#Get your ex back in Central london

[turneradora]

Here is a new press article promoting "Rivals" !

Thanks to Emma Jones for the info and for the written version ! 🙏🌺

TV Times

12-18 October 2024

RIVALS

FROM FRIDAY 18 OCTOBER, DISNEY+ DRAMA

Dust off your shoulder pads! A racy, rip-roaring adaptation of Dame Jilly Cooper’s novel Rivals is whisking us back to the 1980s, where deals are sealed in the boardroom and the bedroom in the heady world of independent television... Landing on Disney+ this week, the eight- part romp is based on the second story in the author’s hit Rutshire Chronicles collection and follows the feud between power- hungry TV boss Lord Tony Baddingham (Doctor Who’s David Tennant) and rakish show jumper turned Tory MP Rupert Campbell-Black (His Dark

Materials star Alex Hassell).

Tony plans to expand his media empire and hires brilliant

chat-show host Declan O’Hara (Poldark’s Aidan Turner) and hotshot producer Cameron Cook (Code Black’s Nafessa Williams). But when he spies an opportunity to publicly destroy his arch-enemy Rupert, can Tony finally get revenge on the man who has it all?

TV Times met the cast in a central London hotel to chat back-stabbing and bed-hopping in the fictional county of Rutshire, where you seemingly can’t move for quarrels ...

LORD TONY BADDINGHAM

PLAYED BY DAVID TENNANT

The controller of Corinium Television and Rupert’s narcissistic nemesis has clawed his way to the top with support from his steadfast wife, Lady Monica (Sherwood’s Claire Rushbrook).

‘These are the days when ITV was split into regional franchises and Corinium is the Rutshire TV franchise,’ explains David, 53. ‘Owning one was a big deal, and Tony is motivated by wealth and power, but also by the fact that he doesn’t come from the upper echelons of society, like Rupert.’

David says he has his actor wife, Georgia Tennant, to thank for his role in the adaptation.

‘Georgia knew Jilly’s books and was convinced I had to be involved, and that it would make sensational television,’ he shares. ‘She said, “It’s exactly what the country needs, exactly what the world needs!”’

RUPERT CAMPBELL-BLACK

PLAYED BY ALEX HASSELL

The ex-Olympic showjumper and Minister for Sport has Rutshire’s eccentric locals under his spell... Well, all except Tony, his ruthless adversary...

‘Tony can’t stand Rupert because, from his perspective, he’s effortlessly privileged,’ says Alex, 44. ‘People throw themselves at Rupert’s feet and Tony is jealous, but Rupert thinks Tony is mean, cold and selfish.’

As one of the executive producers on the drama, Jilly searched far and wide before casting Alex as the story’s irresistible rake.

‘Jilly gave the seal of approval for me as her Rupert,’ says Alex. ‘I’m not blond and blue-eyed like in the books, but I’d managed to portray some essential “Rupertness” that she was pleased with. I hope viewers think so, too.’

DECLAN O’HARA

PLAYED BY AIDAN TURNER

The BBC’s star journalist moves his family from London to Rutshire when he signs with Corinium Television.

‘Declan is selfishly career-driven but he’s neglected his family life, which is undoing his marriage,’ says Aidan, 41. ‘He’s dealing with guilt and shame, and in brilliant 1980s-style, he’s burying it.’

Aidan says ‘many things’ spoke to him about Declan...

‘I had that feeling, which I never really get, but I knew I had to play him,’ he smiles. ‘We all had a blast filming it, too. Jilly set the tone from the top down. She’s cheeky!’

TAGGIE O’HARA

PLAYED BY BELLA MACLEAN

Declan and Maud’s kind-hearted daughter is trying to find her way in the world. She’s overwhelmed by her demanding family, but after being uprooted by their move to Rutshire, she finds a distraction in local lothario Rupert."

As much as people push her around and use her, Taggie has a strong moral compass,’ says Sex Education star Bella, 23. ‘She’s disinterested in Rupert at first and confronts him on how he treats women, which makes him look in the mirror for the first time. He likes that.’

ALSO IN RUTSHIRE...

FREDDIE JONES

PLAYED BY DANNY DYER

The self-made millionaire is an outcast among the old-money families, but his wifeValerie(Mum star Lisa McGrillis) longs to be accepted.

‘Freddie has found himself within this elite world and he doesn’t fit in,’ says ex-EastEnders star Danny, 47. ‘Then he meets Lizzie and they really get each other.’

Rivals also reunites Danny with former EastEnders producer Dominic Treadwell- Collins: ‘It was a no-brainer,’ smiles Danny. ‘And we had a ball shooting in big manor houses, all dressed up in 80s clobber.’

LIZZIE VEREKER

PLAYED BY KATHERINE PARKINSON

The romantic novelist is neglected by her TV presenter husband, James (Miss Scarlet and the Duke’s Oliver Chris), but sparks fly when she meets Freddie Jones.

‘Even though her books get rejected, Lizzie keeps doing it because she loves it,’ says Here We Go’s Katherine, 46. ‘Freddie is in this world due to his talent, so that’s why they’re a good meeting of minds. It’s not just about fancying each other.’

MAUD O’HARA

PLAYED BY VICTORIA SMURFIT

Declan’s glamorous wife sets her sights on seducing Rupert.

Will the former actor’s daughter, Taggie, get in her way?

‘Oh, Maud is a terrible mother!’ laughs Bloodlands star Victoria, 50. ‘She’s a self-obsessed applause junkie, who needs validation from any man who’ll tell her she’s fabulous. But she’s decaying after moving from London and takes it out on her greatest rival – her hotter, younger and better daughter.

[likeadaydreamorafever]

Mischa Barton: ‘The trauma doesn’t just go away overnight’

The OC made her one of the most famous stars of the Noughties. Now 37, and with a new role in Neighbours, she’s back — and this time it’s on her own terms.

There was a time, not so long ago — the Noughties — when we hunted young women until they went mad. A pack of men with cameras followed them, stalked them, waited outside their homes to take their photograph, so that people could devour their lives and their changing teenage bodies, and watch their rising panic as they cracked under the pressure we were putting them under.

“It was all very Hunger Games,” says Mischa Barton, 37, sitting in a hotel room in central London, hair blow-dried, coffee poured, legs crossed. The British-American actress was 17 when she was cast in the teenage TV drama The OC, catapulting her to worldwide fame and making her Karl Lagerfeld’s “face of a generation” — an It girl in an era of size-zero bodies, up-skirt shots and gossip blogs.

Barton was — reluctantly — a paparazzi favourite. She was beautiful, cool and sceney, with a trail of rock star boyfriends and wild child friends. She suffered as a consequence of rather than in spite of the fame. She was arrested for drink driving, spent time in rehab and was detained in a psychiatric hospital. In 2017 a video of her, incoherent, rambling and distressed, was sold to the gossip site TMZ, peddled as proof of her going off the rails. Her drink had actually been spiked with a date rape drug. That same year an ex-boyfriend tried to sell a video — filmed without her knowledge — of her having sex and being naked in her own home.

“You can go to therapy every day for the rest of your life,” she says, “but there’s just a certain amount of trauma [from] all that I went through, particularly in my early twenties, that just doesn’t go away overnight.”

Today her life is a little quieter — the paparazzi don’t yet know where her new home is in Los Angeles (though the sound of cameras can trigger a panic attack, part of her enduring post-traumatic stress disorder). The OC is coming up to its 20th anniversary, with a new generation of Gen Z fans going wild for the Y2K vibe. She has had a stint on Dancing with the Stars and the reality TV show The Hills: New Beginnings, as well as parts in horror films, indie films and now the resurrected teatime soap Neighbours.

Barton was, and still is, a valuable commodity. “They first wanted me to do an arc on Neighbours when I was in my twenties,” she says, dressed smartly in a blazer, A-line dress and preppy jacquard pumps. I’ve just finished watching the new season, I tell her. “Oh wow,” she says in her mid-Atlantic drawl, “have you actually been watching it?” Sure, I continue, it was nostalgic. “Oh wow,” she says again, flatly. “Yeah. I haven’t seen any of it.” Barton still has the cool-girl energy that drew so many people in: arch, a little judgmental, but fun. She is the popular girl at the party.

The “final” episode of Neighbours was broadcast on Channel 5 last July, after 37 years and 8,903 episodes featuring alumni including Kylie Minogue, Jason Donovan and Margot Robbie. A group of heartbroken fans campaigned for its return and four months later Amazon Prime signed a deal with the production company. The reboot features old favourites Susan, Carl and Harold, as well Barton’s new character, Reece Sinclair, the expensively dressed American hotel proprietor who is having an affair with the bellboy.

Barton spent two months filming in Melbourne, cramming lines for 5am call times. “They work crazy hard [on soaps],” she says. “Really, it was gruelling. You’re lucky to get a second take.” She did, however, rewrite some of her script. “They don’t let everybody change their lines” — she lowers her voice — “trust me. The other kids were like, oh, can I do that? And [the writers] were like, no.” She cackles. “Say your lines as scripted!”

The actress will always be known for The OC, in which she played Marissa Cooper, a rich, blonde Californian who was troubled and glamorous — and who every teenage girl was desperate to be. The first series, which aired in 2003, pulled in an average of 9.7 million viewers per episode in America and was a hit on Channel 4, and she won two Teen Choice awards.

“I don’t think I was fully prepared for that level of fame,” she says. “Because it has never been something that I have sought out. I really would much rather be anonymous.”

Still a teenager, Barton was lauded for her looks and treated, she says, as much older than her years. “You do look back and you were 18 dating 34-year-olds,” she continues. “With hindsight you’re like, yeah, that was weird.” An interview with Harpers & Queen has recently resurfaced in which Barton, 19 at the time, says she was told by her publicist to sleep with Leonardo DiCaprio, who was 30, “for the sake of your career”.

She left The OC after three series — she says she was bullied on set and exhausted by 18-hour days for each 24-episode series — asking the writers to kill off Marissa as brutally as they could. She died lying in the road, dripping in fake blood, her crashed car up in flames.

In the following years Barton became a familiar face on the LA nightlife scene, all smoky eyeliner and faded band T-shirts, photographed with Nicole Richie, Lindsay Lohan and Amy Winehouse, while dating the Kooks’ frontman Luke Pritchard, the American rocker Cisco Adler and the Roughs’ guitarist Taylor Locke. “I definitely got to tour with some cool bands,” she says, still a little thrilled by the whole thing. “I mean, I was obsessed. But I don’t know if I could date a guy in a band any more. It just sounds exhausting and dirty.” The paparazzi attention was certainly not “healthy” for romantic relationships. “Everything is just so heightened,” she says. “You depend on the person so much more, you think you’re that much more in love because they’re your grip on some sort of normalcy.”

In the gossip blogs she was considered fair game. She was criticised for losing a stone in a year, then criticised for being “bloated Barton”, with the celebrity blogger Perez Hilton often the leader of the pack. “Nothing I did was good enough,” she says today. “It was the peak of cruelty about young women’s bodies. It was wild.”

Could she leave the house without being followed by photographers? “No,” she says immediately. “I couldn’t. [The paparazzi] were doing all kinds of crazy stuff to me.” She says they tracked her car, tried to climb over the walls of her house, paid off restaurants and bought mobile phones for homeless people so they could tip them off. “I was stalked,” she says. “I did go a little bit nuts at [one] point. I just felt really helpless.”

Then there was an arrest (2007, driving under the influence, without a valid licence and possessing cannabis), rehab (court ordered) and psychiatric hospital. She said she was “depressed and overworked”, and then, she claims, pumped full of prescription drugs by her “team” to keep her working. People have got kinder about mental health, though, she says. “That’s one of the better things about society these days — people are more willing to talk about having had depression or anxiety, or it’s not so taboo.”

But it was her legal battle against her ex-boyfriend that was “one of the worst and most gruelling experiences of my life”, she says. In 2017 Jon Zacharias tried to auction off illicit videos of her to the internet’s highest bidder.

After a years-long legal battle she won the case to prevent him from doing so. “It’s shocking to realise that there is that type of darkness in the world,” she says. “And you wonder what you’ve done to attract it.”

Mischa Anne Barton was born in Hammersmith in west London, the middle of three girls, her mother a producer and photographer, her father a foreign exchange broker. She went to St Paul’s Girls’ Preparatory School before the family moved to New York when Barton was six.

She was a bookish, shy child who found respite in acting. She had her first modelling job at eight and her first professional stage role the same year. By 11 she was in Italian Vogue. By 13 she was the lead in the movie Lawn Dogs, which had dark undertones of child molestation, followed by Pups, a crime drama. “Even from a young age I was sexualised,” she wrote in Harper’s Bazaar in 2021.

After her big break in The OC she starred as the “hot girl” in various music videos (Noel Gallagher, James Blunt, Enrique Iglesias) and became the face of Chanel, Calvin Klein, Monsoon Accessorise, Neutrogena, Herbal Essences and Keds.

“I was definitely told ‘sign here’ many, many times over,” she says. “I’ve gotten a lot better with legalese. Now I will read a contract front to back.”

Do people think she made more money than she has? “Oh, I know they do.” Today you can watch The OC on Amazon Prime, Hulu and ITV. “But I say to my friends, ‘Oh cool, I just got a direct deposit for $1.50.’ And they’re like, ‘What’s that?’ And I’m like, ‘Residuals.’ ”

She pushed herself into indie films and cerebral plays, which she loved, and then appeared on the rebooted reality show The Hills, which “wasn’t for me”, she says. “It’s the fame-chasing and the posing stuff that I don’t like. I found them to be very alieny.” She says the producers tried to make out that the original cast of The Hills had hung out with the cast of The OC in the Noughties, “but that was not the case. I never saw them around. I mean, it was a completely different world, a different type of celebrity.” She looks up from pouring herself another coffee. “You know what I mean.”

Today Barton lives between New York and LA. She is steady and grown-up, but still with a streak of flightiness. Her spontaneity “is a problem”, she says. She travelled around Indonesia alone over the summer, then France, then the UK, where she has been staying with her older sister, a barrister, in Kensington.

“I’m happy being single at the moment,” she says. “Because it comes up, the whole thing of ‘Do you wanna settle down and have kids?’ I am a weirdly traditional, conventional person when it comes to stuff like that, more so than people think. But it really depends on the person you’re with.”

In the past few years there has certainly been a collective reckoning regarding our behaviour towards young, famous women of that era. But does that regret mean anything to the women who suffered through it?

Recently the FBI knocked on Barton’s door, saying they were “working on a case” and wanted to play her a series of tapes. She listened to her conversations with people from years ago, which were recorded covertly. “Who knows who was doing it?” she says. “But I was almost grateful to know that they [the FBI] were going to such lengths, otherwise you feel crazy and paranoid.”

She has also had direct apologies. In 2019 Perez Hilton told her, on The Hills: “If I could go back in time and do things differently, I would.” Barton was largely unmoved. “This bullying you did for so long to so many young girls, I find it hard to let go,” she replied. “I can’t really accept the apology entirely.”

I bring up Hilton today and she rolls her eyes. “I don’t listen to anything he says because he’s so crazy,” she says. “You can see how sorry people feel for what they did to people like Britney [Spears] then. Everyone now is like, ‘I can’t believe we did that to those poor women.’” She pauses. “People feel so entitled to you and your body and your image. It’s a strange feeling. It’s strange.”

Video included in the article:

[redbullcateringfiction]

Chapter 4 -

Cantata

Arabella is the executive assistant for Mercedes Team Principal Toto Wolff. 10 years into her career, it looks like the tide is changing, and she's beginning to question her relationship with him. Is it something more, or nothing but an idea lingering in her head?

F/M, Fluff, Boss/Employee Relationship, Romance, Pining, Love, Slow Burn

Fourth chapter below the cut or click here for AO3

Click here for the previous chapter on Tumblr, and click here for a list of all chapters

(Total: 16720 words thus far)

“You’re really pretty,” He spoke, entangling his fingers in my hair. 

“Thank you. That was very nice,” I lied. Okay, don’t get me wrong. I’m not the type to fake an orgasm, but I’m definitely the type to oversell it. I’ve definitely just oversold it, but it’s definitely a million times better than my last one night stands. I just cannot deal with the way he kept telling me I’m pretty. It’s like he had a praising thing that I wasn’t aware of.

“So, you sleeping with your boss?” He asked suddenly, sitting up in the bed. His apartment was in central London, in the penthouse of a skyscraper. He needed no lights to be on in his bedroom as the city lights flooded in, and I could still see his expression. He looked at me as though this was the most important questions he had ever asked anyone. Absolutely absurd.

“I’m going to just leave now,” I sighed, sitting up. I began looking for my dress.

“Oh, c’mon. The way he came over there at the table, and touched you as he left. The way he looked at you and mentioned your ex that you took to a Christmas party? He was obviously trying to sabotage the date. You’re sleeping with him, and thats okay. I’m just curious,” He shrugged.

“Curious? Curiosity is sleeping with a guy who you just met because you think he might be good in bed. Then when he isn’t, that’s called disappointment,” I answered, finally finding my dress and throwing it on. I began the search for my purse, shoes, and ponytail holder.

“That’s a low blow. I wasn’t trying to be offensive. I swear I was just curious,” He asked, throwing his hands up.

“If I was sleeping with my boss, and seriously think about this, would I go on a date in a hotel I know he’s staying in?” I asked, putting on my heels. 

“You’re right, I’m sorry. C’mon, stay,” He complained.

“You sound like a child. And you are. A gentleman would help me find my stuff.”

“Okay, okay. Fine, you’re right,” He groaned, getting up finally and turning on the light. “Listen. I’m just calling it how I see it. He patted you on the back and interrupted your date. It's awfully strange. You have to admit that at least.”

“We are European and I have worked for him for 8 years. After a winter break, we usually greet each other with cheek kisses. Patting me on the back is less physical. And he interrupted because he wanted to make sure I didn’t leave things in his hotel room,” I sighed. I suddenly paused in the midst of strapping on my heels.

I could practically hear him staring at me. “Leaving things in his hotel room. Of course. Not strange at all.”

“Toto wasn’t even there. It was a connected room, and I changed up there prior to our date. The guy I actually just slept with.”

“Okay, okay, fine. Just pause and listen to me,” He begged. I stopped trying to strap up my other shoe and simply stared at him. “Arabella. You don’t have to like me. You don’t even have to be interested in me. But the least you could do is acknowledge that my assumption is not crazy.”

“So you just want to be right? That’s all? I’m not giving you that satisfaction,” I answered as I finally got the strap to connect. Great, now where’s my phone? 

“No, no, no. Because if there’s one thing I noticed, it’s how silly and embarrassed you got when he came over. How you yourself seemed to notice something was odd about it, but also how attracted you are to him. I’m just saying,” He shrugged.

“Saying what?” I demanded.

“You are attracted to your boss, and he’s at least interested in you.”

“I’m not, and he’s not,” I complained while desperately searching for my phone.

“Yeah, yeah. Say that to my face, and go home and overthink it. I’m a lawyer. My job is to read people,” He explained, grabbing something off his nightstand. He handed me my phone.

“Fuck, you had it?” I nearly screamed.

“I put my number in there. Text me.”

“Absolutely not.” I opened my phone and went straight to Uber. I don’t even want to try waving down a taxi. I just want the car here and now. 

“Arabella, I do not want to date you,” He pressed his hand to his head, exasperated.

“You’re really selling yourself.”

“I know you didn’t want to date me either! Just at least consider talking to me. If you’ve noticed, being brutally honest and talking all the time is one of the things I do best.”

“Yes, surely,” I sighed, waiting and staring at my phone. 

“And I have attorney client privilege and legal professional privilege. I doubt you talk to anyone outside of your inner Mercedes circle. I can tell. You barely told me anything, probably because you’re afraid I’m going to run off to the media. Nothing more than numbers and what’s already known. Am I right about that?”

“Yes.” Still no fucking Uber. The taxi would’ve been a better idea.

“If you talk to me about anything going on and I run off and tell the media, I run the risk of being disbarred in the United States, which is where I do all of my business. Here in the UK, it’s a bit laxer, but regardless, I would lose my job in a millisecond if I said anything ever. And you desperately need a friend. Am I right about that too?”

“Attorney Client privilege only applies if I’m your client.”

“Then consider me your lawyer. Pro-bono, of course. I’ll send over a document in the morning. Because really, I can tell that you can’t talk to anyone. You probably don’t even tell your parents,” He reiterated. 

“I get it. I’m clearly a lonely spinster and you want to play therapist.”

“Oh, really. You think handling billions of dollars in assets and knowing about nearly every corporate merger months in advance doesn’t leave me lonely either? I need someone too. And you have to admit, you’re a fun person to talk to. And you’re the only person I’ve met in years who is even close to the same position as me. So yes, I want to take advantage of it,” He groaned.

“You don’t have to talk about mergers over dinner,” I answered. 

“Yeah, and you don’t have to talk about Mercedes. But that's all you have right?” He looked at me waiting for a response.

“My Uber’s here,” I answered, leaving the penthouse at once. I took the elevator straight down. I stared at my phone. Sure enough, there was Jeffrey’s number. I instantly deleted it. I have no clue what even happened, and right now, all I want to do is curl into a nice, comfortable, blanket cocoon and forget about all of it. In fact, that’s exactly what I’ll do. As soon as the Uber pulled up to my house, I set my alarm and snuggled into my bed. I wrapped myself into my duvet, and shut my eyes. I quickly drifted off to sleep. 

~

“That is a fucking 6th world championship!” I screamed as Lewis crossed the line for a 2nd place position. The garage broke into a fit of cheer and celebration. 1st and 2nd on the podium were locked out by Mercedes. A race win for Valterri and a championship for Lewis. The last two races at this point would be victory laps. Just two weeks ago, a similar spectacle. Valterri in 1st and Lewis in 3rd that time had gifted us a 6th Constructor’s in a row. 

This was not a break though. As I had seen in the past seasons, a win is a win, but to us it means little more than putting more resources into next year. Get Lewis tied with Schumacher, and more relevant to me, get the team an 7th consecutive constructor’s. Toto looked at me with a big smile as I took a deep breath. He gave me the necessary hug that occurs during these high emotion moments, and ran off to cheer with the rest of the team.

I could almost feel the walls close in on me though. In a time like this, I should be happy. I should be celebrating with them. I just couldn’t manage to make my legs move over to everyone else. Tunnel vision. The room started going dark, and all of sudden I felt a hand on my back. I turned to my right and it was Bono. 

“Arabella, you went pale for a second,” He spoke quietly. I could just barely hear him over the noise.

“I feel like I have the bends,” I sighed, trying to walk back to my usual seat, just 6 feet behind Toto. 

“Woah, you’re off balance,” Bono said, helping me walk over there. “Let me grab medical.”

“No, no need. Just some anxiety I think.”

“Anxiety? We just won a championship!” He spoke excitedly.

“Exactly. Go run off and celebrate. I’ll be fine,” I smiled. Bono raised an eyebrow at me concerned. “I swear.”

“Arabella-”

“Bono, you’re the 6th world champion’s engineer. I think they wanna see you too,” I laughed. “Trust me. I’ll be fine.”

“Alright, alright, Arabella. I’m off. But text or call if you need anything. Alright?” He ordered.

“Got it,” I answered, putting my head into my hands. I recalled this feeling almost instantly. I was 13, sitting in my room, and I looked out the window. The day before had been pleasant, but that day, a storm was rolling in. I watched as all the kids playing outside were called inside by their parents. As I looked at the horizon and saw the sight of the thundering clouds. I felt my chest get tight. It wasn’t the storm that scared me, it was the vastness. The distance. I could see nearly straight to the sea. I grew up on the West Frisian Islands. My family ran a hotel for families visiting the islands on their holidays. Yet, we rarely traveled by ourselves. That summer was no different, and looking out the window, I wondered why suddenly I had a desire to curl up and disappear.

I laid on my floor and stared up at my ceiling. I listened as the storm came in and poured rain on our roof. It was louder than I could imagine. I felt calm listening to the rain, and as the darkness came in, I felt calm looking out my window again. I refused to leave my room for a week. I put up blankets over the windows to keep myself from looking out. Every time I did look out, I would feel my heart race. My eyes would find the horizon and I would get scared.

On the 8th day of my mother bringing the dishes to my room, and my father watching me scurry to the bathroom and hurry back, they dragged me out of my room and all the way to the doctor’s. In the car, I was screaming and crying, and begging for them to take me back to my room. In the doctor’s office, I felt little comfort as the doctor offered to move me to a room with no windows. When he did, and he noticed I calmed down, he turned to my parents and spoke. “I believe your daughter has agoraphobia. She will develop anxiety in environments she does not feel she is comfortable or able to control.”

