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lantur · 5 years ago

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if you were mine - part two

summary: Riza has been working on the unit for close to a year when she starts to wonder whether Colonel Mustang’s interest in her is more than professional.

rated: t | words: 4602

part two of four, read part one here

read on ao3

Riza goes home from work on the Monday evening after she and Colonel Mustang return from their undercover assignment in Maastricht. She walks Hayate and cooks dinner, trying a new stew recipe Rebecca had raved about, and then settles on the sofa with this month’s issue of Guns & Ammo and Hayate at her side.

Everything has felt a little surreal since returning from Maastricht late last night. She had fantasized about it for so many years that now that it’s happened, it’s somehow surreal, dreamlike. She keeps expecting to wake up. Reading will help ground her, and she has been looking forward to this issue, featuring a long-awaited review of the Winchester Wildcat.

Riza is halfway into the review of the semi-automatic rifle when she hears a familiar knock on the door. Three short raps, two in quick succession and the last after a pause of exactly four seconds.

Her eyes widen, and she sits up straight, setting the magazine aside, as Hayate yips. She opens the door and pulls her visitor in quickly, casting looks down both sides of the hallway to make sure that none of her neighbors are out and about.

“Don’t worry,” Roy says, shrugging his coat off and throwing it on the rack near the door. “The building’s empty tonight. And I wasn’t followed.”

Riza sighs, relieved. “Good.”

He tilts her face up to his and kisses her, long and slow, and Riza’s knees almost weaken. She will never get used to this. She never wants to get used to this. Yet, it’s just a little jarring, considering that five hours ago, they were in the office together and he had been leading a unit meeting about how to ensnare one of East City’s crime kingpins.

Roy pulls back and gives her that signature look of his - so very perceptive, like he had just read her thoughts. “How are you feeling?” he asks.

“Fine,” Riza says, taking his hand and leading him to the sofa.

He sits close beside her, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. She nestles into him, relishing the intimacy. “Really?”

“Really,” she repeats. “I’ve always been able to compartmentalize. You don’t have to worry about me.”

“Of course I do,” Roy says, as if that should be obvious. “You’re my subordinate, and my girlfriend. It’s my job to look out for you.”

“What was that? I didn’t quite catch the last part.”

“You’re my subordinate and my girlfriend, and so it’s my job to--” Roy begins, and then heaves a sigh when he catches the small smile on her face.

“Sorry,” Riza says. “I couldn’t help myself. It’s just so… wholesome, considering the words I’ve been using when I think of it.”

Roy looks down at her. “Don’t let this impact the way you think of yourself, Riza,” he says sharply. “This doesn’t make you any less of an officer or a professional.”

“How can it not?” She hugs her knees to her chest. “It’s drilled into all of our heads from day one of the academy. Don’t fuck your coworkers, but especially don’t fuck your commanding officer or your subordinates.”

Roy winces at the reminder. “I know,” he says. “I reconciled that by reminding myself that there was no coercion, and that I’m not the one who makes decisions about you getting promoted. And I know that I won’t give you preferential treatment, because I also know that this isn’t going to change any of the work you - or we - do.”

Riza leans against him. “Thank you for your faith in me.”

“Always,” he says simply, stroking her hair. “Always.”

“It is good that you came over, though,” Riza says. “I’ve been wondering how this is going to work.”

“Oh?”

“We need to set procedures.” She looks longingly at the pen and notebook on the coffee table. “It goes against everything in me as your adjutant to not write them down and keep a record of it. We’ll have to rely on our memories.”

“Of course.” Roy glances at her thoughtfully. “I came in through the service entrance of your building today. Let’s continue to do that.”

“Good. And we’ll always be in civilian clothes, of course.”

Roy looks over at his black overcoat and frowns. “I’ll have to get a few more. We should avoid repeating any distinguishing articles of clothing, like coats, scarves, hats, and so on.”

“Good thought,” Riza says approvingly. “Any other ideas?”

“Meetings no more than thrice a week, never on consecutive days,” Roy says reluctantly. “And never before nine at night. We need to be sure that we’re not followed by anyone on foot or in a vehicle. If there’s any suspicion of being tailed, we should go back to our own place and stay there for the rest of the night.”

Riza hesitates, considering. “We shouldn’t stay the entire night when we’re together, either. We should leave well before dawn. Maybe four in the morning, at the absolute latest. The last thing we need is for anyone to see us leaving each other’s place early in the morning. That’s even harder to explain away than a late night visit.”

Roy takes her hand, rubbing it apologetically.

“And no meetings outside of our personal residences,” she presses on. “Parks, bars, restaurants, the theatre, all out of the question. If we’re associating anywhere outside of work, our unit has to be there.”

“Just what I need, more time with Havoc.” Roy stands and walks over to the window, pulling the shutters down with a snap, and Riza grimaces at their oversight. “Windows closed and shutters down,” he says. “We’ll both sweep our apartments for bugs or surveillance every other day, and especially before a meeting. I’ll check my car regularly as well. Have we missed anything?”

“This should go without saying,” Riza says pointedly. “But absolutely no unprofessional behavior in the office, even when we’re alone after hours.”

Roy gives her a mournful look. “Fine.”

“Of course, we will act no differently at work or when socializing with the unit. That shouldn’t be a challenge.”

Roy comes back to the sofa and sits beside her. “Maes won’t learn about this, either,” he says. “And neither will Catalina. They can - and will, and probably do already, if your conversations with Catalina are anything like mine with Maes - speculate, but those suspicions will remain unconfirmed.”

“They’re both trustworthy about any suspicions they might have, too.”

They look at each other for several moments, the grim weight of the discussion sinking in. Riza remembers his words in Maastricht, the warning that this won’t look like a normal relationship. She hadn’t fully realized the extent of that statement then.

“This is all very unromantic,” Roy says, his shoulders slumping. He runs a hand through his hair, making it stand on end. “I’m sorry.”

Riza leans in and presses a kiss to his cheek. “Romance,” she says, “is overrated.”

Riza remembers the learning curve when she had started working on the unit.

The military academy had trained her to be a soldier, not an adjutant specifically, so the learning curve had been steep. Prior to starting her duties, she had studied every book on the role of the adjutant that she could find in the East City Command Library from cover to cover. Additionally, she had requested meetings and interviews with every other adjutant of every other high-ranking officer in East City, and taken pages upon pages notes from each meeting.

She had prepared herself as best as she could. And despite her anxiety, she had marshaled every drop of her composure and been the consummate professional from her first day on the unit.

At the end of her first week, she had mastered the typewriter. At the end of her first month, she had learned how to handle the massive quantity of administrative paperwork on her workload. At the end of her first quarter, she had learned the intricacies of the political and interpersonal relationships between every high-ranking officer stationed at East City Command.

This isn’t so different.

Riza learns several things in quick succession.

She learns that sex feels different in her bedroom than it does in an inn two hours away from home. It feels safer, more familiar, comforting.

