#Happy Father’s Day Celebrations 2018

[strawberrysainz]

racing in the street. charles leclerc.

“ it’s a dream that has surpassed many others in both of your lives. to win the monaco grand prix - it had evaded him for many years. this year felt different. ”

charles leclerc x reader

word count: 2.5k

warnings: mentions of alcohol, suggestive themes.

this is a love letter to his win - years and years in the making. ❤️‍🔥

The first time you had known Charles would win in Monaco one day was when you were both seven, in the back of his dad’s car on the way to a friend’s party.

You had passed Mirabeau, and Charles had pointed out the red and white on the ground as you whizzed past.

“One day if I get to-“

“When,” his father had corrected from the front, and Charles had rolled his eyes playfully.

“-when I get to Formula 1, this is going to be very cool to pass by,”

You had nodded briefly - a seven year old’s attention span could only focus on something abstract for so long - and you had paused. “You can win it, right Cha?”

He had shrugged modestly. It was terribly annoying how modest he had been, even back then.

“You can. You win everything you want to win.” You were certain of this, even so many years ago.

Hervé had laughed loudly and you had blushed crimson.

Charles had smiled then, looking out the window, eyes shining with the hope of it all. The look in his eyes had startled you, one of wisdom only an adult could have.

One day in 2017 Lorenzo called you and Charles had staggered out of the hotel bathroom, face white. He had sat there next to you on the bed.

“I lied.”

“What?”

“I told him a few weeks ago I got to F1. So he would be happy knowing I achieved our dream. And I haven’t.”

Tears burned in your eyes.

He had fallen into your embrace, sobs shaking his whole body.

Standing on the top step in Baku three days later, you had stood there below him, crying, his mother on the phone.

You were eating sushi you’d ordered in at his place a few months later, and he’d had a sneakily happy look on his face the whole day.

“What’s up with you?” You’d said with a mouth full of california roll.

“Sauber is giving me a seat for next year.”

You’d broken a glass jumping up and soy sauce had stained both of your shirts as you screamed.

That first Monaco race day in 2018 had been a magical affair, up until the sixth-last lap, when his brakes had failed, spinning him into Brendan Hartley as they approached the Nouvelle Chicane.

You had winced in the garage, and he’d been dejected when he approached you a few hours afterward.

You’d thought of that day passing Mirabeau when you saw him. “Was it as cool as you thought doing it in F1?” You’d said quietly.

Tears had shone in his eyes. “I got to race it. Dad knew I could race it in F1.”

You had nearly choked months later when he’d told you over a glass of wine dipping your toes in the sea that he’d been called by Ferrari.

Shivers had run through you as you thought of Jules, and of Hervé. All they all had ever wanted.

“You know, your dad would have not been prouder. He would have dragged you to Rampoldi to celebrate.”

“Shall we go?” He had asked, and you’d both made the trip back to Monte-Carlo and when you phoned the restaurant in the back of the Uber, they’d said it was full with a little bit of regret.

But when they’d heard Charles was going to be there - oh, they’d all loved him from the beginning - they’d gotten a table for you both near closing time, when everyone was dispersing.

You’d both laughed and cried over the plates of his dad’s favourite ravioli.

Monaco had felt different in 2019, more eyes on him.

He’d started P15. Then on lap 16 - the irony - his puncture due to contact had called him back to the garage.

Pure grief had decorated his face as he got out of the car, shaking his head. Finding you after the Grand Prix, you saw the light dimming from his eyes and gave him the biggest hug you could.

That night you’d both cycled back to his place and sat all night in his kitchen, the dim light doing little to hide his sadness.

2021 was even worse; he’d had no chance to even start, and this time he was angry.

You hadn’t even seen him and had gone to bed when he called up at 2am, drunk, asking for a lift home.

You had gone in your pajama shorts and glasses, and he had sat in the back seat and asked why he always had worser luck here than anywhere else.

You didn’t really have an answer. “I just know one day it’s going to work out for you,” you said softly.

2022 had been spent in his friend’s apartment, watching from their balcony with a cocktail in hand, watching his girlfriend smile on the television.

You’d watched on as disaster had struck, Ferrari making an awful call, sacrificing his P1 for a measly P4.

You’d seen him two days later, out for breakfast, and he had just sighed. “Fucking stupid,” he’d murmured. “I think we have to accept I might never get this.”

That belief of your seven year old self was still strong, cemented in your soul when you shook your head.

In 2023, he’d just been annoyed at sixth place once he came back from the stewards. You’d left the paddock and he’d just gone home, bidding you a good night. As you walked to your apartment, you’d thought of all the nights as teenagers racing on bicycles in the streets.

Monaco would love him back as much as he did it one day. You knew it - deep down, he knew it too.

Well, Saturday in Monaco this year had felt different. He’d oozed confidence all weekend. And you felt different about him.

After he’d broken up with his girlfriend, all you’d been thinking about was him. He had been making unnecessary trips to see you, inviting you to more races than usual.

It had culminated a few months ago in Miami, where things were just different; he had come on the podium, and you had kissed his cheek when you saw him an hour later. You swore he almost moved his face to meet your lips.

You’d both spent the night partying with Lando, the drinks making you both different, dancing sensually, eyes dark. He had kissed your neck, and you’d both realised what the hell you were doing, moving back.

The next time you saw him you both pretended it had never happened.

You hadn’t seen him again until last Sunday, at your place. He’d come for your birthday dinner, handing you a present and flowers with two kisses to your cheeks. You’d blushed amongst all your friends, champagne flowing.

On Wednesday night after a long day of press, he’d come over again. “I have a feeling about the race this year.” You nodded, silently inviting him to expand.

“It feels different. Like I can definitely do it.”

You smiled. “I know you can do it. And you’ve been really strong this year.”

“I was cycling last month through Mirabeau and I really remembered one day when we were walking around there or driving when we were young and you told me you knew I could win.”

“It was when we were driving with your dad.” He’d let out a little sigh.

“I can do it this year for him. And me and Jules and you.”

You’d gotten emotional all of sudden. “I know you can do it, Cha. I’ve always known.”

He hugged you, his body soft and warm against yours in the dark room. You’d wanted nothing more than to kiss him.

Well, he’d got on pole on Saturday, reinforcing his determination and confidence. You’d seen how calm and collected he looked and it had been noticed by nearly everyone. You’d given him a fist bump and he’d grabbed you, hugging you, the smell of his sweat a testament to how badly he wanted it.

You’d gone home after a dinner with the Leclercs (minus him, he had sponsorship engagements to fulfill) and there was the quiet knowledge amongst all of them that this was the year.

Your mom had phoned on Sunday morning, and you spoke about your lives, then about Charles. “I hope he knows how loved he is by all of us. And I know Hervé and Jules are watching on today with the utmost pride.”

You nodded. “I think he does know, mama.”

You had picked out a red dress, short and flowing to accommodate the welcome heat. As you did your makeup, you thought of all the years that had come before, previous versions of yourself that had wanted him so badly to win.

The entire race you’d had stubborn tears in your eyes, blurring your vision. The last two laps you could barely look, too emotional at the thought of even seeing this happen.

Joris had gently guided you up to look again in the room and you just knew Charles was crying too on that last lap. The thought of the little boy in the car staring out at these streets made you wonder how he must be feeling.

All these years of this dream.

He had crossed the finish line and you had erupted into tears, turning into Lorenzo’s chest to take a breath. Later, you’d seen the camera footage of your teary eyes and the glimmer of hope in them as you looked back.

Then everyone had run down to the podium and you were in the second row, all of his team in the front. You saw him jump in slow motion into the air from his car and saw the joy in his steps.

He had jumped into the roar, and didn’t manage to see you but you could tell he was looking. Then he’d done the post race interview and him talking about his dad made you burst out crying again.

Someone had found you and dragged you to the front of the barrier underneath the podium. You must have looked awful. As he walked to the cool down room he cast a look back and your eyes caught his for a fraction of a second before he disappeared.

You had used the five minutes to take big deep breaths, multiple hands grasping you.

Then he’d walked out onto the podium and you saw how Prince Albert had gripped him like a son, tears in his own eyes. And Charles had held up his flag, full of hopes and dreams.

And then you all sang the anthems and then he was given the trophy and you were taking videos and photos as if in a dream.

He’d not seen you again, scanning, but gave up when the attentions of everyone else were cast on him.

You hadn’t caught sight of him again until you were hanging around in the paddock, wondering. Your phone rang and your heart skipped a beat.

“Hello?”

He was breathless and you couldn’t hear him, really, over the sound of the wind.

“Wh-“

“I’m cycling home…”

You had snorted. “Alone?”

“Yeah.”

You had paused.

“I wanted to just think of all the years and moments I raced and rode these streets and prayed I would win here one day. It felt right.”

You had laughed. “I’m proud of you.”

“Yeah, yeah… meet me at home? Then we go out?”

“Sounds like a plan.”

He ended the call. You saw videos of him on TikTok later on the bike on speakerphone and he had grinned as the people drove past him.

You had stopped at your place first, freshening up, and grabbed a bag and a power bank and downed a shot of vodka (to ease the nerves). Putting on heels with the red dress this time, you ordered an Uber to his place. You had used your key to get in and music was blaring when you opened the door. He was shirtless, trying to find an appropriate one.

“Hi,” you smiled.

He had forgotten what he was doing to basically run over and hug you, the force of it nearly knocking you over.

You were in tears again when he pulled away. “Love you,” you whispered, and he smiled. “I’m so proud. I keep thinking of little you.”

“I could never be here without you throughout the years. Never. You have picked me up and glued me back together so many times.”

You let out a small sound of emotion.

“I thought so much of all of you the last laps. I couldn’t see I was so emotional.” He laughed.

“And just all the times you told me you just knew I could do it. And my dad. And Jules. And my mom and brothers. Oh, I want to cry even now!”

You laughed as he ran back to his room to get a shirt.

“But-” he called from the room- “now we have to party like crazy!”

The next morning, you woke up at Arthur’s apartment with a pounding headache and a few missed calls and texts.

Charles 🕺 4:37

Let me know if you got back okay?

Charles 🕺 5:13

I think I’m going home now

Charles 🕺 10:52

I’m going to come pick you up I think Arthur won’t wake until 3pm

You checked the time. 11:04. Getting up from the couch and groaning, you went to the bathroom and pulled your hair into a ponytail, trying to wipe the makeup and finding a disposable toothbrush in his drawer to brush your teeth and the stale smell of tequila away.

You heard his car horn outside and you pulled on your heels that had been thrown on the ground a few meters from the couch. Leaving and letting the door close quietly you walked down the stairs, wincing at every loud noise your high heels made.

He was in his car and thank God there was no one around because you looked crazy. “Hiii,” you said, and he handed you a pair of sunglasses you thought you lost (but clearly just left in his car).

“How’s the race winner doing?” You said, and slid into the seat.

“Incredible,” he said dramatically and his voice was raspy, nearly gone. You laughed and then grasped your head.

Coming out of your bedroom with your hair wrapped in a towel and a crop top and sweatpants, he was making coffee for you both. Finding leftover pasta from Saturday night that Pascale had sent you home with, you heated it up and offered him some. He shook his head.

When you turned around from the microwave with the pasta in hand, he kissed you.

Your eyes widened. He set down the pasta, not breaking the kiss, and hoisted you onto the kitchen counter. You let him open you up, your body leaning into his. Your arms wrapped around his neck and his hand rested underneath your shirt.

“You make me feel so lucky,” he whispered.

Your mouth fell open slightly. “Well, you deserve all of it.”

He did. He did.

omg i just started crying over this stupid fic for the third time. i feel like this encompasses all i feel for him. i hope you feel it. ❤️‍🔥

[pickingupmymercedes]

Wrong for me - Charles Leclerc

📷 @/nicolo.furicchia

pairing: charles leclerc x fem! f1 related! reader (the reader is a tp's daughter, I wrote with Toto in mind but there's no names)

song: Angels - Miley Cyrus

warnings: angsty but happy-ish ending

wordcount: 1k

a/n: Bit of a short one but it is my first time writing for Charles, so would you guys give some feedback? Also I'm thinking of opening up requests for drivers x readers with songs inspirations, I actually really like to take songs as inspirations

I know that you’re wrong for me, gonna wish we never met on the day I leave

It was everything your father had warned you not to do, yet it was everything you’ve thought about ever since he walked through the f1 paddock back in 2018. You knew he was wrong for you, but the very thought of each other consumed every inch of logical judgment in both of you. He had a couple of girlfriends since, they were all nice and polite, you tried to stay away but it didn’t make much of a difference. Their official reason for the break ups were the hardships of dating a driver, but he would tell you sometime later some of the exact words he heard were “Why am I always so sure your mind is on her?”.

A puppy love that had burned bright for a little over 6 months when you were still 16 but somehow had managed to quietly find its way through to today. Only this time the flame had threatened to burn not only your hearts but the entirety of his and your father’s team. The tension between the two of you had always been evident to those who knew what had happened back then, but as the 2024 season went further it was more than obvious to anyone with eyes that there was something there. Feelings and desire neither of you would dare to act upon and that would further build an atmosphere that could be felt and cut with a knife, making you wish every day you had never met.

When you finally realized you had the same effect he did on you, hurting him was how you protected yourself from giving in to the urge to fall head first into a love that you believed would not be able to thrive. So as his relationships crumbled down to their inevitable ends, you embarked in a string of meaningless flings in search of someone that would take your mind off of the one thing that you truly wanted.

Bringing him down to his knees with every ghosting you’d purposely inflict him, finding some unimportant meeting to attend instead of where you said you’d be, all the while excitedly celebrating his first win, birthday or even little achievements, moments of weakness you’d let your true emotions surface, only to shut him out right after, pledging to not drag him down the rabbit hole that was your blinding infatuation, with what you believed to be his way out of “misery loves company”.

Some of the drivers, protective as they had become of you, caught on pretty early how although Charles wouldn’t confess his affections, he would never candidly deny them either, which resulted in rising untrust between some of them, with your father on the other hand taking the blind eye approach and ignoring what was obvious until he couldn’t anymore.

You tried to pretend things were taken care of, but every time you found yourselves in the same space sparks could almost be seen coming from every other direction. The breaking point being a very public and loud display of how tense things were between you and him one Saturday night at the paddock, the motive long forgotten as both of you screamed at the top of your lungs for things the other had no fault. The frustration of walking on egg shells around each other clearly evident on the screaming match, and your father’s first intervention resulting in two grown adults looking like sulking toddlers who had just been told they had to deal with their emotions before anyone got seriously hurt in the cross fire.

That wasn’t the last time, and although you would try to keep discussions and screaming matches alike from happening, the public stares and midnight bedroom escapades escalated to a point where everyone decided enough was enough, and you were both locked at the FIA conference room, to either “kiss or scream it out” – their exact words.

“I’m not like your past relationship, Charles. I won’t bring you security, peace and quiet. I’m a mess and you know it, you’ve seen it. Everything I touch turns into a huge media monster and I’m fated to lose every single person I love. It’s not your fault I ruin everything, and it’s not your fault I can’t be what you need” You confessed, looking him with bloodshot eyes, tears falling freely.

“I don’t want them, I want you. Baggage and all, media attention and crazy fans, protective father and f1 drivers haunting me for years to come… The mess and everything they always said you’d be, because that’s the woman I fell in love with.” And although you had reservations on what you believed could be a relationship with the power to destroy his life, and potently his career, you gave in, letting your heart speak louder than your fears.

[poomphuripan]

rosyspell doesn’t have the special chapters of pbd. would you be able to summarize them? 💞💞

hi nonnie! of course i'd be happy to (o゜▽゜)o☆

full disclaimer: my knowledge of 188 novels is still limited so i might not cover all of the special chapters, these are just the ones i've been able to read/know due to the handful of vietnamese/english translations i've been accessible to.

so there are generally a lot of official extras: the written word extra chapters, additional material like interview with the characters, official chibi/cartoon au... which is why for this post i'll just focus on summarizing the post-canon extra chapters. i'll also be linking a few translations i found.

Post-canon extra chapters of Professional Body Double

(i read all of these post-canon extra chapters through a vietnamese translation here, you can google translate and get the gist of them)

Daily life a couple: Ming is sulky at Joe for always being so busy with work because he's busy himself but he can always spend time with Joe while Joe has a lot of projects to film. Joe coaxes Ming by agreeing to go on a short trip with him to the beach. They have kinky sex on the beach.

Period of Happiness: Joe surprises Ming by returning home early from his work trip. Joe hears the sounds coming from the bedroom while Ming quickly turns off what he was watching. Joe got curious so he secretly looks at what Ming had been watching, turns out Ming was watching old films which Joe 1.0 starred in. Joe feels conflicted, a bit envy of his old face, is kinda forlorn and down mood. Next morning, Ming notices something's wrong with Joe and apologizes profusely to Joe for watching films of Joe 1.0 while Joe is like it's fine (he was in fact, not fine). In the evening, Joe tells Ming he's gonna take a walk outside but Ming got all paranoid that Joe is still mad at him and starts crying and begging him to stay, promising he'll never watch films of Joe 1.0 again if Joe stays (all this kid knows is how to beg and cry lawd). Joe is like no he's just worried that Ming cannot fully accept his new look compared to his old one. Ming was like no he should be the one worrying here, worrying that one day Joe can get upset and leave him without saying goodbye like Joe once did. Ming does regret that he's never had a picture taken with Joe 1.0 but promises that he only loves the current Joe in front of him. They had hot emotional sex after resolving their conflict.

Injured Xiang-Ge: Joe gets injured on set and broke his rib a little bit. Ming immediately flies home to see Joe and take care of him. Ming expresses his fears and worries about what if one day Joe hits his head and lose all conciousness of Joe 1.0 or if Joe 2.0's soul return to this body. Joe reassures Ming that he will be more careful later on when filming.

New Year Vacation: A snowstorm hit the set where Joe is filming, causing a delay in production. Joe messages Ming to coax him about not being able to come back home in time to celebrate Lunar New Year with him. Ming surprises Joe at the hotel where he was staying to celebrate new year with him.