My parents didn’t respond to the news kindly. For 2 more weeks I stayed in my room alone. The day school was to begin again, I begged my parents not to take me. They assured me they weren’t taking me to school. They weren’t lying. Instead, I found myself shipped off to a boarding school in France. I stayed there for two years while my parents nearly mocked me on the phone asking if I had learned to behave yet. Every day I sat in my dorm room for as long as possible, staring at the walls. I lost a tremendous amount of weight as my body continued to grow since I refused to spend long times in a mess hall surrounded by other children. 

My 3rd year there, as I entered into the Lycée, a teacher took a great notice of me. She noticed the way I sulked around corners and could suddenly disappear without notice. I never felt so safe in a space that wasn’t my room until she took the time to do so. Eventually, she taught me how to calm myself, and introduced me to people. She gave me friends that encouraged me to branch out. The end of that year, I thought I could go home. My parents informed me though that at this point, they didn’t believe I was ready to return home. I don’t believe my parents ever intended to allow me to go home. Two years later, I graduated, and returned to the Netherlands. When I stepped back onto the island for the first time in 5 years, the salty, humid air tightened my chest. Instead of joy to be back home, I touched the sandy dunes and wanted to turn back. I wanted to disappear. And so I did. It took me a moment to leave out from home, but once I moved to the UK, I knew I had no desire to return back to Ameland. I knew I couldn’t escape immediately though. 

I stayed and helped my parents run the hotel for just a year while simultaneously getting my training to become an executive assistant. A year later I was in Amsterdam and a personal assistant for a doctor. A year later I had finished all the training and was flying to the U.K. and working for United Agents. Instead of working with the celebrities though, I wanted to work with the agents. At 20, I had made it out of the Netherlands in just 2 years, after having spent 5 years away already. At age 28, just 4 years ago, I had officially lived outside of the Netherlands for more time than in. I wasn’t upset by it either.

When I left Ameland, I expected to see Amsterdam as this beautiful paradise. The boats, the bikes, the tall beautiful men, but instead, I just ran into the same problem. It wasn’t satisfying yet. I wasn’t far enough away. I hated it, and decided to run away. Going to the U.K. has been far better for me. F1 has been even better. Traveling keeps me from having a safe place to completely hole up in. There’s nowhere to hide, and for me, that can be a good compromise. Yet, there’s times, like now, where I still feel it peak back up. The ruckus, the noise, the crowds. It all brings me crashing back to watching that storm roll back in. Every shout from an engineer, every roar of an engine, and every champagne bottle pop is like a tempest, rolling in from the sea. 

I felt a tap on my shoulder, and shot my head up. I looked around. The place was nearly empty. As I spun around in the chair, my eyes met Toto’s. 

“Everyone’s heading to the podium. I thought it was weird I didn’t see you heading out that way,” Toto said, pulling a chair out from under the desk. He sat next to me, and placed his hand on my arm. “Are you alright?”

“Thanks, I’m fine. You should probably be running to catch up with them.”

“You know how those things are. Hurry up and wait. We have time.”

“I just got a little anxiety. That was all,” I spoke softly.

“You can be honest with me.”

“I am. That’s all.”

He sighed, and pulled out his phone. “Look what Jack did,” He smirked, pulling up a picture of his son. He was covered in maple syrup. I chuckled.

“Oh God, what a mess,” I complained.

“You should’ve seen Susie’s face. You wouldn’t believe the clean up,” He chuckled, looking through more pictures of Jack running around.

“He’s not even three yet, is he?”

“Feels like it should be further away, but you’re right. He’s two, but April is rounding the corner.”

“In like, 4 months.”

“For a kid, that’s a lot! They grow so much, so very quickly. Forgive me for forgetting, isn’t your sister pregnant?” He asked.

“Yeah. She’s giving birth over the break. That’s why I’ve taken it off.”

“Well, you’ll be a wonderful aunt. Children are such a wonderful addition to the world.”

“Even when they’re covered in syrup?”

He laughed and sat back in his chair. “Net gain,” He sighed. “Now…do you want to run with me to the podium? Because now we’re actually running out of time.”

“Sure,” I answered, standing up. We ran to grab the scooters and headed off. 

~

My alarm woke me up with a tremendous bang. Yes, I had slept, but the type where you’re drifting in and out of consciousness with nothing more than your thoughts keeping you awake. It was a weak rest. Thankfully, the flight was 8 whole hours where I could gently nod off. I stood up and as I promised Leanna, made myself a full English breakfast. Enough to sustain me for quite a while, and enough to enjoy the flight. As I sat down to eat it, I looked through the schedule for testing. I readied myself in the bathroom going over the schedule again and again until it was absolutely burned into my memory. 

As the time for me to leave and still arrive early began to approach, I headed down and hailed a taxi. Just seconds before it arrived, I realized I had left all of my bags and had to beg him to wait. When I returned, he was miraculously still waiting. I hopped in and took the taxi all the way to London Heathrow. As soon as I arrived I saw Toto walking towards security. I checked my watch just to make sure, and sure enough, he was far too early.

“Toto!” I called out. He whipped his head around and waved to me as I came running over. “You’re an hour early!”

“For once, I thought I could beat you,” He shrugged. “Even now, I must tie with you.”

“You’ll never beat me. It’s my job,” I laughed. We approached security and handed over our passports, both being bright red but with distinctly different languages on them. As we exited security, we meandered our way towards the area where we would get on the charter jet in silence. Toto suddenly stopped while walking through the airport and looked at me.

“I’m sorry,” He spoke quietly.

“Huh?” I questioned. Suddenly, we turned as we heard someone yell.

“I’m so sorry,” A woman spoke running up to Toto. “Are you really Toto Wolff?”

He laughed and smiled. “That’s what my passport says.”

“Can I please take a picture with you? My son loves Mercedes, and I would just be beside myself if I didn’t take this opportunity to tell him I saw Toto Wolff, and had photographic evidence that I spoke with him.”

He laughed again. “Sure, sure,” He said. He leaned into the selfie camera with her. She smiled excitedly as the picture was taken. 

“Thank you so much,” She almost whispered, as she turned round and ran off.

“Happen frequently?” I asked.

“No, not really,” He awkwardly laughed. He took his fingers through his hair, almost neurotically fixing it. It had been long since I’d seen him slightly nervous. 

“You were saying?” I offered.

“Oh…nothing. I just got lost in thought and realized…are we going the right way?” He asked. I looked up at the sign overhead which very blatantly read Charters . Perhaps he didn’t see that one? I looked down the long airport hallway and saw yet another blatantly obvious sign, literally glowing, that read Charters. 

“The air that thin up there?” I asked, waving my hand around his face. I am 5’ 4” so it was quite the reach and I nearly had to stand on my toes since I had chosen not to wear my heels for a long airport walk. He swatted my hand away. 

“Apparently,” He answered, taking a deep sigh, right before releasing a small chuckle as well. 

We continued to walk along in silence towards the charters, and when we finally arrived at the gate, we had a little bit to wait until the jet arrived. He stared at me for just a moment. “I am sorry.”

“So, it wasn’t just about thinking we were lost?” I asked.

“No, of course not, Arabella. I am genuinely very sorry and I-” He was interrupted by a sudden and powerful hug around the legs. It was, of course, Jack. He quickly and immediately picked up Jack and threw him on his shoulders. “Are you ready to go flying, Jack?”

“Arabella,” I heard from behind me. Susie had snuck up on me and nearly scared me to death. “How are you?”

I whipped around and gave Susie a hug. “I’m great! Thanks for asking.”

“Thank you for taking Jack for the weekend,” Susie smiled. 

“Oh…you’re…welcome?” I questioned. 

“I’m joking, I’m joking. I’ll be there.”

“Don’t scare me like that.”

She laughed brightly and I watched as Toto spun Jack around in circles. Soon enough, the entire party had arrived with Bono and many of the other important engineers. Their work on the car would be crucial for testing. We had to set a pace, so getting the staff out there as early as possible was important. The engineers would be absolutely clamoring to get inside of the paddock. When we all arrived and the plane had decided to arrive as well, we finally boarded. I took my seat directly next to Bono. As the plane finally reached cruising altitude, I walked towards Toto and handed him the manilla folder with the important details for testing. I watched as he pulled on his reading glasses.

“So, go ahead and give it a look over. We’ll have engineers at the paddock as soon as possible to evaluate the car. We need to make sure everything is ready. We’ll get to the paddock at 8am, a long while before the actual starting of testing. Valterri is on the morning shift, which should give Lewis a good start in the evening. I will warn you though, there’s news of a dust storm rolling into Bahrain,” I explained. 

“Thank you, Arabella,” He nodded.

“What were you saying out there earlier?” I asked him, kneeling down and whispering. 

“I’ll explain later, I suppose.”

“You do you,” I answered, heading back to my seat. I sat next to Bono and we made small talk until breakfast was passed around and people began eating. As the conversation ended, I found myself falling asleep again. I woke up as I felt an arm touch me. I jumped awake, and found a blanket covering me and Bono looking at me, expectantly. 

“Oh, thanks for the blanket,” I nodded, before feeling like I would crash off to sleep again. I closed my eyes and laid my head down again.

“First, wasn’t me. Second, we’re going to land soon. Did you maybe want a coffee?” 

“Oh, fuck yes,” I spoke sitting up. He laughed and wandered off to find me a coffee. Bono returned with the coffee and placed it in front of me. 

“Black americano, right?”

“Yes, I am. What has that got to do with the coffee?” 

“Oh, stop. Jesus, Arabella,” He ordered me. I chuckled and sipped my coffee. Bitter and dark, also like me. 

“So who gave me the blanket?” I asked, pulling the blanket over my head.

“Toto. He came to speak to you after Jack fell asleep, and saw you were knocked out cold,” Bono explained.

“Huh,” I answered. I stood up and could just barely peer over, where I saw Toto now also asleep with Jack, laying his head on his father’s lap.

“Looks like we missed each other,” I sighed, sitting down. It was almost like we were playing phone tag in person somehow. 

“If it were that important, he would’ve told me to tell you,” Bono yawned. “All this sleeping is making me…sleepy.”

“Then do as the Romans are doing and sleep.”

“And then be groggy while trying to work on a car? God, no,” Bono mumbled. “But I will get my own coffee.” He stood up and wandered away. I looked out the window and watched as the sun set over the Arabian peninsula. When we arrived, I would spend a long while in the airport smoothing things over for everyone arriving in Bahrain, playing translator. Yes, English is spoken in the Middle East, despite most Briton’s beliefs, but nonetheless, it did speed things along to have someone well versed in Arabic. It was one of my few remaining regular connections to my culture, and even so, there was the twinge of guilt that hit me when I found that at times, I could find myself thinking I was more Arabic than African. Were both not accurate though? At the end of the day, I was certainly darker skinned than most other Dutch people. 

“Toto would have a field day if he knew I was having a cappuccino right now,” Bono spoke as he took his seat right back next to me. “Past 11am, it’s a grievous sin.” He mocked Toto’s Austrian accent while laughing a bit to himself.

“You’re going to wake him up just by trying to imitate him. It’s practically his alarm,” I spoke, until I heard the flight attendant right behind us. “Or they’ll wake him.”

“Just wanted to let you all know we’ll be landing soon. Hold onto your drinks and stow away the tables,” she smiled. Bono and I did as she asked and slipped on our seatbelts as well, as she continued going through the cabin waking people and reminding them of the basic flight safety procedures. I couldn’t help but laugh looking through the tiny sliver of space in between the seats and seeing Toto shoot his head up and try and fix his sleepily pressed down hair. 

As we landed, the days of Islamic girlhood came crashing back to me. I no longer practiced, and my hijab had been removed years ago. Neither of my parents very much minded. My father had long been atheist, but had raised his daughters religiously, as was my mother’s wish. Even so, for my mother, that meant we knew of our religion, but not much outside of it. Even she rarely wore the hijab. Only when she went to visit her parents in Amsterdam and we would stumble our way into a mosque. I wore it for a little bit while in France, but found myself removing it after not too long. When I returned to the Netherlands, neither of my parents even really noticed. My sister still practices, however. 

Still, though, landing in Bahrain, I found myself recalling all the rules of modesty my mother would give us when visiting the conservative older family members. This morning when I had dressed myself, I made sure I followed all of the rules. Nonetheless, I checked myself over. The second the plane landed, everyone exited their seats and their aircraft with a particular determination. I found my passport, and found the words I would need to use. 

We approached customs, and I walked through first. When I approached, I let them know I would be translating for the team.

“We speak English,” One of the guards laughed. 

“It’s quicker in Arabic. Trust me,” I sighed. They shrugged, and quickly as each person followed through, I translated every word with near-perfection.

“Toto, you’ll be riding with Bono and Musconi,” I explained as he walked through. “The car will circle back around and I’ll meet you at the hotel.”

“Got it, thank you, Schatzi,” Toto answered before quickly running off with Bono. I had to be careful with myself to not melt instantly. Toto had a tendency to find the quickest and most appropriate Austrian term for ‘darling’ when he was truly in awe of my expertise but also in a rush. It happens quite frequently during race weekends, and, in an effort not to make myself feel special, would be used for just about anyone who he was just pleasantly surprised by but also, could not spend more than 5 seconds talking to. Despite this, I found myself lingering on the word for far too long, and suddenly I was stumbling over my Arabic. I suppose I hadn’t gotten it out of my system.

As quickly as we had rushed to customs, everyone had rushed through customs. Soon enough, I stood there waiting for those who had taken the commercial flight to come through. As I waited, the guards continuously asked me to go through if I was done, and I continuously reminded them that I wasn’t. I then felt my phone go off with a text. I instantly looked at it, thinking of all the various forms of bad news it could be.

Unknown: Arabella, this is Jeffrey. You hadn’t texted me, so I assume you don’t want to proceed. At least, for your consideration, I worked up this contract for you. I used a basic bit of googling and figured that you’re likely coming up on your contract renewal for Mercedes. Congrats on the 10 years, by the way. Seems like the right time to use a lawyer though.

Tags: @daddyslittlevillain

[amidst-wonderland]

Heyy! Love your work & nice to see you back! For the OC ask what about 4, 7, 10, 24? for Nora :)

when scared, does your oc fight, flee, freeze or fawn?

nora likes to think she's more fight aligned but unless she knows who and what she's dealing with the girl will turn to stone.

she's all bark and nae bite when she can't asses the situation. people aren't scared of this scrawny little glaswegian lassie who runs her mouth but they're terrified of those around her.

nora will fight the battles she knows she can't necessarily lose (like a verbal argument) because whilst she can throw a mighty fist, she's not properly prepared to take or defend herself from one.

it's why nora'll argue with the men in her life because they were never going to listen to her in the first place, or else she wouldn't be kicking off.

what’s one way your oc has changed since you first came up with them?

i'll give you a few:

nora began as reader insert in the original version of kingdom come that i slowly developed about halfway through writing that (as you can see in her phone call with arthur)

she was originally a midwife but that never really felt organic to me considering nora spends half her time looking to be something she's not and i really wanted her to have some form of 'life' before meeting the shelbys.

she's now bisexual - more into women, but that's a lot for her to unpack being a character that likely doesn't make past 1985.

also her face-claim started as lily colins but i've finally settled on a young emily browning

what’s an au that would be interesting to explore with your oc?

having scratched the itch that is the 1950s version of nora. i'd love to do a modern-ish! take on her. like 90s-00s were the mcleod kids are trying to start a band and get out of their scheme. they go on a regional tour and end up reuniting with esme - consequently with nora meeting michael too.

i think that's such an interesting place in history - especially for the central belt's working class as gang culture was back on the rise and there was an ever growing drugs crisis.

they'd definitely be more liberties taken with michael and nora though due to the change in law and attitudes when it comes to single mums (so they probably wouldn't get married as early-in.)

what is an alternative life path your oc might have gone down? how different would their life be if they’d made those decisions?

there's a few ways nora's life could've went:

grimly, had she gone back to london after the abortion, she might've ended up in bethlem with eilidh. but then again they also could've run off to australia together and opened their own club, as eilidh always dreamed of because eilidh's ex might never have found out.

she could've gone to the us with michael initially, had another baby earlier than she did and started an acting career elsewhere. not to mention gina wouldn't be around fucking with her marriage.

[nxcturnals]

— is that [PARVEEN KAUR]? no, it’s [PRIYA PATIL], but i can see how you would make the mistake. this [THIRTY-FOUR YEAR OLD] [CIS WOMAN] is a [FREE AGENT — EX-WOLF PACK]. word on the street is that they’re [DETERMINED, KINDHEARTED, IMPATIENT.] i also heard that they’re particularly skilled with [LOCKPICKING AND MEDICINE]. they have always reminded me of [WHITE LAB COATS AND WOUNDS SEWED UP IN THE BACK ROOM OF BARS, BLOOD UNDER FINGERNAILS AND WHISKEY USED TO EASE THE PAIN, THE DETERMINATION TO SURVIVE AT ALL COSTS]. if you ask me, they’re the kind of person who could change the game for everyone.

character details:

Name: Priya Patil Age: Thirty-Four Birthday: October 23rd, 1989 Gender: Cis woman Pronouns: She/her Sexuality: Bisexual Relationship Status: Single Faceclaim: Parveen Kaur

Positive personality traits: Determined, kindhearted, patient. Neutral personality traits: over-protective, idealistic, proud. Negative personality traits: vindictive, obsessive.

Education level: University Degree (In Medicine) Occupation: ER doctor. Special skills: Lockpicking, medicine Vices: Priya finds it hard to resist Liquid Luck when it's offered to her.

Affiliation (Former): The Wolf Pack — when Priya was a teenager she was manipulated into helping the Wolf Pack with several small jobs. She found herself unable to work her way out of the gang and, while she wasn't blackmailed to stay, she served in the Wolf Pack for a long time because she believed they would hurt her if she tried to refuse her service. Eventually an older mentor of hers helped her apply for University and pursue her Medical degree, and she found herself with enough confidence to cut her ties to the Pack permanently.

Affiliaton (Current): Free Agent — Priya currently offer services to anyone who needs them. If you need somewhere to stay, her spare room is open. If you need someone to make sure you don't bleed out, Priya is happy to heal as many of your wounds as she can. Priya will still do minor jobs and pursue small objectives for the Sacred Twenty-Eight, but will never do anything that could cause harm to another person.

key points:

Priya was born in London and grew up there, so she knows the city well — her family was never well off so they had to work hard to survive and never took anything for granted.

She was 17 the first time she did something for The Wolf Pack. The Pack taught her how to pick locks and pickpocket passing people in the streets. They also taught her how to fight.

When Priya was 18 she started working in The Wolf Den as a bartender. She always had a habit of helping people who got in fights or came into the bar with injuries, which inspired her interest in medicine.

Priya has done a lot of things she isn't proud of in the past, most of those in service to the Pack. The fact that she had broken the law in so many ways made her believe that she could never go back to her family, so the Pack became her entire life for a long time.

She found a mentor during her life in the pack who helped her get back on her feet and apply to colleges so that she could make something of herself. She was an intelligent girl and she was clearly unhappy with a life in service to Fenrir Greyback.

She started university late at the age of 24.

Priya pursued a degree in Medicine and suceeded in becoming a doctor. She currently works in the emergency room of a hospital in central London.

During her years in the Pack Priya drank hard and partied harder. While she is much more tame now, she still indulges from time to time. Her main vice is Liquid Luck, which she has a mild addiction to and cannot bring herself to turn down.

Priya expands her income by doing work on the down-low for the criminal underground. She's always ready to give her friends a place to stay, and she can be hired as a doctor for any of the gangs in London.

She will also take jobs for minor theft/burglary.

[nottinghillhq]

NATHAN YOUNG our ryan gosling is looking for his EX-WIFE/MOTHER OF HIS CHILDREN, with the face of any suitable female fc, and in the age range of 37-40. if you’re interested and want more details please contact HEATHER at @oftatteredwings ( is necessary )

tw: adultery.

they met around 15 years ago at a photo shoot in central park, new york. he was working as the photographer, she was working as a make-up artist or wardrobe assistant, something like that, but it was one of her first assignments. he described her as awkward, but irresistible, at the time. they had a very cliché relationship, falling head over heels in love very quickly, on their way to a wedding within six months. the wedding plans were forced to come to an abrupt halt, however, when she fell pregnant. it went ahead eventually, just nine months later, with a baby in a lacy dress by their sides. lyndsey young was born in late 2009 and was the turning point in both of their lives.

the pair were married for 6 years, moving to the upper east side during that time, having another child (jessica, who is now 12), and taking on 3 yappy dogs. nathan wasn’t around anywhere as much as he should have been, always working and missing out on those important moments in their daughter’s lives. he didn’t doubt that she resented him for that as time went on. and when he found himself distracted by work and pretty faces, he strayed, something that came to ruin their marriage. he had to tell her almost immediately, not able to live with the guilt.

they were divorced within the year and shortly after that, nathan moved away to london to start afresh — lyndsey and jessica stayed with your character after she was granted full custody.

since then they’ve worked tirelessly to get to a good place again, something they are now very much at. the girls have been travelling back and forth to london for holidays for a couple of years. it’s up to you how long your character’s been in london now and the reason for deciding to make the move.

[astrologerinlondonblog-blog]

See unbelievable changes in your life after considering Top Astrologers in London Services

Pandit Bhairav is a Top Astrologers in London who can help you solve any problem related to both personal and professional life (marriage, relationship, business, career, finance etc). There are many astrological techniques which can be use d depending upon individuals’ issues. However, our Top Astrologers in London Pandit Bhairav is an all in one astrologer who is an expert in Black magic, Vashikaran, Spiritual Healing, Negative energy Removal, and Psychic Reading. He will utilize these techniques to help you.

How exactly will Top Astrologers in London help you?

Astrology is pseudoscience which is used by ancient people to solve or archive success in life. Unlike many thinks that it is a myth or evil method, astrology uses planets and stars position to solve issues. Every human in this world has its own planets and stars position where these planets and stars change its position it will affect our life including health, wealth, family, marriage etc. where astrology will help you to rearrange their position.

The following are a few common troubles that can be solved using astrology:

Black magic: It is hard to believe that it exists, but if you come across any sudden changes in your which you didn’t expect then you might be under the spell of black magic. It is used by people who are jealous and couldn’t handle others success they can hire Black magicians to cast evil spells on you. It is not that it is unbreakable, people with expert help like Pandit Bhairav who is black magic removal specialist in USA can help you get rid of it.

Love and relationship issues: People these days can’t keep a healthy relationship with their lovers, some cannot convince their parents for love marriage, but with the help of astrological love spell one can solve his or her love and relationship issues.

Vashikaran Mantra; It is known as the most powerful mantra in the field of astrology. It helps to take control of others mind and make them do good or better things. It is used for solving husband and wife dispute, family dispute, one-sided love and even turn enemy into a friend. But you need a Vashikaran Mantra specialist to get effective result.

In any case, you think your life is going on a path that you don’t know and things are going out of hand then it’s best you consider our Top Astrologers in London Pandit Bhairav. He will give you a better result with his pujas and mantra. He will also ask you to perform some rituals that are easy to follow by anyone.

[sairamastrologerlondon-blog]

A clear way for happy life from Famous astrologer in Central London Pandit Sairam

Pandit Sairam is Famous astrologer in Central London who known for his miracles in the field of astrology. He is from India and has been providing his astrological services in Central London for more than a decade. He was born in an astrological family and also learned Vedic astrology from very young age. Using his astrological powers, he has solved numerous cases related both personal (love, marriage, family, sexual etc.) and professional (finance, business, job and career etc.). Pandit Sairam is Famous astrologer in Central London is expert in Black Magic, Evil Spirit Removal, Spiritual Healing, Vashikaran mantra, Negative energy Removal and Psychic Reading.

 I know there’re a lot of questions in you mind that how an astrologer can solve all these problems and some may believe and some not. To answer your question, one need to have deep knowledge in astrology but Pandit Sairam has broken up and explained it in a simpler manner. So, when he was asked this question from individual frequently, he said that every human on this earth has their own stars and planet position and when these planet and stars changes its position then it will affect your health, wealth, marriage, career etc. In order to get your live back to normal one need a help from an expert so that they can rearrange their stars and planet position. Many people didn’t believe in astrology and its miracles but after considering our Famous astrologer in Central London service they have changed their mind.

 How exactly astrology and astrologer will help in solving human problems?

 There are a lot of solution in astrology for every human problem or we could say all most every problem can be solved with the help of astrology. For e.g. if in your life everything was fine but suddenly face changes in your life such as health, wealth, family, business, job etc. you may or may not believe but this happen because of some black magic spell on you, and it has been casted on you by close relatives and friends who are jealous of your happy and cheerful life. And with the help of astrology and our Indian astrologer on can ger rid of these spells as our pandit ji will give some mantras to read and pujas to cast away the spell. If you don’t act fast and seek expert help then these spells can make your life worse and not only yours but also your family members and loved once.

