Ursula is a canon character introduced in the manga chapter 50 and we do see an image of her, but I don't care for it so... fan design it is. Her name is revealed later in manga chapter 81.5 (The second part of the story about Grantz's letters to home). That chapter also introduces Doris and her unnamed mother & father (Ursula's daughter & her son-in-law).

Interestingly, it's mentioned that Doris' father married into the family which means that in order for Doris to have the last name Grantz, both her father and grandfather would've had to have taken their wives' last names. Based of them really.

Grantz also takes his wife's last name because I want him to. Something about it makes sense to me. He's a wifeguy.

I considered passing the Lergen name down too. So it'd be Tanya von Lergen, her husband Warren von Lergen, and their son Theodore von Lergen, but somehow it didn't seem right. So they keep Degurechaff. That doesn't change that Tanya is technically a member of the Lergen family still.

Speaking of the Lergen family, if I allowed myself the indulgence, I would've gone into the extended Lergen family tree but I held off this time. I might update this one day to include them, but for now the main thing to know is Lergen has a married older brother and a niece (younger than Tanya). Also his two parents of course.

I want to also update this with names and designs for Grantz's parents someday too. For now we'll live with the only fan character on this tree being Theodore.

I don't have much to say on Theo because I'm undecided on what I want to do with him (Or even if I want him to exist...). What I will say is that he's definitely at least a year or two younger than Leonie. Yes, their names were specifically chosen to match each other.

He too can make scary faces and say disconcerting things like Tanya, but he gets away with it because he's cute. Yes, Lergen is completely blind to these same traits that he found worrying in Tanya.

[stars-obsession-pit]

What if Chloe Bourgeois was Stephanie Brown's long lost sister?

I don’t feel entirely confident in my knowledge of either of their characterizations/histories, but here’s an attempt at something!

So, before they even meet, Chloe has some differences due to being adopted.

In some ways she’s worse with her actions in trying to hold her mother’s attention and jealousy of Zoe who is her mother’s actual biological kid. But in other ways she’s better, due to feeling less like she fated to hold her high status and more like she has to earn it through being “Good”

Steph finds out about the connection first, so is the one to reach out to Chloe. Not exactly when this’d best fall in the timelines, but it’s probably either pre-canon or early-canon for Miraculous Ladybug

Chloe… doesn’t know how to feel about this. On one hand, Steph represents an actual blood-familial connection she could lean into (something she’s lacking) that might not have the same “I need to be good enough to earn their care” stress, but on the other she’s still caught up in her own issues about being “good enough” for her mother and is hesitant to act away from her adopted family

But Steph is perceptive enough to notice Chloe’s insecurities and whatnot just from reading their letters. She relates to parts of them (after all, she’d been overconfident and gotten in over her head before, and she recognizes Chloe’s at times arrogant attitude as a sort of defense mechanism), so she pushes for them to keep in contact since she believes that they could become genuinely very close with time.

Thus, they continue sending some messages back and forth, and over time this helps contribute to Chloe further improving as a person.

These changes are actually enough that Ladybug agrees to let Chloe keep using the Bee Miraculous sometimes, though not without some definite stumbles in their interactions along the way

Also would probably have to remove the “Chloe publicly declares her hero identity in one of her plans” thing to work with this

Neither tells the other about their hero work though. Steph can tell that something is up that Chloe isn’t telling (i’m including the crossover trope of an “information block to prevent foreign heroes from rushing in unprepared and getting akumatized” thing), but doesn’t know what and is hesitant to try to pry

A bit further into their communication, they decide they’d like to meet in person at some point.

However, Chloe is nervous about bringing her to Paris because of the Hawkmoth situation, and she’d be unlikely to get permission to go the other way (I could see her mother in particular forbidding it as “a ridiculous diversion” unless she knew Steph knows Bruce Wayne and thus their interactions could have “business potential”), so it gets kinda put off.

But then, after [some notable akuma event, IDK which would be ideal], the idea of her leaving Paris for a bit for safety gets brought up, and she jumps at the chance to push for going to Gotham to meet her sibling.

Well maybe it’s more like she pushes her parents to go to l New York, but then convinces the people she’s staying with there to bring her to Gotham

Alongside talking to Steph, she has another goal with this: to talk to the Bats.

Yeah, she’s still worried about heroes coming into Paris and getting akumatized, but she hopes that as detectives the Bats could give assistance remotely. Specifically, searching for Hawkmoth’s identity and/or base of operations.