Jealous Little Gong: Ming is jealous over the news reporting about Joe's new film and dating rumors with his actress co-star. Joe is being sickenly sweet trying to coax Ming.

Summer Limited (adapted audiodrama here): famous actor Joe is invited to Italy for Milan Fashion Week, Ming is somewhere in Europe working around the same time so he received an invitation to the FW by the organizers to walk with Joe. Ming surprises Joe with his appearance and they're all lovey dovey with their public appearance at Joe's hesitance because it's implied that Ming's father still disapproves of his gay son.

Vacation in Munich in 2018 (english tl here): Joe takes some time off acting when he's at the height of his career to travelled with Ming to Germany where Ming is supposed to be working there for some time. They take a walk around the city one day and run into a female acquaintance of Ming. Basically Ming teases Joe about whether he's jealous, they're just being lovey and dovey bantering.

English translations of official AUs

ABO AU - read here Sentinel & Guide AU - read here

[foundtherightwords]

As the Sun Will Rise - Chapter 13

Pairing: Grunauer (Overlord) x OFC, Beauty & the Beast retelling

Summary: After losing most of his unit in a disastrous D-Day mission, Derwin Grunauer returns to his hometown near Miami, body riddled with scars and heart heavy with guilt, only to find his neighbors shunning him due to his German name. He retreats into his family mansion and remains there, unwilling to rejoin the living, until the day Alba Reyes turns up at his door with a basket full of warm bread. As the daughter of a Cuban immigrant, Alba knows something of being an outsider, and when she offers to work for Derwin as his housekeeper, it is not only to pay off her father's debt to the Grunauers, but also because she feels some connection to the reclusive young man. When that connection develops into something more, they must overcome both the town's prejudice and their own doubts to find happiness.

Chapter warnings: none

Chapter word count: 3.2k

Chapter 1 - Chapter 2 - Chapter 3 - Chapter 4 - Chapter 5 - Chapter 6 - Chapter 7 - Chapter 8 - Chapter 9 - Chapter 10 - Chapter 11 - Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Derwin noticed something had changed between him and Alba since the trip to the beach. Alba was still friendly with him, but there was now an edge to her friendliness. It wasn't exactly an unpleasant edge; not the nervous, terrible waiting of a storm, more like the breathless anticipation of the dawn after staying up all night. Still, it puzzled him and almost made him miss the earlier days of their acquaintance. Before, when she smiled at him or touched him—a casual pat on the hand over the dining table or a squeeze of his shoulder when she glanced at his work on the typewriter—it had been with easy affection, undemanding, almost unthinking. Now, her smile didn't quite reach her eyes, which remained watchful, searching him for something only she knew, and if they happened to brush against each other in the hallway, she would shrink away, grin awkwardly, and run off.

A few days after the trip, a package arrived for Derwin—though in truth, he ordered it for Alba. It was a book, The Everglades: River of Grass. He'd seen the title on a list of upcoming releases, and, thinking of Alba, had placed the order immediately. She may have turned down his offer to buy the dress for her, but he was sure she wouldn't refuse a book. True enough, her eyes lit up when he presented the book to her, and she leaned forward as if to hug him, only to pull back at the last moment and say stiffly, "I'm sure I'll enjoy it. Thank you," before walking away, clutching the book close to her chest.

Derwin longed to chase after her, to ask her what happened—he remembered nothing particularly noteworthy had occurred between them on the trip, except for that moment she mentioned his freckles—but something on Alba's face echoed the same shyness and uncertainty he was feeling inside, and it held him back.

It was almost Thanksgiving. Alba had told him, apologetically, that she would love for him to join her family, but they had been invited to celebrate with some friends from Cuba and she didn't want to impose upon the host by inviting another guest. "It's OK," he'd said. "Don't worry about me." The truth was that he felt secretly relieved to have a few days to himself, so he could gather his thoughts and not have them constantly occupied by Alba. With this strange tension between them, he didn't think he could face a whole day with her under the scrutiny of Mr. Reyes.

That morning, they greeted each other over coffee as usual, before Derwin retreated into the study to continue working on his translation and Alba went into the garden. She was very proud of how well it was growing, and her excitement was so contagious that Derwin found himself watching the rows of vegetables and herbs with interest, waiting for the day they could taste the fruits, quite literally, of Alba's labor. The young cucumbers were thick around the vines, the tomatoes were showing the first blush of ripening, and the pods of green beans and runner beans swung from the poles, ready to be harvested.

Derwin was just sitting down at his typewriter when a sharp cry went up in the garden. "No!" It was Alba, and she sounded in pain. He bolted up and rushed to the back door. "No, no, no..." Alba was still wailing, her voice full of tears.

"Alba?" Derwin shouted. "What's wrong? What's the matter?"

There was no answer. Derwin tore through the backyard and all but ran to the garden. Otto came to meet him, tail drooping sadly.

A scene of destruction met Derwin's eyes. The garden, Alba's beloved garden, which she had so lovingly planted and cared for, had been ravaged. Beans were ripped from their poles, lettuce and herbs were strewn on the ground, cucumber and tomato plants cruelly chopped up, their young fruits scattered everywhere. In the middle of the carnage was a piece of cardboard mounted on a stick, bearing the same chicken scratch Derwin had become used to—the word KILLER and a swastika in red paint. Alba was sitting on the ground, her face buried in her hands, shoulders heaving with sobs.

The sight of her distress scared him more than the destruction of the garden, and he threw himself on the ground next to her. "Alba?" he said, trying to pry her hands away so he could look at her. "Are you OK? Are you hurt?" She just shook her head and continued to weep. "Herzchen, please, talk to me." The term of endearment slipped out inadvertently, but thankfully, Alba was too upset to notice.

"I'm OK," she sniffed, finally dropping her hands. "But look at this! How could they have done this? Did you hear anything last night?"

Derwin thought back. "I did hear Otto barking a lot around... three or four in the morning, I think," he said. "But I didn't dare let him out. I'm sorry."

"Don't apologize. If you let him out, they may have hurt him." Alba rubbed Otto's head and wiped an ineffectual hand across her nose. "They know exactly what they're doing," she continued, her grief slowly turning to anger. "They waited until the garden was thriving and ready to be harvested to strike. This isn't just vandalism. They want to hurt you. What a bunch of... of... cabrónes!"

Derwin didn't know what cabrónes meant, but from the way she said it, he had a pretty good guess.

"But I'm not the one getting hurt, you are," he said regretfully. "I'm so sorry. All your hard work—"

She sat back with a sigh. "You're hurt, too. You don't get to eat these now. And I was so looking forward to cooking them for you."

Her lips trembled, the tears threatening to come back. Derwin looked around, trying to think of something to say, something to cheer her up.

"Look, maybe it's not so bad," he said. "The cucumbers and tomatoes are a bit young, but they're not ruined. We can still eat them. And look, the beans aren't cut. They're just ripped from the poles. The roots are still intact. We can replant them, right?"

His words made Alba look at the garden again. Derwin realized that, in her shock, she hadn't examined it closely enough and had given everything up for loss. Now she lifted each plant as carefully and tenderly as a mother touching the forehead of her sick child, and her drooped shoulders slowly lifted.

"You're right!" she exclaimed. "They were probably afraid of getting discovered, so they just slashed at things willy-nilly... They didn't even touch the herbs! I can replant the beans and the lettuce... And we can gather up the cucumbers and green tomatoes..." She looked up at him with a small smile. "I hope you like pickles."

"I love pickles." Derwin's heart lifted at the sight of her smile. "Hey, maybe we ought to thank these hoodlums," he joked, encouraged by that smile. "They saved us from having to do the harvest ourselves."

"I wouldn't go as far as that," Alba said, but she chuckled, her face brighter. Then she sniffed again. Derwin searched his pockets for a handkerchief, only to come up empty. Useless. Without thinking, he reached out, cupped her tear-stained cheek in his palm, and wiped at it with his thumb. She turned to press her cheek into his palm, and he let his hand linger on her face for a moment.

"How green your eyes are today," he whispered.

Alba stared at him, her mouth slightly open. If he just edged his thumb a little closer, he could brush it across those lips and feel how soft they were...

"Are they?" she said. "It must be because I've been crying. They just look greener because of the redness around them, and because the tears affect the light refracting off the iris."

"Oh." He dropped his hand, embarrassed. How stupid of him, to talk about her eyes at a time like this, when she'd just seen months of hard work destroyed. "That's—um—interesting."

For a moment, they sat facing each other, not knowing where to look, what to do, what to say. Then Derwin cleared his throat. "I'll find a basket and gather these up," he said, indicating the tomatoes and cucumbers on the ground, before pulling himself to his feet and limping back to the house.

***

Alba watched Derwin hurry into the house, his gait unsteady without the cane. As he vanished from sight, she sighed and started going through the wilted plants, trying to see which one was still salvageable. But her mind wasn't on it. What was wrong with her?! Why couldn't she have kept her mouth shut for once? She wished she could ask Claudia or Beatriz about this. Claudia had told her to go get him, but then again, Claudia had only been with one guy her entire life. Alba wouldn't consider her an expert. Beatriz would know what to do. Beatriz would not babble about light refraction when the man she liked was touching her face and complimenting her eyes.

Did she really like him? Yes. She could admit that to herself now. And she was certain he liked her as well. After the beach trip, she had tried to put a little distance between them, both to examine her own feelings and to test his. The yearning, diffident looks he gave her, like those of a kicked puppy who didn't know what it'd done wrong and still craved affection, could mean nothing else. Alba may not be the most sensitive and observant when it came to matters of the heart, but even she could see that.

But she was also certain that Derwin would never make a move—for all his newfound confidence, he was still so shy around her, so reticent, afraid of his own shadow. All the boys Alba had gone out with—a few in high school, and later, briefly, a GI who was in town for training; she'd been far too busy for more—had pursued her. Now she found herself in the position of the pursuer, and she had no idea what to do.

And there was the little problem of her family's debt. She didn't like to think about it, didn't like how transactional it felt, didn't like the mercenary taint it gave to her connection with Derwin. What they had was so much more special. And most of all, she didn't like to think what would happen once the debt was paid. Although she had started looking into colleges, she knew for sure that Papi would insist on her coming back to the bakery. What could she say then, to both Papi and Derwin? What excuse would she have to keep seeing Derwin?

"What am I going to do, Otto?" she asked the dog in Spanish. "If I told him how I feel, what would he think of me? Would he think that I'm terribly forward? But if I don't say something, we're just going to keep dancing around each other until we go crazy." Hearing her rueful tone, Otto gave a sympathetic woof and affectionately butted his head against her shoulder. She laughed and rubbed his ears. "Oh, why am I asking you for advice anyway? You don't even have a girlfriend."

"What are you saying to him?" asked Derwin. She hadn't heard him coming up behind her.

"Nothing," she said quickly, aware that she was turning red and cursing herself for it. "I was just asking if he likes pickles."

"I thought you were calling him crazy or something. I heard you said loco. That means crazy, right?"

Perfecto. If Derwin had started to pick up Spanish, she was going to have to be more careful about what she said to Otto.

"Yeah, I was cursing out the bastards that did this," she said, turning away to hide her flush. Thankfully, Derwin didn't ask any more questions. He busied himself with picking up the vegetables, dusting them off, and putting them into the basket, while Alba righted the bean poles and covered up the roots, praying that they still lived.

She spent the rest of the day making pickles of the young cucumbers and green tomatoes, saving some of the ripest ones for salad. Neither spoke of what happened between them in the garden, though sometimes Alba would catch Derwin gazing at her, before quickly looking away again.

That night, in their bedroom, while Beatriz was putting her hair in curlers, Alba lay back on her bed, staring at the ceiling. Beatriz was humming "Almost like Being in Love" under her breath, and the timeliness of the song made Alba want to laugh and scream at the same time.

"Bea, can I ask you something?" she said in English. The walls were thin; she didn't want Papi to overhear them, so English would be safer.

"Sure."

"Say... you like someone."

"What's this?" Beatriz paused her rolling and turned to Alba, eyes opened wide. "Alba Reyes Alvarado, asking me for boy advice? Am I dreaming?!"

"Shut up and let me finish, will you?" Alba said, and Beatriz returned to her curlers, nodding encouragingly. "So you like someone," Alba continued. "And you're pretty sure he likes you back. But he won't do anything about it. What would you do?"

The curlers were forgotten again. "Who's the imbécil?" Beatriz asked. "Who is he to ignore my sister? Let me talk to him. I'll make him see some sense."

"Calm down," said Alba, though she was grateful to Beatriz for her support. "You'd frighten him away with your kind of 'talk'. He's a good guy, really. Just very, very shy."

"Well, whatever you do, never, ever make the first move," said Beatriz, happy to be the one dishing out advice this time. It wasn't often that Alba let her forget which one of them was the elder. "Boys will think you're easy and you'll get a reputation, and you'll never get another date."

"But how do I get him to make the first move then?"

"You just have to show him that you're interested. Compliment him. Talk to him about what he's interested in. Make his favorite food. And, if you can, maybe cry a little. If he gets to comfort you, that's when he usually asks you out." Beatriz said this last sentence with the air of one imparting great wisdom. "I don't use that very often, but I've found it very effective."

Alba had to laugh at her sister's flirting techniques. Then, remembering her own predicament, she said with a sigh, "I've done all that already."

"Aren't you going to tell me who he is?" Beatriz asked. When Alba said nothing, she looked into the mirror thoughtfully. "I bet I can guess who he is. God knows we don't meet a lot of people, stuck at the bakery all day. Can't be Frank."

Oh no. If Beatriz guessed, she would never keep her mouth shut. "You know Frank's been sweet on you for years," Alba said, trying to distract her sister.

"I know." Beatriz sounded almost wistful, and Alba hoped that her sister had seen Frank's true worth at last. "You said you've done all that for him... Wait a minute!" Beatriz stared at Alba. "It can't be... can it?"

"What?" Alba said, feigning innocence.

"Gruesome Grunauer?!"

"Don't call him that!"

"Oh, I should have known!" Beatriz crowed. "You've always defended him, even when we were kids. Of course you'd fall in love with him!"

"I am not in love with him!" protested Alba. Not yet, a voice said in her mind. She firmly hushed it up.

"That's why you're practically running out the door every morning. You love him!" Beatriz sounded positively giddy with delight now. Was she trying to tell the entire neighborhood? She would probably start chanting Alba and Grunauer sitting under a tree, K-I-S-S-I-N-G next.

"Stop it!" Alba hissed. "I knew it was a bad idea to ask you. Forget I said anything." She turned to face the wall.

"OK, OK, I'm sorry." Beatriz finished with her curlers and came over to sit on Alba's bed. "I won't tease. And honestly? He seems nice. Even Marty Jr. loves him."

"He is," agreed Alba, slightly appeased.

"But Papi won't like it, you know."

Alba sighed. Their father may tolerate Derwin as their landlord, but when it came to his daughters, he believed no one was good enough for them, certainly not a wounded vet with no job. "You think I don't know that?" she said. "So you must promise never to breathe a word of this to anyone, OK?"

"I promise." Beatriz squeezed Alba's shoulder. "And don't worry, you just have to be patient with him. Any man who walked for miles on a bad leg just to ask a girl to come back to him is worth waiting for."

Alba turned back to her sister, startled. She hadn't even considered it. She thought any feelings Derwin had for her had only started developing after they began spending more time together, not before. But now that Beatriz had mentioned it, she remembered the night of the storm, and even more instances before that... Could it be true? Beatriz winked at her and jumped back into her own bed with a grin.

But even as Alba's mind told her to take Beatriz's advice and be patient, her heart refused to do so. In her dream that night, she was back in the garden with Derwin, only instead of turning away and walking back into the house, he kept his hand on her cheek, drew her to him, and kissed her.

She melted into his arms. Her hands sought his body, her lips sought his mouth to return the kiss. But here her imagination failed her. The details were frustratingly vague. In her dream, neither of them said anything. He may have whispered her name, but she couldn't hear it over the buzzing of her pulse in her ears. She couldn't tell what his mouth felt like or where his hands were placed. There was only the knowing that he was kissing her and the beating of her pulse, setting her blood on fire.

And then she woke. The fire remained as a dull throbbing in her breast and between her legs. The bedclothes pressed down on her, heavy and unbearably hot. She tossed them off and went into the bathroom to throw some cold water on her flushed cheeks.

As she stared at her reflection in the dimly lit mirror, Alba realized Derwin had also done most of the things Beatriz had told her to do. He'd complimented her. He'd talked to her about her interests and even given her a book about it. The only thing left was that he had yet to cry in her presence. Could it be that he was trying to let her know that he was interested, without having to make the first move himself? How confusing human courtship rituals are! If only they could go about it like birds. Derwin could sing to her and build her a nest, and if she liked it, she would move in. That would be much simpler.

Chapter 14

The next chapter is going to be a bit earlier than usual (Friday instead of Saturday) because I have a fic I need to post on Saturday for Hellcheer Week, so keep an eye out!

Taglist: @kitkat80, @hahahafucku

[thepersonnamedsam]

characterisation

pairing: genz!driver

summary: a short characterisation of the genz!driver

warnings: none :)

note: ahh, i love, love, love the genz!driver (wish to be her, actually) and i hope you love her as much as i do!

masterlist / taglist

personal data

born a female on a sunny day, she graced the world with her presence. as a first and last born she is her parents pride.

her parents, father, hardworking and loving, mother just as loving and hardworking.

born with no siblings, she grew up as an only child, happy to have her parents attention all the time. as she grew up, it was a bit annoying, but now that she’s away 2/3 of the time, she enjoys all the attention she gets from her mother and father.

racing career

she started karting at a young age, younger than most of the others. young and female she had a rough start, but always found her way back.

at 15 she started to race in f4, driving for CDR or chris dittman racing. coming second that season.

she soon was signed by prema in f3 where she won her first championship. she raced together with mick schumacher and she celebrated his championship in 2018.

they both signed with prema in f2 at the end of the '18 season and started racing in 2019. mick placed 12th that season as she placed third overall.

mick stayed another season with prema, winning his f2 championship, as you started your f1 career with alpha tauri.

when mick got signed with haas, she was happy to have her best friend back on the grid. she left alpha tauri.

languages

she speaks english of course, knows a little french from school and her mother tongue.

she tries to speak as many languages as possible, fascinated by them.

she asks charles, pierre and esteban to speak french with them, but she gets confused and overwhelmed pretty fast. she asks them to stop after like 6 sentences.

she also learned a bit of german, having spent so much time with the german driver. seb was surprised when she heard her speak german for the first time.

carlos repeatedly tried to teach her some spanish, but it never worked. the language just not sticking, just like french to be honest.

hobbies

her hobbies are drawing and singing. she also does some youtube videos around her life.

if she has some alone time, she usually has concerts for her stuffed animals (yes, she still has some, besides already living for herself. actually, that’s why she still has some stuffed animals).

or she draws, she likes to post her art under a fake persona, well her fake name isn’t as creative and some fans have connected the art to her, but she doesn’t care.

she spends loads of her free time with other f1 drivers, feeling lonely sometimes. they are happy to spend time with her, knowing the struggles to live alone at such a young age.