 In any event if you face or come across such circumstances then don’t hesitate to contact our Famous astrologer in Central London Pandit Sairam, he has helped thousands of people who were facing difficulties. So contact hi for any kind of guidance and help.

[lovejosephquinn]

Hi lovely I was just wondering if you could write something for me so what I’m thinking is about young single mum with 2 kids who is out on one of her free nights and bumps into joe they start talking have a few more drinks and hit it off straight away she explains her situation that her ex had cheated on her and she was learning to love and trust someone again and that someone so happens to be Joseph he eventually becomes a big part of your life and you fall in love please make it as smutty and fluffy as you like thanks hun xx

Hello honey, sorry I was late getting back to you, I've been at work all day! Thank you so much for requesting, this is a damn cute idea and I hope you love reading it as much as I loved writing it and yaaaas, plenty of fluffy fluff.

Warnings: Tooth rotting fluff and smutty smut smut

Under 18's DNI x

Word Count: 3k

Since Joe. Joseph Quinn x Mum!Reader Short Story Request.

Tonight, was the night you'd let your hair down and not have to be 'mummy'. Tonight, you were just you. Your two daughters were the loves of your life but once every fortnight your parents would take them off of your hands so you could have some fun.

You didn't rush getting ready just for the simple fact, you had the time to yourself. You soaked in the bath, shaved, moisturised, dried and styled your hair. You put a little more make up on than your usual natural look because why not? It was your night. You'd brought a brand-new outfit for your plans with the girls and the red dress hugged your body and complimented your skin gorgeously.

You'd arranged to meet your friends at one of your favourite bars in Central London, getting off the tube and walking through to get to it seemed like forever in your heels, but you were too excited to care.

Arriving just outside the bar before you went in to find them, you sat on the wall outside, going into your bag to pull out your cigarettes, putting one to your lips and scavenging in your bag to find your lighter, you caught a glimpse of it in your mind still laying on your countertop in the kitchen. For fucks sake. Looking around for someone who was possibly smoking near you, you sighted 3 guys stood huddling under a shelter from the cold towards the bar entrance, smoke blowing from their mouths, they were your only hope.

Walking up to them and putting on your best smile you cleared your throat behind one of the men stood looking away from you. "Hey, any of you got a lighter I can borrow? I left mine at home." The two others looked at you and shook their head and apologised before they pointed at the guy who turned around to look at you.

How familiar he was, his big sparkling brown eyes were looking right into your soul as you managed to keep your smile intact, feeling really quite awkward as a shudder ran straight through you. "Here you are, love." He flicked the click on the lighter and lit the end of your cigarette for you. You took your first drag which helped calm your nerves and blew out. "Thank you so much, have a good night all of you."

As you went to walk away you were whisked straight back around. "Are you on your own?" The man spoke. You shook your head.

"No, my friends are inside, just come to meet them for some drinks, just figured on a quick smoke before I headed in."

The other guys he was with gestured that they were going to get going and pulled their friend into the manliest most unsatisfying hug you'd ever witnessed, it was quite amusing really.

"Then I guess I'll be joining you in your smoke, I'm Joe." the cute little grin had not left his face.

"Y/N, nice to meet you. You look familiar, do I know you from somewhere?"

He looked away suddenly raising his eyebrows, taking a deep breath and turning back to you. "That depends where you've seen me."

The cogs turned in your head. No longer than 30 seconds later, you clicked. Joseph fucking Quinn.

"Okay, yes of course, I know who you are, my daughter adores Stranger Things, she's watched it at least 4 times over. You'd think an 8-year-old would be terrified; not that fearless child of mine, I knew I recognised you."

He let out a hearty laugh as his head tilted to one side, taking a longer drag of his cigarette. "I'm flattered. You've certainly got a brave girl then."

"Girls, the other's 5 and would jump out of a plane for fun, given the chance."

"And what about you?"

"They didn't get their levels of fearless from me, I'm sure."

Just then, you were both interrupted by one the girls you were supposed to be meeting that ran out of the bar yelling at your other friend, following her out rolling her eyes. She caught you in a quick glance. "Oh my god Y/N, I'm going to have to take this piece of work home, she's been drinking since earlier this afternoon, she saw her ex-boyfriend, screamed in his face and now is really upset. I'm so sorry for dragging you out."

You sighed and looked at your clearly inebriated friend who couldn't even stand properly. "That's okay, I'll go home and get an early night, get home safe... both of you." She gestured to your friend who was wobbling and holding onto the wall, clearly trying so hard not to vomit. "Love you." You gave each other a quick hug and grimaced at them both. Your night ruined.

Joe was loving the small scene of drama unfolding in front of him, he thought it was comical and it made him chuckle under his breath. You turned back to him once they'd disappeared into a yellow taxicab.

"So that's the end of my night then. Short lived."

"It doesn't have to be, come have a drink with me?"

You didn't know the guy and before your head could even talk you out of it you agreed. "Sure, why not."

Between walking side by side with Joe, him opening the door to the bar for you and gesturing you to go through first, you'd already figured he was a gentleman, a handsome one at that.

The time went by so fast, you and Joe had only agreed to one drink which quickly turned into six, seven and then eight, it's never one is it, who were you kidding? The more you got to know him, the more you liked him. It was so easy to understand why you'd seen so many girls crushing on this man, he was attractive and had the personality and humour to go with it, winning you the jackpot of being able to spend the evening with him.

"So, what about the girl's dad, is he around?"

You snorted as you took a sip of your drink, heavily resting it back onto the table. "Absolutely not, I caught him cheating on me after 7 years of being together, he tried to hide his side piece in the wardrobe of our bedroom, and I kicked him out that night. He's with her now and they've had a baby together and he's not even bothered to see his kids since." Taking another hefty gulp of your drink you continued. "Onto the quest of finding the one I guess, it's hard to love and trust someone in this day and age, especially when you've had to start all over."

Joe furrowed his brow and sighed, his eyes now showing a glimmer of sadness in them as he put his hand on your thigh. Your stomach was doing fucking flips. "He's that kind of person, well he's unlucky to lose you and your babies and you're clearly doing a better job on your own. Good riddance to him. You deserve so much more."

You clinked your glasses in a cheers with each other and continued with your night - occasionally sharing flirty remarks and subtle winks between the two of you.

You'd also found out that Joe lived so incredibly close to your house, so he agreed to share a taxicab back with you upon close of the bar, it was 2:30am and you were the last out, linking arms with him and laughing as you'd pretty much been all night, you'd not felt this good in a while.

As the cab pulled up to your house first, Joe said he'd walk you to your front door and insisted he'd go back on foot to his seeing as it was only 5 minutes away. As you opened your front door and lent on the wall, smiling up through your lashes at him, you bid him goodnight, sad to see it all end so quickly. "Maybe I don't have to go just yet..." You shook your head and without warning Joe threw himself at you, pushing you back and slamming the door shut before pinning you against your hallway wall, your lips didn't leave one another as he picked you up off your feet and you straddled his waist. You were trapped between him and the wall, your core practically twitching and your hole soaking from the sudden move he'd made. It'd been a while since you'd been handled this way. Joe broke the kiss; you were both panting for breath. "Where's your bedroom?"

"Up the stairs and first door on the right." Still hoisted in Joe's arms, he carried you up the stairs and into your room, laying you down on your bed before climbing on top of you to pursue the kiss further. Tugging at his shirt, he unbuttoned it and removed it instantly and moved down to kiss your neck, his lips felt so good. Sucking and nibbling lightly on your sensitive skin as goosebumps began to raise, he licked right over your sweet spot and right then and there, you wanted nothing more than for him to take you where you laid.

Joe pulled himself away from you, kneeling down on the floor and eyeing your whole body below you as he watched you undress yourself, you removed your dress, your bra and left your panties on for him to take off when he wished too. He eyed your tits first, licking his lips as he took a deep breath in. "You are fucking beautiful, love. You deserve to feel good and that's exactly how I'm going to make you feel." God, he knew just what to say.

He threw himself right at your chest where he licked around the hardening nub, flicking the other with his finger. His teeth slightly grazing which caused another bolt of electricity to run down your body, making you moan out. "You like that?" You nodded and threw your head back as he moved to the other and swapped motions. Leaning back up to kiss you, your tongues were now battling for dominance, the taste of him could of alone killed you, this was just too damn perfect.

Joe stood up before you and took his trousers and boxers off as his cock sprang up and stood proud. You eyed him up, extremely cock hungry before looking up to him to bite your lip. "Fuck. I want that inside of me. Now."

His eyes lit with surprise; they were darkened with desire for you.

"You don't need anything else?"

"No Joe, I'm ready for you."

"Fuck love, I'm so ready for you, get on all fours, now."

You slowly removed your sodden panties which practically tore off you from how wet you were and got into position. Not feeling any touch, you squealed a little when you felt Joe's tongue fall straight between you, licking through where he could get too. His groan at the taste for you gave him enough ammunition to want to fuck the shit out of you.

"I couldn't help myself, your pussy just called to me."

You giggled as you looked back, he lined himself up at your entrance before closing the distance between you both. Pushing his cock straight into you, not little by little, no; all seven inches in at once.

The moans filled your bedroom from the both of you as he started to pound you, his balls slapping against you. Without more warning, his hand came down hard on your ass, not once, but twice. You were a mess in front of him as your head fell, he quickly made sure that you didn't fall for long when he grabbed a fistful of your hair and yanked you up to kneel straight with him. As he continued to fuck your hole relentlessly, one hand had a grip on your hair and the other hand leaned down to rub your clit vigorously. To say you were in heaven was an understatement.

"F-f-fuck, I'm so fucking close Joe."

"Let me feel you, love, cum on my cock."

Everything became too much, and your legs faltered as you fell to your orgasm. Joe let go of your hair and gripped onto your waist, keeping you upright as you spewed unintelligible words at him. Feeling your walls clench him tight sent his cock pulsating cum out inside of you, he didn't even feel it coming. "Jesus fucking Christ." he growled at the sudden throb of his cock as he buried his face at the back of your neck as you both rid out of your highs.

You went to clean yourself up in the bathroom and brought Joe a towel to clean himself with, you'd deal with that in the morning. As you laid down on your bed at your fucked out state, you offered Joe to stay the night to save him walking home. He agreed and before you knew it, one minute you were talking and the next you'd both passed out on top of the covers.

You woke up to a banging at the front door, what time was it? You leaned up to glance at your phone as you yawned harshly. SHIT. 11am, your mum was bringing the kids back. Joe was still laid next to you, his arm draped over your side as he was stirred by the banging, you sat up immediately.

"What time is it?"

"Joe it's 11, my mums here to drop the kids home. Fuck, I'm sorry."

"No, it's okay, I can meet them, or I can slip away unnoticed, it's not a big deal. Unless it's not a one-night stand which usually isn't me and I can possibly take you out or have you over at my place for dinner one night then..."

Your smile beamed more than ever, ignoring the hangover headache that was attempting to consume you, you leaned over and pecked him lightly. "Oh, I'd love to."

He sat up next to you and stroked your cheek, leaning into your touch. "Just one more." he pushed his lips to meet yours and you shared the sweetest damn kiss of your life. Completely sober too. Joe seemed to learn quick that you weren't bothered about his fame, that you clearly only wanted the person before you, just him.

You left the decision up to Joe on what he felt comfortable doing, put on your dressing gown and made your way downstairs where your mum had let herself in and was folding her arms in the hallway. "Good night, darling?" You nodded. "The best." Your kids came running in from the living room and hugged you in unison, coming down to their level and putting your arms around the both of them you greeted them. "Hello, my beautiful's good night at grans?"

You said goodbye to your mum and took the girls to their shared bedroom to unpack their stuff. Leaving them to it and closing the door, walking back down the stairs you'd noticed Joe who had stealthily come down unnoticed and was opening the front door until his eyes caught yours. You ran down as fast as your feet would carry you and threw your arms around him. "How come you want to see me again, I mean." You nodded your head towards the ceiling. "I have baggage."

"When I feel a connection, I go with it. I definitely felt a connection with you last night, your 'baggage' as you call it is a part of you, love and I want to see where this goes." Over time in his life, Joe had learnt his gut feeling was mostly never wrong. He rested his hands around your back as you gave him a warm hug and leaned up to taste him one last time. "My numbers written on a tissue on your bedside table, text me soon, beautiful."

With that last chaste kiss, he walked away, turning back a couple of times, smiling and waving at you. You were hooked.

The dinner you'd been asked out for went ahead that following weekend as planned and for the last 6 months you'd been dating, he'd met your daughters and created the most unspeakable bond with the two of them. Your oldest daughter had practically passed out when she learnt the new guy in your life was one Joseph Quinn aka Eddie Munson.

Joe had explained before that he'd got 3 younger siblings that he helped his parents with growing up, so he was always a hit with kids. And what a hit he was.

One rainy Sunday afternoon, he was sat on your sofa reading a book with your youngest who was perched firmly on his lap, leaning back on him feeling right at home whilst your oldest was next to him playing on her games console, occasionally shouting at Joe for not watching him play her game. You overheard the sound of them all laughing together as Joe told your oldest to let him show her how the game was done. Showing off was his forte, he enjoyed receiving praise off others and there were no two girls perfect to give him what he wanted but your girls. They loved him so much.

You wandered in quietly and lent at the doorway, watching them all giddy together, laughing joking and talking. A single tear rolled down your cheek, your heart was full and warm, and nothing could take away seeing this moment. Your family felt complete again. Joe felt a presence staring right behind him as he looked back to see you standing there. He patted down to the spare side of the sofa for your youngest to sit and he got up to come straight over to you. "Everything okay, baby?" He wiped the stained tear from your cheek, a slight concern hitting his face but also slightly confused that you were smiling. "I just love you, so much." The concern left quickly as he ran his fingers through your hair, tilted your chin up and planted a soft, slow kiss onto your lips. "I love you most, princess."

This was the figure you needed in your life, in your kid's life. Though he might not be around all the time, it'd make your time more special together. Your life couldn't have been better, especially since Joe.

[oh-saints]

CONCERT

the viking blood in kieran tierney made him well-feared on the pitch but he’s a different kind of beast when vivianne’s safety is at risk.

kieran tierney x neighbour!OC

word count: 4.9k

tw: graphic desc of sexual harassment, violence

note: kieran’s game face, especially one where he’s so ready to fight and tackle everyone not wearing arsenal shirts, always SENDS ME and in commemoration of his two fantastic performances this week, here’s some celebration!

“next time your friend’s playing in town, tell him to choose a pedestrian-friendly place.”

kieran laughed at vivianne’s protest, still smiling as he rolled down his window to flash his all access card to the nearest security guard. the burly guy nodded in acknowledgement at him before letting his car enter the private parking lot.

despite his recent frustration towards the woman for being to innocent tocatching the signals he’d been throwing her way, he could say the same innocence was the very reason he couldn’t stay far away from her.

as a newcomer to the london scene, she only set her mind on getting a relatively cheap place to stay without knowing how far the commute she had to endure every day from st albans to central london. now that she had ended up as kieran’s clumsy neighbour since then, the footballer often times offered her a lift home whenever he was in town, not wanting anything to happen to the poor girl in the almost two-hour journey by public transportation, in exchange of a homecooked dinner once a week at her choice.

(well, in kieran’s words was offering but rob holding might beg to differ as kieran came up with the most ridiculous reasons to go downtown whenever he was free of schedule.)

the same ride home led the two of them to bond over their mutual love of gerry cinnamon’s music. the first time they did that was probably the first time kieran changed his mind about her. no longer was she the girl next door who accidentally burned down her balcony fence, she impressed him immensely by remembering every line of the scottish musician’s songs to date, even though she hailed from somewhere far away from the UK. no girl kieran encountered had rarely ever appreciated his friend’s music, not even his ex-girlfriend who was a fellow scott.

so to show his appreciation, he planned tonight for her.

although she claimed to be a big fan, it was a wonder why she had yet to notice the standing banners and every other attribute that screamed gerry cinnamon’s concert along the road leading up to the venue. with that incredible level of innocence, kieran sometimes pondered if she actually feigned ignorance, instead of being truly naïve.

“you can tell him yourself later when we meet him.”

vivianne always enjoyed how smooth kieran drove—and how good looking he was when he parked the car but she wasn’t going to admit that soon—to the point she was always reluctant to unclasp her safety belt when they’d reached their destination. “is this how underground concert’s always been?”

oh, kieran really couldn’t wait to see how she’d react when she realised they weren’t going to an underground gig like she initially thought. “more or less, yeah.”

vivianne immediately seeked refugee in kieran’s back as soon as they reached for the backstage door, where there were more and more bulky guys standing in guard. kieran’s hand immediately reached for vivianne’s hands, knowing she wasn’t fond of men the size of dwayne johnson—she had to hide when william saliba dropped by his house when she was cooking for their weekly dinner while whispering, “that’s one of your teammates? what do you do for a living, being a mafia?”

had he mentioned how much he loved it when she didn’t know who he was in the eyes of the world?

kieran flashed the bodyguard his access card on his unoccupied hand. “she’s with me. gerry says he’ll give her another card when we see him.”

“alright,” as soon as the hulk eyed vivianne, the woman shrunk into a minion. “but wear it with you at all times once you have it.”

kieran, sensing her growing fear, patted the guy’s shoulder. “got it, big guy. thanks a lot.”

“you never tell me you know gerry cinnamon!” kieran swore nothing beat the excitement sparkling in viviane’s eyes, as clear as the night sky despite the lack of lighting the concert venue provided. “how could you hide that from me?!”

“well, you never ask.”

“well, that’s because—” vivianne groaned while she looped the access card over her head. “you know what? never mind. but thank you so much for this!”

vivianne didn’t spare kieran much time to digest the reality where she placed a peck on his cheek, as fast as the lightning went, before she pulled the footballer by the hand to join the rest of the audience. he could only hope the hand holding his wrist couldn’t feel the insane beat of his heart.

“you sure you’re okay in the stands?”

kieran had actually tried to drag her to the VIP stands, for he feared her safety. one, you could never expect an organised crowd at events like this. two, he couldn’t bear the thought of any fans who’d ask for kieran’s signs or a picture with him—not because he thought they were intrusive but because he didn’t want to cause her any discomfort. he’d seen it first-hand how his fame could affect the way one acted towards him and he’d hate himself the moment she decided he was too much to handle for her own good.

“that’s not where the real concert is, tierney,” vivianne shouted back at him over the opening intro that just started playing. the crowd erupted in cheers as the intro signalled gerry was about to take the stage. “i promise we won’t go too close to the stage.”

for the first half of gerry’s setlist, kieran and vivianne had so much fun jumping up and down as they sang their hearts out. him out of passion for the music, her out of the stress she’d been having at school. he could only pray that none of the gossip column caught on this because they were definitely going to have a field day if they do.

it took vivianne the transitional break between first half and second half to realise that she’d been dancing the night away technically in his arms. she’d wondered once in a while during the set why her excitement hadn’t killed a fellow concert-goer; it turned out that a set of paws belonging to a certain kieran tierney had been resting on top of her hipbones, swaying her in tune with the music to effectively navigated her to avoid bumping against people on their sides.

just as she concluded her train of thoughts, a couple of strangers bumped into them recklessly, pushing vivianne pretty violently to the side of kieran’s chest. at the collision, the left-back instinctively put his hands back on her waist and moved her body slightly so she stood in front of him. that way, he could protect her from any unwanted advances from every direction.

as much as vivianne was still surprised at the fact that she didn’t mind kieran’s large hands had been resting comfortably where they were—she was expecting she’d shy away if he laid a hand on her, despite the occasional casual hand-holding between them—that wasn’t the complete reason why vivianne’s breath stalled. it was only then when she realised the depth of his initial offer to watch the concert from the balcony; he wasn’t merely asking because the balcony had seats, or the better visibility to the stage from there, but because he was very concerned about her safety.

he wanted her to have the best time while also ensuring that they’d get back home safely. God knows how many disasters had happened to these kinds of places at times like this.

“if it’s getting uncomfortable for you, we’re out of here,” kieran dipped his head to shout gently at her ear. “you got me?”

the movement sent shivers all over vivianne’s body that it caught her tongue in place, only nodding as a reply to indicate she understood what he was saying without giving too much away the revelation she was having on the inside.

fuck it, vivianne decided. she could careless about what could be addressed any other time. right here, right now, she simply wanted to enjoy the time of her life, killing two birds with the same stone—she was finally able to see gerry cinnamon live in action while also spending time with someone she considered a dear friend.

but even Cinderella had her share of reality kicking in when the clock struck midnight.

like anything that she likes about being in a dimmed place, some other utilised the pootly-lit venue to their advantages to launch discreet touches and gropes and other kind of molestations she only heard from news.

as gerry was ending his first half of the leg, letting himself catch a breath after entertaining the concert hall for almost more than half an hour without a pause, kieran decided to slip from the standing audience in search of a loo, and a quick refreshment for their sore throat if he was lucky enough.

vivianne remained in their spot as gerry began interacting with his fans in the form of a small q&a session, laughing lightly here and there at the jokes the singer broke. she could see why he was friends with kieran, for they shared the same gag code, which happened to be her favourite kind if she was honest.

not even five minutes entering the talk, she felt a grasp on her waist, and she knew it wasn’t her concert partner. kieran might have a large set of hands, but his wasn’t crude and his grip definitely wasn’t harsh. although her brain was now frying emergency signals, she tried to stay calm and stepped forward, away from the uninvited guest’s reach.

but it seemed like the stranger was adamant to his stance of making her stay in her place, producing such a brute force to set her back to where she stood five seconds ago, crashing against his chest.

vivianne’s skin trickled in shiver from head to toe in utter disgust and immense fright, both at the filthy touch and at herself, for her entire being chose to freeze at that particular moment and she wasn’t able to muster up all the courage she needed to break free from the powerful grip.

“i’ve been waiting for you,” vivianne wanted to vomit her entire gut as he announced his presence, a heavy tint of alcohol lingered in the air he breathed out. “you shouldn’t be with that tierney bloke, he’s a frail pussy. can’t even play 10 matches straight without breaking his arse.”

kieran.

she needed to find him.

with her eyes closed, still in disgust, she forced all her energy to push the drunkard’s hands away. she felt like crying for touching those nasty hands—and maybe she was—but she had to try something. she even cried out a painful wail when she felt the nails digging deeper into the skin in order to prevent her from escaping.

“why struggle, cupcake?” vivianne tried to hold back her tears, for she still needed to see her surroundings clearly. “is power play your kink?”

she was nowhere near a fan of violence—heck, the only thing she couldn’t fathom from kieran was his fascination towards connor mcgreggor—but she put every of her focus to recall connor’s manoeuvre to beat his opponent at one of the matches she watched together with kieran over their weekly dinner.

she stumped her foot on the drunkard’s so hard it was his turn to cry in pain before she kicked him on the shin once he lost of his footings. that gave her some time to escape to turn her body around, eyes frantic in search for the nearest exit. but it seemed like the drunkard stored some more energy in his battery of life, seeing now he was charging towards her and vivianne managed to dodge him away milisecond left on the clock by sheer luck.

she ducked under his arms, making him dive into people in front of them and she swore to God she’d take self-defence classes that kieran always talked about after this stint. the man’s fall caused quite a commotion so vivianne used the distraction to run away to the gate she came from earlier tonight. from afar, she could spot a dirty blonde quiff she recognised was kieran’s and she had never been so glad to have come to a crowded place with someone she knew.

the relief running, though, was cut short when she felt a strong, abusive tug on her ponytail.

kieran had just entered the concert hall again when he heard a screeching howl he recognised as vivianne’s, despite the packed venue and blaring music, and he could feel panic rushing throughout his body. the footballer cleared everyone in his way to reach the spot where her voice came from, pushing the thought of why is everyone not fucking doing anything? deeper down to cease his building anger.

kieran tierney, even though explosive on the pitch at times, wasn’t one to resort to pure brutality as the first measure so things wouldn’t be so pretty anymore if he had reached his boiling point, and that would have to leave his agent and publicist an overnight homework to do.

but no matter how much kieran wanted to avoid triggering a world war 3, he didn’t think twice when he saw vivianne being grabbed by the hair—now being dragged out of the crowd as well by the stranger—and her face was screaming fear as much as her mouth screamed pain.

that motherfucker should’ve listened to his mother to not disturb calm water was kieran’s last thought before he threw a punch on the low-life pest.

kieran could notice vivianne jumped in her place, her face now painted in shock, probably from the fact that he really attacked her assailant and now the other guy was on the floor, unconscious and blood running down his nose like a waterfall.

