#women need a chaperone to leave the country

[faeprincesswarrior]

On the portrayal of Illyrian culture in ACOTAR

I’m Sara - by ethnic origin, I am Arabic and Turkish. I was othered my entire childhood and dealt with seriously atrocious racist attacks.

As I got older, those things lessened and people started assuming I was white or biracial in part due to my having dyed my hair blonde.

Since then, I’ve experienced racism of a different kind - I get told I am a “shallow white girl” who doesn’t have the right to speak about issues facing POC by people from all different ethnicities.

I’ve had enough of that. I may not look like your typical WOC but I am a woman of color. And I will not be silenced.

Why I am not offended by the portrayal of Illyrian culture in Sarah J Maas’s books:

1. I’m from a Muslim family and grew up going to mosques in the Western World, where some of the very oppressive and sexist ideals about women and their place in society were preached from the stands and actively shared by members of the community.

2. I was chronically shamed by my peers in the community for being into my education and for wearing makeup or for daring to speak to boys.

3. The above happened in the United States in the community I grew up in because oppressive, sexist ideals travel across immigration. I clawed my way out of this community and will never look back.

3. Honor killings still happen where I’m from. To this day.

4. Genital mutilation still happens in the regions where I’m from to this day.

5. Women are not allowed to drive in some countries in the region where I’m from to this day.

6. Women are publicly beaten or stoned to death in those regions to this day.

7. Women have to be fully covered up when they leave the house in the region where I’m from to this day.

8. Women are silenced and told not to speak in public - even just to talk to someone - and not to leave their houses without a male chaperone in the region where I’m from to this day.

9. Women are glorified birthing vessels and it is socially accepted for men to have multiple wives to have as many children as possible in the region where I’m from to this day.

10. Women do not have full equality or even basic, fundamental human rights in the the region where I’m from to this day.

How does this relate to Illyrian culture and ACOTAR?

Do I really need to explain the answer to that? I realize that some people may have grown up in Middle Eastern families and not had the experience I had. Some of my experience is also due to Islamic religious ideas and not simply cultural ideals. And there are some people who may love where they came from and have had a radically different experience than my own. That does NOT make my experience less valid, nor does it make my criticisms of the culture and countries I’m referring to less valid or accurate.

To me, the portrayal of the Illyrians is an accurate representation of what goes on in some pockets of the mid east, and for that very reason, I’m not offended.

In fact, wing clipping is essentially the fictional version of genital mutilation, which still happens in the cultures that people say Illyria is inspired by.

It is not racist to look at something and call it out for what it is. If I were to say, every single ME person I’ve ever met adheres to some of the more fundamentalist and sexist rhetoric I heard and continue to see, that would be racist and untrue.

The reality is there will also always be people who attack Sarah J Maas because she’s Jewish, especially at this time with conversations about Zionism running rampant. I married a Jewish man. I’ve seen anti-semitism firsthand. I also saw it growing up among the more nationalistic people I grew up with who hated the idea of an Israeli country.

What you can do:

Stand up for women around the world who don’t enjoy the same freedoms you do, and quit picking fights about a book series. Look to solve real problems instead of making some up.

Note - If you attack me in the comments, I will not respond. I will immediately block. This was not an easy post for me to make in any way, and I feel vulnerable having shared so much.

[midnightscramble]

Hey, I know this is probably rude to ask, but I'm a sucker for Portia Featherington. Is there any chance you are to write for her again sometime soon?

Lord Featherington Must Die Part 1 (Portia Featherington x fem!Reader)

Part 1, Part 2

The Masterlist

Author's Note: Not rude at all to ask! I promise this is a romance, stick with it and see how it develops. For those who are wondering, the title is in reference to the movie John Tucker Must Die. If it is not to your liking, ask for something else (don't be shy!). Happy readings to you.

Summary: Taking place the season before the Featherington daughters enter the marriage mart. Lord Featherington not so discreetly tries to pursue another woman, inviting her on the family's off season trip to be his eldest daughter's companion. Portia is less than pleased with these events.

Warnings: hurt no real comfort, attempted one-sided cheating, marital issues, domestic violence (a glass is thrown but does not make contact)

Poised, proper, and cool under pressure. That is the mantra Portia Featherington had been raised on, a mantra which would die with her given that all her daughters' had some strain of social ineptness. She was relieved the season had ended, as she could at least take the time to try to train her daughters before their own seasons would be thrust upon them. Archibald Featherington's complete lack of interest in the girls worsened the situation, leaving her to be the only corrector of bad habits. Perhaps once the bustle of the city was far from them, he would participate in raising his children. Not that he had during any other off-season, but still, Portia hoped.

As she organized with Varley what the girls would need for the trip, Penelope approached her tentatively, "Mother, I would like a moment to speak with you." Portia quickly glanced up from the packing list, giving her daughter silent permission to continue. "Lady Bridgerton has invited me to spend autumn and winter at their country estate. I would be Eloise's companion." Portia was taken aback momentarily and her focus settled on Penelope.

Almost all of the Bridgerton sons were unwed and of age, so sending her youngest daughter to them could be an advantage come next season. "What a delightful offer. You may accept on the condition that Phillipa and Varley will go with you as your chaperones. Do be sure to thank Lady Bridgerton for her kindness." Penelope squealed in excitement, and in an uncharacteristic display of affection, rushed to hug her mother. Stumbling slightly, Portia enjoyed the rare moment and held her tightly. Her youngest daughter and she usually elected to forgo familial pleasantries such as hugging, a pattern which Portia wanted to break but did not have a single inclination as to how to go about it.

"Thank you, Mother. I promise to write to you every week!" Penelope broke from her arms and hurried through the house, no doubt rushing to the Bridgerton estate to call upon Eloise. Portia stood by the window to make sure she crossed the road safely, tracking her daughter until she made it to the front door. Before she could walk away, she noticed Prudence and Miss Y/n walking on the other side of the street, with Lord Featherington trailing behind them.

Miss Y/n Y/l/n was a new addition to Prudence's social circle, and a rather beautiful one at that. She had advised her daughter to only spend time with the young woman during the off-season. It would not do her well to stand next to someone so radiant at social gatherings, and would only serve to make Prudence invisible to eligible suitors. However, it would also be important to befriend her. Young women tend to favor platonic attachments, making them less likely to steal dance partners from those they are loyal to. If Prudence could gain Miss Y/n's loyalty now, then the woman would pose no threat when Prudence makes her entrance into society. Despite being titleless, the young woman was to be an heiress to her last living relative, a distant cousin. Which made her quite suitable company for Prudence. Portia found herself wondering what the two women talked about, her daughter was not known for being entertaining, so whatever they were laughing at must be on account of Miss Y/l/n’s cleverness. She broke away from the window and returned to her spot next to Varley, continuing their discussion on what to bring.

Moments later, she heard the familiar sound of heeled slippers bounding up the staircase to the study. Prudence entered the room excitedly, with her arm entwined in Miss Y/l/n’s, “MaMa, Brilliant news! Father has arranged with Lord Y/l/n for us to take Y/n to the country with us!” The redhead clung onto her new friend, rocking back and forth on her heels with pure giddiness. Miss Y/l/n smiled at the matriarch, “If it would please you, my Lady, I would love to be Prudence’s travel companion. My cousin has approved the impromptu trip and is willing to provide the necessary funds for any accommodations you would have to make.” Portia looked over Miss Y/l/n’s shoulder, and saw her husband leaning against the door frame with the slouched posture of a commoner. He looked over the room cooly, feigning disinterest. 

Before Portia could respond, her husband interjected, “It would please our family greatly, Miss Y/l/n. I suggest that Prudence accompany you back to the Y/l/n estate and direct your maid in organizing your luggage.” He approached the girls and took each one’s hand in his own, guiding them out of the room, “I’ll have a carriage drawn for you.” Portia did not miss how Archibald’s touch seemed to linger on Miss Y/l/n’s skin, nor how his fingers danced at the edge of her sleeve, discreetly moving the fabric aside to touch her delicate wrist. Portia’s eyes twitched, already theorizing as to what her husband’s intentions were by inviting the young woman on their trip. 

With a clipped tone, Portia looked at her maid, “Varley, leave us.” The older woman nodded politely and took her leave, making sure to close the study door to ensure the couple their privacy. Running her tongue across her teeth, she seethed, “I understand that these trips are trying for you, but can you not just visit a house of sin in the country? As you usually do.”

He walked to the desk and poured himself three fingers of whisky, “I have not the faintest idea of which you speak.” He took a long sip, pointedly looking at his wife, “It should be good for Prudence, to have a travel companion.” Portia threw her hands up at the dismissal. She hated this game, where he played the fool and she played the hag. He would never admit to any wrong doings, always denying or having some excuse, making it impossible to truly condemn him. She did not relish arguing with him, and more often than not she preferred to expel her suspicions from her mind, hoping that he was as honest as he claimed to be. At the end of the day, Portia wanted her husband to be loyal, so much so that she would accept his half cooked bluffs as undeniable truths. Perhaps, if she could make herself believe it, it would become true.

She crossed the room, and came to rest a hand upon his chest, “I was hoping that you and I would spend quality time together…” She watched as his eyes fled across the room, silently begging for them to meet her own. 

He sniffed and raised his brows, considering her words, “We will, and in order for that to happen, Prudence must be entertained.” Portia moved closer in his arms, resting her forehead on his shoulder. She could put her suspicions aside for now and choose to believe Archibald, it would make the trip much more pleasant for the both of them. He felt her nod into his shoulder and ducked his head to come closer to hers. For a moment, Portia’s breath caught. It was not often that he spared her such affections. She let her eyes close and tilted her head up, allowing him greater access to her lips. When she felt the imprint of his cracked lips on her forehead, she chided herself for thinking after all these years, he would suddenly grow warmer. She supposed that this trip would force them into close proximity, and perhaps rekindle the spark they had felt when they first married. But if that were to happen, she would need to keep a close eye on Miss Y/l/n.

…

Arriving back to the house with footmen holding Miss Y/n’s luggage, Prudence and her friend began discussing the activities they would partake in upon arrival, “I must show you the lake, it reflects an emerald green around sunset, quite the sight.” The young woman pushed the redhead in a playful manner, “So you can push me in? I think I shall skip your ‘tour’ of the lake.” Prudence snorted and immediately covered her mouth as the undignified noise met her ears. A second carriage arrived in front of the estate, confusing the women. 

“Are the bags being taken separately?” Prudence questioned the coachman. 

“No, Miss Prudence. Lady Featherington and Miss Y/n will be traveling in one, and you and the Lord Featherington in another. Your mother does not want to strain the horses on such a long, cumbersome journey.” Prudence nodded in understanding. She would have argued with her mother about being separated from Y/n, however it was perfectly reasonable for each of the young women to be paired with a chaperone. It would not be acceptable for two young, unwed women to be stranded with footmen, should something happen. 

Portia emerged from around the corner, with her husband hot on her trail, seemingly trying to dissuade her of something, “It is unnecessary, we do not need to travel separately.” Ignoring him entirely she joined the young women, “Shall we?” She motioned to the carriages and took Miss Y/l/n’s arm, beginning a very quick stride. 

Once settled in the carriage, Portia examined the woman across from her. Even if Archibald was telling the truth, she knew that men were weak when it came to the fairer sex, which is why she was determined to keep Miss Y/n within her line of sight whenever possible and thus out of her husband’s reach. Knowing that if her silent stare went on any longer, her company would surely misconstrued it to be intimidation, the Lady tried to start a conversation, “So, Prudence tells me that you study art?” She tilted her head slightly to convey her faux interest.

“I do. I find the Roman works fascinating-” Portia interrupted her, “It will do you no good to focus on such hobbies, a future suitor may find it off putting, Miss Y/l/n.” A young woman with as much potential as Miss Y/l/n would obviously be educated in all sorts of cultural topics, however, Portia thought she should have enough etiquette to not flex her knowledge. 

“Well, I do not intend to marry so the opinion of this hypothetical suitor is not of concern to me.”

Portia stared at her with wide, owlish eyes, “What woman does not wish to marry?” Her eyebrows drew together in confusion. Given that Miss Y/l/n would be an heiress, the only thing she could want for now would be a title, something only a husband could award her. This revelation was truly shocking for the Lady.

“I have no reason to. At this point, a husband would only prove to be a headache.” Miss Y/l/n gave her a tight lipped smile, hoping the display would soften the ill-mannered statement.

“You do not care for titles?” Portia tried to reason. Miss Y/l/n laughed cheekily, making the Lady agitated, “I do not care for the accompanying responsibilities of a marriage.”

Portia hummed, thinking she had figured the woman out, “You do not wish for children.” Miss Y/l/n’s smile dropped and she looked at her coldly, making the redhead shiver. “I do not possess the ability to have children. In my youth, my parents and I were in an accident. In the doctor’s haste to cure me, they removed the vital organs.” Portia sat quietly, reflecting on Miss Y/l/n’s words. From gossip, she knew that Miss Y/l/n had mourned her parents after the tragic accident, however, she did not know of the accompanying loss. Within the span of a few days, she had not only lost her past but her future. Uncomfortable with her prior bluntness, Portia apologized, “My condolences, Miss Y/l/n. I hope I did not cause any harm by asking.” 

Waving a hand dismissively, the heiress murmured as her attention was turned toward the window, “It would not be fair, to condemn a Lord to marriage despite not being able to give him an heir. Besides, it is all in the past. … You do not have to call me that. Y/l/n is my dear cousin’s last name. Ever since I came under his guardianship, it has been bestowed upon me… However, I would prefer you call me Y/n.” 

Portia licked her lips, slightly eager to please the woman after bridging up such an uncomfortable topic, “Thank you, Y/n.” The young woman gently took the Lady’s hand in her own, letting her know that all was well between the two of them. The heavy firmness of her hold distracted Portia, briefly alleviating her of any and all coherent thought. Y/n retracted her hands and rested them politely in her lap, leaving the Lady feeling a slight loss. 

They sat in silence for the rest of the journey, each consumed by their own thoughts. Portia worried herself with the details of the trip, recounting all that had been packed. While Y/n tried desperately to look forward to her escape from the city.

…

By the time they had arrived at the country home, the moon stood proudly above the rolling hills. They trudged out of the carriages and into the home. An array of finger sandwiches had been left out by the staff and Y/n used her handkerchief to gather some before her and Prudence went up to their rooms. Prudence led Y/n to her room in the west wing, and then journeyed to her own in the north. 

Archibald made no commentary as he walked past his wife and up the stairs. She followed closely behind him, unsure if he was going to bed or to the parlor. She hoped for the latter, as she had made a request that the master bedroom be prepped for the both of them, rather than have their own separate rooms. He would be much more passive to the arrangement if he had a drink or two before, and to Portia’s relief he took a left towards the parlor. He stripped off his coat and left it hanging over the back of the couch before he mixed himself a drink at the bar. 

He hummed in contentment and pressed the glass into his wife’s palm, offering her a sip. She did love these yearly vacations, the weather seemed to relax Archibald and he was always elated after the seasonal return on his investments. His agreeableness and lack of responsibility allowed them to enjoy each other’s company in the country’s splendor. She took a mock sip, not fond of his choice of gin, but not wanting to reject his kind offer. Archibald crossed the room and picked out a book from one of the many shelves full of them, “I am going to retire for the evening.”

Portia clung tightly to the drink and she flashed him a furtive smile, “Then we shall retire.” He looked at her warily, unaware that the master bedroom had been made up for the two of them. She followed him through the halls and his shoulders tensed in agitation. He sent her a grim look over his shoulder, and she widened her eyes to appear innocent. The Lord sucked on his tongue, displeased with her shallow gambit of obliviousness. He knew very well what she wanted and was not in the mood. The Lord tightened his grip on the book.

Upon arriving at the room he quickly noticed that her trunks had been deposited near the armoire, and he spun on his feet to address the issue, “It seems they have made a mistake. I shall send for someone to correct it.” She put a gentle hand to his chest to stop him from leaving the room. He halted and drew away from her, off put by what he interpreted as smothering. 

“There was no mistake, I asked for my things to be brought here.” The Lady curled her lips up, in a manner which he used to find seductive, however now instead of inspiring lust, it only inspired aggravation. 

Turning away from her, he sighed and tossed the book on the bed, which landed with a heavy thud due to the force. Archibald rested a hand on the nightstand, he slouched as he took a deep breath. Heat rose to his ears as he spoke sharply, “I will have your things moved to the west wing. The guest bedroom is just as large, you shall find it to your liking.”

She moved closer, softly pleading, “Archie,” He turned towards her, snatching the glass from her hands. She flinched at his abruptness but found herself frozen as she watched him raise the glass. Within milliseconds, the remaining liquid in it had sloshed out the sides as his arm drew back towards his head. His knuckles were white as he exerted pressure on the glass, and she couldn’t tell where he was aiming once it had left his finger tips. Blood rushed in her ears as she felt the air move by the side of her head. By centimeters, the glass had missed her. Portia remained in her position, despite the sound of shattering glass calling to her attention. Spit flung out of his mouth, “Dammit woman! Are you incapable of listening? Shall I repeat myself?”

Portia shook her head softly, feeling her nose sting as fear crept up her spine and made her eyes dewy. She rushed to the door and left it open in her hurry to leave. She strode down the hall to the opposing wing, not slowing till she heard the master bedroom door being slammed shut. She moved her jaw side to side, determined not to cry over another one of his temperamental outbursts. Portia reasoned with herself that the stress of the journey had made him tired and irritable. Sighing she entered the guest bedroom, cursing herself for pushing him to this. Sleeping in a slip rather than a nightgown bothered Portia. However, she knew by returning to Archibald, even just to retrieve some clothing from her trunk, she would be putting herself in the path of his wrath. Slightly irked, she folded back the comforter of the bed and slipped beneath the cotton sheets. It would surprise the average Lady of the Ton, how easily Portia slept after such an unsavory argument with her husband, but with great practice comes great ease. 

…

Morning came all too quickly for the weary travelers. Portia had slept through breakfast, and when she finally awoke she found a tray of pastries and fruit at the foot of her door. She brought it inside and ate on the balcony. The guest room was pleasant, spacious, and had a lovely view of the landscape. From her spot on the balcony, she could see Prudence and Y/n walking down to the lake on the property. It always perplexed her as to why Prudence enjoyed frequenting it when she had no interest in learning how to swim. Portia was a keen swimmer, and rather enjoyed submerging herself in the estate’s shimmering body of water, while the rest of the family seemed to favor simply looking upon it. She would have to find time to slip away and enjoy the advantages of nature. 

From beneath her, she heard the door to the terrace open. Cigar smoke rose in the air, making her nose twitch. She watched as her husband took long strides toward one of the many benches scattered along the path. With a newspaper beneath his arm and cigar in hand, he triumphantly took a seat, completely unaware of his observer. He opened the newspaper as though he were covering his face, and turned his head down the path. Portia followed his line of sight and realized Archibald, much like herself, was keeping an eye on what he felt entitled to. Y/n and Prudence laughed jovially, flicking water at each other with their finger tips. Portia wished she could enjoy the scene, however her husband’s enjoyment spoiled her own.  

She figured it would soon be time for lunch, and she did not want the Lord to become accustomed to her absence at meals. Nor did she want him to become accustomed to Y/n’s presence. Portia did not blame the girl, not in any meaningful way. However, Miss Y/n was proving to be an obstacle in obtaining her husband’s attention. She also could not blame her simple husband. If she were a man, Portia would surely pursue the young woman. Y/n was captivating, she moved with grace and was charming in conversation. The fact that the heiress was utterly uninterested in having a romantic life bothered Portia, when really, it should have relieved her for her husband and daughter’s sake. She would not pose a threat to Prudence during the social season, nor to herself in rescuing her marriage to Archibald. Still, the piece of information felt incorrect to Portia. How could eyes, that were so enigmatic in the way they reflected light, not want to gaze softly into those of a lover? How could hands, ever gentle yet firm in the way they clasped her own in the carriage, not want to hold the hands of a betrothed? It seemed like a cruel joke, for a body to be so obviously built for romance, yet be condemned to a life as a spinster. 

The Lord coughed, choking on the smoke from his cigar, drawing Portia out of her thoughts. She cringed internally at the sound. One thing that she could never overcome was his unseemly noises. She truly despised the sounds he made when he cleared his phlegmy throat. Dining with him was a task all on its own, given how he chewed like a cow and scraped his fork against the plate after every bite. There were times during her pregnancy with Penelope where Portia would have sworn on her mother’s grave that she could hear Archibald’s snoring from down the hall, forcing her to move to an entirely different floor for the night. Although. when he was awake and stationary, she found him far more tolerable, even amusing. She wondered if all Ladies had such difficulties. 