°°°

taglist: @ironmaiden1313 , @topguncultleader , @missskid , @gulabjamooon , @lovelyy-moonlight , @peachyplumsss , @mistrose23

[invisibleicewands]

Michael Sheen narrates our brand-new show for The Snowman Tour

We are thrilled to announce that Michael Sheen has recorded the narration of The Bear, the Piano, the Dog and the Fiddle for us, ready for its world premiere on The Snowman Tour, 2024.

“I get to tell the story of The Bear, the Piano, the Dog and the Fiddle! It's something that I'm really excited to be a part of; the storytelling by David Litchfield is so rich, and the music that has been composed by Daniel Whibley is incredibly beautiful. To be able to contribute to such a lovely family experience this Christmas brings me a lot of joy.” Michael Sheen

Our Managing Director, Rachel Whibley, explains, "It’s been a joy collaborating with award-winning author-illustrator David Litchfield, award-winning composer (and Carrot Productions' very own Artistic Director) Daniel Whibley, and animator Kevin Francis to bring The Bear, the Piano, the Dog, and the Fiddle to life for our audiences.”

"We are hugely honoured that Michael Sheen agreed to narrate The Bear, the Piano, the Dog and the Fiddle!" Rachel enthuses. "He is a phenomenal actor and an all-round lovely human being, and it has been a privilege to collaborate with him on this project."

Michael recorded the narration last week in a London studio, and we are delighted to be able to share a sneak preview of his beautiful narration alongside the animation and music.

Michael Sheen

Michael is a multi-award-winning Welsh actor and RADA graduate known for his extensive work across film, TV and stage, as well as his charity work. His vast film credits include The Damned United, David Frost in Frost/Nixon, Tony Blair in The Queen, Lucian in the Underworld series, Aro in The Twilight Saga, Woody Allen’s Midnight in Paris, and Apostle.

Michael’s numerous TV credits include The Special Relationship, Masters of Sex, for which he was also a producer, Good Omens, Prodigal Son, Quiz, and Staged - the hit lockdown comedy co-created with David Tennant. Sheen's acclaimed stage performances include Amadeus, Caligula, and Hamlet. Recently, he made his directorial debut with The Way and played Prince Andrew in A Very Royal Scandal. He created, co-directed, and performed in the ground-breaking three-day live event The Passion in Port Talbot for National Theatre Wales.

The Bear and the Piano - the book trilogy

The Bear, the Piano, the Dog and the Fiddle, published in 2018, is the second book in the trilogy created by the multi-award winning illustrator and author, David Litchfield. The original book,The Bear and the Piano, took the world by storm in 2016, winning numerous awards, including Waterstones Children’s Book Prize for the Best Illustrated Book of the year. The final book, The Bear, the Piano, and Little Bear’s Concert published in 2020, sees Bear’s international concert days behind him; now a father, his musical adventures continue closer to home. 

The Bear, the Piano, the Dog and the Fiddle - the story

Set in New Orleans with a new cast of animal musicians, this charming sequel is a story about friendship and perseverance. Hector, a fiddle player, and his dog, Hugo, are best friends. They have made music together through good times, bad times and even some crazy times. Hugo is Hector's biggest fan, and when Hector retires, Hugo secretly learns to play the fiddle himself. But when Hugo gets the chance to play and tour with Bear’s Big Band – an opportunity that Hector had always dreamed of – Hector’s jealousy gets the better of him. Will Hector be able to overcome his own disappointment and learn to be happy for his friend?

This heartfelt tale reminds us that there are many different kinds of success. It celebrates the joy and healing powers of music and friendship, and teaches that friendship, like good music, lasts forever.

David Litchfield - the author and illustrator

David is a multi-award winning illustrator and author. David first started to draw when he was very young, creating Star Wars and Indiana Jones ‘mash up’ comics for his older brother and sister. Since then his work has appeared in magazines, newspapers, books and on T-shirts. He has also exhibited his illustrations in both solo and group shows in the U.K, Europe and America. In addition to The Bear and the Piano trilogy, David’s author/illustrator picture books include Grandad’s Secret Giant, Lights On Cotton Rock, T, and Kid Christmas: Of The Claus Brothers Toyshop. David has illustrated books for authors Ross Montgomery, Gregory Maguire, David Almond and Smriti Halls; Miss Muffet, Or What Came After for Marilyn Singer and book covers for Kate Dicamillo, Neil Patrick Harris, Chloe Daykin and many more. David lives with his family in Bedfordshire, England.

“I am so excited that Carrot Productions are adapting my book 'The Bear, the Piano, the Dog & the Fiddle' for their amazing live performance. Seeing my first book 'The Bear and the Piano' come to life on stage in Carrot's previous shows was one of the highlights of my life and I cannot wait to see what these incredible musicians and storytellers achieve with this new book.” David Litchfield

Daniel Whibley - the composer

Daniel is a composer and arranger whose music is heard live each year by thousands of people across the world, featured on TV and all BBC Radio stations. He was commissioned by Aardman to produce orchestral arrangements for all four Wallace & Gromit films and additional material for Wallace & Gromit and Shaun the Sheep in Concert. He wrote music for the 2023 CBeebies Prom and Mr Tumble’s Special Adventure with the BBC Philharmonic. His Musical Story of the Gingerbread Man has had millions of views, and his 10-part CBeebies series, Musical Storyland, was recently nominated for a Royal Television Society award.

“I’ve relished working alongside animator Kevin Francis to create a brand new score for The Bear, the Piano, the Dog and the Fiddle. Expect some very virtuosic violin playing at the performances!” Daniel Whibley

The Snowman Tour 2024

Carrot Productions are excited to be staging not one, but two world premieres for the 2024 The Snowman Tour. Alongside the screening of The Snowman, we will premiere two films featuring two very special dogs - Hugo the violin-playing dog, and The Snowdog himself.

We will be touring to venues across the country this November and December with two different shows. Choose between:

The Snowman™withThe Snowman and the Snowdog or The Snowman™withThe Bear, the Piano, the Dog and the Fiddle

Our shows feature screenings of the films, accompanied live by full orchestra, together with some other festive musical delights, and even an appearance from the Snowman himself!

You can hear Michael Sheen's charming and evocative narration of The Bear, the Piano, the Dog and the Fiddle at venues including: Stockport, Oldham, Derby, Buxton, Guildford, Birmingham, Liverpool, York and Chester. See listings for details.

“It's been wonderful to collaborate with the creatives at Penguin and author-illustrator David Litchfield to bring these films to life for our audiences.” Rachel Whibley, Managing Director, Carrot Productions

[let-me-luve-you]

Qualified

Part 2 of the Road to the World Cup Series

Christian Pulisic x Reader

Summary: Christian and his high school sweetheart celebrate their son as well as qualifying for the World Cup.

Warning: Hints at sex (at the end)

Word Count: 3.3K

MASTERLIST

CHRISTIAN PULISIC MASTERLIST

BUY ME A COFFEE

“Momma! Momma! Wake up!” Y/N felt someone trying to shake her. “Daddy! Get up!” She felt bouncing and opened her eyes to find a very happy four year old bouncing between his two parents. “Momma!”

Y/N and Christian welcomed a healthy baby boy on March 30, 2018.Cayden Mate Pulisic is a clone of his father. There is nothing of Y/N in him. Christian likes to tell her that Cayden got her personality and heart, but so far, he is all Christian. 

Today, Y/N laid in a hotel room with Christian and Cayden in San Jose, Costa Rica on her baby’s fourth birthday. She couldn’t believe he was already turning four and by the look on his face, he was super excited to be four. 

“Happy birthday Cay! Come give Momma a hug.” Y/N said, pulling the young boy towards her. As he hugged her, she quietly got out of bed. She checked to make sure Christian was still asleep. “Let’s get ready while Daddy sleeps a little bit more. He’s got a big game tonight and needs his rest.”

“Is he not going to play with me today because he needs rest?” Cayden asked with his innocent eyes big and sad. 

“He is going to play with you. Remember we are going to lunch with grandma and grandpa. Daddy is going with us. Then you get to go with Daddy and the boys.” Y/N reminded the young boy of their day plans. 

“Oh yeah! I get to see the boys! I’m so excited!” He smiled at his mom. Quickly gathering what they needed to get ready for the day, Y/N took Cayden into the bathroom and set him on the counter. 

“Brush your teeth for me real quick please. I’m going to get dressed and then I’ll help you.” Cayden nodded and grabbed his toothbrush and toothpaste. Y/N dressed quickly in  a USMNT tee and some ripped jeans. She watched Cayden finish brushing his teeth before helping him off the counter to get dressed. 

“I want to look like Daddy today Momma.” He said as he looked out the outfit she had picked out. “I want my jersey.”

“I know baby, but you’ll get it dirty before the game. We can put it on you before you ride with Daddy on the bus.” He looked annoyed but nodded. Y/N had picked out a dark wash pair of jeans with a US soccer shirt. “This work until after lunch?” 

“Yeah. Can I go see if Daddy is awake now?” Cayden asked. His mom nodded before opening the door for him. She peaked around the corner to see Cayden climb up on the bed and poke his dad’s nose. Christian scrunched his face up before wrapping an arm around Cayden.

“Ten more minutes bud. Cuddle with me for ten minutes and then we can get up and play.” Christian said as he kissed Cayden’s forehead. Cayden let out a happy sigh as he cuddled closer to Christian. Next thing Y/N knows, both of her boys are snoring softly. 

Y/N checked the clock and saw that it was only 6:45 am. She never understood how Cayden was such a morning person when neither his dad nor mom were. Y/N decided to go finish getting ready for the day. She knew that if the US wins tonight, she will be up late with an early flight tomorrow morning, so she might as well start working on packing bags after she finished her hair and make up. 

Walking back into the room, Y/N saw the abundance of toys on the floor. She picked a couple of small ones to keep out that could easily fit into Cayden’s backpack and then packed the rest in his little suitcase. They had been to a lot of places in the past few weeks. They started in London before going to France back to London before traveling to Middlesbrough and back to London with Chelsea FC. Then traveled to Houston, Texas for training before traveling to Mexico for a World Cup Qualifying match. From there, they went to Orlando before ending in Costa Rica. Normally, Cayden wouldn’t have made all of the trips, but Christian really wanted him to be there for the last leg of qualifying so they would be together on his birthday. As for the Europe trip, they’re babysitter was out sick so they had no choice but to load him up.

Shockingly enough, Cayden didn't complain. He has had small moments of crankiness, but he has enjoyed being around his dad so much as well as his dad’s teammates. No one adored Christian more than Cayden. Whatever Christian did, Cayden did. It was Y/N’s absolute favorite thing to witness.

As she continued to clean up around the room, she had moved onto packing hers and Christian’s stuff. Christian woke up and saw his son tucked into his chest. Not bothered to be sleeping in jeans. Looking for his beautiful wife, he saw her folding clothes and putting them into his suitcase. He noticed she left out his outfit to wear to the stadium, a tee and shorts for his carry on, and an outfit to wear after the game. It was the small things like that, that made him fall even deeper in love with her. 

“Babe,” He whispered to get her attention. Y/N turned around and smiled at the man holding their son. “Come lay down with us.”

Nodding her head and putting the clothes down, she crawled on the bed and snuggled as close to Christian as she could without squishing Cayden. Christian gave her a small kiss on the forehead as they cuddled close and just enjoyed the quiet. 

It was now 8:15 am and it was almost time to wake Cayden up to go eat breakfast with the team. Before you could wake him up, he woke up on his own. 

“Morning birthday boy!” Christian whispered, knowing Cayden did not like a lot of noise when he first woke up. Cayden looked up at him before smiling and digging his face into Christian’s chest. “Stretch it out bub.”

“Morning daddy.” Cayden whispered back before turning to Y/N. “Morning Momma.” He leaned up and gave you a kiss on the cheek before turning and doing the same to Christian. Christian grabbed him and started tickling him. Cayden’s laughter filled the room.

“How about you let Daddy get up and then we will go downstairs to eat breakfast with everyone? Sound good?” Y/N asked Cayden. Cayden nodded before giving Christian another kiss before moving towards you. She grabbed his socks and shoes from beside the bed and helped him get them on before she did the same for herself. Christian was quick in the bathroom and was already dressed in his game day attire. 

“Let's go see everyone, birthday boy!” Christian said as he grabbed Cayden and carried him out of the room. When they entered the ballroom that the team had rented out, everyone yelled ‘happy birthday Cayden,’ at the young boy smiling brightly in his father’s arms. He wiggled to be let down and then ran around the room to greet everyone. 

Kelley and Mark joined the young family after breakfast. Y/N felt bad they couldn’t do a lot of things she knew Cayden would rather be doing, but they had plans for Christian’s days off when they returned back to London. Christian did play with Cayden all morning before lunch. Tyler and Weston did as well. Other teammates played for a bit before going to do other things. 

After lunch, Kelley and Mark joined Y/N, Christian, and Cayden in their room for cupcakes. Christian wanted to lay down for a bit before he had to leave so he said he would eat his cupcake later tonight before laying on the bed. Cayden ate his cupcake before going and laying his head on his dad’s stomach facing Christian. Y/N sat on a small chair next to the couch, quietly talking to her in-laws. Christian joined into the conversation every once in a while, but his main focus was running his hand through Cayden’s hair, watching him fight sleep. Soon enough, both boys were out cold. 

Kelley and Mark were Y/N’s ride to the stadium, so they stayed and talked while also watching tv. Mark also fell asleep so Y/N and Kelley talked about random things that came up. 

Y/N woke Christian after he was asleep for a little over an hour. He slowly got out of bed, leaving Cayden to his midafternoon nap. He knew the little boy needed as much sleep as he could get. He felt horrible for dragging him all over the world but he is so grateful to have him with him to make these memories more memorable. 

As it got closer for Christian to leave, he woke the little one up and gave him his wake up cuddles. He was never annoyed that his son did this. If anything, he took advantage of being able to wake him up when he could because he knew Cayden wouldn’t do this forever. 

“Let’s get your jersey on you bub.” Christian whispered as he rubbed the boys back. Cayden nodded his head and lifted his arms when his dad set him back on the bed. Mark and Kelley watched with love written on their faces. They loved watching Christian be a dad. “There we go! You look just like me. No one will be able to tell the difference when I put my jersey on.”

Cayden smiled with pride as the rest of you gave a little laugh. Cayden hopped off the bed before running to Kelley.

“Granma, did you hear that?” She smiled big at her grandson and nodded.

“I did. Your daddy is going to have to put on a different jersey so I can tell the two of you a part.” Mark laughed as Cayden looked offended that she would suggest such a thing.

Christian watched on as Cayden bounced from his parents to his wife and back again. He put on his shoes and packed the last few things in his backpack as well as Cayden’s. 

“Alright Cay, you ready to get on the bus?” Christian asked. Cayden nodded before he sprinted to his father. Christian held his hand and led him towards Y/N.

“You be good for Daddy. I will come get you in a little bit so you can sit with me during the game. Okay?” Cayden nodded. You stood up and turned to Christian, “Good luck tonight. Go do your thing. I love you.”

“I love you too,” Christian said before giving you a quick kiss. He pulled Cayden out the door carrying both backpacks on either shoulder. Y/N laughed because normally Cayden is all for wearing his own backpack. 

After an hour of sitting in the lobby talking with other US family members, the Pulisics decided to head to the game. Kelley and Mark headed to the concession stand to get Cayden a water and some food before they sat down as Y/N went down to get him as he sat on the bench watching the guys warm up. 

When Sarah saw Y/N walk up, she grabbed Cayden’s hand and led him to her. Sarah was always a blessing when Christian was traveling with the national team. She runs the social media for them and has always looked after Cayden when he tags along. No one asked her, she just did. She claimed that it wasn’t an issue. Gave her something to do when she wasn’t posting. 

“Thanks Sarah. Do you need anything?” Y/N asked as she pulled Cayden over the railing with his badge hanging around his neck. 

“I’m good. Thank you though.” She smiled at her. “Oh! You have to see this.” Sarah pulled out her phone and it was a picture of Christian walking hand in hand with Cayden during the walk through. Then she swiped and showed her a picture of their arrival. Lastly, showed her a picture of Cayden sitting in his father’s lap on the bench as Tyler, Brenden, and Weston sat around them. “I was going to send these to you forever ago but got busy and forgot until I saw you. I’ll send them now.”

“These are amazing! Did you take them?” Y/N asked.

“I did.” She smiled at her as she looked back down at her phone to text the young mom.

“I love them! Thank you! Is it okay if I post them later? Might not be today, but within the next few days?” Y/N always made sure to ask because she never wanted to get any of the content team in trouble. 

“Yeah! Go ahead whenever!” Sarah looked over where Brent was calling to her, “I’ve gotta go, but enjoy the game!”

“Thanks Sarah! Good luck!” Y/N turned to look at Cayden as he walked up and down the aisle. She pointed towards Kelley and Mark and told him they had a snack for him. Cayden took off running towards his grandparents a few sections over and a few rows up. Cayden stopped to talk to Walker’s wife before moving on towards his grandparents.

