#I’m now the defender of the tache

[jessieren]

How can you not like the tache when you see these beautiful photos? (Looking at you @librawritesstuff 😉)

For all that the tache adds extra snark to Morse (and I personally love it for that alone…), Shaun actually manages to look extra soft and adorable in these

@melbows I think these beautiful shots were from Kati-D? Her pictures are always gorgeous

[lizamango]

Finding You (Bucky Barnes x Reader) 2/?

A/N: Hi everyone! I’ve decided to call this fic Finding You, just to inform you for future chapters! Getting my second vaccine tomorrow!! 😁🤩

Summary: You’ve been one of SHIELD’s top spies for years but what happens when the organisation you’ve put your trust in crumbles and Captain America gives you a mission to help him find his best friend? The last thing you expected to happen was to fall in love with your assignment and become best friends with a witch.

Taglist ~ just comment if you wanna be added

@buckylokisimp​, @white-wolf-buckaroo, @austynparksandpizza, @markandlexies

Word Count: 2345 (this is so fucking satisfying omg)

Masterlist

Chapter 1

Warnings: Just curse words, rewrites are hard but it’s kinda like shifting but through fanfiction??

Chapter Summary: Steve Rogers doesn’t trust you very much

Chapter 2: BUT YOU KNOW BETTER

On our way back, the STRIKE team is on celebration mode while Rogers is quiet. It won’t be a surprise if he goes to see Fury about the side mission I was assigned without his knowing. As we land on the Triskelion landing pad I watch as Captain Rogers leaves without a goodbye and heads to, undoubtedly, Fury’s office.

I tune into Fury’s communicator.

“Heads up, Fury. Angry Cap on your way. He found out about my mission.”

“Batroc?” he asks.

“He got away,” I answer regrettably.

“I’ll have international agents on high alert. You’ve done your part. Just leave the drive with me after Rogers.”

“Yes sir.”

I put all the weapons into the cache and go to clean up, changing out of my stealth suit and into a SHIELD hoodie and sweats that I keep in the locker for after missions. I wait by Fury’s office doors and he finally emerges from the elevator without an angry Cap.

“Gave him a little tour of Project Insight,” he says as he unlocks his office.

I walk in behind him. “That’s brave of you.”

“He didn’t like it.” He takes a seat and so did I.

“I’m sure he didn’t.” I fish out the hard drive and put it on the table. “One super secret hard drive for Nicholas J Fury,” I announce like a waitress.

“Good job.”

“He didn’t think so.”

“I want you to keep an eye on him. Just make sure he doesn’t do anything, alright?”

“What could he possibly do?” I raise my brows.

“He isn’t on board. I need you to get him there.”

“Don’t you already have an agent assigned to him?”

“Agent 13 is for when he’s off duty. You will be there for when he’s on.”

I scoff. “Have you met the guy? That’s all the time.”

“That’s an order, Agent.”

I nod. “Fine. Have you heard anything else on HYDRA?”

“The last reliable intel we have is three years old now, Y/N. It’s hard to track them down.”

“I don’t understand why you had to take me out. I was getting close to something. Someone. I don’t know.”

“Finding the world’s greatest soldier just took precedent. You weren’t getting anywhere for a whole year. Whatever it was, they packed it up tight.”

“Because it was something big,” I defend. “I still think you made the wrong choice. Captain America doesn’t need two babysitters.”

“Well, you try being asleep and waking up 70 years after to a whole new world and see how you feel. You’re dismissed. Get some rest. Make nice with the old man.”

I get up and leave his office. Make nice…. How do I do that when he doesn’t trust me anymore?

I get a ride home from Fitz who congratulated me on completing the mission.

“So what was he like?”

“He doesn’t like me very much,” I chuckle.

“Why not? What did you do?” he asks in an accusing tone.

“Me?!”

“He’s the perfect man, what could he have done?”

I roll my eyes but don’t answer. We arrive at my apartment and I thank Fitz for the ride back.

Unlocking my door I go straight to the bathroom for a bath. I run the water to the perfect temperature and add a bath bomb that turns the water a glittery lilac scented with lavender. I also light a candle that crackles like a fireplace that emits a subtle smokey French vanilla. A girl’s gotta treat herself. After a good long soak I get out and decide to rest up not wanting to do anything for the rest of the day.

I wake from my nap to the ringing of my phone. Reaching over to my bedside table I read the screen which has nothing but the number 1212. Well, that can’t be good.

“This is L/N,” I say.

“I need you to find the star. Keep your guard up.”

Shit, I think as I jump out of bed and get dressed in something inconspicuous. Black trousers, leather combat boots, a Kevlar vest under a back hoodie, two pistols on my belt and a knife tucked in each boot. I pick up a grey Von Dutch trucker hat on my way out.

Walking is the safest option so I navigate toward Steve Rogers’ DC apartment that he was relocated to after the New York Invasion as he decided to become a full time SHIELD agent.

I arrive outside his apartment and see Sharon on her way out.