In her most private moments, alone in bed, stripping off her clothes and holding a pillow to her breasts, eyes closed, she had wondered what being with Roy would be like. If he would be gentle, tender, restrained, slow, teasing, flirtatious, serious, passionate… She’d had fantasies for every single possibility. She had wondered if she would ever have an answer to that question.

Riza is fascinated to learn that the answer is all of the above, depending on the night and their moods. She wholeheartedly enjoys learning that she loves every one of them equally. She loves it when Roy pins her wrists above her head and presses slow kisses to the inside of her forearms. She loves straddling him on the sofa, kissing him hard, threading her fingers through his hair as he grips her hips tight.

She had never fantasized about this, because years later, it is still a sore spot - figuratively, and literally, though only on particularly hot days. She learns that she even loves being facedown in bed, Roy running his fingertips gently up her spine, from the small of her ruined back, over her shoulder blades, to the nape of her neck. It makes her entire body tingle and shiver, makes her squirm and moan his name softly into the pillow beneath her.

Do you want me to stop? Roy had asked at once, pulling back, his concern evident, and Riza had grabbed his hand and pulled it back to her. Please don’t, she had said. Please.

She likes it when he stays mostly dressed, because Roy is so devastatingly handsome in the formal clothes he likes so much. She likes it just as much when he pulls off his shirt, tossing it aside, so she can run her hands over the muscles in his arms, shoulders, and chest. Predictably, he prefers when she takes everything off, though he makes exceptions when she’s wearing a short skirt.

Riza learns that Roy can be so enthusiastic that he borders on clumsy. Passionate, he corrects, sweeping her off her feet and carrying her to the bedroom. Not clumsy. He kisses her so hard that they fall against walls in their apartments’ bedrooms and hallways (though he always cradles the back of her head in one hand so that she doesn’t bump it). She learns that Roy loves it when she nibbles on his ears and his neck, and she is surprised to learn that there’s nothing she likes better than when he trails his fingertips over her hips and stomach.

She learns that she’s never enjoyed the sound of her name more than when he says it, breathed into her ear and nuzzled against it, or holding her tight in his arms, and he feels the same way.

And Riza learns about contraceptives for the first time. She knew they existed, of course, but she’d never had the need to learn anything further.

My aunt recommends a tea called Queen Anne’s Lace for the ladies at the bar, Roy tells her, somewhat red-faced, and then thrusts a paper with notes at her. I called her and asked for instructions on how to make it. She said to follow her instructions to the letter, and that we should call her if we have any issues getting the powder here. She’ll send it from Central. She has plenty.

Luckily, Riza finds that Amelia’s Apothecary on the far side of town sells Queen Anne’s Lace, powdered. Within a month, she becomes an expert at brewing it, though she never gets used to the bitter taste.

And the months slide effortlessly into a year, a span of time that feels like twice that. Between their history, their work, and their intimate relationship, their lives have never been more completely intertwined. It had happened so seamlessly, the transition - integration? - from colleagues and friends to lovers.

Riza takes Hayate for walks and goes out with Rebecca on the weekends and in the evenings. Sometimes her gaze lingers on couples out to dinner, sitting at restaurant patios, holding hands. Sharing picnics at the park, walking together, going out for ice-cream dates, or to the theatre.

Over time, those moments pile up. Moments of little things that make her wistful. Riza chides herself whenever it happens. She averts her eyes and redirects her thoughts. She knew what she was getting into at the start.

She reminds herself of that every time Roy leaves in the middle of the night (kissing her thoroughly, apologetically). She reminds herself of that every morning she wakes up alone, and places a hand on the pillow that still smells faintly of Roy’s shampoo.

It is little comfort to know that Roy feels as bad about it as she does. He has always been generous with her, always buying her food and drinks long before they had begun their illicit relationship, but afterwards, he veers somewhat out of control.

The first thing he buys her is an enormous box of fancy dog treats for Hayate - a sweet gesture. Then comes an upgraded access card to the shooting range, and then a steady stream of firearm parts, polishes, cleaning tools, and other accessories.

Then come boxes of gourmet coffee, tea, and honey. A set of fancy soaps, shampoos, and lotions that weighs almost as much as Hayate. A beautiful cream-colored utility coat that instantly becomes a new favorite. A pair of warm slippers, satin pajamas, a cloud-soft pink bathrobe, several blouses and skirts, a few new pairs of earrings. Under the veneer of smoothness, Roy looks almost imperceptibly anxious on the rare occasion that he gives her the gifts in person. Most of the time, he leaves them in her apartment while she’s out with Rebecca.

“Thank you for bringing me those files about the 1865 unrest in South City,” Riza says quietly, one afternoon when it’s just the two of them in the office. “They were very interesting reading.”

She had gotten back from dinner with Rebecca last night to find the latest in the novel series she likes; The Cases of Eddie Drake, sitting on her bed. The book had just been released a day ago.

Colonel Mustang (she makes herself think of him as Colonel Mustang during work hours) looks pleased. “I’m glad you found it enlightening. I’d like to read through those files as soon as you’re finished.”

“I did find it interesting.” Riza hesitates for just an instant. “With that being said, you don’t have to take the trouble of bringing me files from the library. I can always pick up or order files myself if I need them.”

Colonel Mustang rifles through some paperwork on his desk, making a noncommittal sound. “Don’t worry about it.”

Riza looks over at him. “I mean it, sir. There’s no need for you to go out of your way for me.”

Colonel Mustang clears his throat. “It’s the least I can do for you, Lieutenant.”

“Colonel, it’s really not necessary--”

“I ask a lot of you, Lieutenant. I know that.” Colonel Mustang’s tone brooks no argument. “So please let me do what I can for you.”

“...Thank you, sir.”

Breda, Havoc, Fuery, and Falman return from their lunch then, and Riza lets it drop.

Riza finds a blank memo on her desk one Friday morning, a few weeks later.

She looks over at Colonel Mustang’s desk. He is leaning back in his chair, idly flipping through a report, looking bored out of his mind.

Riza steps out for a break a couple of hours later and takes the memo with her, folded into a tiny square and tucked into her pocket. She locks herself into a stall in the ladies’ bathroom, pulls out a small lighter, and holds it to the paper. Not too close, but not too far.

The heat triggers the special ink, and the words gradually appear before her, written in Colonel Mustang’s neat, precise handwriting. Vollkar Overlook, past the fourth mile marker, ten p.m. Bring Hayate.

It’s a short message, and it takes no longer than an instant to commit it to memory. Riza burns the memo.

She returns to the office and frowns at Colonel Mustang, who is now hunched over the report and appears to be doodling in the margins. He gives her an irrepressible smile.

Riza takes a cab to Trettach Park and walks the thirty minutes to Vollkar Overlook from there, with Hayate by her side. She is grateful for the opportunity to practice their rarely used woodland concealment skills. She keeps vigilant as she walks, hyper-aware of any sound beyond the normal, expected ones, but she still has some mental space to wonder what Roy’s intentions for the memo had been. This could be a professional meeting, or a personal one.

She gets her answer when they emerge from the tree line onto the grassy overlook. Riza blinks, startled, and Hayate yips, rushing forward to greet Roy.