As the game started, Cayden had moved to her lap to watch. This wasn’t a have to win game like last time, they just couldn’t lose by six. Still, in the back of her mind, she still remembered that October night a little over four years ago.The first half was fine. It was nil-nil at half. Y/N could breathe a little. When the second half started, she started to tense as they got a goal and then shortly got a second. She was terrified that what should be a ridiculous way to not qualify, could actually happen. Cayden, unaware of the situation, was jumping between her legs while cheering. 

When Christian was subbed off in the 84th minute, Cayden slowly started to lose interest, despite knowing these players well. When the final whistle blew, everyone wearing USA celebrated. They had done it. They had qualified for the World Cup. All the families knew that it would be a little bit before the boys came out so they all just sat around waiting. Cayden didn’t understand why.

“I want Daddy!” He yelled. “I want to go see Daddy.”

“I know baby, but we have to wait for them to come out here to us. We can’t go to the locker room right now.” She said, running her hand over his head. Cayden started to cry. She knew he was tired. It was past his bedtime, but she dealt with it because she knew he would stop crying the second he saw Christian. You continued to rock him as he cried, trying to calm him down. 

Tyler was the first one out, he did a quick interview and then talked with his family before he laughed and ran back in to continue celebrating. More players came out for interviews and each one set the little boy off a little bit more. When Walker was done talking to his wife, he saw Cayden bawling his eyes out and told Y/N he would grab Christian. True to his word, Christian came out.

“Hey Cay. No need for tears. I’m here.” Christian said as he took his son and rocked him. Cayden hugged Christian’s neck tight as he tried to calm himself down. Christian rubbed his hand up and down his back as he whispered sweet words to him. “It’s okay. I’m here. Sorry I wasn’t here sooner. I love you Cayden Mate.”

“I love you too Daddy.” Cayden said as he pulled back to look at his dad. Christian puckered his lips to get a kiss and Cayden was quick to give him one. Christian then wiped Cayden’s tears off his face and gave him a tickle to make him laugh. Everyone around was watching with smiles on their faces.

“Now, I’m going to give you back to Momma and then I’ll be back in just a little bit to take pictures.” Christian said. 

“No, I go with you.” Cayden said about to start crying again. 

“Not right now, but when I come back, you can come with me, okay?” Christian compromised. He did not want his son going in there while they were still spraying each other with champagne and beer. Y/N smiled at Christian understanding and reached for Cayden. He wasn’t happy about it, but he went with her. 

Y/N sat back down with Kelley and Mark. They were going to take Cayden for the night and bring him to their room before the bus left for the airport. Y/N just hoped he fell asleep on the car ride back to the hotel. 

Christian was right. The whole team came out in full uniform to see their families properly. Christian quickly hugged his mom and dad before taking Cayden back in his arms. He gave Y/N a kiss and smiled down at her as she congratulated him on qualifying. 

“I’m going to take him and go change. Want me to take him with me to the hotel?” He asked his parents. They nodded. Mark told him he would collect the young boy in the lobby. “I’ll see you here in a bit.” 

Cayden was fighting sleep as Christian walked with him to the locker room. By the time they walked in, Cayden was out cold. It didn’t matter how loud the guys were, they were not going to wake him up. Christian laid him in his locker. His head on his jacket. Christian quickly changed and shoved his stuff into his bag. He scooped up his son and headed towards the bus. It wasn’t much longer before they were headed back to the hotel to celebrate some more before their early flight back home.

Christian held Cayden closer as his little breaths tickled his neck. If it wasn’t for his teammates wanting him and Y/N to celebrate with them, he would easily choose to curl up in bed with his two favorite people and go to sleep, but he knew he had a week off before he had to return back to Chelsea training. 

Mark watched his son walk into the lobby with two bags over his shoulder while also holding a sleeping Cayden. Mark took Cayden carefully before telling Christian to be safe and that he would see him in a little bit. 

Christian walked into the room to put his and Cayden’s bag down. He saw Y/N fixing her hair in the mirror and walked up and wrapped his arms around her waist. 

“Hi baby.” He said sensually as he kissed her neck. 

“Don’t even. We can do that when we get back. We only have five more hours until we need to leave for the airport. Let’s go spend an hour or two with everyone before coming back here and letting me show you how proud I am of you and how much I love you.” She said as she turned in his arm and stood up on her toes putting her lips to his. 

“Then let’s hurry up and leave so we can get back here.” He laughed as he gave her a small kiss. When they reached the restaurant that stayed open just for them, he heard the guys cheering and he smiled bright at his wife. Tonight was going to be a good night.

[corleonewrites]

Wandering winds

AU: The Terror (2018)

James Fitzjames x Original Female Character fanfic

Summary: Alexandra Walton’s life was always surrounded with sea: either it was her walks near the seashore with its cold waters, or deep sea of her senses. Her father taught her to throw herself headlong into it, without fear of being drowned and she used to it since her childhood. She dived into love with the same courageous way. And even when everything and everyone was talking about the hopeless state of things she continued to believe in the opposite: that her loved one will return to her safely.

Chapter 1. He comes with western wind, with evening’s wandering airs

______________________________________________________________

I would never forget the night when our eyes met and everything suddenly went quiet. Your hazel-green eyes captivated me and I never wanted to remove my gaze from them.

It was one of those greeting evenings in the Admiralty, which usually transformed into balls, welcoming our heroes back either from expeditions or battlefields. In 1844 there was a welcoming evening for you and my brother Alexander: both of you came home from the First Opium War.

Your charisma attracted me, your recklessness and the stories you told about your actions, your battles – everything fascinated me, making my heart skip a bit.

We danced the night away, never changing partners in our dances, and it was basically a declaration of marriage.

I remembered the anticipation of waiting for new meetings with you. Those long walks near the seashore, those parties, those theatre plays we attended, those poems by Brontё sisters I used to tell you which I knew by heart.

______________________________________________________________

The proposal came shortly afterwards. It was the end of September, my favourite time of the year, when the nature was surrounded by golden-like leaves, which were falling from the trees. The wedding bells were loud and cheerful, they celebrated our joy with us and with our closest friends and family members. I would never forget our first night together as husband and wife, when you whispered “I love you, Missis Alexandra Fitzjames” and I never knew that I could love someone I’ve never knew before in such strong way.

You became my guidance, my closest friend, my support, the one to whom I could finally open my heart, not afraid of being misunderstood. It felt like our souls could understand each other, they weren't wandering around anymore.

Of course, I knew who I was marrying, as men of my family were in Admiralty. I knew what long separation was, what unbearable worries and losses were, what it felt like to wait impatiently for loved ones to return home safely, it surrounded me from my childhood. That was all I've ever known. You entered my life like cold wandering air of endless sea, but for me it was like warm sea breeze.

______________________________________________________________

When on February 1845 your invitation to participate in the Arctic expedition came, I was happy for you and I was ready to let you go for an indefinite period of time, just how I was letting go my father and brother when they were going to their expeditions or battles, waiting for them. Wherever they were going I knew that they would come home safely.

This time, when the expedition was only a few days away I felt the same way, despite the fact that at the same time I felt uneasy as if something could go wrong. I told you that, but you reassured me that everything would be alright and I believed you. My senses were feeling the same way.

We said our goodbyes on the morning 19 May 1845, when huge beautiful ship Erebus sailed from Greenhithe in Kent, followed by its sister ship Terror. I didn’t want you to see me crying, and I did not shed a tear, I smiled for you and gave you the handkerchief with my initials on it. You never knew that I cried quietly, when I reached home.

______________________________________________________________

Your last letter came from Disco Bay the same year. Your voice sounded in my head as I ran my fingers over each letter and the curls of the letters, rereading it over and over again. Time passed by slowly and as stretched as never before.

When the silence and uncertainty were growing more and more with every new month the feeling that something terrible happened with the expedition was crushing me inside.

Questions about the rescuing expedition sounded louder with every year. With every new month of each year chances for your return were lower. Finally, not only my father and brother, who supported me since the silence fell after your last letter, but the rest of members of The Arctic Council agreed to arrange the search of now lost expedition to return home. It was the beginning of 1848.

______________________________________________________________

Every day I came to seashore of the northernmost post after which the endless ocean began. Cold waves and air surrounded me and my wandering thoughts. My gaze was chained to the icy ocean: it seemed that at any moment a rescue ship would appear out of the thick fog and rain.

My inner sense was as calm as ever again: I knew that you would come back home. I refused to believe in any other outcome and continued to stare at the ocean, feeling like I was dissolving with it in its icy waves.

______________________________________________________________

Wandering winds masterlist

[swavorskian]

REBIRTH.

April 12, 2018 | MANHATTAN, NY.

It was her eighteenth birthday. The city outside her window glimmered like it always did, like something magical was just waiting to happen. But for Salem, the night felt like it was waiting to swallow her whole. She wasn’t sure why this birthday felt different. Maybe, it was the weight of adulthood pressing down on her chest like a vice, or maybe it was because she knew, deep down, that nothing in her life was going to change.

Her friends were already downstairs, laughing, popping bottles of various alcohols that had been waiting on ice. The penthouse was filled with people, most of them faces she didn’t recognize, but that was how it always went at her parties. People came for the scene, for the privilege of saying they spent the night with Salem Devereaux, daughter of Manhattan’s elite. No one actually came to celebrate her.

She stood in front of the mirror, running her hands over the sequined black dress, trying to force herself to feel something. She looked good — great, even. The tight mini-dress hugged her curves, the diamonds on her ears and wrists caught the light just right, and her hair was styled to perfection. She should’ve felt amazing. But when she stared at herself, all she saw was a girl pretending to have it all together. A girl who didn’t know who the hell she was.

She grabbed her phone, scrolling mindlessly through her messages. Nothing. Not even a birthday text from her father. Her mother had sent one earlier — short, impersonal, as if she were reminding herself that she had a daughter at all.

“Happy 18th. Hope you have a good day. - Mom.”

Salem let out a dry laugh. A good day? Sure. Why not?

Downstairs, the music pulsed through the floor. She could feel the bass thrumming in her bones. If she stayed up here any longer, she knew she’d lose her nerve. She’d done this before. She’d let herself become the fun, carefree Salem — the girl who didn’t care about tomorrow, the one who lived for the party. But tonight, something felt off.

She could already feel the emptiness creeping in, like a fog she couldn’t shake.

Taking a deep breath, she grabbed the half-empty bottle of vodka on her nightstand, taking a long, defiant swig before heading downstairs. The party swallowed her whole as soon as she hit the bottom step. Hands reached out to grab her, pull her into hugs, push drinks into her hands. She smiled, laughed, downed whatever she was given without thinking. It was easier that way — easier than feeling the gnawing loneliness inside her.

Time blurred after that. Hours passed in a haze of dancing, drinking, and reckless flirting. By the time she realized how drunk she was, it was already too late. She had the keys in her hand, her best friend shouting something at her, telling her to stop. But the party wasn’t enough. The alcohol wasn’t enough.

Nothing ever was.

She stumbled through the door, the cold night air hitting her like a slap. Her car was parked down the street, sleek and black, waiting for her. The lights from the city buzzed above her, casting a dizzying glow over everything. She knew she shouldn’t be driving. Her head was swimming, her vision blurry, but the pull of getting away was stronger than any sense of caution she had left.

Salem fumbled with the keys, her hands shaking, but eventually, she got the door open. She slid into the driver’s seat, the leather cool beneath her, the engine roaring to life with the push of a button.

She felt powerful. Invincible.

She hit the gas hard, the tires screeching as she sped down the street. The city blurred past her, lights streaking by like fireworks. She didn’t know where she was going, and she didn’t care. All that mattered was the feeling of freedom, of being in control of something —anything — for once in her life.

But then the world tilted.

One second, she was soaring down the street, and the next, the headlights of another car filled her vision. She swerved instinctively, her hands yanking the wheel to the right. The tires screamed against the asphalt, the car spinning out of control. Time slowed, stretching out like a rubber band about to snap.

And then it did.

The car smashed into a lamppost with a sickening crunch of metal and glass. The impact threw her forward, the seatbelt digging into her chest, knocking the air out of her lungs. The sound of it — the crash, the shattering, the stillness that followed — it was deafening.

Salem sat there, dazed, her heart hammering in her chest. The world was spinning around her, her vision swimming with black spots. Slowly, she became aware of the pain — the sharp sting in her side, the throbbing in her head, the taste of blood on her lip.

She blinked, trying to focus, trying to piece together what had just happened. The lamppost was bent, the front of her car crumpled like a tin can. She could hear the distant sound of sirens, growing louder and louder. Her breath hitched, panic rising in her throat. This wasn’t supposed to happen. She was supposed to be invincible.

She wasn’t.

The sirens grew closer, red and blue lights flashing in her peripheral vision. People gathered around, their faces twisted with concern, shock. Someone was shouting her name, but it was all just noise to her. All she could think about was how badly she had screwed up, how her parents were going to kill her.

How nothing was going to be the same after this.

The police arrived first, then the paramedics. Someone pulled her out of the car, the cold air hitting her skin, making her shiver. She was half-dragged, half-carried to the curb, where she sat in a daze, her eyes unfocused. A police officer stood in front of her, asking questions, but she couldn’t hear him. All she could hear was the ringing in her ears, the pounding in her head, the ache in her chest.

The officer cuffed her, gently, but it still stung. She looked down at the metal around her wrists, cold and unforgiving, and felt tears sting her eyes. This wasn’t who she was supposed to be. This wasn’t the life she was supposed to have.

Salem sat on the curb, her body trembling, her mind still struggling to catch up with what had just happened. The air around her felt thick with smoke and the scent of burning rubber. The headlights from the police cars pierced the darkness, making her feel exposed, vulnerable, like an animal caught in a trap. The pain in her side was sharp, but what hurt the most was the look on the officer’s face — a mix of pity and disappointment, as if he already knew how this story would end.

And he did.

Because she was Salem Deveraux. Thee, Salem Deveraux. The daughter of two of the most powerful lawyers in Manhattan. This wouldn’t be a story about a reckless teenage girl nearly killing herself on her birthday. It would be a blip on the radar, erased as quickly as it had happened.

Her parents made sure of that.

The next morning, she was released from the police station like nothing had happened. No charges, no court appearances. Just a clean slate, as if the crash, the DUI, the entire night had been nothing more than a bad dream. Her parents were waiting for her at the front desk, not with open arms, but with stern faces and clipped words.

“We’ll handle this,” her father had said, his voice cold, his eyes scanning the room for anyone who might recognize them. “The press won’t hear a word. We’ll make sure of it.”

He hadn’t asked if she was okay. Neither had her mother. Not once had they looked at her with concern, with relief that she was still alive, that she had survived a crash that could’ve easily taken her life. All they cared about was keeping their reputation intact. Damage control.

Salem could still hear her mother’s voice from that morning, sharp and businesslike, like she was negotiating a case. “We’ve spoken with the press. They’ll run with a story about faulty brakes. No one will ever know you were drinking.”

No one will ever know. The words echoed in her mind, cold and detached, as if this was just another mess they had to clean up. But Salem knew the truth. She knew what had really happened, and no matter how hard her parents tried to erase it, there was one thing they couldn’t fix. The scar on her thigh.

It was small but deep, a jagged reminder of the glass that had sliced her skin during the crash. She had refused stitches that night, too drunk and stubborn to let anyone touch her. And now, every time she caught sight of it in the mirror, she was reminded of that night — of how close she had come to losing everything.

She ran her fingers over the scar often, her mind drifting back to the sound of metal crunching, of glass shattering, of her breath catching in her throat as her car spun out of control. She remembered the fear — the real, gut-wrenching fear that she was about to die — and how none of it had mattered to her parents.

They weren’t worried about her. They were worried about the press. About the headlines. About the optics of having a daughter who’d been caught driving drunk.

The scar remained, no matter how much money they threw at the problem, no matter how many times they scrubbed the internet clean of that night. Every time she looked at it, it was a reminder that for them, she was just another mess to sweep under the rug.

For a while, she tried to let it go. She tried to play the part of the perfect daughter, the one who showed up at court, smiled at the photographers, and modeled in front of the cameras, like they wanted her to. But no matter how much she tried to push the memory away, the scar brought it all back, again and again.

It was a constant reminder that her life wasn’t really hers. That her parents had saved her from consequences, but never from herself.

[anotherhumaninthisworld]

What sources do we have for the description of the Desmoulins marriage ?

Published sources

Letter from Camille to his father where he announces his engagement and asks for his parents’ consent (December 11 1790)

Letter from Camille to his father in which he complains that he’s lingering with sending his consent to the marriage (December 20 1790)

Letter from Lucile’s father to Camille’s father, expressing his support for the marriage (December 20 1790)

Letter from Camille’s father to Lucile’s father, saying he too now accepts the marriage (December 23 1790)

Marriage register from December 29 1790

Letter from Camille’s college comrade Luce de Lancival in which he congratulates him on his marriage (December 31 1792)

Letter from Camille to his father in which he tells him about his wedding ceremony held on December 29 (January 3 1791)

Letter to Camille from his father, congratulating him on his marriage (January 9 1791)

Camille briefly mentions his wedding in number 59 of Révolutions de France et de Brabant (January 9 1792)

Anonymous anecdote from 1792, in which the priest M. de Pancemont of the St-Sulpice expresses doubt over Camille’s catholicism and thereby ability to be wed after having read what he has to say about religion in his journal, and the wedding is saved only after an intervention by Mirabeau. The anecdote further claims that Camille during the ceremony began to cry out of joy, to which Robespierre responded: ”don’t cry, you hypocrite!” Dismissed as apocryphal by Hervé Leuwers, since Camille himself never mentioned anything ressembling it, instead speaking warmly about M. de Pancemont in the above mentioned number of his journal. The anecdote also gets one of the witnesses wrong.

What Camille’s wedding vest looked like

Unpublished sources

Two letters (dated December 15 and 23) to Camille from his father, where he’s hesitating with giving his consent. Today kept in two different public archives.

The Desmoulins’ marriage contract signed on December 27 1790, added to the Archives nationales in 2013. Two photos of the signatures on it can be found here.