(remind him to call connor mcgregor in person to thank the legend for being so patient in their one-on-one lesson of k.o. punch techniques until he mastered them.)

kieran could see the guards were—finally!—running to their way, the same time the bastard regained his consciousness. alarmed, he pulled vivianne closer to his back, shielding the woman with his entire being from another unwanted strike while still putting himself on alert in case the idiot tried to have another go at him. “you okay?”

as much as kieran wanted to dwell on the pain he felt deeply when vivianne jumped at his touch, as if she was scared for her life when he touched her, he was beyond relieved when she nodded her head. gone was the sleek ponytail, her wayward hairs were falling, covering half of her face as her head bobbed. Clumsy vivianne was one thing to be protected, but shaken, traumatised vivianne triggered him to provide a whole new level of shelter.

(despite all of the chaos, kieran still thought, what a beautiful mess.)

unable to see this side of vivianne, knowing his unfortunate decision to go to the loo part-took this outcome, kieran immediately took of his jacket and draped it over the frail figure. if it wasn’t because of one of the guards asking about the incident that just happened behind him, he would’ve hugged her and hauled her out of here—or anywhere as long as they were out of danger, really.

the act didn’t go unnoticed by vivianne, whose empty eyes—god, vivianne was anything but empty and lost— looked up to him when she felt the fabric of his jacket was warming her exposed shoulder blades. for a moment, her eyes raked for God knows what of kieran’s face before a drop escaped her tear gland as she realised he was indeed him, kieran tierney, and not another freak who wanted to do other unhonourable deeds.

he could only guess what thing and how much pain she had gone though in a split thunderstrike second.

but now, all he could do to her was to wipe her wet cheeks and let her whimper in lieu of loud cry. his other hand went to brush the strangled mess called her hair, smoothing the knotted evidence of the fight she had just undergone.

he could hear the guards were asking for his attention again so he had to let go of her. before kieran could answer the guards, vivianne’s tug paused his motion. the scotsman peered down his shoulder, only to find vivianne’s eyes speaking volumes than mere words, and he made a silent vow to himself never to go to any jam-packed places with her, ever again.

“hey, hey,” kieran closed the distance between them, his strong arm enveloping her small frame, his hand cupping her face in an assuring manner. “i’m not going anywhere, okay? let me just talk to the guards.”

vivianne shook her head fervently. “please don’t leave me.”

“can we just get somewhere less crowded to talk about this?” kieran thought he’d been fortunate enough to have yet felt any heartbreak but he swore vivianne’s meek voice was close enough to be the cause of it. “preferably somewhere she can get medical attendance as well.”

a paramedic attended her, after the 999 being called by one of the guards, and was now dabbing some cotton pads on the back of her neck. if kieran didn’t insist, vivianne wouldn’t know there were some cuts on her skin. here and there, nothing major, but enough to digest what seemed like a fleeting reality only moments ago. the paramedic then proceeded to ask a couple of questions regarding her mental well-being after such a catastrophic night, to which vivianne answered with honest answers despite shivers running down her skin every time she recalled what happened. thankfully, the paramedic decided she would need no further medication to be taken at home, unless she was starting to show symptoms of anxiety or such.

“glad to hear that,” the detailed questions took her focus away from kieran, and before vivianne knew it, the man had stood in her right, towering her sitting figure. “thank you for your help.”

the paramedic gave a curt nod to the footballer, who was now casting his eyes down at vivianne.

for the first time, in a brighter place at that as well, he had the time to full examine the extent of the damage caused by that unfortunate event. although her eyes were now deprived of fear, he could spot some scratches around her forearms, and kieran could feel the blood in his system boiling again.

“what did they say?” although his eyes remained focused on spotting any other blotches of redness, kieran could feel the expectancy in vivianne’s voice. “do you have to go through police investigation?”

“depends,” kieran shrugged as nonchalantly as possible, not wanting to worry the possible disaster that might knock his door the next morning. “i’ve given out my statements, the security guys are going to share cctv access to the venue. all that’s left is that prick’s statement.”

vivianne could only give another relieved nod, knowing the evidence would do kieran only good.

“does it hurt?” kieran took her hand and gave them a detailed look, the tip of his fingers brushed around the ointment smeared over the miniscule injuries, all ever so gently. he didn’t wait for vivianne to answer before he added, “i shouldn’t have left you.”

“what matters now is that you came back,” and at vivianne’s reply, kieran went back up to search for some kind of clue she wasn’t saying that just because. but one trait he’d always admired from her innocence was how truthful she was to her words. “you don’t know how relieved i was to see you back in the crowd.”

a shaky breath from vivianne and kieran wished she would stop speaking because he felt the same too, so he spoke in her place. “but the fucking cunt just had to grab you by the hair.”

unbeknownst to himself, his hand moved before his brain could proceed, skimming down from the side of her hair, her shoulder, before going back up again to the face, cupping them gently. in his defence, he was making sure—more to himself—that she was fine, both mentally and physically.

for a split second, kieran was deadly afraid vivianne would shoo him away from her as he inflicted another unwanted advance towards her. but instead, he was met by a relieved pair of eyes before they were closed into a perfect shape of dome.

vivianne sighed in content at kieran’s touch, for this one she knew it was safe, a striking difference to her aggressive nightmare less than an hour ago. still in disbelief of what went down, she couldn’t help but grab a hold of his hands that were still wrapped around her facial frame, making sure it was indeed kieran that stayed with her.

and kieran had never felt more conflicted at the sight more than in the moment.

while he was beyond glad and relieved she didn’t find his physical contact frightening—he was already preparing himself if she retaliated at the touch as it triggered a traumatic response—he couldn’t shrug off the pain in his chest when he saw his favourite character seeked comfort and security in someone as monstrous as he had become of in order to protect her.

“i’m sorry,” his thumbs sweept over her crescent eyelids that reminded him of the moon, eyelashes fluttering at his light stroke. “i’m so, so, so sorry.”

and vivianne had never felt like crying again more than in the moment.

she was used to escaping danger on her own, for she had been only by herself for most of the time, but to see a livid kieran actually released a well-aimed punch on her place… she was accustomed to the notion of tucking her emotions away, especially in public places, because anyone could exploit the cracks for their benefits so she’d gladly give kuddos to anyone who knows the limit to suppressing their anger as well as the perfect time to vent it out. including, but not limited to, kieran tierney.

wait—

especially kieran tierney, who practically betted everything on the line, just to get his point across his their opponent. he did it anyway, on her place on top of that, regardless of the consequences he had to face the first thing in the morning. she could already imagine the hot waters being poured over his head for his actions.

yet, he was the one apologising.

this time, it was vivianne’s turn to move the pad of her thumbs along the back of his hands, feeling the sturdy knuckles contrasting her delicate skin. “oh, no, kieran,” she managed to breathe out a breathless laugh before opening her eyes, intending to square him as she said, “thank you.”

and she had never meant a simple thank you like she just did, with every fibre of her being.

the eyes are the window to one’s soul, they said, and kieran had never preached the saying so much until this wonderful, ethereal beauty walked into his life and bared everything non-verbal so clearly and fluently through her eyes. maybe it was part of the innocence she kept holding on.

it didn’t even take kieran a full five seconds to know she meant it—and everything else she tried and had been trying to transmit through her organ of sight. it was a fantastic feeling no one could compete, liberating in some ways or another, that he had finally figured her out.

his heart and brain contained too much feelings to be put in words to respond to that but he hoped his grin made it up for her. thankfully for kieran, it did because vivianne couldn’t help but reciprocate a grin as big as his when the smile she loved so much carving its way to those thin pair of pink lips.

in a spur of a second, it dawned on vivianne that she had just gone through what was possibly the wildest night in her life. but it took her this one particular hell of a rollercoaster ride to come to a realisation that kieran had always put her first whenever he could—be it when she was physically around him or not; be it when he was physically around her or not.

at this huge swing of thor’s hammer hitting her equilibrium of life, she rolled her head backwards, laughing uncontrollably at how fast the night changed.

kieran’s eyebrows were now furrowed, eyes dancing partly in mirth and another in curiosity. “what?”

trying to calm herself, vivianne looked up again to those brown orbs that reminded her of his favourite guilty pleasure. “what what?”

she was so drawn into the milky chocolate pool that she didn’t realise kieran had closed the gaps between them. the tips of their noses were now touching, their breaths tangled—he inhaled what she exhaled, she breathed in what he breathed out. one move, and their lips would break down the last millimeters of their long-standing wall.

“share it with me,” kieran breathed down, and it was palpable that he was restraining himself so hard not to peer down further to her lips. “share me one last laugh before the world’s ending tomorrow.”

kieran was only whispering above the air but his baritone voice was as clear as a crystal to vivianne’s ears, even amidst the packed and loud area surrounding them. “as much as i’m glad we spent our last night before doomsday watching gerry cinnamon, i’m gutted we didn’t get to catch where we’re going.”

kieran really broke into a laughing tirade at how funny vivianne was, despite herself undergoing such an unfortunate event. not many managed to do so, and for that alone, kieran couldn’t help but lean his forehead against her, ever so smoothly that vivianne herself didn’t realise the touch.

“but i’m very glad i’ve met you,” with a heart-dropping grin, kieran didn’t know—and didn’t want to know—what to make out of himself if his answer wasn’t considered a confirmation of what they were now. “though i’m sure we can still watch it somewhere in the backstage.”

“yeah?”

the braveheart only nodded in response. “we have all-access card, don’t we?”

the back of vivianne’s head was alerting her they were very much still in such a public place and setting, and she wanted to push away kieran so he could get a grasp of reality that anyone could practically catch them in such an intimate pose and misunderstood them but her brain seemed to be consumed by everything of kieran—his gaze, his graze, his breath, his smell, his warmth—to the point she couldn’t bring any muscle in her body to do so.

so, vivianne decided to take the action to her own hands, breaking the staring down contest for their her sake by averting her gaze somewhere else.

unfortunately, the first other thing her eyes landed upon was his lips, now set in straight line, making his lips a lot thinner but still managed to look plump, glistening in the prettiest shade of natural pink. call it adrenaline for all she cared, vivianne didn’t think anymore as she raised herself to her tiptoes, reaching the back of kieran’s neck before pulling him downwards for a kiss, putting every of the unspoken words they shared so far into a definitive term. and as someone risk-averse, vivianne’s heart soared high the moment kieran reciprocatively poured the same amount of love into their kiss.

if vivianne wasn’t busy contemplating how kieran could kiss with so much passion without pressing himself too much, she’d definitely dwell on how plush and soft his lips were and how glad she was to find out they tasted just as they looked like.

kieran pulled away first, still cradling her face gently in his hands while his fingers played with her hair. some, he tucked it behind her ear, tracing the soft shell with the tip of his fingers. as much as he wanted to have more of her, as he knew he couldn’t get enough of her, she didn’t deserve to share such an intimate moment at the back of an ambulance.

even without words, he knew she knew. from her perspective, kieran’s smile was everything she needed to know. while he promised of everything better later on, she’d have to settle for this for now. so she pulled her to a tight hug, maximizing some moments they had left, their noses filling each other’s crook of necks perfectly like a fit of puzzle.

“i’m so glad you’re okay,” her breath tickled in his ear, and if her hand skimmed down to kieran’s back, she’d know it sent shivers all over his back. “thank you for everything you’ve done for me tonight.”

kieran returned the tight hug, nuzzling his nose deeper into its matching piece of puzzle as she conveyed her gratitude, and vivianne could feel his lips brushed featherly on the skin right above her pulse before he whispered, “anything for you,” against the skin of her neck.

[guess-my-next-obsession]

Boss — Chapter Thirteen

pairing: javier peña x CIA!OC

warnings: angst, lovers to enemies, mild sexual language, a whole lot of tension

words: 1.8k

Three Weeks Later — Cali, Colombia

“Can I get you anything else, Chief?” Valeria’s secretary asked from the doorway of her office. She sighed and rubbed her eyes, the ache from reading file upon file for the last week finally starting to get to her.

“Can you find me some tylenol?” She sighed out, sitting back in her chair and rolling her neck to crack her bones.

“Yes, ma’am.” The young agent-in-training disappeared, a familiar (and irritatingly smug) face appearing in Valeria’s doorway after a beat.

“Stechner,” she sighed and leaned forward onto her desk. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“You know I don’t relish in being the bearer of bad news…” She chuckled darkly and raised her eyebrows, shaking her head at him as she awaited the rest of his sentence. “But I’m afraid we’re going to have some DEA joining our operation.”

“You forget where I come from,” she watched as he pretended to be apologetic before returning to his smug look. “How many?”

“A team. That includes another boss,” he smirked as he sat down in the seat in front of her desk. “Listen, you’ve been doing great down here—“

“Oh, yes. The mountain of paperwork I’ve been filling out has really contributed to serving justice.” She leaned back and crossed her arms over her chest.

“You do realize you joined the Central Intelligence Agency, right?” He squinted at her, studying the roll of her eyes. “As your boss—“

“Another reason to love my job.”

“Alright.” He managed a chuckle at her sarcasm. “I know it’s difficult to work alongside a fellow high ranking official. I just want to urge you to not be a complete asshole to these agents. They might be of good use, you know?”

“Yeah,” she nodded, shrugging. “I’m sure things will be perfectly swell between our agencies.”

“Good. How about you join me in greeting our new DEA attaché, then?” He stood up and nudged his head towards the door. Valeria’s assistant returned with her headache relief and she thanked every god she knew of, quickly downing the pills before following Stechner out into the office. “Now, I should warn you. This guy is a real dick. But whatever the cost, try and make him feel welcome. Dick or not, he’s a valuable addition to our operation.”

“I’ve become used to the type.” Her mind momentarily flipped back to the man she left behind in Texas, something she’d grown used to in the weeks since their breakup.

“Oh, that’s right! You two worked together in Medellin, didn’t you?” Stechner chuckled in remembrance as the elevator door opened, Javier Peña standing right in front of them.

It felt like the air had been knocked out of Javier all over again when he saw Valeria standing there. What about London? Was that a lie, too? He couldn’t believe his eyes, so he blinked a few times—yep, she was still there in front of him.

“Holy shit.” She sighed and turned around, making a bee-line for her office and slamming the door closed.

What the fuck was he doing here? Did he really go back to the Agency after giving her so much shit? Did he really end their relationship over taking this “dangerous” job, and then go and take one for himself?

She couldn’t have been more furious. And hurt—that she couldn’t ignore.

“I didn’t know Valeria—I mean, Agent Hernandez was running the operation.” Javier spoke to Stechner in a low grumble as they walked through the room filled with desks to his ex’s office.

“Bad blood?” He asked, reaching for the handle of the door, opening it. Valeria was sat on the sofa inside her office, nursing a glass of whiskey with trembling hands. “Well, that was an exit.”

“I’m sorry. I just…was expecting literally anybody else.” She sat back in her seat and finally gave Javier a proper once over.

He looked drained, though that had no effect on how handsome he was. But after being so close to him for as long as she was, she gained the ability to be able to see past it all. He may have been dressed in a nice suit, his hair perfectly groomed, his face still as handsome as ever…but he looked like a ghost.

“Thought you’d gone to London.” He finally spoke up as he stood in the doorway, eyes avoiding hers as he fidgeted with his briefcase handle. Stechner raised his eyebrows and clapped his hands.

“Well, glad I could introduce the two of you. Try not to kill each other before we catch the Godfathers.” He stood up from the desk and walked out, leaving the two of them alone.

She watched Javier as he stood there, not saying a thing and not acknowledging her existence beyond that little jab he got in. God, how could she have ever fallen for him?

“Listen, if we have to work together, let’s at least do it civilly.” She began, watching as he shook his head and scoffed at her words.

“Nothing about me interacting with you will ever be civil, Miss Hernandez.” He finally lowered his eyes to her, knocking the wind out of himself again. She turned her eyes away, his glare too intense for her eyes to take, as though she was staring directly into the sun. He chuckled and tapped the wood of her doorframe as he turned to walk out. “Nice office…boss.”

The minute he left her alone, she felt all of the grief of their breakup strike her all over again. She sat there and wondered if he knew how close she came to ending her life in the weeks that followed their split. Truthfully, it had only been a few days ago that she could wake up and not feel like that day was going to be her last. The weight had finally been lifted off her chest, and now here he was, putting it right back.

•••

Javier needed a bit of relief after his long day at the office avoiding his ex-girlfriend. He still couldn’t believe this was really happening—Valeria and him being forced in the same city, same building, same fucking office. He held so much resentment towards her, or at least that’s what he told himself over and over as he flew to DC to withdraw his resignation. He wanted to spite her for choosing to sign her life away to the government by doing the same thing—only he thought he’d have the last laugh by putting the Godfathers in jail instead of her. But now, here she was, pulling more weight than he was in the whole fucking operation.

And to make matters worse, she looked fine. Better than fine. She looked good. For the last three weeks, he’d created this villain in his head that looked worn-down, crushed by the breakup—just so that he’d feel better about his own worn-out and crushed state. But she didn’t look crushed. She looked the best she ever had, at least on the outside.

Javier found himself sitting at a bar, sipping a glass of whiskey while a young woman stared at him across the room. He could feel her eyes long before he turned to check her out. She was pretty, and boy, did she look ready for him. Tossing back his whiskey, he began to stand up to go introduce himself, but was stopped by the sound of Valeria’s voice ordering a whiskey neat down the bar.

“Gracias,” she sighed out and rolled her neck, accidentally catching the gaze of the very man she intended to drink yourself numb over. “Oh, fuck my life.”

“Agent Hernandez.” He sat back down and groaned, gesturing at the bartender for another glass as he clenched his jaw.

“Do you avoid saying my name out loud for a reason?” She asked with irritated smugness, her head throbbing at the sight of him in his white button down, his tie gone and the first few buttons undone. I cannot do this again. She wasn’t very good at convincing herself of anything, let alone to steer clear of Javier.

“Yeah, well…leaves a bad taste in my mouth.” He shrugged, making her blood boil.

“You never complained about the taste before.” Why was she saying things like that to him? Was it really that hard to shut up? Yes, when he looked like that, it was.

“No, I didn’t.” He chuckled and nodded, a smile creeping onto his lips as he thought back to her spread out on that hotel mattress, his tongue lapping every bit of her arousal up as though it was its purpose.

When the bartender handed her her drink, he asked if she’d like to settle the check then or start a tab. Before she could respond, Javier stepped in and told him to add it to his.

“No,” she protested, but neither Javier or the bartender listened. With a sigh, she picked up her drink and moved over to the seat beside him, her eyes locking with a young and beautiful woman across the bar who was now glaring at her. “Looks like you have a suitor.”

“I was about to go introduce myself before you walked in and reminded me that there’s no point.” He turned his head towards her and let his eyes comb over her face, the tip of his tongue swiping over his plump bottom lip. She felt her ears turn hot as he devoured her with his eyes, her heart racing as she turned to face forward.

“Why’s that?” She finally managed a response, lifting her glass to take a much needed sip of her drink. Javier reached over to tuck a fallen lock of hair behind her ear.

“Because no one feels as good as you, querida.” His voice made her shiver, her center aching for him, betraying her heart and mind. Javier downed the rest of his drink and leaned closer, the whiskey on his breath filling her senses and clouding her judgement. “Let’s get out of here.”

“Javi,” she sighed and hung her head, the temptation almost painful. Javier reached his hand over to rub her lower back as she rested her head on the bar, worsening her conflicted state. Valeria let out a groan and a chuckle at her building desire.

“It doesn’t have to mean anything,” he whispered, not thinking anything of his words. She sat up straight and looked over at him with a glare. Shaking her head and scoffing, she stood up and downed the rest of her drink, sliding her purse over her shoulder and taking a deep breath before looking at him again.

“It will always mean something to me. It means everything.” She spat, feeling the familiar ache in her chest start back up again, her throat swelling. “You want something to not mean anything? Go fuck her.”

“Leria,” Javier stood up and watched as she stormed out of the bar, his hand on his hips as he cursed his poor choice of words. He only meant to convey that the past could be forgotten, if only for the night, but of course, that’s not what came out.

With a deep sigh, he turned back to look at the girl across the bar, her once-pretty face now ordinary in comparison to the woman he truly wanted. Still, he walked over to her, ignoring the pit in his stomach as he searched for some sort of relief from the nonstop ache in his chest.

“Hola, bonita. Soy Javier, como te llamas?”

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[writingsfromhome]

Chapters

A/N: Here it is! You’re a single mother out on the town with your kid when you bump into your ex Harry, there’s a complicated history and a secret you hold tight to your chest and everything unravels as your paths collide again.

Chapters Parts: 0.5 / 1 / 2 / 3 / 4 / 5 / 6 / 7

---------------------------------

“How about a lollipop?” I ask my four year old as we make our way to the underground. It was a sharp winter day, the sky was a clear blue and all the changing colours were hazy under a soft blanket of snow that was starting to coat the street around us. It was an unexpected surprise to see snow in November, one that Julien was over the moon for.

People on the street were dressed in their wool coats, couples holding on to each other and children grabbing the hands of their parents. It was one of those picturesque days that made you want to do cliche outdoorsy things which was exactly what forced me and Julien to ride into central London and find some hot chocolate and a park to enjoy the views.

I was currently debating with my son what it would take to get him to yank the loose tooth in his mouth. It had been ready to pull for weeks but it was his first loose tooth and he was too afraid to let it go.

“A whole pumpkin pie to yourself?” I continue, looking down at his pink cheeks and y/e/c eyes.

“Nuh-uh!” His cheeky smile gives away how much he was enjoying the game.

“You can stay up as late as you want over the weekend?” I bounce back.

“Nuh-uh!” He chirps. “Not that!”

“Hm,” I think out loud. He lets out a giggle and takes off the knitted hat I’d placed on his head before skipping off in front of me. “Julien! You don’t want to catch a cold!”

He stops and waits for me to catch up and I crouch down to smooth his hair back. I pull the hat down over his eyes which sends him into a fit of giggles. I’m too busy laughing that I stand up too quickly and lose my balance, taking a step back to stabilize myself.

“Woah!” Someone grabs my arms and I plant my feet on the ground so I wouldn’t stumble further.

“Are you alright?” Someone else asks.

I turn to thank whoever kept me from falling flat on my butt but my words escape in a white puff of smoke as I look into those sea green eyes.

“Harry,” I say while he says “Y/N” with the same shocked expression.

“Wow,” Harry says, finally removing his hands from my arms. I feel wobbly without it.

“I’ll just be...uh over there,” I look to the other voice, Niall. He smiles at me before removing himself from the awkward situation.

“Julien,” I gasp as I realise I’d lost him in the chaos but I spot him staring into a shop window, his breath making the glass foggy. Niall walks in that direction and after looking back at me for confirmation, I nod to say he was alright to talk to.

“Wow, Y/N...I never thought I’d ever see you after..”

Harry leaves the sentence hanging between us, somehow colder than the snow falling around us.

"London’s a small place,” I knew this day would come, was just hoping it wasn’t for another 10 years. “It’s been a while though.”

“Yeah like four...five years...” Harry combs his hair and the snow melts against his fingers. I glance at Julien to make sure his hat was still on and I’m not surprised to see him laughing with Niall. My worlds, both past and present, were colliding here on this random sidewalk and it was taking everything in me to act so casual.

“How’ve you been?” I struggle to say. I didn’t want to make small talk with Harry-I wanted to grab Julien’s hand instead and walk away. But I force myself to look at Harry--really look. He looked as good as the day I met him, his hair is kept shorter than he used to but it lifts with the wind like it always did.

M’pretty good.” Harry stuffs his hands in his pocket and I resist the urge to fix his scarf so it better covers him from the cold. “It-it’s been good. You? I haven’t heard much about you after we uh...what have you been up to?”

I look at Julien unconsciously and this time Harry follows my gaze.

“Oh-is that-is he yours?” Harry says before I could tell him. His voice sounds odd, like he couldn’t take in enough breath to say it.

“Yeah.” I notice Julien was trying to cover Niall’s boots with snow. “Julien--stop that.”

He looks at me, embarrassed, and I try to squash the guilt. Niall shouts that he’s alright and I turn my attention back to Harry who can’t take his eyes off of Julien.

“He’s a cute kid. How old is he?”

I notice the way Harry tries to sound casual but I can tell he’s guessing Julien’s age and matching it with our timeline.

“Three,” I lie.

Harry wasn’t incorrect in assuming Julien could be his. Maybe it made me the worst mother in the world but Julien was Harry’s and none of them were the wiser.

But it’s not as simple as that.

Many years ago (x) when I’d just graduated high school and went to my first house party, I’d met Niall and although we didn’t “click” immediately we were around enough mutual friends that we’d gotten on well. Fast forward a little over a year and I was invited to his party where I met a tall and very handsome bloke who was an absolute gentleman when I threw back too many shots and passed out in his room. You’d have to be heartless not to be taken by him back then.