“What are you doing here?” she asks.

“Mission. Waiting for the Captain,” I say. I look at her scrubs. “How you liking the infectious disease ward?” I ask.

She rolls her eyes and laughs. “Well it’s just a uniform. I guess it’s better than people shooting armour piercing bullets at me.”

“I’ll see you ‘round, Kate,” I wave, using her alias.

I track Steve’s whereabouts on my phone and see that he’s at a counselling centre for veterans. Fair enough, it’s good to admit you need help.

What do you want me to do here, Fury? I wonder to myself. I decide to do a perimeter check for any bugs, wire taps or double agents.

I reach an alleyway and after peering into it I hear the scraping of a manhole against the ground. I reach for my gun and keep it to the side as I slowly approach it.

I hear a grunt and raise the gun.

“Agent,” I immediately recognize the voice as Fury’s. “Stand down.”

“Shit, Fury.” I holster the gun and help him out of the manhole. “What happened, who did this?”

“Not safe,” he says in pain.

“W-where do we go? Rogers isn’t inside.” I inspect his wounds. “Looks like you have multiple fractures on your left arm and abdominal bruising-“

“Car ambush,” he utters as he approaches the fire escape. “Stay out here, keep a look out.” He pushes a phone into my hand, I don’t recognize it as his day to day. “Anything happens, secure line 0405. I have to… get to Rogers. Do not engage unless enemies fire first.”

“Fury-“

“That’s an order.”

I put the phone into my back pocket and stay behind as he climbs up and through the Captain’s Window.

The sky is starting to darken so I make my way through the perimeter again. Sharon returns and shortly after that, Rogers arrives, weary but alert. Just as a soldier would.

I hear some 40s music coming from the walls of the Captain’s apartment. I suppose he heard it too and got suspicious because he exits his apartment building to climb up the very same fire escape that Fury did.

My eyes follow him up and survey the roof of the building for any suspicious activity.

Suddenly three shots are fired right into one of the apartment building’s walls.

“Fuck!” I whisper, looking for the source.

“Foxtrot is down, he’s unresponsive. I need EMTs,” I hear one of my comms come through. It’s Sharon’s voice.

“Do we have a 20 on the shooter?” a dispatcher responds.

Before I know it, Captain Rogers is jumping out of his window and into the building the shots came from.

“Captain Rogers is in pursuit,” Agent Carter says.

I follow the Captain as he runs through a building following the shooter while he runs on the roof. They don’t fight but Rogers manages to throw the shield at him and does what some would say impossible as he catches it and throws it back just as hard. I stop where I am and just observe which is what Fury wanted me here for. The shooter jumps from the building and it looks like he catches himself using his… metal… arm. I look up and see Rogers standing at the edge of the rooftop, looking back down the shooter is out of sight.

“Transporting Foxtrot to BridgePoint Hospital Capitol Hill,” the dispatcher says from my comms. After sweeping the place one more time for any sign of the shooter and coming up empty I decide to take a cab to the hospital.

I put out an arm but it’s not a cab that stops in front of me.

“Get in, L/N.”

“Hill?” I get into the passenger’s seat and she starts to drive. “You’re supposed to be –“

“Fury called.”

“He was shot.”

“I know. Ballistics will tell us more at the hospital.”

“He’s gonna be okay,” I say but it’s more for my comfort than hers.

We arrive at the hospital and Maria takes a phone call while I find his room number, viewing the operation through the glass. Rogers is already there.

“Is he gonna make it?” I ask the Captain.

“I don’t know.”

“Tell me about the shooter.”

“He’s fast. Strong. Had a metal arm.”

“Ballistics?” I ask, knowing he can hear Hill’s conversation outside.

“Three slugs, no rifling. Completely untraceable,” he answers and looks at me.

Hill enters.

“Soviet-made,” I add as I put the picture together in my head.

“How did you know?”

I don’t get to answer her as the surgeons and nurses say that Fury’s in V-tach and rush to solve the problem.

“Fuck’s sake, Fury,” I whisper. “Don’t do this.” My hands start to shake as they lose his pulse and can’t bring him back. I notice that I’m mumbling something repeatedly but I can’t realise what.

I feel Rogers leave as the team gives up.

“Time of death, 1:03am,” the doctor calls.

I watch them wheel him out as Hill goes too. Taking a deep breath, I walk outside into the hallway.

“How did you know they were soviet-made?” Rogers asks, following me.

“Do you trust me?” I ask him, turning to face him.

“No. How did you know?”

“Why are you asking me when you don’t trust me?”

“Why are you dodging the question?”

“Cap!” Rumlow calls. “They want you back at SHIELD.”

“Give me a minute.”

“They want you now.”

“Okay,” he replies irritated.

“You’re not gonna ask me what Nick was doing in my apartment?” he asks.

“I know what he was doing there. Do you?” I raise a brow and turn on my heel, walking away.

I see Maria in the viewing room with Fury’s… body.

“I need to take him,” she says. “Don’t get yourself into trouble, alright?”