Strangely, his coughing did not cease. He continued to hack, and used the newspaper to catch his spittle. She watched with apprehension as his cheeks became an unnatural shade of crimson, not entirely sure what to do. He recovered himself and took large gulps of air, and Portia released a breath she did not know she was holding. He began to stand and Portia quickly ducked back into her room, not wanting the man to know she was spying on him. Busying herself, she pulled the servant bell. It was time for her to leave the comfort of the guest room and remind her husband that he has a wife who is in need of tending to.

[sluttywonwoo]

instead of you [part fifteen] || l.mh

pairing: [best friend’s brother] lee minho x college!reader ft. han jisung

summary: you didn’t expect to spend your summer pretending to be your best friend’s girlfriend- then again, you didn’t expect to fall for your best friend’s brother, either. 

warnings: swearing, angst, mild smut (18+ mdni)

word count: 4.5k

a/n: revamped my tom holland series from my main blog ( @wazzupmrstark ) to try and motivate myself to finish it!!

series masterlist | early access to the next chapter on ko-fi

“I’m not leaving you down here alone,” Jisung insisted.

You could tell that he was starting to get frustrated, but you were too. You didn’t understand why he was so fucking stubborn.

“I’ll be fine!” you hissed.

The rest of the Hans were only ten feet or so away from you and you didn’t want them to hear you arguing with their son.

You were trying to convince Jisung to go to the top of the Tokyo Tower with his family, but he was adamant on staying with you on the ground, knowing you’d be miserable if you had to go up that high.

“I’m an adult, Ji,” you pointed out.

“I know! But we’re in a foreign country, and you don’t speak the language.”

“Neither do you!”

“Yeah, but there’d be two of us! And you’re-” he paused.

“What?”

“Are you really going to make me say it?”

“Say what?” you pressed, playing dumb.

“Come on, you know young women are way more vulnerable than anyone else.”

“Wow, so because I’m a woman, you can’t leave me down here alone?” you scoffed.

Jisung took a deep breath. “You’re twisting my words.”

You knew he was right. It wasn’t safe to be somewhere you weren’t familiar with by yourself, especially if you didn’t know the native language. It was early morning, and there was plenty of daylight, but tourist spots were known for being dangerous regardless.

“I don’t want you to miss out.”

“It’s just another high structure in the middle of a city. The view from the top looks the same from all of them anyway.”

“That’s not true!”

“How would you know? You’ve only ever been to the Eiffel Tower.

“I can stay with her.”

You both jerked your heads over to see Minho standing beside you. You weren’t sure how long he had been there, or how much he had overheard.

“I can stay down here,” he repeated when neither of you responded. “I don’t mind.”

“I don’t want you to miss out either!”

“I won’t be missing out. I’ve been to the Tokyo Tower before,” he explained. “I came here on tour a few years ago.”

You kept forgetting Minho was a famous dancer, not just your best friend’s brother. You thought that being alone with him might be a bad idea, but you also knew it’d be the only way to get Jisung to go up fucking tower.

“Are you sure?” you asked.

“I don’t want to leave you again,” Jisung said before his brother could answer.

You suspected he still felt guilty about riding with Felix instead of you on the rollercoaster the day before at Yomiuriland, but you wished he wouldn’t beat himself up over it.

“Babe, you wouldn’t be leaving me! I want you to go with your family.”

He looked at you, then at Minho, then back at you and sighed.

“You’re sure?”

“I’m sure. As long as Minho’s okay being stuck with me.”

“I think you need to reevaluate who’s stuck with who,” Jisung deadpanned.

“Jisung,” you scolded. “He’s doing us a favor.”

“Yeah, yeah, thanks, Minho,” your best friend said and then forced a smile.

You pulled Jisung by the shoulders and kissed him once on the lips, ignoring the way Minho looked away uncomfortably. Jisung groaned against your mouth, deepening the kiss. You were a little surprised, but you let it happen. He wrapped his arms around your waist and then finally broke away, still holding you close.

“You act like you’re going off to war,” Minho scoffed.

Jisung ignored him. “Be back in an hour!”

“Take lots of pictures for me!” you called after him, watching as he walked over to join the rest of his family.

“I’ll be the best chaperone ever,” Minho yelled in assurance.

“Chaperone?”

“Yeah, I’m like, making sure you don’t get kidnapped or pickpocketed or whatever.”

You took a step back and looked him up and down, sizing him up. “How tall are you?”

Minho put a hand to his heart in mock offense. “Why must you wound me in this way?”

You smirked. “That’s what I thought.”

“Hey, I’m older than you. That makes me the chaperone.”

“Fine, Mr. Han.”

He scrunched his nose in distaste. “Wait, that’s weird. Don’t call me that.”

“But I thought you were my-”

“Chaperone, I know. But the bit’s dead. You killed it.”

“Good,” you said in satisfaction.

Minho shook his head, chuckling under his breath. You both watched Jisung disappear with the other Hans into the building at the base of the tower. You breathed a sigh of relief once the doors closed behind them. You were happy that you weren’t holding your best friend back from what could be a once-in-a-lifetime experience. Just because you didn’t want to experience it in your lifetime didn’t mean he shouldn’t.

You were about to ask Minho what you should do while you wait, but were interrupted before you could.

“Excuse me.”

A girl who looked to be your age had popped up behind the two of you. You could tell she was American from the way she was dressed, not to mention the accent that gave her away.

“Is it possible to get a picture with you?” she asked nervously.

Minho smiled, instantly turning on his charm. You could see it now: what everyone else seemed to see. Maybe you had always been able to see it, but as you watched him interact with his fan it seemed so suddenly evident. He was naturally charismatic, that much was obvious. But to leave it at that would be an understatement.

“Sure,” he answered easily and the girl visibly relaxed. “I just ask that you don’t post it for a few hours because I try to keep my exact location kinda private.”

“Of course! I totally understand.”

“Perfect. Let’s take that photo, then.”

The girl turned to you, acknowledging your presence for the first time. “Would you mind taking the picture?”

You froze, panicking internally. You were unaware that you would also have to interact with this person, though it made sense seeing as you were the only other one there. You weren’t sure how to act in this situation, but Minho gave you a reassuring smile and the slightest of nods from behind the girl.

You grinned awkwardly. “Yeah, I can do that!”

She handed you her phone and went to stand next to Minho. You opened the camera and focused it on them, taking a step back so you could get a better angle. She was pretty, you noticed with a sinking feeling as Minho wrapped his arm around her shoulders and smiled. You snapped a couple of shots and then handed the phone back.

“Let me know if those are okay,” you said hoarsely.

She swiped through the gallery quickly to check them while Minho watched over her shoulder, humming in approval.

“They’re perfect, thank you,” she beamed.

“Of course.”

She turned back to face Minho and stuck out her hand. “I’m Rosalyn, by the way.”

Even her name was pretty.

“Lee Know, but I think you already knew that.”

“I did, yeah. And you are…?”

Rosalyn was looking at you expectantly, wanting you to introduce yourself. Without thinking you shook her hand, even though you knew she didn’t care about you and was only asking to be polite.

“I’m-”

“She’s a friend,” Minho said quickly, coming over to wrap an arm around your shoulders this time.

The girl looked back and forth between you like she was trying to piece your relationship together. Minho cleared his throat politely and pursed his lips, startling the girl out of her thoughts.

“Well, it was really nice to meet you both. Thank you for the picture. I won’t post it until tomorrow.”

“I appreciate that,” Minho said. “It was a pleasure to meet you, as well.”

Rosalyn thanked him again and complimented his work before walking off.

“What the fuck was that?” you whispered once you thought she was out of earshot.

“What do you mean?”

“A friend?”

He raised his arms defensively. “You are a friend!”

“Yeah, but by introducing me as ‘a friend’ it looks suspicious. Why didn’t you just let me introduce myself?”

“I didn’t want her looking you up!”

“How would she find me from just my first name?”

“You’d be surprised at how… dedicated some K-pop fans can be.”

You rolled your eyes. “Well if she mentions anything about you being with a girl in her post there are going to be rumors all over the internet and Jisung is going to be pissed.”

“I know,” Minho sighed. “But it’s better than them finding you.” You weren’t so sure that was true. “I’m sorry,” he continued. “Let me make it up to you by buying you coffee?”

You mulled over the offer, letting him linger in the uncertainty while you thought about your answer.

“Fine,” you answered finally, scowling. “I guess coffee couldn’t hurt.”

Minho grinned, and sighed in relief. “I knew you couldn’t say no to caffeine.”

“Using my weakness against me.” You shook your head in disbelief. “Shameful.”

“I’m not above it.”

“I know.”

He pulled his phone out of his pocket and searched for a nearby café.

“There’s a place like half a mile from here. Does that sound good?”

“Do we have time?”

Minho lifted his wrist to check his Rolex even though he had his phone in his hand and shrugged.

“It should be fine. We can always run back if we’re short on time.”

“I will not be running.”

“Okay, well if we’re short on time we’ll just be a little late.”

You knew Jisung wouldn’t care as long as you sent him a text.

“Works for me.”

“Alright, let’s go.”

Minho routed walking directions to the café and you both started off in the direction the map was pointing you in, dodging pedestrians moving in the opposite direction.

-

It took a whole ten minutes for you and Minho to decide on a coffee order because of the overwhelming amount of options presented on the menu. There were so many flavors you wanted to try, but you didn’t want to mix too many into your drink and overpower the coffee entirely.

You finally decided that you would each get one you both wanted to try and share. You ordered an iced drip coffee with caramel syrup and oat milk, and Minho ordered an iced latte with vanilla and oat milk. In all honesty, they were both drinks you would have ordered back home, so you weren’t really trying anything new, but you could use the comfort. Technically, all the brands of the ingredients were Japanese so it wasn’t the same as an American coffee, not entirely.

The barista called your names almost immediately after Minho’s debit card transaction was approved. The little green lights on the machine lit up and then you were being handed your drinks in little plastic cups.

Minho thanked the lady in Japanese and English, just in case he’d butchered it the first time and then you were headed back out of the cafe, retracing your steps to the Tokyo Tower.

“Thanks for the coffee,” you said as you took your first sip.

“Don’t worry about it,” he said, taking a sip in turn.

“How’s yours taste?” you asked.

“It’s good, yours?”

“Really good.”

Wordlessly, you traded cups with each other. It was like he had read your mind, or rather, shared the same train of thought.

You took a sip of his drink, letting the sweetness of the vanilla replace the saltiness of the caramel that still lingered on your tongue. You closed your eyes and hummed in satisfaction, taking another sip out of impulse. When you blinked them back open Minho was grinning at you like he knew something you didn’t.

“What?”

“You like mine better, don’t you?”

“What? No I don’t.”

“You took two sips of mine, and you moaned.”

“Oh my god, I did not moan,” you hissed elbowing him in the side.

“I think we’re remembering the last five seconds differently.”

“Just take your shitty drink back,” you groaned, shoving the cup in his direction.

“Oh, so now it’s shitty?”

“It always was.”

“Why’d you take more than one sip?”

“Maybe I like to suffer.”

“Is that why you’re dating my brother?”

You fought the urge to shove him, settling for glaring instead.

“If I liked it that much, I’d be dating you instead of him.”

Minho rolled his eyes at you but didn’t say anything else. For a second you thought you might have actually hurt his feelings until he offered you your original coffee back. You switched with him and started sipping on the drink again. You walked the rest of the way back to the tower in silence, trading drinks every few minutes.

The rest of the Hans were already waiting for you once you got back. They waved you down from a distance to be sure you wouldn’t miss them.

Jisung left his family and met you halfway. You automatically handed him your coffee so that he could try it, not bothering to tell him what was in it since you liked the same things anyway.  

“I was wondering where you went.”

“Just needed a little caffeine,” you explained.

“Should’ve known.”

-

The following day, you were up before the sun. It wasn’t that you had to be, rather that your body woke you up on its own. You tried to go back to sleep, but were unsuccessful, finally giving up and scrolling through your phone instead.

Jisung was snoring softly next to you with his arm slung across your stomach. You glanced over at him for a moment, wondering if he was dreaming. He always told you he didn’t have dreams, but sometimes when he slept over at your place you would hear him talking in his sleep, suggesting that he must be dreaming about something. Your general psychology professor had told you that everyone dreams, but not everyone remembers them. You figured Jisung must fall under the latter category, forgetting everything that had happened while he slept as soon as he opened his eyes each morning.

You considered him lucky for it. He didn’t have to be haunted by nightmares for years after having them, and he didn’t have to deal with the guilt of having a sex dream you definitely should not be having a sex dream about. Like your best friend’s brother, for instance.

You’d tried to push it to the back of your mind by checking your email, scrolling through Twitter, and even doing the New York Times Daily Mini Crossword, but it still nagged at you no matter what you did.

Your entire body felt hot, and Jisung’s arm on top of you wasn’t helping. You had woken up in a cold sweat from the dream you’d had, feeling sticky with guilt and perspiration. It wasn’t the first dream you’d had about Minho, but it was the most sinful.

You wouldn’t be able to shake the images of lingering touches and strained moans from your memory any time soon. The way he had teased you over your panties, rubbing slow circles on your clit as you lay in bed together, was permanently burned into your conscious. It had felt so real. You almost wanted it to be.

You pressed your thighs together underneath the sheets, still aching from the dream. Your throat burned with arousal and humiliation. You tried to force the emotions down, afraid to wake Jisung with your heavy breathing. God, it had been way too long since you’d gotten laid. You were starting to go crazy.

Jisung’s phone buzzed on the nightstand, making him roll over to his other side. You thought the notification might have woken up, but when you lifted yourself up on your elbows to check he was still asleep.

You sighed to yourself and slipped out of bed. You knew you weren’t going to get any more sleep at this point. Trying would only frustrate you, and you didn’t feel like angry crying before seven a.m..

It was still dark out, but you assumed that there must be something open at this hour where you could grab breakfast. If not, you could still do with the walk. Some fresh air would do you some good anyway.

You grabbed a change of clothes from the pile of clean laundry on the dining table and changed in the bathroom. You fixed your hair and brushed your teeth and then snuck out the door with your phone and wallet, sending a quick text to Jisung to tell him where you were going in case he woke up while you were gone.

The hallway was eerily silent, as was the lobby. The only people there were the poor employees working the graveyard shift. They smiled politely at you as you walked through, but it didn’t meet their eyes. You couldn’t blame them. You’d be tired too if you had been awake that long.

As soon as you reached the door you heard your name being called from behind. You whipped around and spotted Minho in the lounge area, waving you over. He was dressed in a white hoodie and jeans and was pouring himself a cup of coffee at the complimentary drink station.

You hadn’t even realized his bed was empty when you left the room, but then again it had been too dark to see much of anything.

You approached him hesitantly. You could already feel your face heating up as flashes of your dream from the previous night played in front of your eyes.

“You’re up early,” he said, removing one of his AirPods so that he could hear your response.

“Could say the same for you,” you mused, trying to hide the nervousness in your voice.

He shrugged. “Couldn’t sleep.”

“Likewise.”

“Bad dreams?”

“Something like that.”

“Me too.” He held up his paper cup and turned to the coffee pot. “Want some?”

You shook your head. “I probably shouldn’t drink coffee on an empty stomach, but thanks.”

He nodded in understanding. “I never drink coffee unless I really need it. And I’m fucking exhausted.” You watched him take a sip in silence, noting the way his eyebrows furrowed in confusion as he looked at you. “Is that my shirt?”

You looked down and confirmed that, yes, you were in fact wearing his shirt. It was a navy t-shirt with a Champion insignia on one of the breasts. You must’ve mistaken it for your own when you grabbed it from the stack of everyone’s folded laundry. It had been so dark, and you had been disoriented as it was.

“Oh shit, I’m sorry. I didn’t realize. I’ll go change-”

“No, don’t!” he blurted, holding a hand out to stop you. “It’s just a shirt, don’t worry about it. It looks better on you anyway.”

“Are you sure?”

“Positive.”

“Well, thanks for letting me borrow it.”

Minho cracked a smile. “Don’t mention it.”

You rocked back on your heels, stuffing your hands into the pockets of your sweatpants, which were thankfully actually yours.

“So, I was going to try and find something to eat around here. Did you want to come with me?”

“Sure,” he agreed easily. “We can get something for the twins too.”

“I was thinking the same thing.”

“Alright then, let’s go.”

Minho followed you out of the lobby, throwing his hood over his head.

Oh right. Always have to be on.

The streets were already bustling with activity. Traffic trickled through the stoplights at an agonizing pace while shopkeepers and pedestrians rushed about, either trying to get everything in order to open for the day or make it to the train station in time for their morning commute.

Crates of fruit, and other fresh produce were being stacked on display tables, metal grates were being unlocked and pushed up like garage doors.

The air was still chilly from the night before, not yet insufferable from the summer heat. You shivered, wrapping your arms around yourself to try and warm up. Your friends from school, including Jisung, had always made fun of you for how easily you got cold. To be fair, it was deserved. It could be like seventy degrees out and you’d need a sweater. Like it happened to be at this specific moment.

“Are you cold?” Minho asked.

“No, what makes you say that?”

“You’re shivering.”

“I’m fine.”

“Do you want my sweatshirt?”

“No, I’m already wearing your shirt. I don't need more of your clothes.”

“So… you’d rather freeze?”

You rolled your eyes. “I think freeze is a bit dramatic, don’t you?”

“God, you’re stubborn,” Minho groaned.

“Am I stubborn or are you just not used to people declining your offers?”

Minho pursed his lips in response.

“That’s what I thought.”

“I feel like it’s at least a little bit of both.”

“Fine, maybe you have a point there.”

He smiled, satisfied with the compromise.

You walked another block or so in silence. The sun had started to rise in the distance, painting the sky with faint shades of orange. It wasn’t visible over the skyline yet, but the city was already brighter. You checked the hours posted on the door of each cafe and restaurant as you passed them, but they all wouldn’t open for another half hour or so.

“What about here?” Minho suggested, leaning down to read the store hours.

It was a little pastry shop with counter displays full of assorted baked goods and sweets. The little neon open sign hanging in the window was illuminated and there were people inside, but he wanted to double check just in case.

“Looks good to me.”

The cashier greeted you in English before either of you had the chance to speak, and you chuckled. You weren’t sure if she recognized Minho, but even if she hadn’t, he was a dead giveaway.

“What do you want?”

“What about those fluffy pancakes?” you suggested, pointing to the ones behind the glass.

“Yeah, we could get a bunch of them and bring them back so we could all share.”

“Good idea.”

You stood back and let Minho order for you. You didn’t pay attention to how many pancakes he ordered until they were being handed across the counter to you in two separate boxes.

“These are kinda heavy,” you commented, lifting your box up and down like you were curling a weight.

“Need me to carry it?”

You held the container close to your chest defensively. “No, I got it.”

“What was that about not being stubborn?”

-

Jisung was still asleep when you eventually made it back to the hotel. You hadn’t realized how far you and Minho walked, but your calves were sore by the time you stepped off the elevator onto your floor.

You set the box you had been carrying on the table next to the laundry and walked over to the bed. You shook Jisung’s shoulder gently, smiling when he blinked open his eyes.

“Morning, sunshine,” you said brightly. “Breakfast is ready?”

“You cooked?” he mumbled in confusion.

“No, Minho and I went out and got breakfast.”

“Oh, thank god.”

“Oh, fuck you, Han,” you scoffed, picking up your pillow and hitting him with it. “I’m going to eat your pancakes.”

“No! I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it!”

You narrowed your eyes at your best friend. “You’re just saying that.”

“Maybe…”

“I have half a mind to smother you with this pillow right now.”

Jisung held his hand up to block you before you could hit him again and then disarmed you by yanking it out of your grasp.

“What’s wrong with you!”

“My boyfriend’s an asshole, for starters!”

“Is that worth murdering me for?! Would it be worth it to go to jail?”

“Who says I’d get caught?”

“There are two witnesses! My brothers are standing right over there.”

“And they didn’t see anything, right boys?”

You turned to face Minho and Felix who were already digging into the food. Felix gave you a thumbs up as he shoved a bite of pancakes in his mouth and Minho gave you a hesitant nod, eyes wide.

Jisung shook his head. “My own blood…”

“Now come on, sleepyhead. Let’s eat before the food gets cold.”

-

After everyone finished eating you all packed an overnight bag for a day of travel.

One of the main things Felix wanted to do in Japan was visit Kabeyu Hot Spring, a famous onsen in a cave. That very onsen was featured in his favorite manga, the one Yuji had introduced him to all those years ago.

The plan was to fly to Oita for the night, where the onsen was, and then return to Tokyo the next morning. Oita was on a different island of the Japanese archipelago than Tokyo, so it didn’t make sense to try to make it a day trip.

The flight would take less than two hours and then you’d get to relax in a natural spring for the rest of the day. It seemed worth it to you.