“I don’t know why you’re concerned about your stealth skills,” he says ruefully, bending to pet Hayate. “You almost gave me a heart attack.”

“Good. I’m glad to know that we’ve made improvements.” Riza takes in the sight before her, astonished. A blanket spread out on the grass, with a small radio on top of it, and an assortment of fruits, fancy snacks, cheeses, chocolates, and wine. And even a rawhide bone for Hayate. The radio is playing a soft jazz station. “What is all this?”

“A date, obviously.” Roy wraps an arm around her, and then casts a baleful glance up at the sky. “It was intended to be a romantic moonlight picnic, but the cloud cover isn’t cooperating.”

Riza steps away, looking nervously around them. The overlook is deserted, and Roy’s car is the only one parked on the road. “This is sweet of you, but it violates our procedures,” she says, hating it. “It’s not safe. Anyone could drive up, including a police patrol.”

“I’ve staked it out every night at this time for the past few nights, and had the rest of the unit observe it at night for a week and a half before that. No one comes past the second mile marker. I figured just in case anyone does approach on foot, Hayate would sense it and alert us. And no police patrols will pass the second mile marker tonight, either.” Roy clears his throat. “I called in a favor.”

Riza looks at him, and then back at the picnic, touched by the effort, tempted, and torn. There’s a sudden lump in her throat at the idyllic normalcy of it all. She hadn’t realized how badly she wanted this, how badly she craved some of that normalcy that other couples took so much for granted, until this moment.

Roy puts a hand on her shoulder, sensing the conflict. “Please let me do this for you,” he says quietly. “Everything will be all right. I promise.”

Riza finally, reluctantly nods, and he takes her hand, leading her to the blanket.

They enjoy a long dinner, complete with an olive-throwing target practice exercise that ends with all of Riza’s olives making it into Roy’s mouth at increasingly impressive ranges. To compensate for his lack of aim with the olives, he feeds her the chocolate “like a normal boyfriend would.” It is the kind of indulgent, lovesick display she avoids looking at when passing by other couples at the park, and it feels incredible to engage in it.

“Thank you for doing this,” Riza says, stroking her fingers through his hair. Roy is lying with his head in her lap, looking more relaxed than she’s seen him in a long while. She feels somehow lighter than she had before as well, temporarily freed from holding this secret so close to her heart.

Roy sits up and then shrugs, flustered. “I should have done this much earlier. And I wish I could do more,” he says, after a pause. “Take you out to dinner properly, to the theatre, or the symphony. I hate that I can do that with other women, but not with you. It feels wrong.”

“We both know that it’s not genuine, though,” Riza says gently. “It’s a farce to gather information. Nothing more.”

“I know, but you deserve those nights,” Roy says, frustration creeping into his voice. “You deserve so much more than what I’ve been able to give you. A few gifts, takeout dinners, every time we see each other being in our apartments - I treat you like some of the senior staff treats their secret mistresses. I hate it.”

Riza stares at him, surprised by the outburst; by the fact that he had voiced what she has thought in her darker moments. Roy averts his gaze from hers. “Sometimes I worry that you won’t put up with it for much longer,” he murmurs. “That you’ll realize that you would rather be with a man who doesn’t treat you like a dirty little secret.”

Riza reaches out, cupping his face with one hand, searching for the right words. “You talk about what you’ve been able to give me and what I deserve. What you’ve given me is a relationship with a man I love and trust more than anything,” she says firmly. “I wouldn’t trade that for the world.”

Roy looks at her steadily. “I love you, Riza.”

Riza smiles. “I love you too.”

They board the six o’clock evening train from Resembool to East City in silence.

They sit next to each other, hand-in-hand. By the time the train arrives at the East City station, they will have moved to sit across from one another, the image of professionalism.

Riza stares out the window at the rolling green hills and meadows that they pass, lost in thought. She feels a little sick to her stomach, a little nauseous. The events of the day keep replaying in her mind. What they had seen in the Elric home. Alphonse Elric, soul-bound to a massive suit of armor - that suit of armor speaking in the sweet, innocent voice of a young boy. Edward Elric, so young, but so broken, despondent.

They were just children.

She had remained professional and calm throughout, but it had shaken her, and even now, Riza’s eyes sting as she thinks back to it. She had been unprepared for the emotion she had felt at meeting the two boys; for the desire to draw both of them into her arms and tell them that everything would be all right.

“I’m glad that Edward seems interested in your offer,” she says. “It will be good for him to have structure, a sense of purpose, and some more positive figures in his life. I think that will save him from slipping into further despair.”

“Yeah,” Roy says. “Poor kid. Both of them.” He glances at her out of the corner of his eye. “Are you okay? Everything we saw at the Elric home, and Alphonse…”

Riza swallows. “It’s hard to take in,” she says, resting her head against his shoulder. “Just imagining the suffering they went through. They’ve been very brave.”

They lapse into silence again, and Riza has some difficulty putting the children out of her mind. Edward, Alphonse, the young girl Winry. Even little Elicia comes to mind. She and Roy had visited Maes and Gracia in Central a couple of months ago. Gracia had made a lovely dinner, and afterwards, the four of them had sat and talked and she and Roy had taken turns holding Elicia. Elicia was sweet and agreeable, and Riza had been surprised by how strangely bittersweet it had felt to hold the toddler in her lap, wrapping her arms around her small body. And watching Roy hold Elicia afterwards, seeing the little girl smile and laugh at the silly voices that “Uncle Roy” did for her - that had been more bitter than sweet.

It’s been almost six years, now. In another world, she and Roy would have been married years ago, with their own Elicia to hold.

Of course, that isn’t possible, and won’t be for a very long time. Riza has reconciled herself to that. She doesn’t feel wistful at the idea of weddings anymore, or look twice at wedding dresses in boutique windows. But it’s only recently that this new realization has hit her - that there most likely won’t be a little dark-haired Elicia, or a little blonde boy like Edward.

She is twenty-five now and Roy is twenty-eight, and there is no telling how far he is from becoming Fuhrer and repealing the anti-fraternization regulations. It could be a decade, conservatively speaking. Optimistically speaking. More realistically, they are looking at fifteen years.

The idea of children of their own is another thing that she will have to let go of.

Riza exhales slowly, trying to release some of the tightness in her chest. It doesn’t work.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Roy asks. “You seem preoccupied.”

“I’m fine.” Riza turns to him, attempting to distract herself. “Actually, I’ve been thinking about growing my hair out.”

Roy blinks. “It’ll be harder for me to run my fingers through if it’s long,” he says ruefully, and does just that, a lingering, tender touch. “It’s hard for me to imagine what you’ll look like. You’ve had it short since the day I met you.”

Riza thinks back to that day, to her relief at no longer being alone in that big house with her father, and smiles.

“I’m sure it’ll be beautiful, though,” Roy says, squeezing her hand. “You always have been.”

Riza nudges him in the side. “And you’ve always been charming to me, even as a seventeen-year-old apprentice.”

“Seventeen...” Roy sighs. “I was so young then.”