We hadn’t remained friends for long; Niall and the rest of our friends were delighted. And I’d remained happily coupled through the rest of my years at uni. The year I graduated Harry and I moved into a flat and we’d found great jobs. But Harry had dreams of being a musician, and he was so talented. I believed in him so we made a plan that he would try his hand at releasing some music and trying to get signed to a label. A year, we gave it, and then he would find a part-time job to be realistic.

Except, the music industry was harsher than either of us realized, and they pushed and pulled Harry around without any results. It strained our relationship, especially when I was working myself raw to support his dream and it felt like he was taking it for granted. Harry turned into someone I couldn’t recognize, the stress and ego made him a man who was nothing like the sweet guy at Niall’s party who slept on the floor so I could stay safe and comfortable after drinking too much.

The day everything ended, we’d said some ugly things to each other. Worst of all, Harry made it clear he wanted nothing to do with me. And with the person he’d become, I didn’t want him around me anymore even though I still loved him. The truth was we weren’t who we used to be.

The only time we talked after that was when Harry came back to the flat for his things, and had a few friends help him take down his studio, and to sign off of the flat. A few days later-my mum had come to visit with roses and one sniff sent me sick to the toilet. My mum suggested a pregnancy test and that was the situation I’d found myself in.

After the way we ended, the last words Harry had said, and the silence after we’d split-I really believed he wanted nothing of me. But as my belly grew, I had something of his. The day Julien was born and placed in my arms with wispy curly hair and a booming wail, it felt too late. I couldn’t tell Harry then, I couldn’t deal with him and raising a kid well.Maybe when Julien was older, I had thought then, I would tell him who his father was.

I glance at Julien who was sticking his tongue out to catch the snowflakes. His hair had slowly turned into a thick mop on his head and his wailing turned into an endless stream of “why’s”. I loved him more every day and tried to push the guilt aside whenever I saw a part of Harry in him. The first time he asked me about his dad was right before he turned four, I’d tried to answer as best as possible.

“Do I have a dad?” He’d asked innocently.

I’d blinked at him, trying hard to keep my emotions in check. “Of course, love.”

“Where is he? Did he die?”

“Not that I...no. No he’s alive and well in London.”

“He’s in London?” Julien’s eyes lit with a hope that was too bright it was dangerous.

“Um,” this was where the lying began. “He was in London. When we loved each other very much and had you. Now...he could be anywhere.”

“Where is he?”

“I...don’t know. Why don’t you finish your dinner!” I felt rotten, I did know. Every New Year’s and Julien’s birthday, I let myself look Harry up. To move on, I couldn’t be obsessive, but I told myself I was keeping tabs on him for Julien’s sake. There wasn’t much in the first couple years but the year Julien turned three Harry released an EP. One of the songs in particular was a big hit. It nearly gave me a heart attack the first time I recognized his voice loud and clear on the radio as I dropped Julien off at daycare. He still wasn’t top-10-charts famous, but his following was increasing every day, and I would even see a few papp shots of him every so often. He was big enough that rumors circulated often enough of which musician or model he was dating, and in a way I was happy he could finally live his dreams but it also made me question if I was just a step on his ascent to fame. And so I lied to Julien when he asked to stop the questions I wasn’t prepared to answer.

“Okay,” he’d picked up a bite and put it in his mouth before asking. “Is he a secret agent?”

“What!” The crushing guilt constricted my lungs and I gulped for breath. “He’s a very handsome man who I met in university and I loved dearly. You have his nose.”

Julien clutches his nose and smiles. “Cool!”

Later on I’d created a better, cleaner story for him and he’d accepted that. But I couldn’t help but wonder when he would want to see his dad. When this exact moment would happen-I would bump into Harry and have to tell him. But...maybe not yet.

“Three? He’s tall for his age.” Harry looks back at me.

“Yup. That’s what my mum says all the time.”

“How’s y/m/n doing?” Harry asks with genuine concern.

“Oh she’s good, spoils the kid too much but she’s happy.”

“I bet. She was always asking for grandchildren passively,” Harry chuckles at the memory.

“Yeah that time she threw us an anniversary dinner and included baby shoes in the gift?”

“Oh my god I forgot about that,” Harry laughs. “Your mum’s pretty cool.”

“Yeah, your family’s alright?”

“Oh yeah. Good as always.”

Our conversation fizzles out again and I stare in frustration at the patch of skin Harry hadn’t covered with his scarf. How did we have all this history and not even carry on a conversation past a few sentences? How could I expect to invite him back into our lives, when we don’t get along like we used to? There was so much between us, good, bad, and ugly. It was like looking at a tangled ball of yarn and figuring out which string to pull.

“Hey Harry, Y/N!” Niall calls.

I turn and am suddenly pelted with a snowball.

“Hey!” I shout and I hear Julien’s giggle as another hits me and the stray snow off the one that hits Harry.

“Do we get them back?” Harry asks.

And that’s how we find ourselves in the middle of the sidewalk scraping the little snow on the ground, having a snowball fight like we were still in college, and there were no big secrets weighing on us. Or me. It was nice, but when Harry picks up Julien as a shield and his face lights up at being that high in the air, something in my chest squeezes and I can’t breathe.

“Okay time out!” I shout, feeling winded. “Uncle or whatever.”

“Aw your mum’s forfeited!” Harry lowers Julien and I go to grab him.

“Mum!” Julien whines but I shake my head.

“I’m too old for this,” I pull him in but his shoulders hunch over in disappointment. “You guys are probably busy too I shouldn’t-”

“No actually,” Niall glances at Harry. “We were just coming out of a lunch meeting, heading home now. Y/N...it’s been a while.”

“Oh, I know,” I look longingly at my old friend. We sort of stopped talking after Harry and I split, I just didn’t want to be around anyone who knew him. And after finding out I was pregnant, I had to cut everyone off. I didn’t want anyone to get wind of who’s baby it was. Niall had left me some voicemails, and I could tell he was hurt by my actions. He even tried to get my sister to convince me to call him. But I had to leave him behind as well.

“Bring it in,” Niall pulls me into a hug and I squeeze him. We used to be friends before Harry, it sucks he was a casualty of our separation. “You should come over, are you busy? We’re heading back to Harry’s flat. We can all catch up like old times.”

I’m about to decline, first of all it was nothing like old times and second of all I can’t even imagine what a mess this could be when Julien tugs on my sleeve.“Please mom? I’ll pull my tooth out if we can!”

“Oh so this is what you decide on?” I turn on him but his sweet little face with the wonky smile makes it hard for me to say no. “Fine!”

“You’ve got a loose tooth?” Harry asks.

“Yeah! My first!” Julien jumps up and down.

“Wow buddy! I remember my first tooth!” Niall ruffles Julien’s hat. “Are you going to yank it with a string?”

“No!” Julien shoutts. “I’m too scared.”

“I’ve been trying to convince him for weeks,” I tell the two. “He’s a stubborn kid.”

“We’ll convince him,” Harry tells me. “Right Julien? We’ll tie the string to the door and yank it really hard!”

I bury my face in my hands as I hear Julien squealing at the visual. This was not going to be an easy day.

Harry lives close, who would have known. We walk the corner into a nicer neighbourhood, even his lobby is fancy, and I wonder just how well he was doing. I wonder if he finally got a better manager, how he convinced his label to release that EP which I still hadn’t listened to. I knew I couldn’t handle it if I did.

Harry’s flat has the basic furnishings, but it’s not very lived in.

“I just moved in a couple months ago,” Harry says as we walk in. “Don’t mind how it looks.”

“It’s nice,” I take in the big brown couch and TV that was twice the size of ours. His kitchen is accessorized in gold, and I eye the fancy coffee machine on the corner of his counter. I see the London Eye from his balcony window, and also notice the dining table is the only thing that looks lived in--it has scraps of paper and notebooks, CDs, and some gadgets I don’t recognize.

“Homework,” Harry says when he notices me looking it over.

“School?” I ask. Was he taking music courses?

“School of life,” Harry’s lip twitches and I can’t help but crack a smile at his lame attempt at a joke. Julien asks him about his guitar leaning against the couch, and he heads over to show him.

It’s heartwarming and hard to watch as Julien falls in love with Harry. Julien is engrossed with Harry’s skills and Niall and I talk for a bit about life.

“Have you got yourself a boyfriend?” Niall asks, both of our eyes are on Harry naming every chord Julien asks.

“Pfft no,” I answer. There had been one guy when Julien was almost one and a half. We’d dated right up until the end of that year, but ultimately he couldn’t be with someone who had a kid. And even though it hurt, I understood. I didn’t want any guy to feel like he had to put up with Jules just to be with me.

“His dad?” Niall asks.

“What about him?” play it cool, play it cool.

“You’re not together?”

I can’t help but laugh, “No Niall, it’s been a while.”

“Don’t worry, I’ve had the worst luck with women these last couple years. I think my last girlfriend put a curse on me.”

“Really, women are witches angle?”

“No, Y/N she was actually into that shit. She had these crystals and she talked about the second moon rising or something. Anyway, I’m telling you I’m cursed.”

“Oh shit,” I look at him and we burst out laughing. Talking to Niall was always a good time, it was playful and easygoing.

Eventually, Julien gets so attached to the boys that he throws himself to the floor when I tell him we had to go home for dinner. Niall and Harry convinces us to stay. I offer to cook dinner and it takes them barely a second to agree--back when Harry and I were going out and we were all friends, cooking for them was a regular thing which they enjoyed just as much as I did.

“You can choose the game,” I hear Niall saying. Soon, the noise of cheering and thumping mixes with the sound of the sizzling skillet. I enjoyed the process of cooking: the sound of the knife hitting the cutting board, and the aroma of food filling the small space had a way of calming me down. Even in this strange kitchen I could feel myself relax. That is until,

“Salad?” Harry materializes next to me and gives me a scare. “Sorry-didn’t mean to scare you!”

“That’s fine,” I focus on the pan. “I was just really focused on this, but go ahead.”

“I think this is the only good thing I know how to make,” Harry jokes.

“And you probably don’t even eat it,” I tease.

“I’ll have you know I’ve acquired a taste for salads if it has the right dressing.”

“And it’s drenched in it?”

“Swimming in it, not quite drenched,” Harry plays along. It tugs at my heart.

“A lot has changed I see,” I continue seriously. “Your palette has definitely matured.”

“Yeah,” Harry suddenly quiets. I take it as a sign to continue adding my ingredient to the pan but he turns to me. “I’ve-well I’d like to believe anyway, I’ve uhm…I’ve matured too.”

“Oh,” I’m glad I’m cooking on high heat because I could only spare him a glance as I focus back on the skillet, moving the ingredients around.

“Mum?” A voice calls out and then it comes closer.

“Yes?” I watch Julien shuffle into the kitchen looking down. I turn the heat down and Harry takes the spoon from me without mention. “What’s wrong?”

Julien slowly unfurls his hand to show his little tooth, he looks scared and I notice the streak of blood on his chin.

“Oh my god!” I hold his arms. “It’s out! The tooth’s out!”

“It’s bleeding!” His voice quivers. I pick him up and pass Niall who apologizes.

“Don’t,” I wave him away. “Don’t worry. Which is the bathroom?”

“Last door on the right!” Harry shouts just as Julien starts to cry. I carry him to the last door on the right and get him to gargle, reassuring him he was okay.

“Does it hurt?” I ask him when I set him on the counter.

“No,” he says quietly. He was just overwhelmed, it usually took a quiet corner and deep breaths to calm him down from this.

“This is exciting!” I rub his arms. “Now you look extra cute with that gap in your smile.”

He slowly looks up and gives me a big smile. It makes me laugh, and I poke his belly until he laughs too. By the time we’re out Harry’s finished what I started and he’s chopping vegetables. Niall hovers nearby and I tell him everything was fine. Julien decided to jump from the couch all on his own.

“This is huge,” I hear Harry tell Julien later as I finish up the dinner. “You’re growing up so fast! When I first met you you had all your teeth and now you have one less.”

“Want to see it?” Julien’s enthusiasm for everything gross returns but Niall and Harry feed into it. They ooh and ahh at the tiny tooth and I have to take it away before Julien accidentally swallowed it or something.

“You ever heard of the tooth fairy?” Niall asks while we eat dinner. Julien barely reaches the table so we end up sitting around the coffee table which must feel special to Julien because he can barely sit still.

“Uh-huh, mum said she gives me money for my teeth.” Julien looks over at me.

“Yeah, so you’ve got to keep the tooth safe under your pillow tonight.”

“Have you seen her?” Julien’s charmed by Niall and his accent, I could tell.

“The fairy that leaves you money?” Harry asks. He looks at me as he continues, “I’ve seen her, she’s pretty beautiful.”

“Will I see her?” Julien continues to ask but the roaring in my ears muffles the conversation as I’m caught in Harry’s stare. What he meant with his words was obvious, I just wasn’t expecting him to say something so bold. Not with all the fucked up history between us, and with the son he didn’t know he had sitting between us. Quite frankly, I still thought to this day Harry didn’t care about me. That maybe he even hated me. I know personally there were moments where I felt as much hate as I did love for him.

“Y/N, how much do you think a tooth like that’s worth?” Niall snaps me out of my thoughts. I glance away from Harry and to Niall, who glances at Harry and makes a face. Harry looks down at his plate.

“Maybe 2 pounds?” I think. “Might even get a fiver if you behave.”

“The conversation drifts and Julien makes his way back to the guitar while the boys wash up. I lean against the soft cushions, watch as Jule’s brows stitch together as he plucks each string and listens to their sounds. He looked so much like his father then, I want to whisk him away before the boys see. In that moment, it was so obvious he was Harry’s son.

Oh god, it hits me again. We were here in Harry’s flat. I was here with his son neither knew. The guilt has been eating away at me today, but there wasn’t a single moment where I could tell him. Truthfully, I didn’t know if I even wanted to. I wanted to keep Julien to myself. Our lives would get so much more messy if I opened that can of worms.

“So, you’ve probably heard Harry on the radio yeah Y/N?” Niall asks as he sits down. Harry sits down on the opposite end of his sectional where Julien strums the guitar. He picks Julien and the guitar up onto the sofa and produces a pick from his pocket.

“I heard him a couple times, that one song of his is popular on the radio-”

“Sign of the times,” Niall pushes Harry from where he sits. “That’s his baby. Harry can you believe we used to be in a band together?”

“Wait you two?” I didn’t know this.

“Yeah in high school, we were in this stupid band and we played school assemblies and stuff. He was the star clearly.”

“Niall’s being humble,” Harry tries to shift the attention. “He had a good sound, and his lyrics were spot on. That’s why I pull him into my meetings sometimes.”

“Did you guys record any of your shows? I need proof of this,” I laugh. “Why have I never known this?”

“We don’t like to talk about it,” Harry says to me directly and there it is again, damn. His eyes lock onto mine and it’s fucking magnetic.

“Have you listened to his album?” Niall continues.

“It’s an EP,” Harry mumbles.

“I haven’t actually, don’t get much time between Julien and work,” I lie.

Harry clears his throat. “You’ve never...listened to anything?” he asks and the vulnerability in his question pokes at my defenses.

“I-I usually listen to whatever’s on the radio,” I don’t know how Niall was sitting so comfortably in this awkward conversation but when I look at him he’s smirking. He loved it, of course. “Like I said, I’m not much for finding new music.”

“Mom listens to Abba all the time,” Julien says without looking up. “We like to dance on the weekend.”

“Right,” I laugh, slightly embarrassed at my son’s confession. “We do enjoy that.”

“Let’s see here,” Harry plucks a few strings on the guitar and Julien looks up in amazement. He was killing me. “This...” he makes eye contact with Niall who laughs and the next thing I know Harry’s strumming to dancing queen. Well it doesn’t sound like dancing queen right away, but when Niall comes in with the oohs and Julien catches on and joins in, Harry launches into the chorus and I pull my knees up, wanting to cover my eyes. But I don’t.

Harry’s voice is rich and controlled, and it’s mesmerizing. I circle my knees with my arms and watch Harry; the contours of his face are highlighted as he comes alive. It was so unfair how handsome he continued to look. When he finishes the chorus, Julien falls to the floor gushing about how awesome that was.

“I can’t believe you guys just did that,” I say. “That was...that was amazing.”

“I played that for you once remember?” Harry says to me directly. “When I bought the electric guitar...”

“I...” I forgot until that moment. But it comes back to me, Harry saving up to buy an electric guitar because he wanted to branch out from his traditional one. It was a few months into his first year trying to make it. I’d come home from work and after dessert that he prepared he took the guitar out and serenaded me. He knew it was my favourite song. “You did, I remember.”

The silence in the room is deafening. Thank god for small children because Julien, completely oblivious, walks up to Harry and hands him back his pick.

“You didn’t need this?”

“Ah, come up here,” he pulls Julien into his lap and places the guitar over them both. He takes Julien’s hand with the pick and strums some chords. Julien squeals and looks at me wide-eyed. I widen my own as he strums out twinkle twinkle little star.

“Oh my god mum did you hear that?” he runs over to me as soon as Harry finishes, sliding down and throwing himself into my arms. “Wasn’t that so good?”

“That was phenomenal,” I hold him tight, inhaling the babyness of him. I realize here and now what he’s missing, seeing him share this passion with his father. I was keeping him from this. This was so fucking unfair. I feel a tear drip down my cheek and I swipe it away on the bank of my hand as Julien wriggles out. I let him go, getting up myself. “We should get home, it’s nearly his bed time.”

“Aww,” Julien whines.

“You’ve got school tomorrow,” I warn him.

“Isn’t he three?” Harry asks and I try to reign in my oh fuck face.

“Preschool,” I lie and I think I do a good job of covering my arse. I pray Julien’s too busy examining the guitar to correct me. “Enrolled him early.”

“Well Julien,” Niall picks him up and holds him upside down while he laughs from the blood rush. “Let’s get your shoes and coat on.”

I know Niall is giving Harry and me room to talk but I don’t want to do this right now. I had so many things to think through, namely how confused it was seeing Harry. It seemed like he had changed, or changed again--back to the guy I knew when I first fell in love. He was kind and gentle with my kid--our kid. He was considerate and welcoming, but another voice in my head tells me he could be putting on an act. That the other Harry was somewhere waiting for me to get comfortable before he showed up.

But it had been nearly five years, a lot has clearly changed. I just don’t know if I trusted Harry, and yet...I had to trust him enough to deliver this news I had been keeping for the last five years. But maybe, I decide then, I could wait a little longer.

“It was nice seeing you,” Harry breaks the silence. “We didn’t get to talk much but...”

“Julien had a lot of fun,” I try to keep the subject off of me. “Thanks for letting him play around with your things.”

“He’s a good kid,” he pauses, I can tell the question is on the tip of his tongue but he swallows it. “Can I-are you um, would you want to see each other again? To...catch up. Properly.”

“I don’t know if that’s the best thing for me right now,” I remember the phrases from therapy, boundaries. That’s what I was putting up right now. “But I’m glad to see you’re doing okay--well, more than okay but...yeah.”

“Yeah,” he hesitates. “I...I couldn’t have done it without you.”

Too little too late, the bitter words pop into my head and i’m surprised with the level of hostility I feel. Even Harry feels the weight of his words, everything they mean, because he stands awkwardly in the middle of his living room with his hands shoved in his pocket.

“I should make sure Julien’s ready,” I turn and walk towards Niall and Julien’s voices. I couldn’t even respond to that, what did he want me to say? Just get over how he treated me, after everything, just because he recognized everything I did for him now? Oh lord, violent waves of emotion threaten to drown me as I say goodbye in a blur and hustle Julien outside and into the closest cab. I needed a drink--but first I needed to put my kid to bed. Today was more eventful than I thought, and I wasn’t sure what I was doing anymore.

When it came down to it, I loved Harry because I couldn’t imagine not loving him. But I didn’t trust him. I didn’t know who he was and five years of no contact hadn’t helped. My only updated were from headlines and occasionally my sister, but I didn’t know what kind of person he’d become. If, and it was a big if, I was going to tell him about Julien I had to make sure he would be a good dad. That he was someone our son could look up to.

[blackswaneuroparedux]

ltdan2288 asked: As a fellow veteran of the Afghan Campaign, might I ask if you have any thoughts about the imminent end of Allied air support & combat-advisory operations over there? The fall of large swaths of the country to the Taliban is already underway, which can only be seen as an unspeakable tragedy for the people there. From a strategic perspective, there’s no reason to believe that we won’t have to return in some capacity of AQ or ISIS reestablish themselves under Taliban sponsorship. At the same time, it’s not clear to me that our presence did anything beyond kick the can down the road and delay this inevitable outcome. As someone with such a deep knowledge of military history, I’m curious if you have a different perspective.

I have been avoiding answering this post for a while now because Afghanistan dredges up so many conflicting emotions inside me. I wrestle with so many memories of my time there with my regiment to fight in a war that we all didn’t really understand what we were fighting for.

Deep breath.

Almost two decades of conflict in Afghanistan has cost British taxpayers £22.2billion, or $31.3 billion according to UK government figures. As British troops prepare to leave Afghanistan, the 20-year deployment bill could be even higher. As of May 2021, the total cost of Operation Herrick (codename for the deployment of British soldiers to Helmand province) is £22.2billion. There were 457 fatalities on, or subsequently due to, Op Herrick. Of which 403 were due to hostile action. During the operation between January 1, 2006 and November 30, 2014, there were 10,382 British service personnel casualties. Of these 5,705 were injuries and the remainder being illness or disease. The UK’s remaining 750 troops in Afghanistan, involved in training local forces, started exiting the war-devastated country in May. Most of them will return home by the end of July.

They, like every one of us who went to fight in Afghanistan, will ask the same questions, ‘Why did we go there?’ ‘What was the real purpose of the mission?’ ‘Was it worth it?’

Both my older brothers fought there with special distinction and I later fought there too. I have very mixed emotions when I think about my time in Afghanistan. For all its faults and tortured history, I love that country and love its many ethnic people. I even started to learn Pashtu as I already had a spoken command of Urdu because I had been raised partly in both Pakistan and India and it’s where many Afghan refugees living in the UN camps for over a generation had learned Urdu too.

It’s not just that my family has history in Afghanistan going back to the days of the East India Company but I had a sincere respect for its culture and history as one of the central hot spots for great civilisational achievements, but also as a stubborn and unruly country who proudly defied the Great Powers to bend the knee and turned it into a ‘graveyard of empires’. Most of all I think of the friendships I made there and how my perspective on life changed as a consequence of knowing such resilience and fortitude in the face of catastrophe and death.

I’m sure like everyone else I wasn’t too surprised by President Biden’s announcement that he was announcing the imminent withdrawal of all American troops in Afghanistan. He wanted to pivot to something else when asked about it. “I want to talk about happy things, man!” He said. Who could begrudge him given that America has been at war in Afghanistan for a better part of 20 years and has nothing to really show for it. Except of course the loss of its brave service men and women as well as the death of thousands of Afghan civilians. It spent more than $2 trillion to kill Osama bin Laden, the architect behind 9/11 attacks and failed to convincingly snuff out both murderous terror groups, Al Qaeda and ISIS.

When the Secretary General of Nato announced back in April 2021 all alliance troops were to be withdrawn from Afghanistan, it was made to look like a nice, clean, enunciation of a joint decision. The end date was set for 11 September, 2021 - 20 years after the terrorist attacks on New York and Washington - and it was in line with the oft-repeated alliance maxim: we went in together; we will come out together. Except that, on closer examination, it was all rather messier.

This was partly because the withdrawal from Afghanistan had actually been Trump’s policy, so here was Joe Biden, the anti-Trump, co-opting a policy from his predecessor (a policy Trump had been so keen on that he tried to accelerate the withdrawal after he lost the election). Biden then tried to detach it from Trump by slowing down the withdrawal date a little and expressing it in terms more comprehensible to the Washington establishment and to US allies.

Where Trump had essentially done a deal with the Taliban and set a withdrawal date of 1 May, Biden left the Taliban out of it and invoked the totemic date of 9/11. This does not mean, of course, that the withdrawal will not be completed a good deal sooner - once you announce a withdrawal, you might as well get on with it.

In fact, Biden had to make a decision one way or another, given the rapid approach of Trump’s 1 May withdrawal date. And, whether it came from Washington or Nato, it was pretty low key for an announcement that a 20-year military involvement that had cost 4,000 allied lives was ending. Indeed, many people beyond Washington and Afghanistan might not quite have registered the news, given the considerable noises from Nato’s simultaneous dire warnings about Russia massing troops on the Ukrainian border, the death of the Duke of Edinburgh in the UK, and the Covid pandemic everywhere.