Felix had also mentioned going out to a bar or two afterwards, but you were still a little iffy on alcohol after what happened last time you got drunk.

The flight, cab to the hotel, and check-in process were relatively painless, and you and Jisung got your own room for the night which was a relief.

The onsen was only a short walk from the hotel, and despite the late afternoon heat, a cool breeze made the trek rather pleasant.

Jisung’s dad checked you in for the appointment and you were directed to the changing area where you could get dressed/undressed and store your things in the lockers. The changing area was unisex, which posed sort of a problem. You knew that sensitivity over nudity was a very Western concept, and that most cultures didn’t even view being naked as sexual or taboo. In fact, you were usually pretty comfortable in situations that required you to take your clothes off, but you had more than a few reservations about stripping in front of your best friend’s entire family. Especially his parents. And especially since you’d had a sex dream about his brother last night.

You faced the lockers as everyone around you began to change, face burning.

Thankfully, being nude at this particular onsen was optional, and if guests preferred not to be they were offered yuami-gis, or bathing clothes that were carefully washed and specifically provided by the staff so that they wouldn’t dirty the water. They could either be worn at the chest or at the waist, kind of like a towel.

Jisung waited with you until the rest of his family had left before he started to undress. It was like he could read your mind. You pulled your yuami-gi to just below your collarbone and let the elastic band at the top stretch to your body shape. The garment was a bit short, and the fabric appeared to be somewhat see-through, but it was better than having your tits completely out in front of your boyfriend’s parents.

"How do I look?” you asked, twirling so that Jisung could get the full effect.

“You look stunning,” he deadpanned. “Now let’s go find my family. They’re probably wondering what’s taking us so long.”

lmk what you think i always appreciate feedback!!

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[ciyapaofficial]

How Unisex Clothing Supports Gender Equality: The Theme For International Women's Day 2023

Cracking the Code: Innovation for a Gender-Equal Future is the International Women's Day Theme for 2023.

"DigitALL: Innovation and technology for gender equality" is the topic the United Nations has chosen for International Women's Day 2023. This theme fits the priority theme of the 67th Session of the Commission on the Status of Women (CSW-67). 

The theme says, "Innovation, technological change, and education in the digital age for achieving gender equality and the empowerment of all women and girls." International Women's Day 2023 will also check how women and girls are treated unfairly because of this. 

This year's theme is based on the premise that by embracing new technologies and promoting women's STEM (science, technology, engineering, and mathematics) skills and knowledge, we can accelerate our progress toward gender equality.

The United Nations estimates that women's lack of access to the online world will cause a loss of $1.5 trillion to the gross domestic product of low- and middle-income countries by 2025 if the UN does not act. 

If the UN and other concerned authorities take action, IWD will explore the impact of the digital gender gap on inequality for women and girls. The International Women's Day website states that it would provide a platform to help forge positive change for women.

It has chosen the theme "EmbraceEquity," with organizers and events seeking to "challenge gender stereotypes, call out discrimination, draw attention to bias, and seek out inclusion." #EmbraceEquity is the hashtag assigned to this year's celebration.

Why Is Gender Equality Needed?

Throughout the past year, women in Afghanistan, Iran, Ukraine, and the US have fought for their rights amid war, bloodshed, and legislative changes. All these have aggravated gender gaps in food insecurity, hunger, poverty, and gender-based violence worldwide.

The Taliban's ascendancy in Afghanistan has prevented women and girls from attending higher education, working most occupations outside the home, traveling long distances without a male chaperone, and covering their faces in public.

Iranian police disputed eyewitness accusations that Mahsa Amini was beaten. The death of 22-year-old Mahsa Amini, who was seized by Tehran morality police on September 13, 2022, for allegedly breaching Iran's severe hair-covering laws, provoked demonstrations in Iran.

Since then, Iranians have protested for women's rights and political change. Authorities have called them "riots" and used force. After Russia invaded Ukraine on February 24, 2022, the UN reported war-induced price spikes and shortages.

The US Supreme Court repealed Roe v. Wade on June 24, 2022, triggering widespread outrage and protests. Mexicans have helped US women seek abortions after a 2021 court ruling decriminalized abortion.

The Gender Equality subject emphasizes the significance of transformative ideas, inclusive technologies, and accessible education in overcoming global prejudice and the marginalization of women. Despite the ability of innovation to alter lives, many barriers to equality remain. 

What Changes Have Been Made In The Recent Years To Improve Women’s Position In Society?

Armenia and Colombia revised parental leave legislation. Spain passed menstrual health leave and abortion regulations. After a 10-year fight, the European Parliament passed a bill in 2022 to increase the number of women on publicly traded company boards by July 2026.

"There are plenty of women eligible for top jobs, and with our new European regulation, we will make sure that they have a real shot," the EU added. The International Olympic Committee reported the most gender-balanced Winter Games, with 45% women, in Beijing in 2022. 

With 36 teams, the 2023 FIFA Women's World Cup is extended. The US Soccer Federation became the first to pay its men's and women's teams equally before the competition. For almost five years, female athletes made equal pay claims and litigation.

How Can Ciyapa's Unisex T-Shirts Signify Gender Equality?

Unisex t-shirts can signify gender equality because they are designed to be worn by people of any gender identity. Creating clothing that is not restricted to a particular gender, promotes the idea that clothing does not have to be restricted by societal norms.

When people wear unisex t-shirts, they are making a statement that they reject the idea that clothing should be gendered. It helps to break down gender stereotypes and norms that can be limiting and harmful to individuals who do not fit into traditional gender roles.

Also, if we support the idea of unisex clothing, we can move toward a more accepting society where people are not judged based on how they identify or show their gender. It allows for more freedom of expression and can help reduce discrimination and inequality based on gender.

According to the International Women's Day official website, purple, green, and white represent IWD. "The color purple is associated with a sense of dignity and justice. Green signifies hope. White is associated with cleanliness.

See, even these colors do not discriminate. Ciyapa highly supports and executes this International Women's Day 2023 theme. And we promise to deliver more t-shirts promoting this IWD 2023 theme. Visit our store to see our collection!!

Conclusion

Throughout the last decade, there has been incremental progress toward a gender-equal world. We have seen the difference that equal work opportunities, equal healthcare and education, equal decision-making authority, and freedom from violence can make. 

Despite this, there is still a great deal of unfairness and inequality around the globe. To achieve gender equality, we must ensure equitable access to education for women and girls and clear pathways to inclusive workplaces for women in STEM.

We at Ciyapa find new ways to help women and girls reach their full human capital potential and become leaders, business owners, and agents of change. It is to support environmentally sustainable, socially and economically fair development. 

Women's economic empowerment, in conjunction with girls' education, family planning, and reproductive and sexual health, can facilitate the transition to low-carbon economies, help improve resource use and assist in lowering environmental damage.

We support women employees and help them grow potentially. There is still a lot of work to do, so why don't we all work together to speed up the process of gender equality and empowerment today so that tomorrow will be more sustainable?

Original Source :

[nova0000scotia]

Our broken hearts.... 18 million girls were going to school before political international interference stole Dr. Abdullah Abdullah's democratic won election and all the incredible things accomplished.... we won Afghanistan war three times.... and now they call it # AfghanistanApartheid

Is Taliban’s war on women in Afghanistan gender apartheid?

The Chronicle Herald (Metro)

12 Aug 2023

HOMA HOODFAR MONA TAJALI SOUTH AFRICAN SUPPORT

The second anniversary of the Taliban takeover of Afghanistan is fast approaching. Since then, Afghan women have been denied the most basic human rights in what can only be described as gender apartheid.

Only by labelling it as such and making clear the situation in Afghanistan is a crime against humanity can the international community legally fight the systematic discrimination against the country’s women and girls.

Erasing women from the public sphere is central to Taliban ideology. Women’s rights institutions in Afghanistan, notably the Ministry of Women’s Affairs, have been dismantled while the dreaded Ministry for the Propagation of Virtue and the Prevention of Vice has been resurrected.

The Afghan Independent Human Rights Commission has been dissolved and the country’s 2004 constitution repealed, while legislation guaranteeing gender equality has been invalidated.

Today, Afghan women are denied a post-secondary education, they cannot leave the house without a male chaperone, they cannot work, except in health care and some private businesses and they are barred from parks, gyms and beauty salons.

WOMEN TARGETED

Of the approximately 80 edicts issued by the Taliban, 54 specifically target women, severely restricting their rights and violating Afghanistan’s international obligations and its previous constitutional and domestic laws.

The Taliban appear undeterred, continuing where they left off 20 years ago when they first held power. The results of their ambitions are nearly apocalyptic.

Afghanistan is facing one of the world’s worst humanitarian crises. About 19 million people are suffering from acute food insecurity, while more than 90 per cent of Afghans are experiencing some form of food insecurity, with female-headed households and children most impacted.

Gender-based violence has increased exponentially with corresponding impunity for the perpetrators and lack of support for the victims, while ethnic, religious and sexual minorities are suffering intense persecution.

This grim reality underscores the urgent need to address how civil, political, socioeconomic and genderbased harms are interconnected.

INTERNATIONAL CRIME

Karima Bennoune, an Algerian-american international law scholar, has advocated recognizing gender apartheid as a crime under international law. Such recognition would stem from states’ international legal commitments to gender equality and the United Nations’ Sustainable Development Goal 5 aimed at achieving global gender equality by 2030.

Criminalizing gender apartheid would provide the international community with a powerful legal framework to effectively respond to Taliban abuses. While the UN has already labelled the situation in Afghanistan gender apartheid, the term is not currently recognized under the Rome Statute of the International Criminal Court as being among the worst international crimes.

Presenting his report at the UN Human Rights Council, Richard Bennett — the UN Special Rapporteur on the Situation of Human Rights in Afghanistan — stated:

“A grave, systematic and institutionalized discrimination against women and girls is at the heart of Taliban ideology and rule, which also gives rise to concerns that they may be responsible for gender apartheid.”

Criminalizing gender apartheid globally would allow the international community to fulfil its obligation to respond effectively and try to eradicate it permanently. It would provide the necessary legal tools to ensure that international commitments to women’s rights in all aspects of life are upheld.

Shaharzad Akbar, head of the Rawadari human rights group and former chair of the Afghanistan Independent Human Rights Commission, has urged the Human Rights Council to acknowledge the situation in Afghanistan as gender apartheid.

She’s noted that the “Taliban have turned Afghanistan to a mass graveyard of Afghan women and girls’ ambitions, dreams and potential.”

A number of Afghan women’s rights defenders have also called for the inclusion of gender apartheid in the UN’S Draft Convention on Crimes Against Humanity.

Most remarkably, Bronwen Levy, South Africa’s representative at the Security Council, has urged the international community to “take action against what (Bennett’s) report describes as gender apartheid, much like it did in support of South Africa’s struggle against racial apartheid.”

Elsewhere, the chair of the European Parliament’s Committee on Women’s Rights and Gender Equality, as well as the head of its Delegation for Relations with Afghanistan, have described the “unacceptable” situation in Afghanistan as one of gender apartheid.

Whenever and wherever apartheid systems emerge, it represents a failure of the international community. The situation in Afghanistan must compel it to respond effectively to the persecution of women.

Recognizing Taliban rule as gender apartheid is not only critical for Afghans, it is equally critical for the credibility of the entire UN system. As Afghan human rights activist Zubaida Akbar told the Security Council:

“If you do not defend women’s rights here, you have no credibility to do so anywhere else.”

The Taliban’s brutal two years in power in Afghanistan have taught us that ordinary human rights initiatives, while important, are insufficient for addressing gender apartheid.

The world needs resolute collective international action to end the war on women. Not in two months. Not in two years. But now.

Homa Hoodfar is professor of Anthropology, Emerita, at Concordia University in Montreal, Que. Mona Tajali is associate professor of international relations and women’s gender and sexuality studies at Agnes Scott College in Decatar, Georgia, U.S.A.

[coochiequeens]

Kabul, Afghanistan:

The Taliban have ordered airlines in Afghanistan to stop women from boarding flights unless accompanied by a male relative, aviation officials told AFP.

The latest restriction on women follows Wednesday's shutdown of all girls' secondary schools just hours after they were allowed to reopen for the first time since the hardline Islamists seized power in August.

Two officials from Afghanistan's Ariana Afghan airline and Kam Air said late on Sunday that the Taliban had ordered them to stop boarding women if they were travelling alone.

The decision was taken after a meeting on Thursday between representatives of the Taliban, the two airlines and airport immigration authorities, the officials told AFP, asking not to be named.

Since the Taliban's return to power, many curbs on women's freedoms have been reintroduced -- often implemented locally at the whim of regional officials from the Ministry for Promotion of Virtue and Prevention of Vice.

The ministry said it had not issued any directive banning women from taking flights alone.

But a letter issued by a senior official of Ariana Afghan to the airline's staff after the meeting with the Taliban, a copy of which was obtained by AFP, confirmed the new measure.

"No women are allowed to fly on any domestic or international flights without a male relative," the letter said.

Two travel agents AFP contacted also confirmed they had stopped issuing tickets to solo women travellers.

"Some women who were travelling without a male relative were not allowed to board a Kam Air flight from Kabul to Islamabad on Friday," a passenger who was on that flight told AFP. An Afghan woman with a US passport was also not allowed to board a flight to Dubai on Friday, another source said.The Taliban have already banned inter-city road trips for women travelling alone, but until now they were free to take flights.The Taliban have promised a softer version of the harsh Islamist rule that characterised their first stint in power from 1996 to 2001.But since August, they have rolled back two decades of gains made by Afghanistan's women.Women have been squeezed out of most government jobs and secondary school education, as well as ordered to dress according to a strict interpretation of the Koran.Tens of thousands of girls flocked back to class on Wednesday after schools reopened, but officials ordered them home just hours into the day, triggering international outrage.

Authorities have still not given a clear reason for the policy reversal.

Comments (Except for the headline, this story has not been edited by NDTV staff and is published from a syndicated feed.)

[dwellordream]

Unexpected Facts About Victorian Era Girls, Part 4

Specifically American girls of the middle and upper classes as detailed in Jane H. Hunter’s How Young Ladies Became Girls: The Victorian Origins of American Girlhood, a book I highly recommend even if you have no interest in history. It does a great job giving a lot of cultural context to the buildup to the ‘New Woman’ of the 1880s and 1890s and the newfound independence, education, and confidence experienced by many American women in the years before suffrage was granted.

It is inaccurate to claim (as is often portrayed in period dramas) that Victorians hated the idea of tomboys and censored and punished girls who wanted to lead rambunctious childhoods. In fact there was a sentimental sort of fondness for the notion of the whimsical young tomboy who spent her childhood climbing trees, rowing boats, riding horses, and running around the farmstead, with the understanding that as the girl aged into adolescence she would gradually abstain from these activities, until finally at about 17 or 18 becoming a ‘young lady’ who had left her tomboy days behind.

While some parents and advice columnists did insist that childhood play should end at 12 and girls should begin training as wives and mothers, most families were far more reluctant to end girl’s childhoods, particularly the upper classes, whose daughters had an exceptional amount of leisure time. For example, it was not unusual for girls even as old as 18 or 19 to still be considered ‘little girls’ and to be writing into children’s magazines such as the famous St Nicholas’ Magazine. 

In this sense, Louisa May Alcott’s renowned Little Women was in fact pushing back against the popular trend of letting girls remain children for as long as possible, via insisting present day teenage girls were far too idle and careless, and could do with regular chores and responsibilities for running the household. However, even her book offered no harsh criticism for the ‘tomboy ways’ of characters such as Jo March, focusing instead on the ‘flaws’ of Jo’s temper and stubborn pride, as opposed to her boyish mannerisms and disregard for fashion or ladylike manners. 

A major debate was over when girls should begin wearing the long dresses that symbolized womanhood. Young girls were expected to wear knee length dresses, young tweens and teens to wear perhaps calf length. A full skirt was not generally worn until adulthood. However, some argued that girls should begin wearing longer skirts earlier if they were ‘early bloomers’ and their legs might invite ‘unwelcome attention’. 

Hair was also a debate; only grown women wore their hair up as a daily habit. Young girls were expected to have their hair down and perhaps restrained with ribbons, unless they were of the working class and needed it out for their face for manual labor. A girl of twelve or thirteen wearing her hair would be seen as somewhat scandalous and absurd. Most girls would begin wearing their hair up for special occasions such as balls or parties in their later teens, and gradually shift to always having it up. 

Corsets, too, were generally not worn by most girls until their late teens. Even on a fifteen year old girl, a corset might invite some scandal and shock. The same went for bustles. They were considered markers of adult womanhood and it would be inappropriate to dress a child in that manner. 

With the adult dress came the end of even the most wild tomboy’s childhood. Bustles and long skirts and corsets did not completely hinder all physical exercise, and certainly women still rode horses, walked for hours on end, and played tennis and badminton in them. But they were not appropriate for climbing trees, riding astride rather than side saddle, sledding, or running through the woods. Mothers and fathers might fondly recall their daughters’ active youths and good health from hours outdoors, but for a grown woman to still behave in that manner was not proper. 

By and large walking was the exercise of choice for Victorian woman. While many period dramas and works of historical fiction present Victorian girls as rarely leaving the parlor, dining room, or their bedchambers, girls were encouraged to exercise vigorously by walking around town or the countryside, unless they were ill. These walks were no casual strolls by often hours-long events. They were also often not heavily chaperoned, even among upper class girls. An insistence on public chivalry and strict class boundaries (as well as very separate neighborhoods) was expected to keep young women safe while walking outside during the day. 

Walking was suggested for at least two hours a day, even up to six miles a day. It was considered essential for health, physical beauty, and for preventing ‘self abuse’ aka masturbation. The idea was that active girls (and boys) would be less tempted and have less energy to ‘explore themselves’ in private if they spent all day exercising. 

Walking was also a normal part of most school days. Even among the upper classes, most children walked to school as opposed to riding in a carriage. Carriage rides were for formal events, such as attending the theater or going to a ball. Girls were eager for the time alone with friends on the way to and from school. Walking partners were common and it was rare to see children walking alone to class.

Parents were sometimes concerned about the possibility of boys and girls walking alone through towns or cities together, which was very common. At the same time, so long as these boys belonged to the same upper middle class, they were generally considered ‘safe’ for girls to be alone with. It was common to assign boys as chaperones to walk girls home from parties, even very late at night. 

While this obviously allowed for flirting and ‘detours’ leading to hand holding or even kisses on the way home, some girls were not pleased with their assigned partners, or complained of boys using it as an excuse to harass or bother them. Some boys waited outside church or school for the object of their affections to depart, hoping to get the chance to walk her home in relative privacy. 

In general, American girls were observed to have much more personal freedom than their European counterparts during the Victorian era. At the same time, there was a fear about the GOP (Girl of the Period)- the loud, rude, and overly beautified girl who dressed extravagantly, wore makeup, only cared about money and parties, and was too flirtatious and outspoken with boys. 

Both American and English commentators worried about the decline of old-fashioned morals and an increasingly rebellious youth who spent more time out on the town with friends than at home. The urban girl who ‘knew too much’ and acted frivolously with her money was contrasted with the sober and hardworking country lass.

[mindofharry]

in which you and grayson find yourself in the most absurd situation.

set in the 1800s, based on bridgerton.

a little bit of everything!! enjoy - feedback welcome as always! <3

“so, let me get this right, your grace”

“it’s grayson” he interrupted clearing his throat as you both promenaded along the river, your mama and his aunt following behind.

“you want us to pretend to court? may i speak freely, grayson” you asked looking up, grayson rolled his and nodded, loaning you were going to speak to him whatever way you wanted with or without his permission.

“we have nothing in common. and i do not like your manners and the way you treat me and others around you” you rambled looking around at the people, also promenading and looking for potiental suitors.

You also noticed how the men were gazing at you in a way you’ve never seen before. Like you were a prize, the feeling didn’t feel good, it felt as if you were some trophy.

But you guessed that is all what women are to certain men, a trophy they can win and put up high in their house. sometimes you didn’t feel opposed to being someone’s trophy, but with the duke beside you, that feeling never came. All that came was disgust and wanting to cover up your body even more than your mother already made you.

“do forgive me if i’m wrong, but have you the way the suitors have been looking at you, and all we’ve done is look at eachother and smile a few times” grayson said, moving his hand over towards the group of men to prove his point.

“you’re a duke, grayson. I’m not yet prepared enough for that” you say and he nodded, obviously agreeing.

“that’s why courting exists, and i’ve seen how impatient your mama is. It might get her off your back for a little bit. You have a little more time to properly talk with the pointer suitors.” grayson argued, stopping infront of you.