“Barely twenty, when you enlisted,” Riza says, thinking about Edward Elric. “Edward is even younger. As a State Alchemist, he’ll be a major at thirteen.”

“That will come with its fair share of challenges,” Roy muses. “He’ll struggle to fit in, on one level, and on another... I know you mentioned exposure to more positive figures in his life, but you have to consider the caliber of people outside of our unit. He’ll be exposed to a lot of negative influences as well.”

Riza frowns, and she can’t help but think back to Ishval, to Kimblee. That is the caliber of some of the Amestris military. Roy squeezes her hand, reading her train of thought, as he always does. “You and Maes can take him under your wings. The two of you are the best influences the military has to offer him. It’s regrettable that Edward lost his parents, but knowing you and knowing Maes - you both can mold him into a good soldier, and a good man.”

Riza nods resolutely. “We will.”

Unbidden, Riza thinks of Fuhrer Bradley, his wife, and their young son, just adopted a couple of years ago. They seem like such a happy family. Mrs. Bradley, especially, dotes on Selim, and Selim adores her. She thinks of Roy’s aunt, Chris Mustang, and how she had raised Roy after the accident that had orphaned him. She’s seen Roy with Chris; underneath the sniping and the sharp verbal barbs they trade, the love they have for one another is clear.

Parenthood can take different forms for different people, Riza reminds herself, and she holds that thought tight, a lifeline. It will be all right.

to be continued

Any thoughts or comments would be very much appreciated! I hope you enjoyed it. :)

#royai #riza hawkeye #roy mustang #fma:b #fullmetal alchemist: brotherhood #roy x riza #royai fanfic #roy mustang x riza hawkeye #royai fic

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omgjasminesimone · 5 years ago

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The Hot Exchange Student Part 2

Logan x MC (Ellie)

Previous Part: Part 1

Next Part: Part 3

Author’s Note: Happy RoDAW Logan Day! Let me know if you’d like to be added to the taglist! (Hopefully the tags work)

Summary: Logan is an exchange student from Detroit a few weeks into his exchange program in L.A. He’s adjusting pretty well. He’s even going to parties and sideshows with a cute girl who’s technically his host sister, but their feelings are quickly becoming far from familial.

Word Count: 3,400

“Soak it all in.” Riya commands, smiling at Ellie as the four of them enter Brent’s mansion.

“And I thought your house was nice.” Logan says after glancing around at the sheer size of the place.

“The Vandermeers are loaded. Brent is probably the richest kid at school.” Darius explains to the group newcomer.

“So, what do you think of your first high school party Ellie?” Riya prompts when Ellie does nothing except look around the room with a wide-eyed stare for several long moments.

Ellie’s turns her stare to her friends. “This is absolute chaos! I can’t hear myself think! How does Brent even know this many people? Are they drinking alcohol out of those red cups?” Ellie’s stream of consciousness flies out with no filter.

Logan smiles fondly at her. “I like how you say exactly what you’re thinking. It’s refreshing.”

“Speaking of refreshing…” Ingrid sidles up to Logan, brushing against him flirtatiously. She’s holding two red solo cups. She offers Logan one. “Jungle juice?”

“Sure, thanks.” Logan responds, sipping on the alcoholic mixture.

Ingrid trails her now free hand down his toned arm to his hand. Ellie grits her teeth and looks at her rival murderously. “I’m the Mar Vista Prep Unofficial Welcoming Committee, let me show you around, introduce you to some people.”

Ingrid doesn’t wait for a response before pulling Logan away.

“Has she always been that aggressive?” Darius asks when the two are out of earshot.

Ellie tears her gaze away from Logan as Ingrid introduces him to Brent and the rest of the popular kids. “Let’s check out the food. Or the corner.” Ellie suggests.

“No way Ellie. We’ve never been able to drag you out with us before. You’re getting the full high school party experience.” Riya insists, tugging Ellie over to the jungle juice.

Darius pours glasses for the three while Ellie looks around worriedly, almost convinced her dad is going to burst through the door in full uniform to break up the underage drinking. “Relax Ellie.” Darius says, handing her a cup.

“Easy for you to say. I don’t think your dad owns a breathalyzer.” Ellie retorts, but she takes a sip anyway. She’s never had alcohol before, and she kind of just wants to know what all the fuss is about. Hmm…this is actually pretty good. It mostly takes like juice, but there’s definitely an added alcoholic tang.

Before she knows it, Ellie has finished her second cup of the concoction. And her alcohol tolerance must be pretty low, because she’s definitely feeling it. After all, sober Ellie would have never allowed Riya and Darius to drag her to the dance floor, sober Ellie would have been worried about looking stupid in front of everybody. Tipsy Ellie is more fun.

Ellie sways to the loud R&B song blaring out of Brent’s expensive sound system, sipping on a beer now since she figured she should try other types of alcohol. She doesn’t like it, but at least she’s drinking it slowly since the taste is terrible. Ellie spins, and when she looks up her gaze locks with Logan’s. He’s dancing with some redhead, but his eyes remain locked on her.

Riya pushes her towards him. “Go, cut in.”

“But-“ Ellie tries to interject.

“Go.” Riya says insistently, pushing a little more firmly this time. “Logan is staring at you. He clearly wants you to.”

Sober Ellie would have protested more, but tipsy Ellie decides maybe he does want her to, especially if she’s reading that hungry gaze correctly. Ellie taps the girl’s shoulder. When she turns around, Ellie realizes her name is Lisa and she’s in their Spanish class. “Can I cut in?”

Lisa looks like she’s going to say no, but Logan grips Ellie’s hand and pulls her to him. Sober Ellie would be blushing furiously, but tipsy Ellie just drapes her arms over his shoulders, almost like she’s done this before. Logan’s smile widens, and he pulls her as close as he physically can with his hands on her waist, leaving them thigh to thigh.

Oh. There’s the heat of the full body blush he’s so good at getting out of her. For a moment, she had thought tipsy Ellie was immune. “I’ve barely seen you all night. What kind of host are you, leaving me all alone?” Logan teases.

“You weren’t alone. Ingrid was hanging all over you.” Ellie reminds him. Ellie had watched them while she drank, ate, danced, mingled with Tim, or was it Josh?

Logan tilts her chin up so she’s looking at him. “Are you jealous? I kinda like when you’re jealous.” Some of her hair has escaped her ponytail, so he tucks it behind her ear. And when he does, she spots his watch.

“Oh my God Logan, it’s 11:00!” Ellie exclaims, pulling herself out of his arms. He doesn’t seem to understand her alarm, so she clarifies. “Our curfew! It was 10:30! And I’m still kinda drunk and my dad will definitely notice, and Riya probably can’t even drive right now! I just saw her down a beer, and-“

“Hey.” Logan interrupts, rubbing her bare arms comfortingly. “Breathe.” Ellie does what he says, and immediately feels a little better. “It’s just curfew.” Logan adds flippantly.

“My dad takes curfew very seriously. We’re going to be grounded for the rest of the time you’re here.”

Logan smirks. “No one has ever tried to ground me before. This should be interesting.”