And maybe, if she’s lucky, they’ll help her train to be an even more capable hero when she returns to Paris…

[aikoiya]

LoZ: Wild - The 7 Heroines Symbol Analysis

Ya'll, with @alasse-earfalas' help, I realized that dang near every one of the Heroines' symbols all relate to mathematical symbols or phonetic symbols in some way!

To start off, one of them is most definitely a Lambda, which relates back to another theory, but that's for another time.

Anyway, here are the symbols in question!

The one in the upper left is the Lambdah (Λ/ʎ), which is the letter correlating to L in the Greek alphabet.

The Lambda is the 11th character in the Greek alphabet & according to Herodotus, Labda was the daughter of Amphion (demi-god son of Zeus & twin to Zethus, associated with the lyre) & the mother of Cypselus by Eetion. Cypselus eventually established the earliest known tyrant dynasty.

Evidently, it symbolized unity under oppression & is referred to as the Greek letter for “sameness.” It also corresponded with the number 30 in the Greek numerical system. Which, 30 was often associated with maturity, as well as the attainment of a certain level of experience or wisdom, especially considering the lifespan expectations in ancient times.

The origins of the letter is thought to depict a shepherd's staff, meaning that it has themes of guidance & authority. It's shape also resembles an arrow pointing upwards, which conveys an impression of accent or elevation. And this leads to metaphorical themes revolving around progress or advancement.

Not to mention, in physics, it refers to wavelength. But in calculus, it's a "formal system in mathematical logic for expressing computation based on function abstraction & application using variable binding and substitution."

Here are the symbols, as I know them. Λ (lambda, phonetic symbo, Ll; ʎ used in math), ʃ ("esh" & integral; phonetic symbol, formerly used to represent ‘sh’) or ⎎ (technical symbol, hysteresis symbol, correlates to f), ǁ (math, parallel to; phonetic symbol, aveolar lateral consonant), : (ratios or scales), ❜ (phonetic symbol), o (phonetic symbol) or O (math, Landau's symbol, describes the asymptotic behavior of functions or represents the null matrix where all elements are zero), last is the drop-looking symbol that I'm struggling with.

It may be that the colors of them are also important.

Just for reference, asymptote is defined as "a line that continually approaches a given curve but does not meet it at any finite distance."

Now, for the Heroines, here's what we know.

Rotana said that the powers were: "skill, spirit, endurance, knowledge, flight, motion, & gentleness."

However, the Stelae say that they are: "heart, skill, fortitude, wisdom, flight, mobility, & compassion."

Luckily, these are easily condensed: heart/spirit, skill, fortitude/endurance, wisdom/knowledge, flight, motion/mobility, & gentleness/compassion.

Heart & spirit are interchangeable as "heart" is likely referring specifically to one's spiritual heart based on Kokoro (心), which can translate to both.

For now, I believe that the Λ may be the symbol for the Heroine of either wisdom/knowledge or motion/mobility or possibly flight. Though, for the moment, I'm leaning more towards wisdom/knowledge.

And, because of the nature of spirit within Japanese culture, I'm inclined to believe that the symbol of the Heroine of heart/spirit may have been ❜.

Heart = ❜

Skill = "The ability to do something well."

Fortitude = "Courage in pain or adversity."

Wisdom = Λ?

Flight =

Mobility = Λ/O? "The ability to move or be moved freely & easily."

Compassion = "Sympathetic pity or concern for the sufferings or misfortunes of others."

Also, the gifts left for the 8th were a gold rupee, a ruby, a sapphire, a topaz, a spear, a shield, a claymore, & scimitar.

These gifts were all positioned at the foot of a statue with, most likely the 8th being the one in the center.

Starting from front-left (Gerudo Shield), middle-left (Golden Claymore), back-left (Ruby), middle-back (Sapphire?), then going back-right (Topaz), middle-right (Gerudo Scimitar), front-right (Gerudo Spear), & ending in center (Gold Rupee?).

I haven't figured it all out yet, but if anyone has any suggestions or knows what the drop symbol is, I encourage assistance.

---

Edit: I'm sorry.

I just realized that it's very possible that the game already shows you which is which.

Look at the way they are always arranged.

It appears to be the same each time.

And, the Stelae, which may or may not have been carved by the Heroines themselves, write it out as "heart, skill, fortitude, wisdom, flight, mobility, & compassion."