I roll my eyes. “I’m not a child, Maria.”

“Do you want a ride anywhere?”

“I’m good, thanks.”

“What, you’re just gonna hang around here until Rogers comes back?”

Yes that’s exactly what I was going to do. “No.”

She chuckles and walks away. I wait for all the SHIELD and STRIKE agents to clear out of the floor to go back into the waiting area. I go to the vending machine to pick up a snack and notice something that shouldn’t be there… the drive I gave Fury with SHIELD intel hidden behind three packets of bubble gum. Frowning I buy out the stack until the drive also falls to the dispenser. I take a seat, waiting for Rogers.

I don’t realise when I fell asleep until someone shakes me gently.

“I heard.”

I look up and it’s Sharon. “Hey.”

“How are you doing?”

“I’m fine.”

“Sure.”

“Don’t you have an assignment debriefing to give?” I reply.

She shrugs. “That can wait. I wanted to see how you were doing.”

“Did you wanna know what Fury was doing at Rogers’ apartment too?” I ask, suspicious.

“Do you know?”

I nod.

“Then that’s all I need to know.”

“Fury trusts – trusted him,” I correct myself. “That means we have to.”

A beeping comes from her wrist communicator and she sighs. “I have to go. I’ll keep you in the loop about what happens at the Triskelion.”

I frown. “Why would I need to be kept in the loop?”

“Because I know you’re gonna be on the run, soon. With him. To find that shooter. Pierce won’t like that you’re after him outside of mission directives…”

“I know. You be careful, Sharon.”

She smiles stiffly and I know it’s because she’s worried about me. “If I didn’t know better I’d say you were being careless and rash.”

“But you know better.”

She chuckles softly and turns to leave. I get up walk around to stretch my legs. Where the fuck is Rogers?

An hour passes and I’m back where I started but I see the man of the hour stop in front of the vending machine. I pop a strip of gum in my mouth and walk up behind him, blowing a bubble.

His face sharpens and he sighs then pulls me by the arm and takes us into a room.

“Where is it?”

“Safe.”

“Do better.”

“Fury trusted me. I’m on your side if he trusts you.”

“He doesn’t trust anyone. That’s the problem. That’s why he’s dead,” he says harshly.

I swallow the lump forming in my throat.

Rogers sighs and pulls away. “What’s on it?”

“I don’t know.”

“I bet you knew Fury hired the Pirates didn’t you?” he accuses.

No, no I didn’t. Stunned, I blink at the news. “Made sense. The ship was dirty, Fury needed a way in, so do you.”

“How did you know it was Soviet-made?” he repeats his earlier question, losing patience.

“I know who killed Fury,” I say. “The metal arm… I knew as soon as I saw it. 2009, Natasha had a mission in Odessa. Someone shot out her tires and killed the engineer she was protecting by shooting right through her. Soviet slug, no rifling. Metal arm. The intelligence community call him The Winter Soldier. I’ve heard him as the Asset. That’s who killed Fury.”

“How do we find him?”

“He’s been credited with two dozen assassinations in the last 50 years, Rogers. You don’t go after him. I’ve tried.”

He looks up at that, as if surprised. But he doesn’t know half the shit I’ve been through while working for SHIELD.

“So he’s a shadow.”

“Was.” I pull the drive out of my pocket and hold it up to him.

“Let’s find the Asset, then.”

 💖

Thank you for reading! I’ll update once I’ve finished Chapter 4 but I am busy this weekend!

Chapter 3

[spectraspecs-writes]

Tatooine - Chapter 64 (Juhani, Mission)

Link to the masterpost. Chapter 63. Chapter 65.

@averruncusho @ceruleanrainblues thank you for reading you get a tag. @skelelexiunderlord thank you for support, you get a tag.

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

I sit in the med bay and wrap the kolto around the blaster burn on my hand. Nothing to do now but sit and wait, let it do what it does.

Juhani comes in. “Are you all right, Rena?” she asks, “I saw the wound on Bastila’s shoulder, and I…”

“Nah,” I say, “I’m tougher than all that. Just a blaster wound on my hand.”

“Do you need any help? I could… I could--”

“Juhani, I’m fine,” I say, smiling at him, “Thank you, but I’ve got it. I’ve suffered worse from working on wet droids.”

She releases a sigh of relief. “That is good to hear.”

“Yeah there’s nothing to do now but wait,” I say, “I would be glad of a little company.”

“I can certainly provide that,” she says.

“Can I ask you something?” I ask, “I don’t know a whole lot about you. I was wondering how you came to be a Jedi.”

She smiles modestly. “I am sure you would not find it very interesting.”

“More interesting than sitting here in silence with a kolto wrap on my hand.”

She laughs a little. “Well… It goes back a number of years,” she says, “Back on my homeworld we did not see Jedi very often, especially where I lived.”

“I’ve never been to Cathar, what’s it like?”