And distractions were needed not just because Biden was implementing a Trump policy. It was also because he was ordering an unconditional withdrawal – which he justified, correctly, by saying that setting preconditions would mean that the troops could be there forever. It was a risk Biden knew all too well, given that Barack Obama had been persuaded by General David Petraeus – against his election pledges and his better judgement – that what Obama really wanted was not a withdrawal, but a ‘surge’ with conditions attached before a withdrawal could take place.

Distractions were also useful for London, where the timing was hardly ideal. Imagine you were in government in London, you had watched the dismal failure of the UK’s Herrick operations in Helmand Province between 2006 and 2014, you knew that your armed forces had suffered 456 deaths in 20 years, with many more severely injured, but you had hung on in there.

Your government had also just released a blueprint for foreign and security policy, setting future priorities even further from home, in the Indo-Pacific, and your Prime Minister was about to make a high-profile visit to India as part of his post-Brexit ‘Global Britain’ branding . In those circumstances, an announcement that the US had decided to leave Afghanistan, giving you no choice but to follow, was almost exactly what you did not need. Rather than showing the UK as a powerful, autonomous military actor and a valued ally, it showed the exact opposite.

It also reminded an unhappy British public about a costly conflict it had rather forgotten. And those who did more than bother to remember - like the families who lost loved ones on the battlefield - and who over the years have blamed successive governments for moving the goalposts and lacking an exit strategy (all true too).

All of which might explain why the UK’s Foreign and Defence Secretaries followed the US example by changing the subject to the iniquities of Russia and China, rather than issuing a joyous pronouncement to the effect of: hooray and thank goodness, our boys and girls are coming home.

The UK’s Chief of Defence Staff, General Sir Nick Carter gave a subdued, unenthusiastic response to Biden’s announcement. I cannot remember such open acknowledgement of UK-US military policy friction in recent decades - or such an abject admission by the UK of its defence dependence on the US. What Carter said was that the unconditional withdrawal was ‘not a decision we had hoped for, but we obviously respect it and it is clearly an acknowledgement of an evolving US strategic posture’. In other words, the UK had opposed Biden’s decision – or would have done, if asked (which is not clear). Also, that it was Washington’s ‘strategic posture’ that had ‘evolved’, not the UK’s. He suggested there was a real danger that progress made could be lost and that there could be a return to civil war, with the Taliban maybe returning to power - again, all true.

Given that the UK officially has only 750 troops in Afghanistan at present, and most of them are there in a training capacity, to dissent from the US position so openly would be considered decidedly rude in the Ministry of Defence. Perhaps to that end, General Carter played the dutiful soldier and had to - through gritted teeth - put a positive gloss on Afghanistan’s future, insisting that the objective in going into Afghanistan, ‘to prevent international terrorism emerging from the country’, had been achieved which was ‘great tribute to the work of British forces and their allies’.

He also said that Afghan forces were ‘much better trained than one might imagine’ and that the Taliban ‘is not the organisation it once was’, so that ‘a scenario could play out that is actually not quite as bad as perhaps some of the naysayers are predicting.’ Blah blah blah. He’s wrong, and I think he knows it but only in the sanctity of his gentlemen’s club might he truly admit it.

I know he’s wrong because the chatter amongst ex-veterans I know is that we’ve made a balls up of Afghanistan yet again - by ‘again’ I mean from the past 200 years of us Brits trying to bring order to chaos in Afghanistan and getting burned for our troubles.

Both my father and my older siblings tell me what their friends and ex-service peers (some very senior indeed) have been nattering over a drink at their gentlemen clubs where ex-veterans haunt the club bar. Many just shake their heads in sighed resignation before burying themselves in the Times crossword or drowning their sorrows with a beer or two at how lock in step we’ve become to the Americans at a time when the British army is re-branding itself as a more independent nimble hi-tech impact army (the creation of a new ranger regiment being but one example).

Still if President Biden wanted to tie a neat bow on U.S. involvement in Afghanistan - saying, as he had, that the logic for the war ended once al-Qaida was gutted and Osama bin Laden killed - then it reveals a stunning lack of introspection about the United States’ role in the conflict that will continue in Afghanistan long after the last American and British troops leave.

Less than three months after President Joe Biden declared that the last American troops would be out of Afghanistan by September 11th, the withdrawal is nearly complete. The departure from Bagram air base, an hour’s drive north of the capital, Kabul, in effect marked the end of America’s 20-year war. But that does not mean the end of the war in Afghanistan. If anything, it is only going to get worse.

It is true that the president had no good choice on Afghanistan, and that he inherited a bad deal from his predecessor. There are never good choices when it comes to Afghanistan: only bloody trade offs.

But in announcing an unconditional withdrawal, he made the situation worse by throwing out the minimal conditions U.S. Special Envoy Zalmay Khalilzad had negotiated under the Trump administration. U.S. envoy Zalmay Khalilzad has delivered to the Afghan government and Taliban a draft Afghanistan Peace Agreement - the central idea of which is replacing the elected Afghan government with a so-called transitional one that would include the Taliban and then negotiate among its members the future permanent system of government. Crucial blank spaces in the draft include the exact share of power for each of the warring sides and which side would control security institutions.

The refrain now from the Biden administration is that the United States is not abandoning Afghanistan, that it will aim to do right by Afghan women and girls, and that it will try to nudge the Taliban and Kabul toward a peace deal using a diplomatic tool kit.

But the narrative ignores much of the reality on the ground. It also ignores history.

In theory, the Taliban and the American-backed government had been negotiating a peace accord, whereby the insurgents lay down their arms and participate instead in a redesigned political system. In the best-case scenario, strong American support for the government, both financial and military (in the form of continuing air strikes on the Taliban), coupled with immense pressure on the insurgents’ friends, such as Pakistan, might succeed in producing some form of power-sharing agreement.

But even if that were to happen - and the chances are low - it would be a depressing spectacle. The Taliban would insist on moving backwards in the direction of the brutal theocracy they imposed during their previous stint in power, when they confined women to their homes, stopped girls from going to school and meted out harsh punishments for sins such as wearing the wrong clothes or listening to the wrong music.

More likely than any deal, however, is that the Taliban try to use their victories on the battlefield to topple the government by force. They have already overrun much of the countryside, with government units mostly restricted to cities and towns. Demoralised government troops are abandoning their posts. In the first week of July 2021, over 1,000 of them fled from the north-eastern province of Badakhshan to neighbouring Tajikistan. The Taliban have not yet managed to capture and hold any cities, and may lack the manpower to do so in lots of places at once. They may prefer to throttle the government slowly rather than attack it head on. But the momentum is clearly on their side.

America and its NATO allies have spent billions of dollars training and equipping Afghan security forces in the hope that they would one day be able to stand alone. Instead, they started buckling even before America left. Many districts are being taken not by force, but are simply handed over. Soldiers and policemen have surrendered in droves, leaving piles of American-purchased arms and ammunition and fleets of vehicles. Even as the last American troops were leaving Bagram over the weekend of July 3rd, more than 1,000 Afghan soldiers were busy fleeing across the border into neighbouring Tajikistan as they sought to escape a Taliban assault.

As the outlook for the army and for civilians looks increasingly desperate, so do the measures proposed by the government. Ashraf Ghani, the president, is trying to mobilise militias to shore up the flimsy army. He has turned for help to figures such as Atta Mohammad Noor, who rose to power as an anti-Soviet and anti-Taliban commander and is now a potentate and businessman in Balkh province. “No matter what, we will defend our cities and the dignity of our people,” said Mr Noor in his gilded reception hall in Mazar-i-Sharif, the key to holding the north (sounds like Game of Thrones). The thinking is that such a mobilisation would be a temporary measure to give the army breathing space and allow it to regroup and the new forces would co-ordinate with government troops to push back hard on the Taliban.

However this is Afghanistan. The prospect of unleashing warlords’ private armies fills many Afghans with dread, reminding them of the anarchy of the 1990s. Such militias, raised along ethnic lines, tended to turn on each other and the general population.

With America gone and Afghan forces melting away, the Taliban fancy their prospects. They show little sign of engaging in serious negotiations with Mr Ghani’s administration. Yet they control no major towns or cities. Sewing up the countryside puts pressure on the urban centres, but the Taliban may be in no hurry to force the issue. They generally lack heavy weapons. They may also lack the numbers to take a city against sustained resistance. On July 7th they failed to capture Qala-e-Naw, a small town. Besides, controlling a city would bring fresh headaches. They are not good at providing government services.

Perhaps the Taliban have learned their history lesson and might refrain from attacking Kabul this time around. Their best course may be to tighten the screws and wait for the government to buckle. American predictions of its fate are getting gloomier. Intelligence agencies think Mr Ghani’s government could collapse within six months, according to the Wall Street Journal. So clearly the momentum is on the side of the Taliban and they just need to chip away at Ghani’s forces one district after another until the inevitable and hateful surrender of the central Afghan government to their demands.

At the very least, the civil war is likely to intensify, as the Taliban press their advantage and the government fights for its life. Other countries - China, India, Iran, Russia and Pakistan - will seek to fill the vacuum left by America. Some will funnel money and weapons to friendly warlords. The result will be yet more bloodshed and destruction, in a country that has suffered constant warfare for more than 40 years. Those who worry about possible reprisals against the locals who worked as translators for the Americans are missing the big picture: America, Britain and other allies are abandoning an entire country of almost 40m people to a grisly fate.

Nothing exemplifies - at least in Afghan eyes - of all that has gone wrong with American involvement in Afghanistan than in the manner of their leaving.

The U.S. left Afghanistan's Bagram Airfield after nearly 20 years by shutting off the electricity and slipping away in the night without notifying the base's new Afghan commander, who discovered the Americans' departure more than two hours after they left in the middle of the night without raising any alarms.

They left behind 3.5 million items, including tens of thousands of bottles of water, energy drinks and military MRE's (Meals Ready to Eat ration packs to the uninitiated). Thousands of civilian vehicles were left, many without keys to start them, and hundreds of armoured vehicles. The Americans also left small weapons and ammunition, but the departing US troops took heavy weapons with them. Ammunition for weapons not left for the Afghan military was blown up.

Now that is some feat considering the logistics of this mass exodus without drawing any attention. You have obviously been to Bagram and so you will know just how big and sprawling it is. Bagram Airfield is the size of a small city, roadways weaving through barracks and past hangar-like buildings. There are two runways and more than 100 parking spots for fighter jets known as revetments. One of the two runways is 12,000 feet long and was built in 2006. There's a passenger lounge, a 50-bed hospital and giant hangar-size tents filled with furniture. And all those shops to remind Americans of home from familiar fast food restaurants and hairdressers and massage parlours to buying clothing and jewellery and buying a Harley Davidson motorbike (or so I’ve been told).

I’m guessing that the Afghans were certainly outside of the wire and probably had not been inside Bagram Airfield for months. So from the outset they would not have had any reason to think anything was going on until the generators probably ran out of fuel and it started to go a little too quiet. The inner gate was probably discretely left unlocked and when the US stopped answering the radio/phone and then they probably investigated.

Before the Afghan army could take control of the airfield about an hour's drive from the Afghan capital, Kabul, it was invaded by a small army of looters, who ransacked barrack after barrack and rummaged through giant storage tents before being evicted, according to Afghan troops. Afghan military leaders insist the Afghan National Security and Defense Force could hold on to the heavily fortified base despite a string of Taliban wins on the battlefield. The airfield includes a prison with about 5,000 prisoners, many of them allegedly Taliban members.

I’m pretty sure some bright spark in the US Pentagon public affairs dept convinced his military superiors that it was important to avoid the optics of Americans leaving in the same way they did in Vietnam in case it depresses the American public and the US military. Instead it demoralised its allies, the Afghan national army who are now the only line of defence against the Taliban.  In one night, they lost all the goodwill of 20 years by leaving the way they did, in the night, without telling the Afghan soldiers who were outside patrolling the area. The manner in which the Americans left Bagram air base amounts to a resounding vote of no confidence in Afghanistan’s future. It just looks bad.

The U.S. choice came with costs attached to each decision. With staying, the cost was potential U.S. troop casualties and a fear that things would not change on the ground. With leaving comes the cost of a deeper conflict in Afghanistan and a backsliding of progress made there over the past two decades. In many ways, the costs of staying seem shorter-term and borne by the United States, while the costs of leaving will be predominantly borne by Afghans over a longer time horizon. Yet, even if those costs seem remote now, history tells us that they will be blamed on the United States.

Biden perhaps reflective of history of Americans getting into quagmires abroad didn’t want to be seen exerting time and energy for a losing cause. His decision also reflects his administration’s foreign policy for the American middle-class paradigm, which focuses on domestic considerations over international ones (and is this so different from Trump’s “America First”? No, it is not). The irony, though, is that the American middle class largely doesn’t care about Afghanistan - their ambivalence gave way to support for this decision once it was announced, but it wouldn’t be hard to visualise the public approving of a scenario that kept a couple thousand troops there for a while longer.

What’s perhaps most disturbing is the narrative the president has presented along with the rationale for withdrawal: that America went to Afghanistan to defeat al-Qaida after 9/11, that mission creep led America to stay on too long and, therefore, it is time to get out. This takes an incomplete view of U.S. agency in the war in Afghanistan. The narrative implies that the civil conflict in Afghanistan today did not originate with America - that this more than 40-year war began with the Soviet invasion of Afghanistan in 1979, preceded America’s interference in Afghanistan, and will follow our departure.

The fact of the matter is that, by beginning the campaign in Afghanistan in 2001 and overthrowing the Taliban, who were then engaged in their draconian rule, and installing a new government, we western allies began a new phase of the Afghan conflict — one that pitted the Kabul government and the United States/Britain/NATO against the Taliban insurgency. The Afghan people did not have a say in the matter. That we allied powers are leaving Afghan women, children, and youth better off in many ways after 20 years is due to us, and we should be proud of that. But that we are leaving them mired in a bloody conflict is also due to us, because we could not hold off the Taliban insurgency, and we must all reckon publicly with that.

I have to ask myself why did we fail?

I’m only speaking about us Brits now as I’m sure you have your own thoughts as an ex-Marine officer of what you thought of the American military effort. Yes, I’m copping out of really bashing the yanks because first, I have too much respect for those fantastic American service men and women I did have the privilege to fight alongside with; and second, we Brits have nothing to crow about as we fucked up in lots of ways too, and to make things worse, we should have known better given our imperial history with Afghanistan.

The seeds of our failure in Afghanistan lies in not learning from history. We didn’t have a mission that was properly defined nor did we have a strategy that was clear, coherent, and easily communicated to both its fighting men and women as well as to the British public.

Were we there to get our hands bloody and to root out and destroy extreme Islamist terrorists or were we there to indulge in state building out of some idealistic notions of liberal humanitarianism? This question was at heart of our failure within our government and also within the British army as well as our relations with America and our NATO allies and finally the Afghans themselves.

Although never colonised in the same manner as other central and south Asian countries, the modern Afghan state is very much a creation borne out of great power rivalry. A land occupied by a number of different ethnic, linguistic and religious groups, it is a country whose borders were defined by, and whose sense of national identity was forged in response to western great power competition. Its geopolitical position - landlocked, mountainous, and surrounded by past great powers and present regional rivals - lends Afghanistan a dual role of geographic obscurity and great strategic significance, and has as such frequently been treated as little more than a buffer state between empires and a proxy of local powers. Its shared historical border with Russia and British India made it an object of imperial intrigue and, by consequence, has been subject to five European military interventions in the last 175 years.

The first three interventions of these occurred during the era of ‘the Great Game’ in the nineteenth and early twentieth centuries, in which Britain and Russia (latterly the Soviet Union) competed for influence and control over Afghan politics in order to protect their respective imperial holdings in India and central Asia.

The fourth and fifth interventions, ranging from the late 1970s to the present day, similarly involved attempts by Soviets and then by an American-led international coalition to remove political leaders acting against their interests and to protect their favoured candidates.

The unifying feature of all these conflicts was the idea of Afghanistan as the site of potential threats to the interests and security of more powerful states.

Britain’s legacy in Afghanistan in particular set the tone for the country’s historical pattern of conflict and political contestation, fuelling both the intermittent emergence of Afghan national consciousness and a fractious political lineage that saw thirteen amirs in just eighty years. Interventions by the Empire during the Great Game set the conditions for the assassination of ostensibly national leaders by their compatriots (Shah Shuja Durrani in the First war) or their exile by the British (Shere Ali Khan and Ayub Khan in the Second).

Despite the British achieving their aim of protecting India in the second and third conflicts by maintaining Afghanistan as either a pro-British buffer state or as a neutral party, the Afghan narrative tends to emphasise successes such as the massacre of British forces retreating from Kabul to Jalalabad in 1842, the defeat of British and Indian forces at Maiwand in 1880, and the gaining of sovereignty in foreign affairs in 1919.

Soviet intervention in the late 1970s and 1980s further buttressed this identity of resistance, and the failure and ultimate overthrow of the Communist-backed Najibullah government, as well as the collapse of the Soviet Union shortly after their drawdown from Afghanistan, led to a sense amongst the victorious mujahidin of the country as the ‘graveyard of empires’.

Afghanistan’s modern history should thus be seen as inextricably linked to the ebbs and flows of great power politics. Each intervention exacerbated extant internal power struggles between rival elite individuals and groups vying for nominal control over the country. Foreign intervention in Afghanistan was met on each occasion with fierce resistance from tribal militias coalesced around religion; as has been remarked upon by one historian of the country, the threat of external domination has been one of the few means of uniting its disparate population around the concept of an Afghan ‘nation’, and in most cases this shared sense of identity cohered around religion, not nationalism.

Indeed, the presence of intervening powers and the development of the Afghan state may be seen as mutually supporting: whilst most Afghan leaders throughout the last two centuries have asserted their sovereignty over the country, the reality has in most circumstances been one of competing tribal chiefs and/or ‘warlords’ rather than a single dominant leader.

Where leaders have managed to cohere the disparate tribal and ethnic groupings of the country under one banner - most notably under the regime of Dost Mohamed Khan (1826-1839, 1845-1863) – this was due in large part to their diplomatic abilities of compromise and co-optation with Afghanistan’s regional power- brokers. In other cases, such as that of the reign of Abdurrahman (1880- 1901), power was maintained by an unflinching ‘internal imperialism’ and the use of punitive force against rebellious factions.

The challenges of maintaining and projecting centralised power in Afghanistan allow us to see the relationship of its leaders with world or regional powers in the last two centuries as one of mutual exploitation. Throughout the Great Game and the Cold War, whilst the British/Americans and Russians/Soviets would use threats and bribes (and occasionally force) to compel Afghan rulers to comply with their geopolitical needs, Afghan rulers themselves often deftly manipulated those powers to maintain and extend their own power.

The pattern followed by Afghan leaders from the nineteenth century to the present day is remarkably similar in the respect that most have relied upon a rentierist economic model, seeking external aid in order to sustain the cost of security and administration. The plan of modern rulers was to warm Afghanistan with the heat generated by the great power conflicts without getting drawn into them directly. Abdurrahman, for example, used British subsidies to fund his military campaigns against rebellious factions; the Musahiban rulers of the mid-twentieth century used American capital to develop its nascent economic infrastructure and Soviet finance to bolster its armed forces; and, following the overthrow of the last royal leader of Afghanistan, Mohamed Daoud, in 1978, the quasi-communist leadership of Babrak Karmal, Hafizullah Amin, Nur Muhammad Taraki, and Mohammad Najibullah during the late 1970s and 1980s relied in the main on Soviet money and military assistance in its ultimately failed attempt to implement socialist policies and put down the American, Saudi and Pakistani-backed mujahidin.

These trends continued into the post-Cold War period in respect to both the Taliban movement (essentially directed and funded by Pakistan), the Northern Alliance (funded largely by former Soviet central Asian states) and the regime of Hamid Karzai (maintained in economic and military terms by the American-led, NATO-operated International Security Assistance Force and the wider international community). In the former cases, occurring in the main in the period of civil war between 1992 and 2001, rentierism was limited to the maintenance of proxy parties and the continuation of conflict.

By contrast, the ISAF mission bore similarities with the Soviet-backed socialist regimes of the 1980s, insofar as it focused huge amounts of capital and military resources on stabilisation and state-building efforts. Both intervening parties made the error of ignoring Afghanistan’s political history and focused their efforts on bolstering the authority of a centralised state, both promoted policies that were deemed ‘universal’ in their application and were, unsurprisingly given such hubris, vulnerable to accusations by Afghan opposition to being alien and imperialistic ideologies, and both expended enormous amounts of blood and treasure in order to sustain the regimes they supported.

The UK’s struggle to locate a coherent strategy for Afghanistan should, therefore, be seen firstly in the light of the historical problematic of Afghan state-building. This is important in narrative terms because difficulties of defining strategy imply similar challenges in explaining strategy. As with its efforts to ‘think’ strategically, Britain’s ability to explain the strategy(ies) for the war in Afghanistan have been frequently criticised by various commentators. The most strategically debilitating aspect of the Afghan campaign has always been the incoherence of the mission’s purpose; indeed the question ‘‘why are we in Afghanistan?’’ has never really been settled in public consciousness. The international community massively underestimated the difficulties of state-building and greatly overstretched themselves in the commitments made to Afghanistan, and that they did so because ‘strategies’ for Afghanistan rested on assumptions of the universal applicability of liberal state-building.

The international community from the start (meaning from the Bonn Conference of late 2001) fundamentally misunderstood the nature of an Afghan society deeply ravaged by decades of conflict, and failed to foresee the malign effects state-building ventures would have on the country. Specifically, the Bonn Conference, which set out the parameters of the post-invasion Afghan state, implemented a centralised state system onto a state whose experience of such was limited, and where the success of such a system in extending its authority beyond the major cities was predicated on coercion and the use of force.

Historically this has rarely been a credible option for Afghan rulers or their international backers, and was even less so under the self-imposed restrictions of liberal war-fighting and state-building. Rather, re-creating a centralised state required Afghan and international actors to enter into the same methods of co-optation and compromise as those of the past; in necessitating these kind of measures – as opposed to implementing a looser, federal system of governance – the centralisation of the Afghan state paved the way for a reconstitution of a ruling order based on tribal elements and ‘strongmen’. This produced something of a paradox for state-builders, as the creation of a strong, central state capable of implementing liberal policies across Afghanistan came at the cost of entering into alliances with ‘warlords’ known for their illiberal and coercive political approaches and illicit economic activities.

Another unintended but unavoidable consequence of centralised state-building identified by scholars is the re-constitution of the rentier state in Afghanistan. Post-Bonn, Afghanistan returned to its historical norm of maintaining the state via the extraction of external security and development rents, without which it would almost certainly implode due to the ruinous state of its economy and taxation system. Studies have shown that his new rentierism differed from previous patronage systems at the state level insofar as it was fuelled by an unprecedented influx of capital and resources into the country. This had the effect of introducing regulated systems of ‘neo-patrimonalism’, where departments were to be distributed as rewards to the various factions that took part in the Bonn conference, and there had to be enough rewards to go around.

In other words, the structure of the post-invasion Afghan state was, to a great extent, defined not by the demands of good governance, the needs of the country or the demands of post-conflict stabilisation and reconstruction – the purposes for which the centralised model was chosen to promote – but rather by the first-order need to avoid the derailment of the centralised state by co-opting regional power brokers.

Because of the imperative of shoring up a nascent state by securing support from potential competitors, the gulf between the ends of liberal state-building and the illiberal means required to facilitate its functioning can therefore be seen to a certain extent as inevitable.

A major issue, however, was that the patrimonial linkages created by the state for its regional proxies was not comprehensive, as it did not extend to the Taliban’s Pashtun heartland and, as such, fuelled resentment and alienation as much as they placated and co- opted extra-state power brokers. Key players in the Northern Alliance - the primarily Tajik opposition to the Taliban - received prestigious posts within the state, whilst the predominantly Pashtun Taliban were themselves excluded from such arrangements. Because those rewarded by the state tended to be given ministerial or governorial roles in cities, the conflict dynamic tended to reflect an urban – rural divide similar to that of the Soviet occupation. Along this reading, the neo-Taliban insurgency was in many ways a product of the political miscalculations and deficiencies of post-invasion state- building activities.

Given this starting point, such a view concludes that the strategic problems encountered by the international community in Afghanistan were, to a large degree, problems created by (or at the very least exacerbated by) the state-builders themselves. They misread Afghan politics in a way that reflected their own philosophical assumptions about the state and society.

Strategy in Afghanistan suffered because the coalition effort, comprised of multiple national actors and the United Nations, rarely took on the form of a unified effort. Part of the reason for this was a divergence of opinion between actors as to the ultimate purpose – counter-terrorism or state-building – of the intervention.