Also, something interesting of note is the characters used for them in Japanese.

Shin or Kokoro (心) = Heart, spirit, mind.

Gi or Waza (技) = Skill, technique.

Tai or Taeru (耐) = Enduring, to resist or withstand (e.g. 耐火 is “fire-proof”).

Chi or Shiru (知) = Knowledge, wisdom.

Hi or Tobasu (飛) = Flight, used in a lot of verbs related to jumping or letting something fly.

Dō or Ugoku (動) = Motion.

Jū or Yawaraka (柔) = Gentleness, softness (it’s the “ju” in judo).

---

Heart = Shin (心; heart, spirit) = ❜ = Shield

Skill = Gi (技; skill, technique) = Λ = Claymore

Fortitude = Tai (耐; endure, resist) = O = Ruby

Wisdom = Chi (知; knowledge, wisdom) = : = Sapphire

Flight = Hi (飛; flight) = ⎎ = Topaz

Mobility = Dō (動; motion) = Drop Sign = Scimitar

Compassion = Jū (柔, gentleness, softness) = ǁ = Spear

...

Did I just figure it out?

... Regardless, even if I am right, I'm still ridiculously curious as to what the drop symbol is, though. Like, is it just the odd one out that they chose just to mess with us?

Are the gifts they left for the 8th in any way related to their Special Powers™ or the way they fight? Are the symbols?

And, if so, how?

Like, I'm pretty positive that, if I am right, then the Heroine of Heart's symbol is, in fact, a reference to the Mitama of Japanese myth & the Heroine of Fortitude's gift may have been a hint to the term taika (耐火) meaning "fireproof.

Though, I noticed that the weapon missing from this line-up is the Golden Bow. But, then again, it's possible that one of the Heroines that gave a gem might've used one. Possibly the Heroine of Flight. I mean, Hi (飛) is evidently used in verbs referring to “letting something fly,” so that might well be it.

I'm not entirely positive of the rest, though...

... That drop sign is gonna erk me until I get confirmation, won't it? 😮‍💨

LoZ Wild Masterlist

[vigilskeep]

How do you think the Thedas holidays are celebrated in the circles?

because they’re andrastian holidays and circles are an andrastian institution, i would be very surprised if they weren’t celebrated! but a little differently, due to the circumstances. more sermons than getting out and celebrating, i fear. nevertheless, good plentiful food and a break from work are the typical markers of a medieval-ish holiday. i would certainly expect a day off from studies and a feast in the great hall for circle mages! perhaps performances and displays of their work... here’s a great canon letter from a retired knight-commander to his knight-templar grandson that gives us some insight:

“My Dear Boy,

Your pious outrage might earn you some approval with your knight-lieutenant, but I beg you to join the rest of us in the real world, lad. Do you have any idea just how wealthy the Circle of Magi can be? The amount of gold the nobility pays for enchanted goods would overflow a well. Many mages—particularly Lucrosians—are from good families, used to entertainments and the finer things in life... and Maker knows they can afford them. So why shouldn’t they indulge a little?

Besides, a few musicians and dancers and an elaborate dinner is nothing. There are a dozen acting troupes in Val Royeaux and Halamshiral who specialise in bringing plays and stories into Circle Towers. A little collapsible scenery, the right costumes, a sprinkle of artfully chosen scent, and they can transform a workshop into an enchanted forest, a cold courtyard into a war tent on the eve of battle, or a dining hall into a darkspawn lair.

It does the mages good, too. When you see the same dreary walls day after day, a change to the familiar is a taste of freedom.

When mages entertain themselves, now, that’s a sight. No mere “tricks” there. I’ve seen ones who could juggle fire into ice or breathe a word into one hand and release a song from the other. I once saw a mage build a cathedral out of playing cards, upside down, yet it was impossible to knock it over! Even a game of battledore and shuttlecock takes on a new dimension when the players can move objects with their minds.

It isn’t all idle entertainment, either; most mages I know are eager to put their hands to useful work. Those gorgeous wooden panels in the teyrn’s castle at Ostwick? The ones that show the Qunari Wars on the Waking Sea? All carved by an enchanter at the city’s Circle, over the ten years he spent there. More than a few palaces have benefited from the artistry of mages: tapestries, stained glass, anything that takes time and patience.