Piece written by Lucile’s mother Annette Duplessis, remembering bringing the couple to the Cordelier club (presumably a few days before the wedding) where the two professed [their love] “with much confidence and ingenuity.” Today kept at the Biblioteque Nationale de la Ville de Paris.

The speech held by Denis Bérardier, the priest in charge of the wedding ceremony (and Camille’s former school principal), today kept at the Biblioteque Nationale de la Ville de Paris as well. Here’s what Hervé Leuwers has to say about it in his Desmoulins biography (2018):

The priest launched into a long speech. He no longer officiates and has ceased to teach, but he intends to continue his pastoral mission and bring back, if possible, his former pupil to more measure. “The sight of this altar before which you are prostrated,” begins the priest, ”makes you sufficiently aware that the marriage you are about to contract is not a profane ceremony, but an act of religion.” The tone is set. It is a question of speaking of love, of happiness, then of proclaiming the importance of a sacrament, the requirements of marriage, the duties of the spouses. Bérardier first turns to Lucile, and invites her to follow the example of her parents. The essence of the remarks is then intended for the future groom: "You had made a reputation for yourself as a lawyer, you suddenly became a celebrity in the republic of letters and your name shall be famous in the splendor of the Revolution." Having turned serious, the priest invites the young man not to forget the “principles of religion” and to spare the Church. It is a former teacher who berates a former student: ”So no more gaps, no more youthful enthusiasm; reason will henceforth preside over all your writings, wisdom will direct all your steps, religion, this holy religion, you will pay homage to it because it is true, it is divine; you will respect it, especially in your writings!” Adroit, Bérardier continues: “I will gladly guarantee it, I even contract the commitment here for you at the foot of these altars and before the God who resides there. Monsieur, you will not perjure me.”

[d8nielaa]

could we get something similar to the dan berry with his kid but with my husband Kevin William Paul 🥹🫶

Authors Note: yess absolutely my dear! Also I don't know if Kevin's last name is just "Paul" or "William Paul" Someone please lmk and forgive me!! 🥺

Victoria William Paul was born on October 31st, 2018, making her 6 years old. She was Kevin and I's heart and soul.

She was so sweet and considerate. She was shy, and had a really hard time coming out of her comfort zone.

A natural A student, who loved to read and write. She loves movies, always needing to watch at least two per day.

She has a good singing voice, but is again, really shy.

We tried to get her into sports, but she wasn't all that interested. We had no issue with that because we didn't want to force her into anything that she didn't want to do.

She loves Kevin, adores him. She's proud that he's her father, but she's humble and doesn't brag about him or anything off the sorts.

She was just a go with the flow type of girl, a very sweet and smart daughter of ours.

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

It was Victoria's birthday, and we had invited her class to come for a small but fun party.

Unfortunately, nobody showed up or rsvp'd.

So, me and Kevin took matters into our own hands.

While Victoria was sitting on the couch, bummed out while watching her third movie of the day, Kevin and I called and texted the cast. Every text went something along the lines of..

"Heyy Emma, sorry for the late notice. Victoria was supposed to have a birthday party today, but nobody showed up and we don't want her to be sad so, would you wanna come and hang out with us and the cast?"

Surprisingly, everybody was available and said yes.

Victoria was shy around the cast, and was still getting used to them since they were so social and could be a bit loud every now and then.

Regardless, everyone loved her and was always happy to be with her.

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

Everyone soon arrived, either with a small gift or a card with some money, they came prepared and ready to celebrate Victoria.

"Hey Vicky, mommy and daddy have a surprise for you." I said, smiling softly as I beckoned my daughter forward. She instantly came forward, sleepily rubbing her eyes as I picked her up. She was now on my hip, Kevin approaching us while placing his hand on my hip, giving it a gentle squeeze as he kissed my cheek. He then turned to Victoria, rubbing her arm gently as we walked to the kitchen, where everyone was.

"Happy birthday!" Everyone said happily, cheering as they all saw the sweet little girl.

Victoria smiled softly, looking around at everyone as she muttered a quiet, 'thank you.'

I gently let her down on the floor, giving her the opportunity to walk to whoever she wanted.

She chose Daryl Tofa, who was standing next to his girlfriend.

"Hey babygirl, happy birthday. Me and Sydney got you a little something." Daryl said sweetly, picking up the 6 year old and holding her on his hip as Sydney gently caressed her cheek.

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

The day went on smoothly, and Victoria had a great time with the cast.

By the end of the night, she was dead asleep on Kevin's lap.

Kevin stood up, cooing at her softly when she stirred, before carrying her to bed.

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

Authors Note: hiii guys!! I've had pink eye/eye infection for the past couple of days, and have just been resting and trying to get it to go away before Monday cause I already missed two days 😥

[the-rewatch-rewind]

Here it is! My most frequently rewatched movie! Thank you for coming on this journey with me.

Script below the break

Hello and welcome back to The Rewatch Rewind! My name is Jane, and this is the podcast where I count down my top 40 most frequently rewatched movies in a 20-year period. Today, at last, we reach the end of that list as I discuss my number one: MGM’s 1940 comedy The Philadelphia Story, directed by George Cukor, written by Donald Ogden Stewart with uncredited contributions from Waldo Salt, based on the play by Philip Barry, and starring Cary Grant, Katharine Hepburn, and James Stewart.

Two years after the disastrous end of her first marriage to childhood friend C.K. Dexter Haven (Cary Grant), socialite Tracy Lord (Katharine Hepburn) is preparing for her second wedding, to George Kittredge (John Howard), general manager of her estranged father’s coal mining company. Eager to cover this story but knowing that Tracy loathes publicity, Spy magazine editor and publisher Sidney Kidd (Henry Daniell) enlists the help of Dexter to get reporter Macaulay “Mike” Connor (James Stewart) and photographer Elizabeth “Liz” Imbrie (Ruth Hussey) to the Lord house the day before the wedding. In those 24 hours before her second marriage begins, Tracy is prompted to rethink not only her choice of husband, but also her entire attitude toward people and life.

This must have been one of the first old movies I saw in 2002 because the only thing I remember about my initial experience of it was that I expected Tracy to accept Mike’s proposal, and if I’d been an experienced old movie watcher by then I would have known that obviously Katharine Hepburn was going to end up with Cary Grant, not James Stewart. I certainly did not immediately fully appreciate this movie, although I was intrigued enough to keep revisiting it until eventually it became my favorite. I watched it five times in each year from 2003 through 2005, four times in 2006, twice in 2007, 2008, and 2009, three times each in 2010 and 2011, five times in 2012, once in 2013, once in 2014, twice in 2015, once in 2017, twice in 2018, four times in 2019, once in 2020, twice in 2021, and once in 2022. Part of why I watch this so much is because it has three stars whose birthdays I celebrate almost every year, so I often watch it for Cary Grant’s birthday and then either Katharine Hepburn’s or James Stewart’s (their birthdays are only about a week apart so I don’t usually watch it for both). I think part of why I didn’t watch it in 2016 is because I watched it in late December of 2015 for the 75th anniversary of its release, so Grant’s birthday in January felt too soon to revisit it, and that May I decided to watch through all the Fred and Ginger movies starting with Astaire’s birthday, so I was less focused on Kate’s and Jimmy’s birthdays that year. And then later in 2016 I was too obsessed with Poe Party to watch much of anything else. But to make up for that, the reason I watched it so many times in 2019 is because Mary Kate Wiles used to host readings of plays and movie scripts with her actor friends for her Patreon, and I offered to transcribe the script of Philadelphia Story so she could do a reading of that one, and even though I knew the movie very well by then I decided to go through it a few more times to make sure I got all the details right, so eventually my love of Poe Party led to more rewatches of this. And the current Shipwrecked project, The Case of the Greater Gatsby, takes place in December of 1940 so there are lots of Philadelphia Story references in it and they make me very happy. Anyway, I’ve put quite a bit of effort into not watching this movie too many times too close together because I don’t ever want to overwatch it to the point of getting tired of it, like I did with a few other movies I’ve mentioned on this podcast, and many more that I burned out before they could make it into my top 40. While the stars’ birthdays have contributed to the view count, mostly this is my number one comfort movie that I know I can always turn to when I need something to watch, and I’m afraid of pushing it to the point where that no longer works. Although the fact that I sat through it 51 times in 20 years – the same number of views as number two plus number 40 on this list – and haven’t come close to getting tired of it yet indicates that I probably never will.

I don’t think I can really articulate what exactly it is about this movie that makes it my favorite to revisit, but I’m going to try. Certainly the fact that it features three of my favorite classic film stars helps, although a big part of why I love those stars so much is because of what they did in The Philadelphia Story. Every single member of the cast gives an absolutely fabulous performance. There isn’t a ton of action, but the dialogue is a perfect example of everything I love about the best Old Hollywood scripts: snappy and witty and clever on the surface, with real human emotion and intriguing philosophy underneath. The movie features many different kinds of brilliantly executed comedy, but the more serious moments still hit without feeling out of place. It deals with taboo subjects like divorce, infidelity, and alcoholism in ways that complied with production codes but still don’t feel too watered down. Basically, it has all the aspects I love about the other old movies on this list, only more so.

Several of my very favorite movie scenes of all time are in The Philadelphia Story. One is when Mike has had a lot to drink at a party and decides to visit Dexter in the middle of the night. The way drunk Jimmy Stewart and sober Cary Grant interact is hilarious and makes me desperately disappointed that the two of them never appeared in another movie together. At one point, Stewart makes a noise that’s kind of a mix of a hiccup, a cough, and a burp. Grant, thinking that Stewart has ruined the take, goes, “Excuse me,” sounding a little annoyed but trying to make a joke out of it, but then Stewart drunkenly responds with, “Huh?” indicating his intention to go on with the scene. Grant looks down, stifling a laugh, and then they continue with the dialogue, and I love that instead of reshooting it, or editing around it, they kept that in the movie. There may not be a blooper reel, but we still get to watch Jimmy Stewart almost break Cary Grant, and that’s good enough for me.

Another of my favorite scenes comes a bit earlier in the film, when Tracy and her younger sister, Dinah, played by Virginia Weidler, meet Mike and Liz for the first time. Tracy immediately saw through Dexter’s story that they were friends of her older brother’s and knows they’re reporters, but agreed to play along when Dexter informed her that Sidney Kidd intends to publish a story about Tracy’s father’s affair with a dancer unless he gets a story on her wedding. To protest the situation, Tracy and Dinah decide to put on a show for Mike and Liz, who don’t know that they know they’re reporters, and it is maybe my favorite comedic scene in any movie. First Dinah dramatically stumbles in wearing pointe shoes and some gaudy jewelry that was a wedding present she previously insulted. She then puts on an overly posh voice as she explains that she spoke French before she spoke English – “C’est vrai absolument!” – and boasts that she can play the piano “and sing at the same time!” She makes her way to the piano with the least graceful toe walk possible, and then bangs out a very silly rendition of “Lydia the Tattooed Lady,” a song mainly associated with Groucho Marx. While Mike and Liz are staring at her in bewilderment, Tracy peeks into the room and beams like she’s never been prouder of her sister. Once the song is finished, Tracy enters and praises Dinah in French, comparing her to Chopin, and then saying Dinah looks ill and she hopes it’s not smallpox, which freaks out Mike and Liz, but the audience knows it’s a private joke because earlier Tracy told Dinah that the only way she could postpone the wedding was to get smallpox. After Dinah leaves, it’s Tracy’s turn to confuse the reporters, and it is truly brilliant. The dialogue and the way it’s read, as Tracy turns the interview around and starts asking them invasive questions, is so good. Like when Tracy’s talking about how they don’t let any reporters in, “except for little Mr. Grace who does the social news. Can you imagine a grown-up man having to sink so low?” or when she’s welcoming them to Philadelphia and says, “It’s a quaint old place, don’t you think? Filled with relics, and how old are you, Mr. Connor?” It’s the seemingly accidental but actually very deliberate insults that get me. And then on top of that, there is some incredible yet subtle physical comedy going on throughout the conversation. Tracy accidentally-on-purpose pushes Mike and Liz into each other as she offers them seats, and there’s a whole very long bit between Tracy and Mike involving cigarettes, matches, and lighters that I didn’t even notice the first few times I watched it because I was too focused on what they were saying. It’s a thoroughly enjoyable scene all the way through, and every time I watch Tracy exit that room, leaving the reporters to ponder their bafflement, I have to applaud.

But the movie also excels at mixing some drama and seriousness in with the comedy. There’s a lot of focus on how Tracy demands perfection from herself and everyone around her, and as a result is missing out on the joys of human messiness. She makes a big deal about never drinking alcohol, although Dexter reveals that she did get drunk one time when they were married, and later remembered nothing about it. But after Dexter tells her that being married to her felt like being a high priest to a goddess, and George tells her that he worships her like a queen, and her father, who showed up uninvited, tells her she might just as well be made of bronze, Tracy gives in and starts drinking heavily at the party the night before her wedding, which was where Mike also got very drunk. Tracy and Mike meet up at Dexter’s house, then go back to her place, and dance and argue for a while until Mike kisses her and tells her that he sees her as a human being, which is a wonderful change of pace for her, so she suggests they go swimming together. Later, Dexter and George see Mike carrying Tracy back to the house, both of them in bathrobes, and George assumes the worst. The next morning, Tracy can’t remember what happened, but Dinah tells her that she saw Mike carry Tracy into her room – which is another excellent scene, Virginia Weidler was one of the best child actors of all time and people barely ever talk about her anymore, but she and Katharine Hepburn do a fabulous job of getting the point across that they both think Tracy slept with Mike the night before without breaking production codes. And then after that when Mike appears, he and Tracy have the most excruciatingly awkward conversation, and it’s so painful but so good. Dexter also shows up trying to comfort Tracy, and I love the way he doesn’t accuse her or condemn her or even ask her what happened, partly because he knows she doesn’t remember, partly because Mike told him nothing happened, but partly because you get the feeling that he wouldn’t think any less of her if she had drunkenly hooked up with Mike. And maybe that’s reading too much into this, but his reaction is certainly quite different from George’s, which I guess makes sense because technically she would have been cheating on George and not Dexter, but George doesn’t even let her explain before breaking up with her by note. He does finally show up in person as she’s reading the note aloud to Dexter, Mike, and Liz, and their confrontation is so well done – I particularly love Liz’s “Say something, stupid!” to Mike, who is just standing there listening to George accuse Tracy of having an affair with him. But after a while, Mike does eventually reveal that their so-called affair consisted of exactly two kisses and a rather late swim. Tracy and George don’t believe him at first, and then Tracy is offended, until he points out that she was very drunk and he didn’t want to take advantage of her. And like, I know that this movie was made in 1940, so the censors weren’t going to let Tracy actually have sex with another man the night before her wedding anyway, but I still can’t help loving the way they handled this. Tracy makes a bit of a fool of herself and learns that George is not the right man for her without going too far, and Mike demonstrates that it’s not that difficult to respect a woman’s autonomy and recognize when she is unable to consent.

I have a lot of mixed and complicated feelings about this story from an aroace perspective. On the one hand, it is very focused on romance and marriage. Also the whole thing about characters describing Tracy using phrases like “virgin goddess” and “perennial spinster, however many marriages” to illustrate her coldness and lack of human understanding is…not exactly an ace-affirming metaphor. On the other hand, I always appreciate stories about adults who have the chance to sleep together and choose not to, even when I know it’s at least partly because of production codes. And somehow, something about the way Dexter, Tracy, Mike, and Liz all interact give me hints of queer found family vibes, even though they end up paired off heterosexually. Maybe it’s the fact that it was directed by a gay man and features at least two probably queer actors that’s giving me that vibe, I don’t know. Another of my favorite scenes – I know, I have way too many – is when Dexter and Liz return to the Lord house after writing a blackmail note to Sidney Kidd. It’s a fairly short scene, but the way the two of them interact as platonic friends who understand each other but clearly don’t like each other romantically is not something I’m used to seeing in a scene featuring a man and a woman alone, and it makes me happy. Mike also has some great moments with Dexter, as does Tracy with Liz. I like to think that the four of them maintain their friendship after the events of the movie, rather than amatonormatively going off and doing their own thing with their spouse and forgetting about their friends. This movie does portray sex and romance as part of the human experience, but I don’t feel like it portrays them as the only important part. The message is all about pursuing the life that’s right for you, and not looking down on people who have different priorities, and when you look at it from that perspective, it actually is kind of ace-affirming, albeit probably unintentionally. But as I’ve indicated multiple times in previous episodes, asexual representation is so rare, and aromantic representation is even rarer, that if you can find an approximation of affirmation by tilting a story and squinting at it, even that feels exciting. That’s how low the bar is.

With that being said, as a teenager I definitely did relate to Tracy Lord, at least in terms of the way I was perceived. I think a lot of my peers thought that I thought I was better than them, when it was mostly that I just didn’t understand them. I don’t remember anyone calling me a goddess or a queen or a statue, but other middle and high schoolers definitely teased me for being “perfect”, which told me that they didn’t really see me as a person, so I felt Tracy’s pain and confusion when she got called out like that. I do think that like Tracy, I had a lot to learn about letting myself make mistakes and not judging other people too harshly for theirs, but I also still strongly feel that some of the criticism leveled at Tracy – and at me – was unwarranted. I can’t tell if the movie wants us to agree with Tracy’s father when he blames his philandering on not having the right kind of daughter, but I think that’s entirely unreasonable of him, and Tracy absolutely does not deserve that. And I’m not sure it’s fair of Dexter to blame her for contributing to his alcoholism, but at least Dexter takes some responsibility for his actions, unlike Seth Lord. I think my peers didn’t understand me any more than I understood them, but I probably could have cut them more slack and tried to get to know them better before writing most of them off as too different for me to possibly get to know. The circumstances in this movie are very different from being a high school misfit, but as a high schooler who often had trouble relating to movies that were actually about high school misfits, somehow this movie spoke to me. It was an escape from high school that also helped get me through high school. The story helped me become a less judgmental and more forgiving person toward others while also helping me feel better about being who I was unapologetically. I also got similar messages from other sources, so I don’t want to give this movie too much credit, but at the same time, I don’t think any single movie affected my teenage years more than this one, so I would certainly be a different person if I had never seen it.