In the first years of the Afghan campaign, the United States’ Bush Administration remained staunchly opposed to what it called ‘nation building’ and opted instead to pursue a policy of capture- or-kill missions against suspected terrorists. For the United Nations and most of the United States’ European NATO allies, however, state-building was considered a necessary element of any counter-terrorist strategy. This difference of opinion was manifest from the start by the creation of two parallel missions – the US-led, counter-terrorism-focused Operation Enduring Freedom (OEF) and the stabilisation missions of the European Union, United Nations (United Nations Assistance Mission in Afghanistan (UNAMA)) and NATO (International Security Assistance Force (ISAF)) – engaged in seemingly incompatible aims of military prosecution and peace building.

Opinion on the impact of this dual approach varies. Some scholars have noted, along lines similar to those critiquing the state-building efforts of the international community that the approach taken by the UN, EU and ISAF was too ambitious, naïve and unrealistic, and therefore bound to fall short of their liberal political and economic goals. Both Europe and these international agencies ignored the necessity of paring down the international community’s state-building efforts to core, security-centric capacity building within the Afghan National Security Forces. But of course one can make the counter argument, as many have of course, that on the contrary it was the insufficiencies of state-building approaches vis-à-vis OEF’s counter-terrorist approach that led to subsequent failures in UN and ISAF efforts; specifically, that a disproportionate focus on counter-terrorism missions meant that opportunities of peace- building were irreparably compromised.

Within NATO there was a division not just of opinions but also one of mission relating to different political perspectives about the purpose of the Afghan mission and its ultimate referent object – whether it was primarily about the interests of the coalition member states or concerned in the main with Afghanistan itself – and, from that, the methods to be employed in pursuit of one or another objective. This was not merely a debate bounded by strategic necessity, however; rather, such debates stemmed as much from institutional disagreements over who would or could do what in Afghanistan, which in turn arose from the differences in political constitutions and cultural attitudes towards counterinsurgency and counter- terrorism.

These ‘national caveats’ or ‘red cards’ of participation created significant problems for NATO in Afghanistan, both political, in terms of the relations between states and the abiding sense amongst some that others were ‘free-riding’ on the collective security system and, and strategic and operational, in the sense that command-and-control capabilities and cohesion between forces were limited by the engagement restrictions placed on certain armed forces. Indeed, the disproportionate burden placed on combat-oriented states like the United States, the United Kingdom, and several new member states in Eastern Europe led to political statements denouncing Europe’s perceived transgressors of collective security participation; former US Defence Secretary Robert Gates argued, for example, that NATO had effectively become a ‘two-tier alliance’ ‘between members who specialise in ‘soft’ humanitarian, development, peacekeeping and talking tasks and those conducting the ‘hard’ combat missions - between those willing and able to pay the price and bear the burdens of alliance commitments, and those who enjoy the benefits of NATO membership... but don’t want to share the risks and the costs’.

A lack of strategic unity was the natural consequence of a structural compromise that produced two distinct strategic authorities that were, in many ways, competing with one another. Along similar lines to the political arrangements between the Afghan state and its regional proxies, the NATO alliance structure can be seen (and evidently is seen by officials such as Gates) as patrimonial: states participated on the basis of fulfilling their own interests and along operational lines that were complementary to those interests, for the purposes of securing an alliance structure that accommodated all participants ahead of the imperative of creating a coherent strategy for stabilising Afghanistan. As with the neo-patrimonialism of the Karzai regime NATO’s efforts would be dictated by the limitations imposed upon it by circumstance.

Thus, in the cases of Afghanistan’s and the international community’s internal political dynamics, strategy was confined by the structure of the Afghan state and society, the structure of the international community and NATO, and the interplay between those structures. The implication here is that the agency required for the possibility of a workable strategy may have been illusory from the start.

Leaving Afghanistan was never going to be pretty, but the latest turn is uglier than expected.

No one quite expected the speed of collapse within the Afghan National Army to hold of attacks of the Taliban. I don’t think it’s do with the lack of training or their professional skills is lacking (though there may be some truth in it). A big driver in the collapse is the money for wages, food and medical care for troops is syphoned to Dubai, so the Afghans who want to fight, and there are quite a few who hate the Taliban, get less replenishment than the 6th army in the last weeks of Stalingrad. They have arms, ammo and boots for this season only and that is it. Both money and morale are in short supply for these soldiers.

If I was a trained soldier in the Afghan National Army I would desert. I would say to them abandon the fixed defences these ‘ferenghis’ (foreigners) have gifted you and move to the hills and seek refuge with your tribal clan, who will be glad of the arms and experience you bring. Or get over the border if you are lucky to be in the North, if in the West you hire yourself to the Narcos in the badlands on the Iran border. Most other places it is either a last stand or defection, your Government and their relatives have already got their planes fuelled up in Kabul ready to move to their villa complexes in the UAE.

I’m being a trifle cynical but for good reason. Everyone who has been to Afghanistan sees the veil lifted on the corruption of aid and how the elites protect themselves ahead of defending the masses who bear the brunt of the bloodshed.

The corruption has been endemic from the get go, but the international community ignored it all for 'progress'. Any Afghan politico you hear on the media complaining about the West abandoning Afghanistan has at least $30 million parked in Dubai that should have gone to the soldiers, teachers, doctors, builders etc.

As spectacular as the collapse of the Afghan National Army has been it’s been even more scarier seeing how swift the Taliban has been in taking over vital provincial areas through propaganda, civilian intimidation, and rapid attacks. One by one, the Taliban has been taking over areas in a number of provinces in northern Afghanistan in recent weeks. The Taliban says it has taken control of 90 districts across the country since the middle of May. Some were seized without a single shot fired.

The UN's special envoy on Afghanistan, Deborah Lyon put the figure lower, at 50 out of the nation's 370 districts, but feared the worst was yet to come. Most districts that have been taken surround provincial capitals, suggesting that the Taliban are positioning themselves to try and take these capitals once all foreign forces are fully withdrawn. On a map, it's easy to see the point Lyon is making. A stark example is Mazar-i-Sharif, the biggest city in the north and a significant power centre in its own right. It was the rock upon which the Northern Alliance fought against the Taliban.

It is significant the Taliban are kicking off this offensive in the north, not their heartland in the south and east. The north was the toughest part of the country for them to crack last time. Their expectation is if they have victory there, success will flow much easier in their traditional homelands further south.

The strategy of taming the north extends to emasculating and profiting from trade routes to neighbours. On Monday night they captured the important border town of Shir Khan Bandar, Afghanistan's main crossing into Tajikistan. Earlier in the day, top Tajik government officials had met to discuss concerns about the growing instability next door. There is no indication that the Taliban intend to take their fight north of the border, but in the past Tajikistan has been a vital conduit for supplies flowing to the militants' northern enemies.

The last time the Taliban controlled the city was 20 years ago, when they left hundreds of captives in steel trucking containers to suffocate and die in the scorching desert heat. Now, the militants are back at the city gates once again, as part of a lightning offensive against Afghan government forces that has set alarm bells ringing from Kabul to Washington. So it should worry us all where will all this lead to.

America's drawdown seems to be the game changer. The Taliban have been beaten back several times in recent years, notably from Kunduz in 2015. The Taliban captured it briefly before US airstrikes were called in. Civilian casualties were high but the militants were driven out. The militant group has never been able to withstand the heavy US and NATO air assaults backing Afghan ground forces, but now the US and NATO are leaving, so is much of the threat of sophisticated and sustained air power. And the Taliban are well aware of this.

It seems to me behind the choice of withdrawal by the Biden government lies a bigger assumption that drives that choice. That is the Taliban militants' perceived desire for international recognition. This has been the mantra underpinning the American exit. The logic of the American argument has been simple: The Taliban wouldn't renege on their agreements with the US because they crave international acceptance. The events of this past week and more appear to blow a hole in that assumption.

Another assumption that’s currently being blown out of the water is the US establishing some presence outside of Afghanistan so that if it needs to intervene again to combat terrorism or flush out militants then it can do so from the safety of a neighbouring country. But so far no country has come forward to reciprocate. And why would they? Like the Afghans, no one likes foreign troops with boots on the ground in their country. Only the central Asian republics and possibly Pakistan would come close to allowing that but there would be a political cost those governments would pay with their people. Moreover by welcoming the Americans in, they also allow the militants to target that country too.

Another assumption is the nature of the Taliban support and links to terrorist groups. The U.S. may not face any serious post-withdrawal Afghan support of extremist threats to the United States, even if the Taliban does take over. It is all too true that the Taliban continues to talk to the remnants of Al Qaeda, as do elements of the Pakistani military. It is unclear, however, that these remnants of Al Qaeda focus on attacks on the U.S., and the Taliban does seem to oppose ISIS. It is also unclear that the Taliban will host other extremist movements that focus on attacking the U.S. or states outside the region.

It is unclear that any key element of the Taliban has an interest in such attacks on the United States. Even Al Qaeda now focuses largely on objectives inside Islamic countries, and it is unclear that some other major extremist force will emerge in Afghanistan that do not focus on regional threats and on taking over vulnerable, largely Islamic states.

At the same time, one needs to be careful about the assumption that the U.S. can defeat any such threats by launching precision air and missile strikes against extremist targets. It is unclear that the forces in Afghanistan involved in any small covert attacks on the U.S. will be easy to target and cripple if they do emerge. The Taliban is unlikely to tolerate major training camps and facilities for extremist forces, and any such strikes will present major problems for the U.S. if the extremist threat consists of scattered small facilities and small expert cadres that shelter among the Afghan population.

It is also far from clear that more intense U.S. air attacks on Taliban forces from outside Afghanistan will have any decisive effects. The loss of limited numbers of Taliban fighters as well as some key Taliban leaders and facilities will not offset the pace of their victories in the countryside or enable the central government to survive. A continuing U.S. ability to target and kill some key Taliban leaders and fighters also does not mean that the risk of such strikes will deter future Taliban willingness to let small, extremist strike groups conduct well-focused, well-planned strikes on U.S. or allied territory, especially if such groups in Afghanistan sponsor attacks on the U.S. or it strategic partner by strike units or cadres based in other countries.

At the same time, it does seem more likely that the Taliban, and/or any independent extremist groups, will focus largely on Iran, Pakistan, Russia, China, and the other “-Stans.”

Going forward I think we need to re-evaluate many of our assumptions about the war in Afghanistan.

The objectives of the Authorised Use of Military Force approved by the US Congress in 2001 have long been accomplished. Once Osama bin Laden was killed in Operation Neptune Spear in 2011, the last element of the AUMF was met. The American and British mission in Afghanistan was complete. But America and Britain did not leave because we wanted to do a spot of state building to curb the spread of militant islamist terror. That was a mistake as it turned out.

Post-Neptune Spear, The American, the British, and their  allies’ conventional mission should have been ended, adopting instead a laser focus on intelligence collection and offensive special operations to prevent al-Qaeda (or any terrorist organisation) from re-establishing safe havens and training areas.

What was needed for an acceptable ‘victory’ and a ‘saving face’ withdrawal  was to embrace the use of Afghan Militia Forces the same way the Allies did for our initial entry way back in 2001.

In 2001, Western powers won the initial military engagement in 42 days using special operations forces with local and regional allies - we need to return to this format - and through a combination of special operations and specific information operations efforts, regaining the high ground and influence over ‘centres of gravity’. The issue is not the number of troops, but the mission of the forces there. Once the mission is defined, the number of forces needed would be clear.

It has never been about the number of troops - it’s been about the lack of an achievable mission assigned to our forces in Afghanistan.

The US engaged in ‘nation-building’ for the wrong reasons - and has seen bad results. We installed Hamid Karzai, served as his praetorian guard to protect the new central government and abandon our AMF allies and attempted to build a large, bulky, expensive and ineffective Afghan National Army - a force that is now evaporating before our eyes. It was folly.

Americans will never make the Afghan people more like them - nor will they be able to instil what my American colleagues used to fondly refer to as ‘a Jeffersonian democracy’ in Afghanistan. That day may come but only when the Afghan people wish it to be so. Lest it be forgotten Americans sought independence in 1776; the Afghan people seek self-reliance and independence from foreign influence. This is their defining historical DNA: escape from any outside control.

The Afghan people are not ungoverned, they are self-governed - with no tradition of central democracy and no desire for our version of democracy or ‘prosperity’. By pushing ‘prosperity’ we had become targets for both the Afghan government and the Taliban. This has ended, but we must draw a distinction between the end of nation-building and the continuation of our own interests in Afghanistan and the region.

It is time to adopt a practical policy based on what will work and is in our allied interests, rather than by funding the aspirations of progressive politicians who have no real understanding of Afghanistan.

First, we must establish a clear post-‘state-building’ strategy - with achievable objectives. We must return to the policy and operational format we know will work - cooperation with Afghan tribal leaders and militia. This type of force was used to achieve the initial victory in 2001. Empowered warlords and regional leaders were the force multiplier that worked as the Afghan Militia Forces - and can again, in partnership with our Special Operations Forces work now. Intelligence collection and limited military operations should be our focus.

There is no way around it. One has to play the Great Game. Think tribal rather than central. Afghan nationhood is a liberal Western wet dream.

The central government is weak and corrupt just like all the other rulers of the past. The Afghan National Army is not as strong as it is on paper. It can hardly prop itself up rather than any government. Most of the Afghan National Army troops have stronger tribal loyalties than to the concept of a nation. Since the tribal chiefs play both sides to hedge their bets, it's no wonder 'their' people do what they're told. The Taliban know this because that has always been the Afghan way, so the tribes go with them. Provided the Taliban honour their promises to the tribal chiefs, the Taliban can do what they want.

On one hand, the tribes won't now be too bothered by central government and have a large pool of Western-trained troops to prop them up. On the other hand, they now have to do business formally with the Taliban again. Largely in order to get their hands on Western-supplied aid that will surely follow after the Americans leave.

Second, we must accept the reality of Pakistani influence in Afghanistan - and work with the Pakistanis to counter al-Qaeda and the other militants now attacking Pakistani targets within Pakistan. Pakistan has made great advances in securing the tribal areas on the other side of the border and they have always been the de facto control of much of the Taliban force capacity, such as the Haqqani network. Working with Pakistan is the best option within the current circumstance.

‘Endless wars’ are not an American value. The use of the US military must only be used in response to genuine threats, when American interests are at stake or lives in danger. Withdrawal of conventional military forces and discontinuing nation building is in the US interest: leaving Afghanistan is not.

Third, make Afghanistan China’s problem. Afghanistan could easily become a hotbed for growing Islamic extremism, which would to some extent affect stability in Xinjiang.

It is not without reason that Afghanistan is known as the “graveyard of empires”. The ancient Greeks, the Mongols, the Mughals, the British, the Soviet Union and most recently the US have all launched vainglorious invasions that saw their ambitions and the blood of their soldiers drain into the sand. But after each imperial retreat, a new tournament of shadows begins. With the US pulling out of Afghanistan, China is casting an anxious gaze towards its western frontier and pursuing talks with an ascendant Taliban. The burning questions are not only whether the Taliban can fill the power vacuum created by the US withdrawal but also whether China - despite its longstanding policy of “non-interference” - may become the next superpower to try to write a chapter in Afghanistan’s history.

Beijing has held talks with the Taliban and although details of the discussions have been kept secret, government officials, diplomats and analysts from Afghanistan, India, China and the US said that crucial aspects of a broad strategy were taking shape. An Indian government official said China’s approach was to try to rebuild Afghanistan’s shattered infrastructure in co-operation with the Taliban by channelling funds through Pakistan, one of Beijing’s firmest allies in the region. China is Pakistan’s wallet.

It has been reported that Beijing has been insisting that the Taliban limit its ties with groups that it said were made up of Uyghur terrorists in return for such support. The groups, which Beijing refers to as the East Turkestan Islamic Movement, are an essential part of China’s security calculus in the region. The ETIM groups were estimated by the UN Security Council last year to number up to 3,500 fighters, some of whom were based in a part of Afghanistan that borders China.  Both the UN and the US designated the ETIM as terrorists in 2002 but Washington dropped its classification last year. China has accused the ETIM of carrying out multiple acts of terrorism in Xinjiang, its north-western frontier region, where Beijing has kept an estimated 1m Uyghur and other minority peoples in internment camps.

In a clear indication of Beijing’s determination to counter the ETIM, Wang Yi, China’s foreign minister, exhorted counterparts from the central Asian states of Kazakhstan, Uzbekistan, Kyrgyzstan, Tajikistan and Turkmenistan this year to co-operate to smash the group. “We should resolutely crack down on the ‘three evil forces’ [of extremism, terrorism and separatism] including the East Turkestan Islamic Movement,” Wang said in May according to Chinese news media which I follow.

The importance of this task derived in part from the need to protect large-scale activities and projects to create a safe Silk Road. Silk Road is one of the terms that Chinese officials use to refer to the Belt and Road Initiative, the signature foreign policy strategy of President Xi Jinping to build infrastructure and win influence overseas.

An important part of China’s motivation in seeking stability in Afghanistan is protecting existing BRI projects in Pakistan and the central Asian states while potentially opening Afghanistan to future investments. China would have to more actively support efforts to ensure political stability in Afghanistan. So make them work for it. Western powers need to leverage China’s problems in Xinjiang to be more active in Afghanistan.

International media outlets and intelligence agencies worldwide have been circulating reports pointing toward the creation of a Chinese military base in the Wakhan Corridor of Afghanistan’s Badakhshan province for a while now. Although China has not embarked on militarisation programs on foreign soil historically, and has profusely denied the rumours about building an Afghan “mountain brigade,” China’s first overseas military base in Djibouti provides an example of China’s newly adopted strategy of leveraging economic influence to further its strategic objectives. There’s even some chatter amongst Chinese officials that Beijing may entertain the idea of being part of a future UN international force should one be needed in Afghanistan (a bad idea but hey, let China find out first hand for itself).

The Afghan government was able to maintain a measure of stability largely because of the superiority of US air support. The drones, gunships, helicopters and heavy air artillery were unmatched by the Taliban. But when the US leaves, that advantage will evaporate. China’s imperative to create overland trade routes to Europe and the Middle East may draw it inevitably into Afghanistan’s domestic strife.

Of course China’s forward policy in the Wakhan Corridor needs to be assessed with a critical eye. Although on one level it seems to be motivated primarily by the threat of radicalisation, China’s interest in the region is also contingent on the strategic role that Afghanistan is capable of playing in the larger scheme of things. Despite China’s vehement denial, there seems to be sufficient evidence available indicating a definite military build up in the region, which provides China with an opportunity to showcase its ability to transform into a balancing force in the regional dynamics. I think that is a trade off that both America and Europe can afford to concede under the current circumstances.

In conclusion In the face of failure, there is an impulse to move on and not ask “what led to this?” But to avoid a reckoning with our follies is to risk their repetition, or worse.

it is probably too late to salvage either the civil or military situation in Afghanistan. It almost certainly is too late to salvage it with limited in-country U.S. forces, outside U.S. airpower and intelligence assets, and with no real peace agreement or functional peace process. Limited military measures are not the answer, and neither is simply reinforcing the past processes of failure. Tragic as it may be, withdrawal may not solve anything and may well make conditions worse for millions of Afghans, but reinforcing failure is not a meaningful strategy.

I do feel strongly that both the American and British governments must establish a clear path of redemption so that those who served and the families who sacrificed loved ones know that their loss was not wasted. At the same time our civilian governments must limit missions to intelligence collection and counter-terrorism missions that will prevent the metastasis of al-Qaeda or Isis in the region should the Afghan government fall. How we balance these two is going to be very interesting to follow in the next chapter in Afghanistan’s tortured history.

I apologise for the length of this post. This has been a hard post to write because of the subject matter and the many conflicted emotions and memories I have of my time in Afghanistan. I wish I had all the answers but I suppose the beginning of wisdom would be to know how to ask the right questions. Because we didn’t ask the right questions when we went in, we ended up making a real mess of it.

There is an understandable desire to bring all our allied troops home safe and that not another life is lost there. Yet I doubt this policy of withdrawing all troops will bring peace to anyone, not to us and most of all, the Afghanis themselves. As always in war it is the native population that will bear the real cost of war, in this case women, girls, and others brutalised under Taliban rule. What lies for them if the Taliban regain power to govern the country in their image is something I care not to imagine but retain a deep foreboding of their continued suffering. Ordinary Afghanis just want a respite from war and have a chance to live in peace, but without having us foreigners or the Taliban around. It is hard to imagine that happening at all. Our desire to save our soldiers’ lives set against ordinary Afghanis being left at the mercy of the Taliban is one of those humbling and brutalising trade offs that any war can only offer.

Near the end of his famed novel, The Great Gatsby, F. Scott Fitzgerald described two of his privileged characters, Tom and Daisy, as “careless people” who “smashed up things and creatures” and then “retreated back into their money or their vast carelessness” to “let other people clean up the mess they had made.”

That description applies to America as a whole but also to we Brits and other Europeans, especially when we tire of a misguided war. Americans and we Brits are a careless people. In both Iraq and Afghanistan, we smashed up things and human beings with abandon, only to retreat into our materialism. No scratch that, returning soldiers retreated into themselves struggling with PTSD whilst the rest of our citizenry carried on with their own material struggles and their insipid culture wars. The point is we always leave others to clean up the mess in a very bloody fashion that never troubles our conscience.

Count on us, probably sooner rather than later, doing precisely the same thing in Afghanistan. Again.

Thanks for your question

[jungk0oksthighs]

Can i ask you how your life was after uni? I moved back home after living out in central London and now i feel like I’ve backtracked.. my home life is good but now i feel lost and less adulty and stuck with what i want to do/ how to progress my life.. i was way more active and mentally on it in london and now i feel drained everyday and sad :(

oooof, FELT!!! i felt this exact way too! i think it’s pretty normal to feel as though you’ve backtracked after being so independent for years and then moving back home. a part of you will be grieving that freedom and independence too! it all depends on your finances and job etc but what i would say is maybe move out with a friend? there’s nothing stopping you from moving back to london angel, you could always find a job there or even just save money and maybe go travelling! it’s all dependant on you as a person specifically and what your goals after uni are. i will say it’s common to feel stuck, it’s a bit lifestyle change you go from having a home to having a bedroom in your parents house it’s such a huge adjustment! for me i saved money after uni and was lucky enough to get my own place (with my ex lol disgusting but we move cause i kept the house n he moved back in with his parents). i think things like this need to be discussed more actually, it’s OKAY to feel stuck and it’s OKAY to be sad about changes. focus on figuring out what you want to do by this time next year, whether it be personally or professionally etc - and go for it! having something to focus on is one hell of a motivation and hopefully will lessen the drain you feel from this change. but just to reiterate you’ve every right to feel drained and sad and the way you feel, i experienced this too and concentrated on saving up & moving out (which took well over a year thanks to Miss Corona) sending lots of love and positivity your way!!!!! 💜💜💜

[viking-raider]

The Immortal Sky - Epilogue

Summary: You and Henry start a life together, after so much that’s happened.

Pairing: Henry Cavill/You

Word Count: 3,048

Rating: G - Dystopian!AU, Futuristic!AU, Language, Mild Angst, Suggestive Language, Cotton Candy Goodness, Fluff and a Super Happy Ending!

Inspiration: I’ve always wanted to write a futuristic fic!

Author’s Note: Thank you all for the support and love on this story, it was a blast to write. Thanks to the amazing @wondersofdreaming​ as always <3

It had been three months since the events had happened in Bristol, and both you and Henry had healed well and started building a life together as boyfriend and girlfriend.

Henry's family fully, completely and lovingly embraced you into their family, treating you as one of their very own; uncaring that you were born in the lower Sectors of London. They included you in everything from social parties and events to family gatherings. You were surprised, when you went to his family home for the first time, because unlike you and your family, Henry and his family were raise in an actual house in Sector Two's posh neighborhood, where nearly every member of the Royal and Cleric Council lived, with their families; his brothers and their families also lived in houses of their own, in the neighborhood.

The Cavill's had lived in this neighborhood for several generations, his father's side of the family had always been members of the Cleric Council and his mother's family had always been members of the Royal Council; but Henry was the first Cavill and Dalgliesh to not be either a Beta, Alpha or High Royal or Cleric, in nearly nine generations.

“Why don't you live here too, Henry?” You had asked, the first time Henry had taken you to his parent's house, for dinner, two weeks after getting out of the hospital. “Can you not, since you're a High Marshal?”

“Oh no, I can live here, if I'd like too, being the son of a Cleric and Royal.” Henry replied, as he pulled into his parents’ driveway. “But, I choose to live in the flat, in Central Sector Two. I didn't need a big house, since it was just Kal and I. Even with it being the three of us, there's still no need for one.” He explained, then got out of the car to move around and open your door.

Henry's family had even invited your parents and little brother to their family functions.