Ellie frowns, he’s never been grounded? What’s the deal with his parents? But there’s no time to get into that now. Logan takes her hand and winds his way through the crowd to where Riya and Darius are drunkenly grinding on each other. It seems they were just keeping it G-rated before for her benefit, their perennial third wheel.

Logan clears his throat, and the pair reluctantly pull apart. “Can either of you drive right now? Ellie missed her curfew.”

They both shake their heads no emphatically. “I can drive then. I stopped drinking a while ago. Do you trust me with your car, Riya?” Logan asks.

“Well, I’ve only known you for two weeks, but so far you seem pretty trustworthy. And I really want to go home and go to bed, so here’s the keys!” Riya drunkenly tosses the keys high, but Logan manages to catch them anyway.

Logan drops Darius off first, and then parks the car in Riya’s driveway.

“Are you sure you don’t want to just drive to Ellie’s? I can come pick up my car tomorrow.” Riya offers.

“I don’t know how I would explain that to my dad without letting him know about the underage drinking. Besides we still have time to catch the last bus.” Ellie replies.

“If you’re sure. Night guys! Thanks for driving Logan!” Riya drunkenly stumbles into her house, and Ellie and Logan set off for the bus stop.

“Why don’t you have your license?” Logan asks. He’s been wondering for a while, she can’t possibly enjoy riding the school bus. He sure doesn’t like it.

“My dad says driving is too dangerous. He sees a lot of crazy stuff out on the streets.”

“And the fact that it’s almost midnight and we’re walking through downtown Los Angeles to the bus stop isn’t dangerous?”

“Well, to be fair my dad never wanted us out this late.”

“He’s really controlling.” Logan notes.

Ellie frowns, automatically defending her father. “He’s very protective.”

Logan sighs, letting it go since they’re obviously not going to agree. “Well, you told me what your dad thinks. What about you? Do you want to learn how to drive? Because I could teach you.” He offers.

“You could?” Ellie has been wanting to get her license since she turned 16 several months ago, despite her father’s objections.

Logan smiles at the hopeful look in her eyes. “Sure, everyone should know how to drive. We need a car though. My cousin Vaughn lives in LA. I bet he could get me a good deal on something used. He travels a lot for work and he’s currently out of town, but when he’s back we should see what he can do.”

“Looking forward to it.” Ellie responds, eyes widening when she sees their bus coming from around the corner. They’re still a little far off from the bus stop. “Run!” She instructs, waving down the bus.

…

“The European Union was formed by the….” Ellie tries to think of the answer without flipping over her yellow flashcard, looking to the ceiling as if she’ll find the answer there. “…Maastricht Treaty!” She recalls, smiling when she flips the flashcard to check and discovers she’s right. “WWII started on…..”

Logan knocks cheerily on her door, opening it when she gives him permission. He flops down on her bed, narrowly avoiding her open textbooks. “Vaughn invited me to a sideshow in West LA. Want to come with?”

Ellie frowns, she has a test on Monday. Plus, they’re grounded.

When they got back from the party two weeks ago, her dad hadn’t been home. He was working an overnight shift, but he’d left a note saying he wanted to speak with both of them in the morning. He had gone on and on about how disappointed he was, and then grounded them for three weeks.

“What’s a sideshow?” She asks instead of reminding him they’re not supposed to go out. Her dad is working another overnight tonight, so he’ll be none the wiser. Plus, Logan hasn’t really respected the grounding thus far anyway, coming and going as he pleases. Her dad is getting really irritated with him.

“People bring out their cars, show off a little, race, there’s food, drinks, it’s basically a party.” Logan explains, hands behind his head. His shirt is riding up, exposing that sliver of skin between his jeans and his t-shirt that she finds so enticing. She forces her eyes back up to his face.

“And I’ll get to meet Vaughn?” Vaughn is the only family Logan has ever talked to her about. He’s always very tight lipped about Detroit when she asks questions.

Logan smiles. “You would, and he’s a trip. You don’t want to miss that Ellie.”

“I think my dad changed the code to the alarm. He’s trying to make you respect your grounding.”

Logan rolls his eyes. “I can’t be grounded, I’m a guest. Are the windows alarmed?” Ellie shakes her head no, and Logan grins, hopping off her bed and opening her window. “Then window escape it is troublemaker.”

The sideshow is different than anything Ellie has ever experienced. She feels very out of place in her Langston sweater and jeans. Logan is definitely in his element though, and people keep calling out to him and greeting him.

“How do you know all these people? You’ve only been in LA for a month, yet somehow you’re way more popular than I am.” Ellie teases.

“That’s not hard to accomplish, since you do things like respect that you’re grounded and never leave the house, while I’ve been exploring all the L.A. car scene has to offer.” Logan teases back, taking her hand and tugging her towards the food trucks.

“Vaughn!” Logan exclaims when they reach a food truck covered in street art and lights. The owner of the food truck steps out, and hugs Logan tightly.

“Logan! It’s been a minute!” Vaughn says when he releases his longtime friend. He notices Ellie. “And you must be Ellie. Logan rarely brings girls around, so you must be special. What’s going on with you two?”

Ellie blushes and Logan rubs the back of his neck nervously. “Nothing. She’s technically my host sister, so that would be inappropriate according to the program rules.” He nudges Ellie. “And your dad. Did I tell you he took me out to dinner when you were at Riya’s and basically told me not to touch you? He was pretty threatening.”

Ellie’s jaw drops in mortification. “He didn’t!”

Vaughn laughs. “You’ve never been popular with parents Logan. You’ve got to stop playing this whole bad boy persona.”

“Who says I’m playing?” Logan retorts.

“So you guys are cousins? Does that mean you have more family here in LA Logan?” Ellie asks.

“We’re not really cousins, but we’re close. Been through a lot together back home in Detroit.” Vaughn clarifies. “Well that’s enough sentimental stuff. You guys have to try my new wings! They’re going to be a top seller.”

They spend a few more minutes chatting with Vaughn before taking their wings to go, exploring more of the sideshow.

An hour later, Logan is admiring a Lamborghini while Ellie admires Logan when shouts suddenly fill the air. Ellie just makes out the sound of Vaughn’s voice over all the yelling.

“Come on Salazar, that wasn’t fair and you know it!” Vaughn exclaims, following after a tall man who looks to be in his mid 20s.

Logan quickly takes off after them, and Ellie follows behind him.

“Logan!” Vaughn says, some relief in his voice. “This is really bad.”

“What happened Vaughn?” Logan asks.

Salazar smirks, leaning against a 2005 Devore GT. “Your boy is calling foul because he bet his truck on a race, and lost.”

Logan turns to Vaughn. “Why would you do that?!”

“Fuck, I’m screwed! That thing is my livelihood man. I’m so stupid.” Vaughn knocks himself in the head a couple of times before Logan reaches out to stop him.

A crowd has started to gather around, joining Salazar and his goons in laughing at Vaughn’s expense. Logan’s face darkens as he gets angry. He turns to Salazar and gets right into his face. “You feel like a big man, beating a food truck? Too scared to race against anything less than 8 tons?”