In some day, some knight-captains frowned on mages spending their time and magical power for “frivolous ends.” Frivolous? Any mage with enough fine control to keep an audience enthralled, or to build a mosaic of Andraste, has better mastery of their magic than one who only uses it to destroy. Leave the moralising to the revered mothers, my boy. It’s not for us to say how a person should stay occupied in their own home.”

as for the more specific festival traditions, i wouldn’t be surprised if city-based circle mages were asked to send talent to perform magic for some festivals. the fires on funalis, perhaps. and i wonder if the most lenient circles ever have some kind of templar mage role swap for the day on satinalia lmao. or at the very least have a little apprentice be first enchanter for the day. i wouldn’t imagine they have much of a coming of age for summerday because maturity is much more marked by your harrowing

[ladyandthewalrus]

IDV Characters and Their Birthplaces

A reasonable number of people seem to have liked my previous chart of IDV characters and their social classes/income levels, so I thought I’d whip up another charting where the characters were born.

This chart operates on a combination of canon information and reasonable speculation including historical precedent and additional info from characters’ birthday art and the real people they are based on. It is not meant to crap on headcanons in any way, just chart the likely makeup of the cast as written (also! The United Kingdom and especially England and Scotland have lots of immigrant populations from across the world, but especially other parts of Europe, Asia and Africa).

Feel free to consult the list of everyone’s class backgrounds here, keeping in mind that we are taking for granted travel across the Atlantic was out of reach for members of the lower class and we are assuming that while IDV does have fantastical elements, given the heavy focus on class differences, money (and the need/desire for it) and the desperation created by poverty in many characters’ backstories, it is taking into consideration how expensive it would be for characters to get around. So we see more characters from North America and continental Europe who are from middle and upper classes make it to the manor, with a few exceptions like, Helena.

Also important is that on a grand scale, a lot of the events in IDV intertwine extremely closely. It is a small world full of fuckery, bad science, and occultism that seems to mostly be happening centered in one area, with Oletus Manor, Lakeside, White Sand Street Asylum, the Arms Factory, and Scared Heart Hospital all located within the bounds of one unnamed county/shire in England. Baron DeRoss definitely has an extensive information network that spans continents, but plenty of the characters in the story are locally sourced, as it were.

Let’s get going!

Born in England:

♡Margaretha/Natalie/Natasha: Likely born in England. She was raised in Lakeside Village, which is a stone’s throw from Oletus Manor based on this map from one of the art books. Although here referred to as LakeView, I think it is very fair to assume the name was changed in translation or slightly altered, but is meant to be understood as the same place, as many important in-game locations are in close proximity to each other and the water from Lakeside has unusual properties used in experiments by various parties at other lore-significant locations. Her uncle’s family is poor, so she was probably not born far from Lakeside. In terms of her ethnic background, her deductions mention her family eating borscht, so they probably hail from Eastern Europe originally. Her uncle’s surname, Hayward is English, and her adopted surname Zelle is Dutch and German.

♡Freddy: Freddy was present at Emma/Lisa’s first birthday party, suggesting a long friendship with Leo and having lived in the unnamed shire/town a long time too. He also makes several classist and xenophobic comments throughout the diaries of his manor group and is noted by the experimenters in his recent birthday letter to buy into Victorian England’s stratified class system and contempt for the poor. The Riley surname originates specifically from Yorkshire and Lancashire in England.

♡Memory/ Alice: Born in England to a noble father. Although the accents of the characters as portrayed by voice actors in English are really inconsistent, with the English Emma having an American accent, it is worth noting that both Memory’s narration in the Season 19, Essence 1 trailer, Alice’s words to Orpheus in Time of Reunion, and the off-screen voice of her mother in-game during Time of Reunion all make use of upper-class English accents. The surname DeRoss is an anglicized version of a Dutch surname.

♡Emily/Lydia: Emily is partially based on the English serial killer of infants, Amelia Dyer. She also worked early in her career at several locations on the map attached above, making it likely she was born somewhere not too far away. Her family is middle class, meaning she could reasonably be from anywhere in the United Kingdom as members of the middle class could move around within adjoining countries with relative ease. The surnames Jones and Dyer are both English.

♡Robbie: As an orphan taken to what became White Sand Asylum, he would have been from the surrounding area. His surname White is either English, Scottish, or Irish in origin.

♡Emma/Lisa+Leo: Leo’s ill-fated factory was located in the town directly by Oletus Manor. Given the timeline of events, with him burning the factory down when Emma was 10-11, Emma at least was probably born in this English town. The Beck surname is common in English and Slavic-speaking countries, and Woods is an English surname.