The story of how this movie came about and what it led to is also very important to me. After appearing in several box office flops in the late 1930s – several of which made it onto this list – Katharine Hepburn left Hollywood for Broadway to star in and financially back the stage version of Philadelphia Story, which Philip Barry had written specifically for her. Howard Hughes purchased the film rights as a gift for Hepburn, with whom he had been romantically involved, although it seems like the romantic part of their relationship was over before that, so this is like My Man Godfrey in that it turned out the way it did partly because of exes who were still friends. Katharine Hepburn then sold the rights to Louis B. Mayer for only $250,000 on the condition that she would have input and veto power over producer, director, screenwriter, and cast. She got the director and writer she wanted, but her first choice for the two male leads – Clark Gable and Spencer Tracy – were unavailable. Gable reportedly hated George Cukor and was rumored to be at least partly responsible for the director being kicked off of Gone with the Wind, so it’s probably just as well that he wasn’t involved. Future lovers Hepburn and Tracy hadn’t even met yet at this point, so it would have been interesting if this was their first movie. But ultimately, Cary Grant came on board, under the condition that he would receive top billing, which feels a bit strange to see because Hepburn is clearly playing the main lead, but Grant also donated his entire salary to the British War Relief Society, so we can’t accuse him of too much selfishness. And James Stewart’s performance as Mike would earn him one of the film’s two Oscars, although he apparently thought that Henry Fonda should have won for The Grapes of Wrath, and that he had only received it as belated recognition for his performance in Mr. Smith Goes to Washington the previous year. Donald Ogden Stewart also won for Best Screenplay. The film was also nominated for Best Picture and Cukor was nominated for Best Director, and the performances of Katharine Hepburn and Ruth Hussey were nominated as well. The fact that Hepburn didn’t win – and lost to her rival Ginger Rogers, no less – indicates that Hollywood was still a little reluctant to welcome her back. But this movie crucially changed the public’s perception of Katharine Hepburn, transforming her from box office poison to a box office draw. They were calling her a has-been in 1938, but with The Philadelphia Story she showed them that she still had more to contribute, and her career took off in the 1940s, and lasted into the 1990s.

Even now, generations later, twenty years after Hepburn’s death, it’s easy to tell just by watching this movie why it was such a turning point for her. She completely embodies the spoiled socialite, but she makes Tracy sympathetic enough that when she is taken down a few pegs, as she needed to be, the audience feels sorry for her rather than gloating. Tracy is radiant enough that we understand why George worships her, yet she is down to earth enough that we understand her yearning to be seen not as an object of worship, but as a human being. Hepburn nails both the comedic scenes and the more serious dramatic scenes, with no hint of the desperately-trying-too-hard actress who comes across too often in some of her earlier films. While I obviously still love many of those films, watching this one feels like we’re seeing a Katharine Hepburn who has finally come into her own. There certainly was an element of trying to get the public to like her, but there’s no desperation about it. She gets this character, and knows how to make the audience get her too. I don’t think I could have found Tracy so relatable if she hadn’t been played like that. And listen, I’m thrilled that Ginger Rogers won an Oscar, especially because Hepburn would end up with four and didn’t really need this win, but if I had to pick one single all-time favorite film performance, I can’t think of any that would beat Katharine Hepburn’s Tracy Lord. Although I also have to say that I think Cary Grant’s performance as Dexter is incredibly underappreciated. I’ve said before that sometimes I have trouble taking him seriously in dramatic roles, but this was the ideal blend of seriousness and silliness for him, and he nails every emotional beat. He does an excellent job of showing the audience that he has grown and learned from the mistakes of his first marriage and is ready to move forward with healing his relationship with Tracy, which makes this a much better remarriage story than His Girl Friday, for example. There were a lot of movies made around this time about a divorced couple reconciling, mostly because that was the only way the Production Code allowed the scandalous topic of divorce to be addressed on film, but Philadelphia Story feels different from most of those. It’s more like Pride and Prejudice, if Pride and Prejudice started right after Elizabeth turned down Darcy’s first proposal. Both are about a couple who needed to grow and reflect before they could be happy together. I think those are my favorite kind of romances because they have less to do with attraction, which I don’t really understand, and more to do with trying to become the best version of oneself, which everyone can do regardless of how they feel about romance. Anyway, I’m a little sad that this was the last time Cary Grant and Katharine Hepburn worked together, but I’m so glad they got to make this masterpiece before their careers diverged.

In 1956, The Philadelphia Story was remade as a musical film called High Society, which I watched 12 times. I enjoy that version too, although obviously not nearly as much as this version. It’s a fun romp, and the Cole Porter songs are great, but it doesn’t quite pack the same emotional punch as The Philadelphia Story. Strangely, considering I don’t think anything can touch Hepburn’s original portrayal, my favorite part of that movie is Grace Kelly’s performance as Tracy. She put her own spin on the character and was clearly having fun – probably at least partly because she’d already decided to retire from acting and marry a prince, and was wearing her actual engagement ring in the film. My biggest objection to High Society – and yes, I know I’ve complained about this too many times on this podcast but bear with me one more time – is the age gap between Dexter and Tracy. They’re supposed to have grown up together, but Bing Crosby was 26 years older than Grace Kelly, and their dynamic is just all wrong. The story doesn’t work if Dexter is old enough to be Tracy’s father! Whereas in Philadelphia Story, we’ve got Cary Grant who was born in 1904, Katharine Hepburn who was born in 1907, and James Stewart who was born in 1908. They were all basically the same age! It can be done! John Howard was born in 1913, so he was a bit younger, but I think that works for the way George looks up to and admires Tracy, and still that’s a relatively small gap. Anyway, we can add “getting actors of appropriate ages” to the long list of things The Philadelphia Story did right.

So there we have it. I’ve talked about all of my top 40 most frequently rewatched movies of my first 20 years of keeping track. Thank you so much for listening to all my rambling! I hope you’ve found this entertaining and informative – I know I have. I’m planning to do one more epilogue episode in a few weeks summarizing what I’ve learned from this project, so stay tuned for that if you’re interested. I also have lots of other ideas for movie-related podcasts that may or may not come to fruition, we’ll see. Since I don’t know what the next movie I’ll podcast about will be, I’ll leave you with one last quote from The Philadelphia Story: “We all go haywire at times, and if we don’t, maybe we ought to.”

[foundtherightwords]

As the Sun Will Rise - Chapter 17

Pairing: Grunauer (Overlord) x OFC, Beauty & the Beast retelling

Summary: After losing most of his unit in a disastrous D-Day mission, Derwin Grunauer returns to his hometown near Miami, body riddled with scars and heart heavy with guilt, only to find his neighbors shunning him due to his German name. He retreats into his family mansion and remains there, unwilling to rejoin the living, until the day Alba Reyes turns up at his door with a basket full of warm bread. As the daughter of a Cuban immigrant, Alba knows something of being an outsider, and when she offers to work for Derwin as his housekeeper, it is not only to pay off her father's debt to the Grunauers, but also because she feels some connection to the reclusive young man. When that connection develops into something more, they must overcome both the town's prejudice and their own doubts to find happiness.

Chapter warnings: non-explicit smut

Chapter word count: 5.9k (sorry this chapter is a bit longer than usual; I tried to break it up but couldn't, so here we are)

Chapter 1 - Chapter 2 - Chapter 3 - Chapter 4 - Chapter 5 - Chapter 6 - Chapter 7 - Chapter 8 - Chapter 9 - Chapter 10 - Chapter 11 - Chapter 12 - Chapter 13 - Chapter 14 - Chapter 15 - Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Derwin had never looked forward to Christmas, even when he was a boy. His mother's ill health meant that every celebration had to be carefully timed and always ended too soon, or else it would tire her out. And later, after she'd passed away, seeing all the other happy families had only reminded Derwin of how small and lonely his own family was. His father had tried, bless his heart, but he had never been much good at being fun or spontaneous, poor old Dad, and Christmas with just the two of them had always been rather awkward.

This year was the first time Derwin had been excited for Christmas. A cold front had come in, turning the air crisp and cool outdoors and making it cozy indoors, and for once the Christmas decorations fitted right in, as did the scent of pine needles from the tree and the smell of cinnamon and cloves from the cookies that Alba brought—they weren't Cuban, but, as she explained, her father understood the need to cater to their American customers. However, the real reason Derwin was excited, and nervous as well, was that Alba had insisted on him spending the day with her family, no ifs or buts about it.

"I want them to know about us," she'd told him. The way she'd said us went straight to his heart, so casual, yet with so much love and even a touch of pride as well, and he couldn't refuse her, even though he was quaking at the thought of Mr. Reyes, with his booming voice and critical eyes, judging Derwin as his daughter's suitor. But Derwin knew sooner or later they would have to face that particular hurdle, and with Alba there with him, he would be able to get over it.

The other reason he was nervous about Christmas was that Alba's plan didn't stop at Christmas dinner with her family. Apparently Frank knew a valet at some swanky hotel in South Beach and had managed to secure tickets to a Christmas dance there, and he had invited Beatriz and Alba along. So for the past week, Alba had been trying to persuade Derwin to join them.

"What on Earth would I do at a dance?" he'd said, gesturing to his cane. "I'd be the laughing stock."

"Nonsense. You danced perfectly well that night with the storm, remember?"

As if he could ever forget. But they had been alone then, and had the entire living room to themselves, and he'd still managed to nearly knock a lamp off a table with his cane. In a crowded ballroom, with other people around? Forget about it.

"Besides, you still owe me a proper date," she added.

It was true. It had been two weeks since their outing on the boat, and although they laughed about it with each other, Derwin still felt a twinge of embarrassment whenever he remembered it.

Not wanting to turn her down outright, he'd only given her a non-committal "I'll think about it." Alba refused to leave it at that and had been asking "Have you thought about it yet?" every day since.

Now, as he was putting the finishing touch to Alba's Christmas present, she burst into the study with a look that indicated she was going to ask that question again. He hid the present in a drawer and looked up sheepishly.

"It's three days away, you know," she said. "If you're not going, then at least tell me, so Frank can give our tickets to someone else."

"You're not going?"

She shrugged. "I don't have a date, do I?"

"Look, Alba," he began, reaching for her hand to soften his words. "I'm really sorry, but I don't know if I can..." He knew there was a very good chance that he would have fun if he went to the dance. He'd always had fun whenever he went out with Alba, not because of anything they did in particular, but because he liked being with her, simple as that. But he wasn't sure if he could face a ballroom full of people just yet, even with her by his side.

Alba peered at him for a moment or two, and a twinkle came into her eyes. She went to the gramophone in the corner, selected a record, and put it on. "This gentleman obviously doesn't believe in making love," she sang along with the music while dancing toward him, a mischievous smile on her lips. "What do you think, Otto?" Alba asked. "Isn't this the perfect song for Derwin or what?" The dog, lying in a patch of sunlight on the floor, tapped his tail in approval. Traitor.

Alba turned smugly to Derwin. "See, even Otto agrees."

Derwin tried to keep a stern face, but he couldn't help laughing at that. "Yeah, because he loves ganging up on me with you," he said.

Alba was now in front of him. "The gentleman obviously doesn't believe in moonlight walks," she continued singing and tugged at his hands, trying to get him to dance with her. He grinned but refused to budge. He was enjoying this too much. "Alone with a girl and he'd faint—"

"That's clearly not true. I'm alone with you and I haven't fainted yet—"

"Yes, that's just what he'd do. He's one of those gents who just hasn't the sense to thrill to a kiss." Here she bent down and gave him little kisses in time with the music. "Like me"—one on his forehead—"and you"—one on the tip of his nose—"and you"—and finally, one of his lips. "Well?" she asked, smiling down at him.

Still sitting in his chair, he grabbed her waist and yanked her close, so their noses and lips met, fitted together like two pieces of a jigsaw puzzle. A laugh of surprise escaped her throat and died away immediately when he pressed his mouth to hers. The last notes of the song died away, and a delicious silence followed, broken only by a whisper from Derwin, "OK, I'll go."

***

That Saturday, Derwin felt a bit like Cinderella before the ball as he brushed his best and only suit, brought years ago for his high school graduation, which thankfully still fitted him. Alba was coming by with Frank and Beatriz in Marty's car, and then Alba and Derwin would take their own car and meet up with them at the hotel. Alba had insisted on going in separate cars, and Derwin smiled to himself, knowing it was her subtle way not only to have some privacy to themselves, but to give Frank and Beatriz some as well. Marty and Claudia, unfortunately, had to miss out, as their baby was too small to be left for a whole evening.

He was wrestling with the bowtie in front of the mirror in the hall when he heard the sound of tires on the gravel, followed by voices calling "See you there!", and then the car drove away again. Otto stood by the door wagging his tail, looking a little confused that Alba was arriving at night and coming through the front door instead of the back as usual.

His eyes still glued to the maddening bowtie, Derwin heard the swishing of her dress before he saw her. Then he looked up, caught her reflection in the mirror, and whirled around, dazed, the bowtie forgotten around his neck.

Alba was wearing a yellow dress, the same dress they'd seen in the shop window, the one he'd offered to buy for her and she'd refused. He was right. The dress fitted her perfectly, not just in the way it hugged her shoulders and waist, molded around her breasts and arms, and fell in graceful folds around her hips and legs as she walked, but also in the way it framed her like a golden halo, lit her up both from the outside and inside. It was like a miniature sun had suddenly appeared in his darkened front hall.

While he gazed at her with his mouth open, too stunned to say a word, she walked to him and gave him a peck on the lips, as casually as she had done every morning. "I'm afraid you're on your own with that," she said, nodding at the bowtie still dangling around his neck. "I'm no good at that sort of thing."

Derwin recovered his wits and shook his head. "It's OK, I got it." He finished tying the bowtie, ignoring how lopsided it was, and turned to her again, unable to keep his eyes off her for long. "You look—" Words failed him. "—gorgeous," he finished inadequately.

She smiled, looking both shy and proud. "I told you I'd buy the dress myself, didn't I? Wish I had enough money for the shoes as well." She glanced down at her feet, clad in her old off-white sandals. "But they don't show, so who cares, right?" She fixed his bowtie, then stepped back to look him over with a critical eye. "You look very handsome too," she said. "But something's missing."

"What?"

Alba's eyes landed on the bowl of frangipani flowers set on the side table near the door. She dug in the junk drawer and came up with two safety pins—Derwin was again astonished at her ability to find things in his house that he didn't even know existed. These she fixed to the back of two of the largest and freshest flowers, pinned one to his lapel, and gave him the other to put on her hair, which was swept back in soft waves over her forehead and pulled into a chignon in the back. "No, not that side, the left side," she said, turning her head so he could pin the flower in place.

"Why the left side?" Derwin asked, curious.

"When Raf was stationed in Hawaii, he told me if a woman wears a frangipani flower over her left ear, that means she's in a relationship," explained Alba, a faint blush turning her cheeks pink and making her look even prettier.

"Oh" was all Derwin could say, but his heart leaped and jumped. He looked at the two of them in the mirror and wondered, not for the first time, how he got so lucky.

"Ready?" she said, putting her arm through his.

"Wait." He held her hand. "I have something for you too."

He went into the little broom closet at the end of the hall and brought out the box he'd put there that morning. Inside was a pair of gold shoes, the shoes that had been on display along with the dress. Alba's eyes popped when she saw them.

"How did you—?"

"I had a hunch." It was more than a hunch. After he'd agreed to go to the dance, Derwin had driven back to the shop to look at the dress, hoping Alba would let him buy it for her this time. When the saleswoman told him a young lady had bought it already, he'd known right away that it was Alba. So he had bought the next best thing.

He motioned for her to sit down on a chair. Then, kneeling in front of her, he took off the sandals and slipped the soft gold leather over her stockinged feet.

"Now I know how Cinderella must have felt," Alba said, turning her ankle this way and that so she could get a better look at the shoe.

Derwin smiled. "Cinderella tries on the shoe after the ball," he reminded her.

"How did you know my shoe size?"

"Lucky guess," he said, not revealing that it was the saleswoman who had helped him.

"Thank you."

"Can't you thank a fellow better than that?" he asked, lifting his face to her.

She leaned down and kissed him, softly at first, and then again, not as softly. His hands were still on her ankles, and he slid them up, caressing her legs, until he reached the bare skin between her garter and her stocking. "We really have to get going, you know," she said, but didn't stop him.

"It's called being fashionably late," he murmured, smiling against her lips.

***

"Where have you been?!" Beatriz exclaimed when Derwin and Alba finally pulled up in front of the hotel. "We've been waiting for almost half an hour!"

"Sorry, we got—delayed," Alba said with a conspiratorial grin at Derwin. Beatriz raised an eyebrow at that, but made no further comment.

Derwin shook Frank's hand and saw his own emotions reflected on the other man's face—fluster, excitement, and even pride, as he looked upon his date. Clearly, this was a big night for Frank as well.

"Come on, the band's starting already," Beatriz said, tugging Alba toward the staircase leading up to the hotel's front doors, where the crowd, glittering women in their evening gowns, starchy men in their black and white tuxedos and dinner jackets, was streaming in.

"Relax. It's called being fashionably late," Alba said and winked at Derwin, who couldn't help grinning back. He extended his arm to her, and they walked up the steps, followed closely behind by Beatriz and Frank. Through the double doors, they could glimpse the inside of the ballroom, where a giant Christmas tree stood reaching all the way to the ceiling, dazzling with tinsels and baubles. More tinsels and baubles hung from the ceiling, reflecting the light from the chandelier, making Derwin feel he was outside in the middle of a bright summer's day. Tables with bowls of punch and snacks stood on either side of the vast ballroom, and at the far end, the band sat in front of a brocade curtain, striking up a lively jazz number.

Giggling in excitement, the girls and Frank ran on ahead, but Derwin faltered. It was too bright, too loud, too crowded, and the old trembling feeling in the pit of his stomach was coming back. He paused at the top of the stairs, trying to steady himself by tightening his grip on the cane. Alba turned around and took his hand in hers, concerned.