Salazar scoffs. “What, you want to go double or nothing for your friend here? What are you driving?”

Logan seems to deflate a little, before glancing at Salazar’s Devore GT. “Let me race in your car. When I win, I get the Devore and Vaughn’s truck back. Unless you’re afraid of getting your ass kicked by a kid driving your own car.”

“Why would I do that? You don’t have anything I want, and I already have your friend’s food truck.” Salazar taunts.

“I don’t know boss, we could use a new guy to try to smuggle drugs through LAX. Trevor got locked up, he’s looking at 8 years minimum.” One of the goons chimes in.

“Logan, no.” Ellie immediately protests, gripping his arm and attempting to pull him away from Salazar.

“Ellie, it’s fine. I won’t lose.” Logan promises, shaking her off.

Salazar thinks it over. “Well, I do have three Devores. And it’s getting so hard to find people dumb enough to smuggle.” Salazar shakes Logan’s hand. “You’ve got a deal kid.”

“Logan, don’t.” Vaughn tries to interject, but Logan ignores him, heading over to the driver’s side door of the Devore GT. “I can’t let you do this cuz, please.” Vaughn tries again.

Logan smiles. “You can’t stop me either, so relax and enjoy the fireworks.” Logan opens the door and gets into the car, the keys are inside, so he revs the engine.

Ellie crouches by the driver’s side window, imploring Logan to look at her. “Please don’t do this. You could get serious time for smuggling Logan. And I don’t think Salazar and his goons are going to race fair, you could get hurt.”

“They probably won’t, but Vaughn is the only one who has always been there for me. I can’t let him lose his truck when I know I can win. Hey, why don’t you come with me? You can be an extra set of eyes, keep me safe out there. And Ellie, it’s quite the adrenaline rush. There’s very little else like it.”

Ellie bites her lip nervously. If her dad knew she was even considering this, he would ship her off to a nunnery, and it would probably be for her own good. But one more look into Logan’s penetrating brown eyes and she finds herself hopping into the passenger seat.

Logan smiles at her, squeezing her hand briefly before grabbing the gear shift and putting the car in drive. They roll up to the starting line and wait. “Seatbelts.” Ellie reminds Logan, buckling her own. He smirks at her and mirrors her action. A scantily clad girl steps out in front of the cars, a racing flag raised in her hand. “Now that we’re about to have a car, we can get started on your driving lessons.” Logan says before slamming on the accelerator as the flag goes down.

Ellie is thrown back into her seat at the speed. She glances side to side and doesn’t see anyone, Logan has taken the early lead. The crowd’s cheers die out as they race out of view of the crowd, entering an alley.

Salazar and his goons take this as their chance, attempting to ram Logan. “Incoming on the left!” Ellie warns, and Logan manages to avoid the collision at the last second.

“Thanks. I’m glad you’re here.” Logan admits with a smile, eyes still focused on the road. Ellie’s heart beats quickly, both from the adrenaline of the race and that damn smile. She didn’t know it was possible, but somehow he’s even hotter when he drives.

With Ellie’s help, Logan manages to cross the finish line in first place, just ahead of Salazar.

“You were incredible.” Logan praises as he parks the car in the middle of the cheering crowd. Vaughn’s cheers are the loudest and most jovial. Logan pulls Ellie from her seat and into his lap, hugging her tightly. “Thank you for helping me.”

Ellie pulls back slightly to look at him, and slowly, their lips get closer and closer to each other’s. Just before their lips can meet, the door is suddenly open, light streaming into the dark vehicle.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you!” Vaughn exclaims, pulling them both out of the car and hugging them tightly.

Logan laughs, clapping Vaughn on the back. “Don’t do something that stupid ever again.” Logan warns.

“Right back at you.” Vaughn retorts, ruffling Logan’s hair fondly.

Mutters rise up from the crowd as a man walks through, the crowds parting reminiscent to when Moses parted the Red Sea. Their respect, or maybe it’s fear, of this man is obvious.

He’s tall, has long black hair, and is covered in tattoos. “I haven’t seen you around before.” He announces when he makes it to Logan.

“I’m new in town. Name’s Logan.”

The man sticks out his hand for a handshake. “I’m Teppei Kaneko. That was some impressive driving Logan. I might have some work for you, if you’re interested.”

“What Kaneko? You said me and my boys were going to be getting that work.” Salazar angrily interjects, slamming his car door and stalking over.

“You lost to a kid driving your car Salazar. That doesn’t exactly inspire confidence that you’re the best man to bring into my operation.” Kaneko retorts, looking at Salazar derisively.

“He got lucky. It’s beginner’s luck.” Salazar insists.

“Well, maybe that’s something I can use then. You can go Salazar. Don’t bother showing up to the garage tomorrow. You’re no longer needed.” Kaneko says dismissively.

Logan is looking at Kaneko as they continue to talk, but Ellie catches the throat slicing motion Salazar makes in Logan’s direction before he gets into his car and drives away.

…

They park the Devore around the block from the house, since Detective Wheeler would definitely not be a fan of how they obtained it. Or of Ellie learning to drive. Logan took her to a parking lot on the way home and taught her the basics. He insists she’s a natural, that she’ll be ready for her test in no time.

Ellie gasps when they walk around the corner and she sees her father’s patrol car parked in the driveway. “Oh no, he’s home early.” Ellie mutters, speeding up her pace back to the house.

“Well, at least we don’t have to try to sneak back in through the window now troublemaker.” Logan jokes.

Ellie glares at him before opening the door.

Detective Wheeler is waiting on the couch. He looks very angry. “Ellie. Logan. Have a seat.”

…

Taglist: @choicesarehard @ifyouseekheart @brightpinkpeppercorn @regina-and-happiness @choicelogansbitch @flyawayboo @fairydustandsarcasm @alesana45 @umiumichan @maxwellsquidsuit @professorortegasstudent @god-save-the-keen @mrsmckenziesworld @paisleylovergirl @iplaydrake @sinclaire-made-me-sin @hazah @lovehugsandcandy @desiree-0816 @cora-nova @justdani14 @lady-dianelewis @emceesynonymroll @emichelle @badchoicesposts @client-327 @riverrune

#ride or die #logan x mc #logan rod #choices fanfiction #rodaw #playchoices #choices

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berniesrevolution · 6 years ago

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DISSENT MAGAZINE

Last December, François Ruffin mounted the pulpit of France’s National Assembly and removed his shirt, revealing an ill-fitting green soccer goalie’s jersey underneath. A muckraking left-wing journalist—one might call him the Michael Moore of Picardy—Ruffin has a history of causing trouble with his brazen fashion choices. In one scene of his award-winning documentary Merci Patron!, for example, he dons a white T-shirt emblazoned with the face of the CEO of the luxury-brand conglomerate LVMH before crashing the group’s annual shareholder meeting. But this time, at the National Assembly, no guards came to escort him off the premises. Several months prior, Ruffin had been elected as a deputy to France’s main legislative body on the ticket of Jean-Luc Mélenchon’s insurgent movement La France Insoumise. The floor was his to speak.

