#Which is where I got Sophie's last name

[papaziggy-devblog]

Fun actual mama sloth fact my family actually did come to the US a couple gens back because they were fleeing the British government lmaooooooo

[purplecoffee13]

NFWMB - part 1

Summary: “Harry is a retired boxer who owns a gym and teaches self-defense classes. He considers himself a strong man, but when a gorgeous innocent woman attends a try-out class, she manages to leave him weak in the knees…”

Wc: 4.3k

Tropes: boxer!Harry x innocent!reader

Warnings: mentions of violence and SA

A/N: hello everyone! This is my new series NFWMB, named after one of Hozier’s most horny songs😄. I am so incredibly excited for this series omg it’s gonna be so good!!! If you don’t believe me, go listen to NFWMB and you’ll get a vague idea of what’s coming ;)

P.S. header = pov change

General Masterlist

Series Masterlist

Harry Styles was not one for regrets.

His life may not have turned the way he expected it to, but he was still proud of where he had come.

Being a professional boxer was a risky job, and Harry had known that when he had decided that it was going to be his career. But there was no other logical option. Harry was an exceptional boxer who was able to go pro at age 18, where he defeated a lot of men who were older and bigger than him.

It was his passion, it always had been. Which was something that was quite remarkable, especially to his closer family members, because Harry was anything but a violent person in his day to day life. He was quite reserved, and managed his temper very well. The years in the boxing ring did harden him quite a bit, his reserved nature developing into something more akin to stoicism.

Nevertheless, Harry loved boxing. It wasn't so much a fight to him, but more of a puzzle. Each opponent had its own made up riddle, and it was up to Harry to solve it as quick as possible. Much like a dance you learn the steps to along the way. A perfect combination of intuitive technique.

He hadn't planned on having to retire at the age of 27 already. It was supposed to be his peak; it had been for almost all boxers in history, and he was looking forward to how far he would be able to push his body during his prime.

He never got the opportunity to get an answer to those questions. A car accident got in the way.

He wouldn't have been able to stop it, he knew that, and he had forbidden himself from thinking about what could've happened had he not taken that specific road back home that horrible night. There was nothing he could do about it now, so there was no point in dwelling on it.

After a year of recovery, he was slowly able to get back into the rhythm of his old life again. Well, except for the boxing part. Knowing that his career in that field was over, he began thinking about some other options of his, and decided on fulfilling another dream of his: opening a gym.

He had always wanted to do it, but he always imagined to be retired by the time he would start on that.

Now, two years later, his gym was already in multiple locations, but Harry was still working at the first one he opened. He would visit the other ones every once in a while to see how everything was going, but he was mainly at the one nearest to his house. It was special to him, the place where it all started.

Despite running the place, and therefore not needing to be on location all the time, Harry was at the gym 24/7. He wasn't a personal trainer—wasn't really his style—but he would help people and teach self defense classes to women.

Every Thursday between 6 and 9, he would teach groups of ten women everything they needed to know on defending themselves from whatever threat they may run into. It was one of the things he was proudest of; the turn out at those classes. That these women put their trust in him, and let him help them become even tougher than they already were.

Tonight, after teaching the last group, Harry had gone to the bar with some of his friends. One of them was Sophie, a woman he had become friends with since she'd joined his self defense class. She was a great person with an impeccable sense of humor, and Harry was glad he had introduced her to Greg, his best friend. They were basically made for each other.

Harry had to admit that he envied his friend for the relationship he had. He was happy for them, but sometimes couldn't help but think that his lack of a partner was this one puzzle piece that would make his life even better. All in good time, he reminded himself.

"Hey," Sophie caught Harry's attention when she waved her hand in front of his face. His gaze shot to hers, eyebrows raised. "So, I was talking about your self defense class today at work. You know, promoting your business and all."

Harry chuckled at the cocky tone in which Sophie told her story, chin up high. He mumble a soft 'thanks', to which she grinned.

"You're welcome. Anyways, I have this new colleague and she seemed so intrigued by it, but she was too insecure about joining. I mean— she didn't outright say that, but I could just tell." She huffed, Greg rubbing her back. Sophie was a very happy person in general and wanted the best for everyone, this new colleague of hers included. Harry had the same habit, it's why he immediately suggested:

"Why don't you invite her along next week? A free try-out."

"But your try-out classes aren't for another two weeks." Sophie noted.

It was true. The self defense classes had become very popular, and since Harry taught them himself, he had scheduled one night of try-out classes a month. He was only able to take on so many people, but he didn't mind making this exception.

"She can join your regular class." Harry shrugged, and Sophie's eyes beamed with excitement.

"Thank you Harry!" She squealed happily, giving Greg a hug to channel her enthusiasm. "Oh, I hope she'll come along!"

"I'm sure she will." Harry assured her with a smile, and took another sip from his beer.

Y/N had never been one for risks.

She had never been the type of person to take the leap of faith, relying more on familiar feeling of security. Why risk hurting yourself when you could be safe and content?

It was the logic she had always operated with, the logic she had been taught from a very young age. Y/N had had a sheltered upbringing. Her parents wanted her and her little brother to be as safe as possible, and that was just fine to Y/N.

Her little brother was the more feisty one of the two, and his childhood consisted of a lot of fighting. It hurt Y/N to see the people she loved so much be so angry all the time, and it only motivated her to be as good as possible. She never drank, smoked, or went to parties. She turned in her homework early and got an A on almost every test. It did put a strain on her relationship with her brother, especially since Y/N's behavior would be used as ammunition towards him.

They still didn't talk all too much, but Y/N hoped that one day, she could repair that relationship again.

Moving a few towns away was a big deal for her parents, but the wonderful job she had gotten as a secretary at quite a prestigious law firm had made it all worth it. They helped her with moving into her apartment, but Y/N would regularly visit them on both weekdays and on the weekends. All in all, she'd had a safe, comfortable, content life.

Until a few months ago.

It was a Friday night, and Y/N had agreed to a date. One of the lawyers at the firm, Oscar, had been flirting with her ever since she started working there. Not wanting to be impolite, Y/N never outright rejected him, and so the flirting continued. She was a bit uncomfortable about it — especially since he was nearing his forties and she was only 23 — but figured the banter was part of the job. She was so shocked when he did ask her to go on a date, she said yes.

It wouldn't be too bad, she figured. She would just go on the date and tell him she wasn't interested afterwards. It could be casual, and no one would be too hurt. The date was definitely out of her carefully moderated comfort zone, but she would step out of it for one night.

The date was fine. Like she had expected, she wasn't interested in Oscar in a romantic way. Still, she listened to his stories, laughed right on cue at all his jokes, and told some of her own anecdotes as well. The dinner was great, and he even offered to walk her home.

They were nearing Y/N's apartment when Oscar had suddenly slowed down his walking pace. She only noticed when she was a few feet away from him, and walked back to where Oscar was standing.

"Are you okay? We're almost there, I promise." Y/N smiled politely, much like she did in the office. Oscar didn't say anything in response, only the corners of his mouth quirking up ever so slightly.

"You're so beautiful, do you know that?" He  complimented her, and Y/N looked at her feet, not quite knowing how to handle the flattery.

"Thank you." She said softly, and froze when Oscar's fingers tilted her chin upwards. Her eyes widened when he suddenly leaned in and put his mouth on hers. After the first few seconds of pure shock slowly passed, Y/N pulled her head back.

Not getting the hint, Oscar grinned and leaned in again, this time with both his hands on her face. Y/N let out a yelp, stumbling backwards. Her body's alarm bells were ringing so loudly, but Oscar must've been deaf to her body language because he backed her up against the wall and kept kissing her.

Y/N cried out as she tried to push Oscar off with her hands, but he only grabbed them and pinned them above her head. Finally, not knowing what else to do, she lifted her knee and kicked him right in the crotch. Oscar shot backwards, groaning loudly as his grip finally loosened on her. He looked incredibly angry.

"What the fuck?!" He bellowed, standing up straight again. Y/N's lip quivered, tears running down her face.

"You wouldn't stop." She said softly, almost in a whisper. Her entire body was shaking from the adrenaline. Oscar's mouth opened to say something, but the conversation got interrupted.

"Oscar!" A woman's voice shouted from down the street. He turned his head, and his face morphed from sheer rage into a lovely smile, the same one he always put up for Y/N back in the office.

"Sophie!" He said, but the mention of her name sounded strained. Sophie... Y/N recognized her name, but she hadn't ever met the woman. She was one of the three female lawyers at the firm. Had been working there for only five years, but her reputation was so badass, everyone knew who she was.

"What are you doing out tonight?" Sophie asked as she gave Oscar a hug, and turned to Y/N. "Who's this?"

"This is Y/N." Oscar replied. "She's a secretary at the firm."

"Nice to meet you." Y/N extended her hand, and Sophie shook it.

"Nice to meet you too! How come I've never seen you around?" She tilted her head.

"I— I work on a different floor."

"Well, I'm glad I met you, Y/N!" She said, the kindness in her tone being a real comfort after that scary moment she just had to live through. Somewhere in the way she said it, and in the way her eyes softened slightly, it almost felt like Sophie knew.

"I— I should go. It's getting pretty late." Y/N decided that this could be her sweet escape.

"Right, I'm gonna bring Y/N home." Oscar said, and your eyes shot to him. Anxiety filled your lungs until all you could breathe was fear. You didn't want to be alone with him. You had no idea what he would be able to do to you. What were you going to do about it? You weren't even half as strong as he was.

"Oh, which way is it?" Sophie asked, turning to Y/N, who was about to open her mouth but got interrupted by Oscar.

"That way." He pointed toward the direction of Y/N's house. Sophie side eyed her colleague, then nodded.

"Exactly the way I was going! Let's go." She hooked her arm into Y/N's, and began walking, ranting about how it was unacceptable that they didn't work on the same floor.

Y/N wordlessly nodded along, filled with gratefulness to Sophie or the universe—or both��for not leaving her alone with Oscar again.

She got home safely about five minutes later, not daring to look Oscar in the eyes as she hugged him and said goodbye, and she only allowed her tears to fall down her cheek when she closed her front door.

Y/N spent the rest of the weekend in bed, not in the mood to do anything. By Monday, she felt both better and worse. She had had some time to come down from the shock of what happened, but the terror that filled her at the realization that she was to see Oscar again, had her stomach turn. On Monday morning, she even got into work late as a result of a wave of nausea that hit her once she'd grabbed her keys, spending the time she used to drive to work to puke her guts out instead.

Later, she'd found out that Oscar had called in sick that day. It gave her some time and space to breathe. Sophie visited her the same day, and she hadn't stopped visiting since.

Oscar did eventually return to work, but they never talked anymore. Y/N didn't dare to look him in the eye, and she avoided him at all costs. One day, about two weeks after everything happened, she did see him waiting by her cubicle, but she hid in the toilet for half an hour and by the time she returned he was gone.

It had been two months since that horrible event, and Y/N had entirely isolated herself. Back to the normal routine, back to what was familiar. It gave her a sense of control. She was fragile, and sensitive. She had just pressed down her sadness and anxiety that lingered as a result from the date, and instead focused entirely on what she could control.

She figured it would be easier. Well, except for the mental breakdowns she'd get when something small didn't go right. The dishes not being cleaned, her vacuum not taking up every speck of dust; it just set her off. It wasn't healthy, but she had no idea how else to deal with these things.

When Sophie mentioned she was following self-defense classes a couple weeks ago, Y/N's ears had perked up. She tried to be subtle about it; asking questions to pry some information about the classes from her. But, being the amazing lawyer she was, it didn't go over Sophie's head, and before she knew it she had an invite to a class.

"See you next week!" Harry exclaimed as the last of the women from the 7pm class left the room. He was still busy putting everything back into place before the next class which would commence in about five minutes.

He was just about done with everything when Sophie walked in, another girl walking in close behind her. Harry couldn't really make up her face, as she stayed closely behind Sophie, even upon nearing him.

Sophie looked proud, probably feeling very accomplished about the fact that she had been able to convince this colleague of hers to take her up on her offer.

"Hey!" She greeted Harry cheerfully, giving him a quick hug. He was still smiling when he turned to the woman standing next to Sophie. His mouth went a bit dry when he took in her face.

"Harry, this is Y/N."

For starters, she was a bit shorter than Sophie, and quite frail too. Her hair was up in a ponytail, leaving her features to be admired out in the open. Her eyes were soft—radiating mostly insecurity at the moment—and wide. Those Bambi eyes and plump, rosy lips...

She looked so... innocent?

He wasn't sure if it was the right word, but he was sure that he had to say something before the silence became too long.

"Hi Y/N." He repeated her name, seeing the slightest flicker of surprise run through the eyes of the woman in front of him. But the slight relaxation of her body told him that his usual trick was working. It was a typical 'strategy' that he would often use with people who were a bit unsure about him. His voice would soften, he would always wear a hint of a smile on his face, and he'd repeat people's names to create a bit more of a familiar environment. It always worked, and he was glad it did. He never wanted anyone, especially a woman, to feel uncomfortable around him.

"Hi." The corners of her mouth tugged up.

Angel.

That's all he could think of as he looked at her. Jesus Christ, she was beautiful.

"Thank you for joining the class. You don't have to join in on everything if you don't feel comfortable. Just observe and see if this is something you would like to practice more often, okay?"

The girl in front of him nodded intently the second he had finished talking. Her eyes widened ever so slightly before she peeped out an, "okay."

Harry grinned, his gaze shooting to Sophie—who was looking at him with this suspicious look on her face that she only got once in a while—before calling everyone in a circle and commencing the class.

This girl, Y/N, turned out to be a real distraction for him. He was so focused on trying to read how she was feeling that he trailed off during explanations a couple times. It was embarrassing, really. He was a grown man for God's sake, why couldn't he just concentrate?

Y/N only joined in for a couple of the basic movements, but she stayed back for most of the class. Her big eyes observed every movement Harry and the others made, impressed with how developed everyone seemed to be in their techniques. He noted that it only seemed to make her more timid, though.

His eyebrows kept knitting every time he looked at her, getting lost in his thoughts on how he could help her become more comfortable in his class. She'd caught his stare about halfway through the class, and at the way her eyes shot to the floor he realized that his gaze was actually doing the completed opposite of what he wanted to do, which was help her.

When the class ended, Harry gave his usual speech about how good everyone had done their job, and that he would see them all next week. Afterwards there would always be a couple of women hanging around to ask questions, and he would stop a few on their way out to compliment their improvements. When the rest of the women had left, Sophie walked up to Harry, Y/N following closely behind.

"Great class, Styles. Thanks for teaching me some ass kicking again." She teased, smiling at him before she took a sip from her water bottle.  Harry chuckled, shaking his head faintly.

"Glad you liked it." He turned to Y/N. "What about you?"

Her cheeks started heating up, mouth falling open ever so slightly. "M— me? Oh, uhm, yeah, pretty good."

"I'm going to use the bathroom really quick, I'll be right back." Sophie chimed in, and began walking towards the door. "Keep her company for me, will ya Styles?"

Harry almost laughed at how Y/N's eyes nearly popped out of her sockets at Sophie's announcement. She was nervous around him, and it was quite endearing, but she didn't need to be. Although it was very cute, Harry wanted her to be comfortable around her.