“It was not the homeworld of the Cathar that I lived on,” she says, “My parents had long fled from that place, and perhaps that is a story for another time. Rather it was a human hive-world I was raised on. The hind end of space.” She narrows her eyes in scorn, but she looks also a little wistful. “A pit of a world, to be sure. Where Jedi rarely tread. But we had heard of them. Well, everyone had, so that is not to be unexpected. Champions of truth. Defenders of justice. Heroes of the Republic. It was very easy for a child to be enthralled by their image, their mystique. Maybe I was one of those children.”

“Did you meet a Jedi?”

“Yes…” she says, “Yes, I did. When I saw a Jedi for the first time they lived up to everything my imagination had created them to be. I was awed… and maybe a bit enamored…”

“Enamored?”

“They were quite striking… especially the tales of their leader.” Probably Revan or Malak, if I had to guess. “From that moment on I knew that I would have to try to become a Jedi. To lift myself out of the rut I had been living in for years and to make a real difference, as the Jedi were.” She scoffs a little at herself. “The foolish delusions of a child. But THIS child made it happen! As soon as I was able I left my world and went in search of them. I found them and was accepted I had been living my dream on Dantooine for several years before you came. Although… perhaps I was not entirely ready for it… or not completely suited to the task. Otherwise I would not have fallen… 

“But thanks to you I have been redeemed. Perhaps I may yet live to see that dream of mine come true.”

Kolto isn’t quite done yet. May as well keep talking. “The Jedi - I assume they were on their way to fight the Mandalorians?”

“Yes,” she says, “The Mandalorians had just invaded. Many of those Jedi perished in the fighting. But to us, they seemed invincible, especially their leader, who they talked about all the time. Paragons of light and justice, sweeping away all iniquity before them. It was like looking at gods.” She sighs again. “They were enthralling… Everyone wanted just to touch them. Some people thought it would bring them luck. Not that the peace they brought lasted very long…”

“They left.”

“They left,” she repeats, “The people grew complacent. Those who had been wronged saw their chance at revenge… and so the cycle continues. The oppressed become the new generation of oppressors. The human oppressed that is…” She scoffs. “The non-humans were never treated well in any case… We felt the brunt of both administrations.”

“Humans can be unbelievably intolerant,” I say.

“They took their frustrations and hates out on us because the people they wanted had already fled or were too well protected! But no one looks out for the injustices we suffered! Oh, no!”

She quickly tries to calm down. “I am sorry, I should not have outbursts like that.”

“It’s perfectly understandable,” I say, “Sometimes the oldest wounds take the longest to heal.”

“No, anger can lead to the dark side and I must be ever careful that I do not fall back into those ways. I… I thank you for your support. My outburst was uncalled for, but you did not lash back at me. You are a much better Jedi than I, it would seem.” She certainly puts me on quite a pedestal. “How’s your hand?”

I unwrap the kolto. The burn is little more than a scar now. “Another scar to add to my collection,” I say, and I dispose of the wrap. “I’m gonna go make sure the ship is ready to go. We’re heading to Kashyyyk next.” No, not for Griff. I just think it’s a good next trip, is all.

“Rena,” Juhani says to stop me. “I just… I am grateful and honored that you have accepted me with you. I am not used to such unbiased acceptance from one who is nearly a stranger to me. We Cathar do not make friends easily, or for long. It… it is reassuring to know that I can count on someone like you.”

I can’t find a response. “I’m glad you’re here,” I finally end up saying.

“Thank you for accepting me,” she says again.

-------

While Carth tries his best to get most of the sand out of the vents before take off, I elected to do some work on HK. I managed to uncover memories of another owner, a less-than-ethical senator from Coruscant who used HK to advance his political rank, and who died trying to stop HK from carrying out his final command - killing his adulterous wife and her partner. Seems HK enjoyed his time there. But when that was done, I figured I should do what I could to help Carth from in here. So T3 and I set to work tuning up the engine from in here.

God, I hate sand. I pull out my comlink. “Carth, I’m about to flush the vents, you ready?”

“Let me get out of the way,” he responds. A moment. “Ok, go ahead.” I press the button, and the vents turn on and start to flush.

“So you and Carth are talking again?” Quick look - Mission. She pats T3 on the head and the droid whistles gleefully.

“Hey, Mission,” I say, monitoring the vent feed. Hoping the mesh covering stops the sand from getting any deeper- it should, but if there’s any tears in it, flushing the vents won’t solve any problems.

“Can I talk to you?” she asks.

“I’ll do my best to listen.”

She leans on the wall where it curves. “I'm worried about Griff and his latest plan. I've got a bad feeling about it.” 

“The Tarisian ale thing?”

“He doesn't know anything about brewing Tarisian ale,” she says, confirming what I already knew. “And now he's gotten himself mixed up with the Exchange. Sometimes Griff can be so stupid! Part of me just wants to let him get what's coming to him.”

I look at her for a second. “That sounds pretty harsh.”