As Ruffin explained to his colleagues, the jersey was that of an amateur soccer team from a village in his district near Amiens. Though the state spends extravagant sums subsidizing professional teams in the name of “competitiveness,” he claimed, ordinary people buy and wash their jerseys at their own expense, and sacrifice precious time and money to keep their friends and children on the field. He concluded his speech with a call to end the dominance of “elites” in the world of sports, by redistributing funds from big-league matches to the thousands of local clubs scattered across the country.

For this seemingly innocent stunt, Ruffin was officially sanctioned and forced to pay a fine by the president of the National Assembly for violating parliamentary decorum—a small price to pay, he later claimed, for standing up for the average Joes of France’s amateur teams. “Up until now, nobody paid attention to what was going on in the Assembly,” he explained in a radio interview, but through theatrics like these, shared millions of times on social media, he believed the legislature could become “a tribune for the people.”

Amateur soccer might not seem a likely priority for La France Insoumise, the movement that now boasts that it is the dominant force on the French left. One year after Mélenchon and his allies upstaged the Parti Socialiste in the country’s presidential election, however, Ruffin’s performance captures something essential about the movement’s populist political strategy. The term “populism” has most often been used by critics of La France Insoumise as an epithet, a synonym for extremism. Understood more fully, it is in fact an apt description of Mélenchon’s plan to reshape French democracy—and it is a badge he wears with pride. Seeking to engage disaffected voters by rallying “the people” against “the elites,” La France Insoumise believes it can build an unconventional but durable coalition for a twenty-first-century left. Its attempts to reinvigorate participatory democracy suggest that La France Insoumise is not the authoritarian menace centrist opponents have made it out to be. But its insistence that it, and only it, can save the left threatens to stifle both its political success and the democratic and egalitarian elements of its project.

With the specter of communism a distant memory, many European centrists today consider “populism” to be the most pressing threat to global democracy. In this usage, the term presents little distinction between the anti-establishment left and the xenophobic far right. During Mélenchon’s 2017 presidential campaign, pundits regularly cast him as an authoritarian personality, no less dangerous than Marine Le Pen of the neo-fascist Front National. Mélenchon seemed little concerned with countering these charges, and in some respects deserved them. He went out of his way to praise Latin American strongmen such as Hugo Chávez, and advocated a warming towards Vladimir Putin’s Russia. He frequently picked fights with television and print journalists whom he accused of spewing “fake news” against him, and many of his supporters adopted pseudo-conspiratory rhetoric online. And when Le Pen advanced to the second round of the election, he refused to explicitly endorse a vote for her opponent Emmanuel Macron.

Even for many fellow leftists who might have otherwise supported La France Insoumise’s ambitious ecosocialist platform—which promised massive investments in sustainable energy and public services, as well as initiatives to combat precarious “uberized” work and the influence of large financial and tech corporations—the movement’s risky plan to force renegotiations of the European Union’s central treaties by threatening a French withdrawal was hard to swallow. Though the left wing of the Parti Socialiste may have agreed that the EU’s structure under the Lisbon and Maastricht agreements favored neoliberal policies, it remained too attached to the European project to enter into an alliance with Mélenchon. No wonder that in a context where many had reasonable fears for the future of French and European democracy, Macron was easily able to present himself as the stable alternative to the “populists” on his right and left flanks.

(Continue Reading)

#politics #the left #french politics #jean-luc melenchon #dissent #dissent magazine

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shesthecurlygirl · 8 years ago

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Yesterday I spent de day with my mom. She came to visit me in Maastricht and we went shopping. I wasn’t looking for anything in particular so I didn’t have anything in mind I wanted to buy. Sometimes having something in mind almost always results in you not finding it. That was not the case with me. I bought some things I am really excited about to wear and I’ll tell you what they are.

I didn’t know what I was about to find in the stores. And let me tell you: I liked almost EVERYTHING! It was bad. I wanted to try on so many things, which I did. And I’m glad I did because sometimes things look cute in the store, but they don’t look good on me. So, some things I wasn’t such a fan of, but other things I did like…a lot. I ended up buying 3 shorts for the summer.

I almost never buy new shorts. I’ve been wearing the same ones for a few years now and it never comes to my mind to buy new ones. For some reason I never really enjoy shopping for shorts. But this year they have so many cute ones.

The first ones I bought are these linen striped high waist shorts. They are blue and white, and they are very comfortable. They are from Mango, and they were €29,99.

The second shorts are these white flamingo shorts. I saw these once before on the Zara site, which is where bought them, and I fell in love with them the moment I saw them. They were €29,95. I’ve been looking for shorts with a cute print for a while. I really love the ones Vineyard Vines have but they don’t ship to Europe, unfortunately. I am not a big fan of holes in shorts, but I didn’t really care with these ones, because they have flamingos in them! I think they’re really cute and I can’t wait to wear them.

The third ones I bought are kind of shorts but also kind of a skort. I used to wear skorts when I was really little, and I cringed at the idea that they were back in fashion. With these ones I thought they didn’t look that much like a skort, so I didn’t mind it that much. I thought the gingham print was very cute and the fabric is very comfortable. They were also from Zara and the costed €39,95.

What I love about all these three shorts is that it doesn’t take much to dress up. I can wear all of them with just a basic white t-shirt, put on some cute flats or heels, have some accessories with them and I’m ready to go. They’re almost a no brainer. They only problem now is that I can’t wear them yet… I still have to be patient for a little while till the weather is better. I can’t wait!

I went shopping and I bought some cute shorts! Check them out on my blog! @RT_Bloggers #RT Yesterday I spent de day with my mom. She came to visit me in Maastricht and we went shopping.

#clothes #clothing #cute #embroidery #fashion #fashion haul #fashion trend #fashion trends #flamingos #haul #mango #outfit #shorts #stripes #style #trend #trends #zara

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jackymedan · 8 years ago

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tagged by @cirnellie :))

Nickname: Jacky, Jacky Medan..

Star Sign: Sagittarius but I’m pretty sure I was born in the wrong month (+ year/decade tbh)

Height: 179 centimeters (5′10.5″)

Time right now: 14:14 :) (2:14pm)

Favorite Music Artist: Celldweller/Valensia... idk

Song stuck in your head: none atm..

Last movie watched: part of the first Harry Potter movie when it was on tv recently

Last TV show watched: I watched a dutch cop show yesterday called Flikken Maastricht.. no, wait- I watched brooklyn 99 after that as well..

What are you wearing right now: a black t-shirt with a dark green zipped hoodie, red plaid/tartan (possibly flannel idk) pajama pants and I have a dark blue fleece blanket wrapped around me as well because it’s COLD in here..

When did you create your blog: made this account back in 2011, started using it in the second half of 2013

What kinds of stuff do you post: The Man from U.N.C.L.E., due South, things about my OTPs, my art, other people’s art, colour palettes, stuff about mental illness and/or autism, other fandoms I haven’t mentioned (the eagle, star trek tos, monty python, twin peaks..), fic recs sometimes, sometimes I liveblog shows I watch, personal things about my life, pictures of cabins and northern lights etc., otters.., memes and shitposts, things I find funny, sometimes important news events etc. idk.. a lot

Hogwarts house: Ravenpuff or Huffleclaw idk.. probably more (60-70%) hufflepuff..