"You OK?" she asked.

He took a deep breath, finding strength in her hand. "Yeah," he managed to say.

"You sure? We can leave, if you're not feeling up to it."

He would not ruin this for her. "No, it's fine. I'll be fine." He smiled to reassure her, and they went to the door. A man stood there in a black tux and a collar with so much starch that Derwin wondered how he could even lower his chin, taking tickets from the guests.

"Welcome, sir," he said monotonously, taking the tickets from Derwin and Alba. "Welcome, madam." Then his eyes landed on Frank and widened slightly. "I'm sorry, but he's not allowed here," the man said to Derwin, mistaking him for the leader of the group.

"What?" Alba and Beatriz said in unison.

"Indians are not allowed here," the man repeated, a cold edge to his voice.

"But he has a ticket��" Beatriz protested.

"It is our policy," the man said. His neck, if possible, got even stiffer.

"Where is this policy written, then?" Alba asked. "Show me. Is it printed on the ticket? Is there a sign at your front desk?"

"It's an established custom," the man said, inexorably.

Derwin looked at Frank. A flush darkened Frank's swarthy face, and his hands were balled into fists, but he kept his chin up and his back ramrod straight. "It's OK," he said quietly. "You three go ahead. Don't spoil your evening because of me." He turned and started walking down the steps. Beatriz looked close to tears. Alba's nostrils flared in a way Derwin recognized, but she kept close to Beatriz and watched Frank go helplessly.

A sense of déjà vu washed over Derwin. It was like that day at the diner with the black couple all over again. Except back then, he had stood by, not doing anything, only feeling hot shame burning his insides. He didn't know that couple. But he knew Frank.

"Hang on a minute," he said, grabbing Frank's arm. "Frank, where did you serve in the war?"

"The 124th Infantry," Frank said, puzzled. "The Pacific."

"I was in the 82nd Airborne," Derwin said to the man at the door. "Frank Howard and Derwin Grunauer. You can look us up if you don't believe me. And think what it means to your hotel's reputation when words get out that you deny two GIs entrance to your Christmas ball."

The man spluttered. His shirt collar seemed to wilt in front of their very eyes. Finally, after one more look at Frank, and another look at the crowded ballroom behind him, he said, through clenched teeth, "Perhaps an exception can be made for our men in service," and yanked the ticket out of Frank's hand. "Enjoy your evening," he added, with a look that implied he wished they would all drop dead.

"Thank you," Frank said to Derwin, as they walked into the ballroom. "But you didn't have to do that."

"Yes, I did," Derwin said. He was sick of standing by the sideline, sick of watching all the injustice, and sick of feeling helpless. No more, he told himself. From now on, he was going to take whatever life threw at him, both the good and the bad.

Next to him, Alba said nothing, only squeezed his hand a little more tightly. When Beatriz and Frank weren't looking, she gave him a quick kiss on the cheek, and that was all the reward he could ever want or need.

The dance was in full swing by the time they entered the ballroom. Beatriz and Frank joined the crowd immediately, busting out some complicated moves to the cheerful sound of "Don't Sit under the Apple Tree." The beat was fast, too fast. Derwin didn't know how he could manage it with his cane. But Alba was prepared. She wove her way through the crowd, leading him to a quiet spot on the edge of the dance floor. Here, she put an arm around him and lifted his hands to her waist, while resting her other hand on his cane, just as she had when they danced together during the storm.

"We don't have to impress anybody," she said. "Just move to the music."

And so they did. They stood there, arms around each other, swinging and tapping their feet to the music, out of the way of the other dancers. Some people threw them curious glances, making Derwin's skin itch like ants crawling all over him, but Alba put a finger on his chin to direct his attention back to her, and he breathed more easily again.

After a few songs, Derwin's leg started to protest, so he got himself a glass of punch and sat down at a table, while Alba, at his urging, went back and danced with Frank and Beatriz. Derwin watched her with the same wonder tinged with wistfulness he always felt whenever he looked at her, wonder that a girl like her would want to be with him, and wistfulness that she was forced to rein in her vivacity to stay by his side. But that night, with his newfound determination, he no longer felt so wistful. Alba chose to be with him. And he would do everything he could to make sure she never had to regret it.

The band was coming back from their break. Though his leg was still complaining, Derwin walked up to the stage and spoke to the band leader. He turned around to see Alba smiling at him. "What'd you just say to him?" she asked.

"You'll see," he said. "Or, should I say, you'll hear."

Her eyebrows went up. She soon got her answer when the band launched into a slow rendition of "Green Eyes". Only when the vocalist started singing, it wasn't "Green Eyes", it was "Aquellos Ojos Verdes", and Alba's mouth dropped open in surprise. Next to her, Beatriz also grinned, delighted with this reminder of their childhood memory.

"May I have this dance, señorita?" asked Derwin, extending a hand toward Alba.

Still smiling, she placed her hand in his. He led her to the middle of the floor, swinging his cane in a wide circle. The crowd parted around them like a current. To hell with those people. Let them stare. Let them see how lucky he was to have such a beautiful girl in his arms. Let them be jealous.

As they danced to the song, turning and twirling as they had the night of the storm, something strange happened to Derwin. He looked into Alba's green eyes, felt the warmth of her body close to his, smelled the familiar scent of the frangipani in her hair, and let the music flow through him. And the rest of the ballroom faded away. Even the band vanished, leaving behind only the sound of music, like magic. All his worries disappeared. There was no one else in the world but the two of them, there was nowhere else he'd rather be, and more importantly, he knew that there was nowhere else she would rather be either.

Even when the song ended, they remained in their embrace, smiling at each other.

"You're full of surprises, aren't you?" Alba whispered.

He tilted her face up. "Oh yes," he said. "And here's another surprise for you..."

Before their lips could touch, a voice said behind them, loudly and rudely, "Well, well, well, what do we have here?"

Derwin whirled around. Sauntering toward them was a tall, handsome, dark-haired man in a white jacket, followed by several cronies, decidedly less handsome and less well-dressed. There was something vaguely familiar about the dark-haired man, but Derwin couldn't place that arrogant face.

Beside him, Alba let out a groan.

"Not happy to see me, Allie?" the dark-haired man said. He was coming quite close now, close enough for Derwin to smell the reek of alcohol on his breath. "I've missed you, you know."

Alba tugged at Derwin's hand. "Come on, let's go," she said, but the dark-haired man blocked their way, while his cronies formed a wall behind them. Beatriz and Frank, noticing the standoff, were approaching with concern.

"Now that's very rude," the dark-haired man said to Alba. "Aren't you going to introduce me to your—date? I don't need an introduction to know who he is, though. Grunauer, is it?" He barely even glanced at Derwin, as if Derwin was some vermin not worth his attention. "Really, Allie? Him? You threw me over for a cripple?"

Alba's eyes flashed with the green fire that Derwin had come to know quite well. "I didn't throw you over for anyone, Grant," she said, voice dripping with contempt. "When are you going to get it through your thick head? We are not together. We have never been together. And we're never going to be together!"

As she mentioned the name, Derwin suddenly remembered where he'd seen the dark-haired man before. "You're Gastin Grant," he said. "From Grant's Land. You offered to buy my place."

"That's right, buddy." Grant sneered at him. "And mark my word, I'll get my hand on that place eventually. Just as I'll get my hand on this one—" He reached out and grabbed Alba's arm, wrenching her away from Derwin.

Derwin pushed at Grant's chest. It was rather like pushing at a brick wall, but he did it anyway. "Let her go," he said.

Grant grinned at him. "Or what? What are you going to do about it, cripple?"

A red-hot veil of rage fell over Derwin's eyes. A small crowd was now gathering around them.  Frank stepped in. "Hey, there's no need for that kind of language—" he said. Grant nodded at his cronies, who knocked Frank to the ground. Beatriz ran over to help him up.

Derwin looked at Alba, still struggling to free herself from Grant's iron grip, and tried to swallow his anger. "I don't want to make a scene," he said to Grant. "But if you don't leave right now, I'm going to—"

WHAM! Grant's fist flew out of nowhere. Blindsided, Derwin went sprawling on the floor. Through the ringing in his ears, he could hear Grant taunting him, "Going to do what? Think you can threaten me, cripple? Get up! Get up and face me, or are you too much of a chicken shit who can only shoot others when their backs were turned?"

Derwin scrambled for his cane, trying to push himself up, but black spots were swimming in front of his eyes and he couldn't see.

"He's not a chicken shit," he heard Alba's voice say quite calmly. "You are."

There was a sharp thwack, the crowd went "ooh", and something collapsed beside him with a heavy thud. Next thing Derwin knew, Alba was helping him to his feet. "You OK?" she asked.

His eyes cleared, and he saw that Grant was curled up on the floor, a hand clasped to his bleeding nose. His cronies were staring at Alba with something akin to awe as they slowly dispersed, dragging their fallen leader with them.

"Here." Alba led Derwin to a table, where she put some ice into a napkin and placed it on his cheek. That was when Derwin saw that her knuckles were scratched and bleeding.

"You're hurt," he said.

"It's nothing." She tried to pull away, but Derwin held her hand and put some ice on it as well.

Beatriz and Frank came running over. "Alba!" Beatriz exclaimed. "That was—"

"If you're going to say it wasn't ladylike of me, you can zip it," Alba snapped.

"No. I was going to say that was awesome." Beatriz grinned at her sister. "Grant's a heel. He deserves it."

Before Alba could answer, the pompous man at the door came toward them. "I'm going to have to ask you to leave," he said, clearly relishing it.

Alba, apparently still in a belligerent mood, jumped up to protest, but Beatriz held out a hand to stop her. "Let's go," Beatriz said. "This party blows anyway."

"Bea!" Alba looked shocked. "Language!"

Beatriz shrugged. "What? It does." She took Frank's hand. "Come on, Frank, let's go." She winked at Alba, and they all left the ballroom with their heads held high, ignoring the stares of the other patrons.

***

Alba was still shaking with rage when they got into the car and drove away. She knew she shouldn't have lost her temper like that, but Grant had gotten her so angry that she couldn't think straight. She had been looking forward to this night for so long, and now it was ruined. And just when everything was going so well too!

"Are you OK?" asked Derwin. "Do you want me to drive?"

Alba forced herself to breathe normally. No, she would not let Grant's cursed mug darken her moods anymore. "I'm fine," she said. "Do you mind if we drive around a bit before going home? I want to get some air." Frank and Beatriz were going to a club over on Cocoanut Grove, but Alba didn't feel like accompanying them. She just wanted to make sure she and Beatriz came home around the same time, to avoid any awkward questions from Papi.

"I'd love that," said Derwin with a smile.

They drove slowly down South Beach, past the hotels and nightclubs on one side, with their glittering lights and laughing partygoers, and occasional glimpses of the murmuring ocean on the other. The windows were rolled down, and Alba's anger soon melted away in the cool December air. Eventually, they left the swanky hotels behind and came to a deserted stretch of sand. The lights of downtown shimmered behind them like stars, and the causeway, the one they'd taken to Key Biscayne months ago, curved palely across the dark waves like a sliver of the moon.

"I'm sorry we have to cut our night short," Alba said.

Derwin shrugged. "I've had as much dancing as my legs can take, I think. And we're still here. The night is not over yet."

"Are you all right?" she asked. He was still holding the ice wrapped in a napkin to his face, and the melting ice was dripping down his wrist.

"Oh yeah." He put the napkin down and felt about his face. "The swelling's gone down. What about you?" He gestured to her hand.

"It's just a scratch." She took her right hand off the wheel and stretched it across the seat to show him. He took it in his hand, wrapping his fingers around it, gently running his thumb over the scratches and massaging her wrist, which was still sore, despite her attempt to make light of it.

"One hell of a right hook you got," he said, grinning. Then he sobered up. "But I can't keep letting you fight for me like that. That's twice now..."

Alba twined her fingers through his, squeezing his hand. "I like fighting for you."

Derwin was still caressing her hand. Then he lifted it and pressed a kiss to her bruised knuckles. Under his soft, fervent lips, the smarting from the scratches vanished instantly, and Alba could feel tingles running up her arm, toward her chest.

"Could you pull over?" Derwin said.

"Why? What's wrong?"

"Nothing. It's just that I really want to kiss you and I don't want us to crash."

Something in his eyes as he said it made her pulse beat wildly in her breast. "Can't you wait until we get home?" she asked with a teasing smile.

"No, I don't think I can."

Alba had barely pulled over under the low branches of a coconut palm when Derwin drew her to him and started kissing her as he'd never kissed her before, his mouth insistent and demanding, a hand behind her ear, the other running over the bodice of her dress, caressing her side with grasping, impatient strokes. Usually it took some coaxing from her to get him comfortable, and even then he remained shy and hesitant. This passion was new, and just like his confidence when they went out on the boat or when he confronted the doorman at the hotel, Alba found it electrifying. She twisted, trying to get closer to him, but the wheel and the dashboard were in the way.

"You want to move to the backseat?" she murmured against his lips.

His eyes widened, and for a second, Alba's heart faltered. Oh no. What would he think of me now? What kind of girl would suggest such a thing...? But he only said "Yes" in an excited whisper, and was out of his seat in an instant.

Alba scrambled out of the driver's seat. They opened the doors at the same time and fell into each other's arms in the back. Derwin's jacket came off, followed by his bowtie. The buttons on the front of her dress came undone, by his hand or hers, she didn't know, and the dress was pushed down her shoulders, along with the straps of her slip. He fumbled with the clasps of her bra.

"Just pull it—here—let me—" Alba reached behind her, trying to help him undo the clasps.

"Ow," he mumbled as her elbow brushed across the bruise on his cheek.

"Sorry." That set them giggling like two idiots, his face pressed into her neck, his breath tickling her.

"Aren't you going to make it better?" he asked, and she placed her lips to the bruise, just as he'd done for her. Her tongue grazed across his scar, and he moaned softly.

They kissed again, kissed until their lips were bruised, until they had drunk up the lingering sweetness of punch on each other's tongue, until the coolness from the ice evaporated from his cheek, replaced by a warming fire that burned between them. Somehow her bra ended up around her midriff. Then his lips trailed down her throat to her collarbone and her breasts, and her laughter turned into quickening gasps. She lifted her hips, needing some friction, some pressure, something to relieve the building, throbbing heaviness between her legs. The movement only resulted in her sliding off the tiny seat, and she would've ended up on the floor if Derwin hadn't sat up and hauled her into his lap. Laughing, she half-rose to straddle him and banged her head on the ceiling. It only made her laugh harder, and Derwin was laughing as well. Then she sat down, with him fitting perfectly in the dip between her thighs, and their laughs died off as they looked into each other's eyes, breathless, waiting. 

"Are you sure about this?" Derwin asked.

They were in his car, panting like they were both on fire, with his shirt unbuttoned and her dress half-off, and he still had to ask. But she wouldn't want him any other way.

"Yes," she said. "What about you? Is it enough of a proper date for you?"

He grinned. "Well, we've had two half dates, and two halves make a whole." He brushed a strand of hair away from her face. "But—"

"You won't get me into trouble," she said firmly, catching his meaning. "I trust you."

There was that quivering little smile again. "Do you?"

"Yes."

Still he hesitated, his fingers dancing over her spine and shoulder blades and the back of her arms, sending delicious shivers all through her. Then he blurted out, "We can get married."

"What?"

"Not right at this moment. But tomorrow. Or Monday. We don't even have to tell anybody, just go to City Hall and do it quick, the two of us," he said in a rush. Clearly it was something he'd just thought of.

"So you can make an honest woman out of me?" she said, laughing.

"Or so you can make an honest man out of me."

Alba gazed at him in the yellow light of the street lamps. She ran her hand over his features and saw in them not just the face she'd come to hold so dear in just a few months, but also his heart, his kindness, his strength. She thought about how her life had changed since he came into it, and, for the first time, thought about their future. Then she dropped her hand and said, with not inconsiderable regret, "... No."

Derwin's face fell. "You don't want to marry me?"

"No, no, cariño," she said quickly, "it's not that I don't want to marry you. I don't... I don't want to marry anybody. Not yet. You do understand that, don't you?" But even as she said it, she knew he understood. He always did. "Besides, I don't think we should get married just to have sex," she added, her cheeks heating up again. "What if the sex turns out to be bad? Where would we go then?"

"You think it'll be bad?"

"I don't know." She leaned down and whispered, teasing his ear with her lips and her tongue, "Why don't we find out?"

And they did. As their mouths and hands and bodies found each other again, and at last, at last, as ecstasy crashed over her like waves crashing over the sand outside, Alba realized that the night was far from ruined. Quite the opposite.

Chapter 18

Here's the song that Alba sings: The Gentleman Obviously Doesn't Believe (In Love)

Taglist: @kitkat80, @hahahafucku

[chenfordsbby]

"The Hawke"

Season 1 Episode 6: “The Hawke”

“The team must help capture a cop and his former mentor from the academy after he becomes a fugitive following an assault; Officer Tim Bradford needs Officer Lucy Chen to learn to predict the moves of criminals in order to capture them”.

Original Air Date: November 27th, 2018

Written By: Frederick Kotto

Directed By: Timothy Busfield

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If you are reading this, that means for some reason, you are sticking around with me and all of my happy thoughts and I cannot thank you all enough!

Happy Sunday and Happy Fathers Day to those who celebrate!! 

Onto the next one shall we…

We have a new cold open, it is short and sweet with our favorite Rookie and T.O duo…Chen and Bradford! I think this is the shortest]cold open we’ve seen so far, and I think the first one between Tim and Lucy as well!

We are introduced to a random, yet important for this episode, character, The Hawke, who trained John Nolan as a recruit! Hawke is a police officer as well, as his current position is a trainer in the police academy; He seems to be jealous of John, or at least of Johns position, which is one of a soon to be patrol officer.  Mayne Hawke is done with the academy life and is envious of what John has.

Can you say fishy, which is the vibes I am getting from “The Hawke”.. what type of person he is, or even yet, what type of cop is he?