“Maybe a couple broken knee-caps will do him some good!” she says, “Maybe that's the kind of jolt he needs to turn his life around!” Then she stops. “Only…” she says slowly, “... what if they do something worse? They might kill him! I don't want him to die, he doesn't deserve that. But I can't just keep supporting his crazy schemes. Someone has to teach him a lesson!”

“Mission, this isn’t a lesson you can teach him,” I say, “He has to figure it out on his own.”

“Yeah,” she says, “I guess you’re right.” She gives a resolved sigh. “I'm not going to change him,” she says, almost like it’s a mantra, “Griff is going to keep on being Griff.”

I stop the vents and get back on the comlink. “Vents are flushed. I’m going to seal them,” I say to Carth, “Make sure you open them before we jump to lightspeed next.”

“You got it,” he says.

“Maybe if we get these tach glands for him things will work out,” she says, “Or maybe he'll finally see the light and turn over a new leaf.”

“That’s optimistic of you.”

“I know it's not likely, but it's all I have to hope for.”

“Could you do me a small favor?” I ask her, “Would you let everyone know we’re heading to Kashyyyk?”

“So going from the planet of no shade to a planet with nothing but shade,” she says, and I see the humor in that. “Okay. I think it’ll make Big Z a little uneasy, though.”

“He can stay on Tatooine if he wants but I’m not sure that’s much better,” I say, “I told him we’d be going there at some point.”

“Oh, he’ll come, you don’t have to worry about that,” she says, and then she leaves.

“How’s it look on your end?” Carth says over the comlink.

“I think we’ve done all we can away from a major starport,” I say, “If we get the chance, we should give her a full cleaning, but if not she’ll be fine. Next time we’re here we should seal the vents right after landing.”

“Oh, we’re coming back here?” he says, “Fantastic.” Dripping with sarcasm.

“Yeah, I just love to torture you,” I tease, “Just imagine all the bugs you’ll have to clean off the view window when we’re done on Kashyyyk.”

“You’re a riot,” he says wryly, “Okay, I’m coming in. Let’s get going.”

[goldanna-blog]

“I want to kiss all of the freckles on your cute face.” For Bram and Elodie?

soft sentences!↳  bram kenric / elodie dubois.

notes: some soft n fluffy shit for my two precious children before the world got mean!! this is set during their time as students at the university of orlais!! also god help me i used to speak better french than this, i did my best???rating: teen. there’s just some kissin’words: 1,440.

When she says that none would believe him, he believes her. When she says he could point and insist, but no one would find an ounce of depth in her eyes, Bram knows it’s true. 

Not because he wants it to be so. No. He wants her to have that familiar brightness, that voracious appetite for books on archeology and astronomy. He wants her to be as if she never had a need to hide herself away, like a treasure under floorboards.

But in Elodie is a fountain that can run dry with the slightest shift in her desires. If he were to tell, to spoil this beautiful secret (“she has a heartbeat, I could feel it against my lips when I kissed her neck”) she would change. In the sickening, opposite sense, she would become unknown to him until all was safe. 

It doesn’t really matter, not to Bram who delights in new information. One day he might want to be published, a sharer of all kinds of delicious secrets. But right now he’s only a student, sitting in the dark library long after everyone else has departed for bed. 

In the moonlight crossed with an orange glow burning in a lamp, he watches Elodie become something else.

With the last, leaving soul outside of their quiet duo gone, her posture changes. She sits with a pin between her shoulder-blades, every movement calculated and delicate. But the pin’s gone with only him to watch it pulled out, her shoulders slump and she leans over the book-laden table. 

“Goodness, goodness,” she sighs. It isn’t a precious sound, a gentle exhaling of breath. No, it’s an exclamation of true relief. It washes over Bram like a cold tide, it makes him shiver to hear her as she is meant to be heard. “I thought they might never leave.” 

“Well, if they didn’t we would’ve gone up in a bit ourselves,” he says, “are you very tired, Dee?” 

“No,” she replies, lifting her head and brushing a loose curl of butter-blonde hair behind her ear. “I am only just now becoming interested.” 

“You wound me,” Bram replies, dipping his quill into the pot of ink near his dominant hand and scribbling down another note. Elodie tuts and his eyes are called back to her’s. “Here I thought you were so interested in helping me study.” 

“Your mistake,” she says with a surprisingly callous smile for one so pretty. Her jokes feel more like jabs, like true pushes of her wit against his. “I take any chance I can to get a beautiful man alone.” 

Bram is writing again, half-pretending not to listen as he jots down something about the recent excavations in Emprise du Lion. Still, the tips of his ears turn pink. As do the highs of his cheekbones, such physical reactions do not pass unnoticed. 

“Ah, he blushes!” she exclaims, leaning more bodily across the table, now. Her hair falls forward, a curtain of curls straining against the pins holding it back. “You’re beautiful, dear heart, so beautiful.” 

“Enough, Dee,” Bram mumbles. His second, upward glance is his mistake. Elodie’s eyes are fiery, all light and heat. She stares at him with such punishing intensity, the warmth could touch the skin of his cheeks. “Enough.” 