"You hated it, didn't you?" He said as soon as Sophie was out of sight. Harry was amused, watching Y/N scramble for words when she realized what he had said.

"What? No, no of course not! You're great! Teacher— you're a great teacher, I mean." She stumbled over every last one of her words, making it sound even less convincing than it already was, even though she did really mean it.

Harry solely raised his eyebrow, indicating that he did not buy any of that, and it was all it took for her shoulders to slump and a little sigh to leave those pretty lips of hers.

"It's really not you, I promise. I just get... a bit nervous in group settings, especially when it comes to sports. I don't even go to the gym." She confessed, and Harry nodded. That certainly made more sense. His heart warmed a bit at the fact that she reassured him that he wasn't the reason she wasn't liking the class all too much.

"Why don't you go to the gym?" Harry asked further, his tone soft. He didn't want to press too much, but he did want to know more about her.

"It's... embarrassing." She shrugged. Harry chuckled.

"I go to the gym all the time. I mean, I own this one. I can only imagine how embarrassing I must be."  He joked. He had to say he thought it was pretty funny, the way she blushed as he teased her.

"No, I didn't mean it like that! You're not embarrassing at all— I mean, you’re like the opposite. You're lean, and strong. You have like— big arms and you know what you're doing." She ranted, and had no idea how much Harry's ego was fueled by the compliments she was unknowingly throwing at him. "Whereas I— I have no idea what to do at a gym. I hate the idea of people being able to watch me and judge me if they want. Not that I think everyone's focusing on me all the time! I— I don't think that..."

Y/N's heart was racing as she finally got herself to stop talking. It was a nervous habit she had always possessed. As soon as something got awkward, her mouth would open and it would just never shut again. All communication skills flew out the window as soon as something — or in this case someone — made her nervous. She couldn't even remember half the words she just said.

"I can teach you, if you want."

The offer was as unexpected to Y/N as it was to Harry. He hadn't quite anticipated the words rolling off his tongue, but he didn't regret them either.

"It'll be a private class, and it can be in a closed room, like this one, or after closing time. Whatever suits you." Harry tried his hardest to sound casual, and not like what he was offering was something he literally never did. He had to hire a cleaner at home because he was too busy to get around to cleaning the house, that's how much he had to do. But the prospect of losing even more free time did not seem to bother him at all. In fact, he hoped Y/N would take him up on his offer as he scanned her face and waited for her to say something.

"No, I wouldn't want to ask that of you. I'm sure you're busy with a lot of other things." She declined politely, but he didn't miss the glimmer of hope in her eyes. Those private classes had sounded intriguing to her, he just knew it. So instead of accepting her rejection, he shrugged.

"How about this. I'm always in till late on Tuesday's. If you're sure you don't want private lessons, that's fine. But if it does sound like something you want to do, just be there at 9. I'll be there either way." Harry suggested. He didn't wait for a response — hearing Sophie's footsteps nearing — and instead said,

"Just think about it, alright?"

Y/N merely nodded, not even able to croak out a 'yes' before Sophie walked back into the room.

"Okay, I'm ready to go. Y/N?" Sophie asked, watching as her friend agreed and grabbed her things before walking towards the door where Sophie stood.

"Thanks for the class." Y/N turned around and smiled at Harry, throwing him a small wave as she started following Sophie out the door.

"Anytime." He winked at her.

"Bye Styles!" Sophie shouted, her keys clinking as she waved at Harry, behind her.

"Bye Soph." Harry called out, his eyes still transfixed on the girl behind his friend.

He didn't take her eyes off her as they walked towards the exit, taking in every detail of her delicate body as she moved further and further away from him. She was painstakingly beautiful. How had she just walked in? As soon as the girls disappeared behind the door, Harry let out a big sigh.

"Fuck." He murmured under his breath.

He really hoped Y/N would take him up on his offer. Harry had very quickly and very suddenly developed this intense need to help the girl, and that couldn't mean anything good.

Maybe he'd never see her again. She did sound very unsure. Besides, who said that she even wanted to go to this class? For all Harry knew, Sophie could've just used her manipulative convincing tricks, and Y/N, the polite angel she was, would've felt too bad to decline. Maybe, she thought he was an ass and didn't want anything to do with him.

In spite of the countless theories flying through his head, he knew that she wanted it. He had seen it in her eyes. She did really want to join the class, she was simply too nervous. But whether she would take him up on the offer, that was the question. He'd have to wait until the following week.

Strangely enough, he couldn't wait until it was Tuesday. He couldn't wait to find out…

[lollobarcollomanonmollo]

women artists that you should know about!!

-Judith Leyster (Dutch, 1609-1660)

During her life her works were highly recognized, but she got forgotten after her death and rediscovered in the 19th century. In her paintings could be identified the acronym "JL", asually followed by a star, she was the first woman to be inserted in the Guild of St. Luke, the guild Haarlem's artists.

-Artemisia Gentileschi (Italian, 1593-1656)

"... Si è talmente appraticata che posso osar de dire che hoggi non ci sia pare a lei, havendo fatto opere che forse i principali maestri di questa professione non arrivano al suo sapere". This is how the father Orazio talked about his nineteen year old daughter to the Medici's court in Florence.

In 1611, Artemisia got raped, and she had to Undergo a humiliating trial, just to marry so that she could "Restore one's reputation" , according to the morality of the time. Only after a few years Artemisia managed to regain her value, in Florence, in Rome, in Naples and even in England, her oldest surviving work is "Susanna and the elders".

-Elisabeth Louise Vigèe Le Brun (French, 1755-1842)

She was a potrait artists who created herself a name during the Ancien Règime, serving as the potrait painting of the Queen of France Marie Antoinette, she painted 600 portraits and 200 landscapes in the course of her life.

-Augusta Savage (Afro-American, 1892-1962)

Augusta started making figures when she was a child, which most of them were small animals made out of red clay of her hometown, she kept model claying, and during 1919, at the Palm Beach County Fair, she won $25 prize and ribbon for most original exhibit. After completing her studies, Savage worked in Manhattan steam laundries to support her family along with herself. After a violent stalking made by Joe Gould that lasted for two decades, the stalker died in 1957 after getting lobotomized. In 2004, a public high school, Augusta Fells Savage Institute of Visual Arts, in Baltimore, opened.

-Marie Ellenrieder (German,1791-1863)

She was known for her portraits and religious paintings. During a two years long stay in Rome, she met some Nazarenes (group of early 19th century German romantic painters who wanted to revive spirituality in art),after becoming a student of Friedrich Overbeck and after being heavily influenced by a friend, she began painting religious image, getting heavily inspired by the Italian renaissance, more specifically by the artist Raphael. In 1829, she became a court painter to Grand Duchess Sophie of Baden.

-Berthe Marie Pauline Morisot (French,1841-1893)

Morisot studied at the Louvre, where she met Edouard Manet, which became her friend and professor. During 1874 she participated at her first Impressionist exhibition, and in 1892 sets up her own solo exhibition.

-Edmonia Lewis or also called "wildfire" (mixed African-American and Native American 1844-1907)

Edmonia was born in Upstate New York but she worked for most of her career in Rome, Italy. She was the first ever African American and Native American sculptor to achieve national and international fame, she began to gain prominence in the USA during the Civil Ware. She was the first black woman artist who has participated and has been recognized to any extent by the American artistic mainstream. She Also in on Molefi Kete Asante's list of 100 Greatest African Americans.

-Marie Gulliemine Benoist (French, 1768-1826)

Daughter of a civil servant, Marie was A pupil of Jaques-Louis David, whose she shared the revolutionary ideas with, painting innovative works that have caused whose revolutionary ideals he shared, painting innovative works that caused discussion. She opened a school for young girl artists, but the marriage with the banker Benoist and the political career Of the husband had slowly had effect on her artistic career, forcing her to stop painting. Her most famous work is Potrait of Madeline, which six years before slavery was abolished, so that painting became a simbol for women's emancipation and black people's rights.

-Lavinia Fontana (Italian, 1552-1614)

She is remembered for being the first woman artist to paint an altarpiece and for painting the first female nude by a woman (Minerva in the act of dressing), commissioned by Scipione Borghese.

-Elisabetta Sirani. (Italian, 1698-1665)

Her admirable artistic skills, that would vary from painting, drawing and engraving, permitted her, in 1660, to enter in the National Academy of S. Luca, making her work as s professor. After two years she replaced her father in his work of his Artistic workshop, turning it into an art schools for girls, becoming the first woman in Europe to have a girls' school of painting, like Artemisia Gentileschi, she represent female characters as strong and proud, mainly drawn from Greek and Roman stories. (ex. Timoclea Kills The Captain of Alexander the Great, 1659).

[i-love-ptv]

Pope and reader taking the boat out and soaking up the sun! Reader is like laying out on the boat while pope steers to find a nice place to anchor! Lots of fluff and love sick individuales maybe some smut thrown in there? Anyways bookie adiós!

All Mine, All Mine ㅤᡣ𐭩

Pairing: Pope Heyward x Fem!Reader

You and Pope on the HMS Pougue! - Fluff, hints at sex at the end ;) (thinking abt making another part for smut??)

Wc: 1,067

An: GUYS. I DID IT. Not the longest, but not the shortest. I hope I did pooks justice 😣😣 Not proofread I fear, I didn’t feel like it..

Feedback always appreciated!! xxx

“Pope, honey, have you seen the bottle opener?”

“Uhh- it’s not in the basket?” Your darling boyfriend asks, briefly glancing back at you while he steers.

You rummage through the basket once more, despite already knowing the answer to Pope’s question.

“It’s not in there, y’know what, it’s fine.” You grab your cold beer bottle and angle the cap into your mouth.

You pop the cap off with your mouth, and Pope looks at you with mock horror.

You meet his eyes and ask, “What?” as you take a swig of the liquid.

“That may just have been one of the craziest things I’ve ever seen you do, babe.” He says as he side-eyes you.

“In a good way or a bad way?” You ask while chuckling, quirking your brow over your sunglasses.

He smiles, showing that boyish charm, “I haven’t really decided yet..” He replies.

“Whatever loser, have we found a spot yet?” You tease, as you look up at the sky.

You glance at Pope, finding that he was already looking at you. It seems that he does that a lot.

“Wellll.. If someone wasn’t always groaning about how the sun is ‘directly’ in her eye, we would’ve already stopped and started eating” Pope sasses, but you know that he didn’t mind. After all, he couldn’t let his woman feel any kind of discomfort, especially when he’s around.

You pout at him, and say, “Well, we only have the Pougie for a ‘lil while, we gotta make this perfect.”

Pope beams at this, “I know baby, I think this spot is good.”

He stops the boat and walks over to you. He lays down next to you, and props his elbow up to lean on it.

You peer up at him, having put your sunglasses on the top of your head

“Grape?” You ask as you grab a few from the container of fruit you brought with you.

Pope inches closer to your fingers until you lightly push the grape into his mouth. He hums in delight.

“I got these ones from a new place this time, they’re good, right?” You exclaim excitedly, referencing the last store you went to to buy grapes, where the grapes were more sour than sweet.

Pope faintly drags out a ‘mhm’ while gazing at you, almost as if he can see through your eyes and into your soul.

“You have the prettiest eyes, y’know that?” Pope says, in almost a daze-like state.

You smirk at his words, “Oh yeah? I don’t think I’ve ever gotten that one before..”

You continue, “But I have heard that I have the perfect smile, a strong mind, and an amazingggg personality.”

“Oh shush, ‘s not my fault you’re perfect.” Pope says through a whisper, as his eyes flicker from yours to your lips.

He starts to lean in, and you meet him halfway, letting your lips connect and dance around with one another.

One kiss leads to multiple pecks, which of course, leads to a passionate makeout, as your bodies explore each other as if they’re foreign.

You’re arm flies out, accidentally knocking over your speaker, which quietly plays ‘Call Me By Your Name’ by Sophie Castillo.

You feel Pope’s warm hand brush down your back, and squeeze your ass firmly.

You softly gasp at this, and your hand reaches up to his head, grabbing his backwards hat and placing it on your own head loosely.

Pope grins through your shared kisses.

Abruptly, you hear a familiar ringtone.

Pope breaks the kiss with the groan, shuffling through his pockets to find his phone ringing, notifying him that none other than JJ Maybank is calling him.

You prop yourself up on your elbows, trying to listen to the faint sounds of JJ speaking on the phone.

Pope looks at you with sincerity. He now regrets keeping his ringer on, despite you telling him to keep it off, like how you did with yours, so the two of you could remain uninterrupted.

But Pope being Pope, he kept it on, thinking that he would only be called for any serious emergencies.

“Yes. Yes. JJ, I hear y-“ You assume Pope is cut off by the blonde, for he stops and releases a deep sigh.

“Okay, yes, we’ll bring the boat back John B, relax.” Pope says, as he hangs up the phone, not wanting to hear JJ or John B continue to speak any longer.

Pope looks at you sadly, wishing that you two could remain at peace by yourselves.

“Well, I suppose we should head back before they have our heads.” You say with a twinge of sadness.

Pope kisses your forehead, and squeezes your hand. He starts to try and pack up the leftover remnants of food that was in the basket, before you stop him.

“Baby, don’t worry about it, I got it. Let’s just start going, okay?” You say as you leave a kiss onto his plump lips.

He sighs, “Alright…” And he walks off to the wheel to start the boat back up.

After you finish cleaning up the boat, and collecting any remaining trash, you go up behind Pope. You mean your head on his shoulder and reach around him to lightly scratch at his chest with your nails, just how he likes it.

Pope gasps, since he hasn’t heard you walk up over the motor of the HMS Pouge.

You begin to leave kisses on his neck and behind his ears.

“Babe…” Pope says softly, trying to turn and look at you.

You turn his head straight as you nibble on his earlobe, “Shhh baby, just keep going, okay? Get us home honey, I have something for you for when we get back.” You whisper out against Pope’s ear, making him shiver from the warmth of the contact; this makes you giggle.

As if he’d been starved of your touch for years, Pope, speeds off, making you laugh loudly, and wrap one arm gently around his neck, while the other holds his hat on top of your head.

Pope looks at the sunset, he thinks about how it reminds him of you. He doesn’t necessarily know exactly how at the moment, but he finds it pretty, just like you.

It makes him think about how you have the most pure, and beautiful soul, as if he could see through your eyes and into your soul.

Tagging ppl who commented on my post abt Pope. (If you want me to remove you, just lmk! <3)

Ps. if you’re name is in yellow, it means i couldn’t tag you :(

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[mynameismckenziemae]

All of Me

Part 2

(previous part here, next part here)

Jake ‘Hangman’ Seresin x You

Summary: You see Jake again, much sooner than expected.

Warnings: 18+ MDNI! Mentions of medical stuff, probable naval inaccuracies, mentions of losing a spouse, etc. Please see disclaimer below also.

•<•>•<•>•<•>•<•>•<•>•<•>•<•>•<•>•<•>•

Monday morning greets you like a slap in the face.

Between the jet lag, late night with Jake, and a full day of adjusting to being back home with your son, you were exhausted when your alarm went off.