They had been slack jawed, while they sat in the back seat of Henry's car, you and Henry having gone to pick them up and take them to the Christmas party you all had been invited too. They watched as each Sector got brighter and brighter, until they finally got to see the sun, for the first time, as it started to sink below the horizon. Henry glanced at them through the rear-view mirror and smiled, remembering the same look of surprise and awe on your face as you saw the same view for the first time, over a year before. He looked at you and smiled even brighter as you looked at him, having looked back at them and saw their reactions to it as well.

Their awestruck continued as you entered the Cavill family's posh neighborhood, seeing all the fancy and large three-story houses, the lush green grass of the front lawns and the expensive cars in their driveways. Parking, you all got out of the car and headed inside, greeted by Henry's parents in the foyer.

“Merry Christmas.” Marianne smiled, hugging you and Henry. “Welcome and Merry Christmas.” She said to your parents and little brother, as you and Henry greeted his father.

“Thank you and Merry Christmas, My Lady.” Your mother replied and smiled back, nervously bowing her head to Marianne.

“Please, call me Marianne.” She replied, smiling sweetly. “This is my husband, Colin.” She said, introducing him.

“Pleasure.” Colin greeted them, smiling warmly.

“I'm Tasha. This is my husband, Tristan.” Your mother answered, motioning to your father. “And this is our youngest son, Christophe.” She said, resting her hand on his shoulder.

“Your house is ginormous!” Christophe replied, his mouth hanging open.

Marianne and Colin chuckled, warmed. “Please, come in and make yourselves at home.” She said, motioning into the living room, where most of the group was congregating. “The other kids are playing in the backyard, if you want to join them, Christophe.” She offered your brother, then showed him the way out to the backyard.

“You want something to drink?” Henry asked you as you moved into the living room with everyone else.

“Yes, that would be fantastic.” You nodded, smiling up at him.

“All right.” Henry smiled back, kissing you softly, before going into the kitchen.

“Is it time yet?” Simon asked, coming into the kitchen with his little brother, to also grab himself and his wife something to drink.

“Soon.” Henry replied, pouring you a glass of chilled white wine. “I need the perfect moment.” He said, pouring himself a glass, then handed the bottle to Simon.

“Just don't chicken out.” Simon teased him, grinning.

“Chicken out of what?” Marianne asked, coming into the kitchen.

“The right moment.” Henry replied, feeling his face burn, and took a deep gulp of the chilled wine, trying to cool his face off and fortify his nerves.

“You'll find it, Henry.” She told him, rubbing his broad back, trying to be encouraging and supportive of her son. “Don't rush it.”

“I won't.” Henry sighed, picking up the two wine glasses. “I want it to be perfect.”

Henry took the glasses into the living room, finding you sitting on the couch and took a seat beside you, holding out one of the glasses. You smiled at him, taking the glass and kissed him on the cheek, before taking a sip of it. Henry wrapped an arm around you, sipped his wine and got caught up in the flow of the conversation that was going on with everybody.

“They're all so nice.” Your mother said as the two of you went into the kitchen for more wine.

“They really are.” You replied, smiling as you heard Henry's laugh carry into the kitchen. “They're incredibly loving and supportive, especially towards Henry and I.” You told her, then sighed.

Henry's mother had been right, people did find out about you being a Slummer, and it had happened sooner than both of you had thought it would.

A month after returning to London from Bristol, you and Henry were at a Cleric Fundraiser, which was held every year to raise money to donate to one of the lower Sectors, so they could use it as they saw fit; usually to help buy supplies for the Sector's Hospital. When a woman approached you, while Henry went to find the Fundraiser Manager, so he could donate money to the event.

“So, your High Marshal Cavill's new girl.” She said, lifting a sculpted brow at you.

“I am.” You replied, frowning at her, in her glittering and almost skin tight dress. “Who are you?”

“I'm Natasha, Beta Cleric Shaw's wife.” She told you, still giving you a mean and judgmental expression. “Henry and I dated, a while back.” She added, tossing her straight black hair over her shoulder with a swish of her head. “We were serious, for a moment, before I left him.” She said, an evil smugness glinting in her gray eyes.

“I never thought Henry would stoop so low, as to date a Slummer.” She said, her upper lip curling with distaste.

“H-how do you know that?” You asked, gulping and feeling your hands tremble.

“My husband was on the Council panel, when you testified against Oron Anderson.” Natasha replied, resting a hand on her hip. “He told me all about you being from Sector Twenty-Eight and how long you spent in that trafficker's warehouse in Thirty-One; before Henry bought you.”

“How's it feel to be his bought and paid for play thing?” She asked, looking you over.

“I'm not.” You replied, your voice barely audible.

“You can think that and Henry can tell you that, but we-” She motioned around the room, the gold and diamond bangles rattling on her thin wrist. “All know the truth.” She told you, tipping her nose up at you, then walked away.

Your breath hitched in your throat as hot tears prickled at the corners of your eyes, before turning your back to her and rushed out of the room. Henry had been halfway back, just missing Natasha walking away from you, when he saw the look of anguish on your face and rush out of the room. Scanning the room, trying to see what had caused it, Henry rushed after you. You took your heels off as you got out the front doors of the venue and ran into the manicured garden to the side of it. Henry finally caught up with you, finding you gulping down deep mouthfuls of cold night air by a massive fountain.

“Hey.” He whispered, resting his hand on your goosebump and chilled skin. “What's wrong?” He asked, shrugging out of his blazer and draping it over your shaking shoulders, before hugging you against his chest, your tears spilling over onto his dark gray dress shirt.

“What happened? Tell me.”

“They know.” You sobbed, clinging onto him and getting makeup all over his shirt.

“Who knows what, babe?” He asked, cupping your head in his hands and pulled your face away from his chest.

“They know what I am.” You cried, your bottom lip puffy and trembling.

Henry blinked at you for a moment, before his brain connected to what you meant and his eyes widened.

“Yeah.” You gasped and sighed. “They know I'm just a fucking sl-”

“Don't.” He snapped, shaking his head at you.

“I am, Henry.” You hissed back at him, becoming angry. “I'm a Slummer and they know it.” You huffed, trying to pull away from him.

Henry bit his lip, biting back his own frustrated anger. “Who told you this?” He demanded, keeping a hold on you.

“Your ex.”

Henry's shoulders slumped and he squeezed his eyes shut. “Natasha.” He growled between clenched teeth.

“Yes, her.” You nodded, folding your arms inside his blazer. “Told me how the two of you dated, before she left you, and that everyone knew that I was a Slummer, because her husband told her about me testifying at Twist's trial.”

“How the hell does she know you testified at Twist's trial.” Henry frowned, taken aback.

“Her husband is, apparently, Beta Cleric Shaw.”

“So, she did end up with a Cleric after all.” Henry sighed, shaking his head.

“What?” You snapped at him.

“The reason Natasha broke up with me, was because I wouldn't leave the Marshal Council to become either a Cleric or a Royal. She wanted that posh and expensive life that they have. But, I wouldn't do it, I love being a High Marshal. So, she left me, and apparently got what she wanted in the end.” He sighed, rubbing his face.

“But, I don't care about that. What I care about is her trying to hurt you.”

“She did a damn good job.” You whispered, staring down at your bare toes. “Called me, your bought and paid for plaything.”

“Look at me.” He whispered, touching his fingertips underneath your chin and lifted your head, until your wet eyes met his. “You're not my 'bought and paid for' plaything. We both know that, sweetheart. She's just a salty and unhappy woman, that only gets her happiness out of watching others suffer, and other people might know about you being from the lower Sectors, but she's only one crazy enough to say anything about it to your, my, or any of my family's face or within earshot of us either.” He told you, gently swiping his thumbs beneath your eyes, wiping away your tears.

“As for her husband speaking about the trial, when he's not allowed to speak to anyone about it outside of the Councils, and she's nowhere near a position on them, he's going to be in a load of trouble, when I bring it up to my mum.”

“I don't want him to get into trouble because his wife is apparently a bitch.” You told him, grasping his wrists.

“I know you don't, love.” Henry smiled at you. “But, if he's talking to his wife about them, then he's more than likely talking to others he's not supposed to, and that's a breach and violation of his position. The Councils have to be told about it.” He explained to you.

“What, will you not tell me things, if I were your wife?” You asked him, trying to tease him.

“I'm a High Marshal, my job is less top secret and involved than a Cleric or Royal.” Henry replied, chuckling. “I don't know how interested you'd be in me talking about homicide cases, they tend to be a bit graphic.”

“I wouldn't mind. Especially, if you needed to get something off your chest, if one is really bothering you.” You confessed, biting your lip as you looked up at him, recalling all the nightmares you had soothed him through.

“I'll keep that in mind.” Henry smiled, kissing you. “You want to go back in?” He asked you, looking back at the building. “Or we could ditch it, go back home and have a movie night.”

You pressed your lips together, thinking about it. Part of you wanted to go back in and face Natasha's no doubt judgmental glares the rest of the night, showing her that you weren't going to be intimidated by her and what she thought, but if you were honest, now that you were calm, you didn't actually care what she thought.

“I like the idea of movie night.” You said, looking back up at Henry.

“So do I.” Henry agreed. “I'm dying for a pair of sweats.”

“You are?” You laughed, looking at yourself in the tight gown and your bare, but screaming, feet.

“I wouldn't mind helping you out of that.” Henry chuckled, grinning and winking at you.

You grinned up at him and had a feeling that the impromptu movie night wouldn't last long, if the expression on Henry's face was anything to go off of.

“What is it, honey?” Your mother asked, seeing that far off look in your eyes.

“Nothing.” You laughed, shaking it off.

The back door came flying open and several of the kids came running in from outside, yelling and screaming as they went to their respective parents.

“Christophe, what's the matter?” Your mother asked him, frowning.

“Come look! Come look!” He said, grabbing his mother's hand and dragging her out the back door.

You frowned after them and looked to Henry as he and everyone from the living room filed through the kitchen and out the back door. “What's going on, Babe?” You asked him, as he took your hand and guided you outside with them.

“It's snowing, Nugget.” He grinned at you, excited for you to see it.

You let Henry lead you outside, gasping as you stepped out onto the back deck and into the heavy flurry of thick white flakes. Henry smiled, moving to stand behind you, wrapping his arms around you and hugging you back against him, kissing the back of your hair and resting his chin on top of your head, gently swaying as you both watched the snow fly. You were memorized by it, even with how cold it was, tilting your head back and smiling up at Henry, who smiled back at you, kissing your forehead.

“I'll be right back, I have to grab something.” He said, letting go of you and going back inside.

“This is amazing.” Christophe said, and stuck his tongue out like Henry's nieces and nephews, catching the flakes on it.

You smirked at him, tilting your own head back a bit and did the same, giggling as the snowflakes melted on your tongue and oblivious of Henry coming up behind you.

“Babe?” He called out, getting your attention.

You turned around to face him, but had to drop your eyes down slightly, as he knelt before you in the gathering snow on the wood deck. “Henry?” You answered, blinked down at his, confused.

“Oh god.” You heard someone gasp.

“I know,” Henry started, looking incredibly worried and nervous. “we've been through a whole lot since we met, a year and a half a go, but for all that, I wouldn't have wanted to endure any of that, without you.” He explained, fidgeting and fumbling for something in his back pocket. “I love you. I want to be with you and spend the rest of my life with you, only you.”

“So, I want to ask you something.”

“Okay.” You grinned, feeling how warm your cheeks were getting and the flurry of butterflies flying around your stomach, like the snowflakes in the air around you.

“Will you marry me?” He asked, in a rush, his nerves getting the better of him, as he opened the box and revealed a beautiful diamond ring.

A huge smile pulled across your face and giggled nervously, you were speechless for a minute, completely stunned and surprised by Henry proposing to you, then finally managed to answer.

“Yes.” You nodded, giddy. “Yes!” You laughed.

“Oh thank god.” Henry laughed back, relieved, then slipped the ring onto your finger, standing up and wrapping his arms around you, kissing you deeply.

Everyone clapped and cheered, happy for the both of you.

Five months later, you and Henry walked down the aisle and married, in a private ceremony, attended only by friends and family, the people that mattered to the both of you, and it was two years after that, that you two of you moved into a house in his family's neighborhood and welcomed your first child, a boy, that you both mutually agreed on, and named, Michail. If it wasn't for your brother, in so many ways, neither you or Henry would have met and fallen in love.

Your life was perfect now and even though you had lost your brother, neither you or Henry would change it for anything.

-- END --

[johnismyreason]

I have a request for a oneshot! Meeting tom in a bar, chatting, flirting, ending up at his place and having $ex🔥

It always takes me so much time to write something I’m sorry... Anyway I hope you’ll enjoy :) 

warnings: smutt, alcohol (kinda), praise kink, no foreplay, dom-ish!tom, and obviously the usual bad English 

The longest day ever. Ugh.

It was one of those days where you just think I just should’ve stayed in bed. Your alarm clock didn’t ring. You cracked your favourite pair of jeans right before heading out, making you running late even more. Your boss gave you yet another assignment in addition of you hundred of other ones. Stacy, your favourite co-worker, wasn’t here because she was on vacation with her boyfrie- fiancé now, wow she just texted you a selfie with her ring, and you remain single. Someone spilled their coffee on your shirt and didn’t even apologise. And finally hen you thought nothing bad can happen anymore, the rain was pouring. Of course you didn’t take your umbrella or a coat with a hood. Thank you London shitty weather. And of course, a car splashed the only puddle of water all over you. You wanted to cry, scream and burn everything down. You lift your head and read in bright red lighting the holy word “PUB”. Hallelujah. You didn’t even think about it, you just walked in.

The place was almost empty, which didn’t bother you at all, since you had enough interactions with humans for the day, maybe even for the week.

You sat at the bar, your coat drenched, your hair sticking to your face, your make up was gone and your mascara left black ink under your eyes. You were sticky and looked gross, but you couldn’t care less anymore. After three minutes with your head between your hands and elbows on the counter, the bartender bring you a shot of vodka.

“Wait,” you called him, “I didn’t order yet”

“Yeah, well, the guy over there got this for you” he replied, pointing at a curly hair young man sat on the banquette behind you, who, with a tight smile, waved shyly at you with just two fingers.

You looked at him with your tired eyes. Shit, he’s cute. He must has a weird obsession for desperate girls. You take the small glass and poured it down your throat.

“Thank you,” you told him a little louder than expected but you didn’t bother pretending you were sorry for three other customers. The young man got up and walked towards you, his bottle of beer in his hand.

“You’re welcome,” he said softly, seating on the stool next to yours. “You looked like you needed it” he chuckled.

“T’was that obvious ?”

He chuckled again before replying “a bit.” and you smiled lightly too. He didn’t say anything for a couple of seconds, just looking at you. “I’m Tom by the way” he introduced himself and extended his hand to you.

You looked at his hand, a little surprised by his traditional behaviour, but took it anyways “Y/N”

“Nice to meet you Y/N”. Another smile appeared on his thin lips . He was really cute. “So, what happened ? It seems like you had a rough day, don’t you ?” he asked, taking a sip of his beer. His jaw was sharp and his fingers were long and thin around the bottle.

“You wouldn’t want to know, it’s too long, and boring, and sad and... yeah, pathetic” you said, your head resting on your palm, staring at the counter.

“Well thank god we have all night, and you might think it’s an odd coincidence but, boring, sad and pathetic stories are my favourite.”

You thought about it. He’s a stranger in the creepiest pub in London, you don’t know nothing about him, and he doesn’t know nothing about you. You look a mess and weird, you’re drenched, why does he want to know about your day ?

“You like desperate girls, don’t you ?” you finally said.

“What ?” Tom replied, genuinely confused.

“Or maybe you’re the desperate one and is ready to pick the most rubbish looking girl, as long as you can have your release” you teased

“N-no, no ! I-I just... I saw you by the window getting splashed by the car, I felt so bad for you and I hoped you would come in so I can offer you a drink. I-I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable, I’ll leave-”

“Wait !” you stopped him from getting out of his stool, placing your hand on his forearm. Now you felt bad. He’s the first and only person today who didn’t annoy you in any kind of way. “Please, stay. It’s been a long day. A very long day” you sighed. Tom sat back on his stool with a tight smile. He ordered two other beers for him and you.

“Wanna talk about it ?” he gently proposed. You nodded and started your narrative. You gave all the details, from the sound of your ripped jeans, the tone of the unkind comment your coworker spat after pouring his coffee on you, to the very beautiful diamond your friend got when she got proposed to what seemed the perfect guy. Tom listened to everything, and kept his focus on your eyes, sometimes your lips, but just for a second. You finished your story after what felt like 10 hours of speaking.

“Wow... that was... a fucking shitty day” he chuckled bringing you warmth to your heart.

You chuckled “I’ll drink to that,” taking your beer and clinked it with his. You sighed dramatically and turned to him.

“What about yours ?”

“Mine ?” he said after taking a sip. “Well, it was way less interesting than yours” he laughed. “Um... I woke up. Got to the grocery store, worked out, watched TV, worked and got to this bar. And now I’m talking to a very pretty girl.” you blushed, not expecting him to say that.

“I bet she smells like flowers” you roasted yourself.

“More like a wet dog but that’s light” Tom teased and you hit him lightly on his arm. You both laughed lightly.

“We’re closing,” the bartender cut you.

“It’s only 9 o’clock...” you responded, your eyebrows frowned.

“We’re closing,” he repeated.

You looked at Tom, rolling your eyes “It’s because of my bad luck, I’m sorry.”

“Oh don’t be. This gives me the opportunity to ask you if you want to come to me place, have another drink.” he asked shyly, putting the money on the counter.

You looked at him awkwardly stuffing his hand in his jean pockets, waiting for your response. He’s really cute. Fuck it, let’s go. You bit your lip into a smile and nodded a yes. His eyes widened.

“Really ? Great ! Um, let’s go then,” he let you walk first towards the door but opened it for you. He told that his appartement is just a few minutes walking from here.

You followed him in the almost empty streets, talking about everything and mostly about him. He was nice and funny and it felt like you knew him for years. He led you to his building and then apartment which was gigantic next to yours. He took your coat and offered you to dry your hair  with his hairdryer while he sets everything to eat. You agreed and followed him in his bathroom. You came back in the kitchen where Tom was preparing dinner. There was a central counter illuminated by three industrial-style lamps. Tom had a folded tea towel on his shoulder and seemed very concentrated on cooking his dish.

“Pasta alla tomato,” he announced with a proud smile and his fingers pinched together, noticing you coming back from the bathroom.

“I’m not quite sure, that’s how Italians call it” you laughed standing next to him.

“Who cares ? It’s gonna be delicious,” he smirked. “Wanna taste ?” he asked with a low voice, his spoon ready to make you taste the tomato sauce. You nodded eagerly, making him chuckle. You parted your lips and leaned towards him, welcoming the spoon in your mouth. You moaned at the taste and watched his pupils dilate for a split second.

“It is delicious,” you confirmed licking your lips. Tom watched your tongue dancing on your mouth and felt his heart beating fast. Suddenly, it was too hot in the room.

“We um... we should take some plates,” he tried to resonate him. He moved around you to grab two plates, forks and knives and placed it on the counter, in front of the chairs.

You kept talking about life and laughed at the strangest stories you two lived. You were having the best time. Tom was nice, funny and it felt like you knew each others for years. Everything since the bar was simple and comfortable. Also, he was really cute. You couldn’t take off your eyes of him. You admired the stain of curls falling on his forehead, and how his biceps contrat when he runs his hand through his hair to replace it. The little wrinkles around his eyes when he was smiling and the joyful burst of his voice as he laughs.

You also noticed a small stain of tomato sauce on his jaw, and without thinking about it, cutting Tom in his sentence, you swiped your thumb over it and brung it to your lips. Before you could reach your mouth, Tom stopped you, interlacing your hand with his fingers, pulling it to his face. He plunged his gaze into yours and wrapped his lips around your thumb. He licked softly your digit without breaking the eye contact. You stopped breathing, your heart pounding in your ears.

“That was mine,” he almost groaned. He then kissed delicately your other fingers while you starred at his lips and his face. He sometimes made eye contact with, making you loose your mind, before closing his eyes refocusing your fingers. He pulled gently on your wrist close to make you lean towards him. Your faces are a few inches away and the tension is so thick, the space between you is barely breathable.

“Y/N,” Tom whispered “please let me kiss you” he tilted his head waiting for your answer. Your breath was jerky, your pupils dilated and all your senses in turmoil. You leaned a little more, closing your eyes and nodded slowly.

Tom placed his other free hand on your cheek and closed the space between you. His lips were warm and rough at the same time, but his kisses were soft and caring. He wanted to make you feel good. The leaned position wasn’t the most comfortable though. So without breaking the kiss, Tom guided you up and sat you on his lap.

“Hm, much better” he said between kisses. You giggled and ran your hands through his soft curls. Tom navigated his lips down your neck and sucked on your hot skin. You tilted your head back giving him all the space he needed. Tom then traced his way down to your chest, his hands running up and down your back, waist and hips. You gently pulled on his curls to bring back his lips on your mouth, both whining and moaning.

“Tom, I need more... so much more” you desperately moaned out of breath. He didn’t say anything. He just got up, holding you around his chest and walked to his bedroom. After letting you falling gracefully on his bed he got up and took off his tight t-shirt. You discovered his muscular features, making you want to touch it.

“Give me your hands,” he nicely ordered. And you obeyed. He placed your palms on his pecs and slowly ran them all over his upper body. Your eyes stared frantically every inch of his skin, in awe of his features. Tom looked at your face with a slight smirk, admiring you.

“You like what see ?” that was so cocky yet so hot. You would gave laughed if it was anyone else, but there was something about him that was so hypnotising.

“I really do,” you whispered, still caressing him.

“Y/N, can I take off your clothes” he gently demanded, lingering his long fingers on your arms.

“Please,” you whimpered. Tom took the time to kiss you before pulling up your almost tired t-shirt and bra.

“Gorgeous,” he groaned and ran his warm hand on your breast. You moaned his name when you felt his lips around your nipples. “you’re so beautiful Y/N”. He pushed you against the mattress, stil sucking on your buds. He slid his hands down your body to take off your panties. “Can I take these off ?”

“Yes, you can” you answered desperately. He wasted no time and admired your glistening core.

“Fuck, I can’t wait to be inside you” Tom got up and grabbed a condom in his bathroom. When he came back he stumbled while taking off his boxers, making you giggle at his eagerness. He almost jumped on the bed and placed the condom on his very hard cock. You looked at him with wanting eyes, licking your lips.

“Do I need to work you out a little ?”

“No, no, don’t worry about that, you’ve done enough” you giggled and he responded the same way. “Please, I just need you...” you whimpered. Tom leaned on you to kiss you, and ever so smoothly entered you. You both moaned loudly.

“Fuck Y/N, you feel amazing” he stayed immobile for a little while so you can accommodate to him, until you moved your hips. He got the message and started thrusting gently but deeply.

Tom never stoped kissing you. On your lips, your cheeks, your neck... every bit on your skin that was reachable was showered by his lips. It was like a drug to him. You couldn’t get your hands off of his body, running them on his back, abs, chest and hair tugging a little on his curls. And each time your did that, he groaned and moaned. He made the prettiest sounds and you were loving it. Tom sped up his movements, holding close to him.

“Tom... umm you feel so good ! Gosh, please don’t stop”, you praised him and deepened his thrusts. They were more calculated, more passionate. Seeing him responding to your praises this way, made you want even more from him, so you continued.

“Um, yes just like that, oh fuck ! Tom, fuck you feel amazing !” he became animalistic in his thrusts and you felt your orgasm getting closer.

“You like this cock pretty girl ? um ?” he groaned in your ear “do you feel how perfect it is for you ? how it makes you loose yourself ? I feel you clenching baby...” his thrusts sped up even harder wanting you to release your pleasure “cum for me Y/N, I’m right behind you. God, fuck- your pussy feels so good, so tight !”

Your nails scratched his back, searching for something to hold onto, you arched your spine and let your orgasm took over you. Tom thrusted a few more times before he cums in you, moans and groans filling the air. He relaxed his body on top of yours, both you regaining your breath. Who knew, after spending the worst day ever, you would end up in a stranger’s bed. Tom eventually rolled on the side, giggling.

“What’s so funny ?” you asked a bit embarrassed.

“Nothing, nothing,” he reassured you, kissing you softly, “it was just... mind-blowing.” You felt your cheeks heat up against his palm.

“I know,” your confirmed. “Thank you for brighting up my day” you joked.

“Anytime, love !” Tom smiled before hesitantly asking you “actually, I was thinking, maybe we could go on a date, or something... I spent a really good time with you. I’m not only talking about the sex, huh, it was an amazing evening.”

You bit your lips and kissed him delicately “I would love that. I had a great time too”