“so this is a rouse then?” you asked placing your un opened umbrella infront of you, leaning your hands on it. Grayson nodded and stepped a little closer, your breathe hitched as you felt his breathe close to your face. “an agreement if you will. you get more time, i don’t have any mama’s trying to wed their daughters to me. It’s a win win.” he said trying to convince you.

“it’s not like we’ll actually get married. tell your mama you’re leaving your options open, or tell her you’re madly in love with me” he teased earning a slap on the arm from you and wide grin. he looked around and smirked.

“so are we in agreement?”

“i think we are”

/

Soon enough people started noticing you and grayson together — more people meaning more potential suitors for you. your drawing room was filled with men and your papa was not one bit happy about it, and suprisingly neither was your mama.

They had both taken a liking to grayson.

You weren’t sure if it was his charm or because of his title, but nevertheless they were set on you and him courting for more than a week. you even overheard your mother talking to the head maid about a wedding sometime in the spring.

A wedding in the spring sounded superb.

A wedding with grayson in the spring sounded traumatic.

“Grayson” you asked both of you sat beside each other, eating a rather delicious piece of cake. Grayson even bought the most expensive one, just for the both of you. That rather impressed you, you admit.

“Y/N” he mocked leaning back in the seat.

“I’d like to know you a little better. I mean, i know your name, your title and that you have a twin brother. That is all, your grace”

“just how i like it to be” grayson replied. Grayson was rather young when he became the duke, his brother didn’t want this life (grayson had to be the bigger person). The stress of being a duke, has made him sour and cold, and not up for anything to do with marriage. If he was ever to marry he’s sure it would be the most awful thing to come to his short life. He doesn’t understand what the fuss is all about, if you love someone, why do you have to go through all of the dramatics, surely just saying it enough?

Grayson didn’t understand the fascination and he’s not sure he ever will.

“Well, what’s your favourite colour?” you asked earning, a loud laugh. you smiled at the sound, it was nice to see him smiling for once. You knew he had it rough, so you could take the coldness and moodiness if this it was came out at some points of the time you guys are ‘courting’.

“It’s green. like forest green. It’s a dark but rather happy green”

“just like you, grayson” you added, grayson raised any brow making you blush “i just met, that you seem rather broody and dark but once you actually sit down and talk you’re a very warm man” you rambled. God, you were just trying to make some sort of conversation and your witty comebacks were not helping you.

“Let’s get you back home, shall we?”

you frowned standing up, you saw the governorness walking slowly behind you both. even though you were very much out in the open, you still had to be chaperoned, a part you hated very much.

“forgive me, your grace. I didn’t mean to be so rude” you say touching his hand ever so lightly. Grayson cleared his throat shaking his head “never mind that. shall we finish the game of 20 questions?” he teased, easing the butterflies in your stomach.

“my brother is called ethan. Smart man. Married last spring. I still don’t understand how i’m the duke, the man is quite smart and orderly. And a sister Cameron, who moved to the country with her family some years back” he said you nodding and listening very carefully.

“I think you’re quite smart, grayson.” you smiled, you reached home a lot quicker than expected. And for some reason, you wished he would ask you out again.

“Hmm. Have a good evening, y/n”

And with that the duke left, only you and your governorness. “i think he’d make a great husband” your governorness, anna, whispered.

“yeah. i do too”

/

You were in the drawing room playing piano when the duke was announced.

“Lady Y/L/N, The duke of jersey”

you turned around to see the duke, your parents bowing and praising every move grayson took. you stood from the piano and met grayson halfway.

you smiled and bowed “your grace” you teased earning a laugh. you looked behind grayson and saw the smiles on your parents face and the nod the both gave you before sitting back down.

“i came here to formally invite you and your family to the ball i’m hosting.” he said his hands becoming weirdly sweaty and his heart beating rapidly awaiting your answer.

you looked magnificent today, you hair was up in braids and your dress was simple but beautiful. The necklace that adorned on your neck was something he wished he bought you himself, it looked rather beautiful on you. Grayson had to remind himself numerous times during the two weeks you have been courting that it’s not real, that this will end soon and you will both go seperate ways. But a part of him wants to just pretend it’s real, he wants you to look at him the way you do without any agreement or rouse.

but of course, that would never happen.

you were both too different, he was a duke for christ sake. It just wouldn’t work out. So he pushed those feelings deep, deep down. And hopefully they’d never reappear, like they are doing right now.

“oh, of course! i’d never say no to a ball!” you squealed, your mother cleared her throat to remind you of your manners.

“forgive me. It would be an honour”

“I was thinking i could buy you a dress? Go to the tailors, pick out anything and i’ll get it for you” he said, grayson insisted on spoiling you. Buying you flowers and now dresses, your mother thought it was sweet, you did too. But it was very unnecessary, you didn’t want him wasting his savings on you.

“Oh! my grace, i couldn’t ask that of you”

“i’m buying and that’s it” he smiled bringing your hand up to his lips, making your breathe hitch and your heart speed up.

“see you there, y/n”

/

The next couple of days were spent preparing for the ball and of course accompanying you in picking a gown. He never actually knew how much went into making and choosing a gown, he’d never speak bad about shopping how, he was exhausted.

“i like you better, grayson” you say browsing the fabrics. Grayson snorted causing some of the people around him to stare.

“and why is that?” he asked leaning against the wall as you picked out a few fabrics. It was honestly quite relaxing seeing you in your element. It made him happy to see you happy.

“you’re more open. you smile” you grinned looking over at him “and i must say you’re manners are magnificent, your grace” she giggled making grayson shake his head. “you’re strange” he mumbled, his heart doing that weird thing again, and this time he doesn’t push those feelings away, he lets them stay. And it feels pretty good.

“how many dances should we have tonight? i think two should suffice” you mumble looking up at your ‘suitor’. You wished it was real, there, you had admitted. you wanted to know what his lips felts like and his felt like without gloves. you wondered what he was like early in the morning and late in the evening. what he had on sundays and did he ever eat too much he was sick? all these questions would be answered if you just admitted your feelings, but no, you knew grayson did not want to marry.

And sadly, you don’t think you’d be an exception.

“Not too worry, my lady. I’ll take these from you. My grace” the lady bowed taking the fabrics from y/n.

“i shall have this complete in no time, i have your measurements and such, so i only need you to try it on again”

You had already tried on the main part of the dress, but you wanted some sparkly fabric to add to it and maybe a bow. It was just last minute (anxiety induced) details, you wanted to add before the ball.

“thank you so much. we’ll be back in an hour”

“i don’t know how you do it” grayson said as you put your arm around his. “well, i like to shop, i like design” you smile “it’s quite fun actually.”

grayson thinks it’s quite fun too.

“I can feel the glare of your governess. how about some miniatures?” grayson asked getting a smile out of you. you nodded “that sounds lovely, grayson”.

/

The ball looks so amazing, it’s not like anything you’ve ever been to before.

There’s chandeliers and lights everywhere and the paintings are the most magnificent things you’ve ever seen, why had grayson been hiding such an extraordinary home from you? You could love in this room, ignoring the massive castle the duke resided in. This room was something you could only wished you could pull off when you finally marry.

Maybe, one day, you sighed.

“why the long face, ms Y/L/N?” a voice called out, making you turn around with a grin.

grayson looked just as beautiful as the lights and paintings, dare you say handsome. Something about the way his hair feel and his skin glimmered did something to you.

Grayson could say the same about you — god, your smile and the way your eyes lit up just for him was nearly enough for him to propose on the spot. Your hair was done up, but grayson just wanted to run his hands through it and head you sigh in complete relaxation.

“No frown. The ball is so beautiful, your grace” you say bowing causing grayson to laugh.

“Come with me, i have something you might like”

The duke dragged you out of the room ignoring the looks of mamas and debutants. He pulled you into what you could only describe as some sort of exhibit. Paintings adorned all over the walls and a fire place right in the middle of the wall. This had to be your favourite room thus far — excluding where the ball is taking place. The paintings were absolutely extraordinary and somehow even with a handsome duke beside you, you couldn’t take your eyes from them.

“My mother painted most of these — i think all, forgive me if i’m incorrect” grayson started moving to a beautiful painting off the sky. “She used to go to this cottage every summer, she brought me down last year when i became the duke. I painted with her and we talked. She’s extraordinary at art a shame my father never let her sell any or earn any money” he said with a shaky breathe. “She died this fall, along with my father. So these are the only things i have as a reminder of her, or of them. My sister took all of their belongings for safe keeping. Ethan does not care too much. I wish i was trusted more” grayson admitted, basically knocking the wind out of you.

You knew his parents had died, but you never knew how much hurt he still felt. Of course, thinking back that was such a stupid thought. His parents had died one after the other, leaving such a young duke behind.

“Your mother is very extraordinary indeed. Just like you” you say getting a smile out of the duke. “i must say the clouds and the river one must be my favourite.” you say easing the tension.

grayson nodded in agreement.

You turn to the duke, only now realising how close you actually were. “i trust you. a lot more than i should, my grace.” you whispered looking up at him, a flush appearing in your cheeks.

“i wish i had gotten to know you sooner” he admitted making your breathe hitch. “i wish i never came up with this agreement. i wish i just asked you to marry me then and there. Because you are the smartest, most beautiful woman i have ever had to privilege of meeting”

your eyes filled up with tears, as grayson held your hand. He started to pull down the sleeve of your glove, you eyes widening but there was no objecting. You felt your glove fall down the ground and the duke big, soft hand take its place.

“We will be married”

“And you will be my dutchess”

[bygosscarmine]

A PERILOUS ENGAGEMENT

Man from UNCLE - Wife or Knife AU

5/12

If Gabrielle tried to answer, it merely made the note of her cries more anguished. Maria ran to her bedchamber and fetched down smelling salts, which she thrust under Gabrielle's nose. Forced to gasp, her weeping was interrupted by the assault on her nostrils.

"You are worrying me," Maria said in a chiding tone, knowing that when someone got so overwrought it was no use to be sympathetic.

It was much better to divert their attention. "Whatever can you be crying over so? Surely a wedding is not something to make you so very full of grief."

For a moment she feared speaking the question would restart Gabrielle's tears, but instead the girl seemed to get angry.

"No, of course I have no cause for grief. I am trapped in a country village with no prospects and an inheritance I can only enjoy once I'm married, and an uncle who would never recommend me to marry anyone. Why would a wedding make me at all grieved?"

Maria had her failings, but her perceptiveness about people was keen. Gabrielle could not possibly be so upset she was hysterical about her dim marital future unless…

"Darling, is there a man you like? Is it--" she hesitated with some foreboding. "Is it Mr. Solo?"

Gabrielle's laugh at that was a little bitter, but Maria was relieved. "No, I don't care for Mr. Solo. Goodness, if I did he might be persuadable, and your father might even think it a good match. No, I do not intend to poach him."

"I am not attached to Mr. Solo in any way," said Maria with dignity. Then, with a bit of a cunning tone to her voice, "So who is it who is unpersuadable? I shouldn't think you'd have seen his friend above three times, and never to speak to."

Gabrielle's hesitation told her enough.

"Oh, you wicked child! Have you been sneaking out to talk with him? Please say I have not failed so greatly as a chaperone."

"Would it be so desperate a case if I had been spending time with him?" Gabrielle retorted, quickly this time. "And do you really think he would be so improper as to spend time with a young woman unchaperoned?"

Maria looked at her blankly. There was clearly something else, but…

"You have been sneaking out," she reflected, "I could swear to that. But no one has seen you, so you must have been disguised. And no, I don't think the starched Carrick would have spent time even with a servant girl alone, he is too nice for that." Then she gasped, "Gabrielle! Jerry's old trunk!"

The girl turned her face away, but this was practically an admission.

"You have been meeting, but he thinks you are a young man?"

"A boy," she admitted. "He called me lad."

Maria flung her hands up in despair.

"Well, your secret is safe with me, or else I'll be removed to my father's house to live with my new sister-in-law. But you should not have!"

"I know," said Gabrielle grimly. "It was an accident. At first."

Maria softened. "And now your heart is broken. Poor thing."

There was silence a moment.

Gabrielle bathed her eyes with a cool damp cloth that one of the maids had brought in. Maria had ordered her provisions for weeping as she'd come in through the door, voice wobbling but not yet overcome. She did feel a little better for crying.

"You know," said Maria slowly, "I can't see Father objecting to your Mr. Carrick. So the only thing that is left is to see if he is persuadable."

"Maria, he leaves in just a few days, and he thinks I am a boy!"

"Well, then all we have to do is prove you are not one."

"And then he shall think well of me," Gabrielle commented.

"You know," Maria reflected, "I have found that while society cares very much about propriety, and men care about how society sees them, the finer details of propriety don't always matter to them the same when it comes to a pretty girl."

Gabrielle snorted. "This is a hopeful minister we are talking about. He is quite serious about it, and I cannot see him marrying anyone he thought unfit for his parsonage."

"But things are a little in doubt about him having a parsonage, are they not? And we do not need him to become engaged to you, merely to stay long enough to become attached to you."

Gabrielle was astonished.

"Maria, why would you help me? This is a consequence of my bad behavior."

"I have never heard you cry like that before, and my conscience is stricken. I think even your minister will understand, once you can explain. That is, about your dressing…in cognito. One must not tell a gentleman too soon about forming a tendre. Now, we do not have much time, so we shall have to be bold…."

Gabrielle was dubious, but ready to hear a solution.

Though wedding festivities were at an end, some of the guests had yet to leave the neighborhood, so on Monday there was a much quieter cards-and-dinner party. Maria had inveigled her mother to invite the young men staying with her father's man of business as a way to break up the somewhat stiff family party. Her mother was harassed deeply with trying to obtain enough eggs to continue to feed her guests when the local hens were being contrary, but had agreed absently so Maria had sent round cards. She had also sent a rather more informal note to her friend there.

He came briefly for a visit at her summons, though he entered looking apprehensive. She laughed. "Oh dear, Mr. Solo. You seem alarmed by my sending for you!"

"Before now you have seemed contented to wait upon chance meetings. I could not help worrying something was troubling you," he said, relieved that clearly whatever he had been summoned for was not some awkward declaration.

"Isn't it such a strange coincidence that I was always at my father's house at around the same time you were to come and discuss with the provisions of my late husband's will?" she teased. "Perhaps you were right to worry, for I am in a bit of a snarl. See, I have a bit of a wager on with a friend. Oh, you will be a gentleman about this, won't you?"

"Are you questioning my honor?" Solo said, mock-angry.

"Just, it seems sometimes men do not take the confidences of ladies quite as seriously as they do other gentlemen's."

"Then they are dogs, ma'am. While I may be a flirt and even the son of a tradesman, I am no dog."

Thus reassured, Maria carried on with her somewhat falsified account, and ended in the question, "So is Mr. Carrick unattached? And remember, this is a matter of hair-splitting as any lawyer must be familiar with, since it involves money. He must be completely unattached, not just a matter of an engagement or a tacit understanding."

"Carrick would be mortified if he knew I was answering so," said Solo, grinning, "but the man is like the driven snow when it comes to women, and hasn't shown any inclination toward a lady since we were fresh out of Oxford. And that attachment is long over, since the lady in question turned out to be a little vulgar and is now married. You can collect your money with impunity."

"It is a matter of pride, not money," said Maria loftily. "But do, do keep this a secret."

"It should be easy to do so, since I will be leaving the neighborhood in a week."

If this was a bid for some sort of fond reply, Solo's shot went wide of the mark.

"What a relief that will be to you!" As if in afterthought, she added, "We will miss having the fresh faces about the place."

Solo soon took his leave, and thought very little more about the questions she had asked, and a little more than he liked about her casual dismissal of his absence.

Carrick was annoyed that he was going to a party the night before his departure, but Solo told him it was necessary to make his proper thanks and farewells to the Squire's family.

"Besides you've had your things mostly packed for days now. What else would you do but mope about all night?”

It was as tame of an affair as promised, so it was not even ten o’clock when they rose to leave. Lady Hettisham also rose, declaring fatigue, and offered them a place in her carriage home, since she would pass through the village. The walk was pleasant by day but happily disposed of by night, so they agreed.

At the door of the carriage, Lady Hettisham exclaimed with frustration, “Oh, my wandering wits! Mr. Solo, help me back to the door, I quite forgot my shawl. No, Mr. Carrick, get in and wait on us.”

He did so, not particularly convinced of her urgency for a shawl but imagining some private comment between her and Solo was wanted.

Carrick had vaguely noted that the carriage was occupied by another figure but not been alarmed by this, until this person rapped hard on the door so the wheels began to move.

-

Link to all posted chapters here.

[writingwithcolor]

British Bangladeshi Muslim 21 Year Old

I’m usually a lurker on this blog but, I’ve decided to send in a POC profile - mainly because it’s so rare for me to see someone like me represented in the media. In fact, I’m not certain I’ve ever seen someone Bangladeshi represented in mainstream media 

Beauty Standards 

Colourism is a very big thing still in the Bangladeshi community. My parent’s generation, despite liking to think that they’re very open minded still fall into the trap of the narrow minded view so present in the older generations. I’ve always fallen on the fairer side and as I grew up and developed mild iron deficiency, people would comment on how beautiful my skin was (and some people use the Bengali word for beautiful as being synonymous for fair), whilst my younger sister who is on the darker side but very rarely gets such comments. 

Clothing 

On a day to day basis, I wear casual English clothes or more casual Asian clothing around the house. But, for special occasions where I’m going to be with other Bengali people, I do tend to wear traditional clothing. Essentially, all the women in our house have two wardrobes; one with English clothes and one with Asian clothes. Although, nowadays, the English wardrobe seems to be growing more and more packed. A quick thing - traditional Asian clothes, especially those that are very flashy and embroidered, are heavy and so people don’t tend to wear them that often. 

But - it differs between person to person. My mum wears English clothes around the home but her older sister wears a saree - a plainer saree but a saree none the less. 

Culture 

Culture is an odd one for me because I’ve never felt as if I belonged to either one. Growing up, I didn’t fit into the typical English stereotype because I wasn’t Caucasian and I grew up bilingual. I’d also hear all these bad things about Bangladesh, and the experiences others had around me would mould the opinion I had of a country my family still refer to as their motherland. But, as I’ve grown older and actually started to make opinions for myself, I’ve begun to accept that I can be a part of both, I don’t need to be one or the other. 

Dating and Romance

In my family at least, ‘dating’ is done with the intention to marry. It all remains very chaste - with very little/no physical affection - until after marriage and almost all dates are with chaperones. The only ones that happen without chaperones are those in secret or those happening after the engagement. Nowadays, I feel like love marriages are the norm and most couples meet through being introduced by other people. 

Food

Food is a big part of our culture. In fact, if you’re invited to someone’s house, or if you pop in for five minutes, it’s considered rude to not sit down and have a cup of tea or even to have an entire meal. Food is one of the ways that we show affection for each other and, especially for important days like Eid, food plays a central role. Eating a meal together on a festival day like Eid is one of the few days of the year when all the adults and all the children gather together and spend time together. 

In my home at least, rice and curry is a staple. As Bangladesh is mainly riverine, fish is an important part of the diet. In fact, there’s a saying that if you can’t eat fish, you’re not really Bengali (which makes things a bit awkward for my uncle who is allergic to fish) and in some families there’s a tradition of a new bride cooking a fish curry on the second day of marriage. I’m not sure why, but it’s a thing. 

Home/Family life/ Friendship

I could talk about family for ages … 

My family is on the big side with my Mum being one of eight and my Dad being one of six. I’m one of three, but all of my cousins are considered like siblings - because we were raised as siblings. The familial bond is an important one and it’s often one that’s a burden to bear. For instance, as I’m the oldest granddaughter/niece/cousin I’m called affa by every cousin younger than me (Affa meaning older sister) and this burden is quite a heavy one to bear. It means that when the cousins experience any issues, they run to you to sort it out whether it’s something small or something big and it’s a burden I don’t mind shouldering. After all, it’s one I’ll likely have to carry for the rest of my life. 

Everyone older than you is treated with respect - even if you don’t want to respect them at all. For some reason, it’s an important thing.

Friendship between Bengali girls is … something else. Often we’ll break off and have our own conversation in Bengali as if it’s some sort of secret code and this usually comes in extremely handy when discussing secret birthday party plans in front of the person whose birthday we’re planning. Personally, my parents have never been strict that I can’t have any male friends - I honestly don’t think they care but I know of other parents who insist that their daughters can’t have male friends. 

Language 

To me particularly, the language was an important thing. I grew up bilingual because my grandparents lived with us and they couldn’t communicate in English. But, I don’t remember ever making the effort to learn it - it was something I picked up. I certainly can’t read or write in Bengali but I can speak it. However, this ability doesn’t seem to have transferred to my sister and most of the younger cousins. Most of my younger cousins can’t speak Bengali and so struggle to communicate with our grandparents and it’s sad to say but this isn’t strange at all. Many of the new generation British Bangladeshi’s can’t speak the language and in fact, they don’t care to learn it because they don’t see it as being worth passing along. 