You wished you had toothpicks to keep your eyes open that morning in orientation… the exact same orientation that you’ve done with every move.

You nearly cried when you were dismissed for lunch.

A familiar voice takes you back to the past as you make your way back to your office for lunch.

It was one of the things you were both excited about and dreading about being back here.

“Ma’am? Lieutenant Commander Kerner?”

You smile as you turn. “Lieutenant Bradshaw, long time no see.”

“Too long,” he agrees as he pulls you in for a quick hug. “God, I can’t believe how big Drew’s getting when I saw him last week.”

“You’re telling me. I swear he grew a foot in the six months I was gone,” you reply, tilting your head as you approach your office as an invite.

“Deployments suck,” he agrees. “He’s looking more and more like Andy every day,” Bradley says softly, following you in.

Some people don’t like talking about their deceased spouses, but you loved hearing it; loved that people remembered him.

“Stubborn like him too,” you mutter with a roll of your eyes.

Bradley laughs, “I think we both know he gets that from you.”

You answer by throwing a crouton from your salad at him.

•<•>•<•>•<•>•<•>•<•>•<•>•<•>•<•>•<•>•

Bradley has you laughing through your lunch hour, reminiscing about the trouble you had gotten up to together in your younger years.

You were 2 years older than Andy, who was 2 years older than Bradley and the two of them had grown up together. Ron, your father-in-law, had flown with Bradley’s dad and became one of his honorary uncles after Goose had passed away.

Drew loved Uncle Roo, who often took him overnight for ‘boys nights’; Drew refused to tell you what the two of them got up to, just giggling when you asked.

“Where were you Saturday night? I called but it went straight to voicemail,” you ask.

“I-uh, had a date,” he says, flushing and scratching the back of his neck. He always does that when he’s not telling you something.

“A date? Is that what you call getting your dick wet now?”

“Shut up,” he laughs, avoiding the question; which just confirms it. He sighs before he looks at your wedding ring, still on your left hand. “You know he wouldn’t want you to be alone.”

“I-“ you start but are interrupted by a knock on your door frame.

“Dr. Kerner? Your first patient is all set. Just a routine physical,” your nurse, Sophie, says by the door. You smile at the way her eyes look Bradley up and down.

“Thanks, Soph, I’ll be right there,” you reply, happy to avoid the conversation.

“I’ll talk to you later, Kernsie,” Bradley calls you by Andy’s nickname before rising to his feet as he follows Sophie out. You can hear him introducing himself to her as they walk down the hall.

•<•>•<•>•<•>•<•>•<•>•<•>•<•>•<•>•<•>•

You knock and enter the exam room as you grab the chart from the basket outside the door without looking at the name on the front.

“Hi, I-Jake?” Your stomach flips as you see your one-night stand sitting in front of you.

“Reese? What are you doing here?” Jake says, rising to his feet.

How can he look so good in a hospital gown?

“I-,” you stutter, before shaking your head. You’re a professional, act like one. “I’m Dr. Kerner.”

“You’re a doctor?” He repeats, still processing. “You just told me you worked in healthcare.”

“Yes, it is the truth. And said you worked in aviation…,” you trail off, looking at his chart finally. “You’re a fighter pilot.”

Just like Andy was. You definitely have a type.

“I’m sorry,” you continue, shutting his chart. “This is a conflict of interest. I’ll have you reschedule with Dr. Thompson.”

“No!” He puts his hand over your arm. “Can you see me today? Please? Dr. Thompson is booked out and if I don’t get this physical done today, I’m grounded.”

“It’s not my fault you waited until the last minute,” you lecture, quirking a brow.

“I know,” he sighs, removing his hand from your arm. “It’s mine. I just hate anything medical-just never mind. I’ll reschedule.”

His pitiful tone tugs at your heartstrings.

“Just get on the table. If anyone asks, this is the first time we’ve met,” you sigh, gesturing with your hand for him to sit on the exam table.

“Thanks,” he replies, flashing you a dimpled grin that surely gets him into and out of trouble.

You can’t help sneaking a peek at his cute Calvin Klein-clad butt as he turns to do ask you asked.

•<•>•<•>•<•>•<•>•<•>•<•>•<•>•<•>•<•>•

He flinches when you snap the nitrile gloves you put on moments later.

“Lay back for me,” you instruct as you pull the footrest out as he reclines. You can feel his heart rate increase when you feel the lymph nodes in his neck down to his armpit.

Yours begins to race as your hands journey lower to palpate the sharp cut of his abdomen.

Good God he’s ripped.

“Next, I’m going to put my hand by your groin to feel the lymph nodes there, is that okay?” Your hands pause on his lower abdomen as you wait for him to consent.

“Yes,” he replies, inhaling sharply when your fingers lift the waistband and dip inside to feel along the line connecting his groin to his thigh. It’s not uncommon for male patients to get an erection during an exam, but it’s a first for you to like the way his cock twitches.

Your face heats as you remember how Andy would let you practice exams on him while in med school. Those “exams” always ended in sex.

Guess you might have a medical role-play kink.

“All good so far,” you murmur as you guide him into a seated position.

“Take a deep breath in,” you request from Jake’s side as you listen to his lungs before moving your stethoscope lower. “Good, again.”

Both your face and between your legs heat when you see the scratch marks down his back that your nails left 2 nights prior.

“Looks like you got mauled by a cougar,” you tease as you run your fingers over the red lines, delighting in his sharp inhale and the goosebumps that follow.

“Maybe I did,” he turns toward you, eyes meeting yours before flicking to your lips.

“Maybe I should report you for allowing someone to damage government property,” you smirk, coming around to stand in front of him.

“You’re the one-wait, you’re fucking married?” He exclaims moments later, zeroing in on your ring when you place your stethoscope on his chest to listen to his heart.

“Shhhh!” You shush him, looking at the door, waiting for someone to burst through.

“What the fuck, Reese?!” He hisses. The disgust in his tone makes you want to curl in on yourself, even though you’ve done nothing wrong.

“Jake, I-“ you start to answer, but he cuts you off.

“You’re wearing a wedding ring and you weren’t on Saturday. Why would ask me to have a drink with you? Jesus, Reese. I don’t fuck married women,” he seethes, looking away. “Who’s your husband? Do I have to worry about getting reprimanded or my ass kicked?”

“Andrew Kerner,” you reply, “and no. He passed away 8 years ago.”

His head whips toward you.

“Drifter was your husband? Slider’s son?” He asks, putting all of the pieces together.

You nod as you begin to check his reflexes.

“Shit,” he pales as he realizes how he just treated you. “I am so sorry.”

“It’s fine,” you reply, “You didn’t know.”

His reaction hurt, but it was fair. You were wearing a wedding ring.

“I don’t wear it to the beach because of the sand and sunscreen, otherwise I usually wear it on my right hand,” you explain, “but when I’m at work or somewhere I don’t want to appear single, I keep it on my left. I’m…just not ready to be done wearing it yet.”

“I’ve heard he was a good man. He sure was one helluva pilot,” Jake says before putting his hand over yours that’s on his knee. You suppress the shiver at the feel of his callouses. “I really am sorry, Reese.”

“You’re forgiven,” you reply, giving him a small smile.

“You know Rooster then,” he thinks aloud, then his eyes widen as his eyes flock to your stomach, your c-section scar. “You’re Drew’s mom.”

The mama bear in you bristles. “How do you know Drew?”

“I transferred here…the same unit as Rooster about 5 months ago,” he explains quickly, picking up you don’t mess around when it comes to your son. “He took Drew to a Padres game for one of their boys days a few weeks ago and invited me too.”

You relax at his response. You trust that Roo wouldn’t take Drew around just anyone

“He’s a great kid, Reese,” he continues. “Takes after you; cute, funny, sarcastic, smart.”

“Thanks. He is pretty great,” you agree. “Now stand up and bend over for me.”

He blushes as he chuckles before he does as asks. “I think that’s the first time a woman’s said that to me.”

You roll your eyes but a laugh escapes as you evaluate his spine. “Alright,” you tap him to stand again, “I’m sure you’ve heard this one before: drop your drawers.”

He flushes further and he laughs as he does as he lets his underwear drop. “Yes ma’am.”

You grab your wheeled stool to sit while trying to ignore the rush of arousal his words send between your thighs as your hand sneaks under the gown.

“I’m going to touch your inner thigh and then your testicles to feel for a hernia with your permission,” you obtain consent again and proceed when he nods.

He looks away, pink still staining his cheeks as your hand moves up his thigh. He hardens instantly, tenting the fabric directly in front of your face.

“Turn your head and cough for me? Good,” you say, looking at the floor. It’s both awkward and arousing; you can’t imagine how he feels. “One more time. Good.”

You rise and nod for him to pull his underwear back on, turning your back on him to remove your gloves and wash your hands to give him an illusion of privacy.

“I’ll step out so you can get dressed,” you say as you dry your hands.

“Just like yesterday morning,” he says, smirking to let you know he’s teasing when your eyes meet his.

•<•>•<•>•<•>•<•>•<•>•<•>•<•>•<•>•<•>•

“You’re all set then, lieutenant,” you tell him as you finish charting, “do you have any other questions?”

“Just one,” he replies. “Why’d you leave without waking me up? Or leaving your number? I really like you. I thought we had fun.”

You’re surprise His hurt tone dents the wall you constructed around your heart.

“I did have fun,” you answer truthfully and sigh before you continue. “I don’t get a lot of free time, Jake. That’s why I was at the beach Saturday. I just got back from a 6-month deployment early and Drew was at still Disney with Grandma and Grandpa. I found out yesterday morning they were on their way back and I wanted to beat them home,” you explain. “I saw your dog tags by the door when I was looking for something to leave you a note with and figured I’d see you around since I’m now stationed here. I didn’t expect it quite so soon though.”

“Can I take you out sometime? I’d like to get to know you better,” he asks, hopeful.

His face falls a second later at your hesitation.

“I’m a 38 year old, widowed, single mom. You’re what…30?” He nods once and you continue, “I’m not really looking for a relationship right now; I barely have any time for myself, much less a relationship. You deserve someone young and fun that can do things at the drop of a hat.”

He nods, mulling over your words before he grabs a pen and scribbles something on the notepad sitting on the desk.

He rises and hands you the note.

“There’s my number if you change your mind or just want another night of fun,” he says as he walks toward the door. “I’ll gladly take anything you’re willing to give me.”

•<•>•<•>•<•>•<•>•<•>•<•>•<•>•<•>•<•>•

Disclaimer: this is just fiction and fun. A medical provider should NEVER make inappropriate comments/touches, etc. They SHOULD get consent before touching you. Lmk if you have any questions/concerns with this.

A/N: Sorry about the wait, for those of you who don’t follow me closely, I’ve been at the beach on a girls trip for the past 5 days.

So…what’d you think?

As always, any interaction is appreciated but I love hearing what you think in comments/reblogs!

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[thelightsandtheroses]

7. i don't mind falling in love with you

Frankie Morales x female reader | let's get lost chapter 7 [the last one!]

Summary: You and Frankie aren’t together anymore but you’re in a good place.However, spending a week together for your mutual friends’ wedding on a luxury resort might challenge that slightly and realising you’re still in love with your ex is a sure-fire recipe for disaster … Tropes: it was always you, getting back with the ex, beach!Frankie (you know *that* photoshoot) miscommunication, only one bed, good parent Frankie Chapter Warnings: 18+ MDNI, minor mentions of alcohol and food but reader's drink is not specified, weddings, good dad!frankie, truly terrible excel jokes. Word Count: 4.8k Notes - Oh wow, I can't believe we've made it to the end of Frankie and reader's story. Thank you so much to everyone who's commented, shared or engaged with this fic - your support means a lot. I started this fic in the midst of a stressful period of my life, and things have changed a lot since then (in a better way) but this fic has been a constant. While their journey is now over, I am excited to share my next Frankie fic soon which has many of my favourite tropes and perhaps a career move for Frankie that I cannot stop thinking about .... 🔥 For now, though, here's Let Get Lost... the chapter title is from the milk. song of the same name (this band featured a lot in my fic playlist)

Previous | Series |

You wake up in Frankie’s arms; the pillow barrier between fully discarded. After the rehearsal dinner, after sobbing at the beach and everything that happened, you felt so drained. By the time the two of you had got back to the hotel room, you were exhausted in your bones and you needed to focus on Clara so neither of you had a chance to talk about it further.

He asked you not to give up on the two of you though. He told you he wanted to woo you.

He wants to woo you.

Woo you.

The thought sends a thrill down your spine, makes your heart race just a little more. You want that too. You really, really want that.

You can see it too; dinners out together back in Florida, hands entwined as you make your way back to the car, the picture of domesticity. There’s fire in that vision too though; heated kisses in the hallway just because, tangled together in sheets, savouring every touch, every sensation.

It feels like a future.

Sophie’s words have haunted you though. They pulled you out of slumber one too many times, floating in and out of your mind like the nagging anxiety you’ve left an iron on.

You feel more in control now though. Maybe it was a blessing after all, at least you have a plan now. A real plan.

It’s finally light outside, finally an acceptable time to get out of bed and start on with your day. It’s Lia’s wedding, it’s almost the end of your vacation.

You don’t want to go back. You want to stay here, with Frankie and all-inclusive catering and no work emails or worries about trivial things that seem larger than life - like font sizes. You want to wake up in his arms time and time again, live with travel sized bottles of shower gel and fresh white towels every day.

Exploring this though back home, back in Florida, is a little exciting. You can’t deny that you want to bring Frankie back into the mundane moments of your life; your new coffee maker, the diner that opened around the corner from your place where Clara loves the pancakes. Hell, even your bed’s new to him.

You ease Frankie’s arm from you delicately as you carefully and silently get out of bed.

Clara’s still snoring softly as you tiptoe past her, wrapping a robe around you as you open the terrace door carefully.

There’s less than forty hours left of your vacation. Soon you’ll be on a flight home, back to Florida and everything you’ve avoided thinking of since you stepped on this island.

You want this feeling, you want this peace. You want him.

Getting ready for a wedding has always felt stressful. You don’t want to wear the wrong colour, to not match the dress code in some way or to not fit in with everybody else. In a way, Lia’s wedding is easier because you’re part of her party and so as soon as you were dressed and your presentation to Frankie finished, you had made your way over to Lia’s room.

You feel nervous about seeing Sophia. Her words from the night before still sting and have wrapped themselves around your neck like barbed wire, nicking your skin and making your heart race.

You can prove her wrong. You will prove her wrong.

His lips are against your neck, hands skimming down the side of your body, up your back where his fingers lightly meet your skin.

“You’re supposed to be zipping this dress up, Frankie.”

“Mmhmm, but it’d look even prettier on the floor, right?”

You laugh. “That is so cheesy.”

“Made you laugh though.” He kisses you again, hands on your hips and drawing you closer against him before moving his hands higher so they graze against your breasts. Almost involuntarily, you moan as he knowingly distracts you from your task.

“Careful, Clara is in the next room. We’re supposed to be getting ready.”

“Okay, but I can’t do this when we go outside, so I need to make the most of it. Besides, you’ve got to agree, this is kinda fun, right? Like being teenagers again.”