After a morning roll call room, Tim and Lucy get the leftover jobs that were incomplete from night shift and have been sequestered to serving and completing a search warrant.  They head over to the apartment complex  and Tim immediately starts giving Lucy lessons in how to properly serve a search warrant and succeed at one as well.  This is definitely not the first one Tim has done and it won’t be the last either, but with that being said, Tim is doubting Lucy’s skills, which is understandable as he has never seen her properly serve a warrant and search a house.  This deadbeat of a guy hits on Lucy as she is searching his apartment, Tim does what any respectable guy would do and puts this kid in his place and comes to Lucy’s defense because she’s oblivious to it as she is in the zone.

We are introduced by Tim to the D.E.A.R method: Deception, Elusive, Access and Repulsive.  Lucy is trying to take down everything Tim is telling her as she pulls out her pad and pen to jot everything down until she basically gets told she has to continue her search in the repulsive category "You might want to glove up” he tells her as she storms off into the bathroom (Best belie we will circle back around to that later”.

A pissed off Lucy comes out of the bathroom to see Tim at the table with the stash of the stolen objects that he sent Lucy to go find, anger arises even more for Lucy yet a bit of gloating surfaces for Tim.  He knew what he was doing the entire time, and where the stash was hidden but he couldn’t let Lucy off the hook that easily.  Tim’s “Tim Tests” are becoming a normal occurrence for Lucy, what else can Tim throw at Lucy?!

Jackson and Angela respond to 9-1-1 call of a woman who called the police the previous night.  She called because of her unruly, drunk, soon to be ex-husband who was at the brink of assaulting her, and she reveals that said soon to be ex-husband is the character we were introduced to earlier in the episode, Jeremy Hawke.  Things seem to be getting a little dicey for this guy, how do they proceed with going about arresting a fellow police officer?

Jackson and Angela’s side storyline seems insignificant this episode compared to what everyone else is dealing with.  What we have seen so far in the past 6 episodes, there is always more than 1 storyline, conflict in every episode of The Rookie, so even thought Hawke is the main arc of this episode, there has to be a secondary storyline, which is for Angela and Jackson.  They end up dealing with what they think is a drive-by shooting at first, then a suicide call, but Jackson figures out it was a shooting out of anger: an angry so over his dad not accepting him as gay and allowing him to be with his boyfriend.  “Look, we can’t choose our fathers but we can choose how we let them shape us”. The quotes that this show gives us have been some top tier stuff, let me tell ya!

Grey calls into John and Talia, to speak to John to see if he can figure out how to proceed with dealing with Hawke.  We are reminded by the John from the very first episode and how he reacts to situations like the one he is currently in.  He is quick to think on his feet and he knows how to relate to others, and especially those of his age as well.  The Hawke situation escalates quickly for everyone and it becomes one of questioning.  How do they go about proceeding with him when he is a police officer.

It is obvious he’s friends, or at least acquaintances, with some of the other officers at Mid-Wilshire.  So not only do they have to figure out a way to go about arresting another officer, but now a friend as well.  I don’t think the decision is that hard because we find out that he is quickly turning into a criminal “Anything you can do, I can do better” comes to mind; how do you outsmart a cop, or a quick approaching crooked cop at that as well?

I think that we have seen Captain Anderson in this episode the most.  We still don’t know very much about her at all, but her time will be coming, I am sure of it!

I like watching Jackson and Angela work together, you can already tell the type of relationship and friendship that is going to form between the two of them.  John and Talia are a steak difference from everyone else and it has been an odd number of weeks/months into their training days, but I still don’t find them meshing well together, there is something missing in that professional relationship.

Chen and Bradford find Hawke’s truck sans a Hawke.  Tim confirmed my suspicions, Hawke is quickly becoming a criminal cop and is now going to do anything to avoid an arrest which includes outrunning everyone looking for him by any means necessary.  John saw all the signs wrong with Hawke when he met him out the previous night, but did nothing about them.  He just chalked it up to Hawke having a “bad night”  whereas I think that if he had a bit more training, he would have acted on his instincts and at least maybe reported Hawke to someone higher up, things could have turned out a little bit differently.  Talia knows that Hawke is trying to outsmart everyone just like Tim knew as well.  Hawke is taking no chances in getting caught.  It’s a no holds bar in getting Hawke and arresting him, everyone is on his tail and John and Talia announce that he has kidnapped his son and has put him at risk, which just made this situation that much more dire.

Tim devises a plan to get Hawke to fall right into their trap.  Lucy thinks it won’t work but Tim knows it will because he thinks that he is going to outsmart Hawke but yet again Hawke has the upper hand because he still has his police radio on him, much to everyones frustration.  They all realize that Hawke is going to one of the most public places he could go to: the mall.  We are always reminded that John is to be the big hero of these episodes as he starts to confront Hawke in the mall. Hawke lays it all out for John; he is angry, desperate, and humiliated.  He thought he had no other choice but to act the way he did.  He has nowhere else to go and he is at a loss but that still doesn’t stop him from continuing to run but this time he leaves his son.  He doesn’t need to be brought down with him. 

The gang put their heads together to figure out just what Hawke is going to do next.  What is his next move, his next target? Is he really going to be able to outsmart this group of cops?  Turns out everyone knew exactly what he was going to do next, which is stay exactly where he is at the mall, even though he hopes that they vacate and search for him elsewhere.  Its a bit of a renaissance that John and Tim are the ones to corner Hawke as he was the one who trained both of them: “one in the field and one in the classroom” but Hawke is not going down without a fight and as punches are thrown, and mainly at Tim and John, it is Talia with a little help from Lucy that gets the job done and finally arrest Hawke.

We end the episode on the highest note, a very memorable #Chenford scene..

The episode ends with Tim hanging out in a bar, answering a phone call.  It is Lucy on the other end of the call, and I think that this is the first time that we hear Tim call her by her first name and not, “boot” or “Chen”.  This is also one of the first times that we see them interacting outside of work.  It’s a small moment, but it is one none the less; it’s a scene that solidifies that maybe there is a friendship forming between Lucy and Tim, albeit a very very small one, practically noting, but baby steps.  Lucy reveals to Tim that she swiped his money clip from him when he was “getting his ass beat”- but hey he wanted her to act and think like a criminal so…

Before Tim hangs up, Lucy ever so reminds him that he might want to "glove up" before he finds a way to pay for his tab, most likely by washing dishes. I love this for Lucy, not only is she giving Tim payback for how he treated her earlier in the search, but she is also showing and telling Tim that she is not standing/backing down to him. She can handle anything he throws at her, any "Tim Test" he decides to put her through and I love that for her. I already see an improvement from Episode 1 Lucy to Episode 6 Lucy, in demeanor, confidence and on patrol. Tim smirks as he hangs up the phone is nothing short of amazement and bewilderment.  He is impressed to his core that Lucy swiped his money, and his little smirk proved it.  It’s a moment where we see another crack in Tim’s hard exterior and it’s because of Lucy.  I think it is safe to assume that as much as Tim should be mad at Lucy for swiping his “wallet”, he really can’t be.  She just did exactly what he told her to do, and even better than he could’ve imagined.  He is training her a little too well! 

______________________________________________________________

Honorable Mention:  The Cold Open; a classic.

Episode Peak:  Captain Anderson, we are getting to see a bit more of her each episode!

Episode Pit: Jeremy Hawke

Quote of the Episode:  “I think you were raised to analyze bad guys not be one and to be a great cop you’ve got to have a little outlaw in you” ~ Tim Bradford

Episode Rating: 6/10.  Personally, this episode was just okay.  It kind of felt like a filler episode, with really not much going on really in any storyline for any character.  There was really no advancement in the storytelling for anybody this episode.  One of the only positives that this episode gave us in one of out beloved and classic #Chenford scenes, but besides that, really just an okay episode.  I mean they all can’t be a 10/10 and that’s okay!

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Another episode for the books! Can't wait to hear everyones thought and opinions on this one. Like I just said, I personally didnt think that was a WOW episode, much much more of a filler one, but to each their own! I want to thank you all again for coming along for the ride!

Until next time in, "Get in the Shop"...

[sapphire-heart-tippy]

Giorno: (picks up Jonathan's head) "Happy Father's Day, Jonadad!"

Jonathan: "What about your other dad?"

Giorno: "Oh, he said he was off to celebrate Father's Day too..."

Jonathan: "But he HATED his dad."

(Meanwhile, at the cemetery...)

Dio: *dancing on Dario's grave while singing Ding Dong the Witch is Dead from the Wizard of Oz*

Omg I remember seeing a gif a few years ago (I think 2018??) of Dio doing that 🤣🤣 HE WOULD

[brookstonalmanac]

Holidays 6.2

Holidays

Acacia Day (French Republic)

American Indian Citizenship Day

Autograph Day

Children’s Day (North Korea)

Civil Aviation Day (Azerbaijan)

Coastal Cleanup Day (Russia)

Contango Day

Coronation Day (UK)

Decoration Day (Canada)

Donati’s Comet Day

Elfreth's Alley Day (Philadelphia, Pennsylvania)

Emancipation Day (Tonga)

Father’s Day (Lithuania)

Festa della Repubblica (Italy)

Festival of Light and Dark Spots

Festival of Utter Confusion

Happy Neil Diamond Day

Hristo Botev Day (Bulgaria)

I Love My Dentist Day

Important People Day

International Sex Workers Day (a.k.a. International Whore's Day)

International Volkswagen Bus Day

Isabel Province Day (Solomon Islands)

Lesbian Pride Day

Local Industry Workers Day (Ukraine)

Lou Gehrig Day

Mother Earth's Day

National Bubba Day

National First Ladies Day

National Greyhound Day

National Janice Day

National Leave the Office Early Day [6.2 or Closest Weekday]

Pimpernel Flower Day

retail, Consumer Services and Public Utility Company Employees Day (Tajikistan)

Sir Randol Fawkes Day (Bahamas)

602 Day

Social Forestry Day (Bhutan)

Telangana Day (India)

Textile Industry Workers’ Day (Turkmenistan)

3-Ring Circus Day

Water Resource Management Employees Day (Ukraine)

World Day to Fight Myasthenia Gravis

World Eating Disorder Action Day

World Mind Map Day

World Peatlands Day

Yell "Fudge" at the Cobras in North America Day

Food & Drink Celebrations

International Fish & Chips Day (Australia)

National Rocky Road Ice Cream Day

National Rotisserie Chicken Day

Vanilla Coke Day

Velveeta Day

Independence & Related Days

Aenderia (Declared; 2018) [unrecognized]

Republic Day (Italy)

Telangana State Formation Day (India)

1st Sunday in June

Armed Forces Day (Canada) [1st Sunday]

Children's Awareness Memorial Day [1st Sunday]

Day of the Rice God (Japan) [1st Sunday]

Father’s Day (Haiti, Switzerland) [1st Sunday]

Fisherman’s Day (Iceland) [1st Sunday]

German World Heritage Day [1st Sunday]

International Mother's Peace Day [1st Sunday]

National Animal Rights Day [1st Sunday]

National Cancer Survivors Day [1st Sunday]

National Child’s Day [1st Sunday]

National Frozen Yogurt Day [1st Sunday]

National Godparent’s Day [1st Sunday]

Philippine Independence Day Parade (New York City) [1st Sunday]

Sjómannadagurinn (Seamen’s Day; Iceland) [1st Sunday]

World Breakfast Day (Turkey) [1st Sunday]

World Meditation Day [1st Sunday of Every Month]

World Naturist Day [1st Sunday]

Weekly Holidays beginning June 2 (1st Full Week)

America The Beautiful Week (thru 6.8) [1st Full Week]

Bedbug Awareness Week (thru 6.8)

Black Single Parents Week (thru 6.8) [1st Full Week]

Community Health Improvement Week (thru 6.8) [1st Full Week]

End Mountain Top Removal Week (thru 6.8) [1st Full Week]

Healthcare Executives Appreciation Week (thru 6.8) [1st Full Week]

National Boating Week (thru 6.8) [1st Full Week]

National Business Etiquette Week (thru 6.8) [1st Full Week]

National Commuter Challenge (thru 6.8) [During Canadian Environment Week]

National Fishing Week (thru 6.8) [1st Full Week]

National Flag Football Week (thru 6.8) [1st Full Week]

National Garden Week (thru 6.8) [1st Full Week]

National Headache Awareness Week (thru 6.8) [1st Full Week]

Pet Appreciation Week (thru 6.8) [1st Full Week]

Teacher Thank You Week (thru 6.8) [1st Full Week]

Festivals Beginning June 2, 2024

Asheville Springfest (Asheville, South Carolina)

Baby Jumping Festival [a.k.a. El Colacho] (Castrillo de Murcia, Spain)

Calgary Lilac Festival [a.k.a. 4th Street Lilac Festival] (Calgary, Canada)

Cape May Restaurant Week (Cape May, New Jersey) [thru 6.9]

Casa Pacifica Angels Wine, Food & Brew Festival (Camarillo, California)

Culinary Coast Restaurant Week (Various locations, Delaware) [thru 6.7]

Heritage Fire (Savannah, Georgia)

Paso Pinot & Paella Festival (Templeton, California)

Tustin Street Fair and Chili Cook-Off (Tustin, California)

Feast Days

Ahudemmeh (Syriac Orthodox Church)

Alexander (Christian; Martyr)

Binkham Tamino McDoyal III (Muppetism)

Blandina (Christian; Martyr)

Buddha Day (Indonesia; Buddhism)

Elmo (Christian; Saint)

Émile Munier (Artology)

Erasmus (Christian; Saint)

Eugene I, Pope (Christian; Saint)

Felix of Nicosia (Christian; Saint)

Festival of Light and Dark Spots (Shamanism)

Finneces (Celtic Book of Days)

Frank Runacres (Artology)

St. Gregory the Great (Positivist; Saint)

Isaac van Ostade (Artology)

Juno Regina’s Day: Queenship Rite (Pagan)

Laugh Like a Bad Guy Day (Pastafarian)

Marcellinus and Peter (Christian; Martyrs)

Marquis de Sade Day (Church of the SubGenius; Saint)

The Melissae (Ancient Crete; Starza Pagan Book of Days)

Mindfulness Day (Zen Buddhism)

Nicholas the Pilgrim (Christian; Saint)

Paul-Albert Besnard (Artology)

Pothinus, Bishop of Lyon, and Attalus, Blandina, and other martyrs of Lyon (Christian; Saint)

Shapatu of Ishtar (Everyday Wicca)

Solemnity of the Body & Blood of Christ (Roman Catholic)

Stephen of Sweden (Christian; Martyr)

Thomas Hardy (Writerism)

Vesak Day (Buddha Day; Singapore)

Yell “Fudge” at North American Cobras Day (Church of the SubGenius)

Lucky & Unlucky Days

Taian (大安 Japan) [Lucky all day.]

Premieres

The Betty Boop Mystery (Animated Film; 1989)

Churchill (Film; 2017)

Cooked, by Michael Pollan (Food Book; 2013)

Corvette Summer (Film; 1978)

Darkness on the Edge of Town, by Bruce Springsteen (Album; 1978)

Dead Poets Society (Film; 1989)

Deliverance, by James Dickey (Novel; 1970)

De-Lovely (Film; 2004)

Excellent Women, by Barbara Pym (Novel; 1952)

Hells Heels (Oswald the Lucky Rabbit Cartoon; 1930)

If I Die in a Combat Zone, Box Me Up and Ship Me Home, by Tim O'Brien (Memoir; 1972)

Isabeau (Lady Godiva), by Pietro Mascagni (Opera; 1911)

The Light Fantastic, by Terry Pratchet (Novel; 1986) [Discworld #2]

Obscured by Clouds, by Pink Floyd (Album; 1972)

Oil!, by Upton Sinclair (Novel; 1926)

The Phantom Tollbooth, by Norton Juster (Novel; 1961)

The Prize Guest (Terrytoons Cartoon; 1939)

Room and Bird (WB MM Cartoon; 1951)

Spider-Man: Across the Spider-Verse (Animated Film; 2023)

Storms of Life, by Randy Travis (Album; 1986)

The Unexpected Pest (WB MM Cartoon; 1956)

The Wire (TV Series; 2002)

Whitney, by Whitney Houston (Album; 1987)

Wonder Woman (Film; 2017)

Today’s Name Days

Armin, Erasmus, Marcel, Petrus (Austria)

Erazmo, Eugen, Marcelin, Petar (Croatia)

Jarmil, Jarmila (Czech Republic)

Marcellinus (Denmark)

Veevi, Viiva, Viive, Viivi, Viivia, Viivika, Vivian (Estonia)

Venla (Finland)

Blandine (France)

Armin, Blandine, Erasmus (Germany)

Marinos, Nikiforos (Greece)

Anita, Kármen (Hungary)

Emilia, Erasmo, Marcellino (Italy)

Emma, Emmija (Latvia)

Auksė, Ąžuolas, Erazmas, Eugenijus (Lithuania)

Runa, Runar, Rune (Norway)

Efrem, Erazm, Eugeniusz, Marcelin, Maria, Marianna, Mikołaj, Nicefor, Piotr, Racisław (Poland)

Ioan (România)

Oxana, Xénia (Slovakia)

Eugenio, Marcelino, Pedro (Spain)

Roger, Rutger (Sweden)

Elma, Elmer, Elmo, Elmore, Erasmo (USA)

Today is Also…

Day of Year: Day 154 of 2024; 212 days remaining in the year

ISO: Day 7 of week 22 of 2024

Celtic Tree Calendar: Huath (Hawthorn) [Day 22 of 28]

Chinese: Month 4 (Ji-Si), Day 26 (Ding-You)

Chinese Year of the: Dragon 4722 (until January 29, 2025) [Wu-Chen]

Hebrew: 25 Iyar 5784

Islamic: 25 Dhu al-Qada 1445

J Cal: 4 Blue; Foursday [4 of 30]

Julian: 20 May 2024

Moon:18%: Waning Crescent

Positivist: 13 St. Paul (6th Month) [St. Gregory the Great]

Runic Half Month: Odal (Home, Possession) [Day 9 of 15]

Season: Spring (Day 76 of 92)

Week: 1st Full Week of June

Zodiac: Gemini (Day 13 of 31)