Religion

As a Muslim woman, I find myself being constantly policed. Whether it’s by the media or by those around me. There seems to be a misconception that if a woman wears a hijab (the head covering) then she is the epitome of all things chaste and virtuous - but that’s not always the case. There are so many hijabis I know that don’t pray five times a day or keep their fasts or they drink etc. In fact, I’ve met a lot of muslim women who don’t wear hijab but their niyyah (intention) and their behaviour is inline with religion - my sister being an example. 

The basic 5 pillars of islam, the first of which is the shahadah which is the declaration of faith. This is whispered by father’s into their children’s ears at birth and is the last thing whispered into someone’s ear as they pass away.

The daily prayers are the second - with 5 prayers throughout the day and this is something I know many people struggle with, but I personally think that faith is a personal thing - you alone know your struggles. If you are praying 5 times a day and you are ridiculing someone who only prays once, you may think you’re doing the right thing. But for all you know - that person who prays once a day may be someone who reverted to the faith (revert being what we call converts) and they may be on the road to accepting Islam. Your two minutes of ridicule may even turn someone else away from peace they were hoping to find in Islam.

Zakat is the third which refers to giving alms to the poor and this is often done in the month of Ramadan. 

Fasting in Ramadan is the fourth pillar and during this month, Muslims fast from sun rise to sunset and we’re not allowed to drink or eat anything. (And yes - this includes water. Not even water? Is a question we always get)

The final pillar, the fifth refers to Hajj which is the yearly pilgrimage to Mecca. Everyone who is able to afford the trip and can make it, should complete it at least once in their lives. All my family who have been, have said that it is the most peaceful time they’ve ever spent in their lives. 

Things I’d like to see less of…

Muslim girls being ‘repressed’ by wearing the hijab and having a curfew and being secretly rebellious once they leave the home.

 Yes, I have a curfew but mostly it’s because my parent’s are terrified after hearing of all the stabbings and the acid attacks that happen to hijab wearing Muslim women

The overly strict father figure who is unreasonable and adores sons over his daughters. 

My father was on the strict side yes, but I realise now, after growing up and talking to him that it was all shaped on his own experiences. Yes, he might not have let me play in the streets until late like other kids but it was because when he was young, if he stayed out too late the racist teens would approach the Bengali children and attack them. My father was strict, but in the way that other parents in his position will be. (If anything, my mother is stricter … and the worst thing she does is text me a list of chores that she wants me to do whilst she’s at work)

That brings me onto the next point; the mother who stays at home being uneducated and relying on her husband for everything. 

There’s nothing wrong with that - but the issue comes when this character is used to put down Bengali women, to try and show how much better Caucasian educated women are. 

Another thing I absolutely can’t stand is the idea of a Bengali girl falling for some plain, boring Caucasian boy and he removes the wool from over her eyes, teaching her how repressed she was and how she should embrace this Western lifestyle. When a boy tried that on me in my first year of uni, I walked away from him the moment he told me that he has a hijab kink because Muslim girls are and I quote ‘untouched and I can teach them everything’.

Things I’d like to see more of…

Supportive family units. 

Whilst I might fall out with my parents every now and then, as is natural, they still support me. My father and I often head out for little ice cream cafe dates and my mother is teaching me to cook (although her cooking style tends to be put enough of this in and enough of that - there’s no measurements of anything) and my siblings and cousins and I gather as a whole every weekend. Those of us that live close enough to anyway. The 20+ of us that do gather, take over a house and all between the ages of 21 and 5 tend to be unruly and can go crazy but it’s a dynamic no one seems to want to represent.

The educated hijabi. 

Goodness, I can’t stand seeing the trope of a girl wanting to marry and pop out babies and etc - yes, it’s a valid trope but again, so many people use it to show how backwards we are. My eyes are even rolling now - Bengali Muslim girls are amongst some of the most driven people I have met and this is usually because the older women in our families weren’t given these opportunities and most people instantly assume that we’re not going to get far. 

Casual mentions of Islam - religion is a big part of a character. 

But I hate it being a controversial thing especially since Islam literally translates to ‘peace gained through submission to Allah’ and newsflash, Allah is the arabic word for God. That’s it. Why can’t we have characters who have to be home before sunset because they need to pray? Or hijabis needing to go shopping for a new headscarf or even phrases like 'this top would be so cute if it weren’t see through’ or 'if only this dress was floor length and then I wouldn’t have to wear leggings with it. I hate having to wear leggings in the heat’. These are things I regularly say! 

Wooow, this is long and I kind of ended up rambling. But I hope it helps someone! 

Read more POC Profiles here or submit your own.

[midnghtprentiss]

Royalty - Chapter One.

Olivia felt her body heavy the moment she put on the dress. It was not the type of clothing she wore at the convent, it was full of sparkles and lacy scraps. On his head was the crown that clearly showed his destiny. Queen of a man she knew and a desperate nation. In a place where she did not know.

"Majesty, we are ready to go. " One of the guards approached, bowing first.

"Just one more minute." Olivia stammered, approaching Sister Mary. "Thanks for everything, Mary. I will never forget you."

"You have no time to waste, Olivia. Soon you will be married to Prince Luke who will also be king. Win his heart and you'll be able to get through it." Sister Mary gave the girl a hug and then went on her way to the carriage.

The carriage was large and comfortable enough for a long journey. Olivia liked to travel around the country, even though she didn't do it very often. She liked to observe nature, people and places, which would soon be in her possession. The region was beautiful, full of chateaus and villages. As well as it was full of animals and plants different from what I was used to.

"Princess, we're coming. Get ready." One of the guards alerted on his horse.

The castle was beautiful. Full of flowers and flags showing that it belonged to the royal family. Some servants and royal guests were waiting for their carriage at the entrance to the castle. The moment they stopped, the door was opened for Olivia, who went down and looked around. The instant she saw Grace and Nora with their chaperones, she ran to meet him. Hugging them as tightly as I could.

"Olivia! How are you" Grace hugged her friend and then made room for the others.

"How I missed you. Did you travel well? We have a lot to talk about later. " Olivia smiled and looked at the castle door.

Queen Liz, King Andy. With his bastard son Calum. But no sign of Luke. The women quickly started walking in the same direction, but before a tall, blond boy came in.

"Majesty. " He bowed briefly before extending his arm.

" Luke! " Olivia shook her head and walked away. "You are ... Bigger. I have to admit that this new form of you has gone well with you."

"You look beautiful, Your Highness." He smiled, showing his flushed cheeks and stretching his arm so she could catch him.

"Call me Olivia, please. " She smiled, fitting her arm, going towards the rest of the people.

Wherever she went, people bow, whisper and smile. Olivia was the queen everyone expected to replace Liz on the throne. Liz had an ambition to protect her children at all costs, even if it cost her own life.

After the formalities, Olivia and her ladies were directed to their royal quarters. The walls were lined with light fabrics filled with flowers, while the ceiling with gold details had some paintings. Solid wood furniture with chandeliers. The bed with posts that held a white silk veil, made the whole environment less scary and cozy. Not as a child, but it was still cozy.

She sat on the bed, feeling the soft, fluffy fabric, letting her body slide in the middle and the mattress welcoming her in a simple and comfortable way. However, she was interrupted by a knock on the door.

"Oli, we need to get ready for your dinner. The king wants to do especially to flatter the future queen of Australia and daughter-in-law. " Nora murmured entering the room and approaching.

"I think I'll explore the castle before I do anything." The girl stood up quickly, adjusting her cottage around her body.

"We meet here in an hour, right? " She quickly agreed and walked away.

Those walls and corridors kept secrets and saw things that can never leave Olivia's memory. She and Luke used to run and play all over this place. They created a world without even leaving, but after she went to the convent, he abandoned the games and high imagination.

She walked down the steps they were running on and where Luke had tried to steal a kiss for the first time. He was so ashamed that he had to run. At the end of the stairs there was a room, where were his old rooms. The door was open and then Olivia could see that Luke was there and where there was a bed now she had a piano.

"Since when have you played? " Olivia murmured, leaning against the door.

"Hm, hi. Since you left. I didn't have anyone else to run or imagine and you know the rules with Calum." She smiled and approached, looking around.

"I remember that room. We stayed here for hours. Imagining the future where we weren't royalty and didn't even need protection." Olivia commented, running her hands over the old furniture.

"It was good and as if we were free. Nobody else comes here. Just me. It is good to be able to work on so many memories." Luke smiled, approaching. "Don't you have to get ready for the party?"

"I can do that later. I needed to come by before. " She smiled and stood up. "I didn't mean to disturb you. Anyway, it's good to know that you take care of it here."

Olivia walked out, leaving the room behind, walking down the stairs quickly. Heading towards your room.

Her ladies were already waiting for her, with some jewelry and dresses she could choose from. Olivia was an easy person to please and that was a very good quality, but when it wasn't her days, nothing pleased her.

Grace helped her to wear a green sleeveless dress with gold details all over the sleeves and shoulders, with a medium tail and lace on the front, highlighting her well-designed medium body. The crown on his head fitted into the locked hairstyle. The ruby ​​earrings that had been gifts from the English queen.

"You look stunning, majesty." A male voice had echoed through the room. He was a blond boy and a little shorter. "I'm Michael, your coast guard and if you want, I can be your friend too."

"Oh, hello Michael. You can call me Olivia." She smiled approaching the boy. " I would love for you to be my friend and faithful companion."

He smiled and bowed. The ladies left and Olivia followed, walking next to Michael who kept his hands close to his sword and his posture upright.

"Calum chose me along with Luke to be your guard. " He asked, looking through the corridors.

"I trust them to entrust my life to you. Thanks." As soon as they approached the main hall the doors were opened.

All attention was directed to the woman who passed by, no longer as a child, but as a woman. Noble people greeted her, others ignored her, but none of them could deny that Olivia was not funny. His light steps, straight posture and hands close to his body.

"Olivia, I want to introduce you to Cardinal Louis. He was sent by the Vatican. " King Andy approached introducing the man who smiled kindly.

"It's a pleasure, Cardinal. " He nodded and left.

"You look stunning, Olivia. " The queen said looking up and down as she looked. "Fit for a queen."

"Thanks. " The girl agreed and was soon called by the ladies. "Let's Dance." Olivia pulled her friends to the middle of the dance floor, dancing what they knew because of the dancing melody of the orchestra.

Luke and Calum watched them from a distance. They drew attention, but the pedestal was all Olivia's and no one had any doubt about it. Her presence in the country made some people fear war or worse. But without a doubt the salvation of the Hemmings was in the Pristol family, precisely in Olivia and in the future children that she and Luke would have.

"Can I ask for a dance? " Luke murmured, extending his hand to Olivia who took it without hesitation, passing it over the boy's shoulders. "You look beautiful, Olivia."

"You look beautiful, as always, Luke. It looks like we're going to have to get used to these events after we get married." He shook his head, turning the woman over.

"If we get married. It all depends on the circumstances my father decides." Olivia raised an eyebrow.

"You don't want to marry me, do you? " Olivia's voice sounded hard, but she wasn't surprised. "I'm doing what's right for my country, but I'm not going to wait too long Luke. Australia is my alliance, but it is not the only option."

Olivia moved away, leaving the middle of the dance floor, heading for a less busy corner. She smiled at Michael who kept a safe distance.

"Diplomacy is not easy, is it?" Calum's voice echoed through the background, making her jump in surprise.

"Good to see you, Cal. There were so many letters during twelve years that I can recognize you from afar." He smiled at the compliment, laughing quietly.

"How is your stay going? " The girl murmured, handing him a glass of wine.

"It is not as comfortable as the convent, but it will soon be. Or not." She shrugged. "I'm a part of the game here. I may stay until I marry your brother, if we get married.

" don't know much about diplomacy but I understand about Luke and he doesn't like that." Calum always tried to defend his brother and that was mutual.

"I don't know, Cal. If they don't find me useful, I have to find someone who thinks otherwise." Olivia smiled, placing her hands on the boy's shoulder before leaving.

Attention went to the king a while later to organize a toast in honor of the future queen.

"Olivia's return represents a new beginning and reconstruction of our nation. To the Queen Olivia of New Zealand." Everyone raised their glasses celebrating Olivia's life.

At the end of the party, she decided to return without the chaperones, only with Michael who maintained the same posture, just looked a little tired. Olivia offered to take a nap, but he denied it and went about his business.

"Mike, being a woman is difficult. I have to be quiet until men want me to speak, but I'm not that kind of woman" Olivia murmured, drawing the attention of the guard who crossed his arms. "I'm Olivia Pristol, queen of New Zealand and if Australia wants me to be part of the game, so be it my way."

[nicolewoo]

Yo, Jamie!!! It’s almost done.

Pairing: King Roman Reigns X Female reader

Warnings: None

My average day was a controlled chaos. Everyone wanted an audience with the king, and I had to know what issues were pressing, which nobles I could and couldn’t talk to, and a million other details. All of these things weighed on me daily. Now, with my mother and the church pressing me to take a bride, I’d reached a breaking point.

 After I had yelled at a servant for no reason, Charles the Lord of Sussex and my most trusted advisor and friend, suggested we take a few hours to go riding this morning. He’d been right, too. A few hours away from the castle and the nobles was exactly what I needed.

 We’d tried to slip out before the sun rose so we could avoid anyone, but as we prepared to leave the grounds, the Captain of the Guard saw us. Christopher was a tall lanky man with almost no hair anymore and an unfortunate habit of rubbing his face when he was nervous. Now, as he insisted that the king should not ride un-escorted, his hand brushed over his face repeatedly.

 “Your highness, we have hundreds of nobles arriving this week. I’m afraid there will be more thieves in the forest. I’ve got plenty of guards on the road, but if you’ll be avoiding the road,” he eyed me suspiciously, knowing I never stayed on the road, “I insist you take a couple of guards.”

I begrudgingly agreed but told the guards to stay far back from us unless we encountered other people.

Charles and I enjoyed a very peaceful ride, stopping once for a cleansing swim in a river and to eat some bread and cheese Charles packed. “My friend, you’ve done me a great service today.” I said as I lounged shirtless on a patch of grass soaking in the sun.

 Charles cocked his head a bit as if surprised to hear a compliment. “It’s my pleasure, sire. You needed a break.”

 “I guess we should head back.” I admitted as I stood and finished getting dressed. Charles finished a minute before me and packed up the rest of the food. Once mounted on my horse, I hesitated to leave. “I wish I could do this every day, like we did when we were kids.”

 Charles smiled at me. “You were never destined to a life of leisure, Your Highness. God chose you to be a wise and fair king who is building a greater country and a greater world.” He whistled to the guards I’d forgotten were even with us, and they mounted their horses to follow us. “Besides, you’d be miserable if you lived a quiet, boring life.” We both laughed.

 Finding a slow trot, Charles and I continued talking, mostly about Charles’s sexual conquests. As a young, unmarried titled man, he had his choice of lovers in the court, and none of them ever kept his attention for more than a few months. Knowing I’d be married off one day in a probable political move, I’d chosen to be much less adventurous. I’d enjoyed the affections of a couple of women, but I never knew if it was because they liked me or the idea of becoming a queen. Now that I was king, I was too busy, too stressed, too careful. I noticed the ladies at court. There were a couple of fetching noble women, but none that sparked anything even close to passion.

 I knew it was time to marry. I wanted to get married, but for love. Instead, women from around the world were invading my castle, and I was to meet every single one of them in a week-long quest to find a wife. Not only would my attendance be necessary at every meal and every social occasion, I was to meet each potential candidate in person and in private (with a chaperone), a task I was dreading. Meeting after meeting of women throwing themselves at my feet trying to become the next queen.

 “Are you ok, highness?” Charles’s voice broke me out of my worry.

 “Just thinking about this week.” I admitted to him.

 Charles thought for a moment before talking. “I envy you. You’ll have your choice of women. If I were you, I’d bed whichever ones I wanted. You could have a wife and mistress by the end of the week.”

 Of course, he was excited about the prospect of more women at court. “My friend, I believe you’re going to bed many of them this week.” I chuckled.

 Charles laughed with me, “Not until Your Royal Highness has ruled them out as your future queen.”

 “Well then, I’ve finally found the worth of being a king. I don’t have to accept your discarded women.” I stopped my horse at a river so both of us could drink. Charles pulled up besides us and jumped off his horse too.

 Charles’s laugh rang out over the forest. “Would that be so bad?”

 “Your prowess is well known, and I’ve seen ladies after you’ve spent an evening with them. I’d be afraid I’d disappoint.” I said.

 Charles smiled shyly. “Sire, you know whomever you choose must be pure.”

 I laughed now, “Are there any pure women anymore?”

 “On my oath sire, I’ve tried to ensure there are no virgins in this country. That’s why we are importing new virgins from other countries to meet you.” Charles teased before becoming serious. “I have a great feeling about this week, sire. I honestly think you’ll meet a fetching young bride from some exotic country that needs an alliance with us and you’ll find some measure of joy in your marriage.”

 “An alliance?” I looked down in disappointment and patted my mare on the neck reassuringly. “I’m afraid that’s all my marriage will be about.”

 “I’m telling you sire,” Charles said as he bent low to fill his water skin, “I believe you will find someone who will give you a cordial marriage.”

 “Cordial? I guess love is too much to hope for.” I hopped back on my horse.

 Charles mounted his horse too and we began a slow trot through the woods. “That’s what the mistress is for.” I knew he was jesting, but the seriousness of the whole situation fell on me again as we rode.

 Why was I forbidden to marry for love? Why was I born to be king? “Let’s speak of other things. Our ride was supposed to distract me.”

  Charles was always quick to raise my spirits. “The delegation from the Arabian Peninsula is bringing you a dozen stallions when they arrive. It’s said their horses are the best.”

At my happy expression he continued. “As soon as they arrive, I’ll let you know. Maybe you can find a few free moments to go see them.”

That sounded great. “Thank you. Not just for letting me know when the horses arrive. Thank you  for today. I needed this.” Charles gave me a respectful nod as his answer. I inhaled the forest air, trying to etch the memory of it into my mind to carry me through this busy week.

“Care to race, Your Highness?” Charles challenged. I didn’t answer but tapped my horse’s side to gallop full speed. I heard Charle’s call of “Not fair.” As I took the lead. He caught up quickly and we raced for a long while.

Realizing I was only hastening my journey back to the castle and my royal obligations, I slowed us down again and we rode in silence for a few short minutes before we heard the ping of metal hitting metal.

“Let the guards go first” Charles suggested.

Metal on metal usually meant swords, so I agreed. I motioned to the guards, and they rode ahead of us for a minute. As we neared the top of a hill, one of the guards motioned that it was safe. I looked ahead and saw a carriage with a wheel off on the King’s Road. “Let’s go help.” I said to the guards.

Peter, a thin young guard with messy hair and a patchy beard answered. “Your Highness, I can take care of this.” He motioned to the younger guard next to him. “William can protect you on the way to the castle if you’d like.”

In that carriage was surely one of my potential brides coming to the castle to meet with me. Yes, I wanted to escape, but maybe I could sneak a peek. If she was fetching, it could go a long way to easing my fears. If she was unattractive, at least I’d be prepared for my meeting with her. I trotted closer to the guard and took in the whole scene in front of me.

Not only had the wheel fallen off; it was stuck under the now emptied carriage. The ladies in waiting and an elderly man I assumed was the driver were seated on a blanket off to the side while what seemed to be the lady of the carriage tried to lift the vehicle.

She’d managed to get a small log on a rock and was trying to pry the carriage up using her body weight. It wasn’t working, but from where I was standing, I got a full view of a truly amazing bottom swaying with her efforts. I was so amused, I pondered not offering her help just to see how she’d do.

 Just as I was about to speak, she defiantly stuck her chin out and looked around my guards locking her eyes on me. “Must I ask for assistance or will it be offered?” She spit the words out like weapons.

 She was the most beautiful woman I’d ever seen, despite the dirt all over her and hair falling out of it’s restrains and trailing down her neck. Her dress was beautiful despite the oil and dirt covering it. It was wrecked though.  

 She dabbed at some sweat on her forehead with a ragged piece of cloth and ended up smearing dirt on her face.

 Charles leaned forward a bit, “It will do you well to watch your tone in front of...”

 I interrupted, “The Lord of Sussex.” I had stolen Charles’s title, and he gaped after me in confusion. I shot him a look that convinced him to keep quiet.

 She seemed more contrite now. “My apologies, My Lord.” She curtsied a bit.

 I smiled down at her. “Think nothing of it.” I looked at Charles now. “Mister Brandon, Shall we assist this damsel in distress?”