“And you’re twice as intelligent as you are beautiful, Bram,” she insists, “enough books. Enough facts, you’ve come to know everything. Perhaps twice over, in the case of Emprise du Lion.” 

“One can never be too careful,” he sputters, daring to look again into the heat of the flame. He’s never seen her look at anything living with so much, fierce love. To be adored by her is to risk nothing, to gain everything. The only casualty might be self-contained, she’s loved hot enough to melt her skin to ash. 

“Come,” she says, she shifts in her chair and makes room for him. She extends one, lithe hand and holds it out for him to take. 

It’s a last resort, already used as a communication tool. She’s wanting, though for what, Bram is never quite sure. But he rises from the table, he takes a turn about it and holds that pretty hand. 

When she seizes him by the wrist, Bram’s surprised enough to give easily. His lips meet hers, the kiss is needier than he expects. Her other hand moves to the back of his head, Elodies fingers push into his copper-coloured hair. 

“There are better places,” he says, but the smirk makes it obvious it’s but a joke. He’d find a way to kiss her on the surface of the moon, if she demanded it with the same need she always does.

Elodie has a way of making him feel like he alone could do this for her. There is no one in the wide, green world other than Bram who could be allowed to love her. Part of him dismisses it as foolishness, another knows it’s true. 

“Show me them,” she says as if she’s never been the one to pull him off to a secluded settee in the library corner. Elodie stands and follows after him. 

The implied plan is thrown for a bit of a loop when her body weight is nudged against his. Slight but strong, she urges him towards a random bookshelf. Bram lets himself be blown off-course, lets his back hit the bookcase with a low thud. 

Her warm body fits against his nicely, he’s pushed against the shelf and feels leather spines digging against his made of bone. He’s kissed again, before he can complain in jest. It makes his head swim, how good at this she is. 

“I thought we were going to sit down,” he says, looking at her with a fondly pointed gaze. Elodie rolls her eyes. 

“I thought of something better,” she replies. 

Her hands move up his body, cupping his cheeks and turning his head towards the light so she can see it better. For all her intensity, she holds him gently. Every part of Elodie is soft in the figurative sense around him, as readily as it is literally for everyone else. 

“Pourquoi avez-tu des taches de rousseur?” she asks. Bram blinks, now expected to think through the romantic haze now settled on him. 

“Why do I have—” he starts, though he can’t find the meaning of that last phrase for the life of him. “What?” 

“Taches de rousseur,” she repeats, but slower. It still rings no bells. “I’m unfamiliar with its translation.” 

She seems to get an idea. Her lips move to his still-warm cheek, kissing here and there like she’s trying to cover every spot. 

Spot. 

“Why do I have freckles?” Bram suddenly asks, Elodie pulls back with a beaming smile. “Is that what you want to know?” 

“Yes, why?” she returns with another question. “I was told you were a lord’s son, these,” she pauses to brush a finger curiously over the spots on his cheek. “Are for commoners, no?” 

“No,” he replies, though he can taste the humour in her voice. She’s only teasing him. “They are for everyone, especially in Starkhaven.” 

“Why?” she asks. She’s pulled gently against his chest, hugged tight against his ribs in the hopes she might hear how quickly his heart is beating. 

“Questions, questions,” he sighs, “I thought you were going to kiss me until I turned silly. Though I suppose I also thought we’d sit down for that.” 

“I changed my mind,” she defends, though it has no bite. 

“Yes, you do that,” he gives in. Bram can’t resist squeezing her against him, only gently but just to feel that beautiful warmth a little closer. “Starkhaven sits in a valley, my dear. Outside the walls is a vast forest, one I would explore as a boy. I’d stay out all day.” 

“And you’d get plenty of sun,” she continues the story for him like she knows it already. Her soft, little lips touch his cheeks again. 

“Yes,” he says. There’s a jovial tone in his voice that rears its head only when in her arms. “Too much sun, according to you.” 

“Nonsense,” Elodie states. She frees a hand to seize his chin again, turning it towards the moonlight for a thorough inspection. “I’ve changed my mind in this respect, as well. I like them.”

“Is that so?” Bram nudges her in the right direction, a laugh greets his ears and he feels whole. 

“Oh, yes,” she sighs, “I want to kiss every one of these freckles, dear heart. Have you any complaints?” 

No, he decides very quickly. He does not. 

[seatsbythepit]

thoughts on ornstein's summary thing?

Okay, anon, I gotta admit my head has been whirring on this one, I’ve been thinking about your question the whole time I was at work - and I would like to apologize in advance, because it was 100% more eloquent in my head than in the words I’m about to write.

First and foremost, I have to make two “disclaimers”:

The first being that we should all keep in mind that David Ornstein is, at the end of the day, a reporter with sources at the club. He has often been reliable, tends to post only when he’s fairly certain of his information, and probably takes his info in good faith, however we do have to take any and all information (i.e. how certain deals happened, mood of the players/club etc.) with a pinch of salt, purely because only the people who were actually there would know what was said and done etc. But we can of course draw our own conclusions from the actions of the club, past experience, etc.