Pokémon team: I only played pokemon go maybe 3 times and then gave up because I still have pre-paid and never have my mobile internet on (I just use free wifi) so when I leave my house it can’t load the map and has no idea where I am.. I once turned my mobile internet on for maybe 10 minutes and walked around a bit and that cost me way more than I’m personally willing to spend on such a thing and I didn’t really understand how the game works anyway..

the only other pokemon games I did play (red, crystal, ruby, soulsilver and pokemon stadium 1 and 2 and pokemon snap on my sister’s N64) do not have any “teams” as far as I know you’re just on your own trying to beat the elite four etc. so.. none, basically..

Favorite color: dark purple.. and petrol blue (the colour of this dress).. but basically I love almost all the colours as long as they’re combined in the right way in a pretty palette or something :).. I also love rainbows a lot.. one of the only colours I p much always hate is this shade of pink >__> *twitch* there’s very little combinations/contexts in which I could find that colour pretty.. and you’d probably never find me personally wearing white or orange because I hate to have them on my body for some reason idk, especially white clothes legit scare me.. but there might even be exceptions to those rules idek, colours are a complex concept..

Average hours of sleep: 6-8 I think.. but I’ve been having trouble getting out of bed in the morning lately even if I’m already long awake..

Lucky number: 9

Favorite characters: Illya Kuryakin, Napoleon Solo, Ray Kowalski, Benton Fraser, Ned the Piemaker, Special Agent Dale Cooper, Jim Kirk, Geoffrey Tennant, Esca Mac Cunoval, Marcus Flavius Aquila..

How many blankets do you sleep with: 1 in the summer, 2 or more in the winter (it’s freaking COLD in my room I have no central heating)

Dream job: idk something that doesn’t stress me out, isn’t full time and still brings in enough money to live off.. if possible something in a museum or involving colours/art

Following: 165 blogs, many of which aren’t active anymore so there’s less than that actually producing posts on my dash.. I’m the kind of person who still wants to be able to get through everything on my dash every day so I don’t follow people very easily/quickly (especially if they post a lot.. I also don’t unfollow people very quickly/often so I don’t want to end up regretting I followed someone after the fact..) but wether or not I follow you doesn’t necessarily say anything about whether or not I consider you a friend/if I like you or not :) there’s plenty of people I don’t follow back but still enjoy talking to.. It’s just that I’m too easily overwhelmed by too many posts on my dash..

#lalalameme

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christineamccalla · 5 years ago

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ART AND SOCIETY, BY CHRISTINE ANN MCCALLA, AND ALL VARIATIONS THEREOF, MBA, MS, CBME, CAHR, CBDE PROPRIETARY AND CONFIDENTIAL FOR SALE

ART AND SOCIETY

CHRISTINE ANN MCCALLA, AND ALL VARIATIONS THEREOF, MBA, MS, CBME, CAHR, CBDE

PROPRIETARY AND CONFIDENTIAL

FOR SALE

DISCLOSURE

This is the sole conception, design, and research of Christine Ann McCalla and all variations thereof. It was created as part of a self-directed research project on international societal trauma reflecting in Art. Christine Ann McCalla and all variations thereof did not create, execute, or manage any of the discussions presented in this visual representation, and as a result cannot and does not express any opinion on the facts or theory they represent.

This work did not require and as a result does not include collaborative, team, or hybrid group efforts of any form, manner, or content. Given the separation of my discipline and competence (business oriented) and the art industry which requires impeccable valuation skills, there are no conflict of interests or conflicted interests involved. No funding was received in the conception, design, and research processes, conceptual, developmental or completion.

PRESENTATION AND PROMOTION OF NEW EXHIBIT: (titled) REFLECTION OF THE TRAUMA OF SOCIETY AS REFLECTED IN ART

The original intent was to include the reflection of the trauma of society as reflected in art, primarily of cultural significance such as Nazi Germany at the time of the Holocaust, Jewish Holocaust during the event, Slavery of wide scale significance, and any other national representation of cultures as the exist at the time the events actually occurred to a maximum of no more than ten (10) events.

Some of these exhibits are already available in museums in the United States, the Jewish Holocaust and African American History Museum. While traumatic, these events represent a significant yet hidden part of some cultures, waiting to be celebrated and shown that the evil done is behind us. We have not forgotten, but we celebrate our evolution. As long as we continue to hide the past, those wishing to disadvantage our future will continue to reign supreme.

PROPOSAL OF THE PROMOTION

Begin with public relations and the media, newspaper spreads, talk shows, and if possible television appearances of well-prepared cultural ministries personnel,

Account for the allegations of bias by declaring the conflicts of interest. The events although occurring cruel in nature, have occurred and it is the past. Present three scales to the trauma, suffrage, intolerability, and endurability visually without actually presenting lingual versions,

Well placed buildings should not be in the heart of town / so prominently placed that the emotionally disturbed cannot avoid them,

The mediums used should be of workable materials, easily disposed of so as not immortalize the events. The exhibits with the related museums should be designed to awareness and celebration to the life of the living, while acknowledging the culture as past

To promote the events, freebies should be given away made of promotional intention of miniature sizes, e.g. paintings, pens, caps, T-shirt with an eye managed regarding budgetary concern

While traumatic, the exhibits can be tasteful through the exploitation of color of the studios used (psychology of color), lightings that can be soothing, distracting from the horror depending on the scale of the trauma, the arrangements of the mediums can also make a difference (on the floor, the wall, etc.), and the color palette and medium used to complete the pieces

The facilitation of lounge-like settings can ease the discomfort experienced including cushioned and comfortable armchairs, sofas, and a tea bar or some similar accommodation (cash bar) that provides refreshment that do not stimulate

References

Art market in the United Kingdom (UK). Retrieved June 20, 2017, from https://www-statista-com.proxy1.ncu.edu/study/30724/art-market-in-the-united-kingdom-uk-statista-dossier/

Artnet. (n.d.). Most visited art museums worldwide in 2016 (in millions). In Statista - The Statistics Portal Retrieved June 20, 2017, from https://www-statistacom.proxy1.ncu.edu/statistics/246293/artmuseums-by-total-attendance-worldwide/.

ArtPrice.com. (n.d.). Leading artists worldwide in 2016, by auction revenue (in million U.S. dollars). In Statista - The Statistics Portal. Retrieved June 20, 2017, from https://www-statista-com.proxy1.ncu.edu/statistics/245173/artists-with-the-highest-art-auction-sales/.

The Art Newspaper. (n.d.). Art exhibitions ranked by total visitorship in 2011 (in 1,000s). In Statista - The Statistics Portal. Retrieved June 20, 2017, from https://www-statista-com.proxy1.ncu.edu/statistics/246302/art-exhibtions-worldwide-ranked-by-total-visitorship/.

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