♡William: he is based off the real life Englishman William Ellis who is credited, perhaps erroneously, with creating Rugby, which did at least originate in England in 1845. The surname Ellis is Welsh and English.

♡Kreacher: as an impoverished orphan, Kreacher would not have traveled much, and there is almost no way he was born somewhere other than the contagious United Kingdom in terms of logistics. His surname Pierson is also English.

♡Tracy: If her father Mark’s clock shop being included/ referenced in the Chinatown map is anything to go off of, Tracy was probably born in England, as many major cities in the United Kingdom have Chinatowns but most are in England.  Her surname, Reznik is Czech.

♡Grace: She's a foundling that washed into Lakeside, so must have originated in the surrounding area to an extent. Her surname is unknown, both in terms of her birth and adoptive parents.

♡Kurt: Explicitly stated to have been born in Yorkshire, England. Frank is a German surname.

Born in Scotland:

♡Norton: Campbell is one of the most common surnames in Scotland, originating in the borderlands between England and Scotland. Two interesting things of note about the name 1) it means crooked-mouth, and Norton’s official art features him with a half-smile, half-frown, and 2) Clan Campbell is, to this day, not well thought of and considered to be full of violent backstabbers, which is also apt seeing as he is willing to resort to violence and trickery to get ahead in life. Norton’s skin Stray Poet/Troubadour also has him sporting the Clan Campbell Tartan (thank you @tallemy in the IDV lore discord for pointing that out). His birthday art from 2022 also features a map of the Scottish Highlands, and Scotland is known to be rich in mineral wealth, and thus, mining operations.

♡Percy: based on the character of Victor Frankenstein, who while Swiss in the novel, was based on the real-life Scottish scientists  Andrew Ure and James Lind.  For Percy to be getting corpses from Andrew, who is snatching them from an United Kingdom cemetery, it’s reasonable to think he is in the United Kingdom too, and he is a colleague of Burke, who is has been woking in England for decades..

Born in Wales:

♡Eli: His deductions and letters mention the character of Brooke Rose, a mistranslation of the name Blodeuwedd, a famous character from Welsh mythology, which tends to be fairly obscure. His surname, Clark, is generic and found throughout the United Kingdom.

Born in Ireland:

♡Keigan: The Clerk is partially based on the unpopular Irish judge and politician William Keogh. Again, although the accents employed in video materials are inconsistent, she clearly has an Irish accent in her English character trailer. Her surname Keogh is Irish through and through.

Born somewhere in the United Kingdom or British Isles:

♡Martha: Or at least “Martha” is passing herself off as the British Martha. The ideal of the “angel in the house” and Victorian womanhood Martha Behamfil fought against is inexorably tied to British class and gender values. Behamfil is likely a bastardization of Beham, which is an English surname by way of the Normans.

♡Fiona: Very little is known about Fiona’s background, but her given name is Celtic. The surname Gilman is also English with Norman origins.

♡Melly: She stared as a domestic servant at a manor, likely somewhere in the United Kingdom. As such, she was probably born in the United Kingdom, as the pitifully low wages of housemaids would make international travel legitimately impossible. Her surname before marriage, Ndlovu, suggests her father’s family hails from South Africa or Zimbabwe.  

♡ Ann: she comes from a wealthy family that falls within the geographical  range of influence of the cat cult. Her family own pastoral land where sheep graze, and sheep are in many ways the stereotypical livestock of the United Kingdom. Her surname is not known.

♡Bane: if he's working as a gamekeeper, he’s likely from the area around Oletus and knows the land well. Perez is a Spanish surname extremely common in the United States and Mexico, but also sometimes in Peru and even France.

♡Mike: A circus foundling and adoptee, he was probably locally sourced by Bernard. Morton is an English and Scottish surname.

♡Emil: Another character who would not have ranged far due to his extreme poverty, who was found near White Sand Asylum in a delirious state. His family surname is unknown, and the name Emil itself is popular broadly across continental Europe, and offers no clues.

♡Violetta: a circus foundling, based on a German performer, Violetta Wagner but probably abandoned somewhere in the United Kingdom unless the Hullabaloo and her prior employer/foster father/owner Max had international reach. The actual historical Violetta had living relatives and traveled with them.