The second: I am not particularly a good stats/data person, nor do I have a great capacity for economics, I have basic understandings but I can’t venture too deep - so my thoughts come from a more observational/analytical perspective purely from what I’m seeing/hearing/understanding. So, apologies again to anyone who wants me to delve into the mathematical and statistical minutiae of our club, I don’t feel I could do that justice.

So, let’s proceed under the cut because this is going to be fairly long I imagine.

🔽🔽🔽

To address what I think of what Ornstein has presented us with: It is nothing too surprising or shocking. For some this will warrant an eye-roll, for others it may it reignite anger/frustration at the absurdity of our board, there will be some hurt/disappointment with certain players or certain transfers, or the lack thereof in particular positions - and perhaps even some room for consolation or reasoning. But ultimately: Nothing totally new.

(And I have to stress, we will all view the First Team’s situation, and in part some of the academy’s involvement, in different ways - we will come to some similar and some different views, all of which may be right/wrong to different extents. I can only speak for myself when I discuss this.)

I think the transfer window started out fairly well, we sealed Lacazette and Kolasanic in time for summer tour - two very good players, both high achievers in their former leagues. We had some backroom changes too, to coaching staff and to our legal team - nothing too spectacular there, but a little “fresher” to start the window’s activity.

The disappointment comes where deals/transfers were dragged out, things kept getting changed, and ultimately, we perhaps lost/gained in places where we were looking to do the opposite. There of course will be the January window, but I think accompanied with the context of losing our last two PL games a lot of people do not take kindly to indecision and hesitation - though it is granted the influence of other clubs/players on the other side of business will have contributed in certain areas.

All in all, I don’t think too much else would have happened in the window even if we had got 3 wins in a row, maybe one more signing of some notoriety, but nothing too big. (As the Ornstein Recap alludes to, without Alexis’ sale there was no room to budge in terms of a “big” signing [in all honesty I don’t subscribe to the idea that it has to be big or expensive to make a difference, but we could have done with a midfielder or a defender - as some players seemed to have fallen out of favour], again due to the fact that Stan won’t splash the cash.)

I’ll briefly touch on the talk of Hector Bellerin and Alex Oxlade-Chamberlain in Ornstein’s Recap:

Hector wanting to go back to Barcelona seems to be part truth and part self-fulfilling prophecy, and as Hector said before he is committed to Arsenal and I guess we can only really take his word for it. Not to mention I feel that if you commit to such a long contract as he has, you should honour it - you should honour your commitments unless there is an extreme circumstance that requires you to leave. Note: Losing CL football does not qualify as extreme, no matter how unappealing or shit it may seem to some professional footballers and to some fans.

Perhaps the biggest controversy of the window was the departure of Oxlade-Chamberlain. Again, I am only speaking for myself so: I was disappointed, yes. I didn’t like the way it had been dragged out, I didn’t like the fact that he got to play against Liverpool as it seemed so clear his time was over at the club, it just all felt so unnecessary. I am sad that he chose not to commit himself any further to us - we of course had many years of hoping for “his year”, and last year seemed to be the beginnings of having that only for it to be cut off during this window. He had/has his reasons, what else is there to say? Bitterness has turned to resignation and now to indifference, I have other players at my club that require my support and attention.

I think the real crux of our issues does lay outside of transfers, and more in the boardroom - as I’m sure most will agree. The on-pitch performance/player attitude and fan influence are all (partly) side effects/symptoms of the deeper rot that is our (majority) owner and inactive board. (

All current members of our board have become active between 2005 - 2013.

Sir Chips Keswick was first appointed as an Arsenal director in November 2005 and replaced the outgoing Peter Hill-Wood as Chairman of Arsenal Holdings plc in June 2013.

Ivan Gazidis was appointed as Chief Executive Officer of Arsenal Football Club in January 2009.

Arsenal Football Club’s longest-serving director, Ken Friar OBE has been a mainstay of the Club for more than 60 years. (Honestly won’t really include Ken in this, he still serves our club in 23847724 ways and I will fight for him.)

Lord Harris of Peckham was appointed to the Arsenal board in November 2005.

Stan Kroenke became a shareholder in May 2007, was appointed to the Board of Directors in September 2008 and became the majority shareholder of Arsenal Football Club in April 2011.

Josh Kroenke joined the board of Arsenal Football Club in December 2013.

The reason I make note of this is because this coincides fully with the time (10 years) where we were emphatic that we could not/would not be able to compete with our rivals as the Emirates Stadium needed to be paid off, leaving little else for club business. In fact, it required Arsene Wenger reassuring the banks that he would stay for a further 5 years to see that there was a consistency within the club (i.e. making CL every year, which we did.) in order to repay the loans. (It was partly his idea that we move to a bigger stadium in the first place.)