“Is it wrong if I say that I really cannot imagine teenage Frankie?”

“That’s a good thing, baby, he was a menace.”

“Oh, really?”

“Mmhmm, he would not believe this is his life right now though,” Frankie says, a slight smirk on his face.

He pauses and looks at your reflection in the mirror carefully, clearly picking up on the worried expression, the nerves you cannot hide. “It’s going to be fine.”

“Promise?” you ask, even though you know he can’t assure of that, not really.

He kisses the side of head. “Promise.”

“Oh,” you say, “I’ve just remembered, I want to show you something.”

The two of you walk out of the bathroom where Clara is sitting on her bed and ensconced with her toys. She looks up briefly and waves, a bright smile on her face that mirrors her father’s smile perfectly, before turning attention back to her toys.

“What do you -"

Frankie starts as you root through your bag and pull out your tablet.

“Right,” you say, unlocking the screen and taking a deep breath. “I’ve been thinking about how this can work, how we make it work when we get home.”

“Me too.”

“Good,” you say with a smile, “so I started building a plan.”

Frankie raises his eyebrow and looks over at the file you’ve opened as you wave the tablet in his direction. He takes the tablet and scrolls for a moment. “Baby, this is a spreadsheet.”

“I’m aware.”

“You built a spreadsheet?”

“I want us to be prepared. I built it for us.” Perhaps you should have opted for the business case template, or even powerpoint, instead. You were tempted, but you remembered after your break up the spreadsheet that had become your custody arrangements. You wanted a spreadsheet designed to rebuild instead, a response to that time, a demonstration of what’s changed. It felt right.

Now you wonder if perhaps your efforts were misguided, governed by a foolish desire to prove this was well thought through, that it made simple statistical sense.

“We’re on vacation and you built a spreadsheet?” Frankie looks astonished. “On your tablet?”

“I feel more … I think it’s better if we have a clear plan from the start.”

“Why do you have Excel on your tablet?”

“I … I thought it might come in handy. It clearly did.”

“You’ve colour coded each of our friends. Is this why you asked me when my lease ended when I woke up in the middle of the night?”

“Well, yes.” You pause, you’re never usually like this. Organisation is something you aspire to, with shining new diaries and planners each year that are always forgotten by February. You thought being a parent would help, but it turns out that Clara has just ended up fitting into your chaos, simultaneously draining any residual energy you might have had for planning. Your nerves have worked overtime this holiday though and the spreadsheet, well it seemed like a good idea at midnight.

“I - I think it’s great,” Frankie says carefully, “but did you sleep at all?”

“It really didn’t take that long.”

“There are formulas in there. Hey, are those formulas the magic ones that change?”

“Conditional formulas and formatting? Yes?”

“Fuck, if Will saw this …”

“He’d be annoyed there’s no pivot table.”

“I’m going to pretend I know what a pivot table is. Okay, okay, so walk me through the plan.”

“We’ll start with the gantt chart.”

“Right, so purely out of curiosity, how many charts are there in this thing?”

You pause and think for a moment. “Less than five.”

“Fuck me.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Well, listen to my presentation and then we’ll see.”

“At least you agree it’s a presentation.”

Lia wraps her arms around you tightly when you walk into the suite she’s getting ready in. She’s wrapped in a fluffy robe and she looks both radiant and nervous.

“How are you feeling, babe?”

“I’m good, I’m ready. I just - what if my dress suddenly doesn’t fit?”

“It will, and if it doesn’t, we’ll adapt.”

“Right.”

“We’ve got you.”

Lia takes a glug of her drink and smiles. “I’m getting married.”

“Yes, you are.”

“Okay, okay. This is going to be great.”

You can’t help but look over at Sophia before you say, “It is. It’s going to be perfect.”

Minutes turn quickly into hours. There’s all too much preparation, music playing, the smell of perfume and hairspray permeating the room. You focus on Lia, on her day, on helping it be as perfect as possible.

You don’t speak to Sophia, not even when she tries to catch your eye. She overstepped, and you can understand her pain, her own difficult memories coming to the forefront in this setting, but surely you can be petty just a little longer. Surely you can harmlessly sink into the hurt for just a little longer.

It does hurt. Not because of Sophia’s words, not just because of that.

It’s the way it’s made you feel since then. It’s the reason you spent the night formulating a business case of all things to justify Frankie and you reuniting. You want to prove her wrong, you want to show her she’s wrong, but it’s not out of spite. It’s out of that desperate, clawing need for her buy-in, for her approval. It’s fucked up.

It should just be you, Frankie and Clare, you know that. You shouldn’t feel this urge to turn everything up to 110% to prove Sophia wrong. You do though.

You’ll be the best bridesmaid today.

You’ll be the very best friend today.

You’ll bottle it all up, because you need her to know she was wrong, to come to your side instead. You’ll prove to her that you and Frankie can get it right this time

Sophia will eat her words.

It’s shifted slightly into something about her in your head now, not Lia, not even Frankie. You care too much and hate it. You’re furious with yourself for caring what she thinks, for not just being your own person.

Frankie crosses your mind in a welcome distraction from your spiral. A moment with him earlier, in your hotel room, you watched him laugh softly as he helped Clara with her shoes, his eyes full of love and when he met your gaze you noticed the way he shook his head, looking down and his shoulders moving with silent laughter once more. When he looked up, he looked right at you and it wasn’t that it reminded you of how things were before, of those heady days of new love. it was something different. Changed because of how you both have changed, but there was love, there was something real behind his expression. A promise of something in the future. Of a chance.

You’re ready for that chance too.

You take a sip of your drink, smiling at Lia as she delicately eyes her dress.

You’re not thinking about wedding. You’re thinking about what comes next.

The beach looks perfect. The sky is cloudless, radiating a comforting warmth that envelops you as you watch Lia and Benny exchanging vows.

She looks stunning. Her dress is covered in delicate embroidered flowers, in a way that’s not too fussy, that just fits her. It’s her smile though - incandescent with happiness, face glowing with a love that matches Benny’s gaze to her.

You could spend hours ruminating on the tragedy of you and Frankie falling apart. The pain it caused everyone, including yourself. For months, you wrapped yourself in the hurt, wore it like spiked armour, and rued the day you’d fallen for him. Despite all that, Benny and Lia found something, carving some hope and joy out of a time when you and Frankie couldn’t even look at one another.

Last night you were thinking about what it all meant if you fell back together with Frankie and now you realise it. It gave Benny and Lia something. It gave you and Frankie room to remould yourselves separately and know you two still have something.

It’s not about the hate or the pain, or the wedding you wrecked along the way.

It’s about love. Raw and painful but full of hope.

Frankie’s dressed in a crisp shirt, the top few buttons unbuttoned which makes you stifle a giggle when you realise. Is that man allergic to a fully buttoned shirt? He catches your eye for just a second and winks.

You feel your cheeks heat and you fixate on the bouquet you’re holding instead, on being a good bridesmaid.

Clara is next to you, holding her own mini bouquet and looking so excited to be here. She tugs no the edge of your dress, looking up at your expectantly as you shift yourself as subtly as you can so you can pick her up and let her wrap her arms around you.

The vows finish, the bride and groom kiss to cheers and everything just feels hopeful for a moment.

You notice Sophia wiping away a tear when she thinks no one is watching and as her words come back to the forefront of your mind, somehow they feel dampened.

Frankie walks over to you both.

“Hey Clara,” he says cheerfully, arms outstretched to take her.

“Daddy,” she cries happily, eagerly moving from one parent to the other.

Frankie doesn’t say anything to you. He doesn’t need to. His eyes are glowing with mischief, with the secrets between the two of you, with hope.

“It was lovely, wasn’t it?” you say idly.

“Yeah, it was,” he says softly, squeezing Clara for a second. “It really was.”

“Want to get down now,” Clara says.

Frankie laughs as he gently helps her down and the two of you watch her run through the sand toward where Santi and one of Lia’s cousins are talking.

People are starting to move away now, the hum of chatter growing quieter as people walk towards where the lunch will be served and reception held.

You both watch the ocean for just a moment, listening to the rhythmic ebb and flow of the waves reaching the shore and retreating.

Frankie slips his fingers into yours, entwining your fingers together. You lean fractionally, enough to feel the heat of his body, drink in the scent of his cologne. It’s different paired with the hotel shower gel, but it’s still Frankie.

“We should head back with the others,” he says softly, squeezing your hand slightly.

“Okay, just - just one more minute like this.”

Clara has been spending the meal running between you and Frankie, even though her chair is next to you. Frankie’s sat on Benny’s side of the table, while you’re closer to Lia and next to her cousin, another bridesmaid, who has been so bubbly and kind to you throughout the day. You can’t help but notice how carefully planned and choreographed this has all been - the consideration, and risk avoidance, of yours and Frankie’s separation is an unspoken theme in the wedding arrangements.

Lia’s cousin is nice though - what is her name? It’s something floral you’re sure. She has an infectious energy and you feel only slightly terrible that you’re glad you’re next to her and not Sofia. From the way she keeps glancing at Santi though , you have a feeling that both of them have specific plans for the evening. Good for both of them, you think.

Clara bounds over, almost tripping on her dress as she makes her way to you. You scoop her onto your lap, letting her hug you.

“Okay, I need to eat now,” she says confidently, letting you place her in her chair and immediately reaching for leftover bread.

“You two seem to really have it sorted,” she says.

“Oh yeah?”

“If I didn’t know, I’d have thought …” she trails off.

“So you and Santi, huh”

“What?” Her voice goes up an entire octave which makes you stifle a laugh.

“Santi’s a good guy.”

“I mean, I’m not looking for anything … that’s sounds terrible, doesn’t it?”

You shake your head. “Neither is he, so go for it. For what it’s worth, he’s been looking your way?”

“Really?”

You nod.

“Wow. Well, that’s uh, good to know. So, do you fly back tomorrow?”

“Sadly. I wish I could just stay.”

“Do you have far to fly?”

“Wisconsin.”

“That is um, very different to here.”

“I know, right? It’s been so good to have some sun and all of this around me. I think I’m designed for the warm.”

“You’d love Florida then.”

“I know Lia loves it there, but it’s funny because when she was little, we always talked about moving to New York and for her to have moved to Florida instead, and to be so happy, I guess it’s just funny how things work out.”

“Tell me about it,” you say, thinking for a second of your own journey. Of the job you’re never sure if you love, but you enjoy the freedoms it gives you. You think of the man you thought would be forever and then never, only to fall back together again. You think about the life you’ve built yourself which feels so different to the one you thought you’d have.

You wouldn’t change it though.

Not here. Not right now.

The sky is streaked with pink and yellow hues reflecting the warmth of the day and making everything feel softer. There’s still enough heat for you to kick off your heels and luxuriate in the last rays of the day.

The dancing has started early. Lia and Benny had picked a song that worked for them for their first dance. So often first dances feel too saccharine for you, your least favourite part of a wedding - you joke it’s trauma from a deluge of Ed Sheeran or too practiced harmonies. Instead, this was them to a tee: joyful, fun, alive.

You watch as Clara dances with Santi, her tiny hands reaching up and pure glee on her face. She loves dancing - you won’t be able to get her off the floor until it’s time to drop her off with the sitter.

Sophia sits next to her, placing her glass down and looking at you with a mixture of wariness and worry.

“I want to clear the air,” she says after a moment. “I was - I meant well but I didn’t think, I didn’t think about it might hurt you. I think this wedding has bought up a lot for me.”

“It’s understandable,” you say gently. “And I appreciate the gesture now.”

Sophia sighs. “I really can’t watch you both fall apart again.” She twists her hands together. “It was scary, it was so awful to watch.”

For a moment the presentation you prepared, the spreadsheets of scenario analysis and careful planning come to your mind. You’re ready to defend yourself this time though. To prove to Sophia you and Frankie are right together.

She made you cry, you have to prove her wrong.

Why? A voice in your head asks. Why does her opinion matter so much?

“I don’t think we will,” you say, looking out at the sea, “Not this time. And don’t worry, I wont bother you if we do.”

Sophia whispers your name, taken aback by your matter of fact tone.

“We’re still friends, Sophia, but too much has happened between us, right?” Some wounds take longer to heal, perhaps one day it will feel more like it used to, but after last night it became clear that neither of you have truly healed from her wedding and she seems to have only just realised that herself.

You’re trying though. You have to try.

You can’t choose a life of bitterness, you can only move forward and get lost in hope instead.

“No, I -” There’s abject horror on Sophia’s face as she meets your gaze. “We -”

“I’m right. I understand why you resent what happened at your wedding, but the blame equally lies on Frankie and it was one short moment in a beautiful day. Such a beautiful day. Perhaps - perhaps it hurt everyone so much at the time because you’d couldn’t pretend he hadn’t relapsed anymore, that things weren’t normal. I don’t know. I don’t actually fucking care any more. It’s the past. I realised something watching Benny and Lia.”

“Oh yeah?”

“I don’t want to focus on the hurt anymore.”

“I don’t either,” she admits finally.

“Okay then.” You place your empty glass down. “I’m going to check on Clara. I think she’s tiring out her Tio Santi with her dance moves.”

The evening has set in now. Candles and warm lights illuminate paths and tables. You can hear the band still playing in the distance as you let Frankie guide you against the white washed wall and you melt into his kiss.

His hands cupping your jaw, moving down to your collarbone, your waist. His lips on yours, confident and enrapturing as you pull him tighter against you.

You can taste the sweetness of the soda he’s been drinking on his tongue, smell the hint of cigar smoke on his clothes - a tradition he assured you he decided not to partake in, not this time.

Your heart is racing, the sound of blood pumping in your ears. This is so right. So natural.

Your bodies, your minds, everything about you and Frankie feels right together, feels whole.

You don’t hear the footsteps, don’t hear the sound of anything but the moment.

“Holy fuck."

You hear that, immediately breaking apart. Frankie’s standing a little away from you, worry creasing his brow.

“Hi Benny,” he says casually.

“What are you doing here?”

Frankie looks at Benny and Lia, hand in hand and then at you. “Probably the same thing you wanted to.”

“What about - oh my god, oh wow, it’s - wow!” Lia says, noticing that Frankie is with you, that you’re loitering in the shadows, gaze transfixed to the floor.

“I’m so sorry. I didn’t want to ruin your wedding,” you say quickly. Not another one. Not again.

You feel Frankie’s arm around your waist, gentle motions of his hand to calm you, to bring you back and ground you.

“Why do you think you’re ruining my wedding?” Lia asks, her hands on her hip.

You stumble on your words, stuttering out nonsensical syllables and stop, mouth agape and feeling lost. “Why wouldn’t I be ruining your wedding?” you ask in a small voice.

Frankie mutters under his breath, you think you catch a couple of curse words but you’re not show.

“Oh sweetie,” Lia says, moving towards you, disentangling you from Frankie and bringing you into a gentle embrace. “You’re not ruining my wedding. God, I’ve been thinking this’ll happen all week - I just had a sense you two weren’t over yet.”

“You did?”

“Benny and I have a bet on it. I win.”