♡Aesop: His given name is Greek (and honestly a very unique choice on the part of his mum). His Once skin previously including the Italian word for shame/disgrace, vergogna, is probably a reference to him going to an elite academy in that timeline, as many upper-class British boy’s schools included Latin, Italian, Greek etc in their curriculums. His letters to his teammates during his manor game are impeccably written, suggesting English is his first language. The surname of his foster father, Carl, is German, but the surnames of his birth parents are unknown. 

♡Andrew: Scottish Andrew theory here, and more broadly, Laz/Luz/Lutz Cemetery is within train ride distance  from Oletus Manor, making it in England, Scotland or Wales. Given his childhood landlord is buried in that cemetery, he has to have been born in one of these countries too. His German surname, Kreiss, makes plenty of sense, as Germans are one of the largest ethnic groups in the United Kingdom.

♡Orpheus: His parents were park rangers/ groundskeepers employed by the English DeRoss family. We do no know his given name and surname, as Orpheus is a nickname/alias. 

♡Ada: Ada and her father are based on the German doctor and scientist Franz Mesmer. It is highly likely Ada was born in England, given her father practiced there, and she came across Emil begging on the street when they were both children in the vicinity of the unarmed town so discussed in this post. The surname Mesmer is German.

♡Murro: A circus foundling and adoptee, he was probably locally sourced by Bernard. Morton is an English and Scottish surname.

♡Luca: 100% ethnically Serbian, based on his being heavily based on Nikola Tesla,  and his favorite  dish, ajvar, coming from the Balkans.  Active in the United Kingdom during his time working with Alva, who in turn knew his father as a young man, since the cat cult is linked to the events around the manor, Lakeside, and Golden Cave, all of which are in England. His surname, which is translated as Balsa but probably meant to be Balzer or Balzac, is Austrian.

♡Weepy/Joker: another circus foundling. He has no known surname and no proper first name either.

♡Alva: based on Thomas Alva Edison, an American with Dutch heritage. Alva and Herman, and then Luca, were working on their invention somewhere in the United Kingdom given that the cat cult got their hands so easily on Alva’s corpse. Lorenz is a German, Dutch and Spanish surname.

♡Will Brothers: orphans and circus foundlings. Their surname is German, and they don't possess given first names.

♡Luchino: fluent enough in English to conduct lectures at a college in England, and able to get to the manor by train. The surname Diruse is a nonsense name like Behamfil, but is probably a corruption of DeRossi, which, like his given name, is Italian. It is a given thing in IDV that to be Italian is to be cursed by a supernatural entity.

♡Burke: I think I’ve heard speculation that Burke is based on the Canadian architect Edmund Burke, but there aren’t many definitive pieces of evidence pointing to this besides the name Burke and a connection with architecture; the connection is a lot weaker than with other characters inspires by real people.  Lapadura is allegedly (?) Sicilian, but a very rare surname.

♡Victor:  His family seems to have been poor based on his dialogue in the Autumn Letter event. His favorite dish (and Luchino’s too) is Steak Diane, which was invented in London anachronistically in the 1930s. Grantz is a German surname

♡Edgar:  One of the few characters I can only tentatively guess about, falling into this category simply because so many of the characters are British. One of the artists Edgar is based on, Edouard Manet, was French. The surname Valden is apparently Russian, though very rare. Perhaps, perhaps, he is indeed French, and as none of the other participants of his game (José, Vera, Kevin, and Patricia) are British, they’d all be outsiders, in a sense.

♡Lucky: he is just some poor guy dressed like a 90′s kids sitcom character. I don't know. Also probably from Britain because almost everyone is.

♡BonBon: honorary inclusion. He is whatever his dad Burke is. A little Sicilian-British robot?

♡Galatea: Galatea is partially based on Camille Claudel, who was French, but she was likely born in Britain. She and her family are in the same social circles as the British Baron DeRoss, and she is mentioned to be considering traveling to Florence and Paris, which would be viable given her family’s wealth and not worthy of note if she did live in France already.

Born in Belgium:

♡Servais: Based on the real magician Servais LeRoy, who did spend a good part of his career in Britain. LeRoy is a surname specifically from northern France.

Born in Spain:

♡José Baden: He has a surpassingly common Spanish name and his favorite food is Paella. His family’s shipping activities saw them sailing frequently through the Mediterranean Sea. The surname Baden has Danish origins.