 Charles smiled. “Yes your Lordship.” We dismounted and handed the reigns of our horses to the elderly driver.

 We made short work of lifting and replacing the wheel. After a quick survey of the road, the guards found a missing bolt. With that in place, the carriage would be fine.  

 “Why have I not seen you in court?” I asked as I held the carriage still While Charles and the guards.

 She exhaled haughtily “I’m afraid I’m not very welcome at court, nor do I care to go to court.”

 I lifted my brow “And why is that my lady?” I tried to suppress a laugh. She was so direct, so plain-spoken, unlike most of the women at court. Court could probably do well to have some women with backbones like her. It would at least make court more interesting.

  “I have an unfortunate habit of telling the truth.” I laughed hnow. Seeing that I was genuinely amused, Charles relaxed and laughed too.

 “Well now, telling the truth is a virtue, even at court.” I smiled as Charles chuckled under his breath.

 “My Lord, I’ve seen many things in court, but virtue isn’t one of them.”

I leveled her with my gaze. “Are you saying The King lacks virtue?”

 I caught a brief glimpse of annoyance in her voice.  “I said nothing of the kind!”

 “Are you saying the courtiers are without virtue?” I asked.

She blanched when she realized that as a Lord, I could be a regular at the palace. “My apologies My Lord. No. I simply meant that matters of piety are not a priority to all who attend the court.”

 I glanced over at Charles who was laughing under his breath at her stubbornness.” This is a fun game and one I didn’t want to end just yet.

 “Well, gentle lady, would 2 non-virtuous gentlemen of The King’s Court offer their assistance to a lady in distress?” I asked as I gestured to her now repaired carriage.

 “I tell you truly, sirs, that many in His Magesty’s Court would not assist, but to serve their own purposes.”

 I walked a step closer to her in a show of power, but instead of looking away, she stared me straight in the eye defiantly. “And what, pray tell, do I have to gain from helping you today?”

 “My Lord, I didn’t mean any offence to you or your friend.” She nodded to our party. “You have indeed done me a great favor today.”

 Was she finally breaking? “And what have I asked in return?”

 She smiled now. She was breathtaking when she smiled.

 @mindofasagitarius   @lclb13 @serenityfiretrash @lustyromantic @reigns-5sos @bigpsychicbagelauthor @omg-im-such-a-masochist @marlananicole @wickedsunfire

[riddleredcoats]

Prompt: Voldemort returns to his body after 13 years and finds out that Bellatrix died in Azkaban.

So, I didn’t write the scene where he finds her, because it always came out too melodramatic, but I did write the scene where he finds out. So here, have Voldemort full of feels. (Side appearances of Black Sisters, except Bella cause she’s dead. And a special guest.)

Hope you like it, @knightessofwalpurgis

A phantom pain

 The darkened room that had served as his hideout for the past… Only the Gods know how many months… was dirty, filthy and in utter disarray. The blinds which hadn’t been opened since he had moved in, the desk had long since run out of space for his papers, the sofa had the light imprint of his body – less for his actual weight but more for his continued use – for when he slept, and  the pile of clothes that were intermittently changed were all lying on the floor resting alongside the books and papers that had made the bulk of his research months ago; the only part of the room that wasn’t grimy was the sheets. He hadn’t used the bed for anything but put more papers and books when the desk ran out of space.

 With a hushed rage the book in his hands takes a perfect arch of a flight as another dead end is all he has to content himself with.

 It is the same as every other day.

 His days are spent in research. Books upon books, papers upon papers, rumour upon rumour are checked, verified, rejected and annotated, and the cycle repeats. So engrossed in study that rare are the days he remembers to eat, much less sleep.

 The cause of his research doesn’t help matters. Overcoming death? That is easy a task compared to overturning death. Once a deed is done, undoing it is a arduous task of near heroic exercise. And he had searched for such deeds, of people who had overturned death, no matter how fanciful the tale was.

 He still remembers the day when the news of her death – he could never truly say her name anymore, thinking it even could be likened to craving his fangs on the neck of a unicorn; life-giving, yes, if only because the pain and revolt made it known that no hell could compare to the agony of living moment – had capitulated this whole, dull exercise his life seemed to revolve around.

 He remembers the confusion of not seeing her with the rescued soldiers, the surprise in his face must have been evident but it hadn’t been Lucius – cowardly as he may be, he fancied himself useful – who had given him the news.

 Her sister, tears in cloudy blue eyes had gently – why, why, why was she being so with him? – led him from the hall, and had apparated with him to a familiar site – he remembers her, quietly sobbing in her sister’s arms, as her father’s coffin went to ground, the image of her set against the background he found himself seeing again – and he must have stumbled because her sister, now alone with tears unabashedly running down her eyes, had grabbed his arm to steady him and lead him to a grandiose tomb – how, how how had this happened?

 He had knelt before it and heard his companion gasp at the venerable act but paid it no mind, reading, instead, the inscription on the black marbled stone lined with golden veins. He traced the carved epitaph and date with a long, white finger. Arrived too late by a year. A mere year.

 “She got the kiss,” broken-sobbed sister interrupted quietly, “Some guard tried to grab her, she fought back and killed him. There was nothing I could-…” he was sure that sobs racked her body, if the sound was anything to go by.

 He remembers saying nothing, remembers watching it with muted eyes. He thought himself being able to rarely truly feel anymore but there was a dull pang in his chest that penetrated through his often-desensitized senses that seemed to reverberate through every part of his being.

 He also remembers kneeling there for a long time; even after her sister was long gone, he remembers staying. He remembers coming back to Malfoy Manor and being surprised to see the pitying looks, the knowing looks, the sympathetic looks. As if everyone had known how he would react except himself.

 If there had been rumours before, after that – after spending what turned out to be three days at her tomb stone –,  it became inevitable to avoid them.

 He had always known the rumours about them, would have to be blind, deaf and a squib to have never heard them, but that was all that there was to them… Rumours. A fact that would surprise enough people to make it a noteworthy gossip.

 Of course that every rumour has a sliver of truth and this time was no different, while there was no interaction between them that hadn’t passed in front of the eyes of someone – anyone would do, at some point they had wordlessly decided – else, a precaution for both of them and a way to keep up the appearances… While that was an ignorable truth, it didn’t mean that sentiment wasn’t there. That need, lust, care, devotion, admiration, respect, loyalty, friendship, love… didn’t penetrate the air between them, infusing tension into every single of their interactions even with a bloody chaperone.

 After learning of her death, first the pain had been dull, rarely striking at him even as he prepared his comeback. Then, as if his wall slowly crumbled, the pain began to harass at the back of his mind interrupting meetings, strategies, and sleep. The image of her, a thought that she might have, her voice…Oh, those were always breathtakingly painful when her voice echoed in his cold, unfeeling mind, and yet, it was only in those moments that he stopped feeling half-way real, when he heard her voice.

 And then, as was his wont, as was his nature and character… He became fixated with the idea of her, possessed by the idea of truly listening to her voice one last time.

 He knows, bitterly and with unbridled – yet still muted, as everything is these days – anger, that had they acted, had they indulged, and succumbed and allowed themselves to partake in adulterous and desired act – the consequences be thrice damned to hell – had they allowed themselves that reprieve from their stations, then he would not be so obsessed, so infatuated, so crippled by his need to listen to her again. To have her say the words they both knew to be true but had never put to lips, to hear her berate him, even, for having neglected his – their – cause in search of her, anything to hear her voice, her sentiment, her fondness and love for him in her quiet, even gentle if she so wished to make it so, voice.

 And he had.

 Neglected his cause, he meant. Almost bitter, but not entirely. A part of him glad to be rid of the of the conflict he had initiated when he had been too young to truly understand how tiring it was to be at the forefront of war faction, how war could tear at his brain until nothing remained but the ignorable need to survive. A war that he had never truly believed, not when the traditions the war had meant to preserve only resulted in leaving him and her utterly devastated and alone with their desires.  

 As his search for her became more and more time consuming, the war that had weighted on him for more years than he was comfortable with admitting, fell to the back burner to be abandoned to whoever wanted to take the mantle from him. Although, unsurprisingly, no one did. War, prison, and loss had ravaged the whole country, no one wanted to be at the vanguard of a war anymore.

 And so, along the way, the many meetings became few and then scarce, and finally, no one dared to enter his room; all having deserted him, most having left the continent all together to avoid capture, he knew from meetings with Lucius who had eventually also stopped coming into the wing of his own manor he had reserved for him. And he had, eventually, lost track of time, unknowing how many months – years, perhaps – had passed since his focus shifted from blood conflict to bloody sentimental search.

 And so the days repeated, books upon books, papers upon papers, rumour upon rumour. Again and again. Round and round it goes.

 Cycle as his life might have become, there are days, though, that his brain – bursting with information, brimming with immoral and immortal reasonings – begs for different setting, of which, in his current near-completely-shut-in state left the gardens where the sun’s bright light affected his eyes, or the solarium which presents the same problem only with no solace to the heat from the outside wind, or finally, the library with dark, dusty tomes that would help in his research.

 To act as if there is a decision to be made is always a moot point, really for that is where he always finds himself, at any rate, the library of the house of one of his – former – subordinates. Always with a hungry eye on the prize, the Malfoy ancestry would not allow Lucius to squander the possibility that he might return to his former glory. To say to the man that he might be hoping for an impossible result was hopeless and counterproductive, he is not that far gone to unrecognize the advantage of the luxury he finds himself at.  

 This day is no different as he leaves his bedroom and walks with scarcely used legs the few paces to the library, immersing himself in the smells of old books. Combing through severely lacking old spines of tomes older than the very building, and passing a section he rarely seeks, and something calls his eyes to it.

 Out the corner of his eye, he sees it. A faded picture hidden between rarely called upon tomes of three young women, heads thrown back in laughter in the setting of a seedy bar that they must have ran off to in spite of cherished parents advise.  

 Three Sisters Black.

 The oldest, strong, powerful, and warrior-like, none like her was he ever likely to find; having drawn her last breath, she was the one he was searching for despite wasteful death. The middle-one, princess, boulder-bound, saved from terrible fate by a boy’s clumsy hands; the one he always forgot no matter how much pain she wrought. The youngest, delicate, golden, prideful, family’s path did she follow; the one who shared his need and urged him to succeed.

 The Three Black Sisters.

 Sisters three.

 Lightning, painful and mottled, courses through veins as idea materialized in brain.

 Sisters three.

 Brothers three.

 The Deathly Hallows. Master of Death, the one to hold them all would be. Still, for a quick talk, the stone would do, all he had to do was find the one who had it. Plan cocked and ready to execute, he makes to leave the room when sound strikes him still, he had thought himself alone in the library.

 Fate is a curious thing, or perhaps, it merely enjoys making a mockery of him, for the sound he hears is intricately linked to the wonderous epiphany reached.

 He hears a snort, the rotten sister, he knows the voice well, so like hers, “Who would have thought… When we heard he came back everyone sprint to a frenzy, after ousting Fudge, naturally. But then… Nothing. For three-years. We thought that the Potter boy had lost his mind.”

 “If only.” The golden sister, now. He knows that voice too, much less like hers but still known to him. Though, barely, anymore.

 “Yeah, I know. And then Draco, last year, spills the beans and says he’s here. We call Lucius in to the Ministry and then he says the words…” a laugh now, loud and like hers too, but less vivid, less enticing, just less, “’He’s looking for a way to bring Bellatrix back’, all snide and everything as Lucius inclines to do. We thought to bring him in but decided against it when we realized that he was better off in his own desperate search of her. Gods, the shock that rippled through the Wizardry World.”

 “I know. I have the newspaper articles,” the other argues coldly, out of patience, now too sounding like her a bit, “Why are you telling me this? Did you come to mock? Did you come to tarnish the memory of our sister just that little bit more?”

 “Did you know,” the traitor continues as if she hadn’t been interrupted, but indeed ridiculing, “The Ministry almost wanted to give our sister a medal. For ending a war before it started. Only our illustrious sister could do that, long after she’s dead, too. And all that with her cunt. Incredible, really.”

 Before he can move, before he can even decipher the words, his addled brain too used to written texts and less to human interaction, before he can react to the obscene, immoral, lewd insult, before he can do any of that… It is the youngest’s voice, harsh and cold and insulted beyond measure, that rises in the room.  

 “How dare you?!”

 “How dare I, what?” Bound Princess Andromeda may be, but of wit sharp as the family and stone she was born and bound to, “We all know that this desperation could only come from one place. That this particular devotion that not even her husband shared is from some rotten place inside of him. That he wants her back, is indication enough that they-…”

 Before another foul insult can make its way past Black raised mouth, he speaks, finally loud enough to attract their attention.

 “We didn’t.”

 Tea-filled porcelain shatters on the floor, the sisters startled by his utterance. Startled gasps fill the silence of his wake and arrogance feigned he walks to them with the intent of walking by altogether.  

 But when the Princess-named sister looks at him, the urge to advert his eyes almost overwhelms him; family-bound she and her sister were, but it is unfairly unkind for her to look so much like the one he seeks, and although the colouring is all wrong – all far too dull, not vibrant black hair or grey iris – it hurt to look at the look-a-like. No, the golden-haired, blue-eyed sister was much safer bet.

 “Come, sit.”

 Fear as taken place to gentleness in the youngest of the sisters, either by shared misery or by nature of motherhood. He should care about lost station, but she does not pass any imaginary boundaries that may have existed what feels like centuries ago. He obeys, more out of need to organize his thoughts on his new idea than real obedience or want of small talk.

 “So you never…”

 Whatever plans he had to remain quiet are quickly broken by noisy-look-a-like-sister looking at him, suspiciously. As if he would lie. He might, to be frank, but not about this – not about her – and certainly not now, now that she’s… not here.

 “No.” He admits, unsure as to why he is compelled to do so, “We never. She was married, and even if it did not matter, which it did… She didn’t-…” the phrase hangs in the air, and he cannot unstick the words from his throat.

 “She didn’t…?” Prods the look-a-like, glutton for information. Either as gossip or as genuine care for her estranged sister, he does not know.

 “The risk for her was high, no denying that. But the risk for me,” He says still unbelieving that it is true, that the pain they bore was born out of mutual feeling and not one-sided apathy, “the risk was too high. It would make me seem even more hypocritical than my lineage already did. She did not want to risk it.”

 “Are you even sure she wanted..?” Meddling in the wound she had opened up. The cruelty of her sister would make Bell- her – proud.  

 “Yes!” Word he breathes forcefully. Too forcefully, perhaps, as the bookcase behind him trembles in tune with his magic, “She did want.”

 “How do you know?” Prodding further, Black brutality rearing its head again.

 “He knows.” Golden sister answers the question, iron in her voice, shield against brittle princess, unbending with the same certainty he feels, “He knows because she couldn’t hide it. Because looking at her as she looked at him was a masterclass in pain, deep and true and undoubtful. She loved him madly. Fervently. Gloriously … As was our sister’s wont.”

 “What a load of bullshit.” Mumbles in response of poetry invoked, but suspicious mist in eyes couldn’t hide the truth of affected sentiment, “Bellatrix would let everyone, and everything, go to hell if it suited her. She doesn’t… I mean, she never…”

 “She loves you.” Again comforting for some alien reason that he cannot bear – and does not want – to identify, “I saw her mind, over and over again. Letting you leave was unthinkable, unbearable, even. Not going after you… That was a kindness she seldom affords anyone.”

 The blood-bound duo quietens, and he with nothing more to say retreats to his space, his sanctuary, leaving behind two opposing sisters instead of the three harmonious ones it should have always been.

                                                 ////////////////////////

It takes him longer still to come by the stone he so feverishly searched. This time, he counted. Almost five-years to the day since he found her, dead and broken as she should never have been. He takes a moment, for he must, his heart beating far too fast to be trustworthy at the sight of her.

 Taking a deep breath, a complicated sigh of both anticipation and nerve, he grasps the cold black stone in his elegant, white hand. He closes his eyes, thinks of her, and for a second does not understand how some people’s image of their loved ones blur with time when he can see her so clearly, so quickly and so vividly that it must mean love; her black hair shiny and wavy swaying mid-battle, eyes grey and wide lusting after the next breathless moment, nose high strung and proud, neck long and elegant, and lips red and luscious and, deplorably, unkissed by him.

 He sees her in his mind’s eyes. And calls to her. And he opens his eyes, heart thundering at the image he expects. Yet when eyelids lift and eyes acclimate to light, the image he expects is not the one he encounters.

 Black hair does appear before him, not shiny or wavy but messy and dishevelled of bed-ridden quality as if of never brushed it spoke of. Eyes, not of a faded grey he had come to know better than his own, but of matte black that made a simile of his before blood-red iris replaced it. Nose brash and crooked spoke of no noble quality although known was that most pure ancestry ran in this person’s veins; same could be said of short and stocky neck burdened by inbreed defect. And lips, not red or luscious, but that had never shown him affection either.  

 A most undesirable picture does the woman in front of him paint.

 He speaks first. Not because he must, the ritual says nothing of the sort, but because the other seems to be enthralled by his every image, as if he was the dead one and not she. When he speaks, he does not address her, does not care to address her. He only wishes for the one he called.

 “You are not who I called.”

 “Hello, Tom.”

 The voice he had imagined a thousand times before as being gentle and quiet, sounded nothing like his imaginary folly. Coarse and broken, far too high and enough to grate on his brain. Another thing about this absent figure of his life that fell well below his standards.

 “Hello, Mother.”

 Title addressed not out of respect or affection, but of needling quality; poking at the wound that he could see in her black eyes.

 “My boy-…”

 Her sentiment does not interest him. She, does not interest him. The one he wants, the one he was certain he had been about to meet. That is what – who – interest him. So, manners out of the window and mother or not, he asks the question he hungers the answer for, all others having been lost in the wake of his search for her.

 “Where is she?” He says, interrupting wounded party, “Where is…Bellatrix?” If his mouth stammers out her name, the name he hadn’t spoken or heard in years it was merely out of rare habit, a lie he would tell anyone but himself. He knows now that the pain he feels precludes strong sentiment – love, even – no matter how wrapped it may be.

 The figure he had dreamed of in his childhood resigns to his demands, hurt and longing in her gaze. But mother, as loosely as the term can be applied, hungers to rid child of questions she knows the answers to. He listens, intently, son to her for the first time since their world began.

 “The soul sucking monsters, they took her soul. There is nothing to call over.” Gently, she illuminates the dark implications of her presence, “Tom, she is gone. There is no way for you to talk to her.”

 No.

 He refuses to believe so.

 When he was fifteen, he refused to let time expire on him. He found a way around death itself and had done it seven times. He lifted himself out of hellish existence, out of poverty, out of banality. He fought and struggled until his very name became so synonymous with power that eventually fear demanded no one utter it. This stumbling block of meandering quality was the challenge he had been working towards his whole life, he forged himself anew for this. He died and came back. He fought the inevitable and won.

 He would do so again.

 “Then the beast, who sucked the soul of her… It should have the answers.”

 “Child,” Mother, as mothers’ wont, ignores child’s angry scowl at never used term, “do not travel this road. You cannot find what you seek, you are bound to be disappointed.”

 “I must try,” Explanations fall on flat ears he knows, “She must be there, in the stomach of a monster who sucked the life of her, who used and abused of her, who does not know the precious cargo it carries. I must relieve her of it. I must end it. She would have done so for me.”

 Silence is the answer to his harangue, but not solitude, no. The image of his mother – hideous, broken, black of hair – was still there, looking at him longingly. Expectantly. He ignored her. What he was about to do would require time, it was fresh and impossible – things he excelled at – and he needed to start now.  He turns to black board of his room, his ever-faithful companion until he can succeed in findingher,

 But when ignored form coughs loudly, he turns from black board to look at her.

 “You have nothing more to say to me?” Asks the ghostly figure of his mother, deathly pale and transparent in her image and need.

 “No. I have everything I’ve ever needed from you.” He says realizing it to be so, the phantom pain of his mother’s abandonment had simply dissipated somewhere along the way as another took its place, “You can go. I have work to do.”

 “She does not deserve you.”

 “You don’t know that. Don’t know her.” Quiet rage fills the soul, of which he has an indisputable lack, yet not enough to refrain from his need, “And even if it was true, I merely wish to speak.”

 “Have you not spoken all you need? Is there no other act that you should perform?”

 Motherly ghost or not, she should not know of the details of his need of her.

 “Begone.” He says but this close to throwing the stone away from his grasp, “I have work to be done.”

 “And after you’ve spoken,” sly nature runs in blood, and he chafes at the purest part of him chastising him now, “What will you do?”

 Quiet permeates the sounds in the room, making the desolate space even more so. The stillness accentuates the icy walls and chaos ridden room, muted sounds barely seep in from the rich fauna and warm sun outside, silence dominates the room and the space in his head.  