So, for those years I suspect the board didn’t have too much to do, sure there would be fan discontent, and there really was (“Spend some fucking money”, ring a bell?) - we made a few goes at the title and progressed only a little in the CL, no FA Cups, no nothing - but hey, they were in the Bubble of Time, they told us about that time, so we just had to suck it up, right? Fair enough, I suppose. We still did very well to maintain top 4, especially in a time where that money did actually matter a lot.

2013 rolls around, we start to defrost, and fans think “We should really be doing something by now, ffs” But we have to bear in mind two crucial things:

The lucrative nature of the PL, the value, the cash flow, whatever you want to call it - it had grown exponentially in that decade, this meant that “lower clubs” had tv money, advertising and sponsorship that allowed them to be on a more even playing field, the divide between the great, good and mediocre was allowed to shrink.

Stan Kroenke was (and is) the tache with the cash.

I think we know how the rest goes, we got some great players, both known and unknown, big shiny toys and hidden gems, and everything else in between. We won an FA Cup, two…three in fact - but at the very core the slight patch of mold started to grow, the Kroenke effect. We’re held on a tight leash, our system dictates that we can only use what we make in profit to deal with everything, Stan doesn’t want to give us anything, but hey! Apparently, he wants us to do well!

And you can imagine the fan discontent grows and grows, it’s daylight robbery, we pump the club full of cash in the form of shirt sales, tickets, programmes, magazines, merchandising, our tv subscriptions and so forth (because we love it and want to see it thrive.) - and receive very little in return, no desire, no ambition, falsehoods and unfulfilled promises. That is the first boil of anger festering.

The second boil, and the worst casualty, is Arsene Wenger. Arsene loves us, he loves Arsenal Football Club. And because of this he has not only contributed to our stadium, he has declined offer after offer from other clubs, he has taken the full force of any and all criticism/abuse directed at the club and has protected those that sit at a desk (or relax in a different country entirely) above him.

The reason he is a festering boil is because he becomes a way to channel any and all anger, not just the criticisms he receives as manager. The first boil (The Board) can remain subtle, silent and deadly, but the second is pickable, burstable, it is pumped full of bitterness and entitlement, sadness and despair. But Arsene, despite a few words of displeasure, takes it - he allows it to happen because [read the first few sentences above].

So when you take Arsene for what he is, he is brilliant, he is infuriating, he is wise, he is stubborn, he is intelligent and he is heart breaking. Arsene has made mistakes, foolish decisions, perhaps he has been secretive, perhaps he really does need to let loose and expose our board for what we already know and more - but he won’t, at least I think he won’t, because (excuse my strange analogy) I see it like this:

The club is hanging over a cliff edge (within the context of the expectations and demands of a club our size, I know there are 100s who have it worse off than we do.), and Arsene is holding onto us, he won’t let go, because the way he sees it is that if he drops us (if he leaves) we will fall, fall hard and it could be some serious damage to us - this is because of instability the board has given us - BUT in all of this Arsene is getting older, he is under strain, it is getting harder and harder to hold onto us, the magnitude of our plight is no longer manageable the way it was in the late 90s/00s.

He does make mistakes, he does get it wrong, but perhaps it wouldn’t feel so terrible or be so exacerbated if the system above him had the decency to take him away from the pressure, to say “No, this needs to happen”, “It’s okay we will do this”, “We have decided this”, “You need to do this”. For as long as he tries to keep it all together without letting them be held accountable he is going to be hurt and be the cause of hurt, whether that’s fair or not.

Maybe he could let go and nothing too terrible would happen to us and he could go home and rest or turn his work elsewhere, but there’s this sense of responsibility, that deep love, that relentlessness. He doesn’t trust that if he lets go that somebody will come to pick us up and mend us, not under Stan Kroenke, he would not forgive himself if it were to be damaging to his life’s work and life’s love.

So… we’re in a rut, Stan won’t move, Arsene won’t either. And together it creates this friction, this resentment that oozes and pulses in many factions of the support base, we can use social media to micro-analyze and overanalyze, to pick and pick and pick at our wounds with no healing to come with it, only botched plaster jobs and short term solutions, maybe some pain relief in between (trophies/big wins/good team performances/exciting players).

And then the third boil comes from the media who love their clicks for money, the supposed fans who deliberately create more issues with little room for reason or debate, and the pundits (ex-Arsenal players sometimes) who apply logic/expectations/experience from when they were footballers to a vastly different environment of modern football - anything that’s bad is really bad, and anything that’s good can only last for a week. It’s the culture of hyperbole, sensationalism, dramatics, and hypocrisy.

TL;DR: We are burnt out. Something has to give.

In all of this nonsense that has gone completely off topic, we are stuck. Ornstein’s words are only a mirror being held up to remind us that we are still frail as fuck underneath, we are trying hard in some ways and utterly stagnant in others. But it won’t stop me from coming along with my glue and my bandages, it won’t stop me from wishing someone would heal the infection, that someone would remove the rot and start again, and that the most special someone, Arsene Wenger, could move on and not feel like he let us down. He deserves that at least.