Born in Germany:

♡Jack: IDV’s version of Jack is heavily based on one of the candidates for Jack the Ripper’s identity, the artist Walter Sickert, who was born in Germany but grew up in England from the age of 8 onwards. Sickert is a fairly uncommon German surname.

Born in Austria:

♡Frederick: A HUGE number of composers and musicians were active in Austria, and specifically Vienna, in the 19th century. Frederick is mentioned in his deceptions as departing from Vienna for Paris, making it likely he and his family lived there, given his father was a famous musician. Many of them were from Polish or Hungarian families. Kreiberg appears to be German, as there’s a very similar German surname Kreisberg.

♡Marie Antoinette/Maria Antonia/Mary: This applies more to the historical Marie, as canon material suggests Hunter Mary is a woman experiencing delusions of being Marie Antoinette. Although Queen of France, she was born in Austria and lived there for the first 14 years of her life.

Born in France:

♡Joseph: fled France with his family. Joseph is confirmed to be largely based on the French inventor  Joseph Nicéphore Niépce, who even had a brother named Claude. Desauliners is a French surname that is much more common in Canada than France.

♡Vera/Chloe: Vera hails from the French town of Grasse, a hotspot in the perfume industry. Nair is apparently  (?) a Scottish surname, of all things.

♡Philippe: he is based on Philippe Curtis, a surgeon and wax artist. In his debut trailer, the map projected behind his sister shows his voyage beginning in what is either Eastern France or the Western edge of Switzerland. Surname unknown.

Born in Italy:

♡Antonio: he is based on the Italian violinist Niccolò Paganini. A celebrity musician would be internationally mobile and welcome at courts across Europe. His 2022 letter speaks of his lover, Andrea, who also has an Italian given name. His actual surname is unknown, as he is never referred to as Paganini in canon materials.

Born in Czechoslovakia/ The Czech Republic:

♡Annie: her mother was a British socialite, and her father a Czech painter. Her favoring of unconventional traditional dress despite being part of the upper class indicates she feels closer to her Czech, rather than British heritage, and as such likely grew up in proximity to other ethnically Czech people, as I doubt she would have access to that side of her culture as much had she grown up in the United Kingdom. Her 2022 birthday letter also lists her inheritance from her mother in British pounds, which would be odd to do when writing to someone who was also in Britain, as it could be assumed that was the currency in question. Her favorite food is Czech sausage. Lester is an English, not Czech surname, and it’s possible Annie identifies by her mother’s maiden name as a fuck you to her dreadful father.

Born in the United States:

♡Helena Adams: Based on the American activist and scholar Helen Keller. Her international travel was likely facilitated by Sullivan, as her family is not wealthy. The Adams surname is Scottish and English.

♡Patricia: abandoned as a baby in New Orleans, Patricia was technically born at sea and could count as being from Haiti as much as the United States. She is very loosely inspired by Voodoo practitioner and herbalist Marie Laveau, who was of French, Black and Native American heritage.  The surname she shares with her adoptive mother, Dorval, is French.

♡Kevin: his friend childhood Angelica was a member of the Great Sioux Nation, who since the 19th century have lived for the most part in the Midwestern states of North and South Dakota, Wyoming, Montana and Nebraska. His Spanish surname indicates Spanish and possibly Mexican heritage as well, given many cowboys and farmers were mestizo.

♡Demi: Demi’s birthday materials include a ferry ticket for a vessel traveling from New York, suggesting she lives in the United States.  In terms of gameplay, she doesn't give drinks to underage characters due to strict censorship, but as a lore explanation, it would make sense that (although anachronistic by a good few decades) a European would not have any problem with giving someone under the age of 21 alcohol, but an American character may be stricter about drinking age.  The surname Bourbon is French.

Born in India:

♡Ganji: explicitly confirmed to have been born in India. The Gupta surname comes from Northern India.

Born in Nepal:

♡Naib: again, explicitly confirmed. The great question is how a mercenary from the Himalayas wound up in England carrying out assassinations.  We only know him by his alias, and have no idea what his given and family names might be.

Born in China:

♡ Shiyi/Yao: the daughter of a Chinese noble. Given that Shiyi came to Oletus to find her partner, Si, I also wonder how Si wound up involved in the dealings of an English manor in the first place and how the pair came to Baron DeRoss’ attention given the vast distance. The Xiao surname is ancient, originating between 770 to 476 BC, and is very common today in China.