 He knows not. He knows not what he would do.

 “I do not know.” He admits, unabashed, confusion settling in his brow, “But it matters not. I have a need, and a way to seize it. After…” he frowns, “When it comes, I will know.”

                                                 “Very well, boy.” Motherly figure starts to fade, as she always has, but not before parting goodbyes, “Immortal you may be, but the task you have you will not succeed. So, be shrewd, or you will never be free. And there will be no one at the end for you to greet.”

 Prophecy bound he seems to be, as his mother spun words with the knowledge from the beyond. He cares not, as he should not have before with the boy with thrice-defying parents that he could trace back as having put to motion this desolate exercise. There is work to be done and pain to correct, a lifetime meant nothing to him, not when he has tons to spare.   

END

///

Note; Not to be a self-promoting whore looking for views, but if you want a slightly better ending I have another fanfic in which he does end up talking to Bellatrix…(x)

[zen3to5]

J/H 6-21: 5:15

With previous changes to episode order, "Do You Think It's Alright?" is now 6-20. We assume that plays out as we know it, which takes us into this rewrite of 6-21...

(NOTE: There are two jokes here borrowed from sources other than That 70s Show - one from before the 70s [a Bugs Bunny cartoon] and one after [a Chris Rock routine.] See if you can guess which two!)

FF.Net AO3

***

SHOW TITLE   INT. FORMAN BASEMENT – DAY   A calm Friday afternoon. ERIC and DONNA share the couch and JACKIE sits in Hyde’s chair. They’re at a game of Scrabble laid out over the coffee table.   The basement door opens and MITCH and FEZ enter.   MITCH: Hey, guys.   ERIC: Mitch! I thought I heard a matchbox car pull up.   MITCH: Yeah, I'm short, and you're shaped like a lollipop. I'm not in the mood, Forman. My brother Jack's wedding is tomorrow, and I don't have a date.   JACKIE: Oh, did you try Aly Richards? She'll go anywhere there's cake.   FEZ: That's how I got her into my car. But then I ate the cake, and she left.   He sits in the lawn chair. Mitch shakes his head, crosses to sit between Eric and Donna on the couch.   MITCH: No, I'm in a real bind here. I showed up at the engagement party alone. My family made so much fun of me. So I said to myself -  'cause, of course, I was alone - that I would bring someone sizzling hot with me to the wedding. (turns to Donna) Hey, Donna, would you be my date?   Donna smiles, pats his arm.   DONNA: Mitch, I don't know what to say.   ERIC: Oh, let me help you out. (to Mitch) NO!   MITCH: Donna, if you went with me, I might finally earn some respect from my family.   ERIC: Let me say this for you one more time in Spanish. NO!   FEZ: I taught him that.   DONNA: Eric, it seems harmless.   ERIC: No, Donna. I'm sorry, but I forbid it.   DONNA: Oh. (turns to Mitch) Mitch, I'd love to go.   ERIC: Donna, what the hell?   DONNA: No, I forbid you to ask me questions about this.   ERIC: But, Donna –     DONNA: Let me tell you one more time in Spanish.   She blows a raspberry, stands, and crosses to the deep freeze and takes out a popsicle. Mitch follows after her.   MITCH: Oh, hey, Donna, thanks so much for doing this.   DONNA: Sure, but, you know, just friends. You don't get to touch any of this juicy stuff.   She indicates her breasts.   MITCH: No, don't worry. I'll even ask another couple to be, like, chaperones. Hey, Jackie, do you and Hyde want to go?   JACKIE: Oh, Steven has to work at the hotel tomorrow.   MITCH: But the reception’s at the hotel.   JACKIE: Exactly. So we’re in.   FEZ: But Jackie, if Hyde is working, wouldn’t that mean you’d sit out at the reception alone while he’s in the kitchen?   JACKIE: Hey, we’ll be in the same building for the same wedding. I work with what I’ve got.   She turns back to her tiles.

MAIN CREDITS   BUMPER   EXT. FORMAN DRIVEWAY – DAY   Later that afternoon. RED stands with a CABLE INSTALLER in the drive. Red hands the installer a check, the installer cuts a receipt, and he goes on his way.   KITTY steps out from the kitchen, crosses to Red.   KITTY: Remind me what he installed again?   RED: Cable television, Kitty. We’re stepping into the future.   KITTY: Cable? Red, you said you’d rather kiss Ho Chi Minh than pay for TV.   RED: Well, that was before I knew what a good deal it was. For 20 bucks a month, we now have over 20 channels.   KITTY: Uh-huh... but everything we watch is on the channels we already have.   RED: Well, now we have new things to watch.   KITTY: Like what?   RED: Well, like... oh, there’s... Kitty, Laurie’s moved into an apartment, Eric and Steven are always working, and you and I are running out of things to talk about. We need something to fill up the day.   He retreats into the kitchen before Kitty can retort. She follows him inside, and we cut to:   INT. FORMAN KITCHEN – DAY   The two of them sit down at the kitchen table, where a tray of sandwiches and plates are waiting. They each take a sandwich and begin to eat when KELSO enters from the basement, a backpack slung over his shoulder.   KITTY: I'm sorry, Michael, but I'm gonna have to search that bag. Every time you leave my house with a backpack, I have to buy new hairspray.   KELSO: I didn't take anything. This is lunch. I planned a whole romantic day for me and Brooke.   KITTY: So, where are you and Brooke headed?   KELSO: Well, since she's having a baby, I thought I'd take her to a place that kids and girls like, so I figured I'd start the date off at an amusement park and we'd go on a ride on the Lightning Whip. And then I'm gonna take her horseback riding up to this overlook, and then we're gonna get cozy and drink a little Bingo Bango.   He reaches into the backpack, pulls out a bottle of booze.   KITTY: Oh, sweetie, you're so wrong, it makes me want to cry a little. (stands) No, no. Pregnant women cannot go on roller coasters, and they definitely can't drink alcohol, or bad things can happen to the baby.   RED: Case in point - Eric.   KITTY: Well, we didn't know any better back then. (to Kelso) I'm teaching a baby-care class at the hospital. If you brought Brooke, I think she'd be very impressed.   KELSO: All right. Yeah, sign us up. You know, there was a time that all I had to do to impress a girl was turn my eyelids inside out. This baby's changing everything.   He takes a step toward the patio door, then stops and crosses to Kitty.   KELSO (cont’d) Oh...   He reaches into the backpack, takes out a can of hairspray. Kitty snatches it back from him as he exits.   BUMPER   MUSIC NOTE: “Fallin’ in Love (Re-Recorded)” by Hamilton, Joe Frank & Reynolds.   INT. BALLROOM – DAY   The next day. Wedding time – or, more specifically, the reception. The hotel ballroom has been mildly decorated for the occasion, with a high table for the bride and groom at the far end of the dance floor and round tables with white tablecloths scattered about the near side. A DJ has a station set up with record player and speakers – he currently has “Fallin’ in Love” playing.   The seating chart has Mitch, Donna, and Jackie at a round table, shared with a young woman their age in a fur wrap – CHRISTY. She and Jackie are happily chatting when Jackie breaks away to nudge Mitch’s shoulder.   JACKIE: Mitch, you never told me your family brushed up against anyone in the country club set. Christy and I used to go horseback riding there every summer.   CHRISTY: (to Jackie) It really has been forever, Jackie. We haven’t seen you at the PPCC since your father went to prison and your mother ran off to drink her weight in Tequila.   JACKIE: Yeah, but at least sitting out the last season meant I didn’t have to see you try and fail to make fur work in summer for the tenth year in a row.   They stare each other down for a moment, then break into girlish laughter. Mitch leaves them to it and turns back to Donna.   MITCH: Thanks again for doing this, Donna. Grandpa saw me walk in with you, and he slipped me a 20. (holds out the 20) Here, you should have this.   DONNA: See, that kind of makes me a hooker.   Mitch pulls a face, “ah,” and pockets the 20.   Further conversation is cut short by Eric, dressed for work, stepping up to the table.   ERIC: Good evening, ladies and gentlemen. My name is Eric.   DONNA: Eric, what are you doing here?   ERIC: I changed my work schedule so I could make sure that Mitch keeps his tiny little doll hands to himself.   Donna stands and pulls Eric aside, even as Mitch is beckoned to the high table.   DONNA: Eric, Mitch is not a threat to you. Okay, he's a perfectly harmless guy who happens to worship the ground I walk on. You know, it's not his fault that I'm eye candy.   At the other side of the table, a young blonde man with chiseled features comes up to Christy. She and Jackie stand to meet him, and he embraces Christy.   MAN: Hey.   They kiss.   CHRISTY: Jackie, this is my boyfriend, Mason. He’s a fraternity man at Marquette, enrolled in their culinary arts program.   MASON offers his hand, and Jackie shakes it.   JACKIE: Really? You know, my boyfriend, Steven, is already working as a chef.   Christy and Mason’s eyebrows go up; they’re impressed. Naturally, Hyde chooses this moment to come into the ballroom, his chef’s jacket opened at the top and covered in grease and sauce stains. He goes straight to Eric and leans in near his ear.   HYDE: (hushed) Hey, Forman, when you bring out all the orders of sea bass, give Mitch the plate with the blue ring. That’s the one I spit in.   He and Eric trade friendly swats to the chest. Hyde heads back out, wiping his hands on his jacket front. He pauses when he comes behind Jackie.   HYDE: Havin’ fun, doll?   He pats her on the butt and exits. Christy and Mason watch him leave, then turn back to Jackie with far more condescending glares. Jackie gives them a nervous smile and giggle.   CUT TO:   INT. FORMAN LIVING ROOM – DAY   Fez sits alone on the couch, watching THE BRADY BUNCH on TV. His feet are propped up on the coffee table – on the cable box on the coffee table.   Red enters from the kitchen, beer in hand, and freezes halfway to the couch when he sees Fez.   RED: You? Eric and Steven are out, and your unholy marriage to my daughter has finally been washed away by the blessed miracle of divorce. What reason do you have to be here now?   FEZ: My host family has Bible study tonight. They like to act out the passages, and if I’m there, I always have to play the heathens, the heretics, the prostitutes... they even make me play the adulteresses. And one time, when I said I wanted to get more into character by wearing a dress, they made me talk with the priest.   Red realizes where Fez’s feet are. He lunges, slaps them down.   RED: Get your feet off of there! Now look – we’re in my house. This is my television. And I’m about to sit down in front of my television and enjoy my first day of cable.   FEZ: (gasps) You have cable? The home of The Charity Car Wash Girls? Well, why didn’t you say so, little buddy? Start ‘er up!   He scoots over and gestures for Red to take his seat. Red rolls his eyes but sits down. He picks up the clicker and moves up one channel, and the TV audio shifts to:   TV (aud. only): Stop spraying me, silly, or I’m gonna have to come over there and kiss you.   FEZ: Oh, this is it!   He leans forward, in rapt attention, heedless of the contemptuous look Red’s giving him.   TV (aud. only): Tasha, do you want a kiss, too? Wow, Tasha. You have the biggest –   Red clicks to the next channel up, and we hear:   TV (aud. only): Thunderstorms, which will result in a small craft advisory on Lake Superior.   Fez’s face falls. He sits back and slumps down into the couch.   FEZ: Weather? I’d have more fun sitting through a lecture from the priest after playing the adulteress.   He pouts, Red grins, and they go on watching the weather.   BUMPER   INT. CLASSROOM – EVENING   A small conference room in the hospital, converted into a classroom. A number of couples, the women in various stages of pregnancy, are seated before a blackboard and desk. A screen of female anatomy is pulled down over the board.   Kelso and BROOKE step into the doorway.   KELSO: (looks around room) Man, look at all these preggos. (points to one woman) God, that one's walking like a gigantic duck.   BROOKE: She is definitely in her third trimester. The baby probably dropped.   KELSO: No, I think it's still in there.   BROOKE: It means the baby's gotten itself into the birthing position.   KELSO: Oh. Man, you really know stuff.   BROOKE: Well, I've read every baby book in the library. By the way, did you ever read that book I gave you by Dr. Spock?   KELSO: No, I kinda lost interest when I realized it wasn't about Star Trek.   BROOKE: Well, you signed us up for this class, and that was very thoughtful.   KELSO: Well, that's me. I'm Mr. Thoughtful.   They make their way into the room and take seats in the front row. Kelso looks to the extremely pregnant woman on his left.   KELSO: Man, how many kids are you having?   Kitty, in nurse’s uniform, enters, stands at the desk.   KITTY: Oh, hi, Michael. Hope you're ready to talk boo-boos, burps and binkies. (laughs)   Kelso and Brooke stand.   KELSO: Yeah, uh, Brooke, this is Mrs. Forman, the lady that told me I shouldn't take you horseback riding. And, Mrs. Forman, this is Brooke, the hot librarian I impregnated.   KITTY: Well, I am so happy you two are here. (to class) And you should be happy, because you have me as your tour guide as you make the transition to parenthood.   She pulls on the screen to roll it up and reveal the blackboard. “KELSO RULES” is written across it in chalk.   KITTY (cont’d): Michael.   KELSO: But that could have been anybody. Everybody knows I rule.   KITTY: Okay, all right, okay. Let's get started.   Kelso and Brooke sit, and the rest of the class settles into place.   KITTY (cont’d): Now, when you first bring your little bundles of joy home, they will spend almost 20 hours a day sleeping and pooping.   KELSO: (to Brooke) Man, that's the life, huh?   Brooke shushes him as Kitty goes on.   KITTY: Now, who can tell me what they will do with the rest of their cute little time?   Brooke’s hand shoots into the air in classic A-student fashion.   KITTY (cont’d): Ooh. Yes, Brooke.   BROOKE: They'll be eating.   KITTY: Very good. And what will they be eating?   KELSO: (to Brooke) Hey, when you're not looking, I'm gonna sneak the little guy some popcorn.   BROOKE: Michael, babies can't eat popcorn. They don't even have teeth.   KELSO: My grandma Bessie doesn't have any teeth, and trust me, she ain't shy around a bucket of popcorn.   BUMPER   MUSIC NOTE: “Just What I Needed” by the Cars.   INT. BALLROOM – EVENING   The reception continues. “Just What I Needed” is the DJ’s current song of choice. Hyde is back in the room, as sloppy as ever. He and Eric lean against the wall to one side of the ballroom, muttering quietly to each other. Donna Jackie, Christy, and Mason are still at their table. Except for Donna, who is watching couples dance, they all look Hyde’s way.   CHRISTY: (to Jackie) So... that’s who you’re seeing these days. Where exactly did he learn to be a “chef?”   JACKIE: Um... Steven is... self-taught. Yeah, he’s not a big believer in college.   CHRISTY: (heavy sarcasm) Really? Because I would have thought he’d be the model applicant for any admissions board or scholarship committee.   JACKIE: Yeah, he doesn’t believe in material wealth either. Or hair care. And, as any Mormon will tell you, conversion takes time, and I’ve only had him for a year and a half.   Over by the wall, Hyde gets into a coughing fit, delivered directly into his hand, which he wipes on his jacket before resuming his talk with Eric.   CHRISTY: Well, Jackie, I, for one, think it’s very generous of you to take on such an unrefined and underprivileged young man as your boyfriend. It’s kind of like My Fair Lady in reverse. But you’d still have to Rex Harrison your way through the songs.   She throws her head back with a haughty “ha.” Jackie’s eyes narrow, but she has no immediate retort.   CHRISTY (cont’d): Of course, Mason here made it into college with top honors. His parents sit on the Marquette board and are among their top donors.   She turns to beam at him. Jackie isn’t so impressed; Mason is poking at his steak with a butter knife, his jaw slack and his face vacant. He looks up at Christy.   MASON: (nods to Jackie) I think her boyfriend ruined this pork. It’s too tough to cut.   Christy’s eyes drop down to the plate. Her smile starts to slip.   JACKIE: (to Mason) Maybe because that’s a steak. And you’re trying to cut it with a butter knife. (to Christy) I’m sure all those donations had nothing to do with him getting into Marquette.   An argument is prevented by stirrings at the high table: the DJ cuts the record, the bride and groom move their seats to the middle of the ballroom, and Mitch steps out before them, microphone in hand.   MITCH: I - I guess it's a tradition for the best man to say a few words. And all I really want to say is that my brother is not the only one fortunate enough to find himself in love's warm embrace.   He walks as he talks, crossing over to Donna. He holds out a hand to indicate her.   MITCH (cont’d): So, everybody, I'd like to introduce you to Donna, my new fiancée. Or as I like to call her, my big, red love machine. That's her.   He points to her, and the crowd begins applauding politely. Mitch basks in the attention, oblivious to the glares he’s getting from Donna and Eric.   FADE TO BLACK   COMMERCIAL   BUMPER   INT. BALLROOM – EVENING   Right where we left off. As the applause dies down, Donna gets to her feet and advances on Mitch.   DONNA: Mitch, what the hell are you doing?   MITCH: (to the crowd) Ooh, look at that fireball go. Feisty at the table, feisty in the bedroom.   Eric’s had enough. He marches over and seizes the microphone from Mitch.   ERIC: (to the crowd) No. No. She's feisty in my bedroom, people! My bedroom! Okay, he's just some lying, crazy lunatic. He's crazy. This guy's crazy!   You could hear a pin drop in the ballroom. All eyes are on Eric and Mitch. It slowly dawns on Eric that he’s still at a wedding reception. He turns, smiles to the bride and groom.   ERIC (cont’d): And, uh, my congratulations to the happy couple.   He gives them a polite nod; nervously, they nod back.   CUT TO:   INT. FORMAN LIVING ROOM – NIGHT   The inaugural cable viewing continues. Red still has the tube turned to the national weather; he sits back in the couch, grinning at the forecast, while Fez sits next to him, pouting.   TV (aud. only): ...barometric pressure from a cold front out of Canada...   RED: Look at all that hail in Buffalo.   FEZ: What hail? It’s just a map with a line going around it. Come on, little buddy, get off this thing and let’s see some sudsy sluts.   RED: For the last time, I’m not your “little buddy.” And my cable, my channel.   FEZ: But Mr. Red, how can you watch this?   RED: It comforts me to know that there are people out there more miserable than me, like those people in Buffalo. And you.   Fez’s pout deepens, but Red just chuckles and turns back to the TV.   CUT TO:   INT. CLASSROOM – NIGHT   Baby class has moved on to diaper practice. The couples all stand at makeshift changing stations with baby dummies and diapers to practice with. Kitty observes one OLDER COUPLE as they complete the task.   KITTY: Very nice. Baby says, "it's tight, but not too tight, and I wuve the way you powdered my widdle bottom."   At their station, Kelso watches as Brooke struggles to pull the diaper tight and finish the safety pin.   KELSO: I never thought I'd say this, but you gotta take it easy on the nads.   BROOKE: I know what I'm doing. It's just - it sounded so much easier in the books. (finishes) Okay, there.   She hands the dummy to Kelso, who presents it just as Kitty comes over.   KITTY: Ooh, let's have a look.   Kelso tugs at the waistline; it’s too loose.   KITTY (cont’d): Uh-oh. Baby says, "that's too loose. Now I'm gonna wee-wee on Daddy."   Brooke takes the dummy back.   BROOKE: I just have to re-do the safety pin. (struggles) God, why can't I do this?   KITTY: Oh, no. Baby says, "ouch, you poked me. Now I'm gonna cry. Wah! Wah!"   Brooke throws her hands up.   BROOKE: That's it. I give up.   She runs out of the room.   KITTY: (calling after Brooke) "Oh, Mommy, don't leave me. I don't want to end up in state-run foster care. Wah! Wah!"   Kelso gives Kitty a long look.   KELSO: You know, you seem normal around your family, but out in the world, you're a little nuts.   He leaves her to think about that as he goes after Brooke.   BUMPER   MUSIC NOTE: “Kiss You All Over” by Exile.   INT. BALLROOM – NIGHT   What’s left of the reception lingers on after Mitch’s speech. The DJ plays “Kiss You All Over.” The bride and groom receive a few relatives at the high table and Mitch skulks in the far corner. Hyde has taken over one of the many vacant tables, his feet propped up on the table. He and Eric help themselves to leftover food.   Jackie and Christy stand by their table while Mason sits and chats with Donna.   MASON: So it turned out that “yeast” means something else in cooking. But by then, I’d already puked in the dish, so...   He shrugs. Donna’s face twists into a tight knot of disgust.   MASON (cont’d): Yeah, they were gonna flunk me on that one, but my dad stepped in.   DONNA: Well, that’s – nice...   MASON: He stepped in literally, too – some of it got on the floor.   Meanwhile, Jackie and Christy have a conversation of their own going:   CHRISTY: Well, Jackie, not that it hasn’t just been a little slice of heaven catching up – because it hasn’t. (giggles) I would say we’ll see you around, but... well, jailbird dads and runaway moms are one thing, but I think the PPCC draws the line at taking in strays.   She nods to Hyde’s table. Jackie turns just in time to see Hyde load a spoon with a dumpling, pull it back, and shoot it into Eric’s waiting mouth.   JACKIE: (beat) You know, Christy, if I wasn’t with Steven, I might have gone along with all your insults tonight with some laughs, some passive-aggressive comebacks, and insisting that I didn’t want back in the country club set, which I would’ve hoped you didn’t realize meant I desperately wanted back in the country club set. But, since I am with Steven, I’m just gonna tell you to shut your hole.   Christy gasps, recoils. Jackie advances on her.   JACKIE (cont’d): Steven is a great guy and a wonderful boyfriend. And, okay, maybe he isn’t PPCC material, but who cares? He’s still a good person, and he turned out that way even after a hard, poor life. (points at Mason) He didn’t have one of the top donor families at Marquette as his parents paving the way from him, making it look like he was great when he was really a doofus. And, by the way...   Jackie tosses a small pack of something to Christy, who just catches it.   JACKIE (cont’d): That was in Mason’s pocket.   Christy gives Jackie a look, “how’d you get this?”   JACKIE (cont’d): Oh, yeah. My boyfriend taught me how to pickpocket.   CHRISTY: (eyes the pack) This is a pack of condoms.   JACKIE: Mmm-hmm. It’s a pack of three.   CHRISTY: But there’s only two.   Jackie nods, gives Christy a leading look. It hits her; she gasps, grabs Mason by the ear, and pulls him to his feet.   CHRISTY (cont’d): MASON!   She drags him, still by the ear, out of the ballroom.   Hyde and Eric, who have been watching the scene, stand and cross to the table.   HYDE: Jackie, man, you didn’t have to do that. A couple of squares wanna talk, that doesn’t bother me.   JACKIE: Well, it bothers me. Nobody gets to talk about you like that when I’m around or try to pass off their lunkheaded man meat as better than you. Steven, you are better than any guy I’ve ever met, and I’m proud of you.   A tiny smile flickers across Hyde’s mouth, the one chink in his cool demeanor. He lets Jackie cup his face and pull him down for a kiss, then puts his arm around her shoulders.   HYDE: You know, just for that, I think I’ll come in early tomorrow and get you some room service breakfast. And I’ll even follow the health code.   Jackie gives him a playful swat to the chest.   ERIC: I don’t know, Jackie. I think there are a couple of other good men around here. For example, (to Donna) It turns out I was right about Mitch. So, let's see, - that's you, wrong. Me, right.   DONNA: (sighs) All right, you don't have to rub it in.   ERIC: Uh, I think I do, Donna. So rub-a-dub-dub, I'm right.   Mitch, seeing them all gathered, stomps over and gets into Eric’s face.   MITCH: (hushed, seething) I am humiliated! The only way I'm gonna get my pride back is to kick your ass! So I'm challenging you to a fight. That is, unless you're too chicken.   ERIC: What is this, third grade?   MITCH: Okay, here's what I just heard – (flaps his arms like a chicken) Oh ba-ba-ba-gawk, ooh, third grade, ooh.   ERIC: Okay, you can stop doing that.   MITCH: Bawk, I can stop doing that, bawk.   ERIC: Okay, fine. You know what? I'll fight you. Fine.   MITCH: Good. Tomorrow! 5:15, the playground. You be there!   He starts to walk away.   DONNA: Um, why not just do it at 5?   MITCH: I have swimming lessons!   He storms from the ballroom.   CUT TO:   INT. CLASSROOM – NIGHT   Baby class is over. Alone in the classroom, Kitty gathers and cleans the baby dummies. She wipes at one with a rag.   KITTY: (to dummy) Okay, I don't know who gave you a tattoo, but that is not good parenting.   Kelso and Brooke enter, mid-argument.   BROOKE: Look, Michael, I don't want to talk about it. I thought I was ready, but today I found out I don't even know how to use a diaper. We are gonna be covered in poo.   KELSO: Look, I think you're underestimating us, all right? Especially me. Now, these beautiful hands aren't just made for foreplay. Check it out.   He crosses to the nearest station and starts changing the dummy’s diaper.   KELSO (cont’d): I remember the first time I babysat for my little brother and he power-dooked all over himself, right? So I got my mom's salad tongs and pulled off his pants, and then I grabbed him by the ankles and took him outside and hosed him off. And voila.   He holds up one dummy with a perfectly set diaper.   BROOKE: Oh, Michael, it's so perfect.   KELSO: See, now, you got the brains and the maternal instincts, and I know how to wrap ass. We're gonna do this together, and we're gonna be fine.   Kitty comes up behind them, looks the dummy over.   KITTY: "Ooh, Daddy, that's just how I like it."   Kelso and Brooke both give her a long look.   KELSO: You're really starting to creep me out.   From the look on her face as her brain catches up to her words, Kitty agrees.   BUMPER   EXT. PLAYGROUND – DAY   The next day, afternoon. A small crowd of high schoolers and college kids have gathered to watch the fight. Donna and Jackie look on, half-amused and half-bemused, as Eric warms up with some air jabs and Hyde massages his shoulders.   HYDE: Forman, I'm your bud, so I'm rooting for you in this fight. But, uh... business is business, so I got 50 bucks on the little guy.   Mitch walks up, fresh from swimming, with a bag over his shoulder.   MITCH: Well, I see the chicken showed up for his beating.   ERIC: How can I be a chicken if I showed up for the fight?   MITCH: You know, it's funny, 'cause what I just heard was, (flaps his arms like a chicken) Bawk-bawk, “chicken,” bawk! “Fight,” bawk! Now come back here so we can go over the rules.   He nods to the hedges and steps behind them. Eric starts to follow when Donna takes his wrist.   DONNA: Okay, Eric, one last thing. You know when we're play-fighting and you grab my wrist and I go, "ow, ow, ow, ow?” That doesn't really hurt. Okay? So, don't do that.   ERIC: What? The Forman death grip? Man, I was really counting on that.   He follows Mitch behind the hedges.   MITCH: (hushed) What are you doing here? I don't want to fight you. I was just trying to act tough so I can get my self-respect back.   ERIC: By threatening me?   MITCH: It's okay. It's okay. I've got a way out of this that'll make us both look good. We'll just – we’ll tell everyone that we worked it out like gentlemen, and now we're the best of friends.   ERIC: What? No. Mitch, look, Donna was really nice to you, and you humiliated her. I can't let you treat people like that. Today I'm... I'm standing up for all humanity.   MITCH: Would you do it for a 1968 G.I. Joe, Desert Rat edition with the original mess kit?   ERIC: (laughs) Please. I have three of those.   Mitch pulls an action figure box from his bag.   MITCH: The French version?   Eric takes the box, looks it over.   ERIC: (awed) G.I. Jacques. It does exist.   MITCH: We got a deal?   Eric nods. He leads them back out to the playground.   ERIC: (to crowd) Well, I'm afraid there's not gonna be a fight here.   As he talks, Mitch silently does the chicken strut behind him.   ERIC (cont’d): Uh, guys, we worked out our differences, and basically, he's a really great guy... (beat) Donna, he's doing the chicken thing behind me right now. DONNA: (laughing) Yeah. He's really good at it.   MITCH: That's not the only thing I'm good at, cherry pie.   Eric rounds on Mitch, puts his fists up.   ERIC: All right, that's it. You're dead.   Mitch makes a show of dancing back on his feet, his fists up... while edging toward the end of the playground.   MITCH: Ooh! ooh! ohh! Start the car, Mom! Start the car!   He turns heel and runs.   FADE TO BLACK   CREDITS   INT. FORMAN LIVING ROOM – DAY   Later that day. Eric, Fez, Hyde, and Kelso are all crammed together on the couch. Their jaws all hang open as they stare at the TV.   TV (aud. only): Ooh, Mr. Handyman, I’m so glad you’re here. There’s so many things I need you to nail.   KELSO: I love cable.   TV (aud. only): Lucky for you, I’ve got a big hammer.   The boys all lean in closer...   Red enters from the kitchen. Fez’s hand shoots for the clicker, and he puts the channel back on the weather.   TV (aud. only): ... Temperatures in the mid...   The boys try and fail to look innocent. Red just rolls his eyes.   END.