“A bet?” Frankie asks, raising his eyes at Benny who holds his hands up.

“Yeah, thanks for that one, guys. Seriously, Lia and I just both picked up there was some unresolved - stuff between you two.”

“You don’t think it’s a mistake, that we’re … a storm or in a vacation bubble?” you ask nervously.

You notice how Frankie closes his eyes just for a second at your question, how the worry radiates for just a moment.

“I think we’re all in a vacation bubble, right?” Benny says. “We’re in a wedding bubble too, but it’s all -” ”Bubbles,” Lia interjects.

“it doesn’t mean it’s not real though. Doesn’t mean you two can’t work at home again. I mean, you’re going to take things slow right?”

“Right. We have a plan.”

Frankie laughs. “There’s a spreadsheet, with formulas and a pant chart.”

“Gantt chart,” you correct automatically.

“It’s terrifying actually.”

“That is … something,” Benny says with a low whistle.

“So you have a plan and you’re taking it slow and you’re happy. That’s good, that’s great. Can you just give me today for me to be a little selfish,” she adds lightly. “Please?”

“Absolutely,” you say. “Trust me, I don’t want any more attention at this wedding.”

Lia laughs, pulls you in tighter for a second and whispers, “When we get back from honeymoon, I want to hear everything.”

The airport is crowded. This time, your flight wasn’t the one that was delayed however it’s unfortunately landed at the same time as another delayed flight and the baggage hall is heaving. Throngs of people, desperate to get home or start their own vacation swarm the hall.

Santi, Will and Sophia’s cases have already arrived. You watch as they awkwardly shift, waiting for yours and Frankie’s luggage to arrive so the group of you can start your goodbyes.

The flight was such a different experience to the journey out.

“Do you need to share our uber?” Santi asks Frankie.

“Nope, we travelled together with Clara. Split the car parking.”

“Very practical. Your idea?” Santi asks you.

“Nope, that was all Frankie.”

He shrugs, a fake modest smirk growing on his face. “Do you guys want to head on then?”

“Probably.” Santi smiles at you both. “back to reality, huh?”

It doesn’t feel with you dread though. Not at this moment.

“it had to happen sometime,” you say placidly, noticing that Clara’s now tugging at your leg. You lift her up, let her wrap her arms around Santi for a moment.

“Bye tio Santi,” she says.

“Bye sweetheart.” Santi says with a soft smile. “Good to see you too.”

You grin. “Yeah, it was. Actually, things worked pretty well.”

He looks at Frankie and then you knowingly. “I bet.” He raises his eyebrows, making no comment or judgement but his eyes are alight with mischief, with something close to happiness for you both.

You feel steadier with each moment like this.

Santi waves as he joins Sophia and Will, who you’d already exchanged goodbyes with, and the three of them head out.

You watch the suitcases whir around the conveyor belt. “Our luggage is coming, right?”

“Absolutely. It’s going to be the last bags though, pretty sure of that."

“Just our luck.”

Frankie smirks, gently moving a twisted strap around your handbag before whispering, “If Clara couldn’t see, I’d be kissing you now.”

“Oof, don’t make promises you can’t keep,” you tease, before pointing at a familiar case. “Frankie, it’s finally here."

You watch Frankie grab your suitcase as Clara rests her head on your shoulder.

“Home soon?” she asks.

“Absolutely.”

“Okay."

There are so many conversations for you and Frankie, so many hurdles to overcome. You don’t need to worry about those now though.

You’re noticing the way Frankie’s eyes seem brighter than before, the way his smile is so broad as he joins you again.

His hand is right next to yours and your fingers brush against each other. You take his hand, letting him entwine fingers with you as Clara rests on your other side

Maybe this week wasn’t such a bad idea after all?

“Let me drive you both home,” he says gently.

“Only if you stay tonight,” you say.

“Is that in the spreadsheet?”

“Would you let that go? I just meant, it is late and the roads can be dangerous and as far as Clara knows, you can sleep on the sofa. Or in the bath.”

He shakes his head at the memory of the debate on the first night of the vacation. “Well, that does sounds enticing, doesn’t it? It seems like it would be irresponsible for me not to stay.”

“Exactly.”

“Okay, don’t want be setting a bad example for this munchkin, do we? Let’s head home then.”

Home, that sounds like a good idea right now.

Tag List

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[yournowheregirl]

wip wednesday weekend

i got tagged by the lovely @seths-rogens thank you sm friend! 💖

again, very much in a writing / hyperfixation rut BUT!! i decided to post blurbs from previous wips, in the hopes that it'll light the writing spark yet again.

so please enjoy quite a long blurb from an unfinished steddie fic based on that one scene in mamma mia where sam proposes to donna at sophie's wedding.

Eddie realizes then and there that he might never get an opportunity like this again. Well, he might but not another opportunity that has this level of show-stopping drama and Eddie lives for some drama in his life. 

And so, Eddie does what he does best and steps on top of the nearest chair, drawing the attention of the most chaotic wedding party he’s ever seen.

“Hang on!”

All the eyes in the room are on him in a split second and while he usually basks in all the attention, he also feel strangely nervous. But it’s now or never, everyone is already staring at him like he grew a second head, so he might as well continue. 

“Why waste a good wedding, huh?” Eddie grins as his eyes roam around the room before finally landing on Steve again. “How about it, Harrington?” 

The wedding guests once more erupt into hushed whispers of shock but Eddie can’t even hear them anymore. His sole focus is Steve, who looks at him like he’s certifiably insane. And maybe he is, maybe it is insane to propose to your ex from seven years ago during your friends’ canceled wedding, but Eddie’s just gonna take a chance. He’s not gonna run away, not this time.

“What?” 

Okay, not the answer Eddie was hoping for but he gets it. Maybe Steve needs a little more convincing. 

“Aw, c’mon. You gonna need someone to boss around in that newly empty apartment of yours and it might as well be me.” Eddie hops off the chair, his head cocked to the side and doing his best impression of Bambi to sell Steve on the idea. “What do you say?”

“Are you crazy?” Steve splutters, hands on his hips. His brows are furrowed and his lips are pursed in that famous Harrington scowl that Eddie knows and loves. 

“For you? Yes.” 

“You have a girlfriend!” Steve exclaims - which is quickly followed by grandma Wheeler’s 'oh dear'.

This makes Eddie frown because he very much doesn’t have a girlfriend, hasn’t had one in months not since- “Who? Donna? Nah, we broke up ages ago.”

“But- but- we live in totally different states.”

“I can pack up my things and move to Boston, no problem.” Eddie counters. “What else you got, because as you know, I can go on for hours.”

Steve apparently takes that as a challenge because that panicked look on his face melts away and is replaced by a cocky smirk and raised eyebrows. “What if I’m already dating someone?”

“Last thing I heard from Dustin you were dating that god-awful guy named Brad and considering that he isn’t anywhere to be found-” Eddie dramatically gestures around the room. “I figure that you did the right thing and dumped his ass.”

“You wouldn’t want to get married without Wayne here.” Steve counters, crossing his arms in front of his chest and God, Eddie had forgotten how hot Steve looks when he's up for a challenge.

“We’ll just have a second wedding. Periwinkle isn’t really my color either, but I’ll make an exception for you, sweetheart.” Eddie winks.

tagging (with zero pressure!!) some old friends and some new ones: @cheatghost @sidekick-hero @frankenstein-ate-my-left-shoe @spectrum-spectre @stevebabey @steddieas-shegoes & @steddielations big (consensual) kisses for you all, mwah!! 💖💖

[chrkrose]

I mean I am all for girls sticking together, especially against someone like Joe Jonas who I have side-eye since forever, but if that means fawning over Taylor Swift I guess I'll pass. Especially when she did something very very similar to someone with waaaaay less power than she has in the industry. She has much more in common with Joe Jonas than with Sophie Turner. Obviously, the situations vary in terms of Sophie being a woman (so misogyny adds an awful layer to what she's going through, which Joe Alwyn doesn't have to face) and the mother of Joe's kids, which makes Joe Jonas' actions even worse, but how is it that people are forgetting how Taylor went on her own "smear campaign" against Joe Alwyn just because he dared to break up with her and /or not be willing to marry her? She painted the guy as if he was insecure and jealous of her success, implied he was holding her back, went on pap walks to drive the point home that he was keeping her "hidden" and preventing her from being her own self, made all of her friends unfollow him on social media, all of this knowing exactly how that would look like, and how that would weaponize her fans against him. The dude can't do as much as take a subway without his name going trending on Twitter with her insane fan base calling him all kinds of names. There were fans even wishing for him to kill himself, and the tweet had tons of likes. Never mind the fact she made a point of dating a racist misogynistic right after and weaponized that relationship too (because you can't tell me part of her motivation to state in public she had been the happiest she has ever been, to have the guy in all of her concerts singing along her songs when she built the narrative that Joe was unsupportive of her success wasn't a way of getting back at him). And according to her own lyrics, Joe Alwyn has a history of dealing with mental health issues, like anxiety and depression. And yet, Taylor did all of that to the person she dated for six years. It wasn't a marriage with kids, but the relationship lasted longer than Joe Jonas and Sophie's marriage and almost the entirety of Joe Jonas and Sophie's relationship. I see no difference between Joe Jonas and Taylor Swift, she just gets away with being an awful person. And unfortunately for Joe Alwyn, people bought the narrative that Taylor sold out there about him. Luckily, Joe Jonas wasn't able to stick the "Sophie is a bad mother and unfit partner" narrative to her. I also can't help but think this outing is much more PR Taylor swift seeing an opportunity to come out as a “girl’s girl” than Taylor Swift reaching out to a friend. Afterall, where was this attitude when people were calling her out for dating a racist misogynistic? Hmm yeah, she can fuck off. I also am going to be super cynical here, and it's something I've noticed about her for ages now. To me, she feels a certain validation in other women's failed relationships. Especially with a woman who got something Taylor wished had had herself.

[thepastisalreadywritten]

Prince Edward has paid tribute to his wife, Sophie, as his ‘absolute rock’ as he discussed his family life with Alan Titchmarsh during an appearance on Love Your Weekend.

The episode, which is set to air on March 10, the Duke of Edinburgh’s 60th birthday, will see the Prince sit down with the presenter and open up about his wife, the Duchess of Edinburgh, and their two children, Lady Louise, 20, and James, Earl of Wessex, 16.

Speaking of how much Sophie means to him, the Duke called his wife ‘critical, absolutely critical.’

He continued:

‘She's been an absolutely brilliant rock and I'm incredibly lucky that I found Sophie and that she found me. Hopefully, we've been a really brilliant partnership.

We're very lucky, we’ve got two, of what we would think are particularly brilliant children, who are forging such different paths for themselves. I think that's also equally fascinating.’

Elsewhere he spoke about the significance of Mothering Sunday and described what the celebration means for his own family.

Prince Edward said, ‘Always and it's doubly so when you've got your own children - your own family is very important.’

‘Those days were [important growing up], and these days are really important to remember some very, very special people in our lives.

There should be several times in the year when we make a special sort of effort and Mothering Sunday was very much one of those where you made a special effort just to say ‘thank you.’

So it goes on and that's the lovely thing about it. That's the lovely thing about families and that's what it should be.’

During the discussion, Prince Edward also revealed the lasting memories his grandchildren have of the late Prince Philip, including teaching his daughter Lady Louise to drive a carriage.

It's a hobby, which was a passion of the late Duke’s, and has since been adopted as one of Lady Louise’s.

He said, ‘It was entirely off her own bat. I mean, you know, just one day, ‘Can I go out with you and go sit on the boxes?’

He was like, ‘Absolutely.’

'He never was going to say no! He took her out with the team and I think it was only the second time, he was driving along and he said, ‘Do you want to have a go?’ and she didn’t have time to even answer the question, he just handed the reins across.’

Elsewhere in the discussion, Prince Edward spoke about how much it meant to him to be bestowed the title of Duke of Edinburgh. He said:

‘It was a huge privilege but also quite a lot of weight of expectation as well. I mean, there's an awful lot of legacy that came with that title and everything that my father had done. Especially when you're not inheriting it, this is a choice… that comes with all the expectations that people have.

It's just the weirdest and strangest feeling. You walk into a room and, particularly still today, there are name places on a card and I still look around going ‘Yes, but where am I sitting?’

Explaining how he would describe his father Prince Philip, The Duke called him an ‘extraordinary mind’, adding:

‘He was the Prince Albert of our age. He had an extraordinary mind. He loved design, he loved innovation, he was brilliant with all sorts of people.

Sometimes it didn't necessarily come across that way, but he was actually brilliant with people. He was always, always encouraging everybody. You sort of needed to get to know him.’

The interview comes after Sophie gave her own touching tribute to Edward during a royal engagement earlier in March.

The Duchess gave a rare, gushing tribute to her husband, calling him ‘the best of fathers and the most loving of husbands.’

Prince Edward looked deeply emotional throughout the speech, putting his hands over his face, as Sophie spoke about their love, saying, ‘I am so proud of the man he is.’

[autisticoscarpiastri]

Some headcannons from this fanfic family

Shoutout to @maxlarens for letting me infodump these onto her

Layla’s favorite uncle/driver is definitely Lando. I feel like personality wise they’re very similar. Very charismatic. On the contrary, Luca’s favorite driver is his dad.

Both of the kids try karting, but Luca doesn’t like it so only Layla gets into F1

Reader doesn’t want the twins to carry the weight of the Verstappen name, and also she doesn’t want her kids named after J*s, so she gives Max the choice of either taking her last name, or they take Max’s mom’s last name. I feel like he would choose for the kids to have Sophie’s last name which once you told her after you gave birth, she definitely cried.

Luca quit karting at a pretty young age, so he has the pretty normal life of graduating from secondary school and going to college. He decides that he wants to become a lawyer (he got his mom’s good negotiation skills). He probably goes to some prestigious college in his mom’s home country and decides that he wants to become an immigration lawyer because he knows that he will never have to worry about money as long as he’s alive.

I see Luca being more reserved than his sister, very shy with strangers and this manifests as being quiet around strangers in his adulthood except in the courtroom where he can get very loud

Max definitely let’s Layla (future wdc) and Luca (boy) know that it’s okay to express your emotions and it’s okay to cry. As @maxlarens said healing his inner child through his children

But I think both Layla and Max understand that if Layla shows any emotion besides like anger, she will be torn apart by the media because

Misogyny

Layla definitely realizes her privilege over other women in motorsports being the daughter of THE Max Verstappen basically guaranteed her a seat when she was old enough

I feel like once he had a daughter in karting, Max becomes a big advocate for women in motorsports because he wants her to have the same opportunities that he had

Did I mention that Layla becomes the first female wdc? I think that really opens the door for women in motorsports

Layla definitely has a hot pink helmet which she helped a female artist create

I like to think that she takes Max’s number, so even if they don’t share a last name, they’re still connected

Layla is definitely pansexual. I feel like it just fits her

I feel like while Layla is quite charismatic, she does have moments where she channels her inner Max and gives the media some snarky remark

Fans go crazy over Layla and Luca because you have this gorgeous woman who’s a world class athlete, and then Luca is just some guy. Just a lawyer, not even a world famous lawyer who makes millions, just some everyday lawyer.