♡ Bi’an + Wujiu: based on Heibai Wuchang, Chinese folk deities. Their in-game lore has them as two former government officers. Fan is a very common surname in China and Vietnam, and Xie ie even more common.

Born in Japan:

♡Michiko: Born in Japan, and moved to England with Miles Donnelly. His surname is Irish, but given that Michiko’s corpse was disposed of by the Female Dancer’s uncle Eugene Hayward at Lakeside, she must have lived nearby with Miles.

🌙🌙They Came from Space 🌙🌙

♡Yidhra: an Outer God, a being in the Lovecraftian mythos defined as originating from outside our solar system. She has been on earth a long, long time, however.

♡Hastur: a Great Old One, a deity that is based on Earth but, according to his original lore, has been active on other plantets, as the work he is most closely associated with, the King in Yellow, features mentions of the city Carcosa, an extraterrestrial location associated with Hastur.

TLDR: almost everything is happening in one little area! Almost all of these people got rained on a lot and are serious about tea time. I regret using the heart symbol as a bullet point because truly there are some characters on this list I would not piss on if they were on fire, but I value aesthetic consistency and there are a few individuals on this list I would cook a four-course meal for (It’s Andrew. I want to feed him. I want him to eat a lot and then take a really quality nap). I hope all my links work. Thank you for taking the time to read this far. ♡♡♡

[freddiestheproblemchild]

Name: Lucinda Mirfield

Nicknames: Luci, Lulu

Pronouns: She/Her

Age: 15 (HL) 16 (TOA) 18 (AU)

Gender: Female

Birthday: November 12th

Birthplace: Galway, Ireland

House: Slytherin

Patronus: Cougar

Wand: Alder wood, 9 inches, Unyielding, Phoenix Feather, soft spiral, brown, botanical handle

Blood status: Pure-blood

Languages: English, Gaeilge

Appearance

Eye Color: Green

Hair color: Black

Hair Type: Long and Straight

Height: 5'7 (172 cm)

Scar: Small scar on left eyebrow

Personality

Positive Traits: Ambitious, Loyal, Resilient, Kind, Charismatic, Intelligent

Negative Traits: Self Sacrificing, Stubborn

Boggart: Ranrok as a dragon (TOA)

Hobbies: Reading, Tending to her Vivarium, Writing

Likes: Dark Green, Pumpkin Pastries, Bombarda, Care of Magical Creatures, Professor Hecate, Going for walks around the grounds, Duelling at Crossed Wands, Defense Against the Dark Arts

Dislikes: Cockroach Clusters, Arithmancy, the color yellow, Chomping Cabbages

Family

Father's name: Evard Mirfield

Father's Status: Alive but absent

Father's Blood status: Pure Blood

Father's House: Gryffindor

Mother's name: Magledenia Mirfield

Mother's Status: Alive

Mother's blood status: Pure blood

Mother's House: Slytherin

Fun Facts About Luci

- Luci was my first Hogwarts Legacy OC and was actually based off of my Harry Potter OC (we've all been there 😭) Luciana Mirfield

- I'm working on a fic with her called Trial's of Ambiton (ToA) It will take place during her sixth year.

- After the events of Hogwarts Legacy Lucinda developed a massive fear of dragons. Specifically because of Ranrok.

- When Luci was eleven her father left her and her mother with no explanation other then a note that said "Don't follow me." They later found out he was having an affair with another witch and had left when Luci didn't get her hogwarts letter

- After Luci's father left her mother fell into a deep depression and Luci took care of her and herself for 2 and a half years. Then abruptly her mother started to function again to Luci's delight. But it was short lived because her mother started traveling for extended periods of time. And as time passed the trips grew longer and longer so Luci was often completely alone.

- During one of her mothers trips Luci got her Hogwarts Letter. When Professor Fig arrived she asked if there was a way to copy her Hogwarts Letter so she could leave it with her pile of letters she had been writing her mom in case she came back. Fig told her there wasnt a way but feeling for the girl, wrote her mom a letter saying who he was and if she had any questions to contact him or the headmaster.

- Luci's best friends consist of Sebastian Sallow, Ominis Gaunt, Imelda Reyes, Natsai Onai, Poppy Sweeting, Lilith Grimm (Moonlithamsters MC), Elsie Byrne (Rypnami's MC)

Once again please feel free to message me if you have any questions about Luci! All of my MCS/OCS are open to any type of MC relationships ❤️ Canonically she is with Sebastian but thats why AU's exist ❤️