[sympathyfortheblinderdevil]

All Is Fair Ch. 5

Tommy gives Lia a work of art and some afternoon delight.

  “Tommy! It’s too much!”

 Lia stood with her hands on her hips, scowling at the man. For a woman unused to rubbing elbows with Small Heath royalty, she sure didn’t have a problem with storming their castles, or maybe it was her naiveté that made her so forward. Either way, she had walked into Shelby Company Limited like she owned the place, and now stood before Tommy’s desk with a determined set to her red lips. They had only been on one date, and he had definitely crossed the line with his extravagance. Propriety forced her to at least try to refuse his gift: a Mucha, which currently sat leaning against the wall of her bedroom.  

 Tommy looked up from the file he’d been working on and feigned innocence. With raised brows, he peered over the tops of his gold-rimmed glasses and said, “I am afraid I don’t know what you are talking about.”

 “Yes, you bloody well do!”

 Then the glasses came off and he leaned back in his chair, still avoiding the reason that she was there. He liked the way she looked in his office— standing in her little wine colored heels and matching cardigan. She had obviously found the painting when she came home from work and trotted right over to see him. She was proper vexed. She reminded him of a teacher he’d had a crush on when he was a boy. He had always managed to make his teacher glower at him, too.

 “Dammit, Tommy!”

 The hint of a smile played around the corners of his lips as he reined in his amusement. “Are you not a fan? I thought that you held an appreciation for the organic way in which he depicts nature. Is that not how you phrased it?”

 “I also like classical portraiture. Are you going to buy out the National Portrait Gallery and have it sent to Cannon Lane?”

 He pursed his lips and nodded. “It just so happens that I have several examples of classical portraiture at my house. Perhaps you could come to visit me this weekend.”

 She crossed her arms in exasperation and shifted her weight from one leg to the other. Damn heels. She watched his eyes follow the curve of her hip down her legs and back up. When he cleared his throat and reached for the tumbler of whiskey that sat to the left of his paperwork, Lia was suddenly aware of how quiet the office was, and how alone they were behind the door she had closed when she walked in. Apparently, the few employees who were there when she came in had left for the day.

  “You have to take it back, Tommy,” she implored. “It’s too much. Do you know how long I would have to work to earn enough money to pay for that painting?”

 As she spoke she could feel her resolve begin to weaken. There was really no use arguing with him. He wanted her to have it, and so she would have it. She couldn’t very well chuck it into the street. This would be the trouble with seeing him. They were clearly on two different planes of existence. He wielded the kind of power that made men famous, and she was a country girl working in a library.

 Tommy poured a second glass of whiskey and nodded in her direction. He walked around to where she stood and held the drink out as a peace offering. She uncrossed her arms and rolled her eyes before accepting his gesture.

“Come to my house this weekend.”

 She cradled the liquor in the palm of her hand and sipped. “To appreciate your art collection?”

 “Among other things. I am sure we could find no end of diversions.” His voice was low and sensual.

 On the walk to his office, she had told herself to politely refuse his gift and leave. She’d promised herself that she wouldn’t be taken in by his charm, but in the late afternoon silence of his plush office, the distance between them suddenly seemed unbearable. Despite the promises that she’d made to herself, and regardless of the reassurances she’d made to her cousin about not rushing into anything with Tommy, she was falling for him. She knew better. She knew that there was no way a relationship with him could work, but damn it, he was tempting. From the moment she’d laid eyes on him she was attracted to him, but now something deeper and more reckless was pulling at her. She was almost gone.

 Tommy held out his hand, and Lia stepped toward him to take it. He pulled her into his arms and his hands glided over her hips. The now-empty whiskey glass she held tumbled to the rug as the room around them dissolved. His touch roamed over her ass and up her back as he pulled her deeper into his embrace.

 “Say you will come,” he hoarsely whispered.

 He looked into her eyes, so close that their noses were touching. His fingers were wound up in her hair and his soft lips murmured against hers.

 “Lia, say you’ll come and stay the weekend.”

  ***

   Jenny sat on Lia’s bed with her head in her hands. “Please tell me you’re joking. You’re not really going to spend the weekend at his home.”

 Slips, dresses, brassieres, and skirts were draped and piled all over the sparse furniture, and Lia was stood in the middle of her room surveying the chaos. Packing for a weekend in the country was, ironically, a nightmare for her. His version of the country was different. Tommy lived in a mansion. On an estate. With horses.

 She scrunched up her nose. “Fuck! I don’t have any riding breeches. What will I do if he wants to ride?”

 Jenny snorted, “Oh, he’ll want to ride alright.”

 Lia shot her a look that told her to back off, and Jenny held her hands up in mock surrender. Lia understood why she was being so protective; Tommy was a gangster.  Even with the respectable veneer of his position as MP, he was known best as the leader of the Peaky Blinders. Lia knew that seeing him could have dangerous consequences, but she had weighed the risks against the way Tommy made her feel, and she was willing to tempt fate. Her cousin was fighting a losing battle; especially after the afternoon that Lia had spent with him.

 After Tommy had convinced Lia to come out to his place for the weekend, he had very nearly convinced her to screw him on the couch in his office. It had taken every bit of self-control the girl possessed to tell him no. Tommy was sexually frustrated, but he thought it was hot. After years of women throwing themselves at him, he was getting off on the anticipation of what was to come. When Tommy drove her home she still had smudged lipstick and wet panties, but the consummation of their relationship would have to wait.

 Lia dug through her purse counting coins. “I might have enough for something to wear for riding.”

 Jenny heaved an exaggerated sigh and said, “I will loan you the money if you take me with you.”

 “I don’t need a chaperone. I can pay you back next Friday.”

 Lia’s eyes settled on the painting, which still leaned against her bedroom wall. It was the warmest and most beautiful image she had ever seen, but she found it hard to enjoy. If anything, it served to illustrate the chasm between her life and Tommy’s. It just wasn’t fair. She had to borrow clothes to go on a date with him. Now, she was borrowing money to buy riding breeches for this weekend. At her current pace, she would have to sell her grandmother’s jewelry if he wanted to take her out next weekend. But then she remembered the way his lips felt on her neck and the way his hands felt in her hair, and she smiled. It will be heavenly while it lasts.

[tempthornton]

A Fragile Heart p2

((Part 1))

It was one of those blue-sky days in Boralus and Temperance was stuck looking in her mirror at Alexander’s house. She turned to look at the dark green dress she was wearing, it brought out her eyes, but it was also the nicest dress she had ever worn. All of her current clothing was the nicest clothing she had ever worn.

Every time Alexander came home he had something new to give her. Be it silk from the Nightfallen, china from Pandaria, tonics, and potions made by the night elves. It was all at his fingertips and he was experimenting in gift-giving. It was better than the other gifts he mentioned giving her. He would have offered her the heads of anyone who had hurt her, but she and Son’Ispa did talk him out of that.

Today was a new experience for both of them. Sir Luxton Morrie had paid her a call the day after the party to ask if they could go to a local museum together. It was not a date, or maybe it was. Temperance had spent the rest of the party talking to the young knight. He told her stories of the things he had seen and she was honestly impressed by him.

Now she had to hope he was equally as impressed by her.

“Are you ready?” Alexander’s voice called from the other side of her door. It was an eery quality, and if someone did not know he was a void entity, they might question how he was able to throw his voice so well.

“I am.” She looked once more in front of the mirror before turning to leave.

Luxton was in the entranceway, the furthest Alexander let anyone go into his home accept for Temperance. The deeper one went it, the more likely they might sense that something unhuman lurked in the house. But Luxton was like a breath of sweet spring hair in the winter of the house. He was dressed in a blue outfit and looked as happy as Temperance had seen the men of Stormwind.

Alexander took Temperance’s arm and watched the knight before turning to Temperance. “Alright, come home before dinner and I will have a meal prepared for you, us.” He said stumbling over his words but then gave a smile. Leaning closer he whispered. “You make sure he treats you like the divinely born child that you are.”

That was the closest to a compliment Temperance was going to get from her guardian. With one last nod, she was almost itching to escape from Alexander’s sight. At least it would mean one less void creature to contend with.

Once they were out the door Temperance let out a breath and smiled at Luxton. “Thank you for asking me out today. Alexander likes to keep the house cold and dark.”

“I hear he has a few... habits that the locals have noticed. Not wanting to get married, adopting a woman who is the same age as him.” Luxton shook his head. “How did you two meet?”

She bit her lip thinking what she could tell him, but the truth was the best, at least, a form of the truth was the best. “He saved me from a witch who kidnapped me. I think she wanted to steal my youth.”

Luxton snapped his head over to her eyes wide. “Really! You’ve seen one of those witches?”

She was one of those witches, but Temperance nodded as she remembered only flashes of what had happened to her. “Yes, and that one was as wicked as the stories say. Alexander came in with his crew, they were in the area and were lost and needed a map. He heard me screaming upstairs and saved me.”

She didn’t mention Alexander had used the sheer power of the void to summon some of his armies to attack the woman. That was something people couldn’t handle.

Luxton’s expression looked truly sorry for her. “Did that witch hurt you?”

“She didn’t feed me much, and I was weak for days after, but Alexander thought to keep an eye on me. He found out my family was dead and offered to sponsor me and treat me like family. He’s, not the most social man in the world, but he is kind when he wants to be.”

They continued down the streets of Boralus and Temperance looked around smiling at the different faces. Faces she would never see again. There was always a constant rotation of people coming and going from the city. And she loved how easily it would be to get lost and never be found. It was a new level of security she didn’t know she loved.

The small museum was for the general history of Kul’Tiras, it is filled with impressive displays of how the settlers first landed. About the fight against Gorak’tol, and about the founding of the country. Temperance kept ahold of Luxtor’s arm as he started to talk more about the displays.

He looked so perfect. From what she knew he was just a knight, no connection to the light. His family was wealthy and he stood to inherit his family's estate when he was older. Son’Ispa had whispered after the party that this boy was exactly the kind of man Tempernance needed to look for in a mate.

Temperance didn’t argue, at least not this time.

“I can’t believe half the stories I’ve heard about those witches in Drustvar. You had to have been terrified by the one that kidnapped you.” He said coming up to a display that had small miniature people in the middle of a battle scene between the Drust and settlers.

She shrugged. “I grew up in Drustvar, witches here normal... just like how you dealt with kolbalts and trolls. They live in our stories and our fears.”

Luxton nodded still holding her arm. It felt so safe, but Temperance wondered if this was normal, this amount of touch. She had never gone on a date before, was this even a date? The young woman found herself circling into questions and wondering if she was putting too much into the situation.

“You’re strong then, stronger than I. I would have hidden under my blankets if I knew trolls were around. I’m easily afraid of things.”

“But you’re a knight?” She looked back up at him. He was a few inches taller than her, and Temperance always felt the strange movement from her neck when she could look up.

“I am, but I still get scared.” He chuckled looking back at her winking. The wink caused a fire in her stomach. Was he flirting with her? Her whole body started to buzz with excitement. “You’re braver than a lot of women I’ve met.”

She could feel her blush now as he offered the compliment. She didn’t see herself as brave. Every time something bad happened she ran away.

No.

That wasn’t true anymore. She didn’t run away when she remembered the poor soul she had summoned and left. Going back to the hospital was one of the bravest things she had ever done, and coming back from it she knew she’d never been able to run from her problems again. But she knew she wouldn’t have done it without Laurent’s help. The support he gave made her brave.

“Thank you.” She said her face stinging with her blush.

The rest of the day was full of running around the museum, talking about the things they saw and Temperance felt like Luxton was flirting with her. It was as he escorted her back to the house that he paused so they weren’t in sight of the windows. If Alexander was looking, which Temperance bet he was looking and didn’t need a window to know they were close.

“This was a great day.” Luxton said his voice warm and it warmed Temperance at the same time. She felt normal for once. She was just a girl, the kind of girl who went to a party and meets a boy and was now walking around town with said boy. This was what she had wanted since she was a child. “I was thinking if you would like. I hear there’s a show on Friday, some local opera. I have the tickets.”

She felt a blush burn her cheeks and she couldn’t stop herself from biting her lips. “I’d really like that. Should I tell Alexander I won’t need a chaperone?”

“Well, it would be less fun with your adopted brother there. I was thinking we could treat it like a date?”

A date. That was the sort of thing young women did with good young men. “I would love that.”

Luxton picked her hand up and pressed a kiss on her knuckle. Temperance felt her heart speed up in a way she hadn’t felt before. “Then it’s a date, Miss Thornton.”

((I forgot to mention the gruff priest so @laurent-price​ for being the one who let Temperance take her first steps for being strong. She’s got a ways to go.))