I definitely think Layla and Luca both have a good sense of style. They get it from their mother (and Uncle Lando) because god knows they aren’t learning from Max (reader is definitely Max’s personal stylist and fans rejoice over this)

Layla definitely leans more towards the fem side of the sapphic spectrum, but there are times when she is more butch. Especially when she’s in her fireproofs and stuff. She’s against wearing makeup while driving because she just finds it pointless and it takes up time that could be spent strategizing

[frizzle-mcshizzle]

people don’t realize how well Adoption is written in kotlc

normally in a story like kotlc sophie would be adopted by a nice elf family and would struggle with having a new family for one book tops. then it would be all happy and dandy and her birth family would never be mentioned again because she has her new elf family now and they don’t matter anymore, because they’re not elves.

Sophie lost the family she had her whole life, she chose for them to forget her existence, at twelve (12). and she was sent to live with grieving parents who where probably some of the only people in the lost cities who understand what it was like to lose someone.

Sophie was not only afraid that they would think she was trying to replace their dead daughter but was afraid of replacing for even forgetting her birth family. the Ruewen’s where afraid of getting attached to a another child because what if they lost her too, but they tried to give it a chance because they knew Sophie was hurting.

yes the Ruewens compared Sophie to Jolie and saw her when they looked at Sophie. because of course they did, grieving parents are going to see the child they lost in everything. especially in a little girl who looks so much like the daughter they lost that even she noticed it. it doesn't make them bad parents, it makes them realistic grieving parents.

and when they canceled Sophie’s adoption after she put her life in danger, around fire no less, it made sense. but so did sophie’s reaction, because she had thought these where the people who where going to care for her now, and instead they where sending her away because they where afraid.

The Ruewen’s didn’t realize how much they cared about her until they almost lost her, until they had to go through another planting, until they had to watch her almost fade away, that’s when they realized they loved her.

Keeper ends with Sophie’s adoption, and not only did she get to choose who adopted her but she got to keep her last name, she got to keep apart of her human life her birth family, and still be a Ruewen. that is something that is so important because not a lot of adopted kids get to keep parts of their birth names, it’s kinda uncommon and i love that it was added into Sophie’s adoption. it’s not just forgotten either, it’s brought up multiple times later in the series that she wants to keep her human last name.

but the thing is, they didn’t start acting like a family that had been together their whole lives by the next book, it’s not until Everblaze that they really act like a family. which is so realistic, you don’t start loving someone like your family because paper was signed it takes time to grow that attached to someone if you haven’t had them in your family your whole life.

and her birth family is never forgotten, it’s never considered less of her family now that she has the Ruewen’s, the Ruewen’s are not her human family’s replacement, they’re more people who love her, and that’s how it should be in her situation.

not only that but Sophie is still curious who her bio parents are, not because she doesn’t love the Ruewen’s or her brith family, but because she wants to know where she came from and who she’s related too. which is realistic, it’s something every adopted child does if they don’t remember their bio family.

the only books that i’ve read with adoption written this well, where books that focused on adoption like that was the entire plot, but kotlc has it in the background and it’s so important (and even then a lot of those SUCK). it’s so rare to have a realistic adoption story that that’s just a subplot, and i will never get over the fact that it’s in kotlc

and that’s just Sophie and the Ruewen’s, i haven’t even talked about Tiergan yet.

[sergeantbuckybarnes]

forget me not // george weasley

Summary: Your parents aren’t very pleased when they find out you are dating George Weasley, so they decide to take the matter into their own hands.

Pairing: George Weasley x Reader

Word count: 4.1k

Warnings: angst

A/N: As always, remember English is not my first language. Also, thanks to @allyjoe755​ for proofreading this!

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You knew people were judgmental, which is why you and your boyfriend decided to keep your relationship private. George came from a modest household where clothes were passed down from one brother to the next, whereas you came from an affluent family.

You knew George's interest in you had nothing to do with your family's wealth; he constantly demonstrated his affection for you and had previously said he didn't care what people thought if they saw you going around the school hand in hand. You weren't interested in school gossip, but the news spread quickly, and you were trying to keep George out of the picture for your parents.

The fact that you were placed in Gryffindor rather than Slytherin already caused them disappointment and embarrassment. Your father made sure to let you know in a letter during your first year at Hogwarts when he got the news of how you tarnished the family name. Coming from a long line of Slytherins, you had wrecked the family lineage. Another factor was the way they spoke about the Weasleys; whether you were at home for the holidays or the summer, it was impossible to avoid snide remarks about the family.

You loved George, and the last thing you wanted was to see him hurt, especially not because of your family.

However, luck was not on your side. Everything came crashing down over Christmas break, even after you had successfully kept your relationship a secret for almost a year. George insisted on writing you letters, wanting to stay in touch with you throughout the holidays since he knew you couldn't come to the Burrow. You were hesitant at first, and you were about to turn down his offer, but the moment you made eye contact with him, you caved.

There’s no way you could say no to him. This man had you whipped, and you weren’t ashamed to admit it.

While you thought you were sneaky, your parents were astute enough to notice that you weren't writing to any of your friends. They were thrilled to learn you had a boyfriend, expecting him to be Draco Malfoy or another Slytherin with a well-known family name.

It's unnecessary to mention how disappointed they were when they got their hands on George's letter before you.

You being sorted into Gryffindor? That's alright; they can deal with it. After all, it was a situation over which they had no control.

You dating a Weasley? They were having none of it. And it was something they could correct.

Your friend gave you a side nudge in an effort to catch your attention. It was the first day back at Hogwarts after the holidays, and dinnertime in the Great Hall.

“George Weasley is staring at you,” your friend said quietly as if she was sharing a secret with you.

You shifted your gaze to where hers was fixed. There was no doubt that one of the Weasley twins was staring at you. Quite obnoxious, actually. He smiled and waved his hand slightly when your eyes met. You frowned at the ginger boy’s strange behavior before returning your attention to your friend.

“What's wrong with him?”

“Maybe he fancies you,” Sophie pondered.

You laughed. “As if I would ever stoop so low.”

“Oh c’mon, Y/N, you have to admit he’s pretty handsome.”

You wrinkled your nose and cast a short peek at the younger twin before returning to Sophie. "So you’d date him then?"

“I would, but it’s not me he fancies.”

Sophie didn’t bring the subject back up again for the rest of the meal, which you appreciated. Although, that didn't stop the strange feeling that had taken over you since you met George Weasley's piercing brown eyes.

As you made your way to the common room, you heard a voice calling your name from the other end of the hallway and noticed a tall redhead figure approaching you.

“Yeah?”

“What happened? You stopped responding to my letters. Did your parents find out about us?” You looked at him, perplexed. He was babbling things that you couldn't understand.

He seemed to notice your perplexed expression and inquired, “What's wrong?” He reached out his hand to your face, and you backed away, causing the boy in front of you to appear hurt.

“I thought we agreed on stopping hiding after we got back?” He asked sadly, “At least that’s what you said that was what you wanted in the last letter you sent me,” he said sadly. “Have you changed your mind?”

You took a look at the boy in front of you. You weren't particularly close to Fred and George Weasley, thus it was difficult for you to tell the twins apart. Your first guess was that you were talking to George because, according to Sophie, he was the one who was staring at you earlier during supper.

“George, right?” You spoke for the first time since he approached you. Your words caused a puzzled expression on his face, although you couldn’t understand why. “Look, I'm not sure what you think there is between us or what might happen, but I'm not interested, alright? So I'd really appreciate it if you could stop staring at me so brazenly because it makes me feel rather uneasy.”

“What?” His voice sounded tense and on the verge of breaking. His pained expression made your stomach churn, giving you a queasy feeling.

“You're just not my type—but I'll tell you what, my friend Sophie thinks you're cute, and I think you two would be great together.”

You'd never had many admirers, and you barely drew the attention of any guy, so you'd never had to turn anyone down. It didn't bother you because it meant you wouldn't have to deal with confrontation and break their hearts like you were doing with George right now.

“What are you talking about, Y/N?” You were certain that you saw a tear rolling down his face, but it was gone as soon as you saw it. “You can’t be serious.”

“I’m sorry, I’m not trying to be mean. I'm just telling it like it is.”

Fred wasn't having any of it. He'd been sitting on his side of the room for the past two and a half hours, just watching his brother mope. George had been acting this way since your conversation. Now, don't get him wrong, Fred loved you; you weren't just his brother's girlfriend to him, you were one of his best mates, but he wasn't going to sit back and watch you rip the inner light from his brother.

“Y/N,” the elder twin called your name, making you turn around. When you saw the redhead, you rolled your eyes.

“Again?” you sighed. “I thought I made myself pretty clear earlier.”

Your response made the ginger boy frown. You'd always been brilliant at telling the twins apart, never mixing them up, not even when they tried to play tricks on you and confuse you, so you mistaking him for George now was pretty odd.

“I’m Fred.”

“Well, Fred,” you said, emphasizing his name, "what do you want?"

“Look, I don’t know what happened between you and George, but –”

“Nothing happened between me and your brother. Honestly, what’s the matter with you guys? I’ve already told him I’m not interested in him.”

“Well, if you wanted to break up with him, you could have done it a little ni–”

“Break up?” you inquired, bemused. “We never dated in the first place.” You were emphatic. This entire situation was starting to irritate you.

“Y/N, you and George have been dating for nearly a year; what are you on about?” Fred wasn’t sure if you were trying to mess with him or not, but the words you were saying made no sense to him.

“What are you on about? Until today, I had never spoken to your brother. What's the matter with you people?” You walked away from the twin, shaking your head. He had a dumbfounded look on his face that quickly turned horrifying when he realized what was going on.

“Come again?”

George needed to know if he had heard his brother properly. Fred arrived hurriedly, spewing incomprehensible words that his brain was still trying to process.

“I think someone has erased Y/N’s memories of you,” he explained again, this time more calmly, but still trying to catch his breath after the sprint from the corridor where he'd been talking to you to his dorm.

“You mean they cast the obliviate charm on her?” George frowned, confused. “Why would anyone do that?”

It’s true that George was desperate for an explanation of your recent rejection that he would take anything, but he felt like his brother was just messing with him.

“I don’t know, mate. But it would explain everything. I mean, I was talking to her, and as far as she knows, she has never dated you,” Fred explained. “And she looked genuinely confused.”

“And who would do such a terrible thing to her?” George inquired, still skeptical of his brother's theory.

The only person who knew about your relationship was Fred. One night, George told you that you could tell Sophie if you wanted to; considering she was your best friend, he assumed you would confide in her with the secret, knowing she wouldn’t blab. However, you refused. “The fewer people who know, the better,” you said. You were very cautious, always sneaking off and never being affectionate in public. It drove George nuts at times, to see you around the castle, knowing he couldn’t hold your hand or walk you to class.

The Yule Ball was one of his worst nights—and one of yours, too. You knew from the start that you couldn't go together and felt horrible since you felt like you were the problem, depriving George of a normal relationship. You didn't want to spoil his night, so you assured him he could ask anybody he wanted and that you wouldn't be mad—you felt like you didn't have the right to. But your boyfriend refused. "It's you or no one," he said. George's devotion to you warmed your heart, and you occasionally wondered why he chose you.

“Who cares who did it?” Even if his theory lacked support, Fred knew he was correct. “Why don’t we focus on undoing it?”

“Because we don’t know if someone cast the spell on her in the first place,” George said defensively, and his brother couldn't figure out why.

“I know,” he stated. “Stop seeing flaws in everything.”

“I’m not –” To calm himself, the younger twin took a long breath. “I’m being realistic here, Fred. What you're saying makes no sense.”

“You are just mad that I’m the one who realized what’s wrong,” Fred attacked.

Fred's words were meant to bruise his brother's ego, but George stood impassive. “She just came to her senses and realized she can do much better. It was bound to happen sooner or later.”

That was all he said before exiting the room.

One of the most common causes of failure is the habit of quitting when one is overtaken by temporary defeat. And Fred Weasley wasn’t a quitter. Success requires hard work and perseverance.

George might have given up, but he wasn't going to. He wasn't going to fail you. There was someone out there who had tampered with your memory, removing his brother from every single one of your memories. And Fred would not allow that crime to go unpunished.

The problem was that he had no notion where to begin. It wasn't that Fred wasn't intelligent. He was, in fact, incredibly intelligent, but that intelligence was mainly directed toward developing products for his and George's future joke shop and devising creative pranks that would land him in detention for months. So he didn't know how to break the obliviate charm.

He did, however, know someone.

“Someone erased Y/N’s memory?” “Y/N Y/L/N was dating George?” Hermione and Ron both asked questions at the same time, with the same tone of astonishment in their voices, but whereas Hermione’s voice was tinged with concern, Ron’s was filled with skepticism.

Ignoring his little brother's question, Fred put all his attention on the young witch. “Do you know how to break it?”

Hermione closed the book she was reading and placed it on the coffee table in front of her. She pursed her lips and tried to think of the best way to deliver to the redhead the news.

“It’s not that simple,” she exhaled after a long pause.

Fred’s face fell, “What do you mean?”

“It is well known that the obliviate charm can be broken through torture, but—”

“We are not torturing her!” Fred interrupted her. His face and words were both filled with horror. He couldn't believe Hermione would even think of using the Cruciatus curse on you.

“We aren’t,” Hermione said as a matter of fact. “We could damage her body and mind beyond repair.”

“So?” The redhead demanded sharply. He wanted the solution, not to be riddled with impossibilities.

“That’s the thing, Fred. Torture was the only method of complete recovery, and it has severe side-effects.”

“Is there no counter-charm?” Ron inquired, clearly interested in the subject.

Hermione shook her head.

“What about the memory potion?” Proposed the younger Weasley.

“That’s to improve someone’s memory, to boost their mental cognition,” Hermione explained.

Both Weasleys looked helplessly at her. She sighed and proceeded to explain further. “It helps you to recall things, not things you forgot, but things you’re learning. That's why Professor Snape won't let us drink it during our exams”

“But that might work, right?” Fred inquired, hopefully.

Ron squinted his eyes at his brother. “Why are you the one here and not George?”

“What?”

“You appear to be quite enthusiastic about the whole affair. Why are you so concerned?”

“Are you trying to imply something, ickle Ronniekins?” Despite the use of the nickname Fred’s voice lacked amusement.

Ron simply shrugged.  

“Memory potion is not meant for that and it’s unlikely to work,” Hermione intervened, trying to diffuse the tension between the brothers.

“So her memories are gone forever?”

“They could always return on their own if something triggered them?” Hermione offered, but her voice sounded unsure. “I’m sorry, Fred.”

“Are you absolutely certain you don't want to come?” Sophie inquired, for what felt like the hundredth time. You gave her the same answer you had given her the previous time she asked.

It was Hogsmeade trip weekend, and your friend insisted on you coming with her, but you weren’t feeling it.

You’d been feeling strange all week. A sense of.... emptiness had crept over your mind and body, and you couldn't place its source. And you weren't about to give up the comfort and coziness of your bed anytime soon.

