#am I an official new englander

[imamastermind-nowurmine]

Not to brag but it’s 45 and I’m wearing flip flops outside. New England achievement unlocked

[maranello]

if you want to make F1 an exclusively British sport you should just say so instead of acting all like you’re a global sport when really the only thing global about what you do is the money you’re willing to take. in THAT regard I can truly see how international Formula 1 is willing to be

[dilemmaontwolegs]

Not A Verstappen: Away We Go {3}

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x fem!driver!reader x Lando Norris Summary: It’s winter break and silly season 2024/25 which means drama (and officially the end of the series). Warnings: 18+ only, nsfw, angst, fluff WC: 4.1k F1 Masterlist NAV: Sibling Rivalry || One || Two || Three NAV: Gridlocked || One || Two || Three || Four || Five || Six || Seven || Eight || Nine NAV: A New World || One || Two || Three || Four || Five || Six || Seven || Eight || Nine || Ten NAV: Lights Out || One || Two || Three || Four || Five || Six || 6.5 || Seven || SMAU || Eight || Nine NAV: Away We Go || One || Two || Three

With the final three races of the season a triple header you hadn’t been home in weeks. You had missed your own space and knowing where everything was unlike the hotel rooms you had spent almost a month living out of. What you hadn’t missed was the pile of mail to sort out. Three stacks were neatly comprised on the kitchen table: one each for Lando, Charles and you. A quick skim through them found most were the usual culprits - bills, fan mail and junk - but two stood out. 

A thick brown envelope had a return address for Oxfordshire, England and you tore it open with a squeal. “I got it!”

Your shouts had Lando and Charles dropping the suitcases in the bedroom and even Autumn looked up from where she was playing with her toys in the living room. “Guess who’s back on the grid, baby!”

Your feet were lifted off the floor as you were bear hugged from the front and back, kisses peppering your cheeks that ached from the wide smile. 

“Congratulations, love.”

“Knew you would do it, amour.”

You couldn’t keep still as you reread the welcome letter and the others picked through their mail. 

“Huh,” Lando huffed as he opened an envelope similar to one you also received. “That’s weird.”

“It’s not another pair of panties, is it?” you asked, the item making an unfortunately common appearance in their mail.

“No, it’s from the Vegas Chapel.”

You tore open your envelope too and skimmed over the letter that confirmed the marriage to Lando had been successfully submitted to the State of Nevada, and accepted. “Wait, that’s not right. Who submitted it?”

Charles rushed through his pile searching for the same envelope but there was nothing for him. His brows furrowed and he grabbed the two letters, holding them side by side to see for himself. “What about me?”

A lump formed in your throat and you curled your arms around him. “We’ll figure it out, baby, it’s got to be a mistake.”

It wasn’t a mistake. 

Well, it wasn’t a clerical mistake but the human kind, where the minister's assistant had missed the conversation about the marriage not being legal. She had submitted the paperwork with the rest of the chapel weddings and since yours and Lando’s document was on top it was processed first. The other two were rejected.

You were legally married to Lando, for better or for worse.

–

“We should get ready,” you murmured, not really feeling in the partying mood but Max had returned from the FIA awards and wanted to celebrate his championship win. 

In the week since getting the letter, things hadn’t been the same. Charles was withdrawn, Lando was full of remorse, and you were left trying to figure out a way to reunite your family. Even Autumn was picking up on the tension in the house and was fussier than usual. 

“You can tell Max I am sick,” Charles muttered from the couch he sank into, clutching a cushion to his chest so he could rest his chin on it. 

“You’re not sick.”

“I feel sick.”

“We all feel sick,” Lando added before curling a finger your way and you followed him down the hall to the office. He had spent most of the day locked in the room, talking with lawyers about the best option. It was too late to annul the marriage, he found, and neither of you really wanted to go through the paperwork for a divorce - but if it saved the relationship with Charles then that is what you would do. 

“Steph can draw up the documents,” he said after closing the door and dropping into his computer chair. “We just need to go through our assets and figure out whose is whose.”

“Even though we aren’t actually breaking up?”

“Yeah.” The one word held so much defeat and Lando scratched at his head before tugging the curly strands. “I fucked up, love, I should have just kept my mouth shut and none of this would have happened.” 

You followed his eyes to the picture frames that were still stacked in the corner of his desk. It would have been rubbing salt in the wound for Charles if they had been hung as planned in the bedroom. Taking a seat on Lando’s lap, you brushed his hair back into place and kissed the frown away from his forehead. 