“May I borrow the silk kerchief you wore for Hilda’s birthday party last year?” She pleaded with you with her eyes, and she managed to crack a chuckle out of you. You knew how much she adored that article of clothing that you were considering gifting to her at this point.

“It’s in the bottom drawer.”

She jumped a little in enthusiasm. “Thank you! You are the best.”

“Y/N?” You turned to look at your companion because of her perplexed tone of voice. “What’s this?” She inquired, holding a heart-shaped pendant in her palms. Your brow furrowed at the sight of the piece of jewelry you hadn't seen before.

“Where was that?”

“It was in your drawer,” your friend explained as she handed it to you.

You carefully examined the piece of jewelry in your hands. You'd never seen anything so lovely before. You brushed your fingertips over the flower shapes on the cover, and a chill ran through your entire body.

When you turned it over, you could read an inscription engraved in cursive. ‘Today, Tomorrow & Always.’

Your confusion reached a new level when you opened the pendant and found a picture of yourself and George Weasley on the inside.

The moving image depicted a memory that you were unable to recall. You watch inquisitively as the woman in the image—a carbon copy of yourself— looks adoringly at the young man and proceeds to kiss his cheek, to which the boy replied with a wider grin.

“Is that you with Weasley?”

You were so preoccupied with the couple in the image that you missed your friend's words. You couldn't take your gaze away from it, relishing the curiously pleasant sensation it gave you.

Warmth.

Familiarity.

Comfort.

Safety.

It was strange how many emotions an image you'd never seen before could elicit.

“Y/N?” Sophie inquired, a little more concerned this time.

You closed the pendant and fastened it in your palm, got out of bed determined, and still in your pajamas, you headed to the dorm door.

“Where are you going?”

“I have to do something.”

When you left your room, you were unsure where you were heading. But, without knowing how or why, your feet led you to the Astronomy Tower.

You'd been there before, in fact, countless times. You liked the tranquility it provided you, resting your arms on the railing and gazing at the stars at midnight. Now, in the winter and in the daytime, you could appreciate everything covered in snow. It was a beautiful view.

You could tell you weren't alone when you reached the top of the stairs.

“Hi,” you said softly, making your presence known. The boy tensed at the sound of your voice, but he didn't make the effort to turn around and face you. He kept leaning on the railing, watching the wintry landscape.

It didn’t stop you from speaking again. “Haven’t you gone to Hogsmeade?”

Again, you were met with silence.

You cast a quick glance at the pendant in your hand before returning your focus to the redhead, who was still staring toward the horizon.

Trying not to be hurt by his indifference, you tried again. “George.” It was the first time you pronounced his name, and it appeared to register with him because he turned back to finally meet your gaze. “What’s this?” You finally asked, holding out the pendant in your hand for him to see it. You needed answers, and he was the only person who could provide them.

“I gave that to you for our six-month anniversary.” His voice didn't quiver, but the pain in his words was clear. “As a promise that we would always be together.”

“I– I don’t understand,” you stammered, “I don’t –”

George remembered your chat the first day following the Christmas holiday, as well as his conversation with Fred a few days before, and taking in your confused expression, he began to think that maybe his brother wasn't so wrong after all.

“You really don’t remember?” His voice was low, and he moved a few steps closer to you, yet leaving a large space in front of you because he didn't want to cross your limits.

“I don’t know what I’m supposed to remember, or what I forgot in the first place,” you muttered helplessly. In the face of the situation's powerlessness, you can notice tears welling up in your eyes. “What is going on with me?”

“Y/N, I–”

“I haven’t felt like myself since I got back; I feel like I’m broken and –”

“You are not broken, Y/N.”

“What’s this?” You shook violently the pendant in your hand, “And why does it have a picture of us together?” Angry tears streamed down your cheeks, wetting your cheeks and blurring your eyesight, but you didn't care. “And why can't I remember?”

The redhead stared at you helplessly. His own eyes threatened to spill the tears that were welling up in them. It hurt George to see you like this and not know how to help you, and it hurt, even more, to know that he had spent the previous weeks believing you had moved on from him and that pretending you didn't know him was your way of getting him out of your life.

When actually you had been hurting all along. Your memories of him had been blocked. Erased. It hurt him to think about the possibility of those areas of your brain being sealed permanently, and it hurt him; like he was being burned alive.  

“I think someone cast the obliviate charm on you to make you forget about me,” George felt so dumb saying this theory out loud. A theory he didn’t even believe a few weeks ago.

“W–What?”

“When Fred mentioned it, I didn't believe it, but that's the only explanation.”

“Why would someone do that?”

“I’m not sure, Y/N/N. I–”

You halted him. “What did you just call me?”

“Sorry, force of habit.”

The boy looked down at you with a grin. He had made it his mission to distract you while you were studying.

A strand of your hair cascaded down your face, and he hastily tucked it behind your ear. It was a straightforward act. One he'd made a thousand times before, yet it still made you blush.

“Aw, are you blushing?” he teased.

“No, I’m not.”

“Does Y/N/N have a crush on me?”

He was the only one who called you that, not that you'd let anyone else. But you had grown on the nickname coming out of his mouth. You ignored his antics and proceeded with your study, but he reached in and softly took your hand in his.

“Admit it, you like me a lot.”

You raised your head from your task and returned his grin. “You're so sure of that, huh?”

He hummed in response.

“I don’t know, I think I like Fred more; he is, after all, the more good-looking twin.”

He exclaimed in mock offense. “You hurt me, love.”

You laughed at his antics. “You’re an idiot.”

“But I’m your idiot.”

You rolled your eyes at the corny statement but smiled at him anyway.

You closed your eyes and cried out, and a sharp agony shook your brain. You grasped your head in an attempt to numb the pain.

“What’s wrong?” George rushed to your side, his voice worried. He checked you over and over again, looking for any signs of injury.

You take a few deep breaths in and out, trying to relax. You open your eyes to greet George's anxious brown ones when you feel the pain has subsided.

“I– I think I remember something.” It was meant to be a statement, but it came across as more of a question. “I’m not sure, I’m so confused.”

George softly grabbed your shoulder, attempting not to disturb or alter you further. "How about we go to the common room so you can sit?"

It was just now that he realized you were just wearing your pajamas and the temperature at the tower was really low.

You just nodded and let him lead the way.

“Are you alright?” He asked once in the safety of the Gryffindor common room. Because the rest of the school was on their weekly trip to Hogsmeade, you were the only ones there. Under other circumstances, George wouldn’t have missed the trip, this being one of the highlights of his week, but after everything that had happened between the two of you and despite Fred's persistence, he decided not to go.

“I don’t know what happened.”

“You said you remember something.” George knew better than this. He wasn’t a great student, but he had his share of knowledge and he knew if you really had been obliviated, you weren’t going to get your memories back just like that. But he couldn’t help but feel hopeful, and this was shown in both his face and his voice.

“I think so?” You weren’t sure you were able to explain what was what you just experienced. “It came in like a flash when you called me that.”

“Y/N/N?”

You nodded.

“What was it that you remember?”

“We were in the library,” you explained. “You were annoying me, not letting me do my homework.”

George cracked a faint smile. “Yeah, that sounds like me.”

Silence fell in the room. It wasn't uncomfortable, but it wasn't pleasant either. You couldn't think of anything more to say, and George was frightened of saying the wrong thing and pushing you away. Things had moved towards something positive between you in the last few hours and he didn't want to spoil it.

He had accepted the fact that you didn’t remember anything that had happened between the two of you, but you seemed somewhat receptive, and if you let him, he would narrate everything that had transpired between the two of you, down to the smallest detail. And, if he's lucky, you might fall in love with him again.

[justenjoythegossip]

WILL ALBA’S IMMATURITY, RACISM AND ALLEGED INFIDELITY BE USED TO EXPLAIN THE SPLIT?

Regardless of where people find themselves on the spectrum, I am pretty sure they would agree on the fact that Chris and Abba are not endgame. Far from it. The question is not whether they will break up or not. It’s definitely not a question of if. It’s a question of when. It’s a question of how. I already wrote a post about whether or not Chris’ fans will be held responsible for the ending of the shitshow. And given what we’ve witnessed coming from certain blogs last night, it still seems like a very valid and likely option. 

The very questionable medium article…

I will not discuss the credibility of this publication for the simple reason that until yesterday, I had never heard of it in the first place. And I suspect I am not the only one. So I would argue that this fact alone is telling in itself. 

But one has to wonder whether a fan/troll wrote this piece. Or, whether this was written by someone from Chris’ team passing for a possessive fan to hint at a potential break-up. But even if that was true, people shouldn’t expect a divorce announcement so soon. They could be breadcrumbing for a while, like they have been doing since the beginning of this “relationship”. And why wouldn’t they drag this for as long as they can? We know Chris and Abba are both desperate attention seekers and I am pretty sure they will want to continue with the charade for as long as it can benefit them. However this article is more than questionable. And for many reasons. 

Why it doesn’t pass the test of credibility from a PR standpoint…

This article is completely over the top and extreme in the picture it depicts. Chris is seen as this poor innocent victim and Abba as this super uber arch-villain. Given the optics of this relationship (he looks like her old uncle) and the power dynamics at play (he is a powerful Hollywood star and she is a no-name actress from a small country), I don’t need to say that the picture they are selling in that article is a PR nightmare in the making. The caricature is not only absolutely grotesque, but it also reeks of misogyny. 

If people don’t follow other celebrities, I’d like to mention the case of Joe Jonas and Sophie Turner, which happened fairly recently. He and his team tried to hurt her by doing a very insidious and over-the-top smearing campaign against her but it backfired on him big time. What is interesting is that Sophie Turner did make a lot of strategic appearances with her bestie Taylor but she never lowered herself to play those ugly tactics. She chose to remain silent which hurt Joe even more because again you can’t fight against someone who doesn’t want to fight back, it makes you look like a bully. Obviously Abba is no Sophie, she doesn’t have her career, her popularity or her large fandom but you get the point.

And what also makes this article totally implausible is this: ”Despite his past struggles in the realm of romance, Chris remains optimistic about finding his true soulmate and starting a family.” First of all, no one would ever say that publicly after getting divorced even if the marriage only lasted 5 months and was non-legally binding. It’s a time to regroup, to collect yourself and to reflect. Also it makes him look like an unstable neurotic mess. 

But what this article provoked was quite interesting…

An all-out war between the seemingly psychotic Team PR & Team Real blogs

Majorscammer and her band of goonish cultists completely lost it last night (interesting sidenote: the tone and rhetoric used by all these mods is now completely identical). They were always unhinged, mean, arrogant, and insulting (“bitchy” according to Majorscammer herself) but it got even more insane last night as they patted themselves on the back for having been right all along despite having lied about pretty much everything for quite a long time. They even called their counterparts from Team Real out by names and attacked them violently. Of course, Team Real blogs responded and posted an article on Medium, saying Chris and Abba were still together and proving that people could post anything on that website. They also proved they looked just as insecure and irrational as their counterparts Team PR blogs. If it wasn’t pure show (and it clearly is), we should recommend them to commit themselves to a mental institution.

But as we have witnessed since the beginning, those Team PR and Team Real blogs were always meant to fight. It was always about feeding the discourse, keeping people engaged, riling them up to distract them from the actual truth. And with yesterday’s show, those teams tried to keep the passion going as I think fans are getting tired of the obvious BS. It’s getting so repetitive, there are not so many twists and turns and let’s be honest Chris and Abba are not the most fascinating protagonists.

What main purpose did that questionable article likely serve? 

The answer to that question seems pretty straightforward. All we have to do is to read the last sentence of that article, which is in bold characters in case we missed the point:

“Chris will attend the Emerald City Comic Con in Seattle on Friday, March 1 and Saturday, March 2.”

Look at what has been fed to the fandom recently:

A sight of Chris’ doppelganger with no ring

Abba skiing with her friends without the ring

Chris posting Dodger in MA for Valentine

Chris posting pictures of himself in LA without his wife (she recently said in an interview that this is where she lives) from a month ago

All of these are hints and breadcrumbs that Chris and Abba might be splitting up. Maybe they are. Maybe they aren’t. But the point is all eyes will be riveted on Chris as he speaks at the Con in Seattle. I should mention that this conference will be a live-broadcast on YouTube. How convenient, isn't it?

Will he wear the ring? Will he not wear the ring? We have seen that movie before, haven’t we? Yes, I believe we have! 

[lemissingmask]

[ID: Sketch in partial colour of Redemption era Parker and Eliot sitting side by side in the courtyard of their New Orleans base, in similar relative positions to when they had a heart to heart at the end of the hurricane job. Parker and her background are in colour, and she’s looking sadly down, hunched forward slightly. Eliot is in greyscale and wearing prison clothes, looking sad and serious. End ID] -

Day 29: alt. Prison

AU for The Turkish Prisoner Job, where Eliot gets stuck in the prison, and also the first part of the three-parter of ficlets, with the others on days 8 (dissociation, part 3) and 15 (experimentation, part 2). I know it’s backwards but that’s the way the days worked out 😅

Ficlet below the cut.

-

“Do exactly what they say,” were the last words they heard from Eliot for days, and they hadn’t even been addressed to the team.  He had been speaking to Romero, just as he was about to get released on a day pass by their marks, and then he was gone.  Taken away by prison guards under orders that overruled the detectives.

The confusion and surprise didn’t last more than a few seconds.

Sophie stepped in, had Breanna mute Eliot’s comm for all but her, and talked their client through how to proceed, keeping him calm and collected as he had to keep going now without a hitter for back-up.

The job had taken another turn, requiring a change of plan, new considerations, and they needed all of them involved to pull it off successfully, which meant it was two days before they had a chance to get back to Eliot.  If had been any member of the team other than Eliot, Parker would have been worried.

But it was Eliot and a stint in prison out of contact with his crew was nothing to him.

Regardless, she felt something unpleasant and annoying and she didn’t understand it.

“Babe, you okay?” Hardison asked, his image large in the screens as their long distance call connected.

Breanna had emailed him as soon as they lost contact with Eliot, just in case there was something he could do with his amazing exosphere hacking access. But the prison ran a closed network, no access from the outside even from the exosphere.

“It just feels wrong.”

Hardison frowned, “Eliot being in jail?”

“I don’t know. Yes. Maybe…”

For over ten years Parker had barely gone a day without one or both of Hardison and Eliot either right there beside her or talking in her ear. Now Hardison was gone, only reachable through a complicated video link thing or emails that took too long and were too impersonal, and Eliot’s voice was no longer there either.

“Babe?”

Parker realised she had let her mind wander and looked back to the screen.

She couldn’t place what she was feeling.

She was angry. Angry at Eliot for not just breaking out, angry at Harry for running the job so Eliot ended up in prison, angry with Sophie for letting Harry run the job, and angry with herself because it wasn’t Harry’s fault or Sophie’s fault.

This happened.  They did a dangerous job, especially Eliot, and this sort of thing could happen, and no one was to blame.

And she was anxious.  Worried about Eliot, which was stupid because it was Eliot Spencer and he was always fine.

“Parker? Talk to me.”

She looked up.

Hardison looked worried, sad.

She smiled slightly, feeling that rising warmth that came whenever he looked at her with so much emotion. The reminder that she wasn’t alone.

“I don’t like not having him here,” she said quietly.  She wanted Hardison to understand.

“I know,” he replied, “I’m sorry I’m not there right now.”

She nodded, “Well, you’ve got satellite stuff to do.”

That earned her only a sad smile, and she looked down at the keyboard.

“Harry going into the prison tomorrow?” Hardison asked, “Playing the lawyer.”

“Yeah. We can’t do anything until we know more.”

“I’ll keep trying to dig up intel from my end too. Got an algorithm running right now to cross-reference each of his aliases and his real name against email communications between government agencies, prison networks, rich folk…anyone who might want to lock him up.”

“That’s a long list. We’ve made a lot of enemies.”

And Eliot had a lot more still from before Leverage.

“Yeah. It’s gonna take a while,” Hardison replied, “So, wanna watch something together tonight?  I can stream from any country in the world and share the screen.”

“Sharknado?”

Hardison sighed, “We got access to pretty much any film that exists on the internet, and you wanna watch Sharknado.  Again.”

She grinned, “We can watch Sharknado II after.”

Sighing again, but smiling properly this time, he got to work finding the films, and they began their movie night.

-

Harry’s visit to the prison had three purposes.  The first, to see if there was a quick route to getting Eliot released.  The second, if that failed, to find out what had happened and why Eliot had been detained.  The third, to get an earbud back to Eliot.

This required what was, essentially, a pointless and entirely fabricated lawyer-client conversation between Eliot and Harry, which Parker mostly ignored in favour of watching Breanna attempt to find a way into the prison security system now they were parked close to the building in the food truck.

The culmination of this conversation was that no, it was not going to be quick and easy to get Eliot released because he reportedly had committed severe infractions within the prison, as observed by the guards.  Eliot had been moved to solitary because of these supposed dangerous acts, which were false but backed up by multiple guards.  He hinted that he had some idea of why, but the conversation was recorded and monitored, with two guards in the room at the time, so he couldn’t say more.

But the third task was successful.

About half an hour after Harry returned, and while they were still outside the prison, Eliot’s comm came online.

“Welcome back,” Sophie said, seeing the feed on the laptop screen appear.

“Thanks,” Eliot whispered, suggesting he suspected someone may be listening, “Romero okay?”

“Okay and rolling in it,” Breanna replied proudly.

“Job’s wrapped up, everything sorted, so now we just need to get you out,” Parker added, “Any idea what got you locked in there?”

“Think so,” he replied, “Sorta.  Pretty sure I’ve been ID’d.”

That was no surprise.  It was among the theories they had discussed.

“Who by?” Harry asked, “It has to be someone high up for them to get you moved to solitary and multiple guards confirming a false story to keep you there.”

“Dunno, but I heard someone talkin’ outside my cell.  Think they were on the phone, an’ they told whoever they were talkin’ to that they had me - said my name, not the alias’s - locked down.  My guess is they’re gonna transfer me at some point.”

“Weakest part of any transit is when the goods are being loaded into the vehicle,” Parker repeated information she had heard from Eliot years before, “That’s where we rescue you.”

Breanna shifted her screen to bring up several views of roads, “Look, I didn’t manage to get into the prison cameras, but I could get into some CCTV on the roads leading to the prison.  A prisoner transport is gonna require an armoured car, right?  And it’s gotta go down one of those roads.”

“We’ll be ready for it too, now,” Sophie added, “You can tell us when the transfer is taking place.  We’ll get everything prepared to attack the car, and when you give us the signal, we’ll move.”

Considering the number of times they’d waylaid and broken into armoured vehicles in the past, setting up the plan for dealing with this one - and contingencies in case of an escort, alternative routes, timings being off, and so on - didn’t take more than a few hours.  And, with the plan established and it already nearing midnight, they all went to bed.

All except Parker.

She tried sitting at the bar and then the desk and then on the stage, and finally wandered out to the courtyard to sit on the picnic table there. It felt very empty to be sitting on that table without Eliot next to her. But then most places she was used to sitting tended to have their hitter there too.

She felt stupid. Ridiculous. Eliot had been away from them undercover or kidnapped or on some side-hustle job loads of times and she never felt this unhappy about it. Hardison had been away loads too, working on those hacker things only he could do, and she felt sad but not like this. Not this icky, distracting, fuzzy feeling in her brain like something was really really wrong.

She pulled her earbud from her pocket and put it in her ear.

“Hey, Eliot?  You asleep?”

“Yeah.”

“I’m going to listen to that podcast with all the facts. Wanna listen with me? We’re like six episodes behind.”

Eliot didn’t reply immediately. She heard a quiet background noise. His footsteps on a hard floor.

Then he spoke quietly, not answering the question.

“You doin’ alright, Parker?”

She tried to laugh properly but it didn’t work.  It didn’t sound like a laugh, even though she was meant to be good at grifting by now.

“I’m not the one sitting alone in a dark lonely cold prison cell.”

She could hear the smile in Eliot’s voice. The gentle, soft smile.

“I’ve been in a lot of prisons, Parker.  This one’s among the nicest,” he paused, and in it she could picture his expression perfectly. It was the kind, understanding, expression few people ever got to see.

The thought of it, so clear in her mind, finally made her understand what felt so wrong.

She was lonely.

She hadn’t been lonely in a very long time and now it hurt so much more than before.

“It’s just,” she began, looking down at her shoes on the bench, “First Hardison left. And now so have you.”

“Parker,” Eliot said softly, “I didn’t leave. I’m right here, an’ I’m always gonna be. Hardison might be a stupid number of miles away, but he’s right there with you too.”

“With us.”

“With us,” he accepted her correction without hesitating, “We’re not, either of us, ever gonna leave you. An’ I know right now it feels lonely, but you’re not alone. We’re here, Sophie’s there. Harry an’ Breanna are there. Hell, if you wanna call up Hurley I bet he’d answer any time of the day or night an’ probably make you talk to his damn cat.”

Parker laughed despite herself. She liked Hurley’s cat. Eliot didn’t, so the cat always sat on Eliot when they visited, purring contentedly while he growled at it to go annoy someone else, and trying to pretend there wasn’t a fond smile just on the verge of forming on his face.

Eliot left a long pause for his words to sink in, and for Parker to find the truth within them. When he spoke again it was in a more normal tone, saving her from falling too deep into emotions she couldn’t name.

“So,” Eliot said, “About that podcast. ‘Cus solitary’s pretty damn boring.”

Parker found herself smiling.

She already had it up on her phone, the first in their episode backlog ready to go.

“You hear it?”

The familiar theme tune started as she pressed play.

“I hear it,” Eliot replied, then added softly, just as the voices of the podcasters began, “Thanks, Park.”

She nodded although he couldn’t see, smiled, and settled in to spend the night happily with Eliot, even if there were miles and walls of concrete between them.

Parker went to sleep, still listening to that podcast with Eliot in her ear.

When she woke up, Eliot was gone.

His comms were off, and no amount of yelling into her earbud would get a response.

Harry went back into the prison, playing the part of his alias's lawyer again, but he was told that alias wasn't in the prison system. Never had been in the prison at all, according to the records. Hours of intense hacking from outside the walls and from the exosphere found that alias wiped entirely from the prison records, and Eliot's name was nowhere to be found either.

During the night, while his crew slept, Eliot had been made to disappear.

-

[brf-rumortrackinganon]

I’m sure this would have been mentioned but could they have changed their last name to Sussex so that when Meghan divorces Harry she has the Sussex surname instead of Markle so she keeps the Royal connection?

No. Meghan's surname has legally been Sussex since May 19, 2018.

It's the children who haven't been able to use 'Sussex' as a surname. The "we finally have the same last name" comment is meant to cause outrage in people who don't know what has really been happening or how titles and styles work. It's a 'fuck you' to Charles.

Meghan still gets to keep the title after a divorce. Under the divorce protocols, Meghan becomes Meghan, Duchess of Sussex instead of Meghan, The Duchess of Sussex, as she has been known since Megxit*. Meghan, Duchess of Sussex becomes her title for life unless she remarries and takes her new husband's name; however, that is only an assumption. Neither Diana nor Sarah have remarried so we don't actually know where the palace actually stands on this.

*Meghan's full official title is Her Royal Highness The Duchess of Sussex but use of the HRH went into abeyance per the terms of the Sandringham Summit/Megxit. The HRHs still belong to her and Harry, they just can't use them. This is why they're fighting so hard for half in/half out - being "in" (even if only part time) lets them use their HRHs again.

Keep reading for how the Sussex title conversation got to where it is today...

A disclaimer first - I'm not an expert by any means on titles. My knowledge on titles comes from the royal books I've read and it is totally possible I may be wrong on any of this.

When Harry was getting married, Queen Elizabeth gave him a new title, The Duke of Sussex, as a wedding gift. This is an important distinction to make - the title was given to Harry only, not to Harry and Meghan. (I see a lot of newer fans/royal watchers making this mistake.) When Meghan married Harry and became his wife, she took The Duchess of Sussex as her new married name (with Duchess being the female equivalent of Duke). Meghan is also able to use Harry's HRH in this way too; she only has HRH because it's Harry's and she assumed it as part of his Duke of Sussex surname.

Royal family protocol is that if you have a title - whether it's your own or courtesy of your husband or father - then that title becomes your surname. Hence Kate calling herself Mrs. Cambridge and George being registered for school as George Cambridge. If you don't have a title, then you use the family's surname, Mountbatten-Windsor.

Princess Anne was the first person to use Mountbatten-Windsor in an official capacity when she signed the marriage register with Mark Phillips. Lady Louise (Edward and Sophie's daughter) is the first person to actually be known with Mountbatten-Windsor as her surname; her actual name is Lady Louise Mountbatten-Windsor. And also William used Mountbatten-Windsor as his surname when he sued over Kate's topless photos, which suggests that the titled members of the family may use Mountbatten-Windsor in a personal capacity.

Because Harry and Meghan declined titles for their children, Archie and Lili's surname at birth were Mountbatten-Windsor. So the family was The Duke and Duchess of Sussex, Master Archie Mountbatten-Windsor, and Miss Lilibet Mountbatten-Windsor. Even if Harry and Meghan had allowed their children to use their titles from birth, they still all would've had different surnames: The Duke and Duchess of Sussex, the Earl of Dumbarton, and Lady Lilibet Mountbatten-Windsor.

But now that Archie and Lili are grandchildren of the monarchy and eligible to use HRH Prince/Princess honorifics (per the 1917 letters patent), Harry and Meghan have changed their minds on allowing Archie and Lili to use titles. So now Archie and Lili can use their own titles (technically Harry's title) and now everyone finally has the same surname under family protocol of using Dad's title as their surname - all four of them are now legally HRH ____ of Sussex, even though the HRHs are in abeyance.

This is where the 'eff you' to Charles comes in: if the BRF had just done a new letters patent for Harry and Meghan's kids when she was pregnant with Archie (as they did for William and Kate) then all of this would have been avoided in the first place. So in Harry and Meghan's eyes, it's the BRF's fault they're weren't a 'real' family until just now when they all began using the Sussex surname.

Other than remarrying after a divorce or Harry's death, the only way Meghan loses Sussex is if the title is removed from Harry - voluntarily, by Parliament, or by Charles. If Harry doesn't have the title, then Meghan can't use the title and neither can the children. If this were to happen, then Harry becomes The Prince Harry ('The' signifying he is the son of the reigning monarch), Meghan becomes The Princess Harry, and I'm not sure what Archie and Lili get.

In this case, I can see Harry and Meghan legally changing their family's surname from Mountbatten-Windsor to Sussex so the family can continue being Sussex without Harry having the title but I can't see anyone taking it away at this point, even if Parliament did change the laws. What's probably more likely is a letters patent from Charles that converts the Sussex title from "Harry and the heirs male of his body lawfully begotten" to just Harry and only for his lifetime (as Charles awarded Edward the Duke of Edinburgh title).

[trekscribbles]

Backslide Chapter 2

Fandom: Leverage

Cross-Posted: AO3 and FF

Summary:

They stopped Damien Moreau. They put him in jail in San Lorenzo where he'd never be able to hurt anyone else, and Eliot thought he was finally, finally free.

And then Moreau escaped.

And he has one last job for Eliot: to kill his team and anyone else he's gotten close to since leaving.

Chapter 1

He started with Quinn.

A text first, to ensure Quinn would pick up the phone when Eliot called.

Need a favor.

You still owe me from the last one, came the immediate reply.

Eliot dialed. The phone rang once, and then Quinn’s voice drawled in his ear. “Am I allowed to shoot people this time?”

“Yes,” Eliot said. 

A long pause. 

“Okay. I’m listening.”

Eliot cleared his throat. “What do you know about Damien Moreau?”

“Haven’t heard much about him lately.”

“You know I used to work for him?”

Quinn’s voice was carefully bland. “I did my research when Sterling hired me to take you out. His name came up with yours.”

“You know his reputation?” Eliot asked.

“I do.”

One more breath, one more moment of peace, and then—

“He offered me a job.”

Silence. Waiting. Eliot answered its invitation.

“It’s my team.”

“What do you need?” Quinn asked.

“He gave me three days,” Eliot said. “How soon can you get here?”

“Tonight.”

Eliot let out a relieved breath. “If things go as planned, this’ll be a nice vacation for you. If not... if I can’t get to Moreau before the deadline...”

“I’m the last line of defense?”

Eliot’s throat went dry. It sounded so much worse out loud.

“What does Nate think?” Quinn asked.

“He doesn’t know.”

“You sure that’s a good idea? He seemed to have a pretty good head for things like this.”

“He’ll tell the others,” Eliot said. “They won’t understand. They’ll try to stop me.”

“Maybe that’s a good thing.”

Eliot tried to swallow, tried not to choke on his words. His voice came out raw, but even. “This is my job. Protecting them, taking care of threats. It’s my fault Moreau is after them, and I can’t... We tried it Nate’s way. We put him in jail, and he got out. He’ll keep getting out. If I don’t stop him now, my team dies. This is the only way.”

“I could go,” Quinn offered, and an unexpected surge of warmth mixed with the fear welling in Eliot’s chest. “You may have gone straight, but I still do things the easy way. If you hesitate at the wrong moment, it could go sideways fast.”

“I won’t hesitate,” Eliot said.

His voice was dark enough to end the discussion.

After that, there wasn’t much to prepare. He didn’t travel with luggage, and he didn’t need to bring his own weapons—he’d get what he needed once he found Moreau.

Then it was just the goodbyes.

He left them in his apartment, which had started to feel less like a home and more like a place he kept supplies between jobs. For Hardison, the collection of recipes and meal-and-beer pairings he’d been creating for the brewpub, typed into an email scheduled to send in four days. For Parker, a list of his bank accounts and passwords, enclosed in a small, folded note with her name on the front. For Nate, a summary of the best argument he could think of to convince Quinn to take his place on the team, and an inadequate line of thanks.

That left only one more. On a burner phone, he called a florist across town who advertised discreet deliveries. He gave them Sophie’s name for the card and dictated his final message via flower arrangement.

White bellflower. 

Gratitude.

White lily.

Farewell.

White butterfly weed.

Let me go.