“What if there is a way to show Charles that he is as much a part of this family, without a divorce?” The marriage so far had been kept quiet but a divorce would become public, something you would rather avoid given your seat signing hadn’t yet been announced. 

Lando perked up with hope and you took a deep breath. “How do you feel about changing your name?”

–

Winter break hadn’t got off to the best start but you were trying to remedy that with the two documents laid out on the kitchen table. 

“Charles, can you come here please?” 

Lando fidgeted with his necklace as footsteps padded down the hall. Charles had locked himself away in the gym and his grey shirt was damp with sweat as he looked between the two of you waiting for him.

“Family meeting, sit,” you ordered. You had taken Autumn over to Max’s so there would be no interruptions and she had enough bottles of milk to last the day if needed. “Christmas is coming and I am not having anything ruin this for Autumn’s sake.”

With less than a week to go, the house had nothing to show. There were no decorations hung and the Christmas tree was still in a box in the storage closet. You couldn’t even bear to think about going to the ski resort with everyone and having to put on a brave face. 

“We are going to fix this today,” Lando said with a serious tone.

Charles scoffed, clearly not believing him, but he dropped into the seat at the head of the table and looked down at the papers and pens. “What’s this then?”

“Your choice.” You pointed to the left, and a much thicker stack. “This one is for a divorce. Everything would hopefully go back to the way it was before, but since it will need to be filed in the US it will be publicly accessible. Nothing we can’t handle with a PR team statement, if that’s what you want.”

Charles fingers the pages but didn’t try to read them before turning his attention to the smaller document. “What’s this?”

“A promise,” Lando said, taking Charles hand and trying not to cry when it went limp in his. “You’re my husband, no matter what a stupid piece of paper says, and we are a family. I know how you are feeling, I remember when you two accidentally went public and I thought I was being left behind. But you didn’t, and I won’t ever either. I belong to you.”

“Me too,” you said, taking his other hand. “And we want to show that we are in this together until the very end by changing our last names to Leclerc, if you’ll have us?”

The question hung suspended in the apartment and the only sound came from the clock hanging in the kitchen. The seconds ticked by as Charles quietly contemplated the options in front of him. What he wanted wasn’t a possibility, no matter how hard he wished it was, but he knew he couldn’t continue the way he had been, keeping you both at an arm's length. He could see the bags under your eyes from the restless nights and hated the toll this had taken on everyone. 

Charles tried to remember those three short weeks of bliss, the intimate secret that only the three of you knew about, and he sighed as he realised he hadn’t kept his promise. Rising from the table he grabbed the thick stack of papers and walked away, the office door closing behind him.

“Well, shit,” Lando muttered. “I always imagined being married longer than Kim Kardashian.”

“I know, but it’s his choice and we have to respect that,” you agreed, hanging your head in your hands. “I suppose I should ring James and give him the heads up.”

You couldn’t muster up the energy to make the call though, you just sat there in silence with Lando. Twice he opened his mouth to say something but the words fell short and the minutes continued to abandon the day as if they wanted it to be over just as quickly.

Strange whirring sounds came from the office and Charles dipped across the hall to the storage closet, then into the bedroom before hard banging echoed through the house. Each bang sent a jolt down your spine and your eyes began to burn at the thought of Charles being so angry he had to break things. You looked and Lando and he looked at you, a little shake of head saying, ‘Leave him be’.

Finally, it all went silent and Charles sauntered his way back into the room and dumped an armful of paper shavings into the table along with a hammer. The mountain of shredded paper spread across the wood and some fell into your lap, the barely-legible name of the attorney spelled out on each strip.

“That was a stupid idea,” Charles muttered as he fell back into his chair and scrambled through the rubbish to find the application forms for official name changes. “You’re not getting a fucking divorce.”

“Uh, okay…” Lando said with a frown, his eyes darting to the hammer and then to the hall. “Should I ask what’s broken or are we just ignoring that?”

“I didn’t break anything,” Charles said, clicking the pens and holding one out to you and Lando. “I hung our marriage certificates up where they were meant to be. Now, are you serious about this?”

“Wouldn’t have offered otherwise,” you said as you took the pen. “Are you?”

“You’re mine, and the whole world is going to know it.”

–

Christmas Eve 2024

The long table was in a state of chaos as parents tried to wrangle the older children and the grandparents watched on with amusement, remembering the days when that was them. You shared a smile with your husbands and knew that next year you would be a part of that chaos but for now you were happy to watch on while Autumn played with a plastic spoon in her high chair.

It had become a tradition to open one present before the meal and a small box sat beside the glass of wine you were indulging in, a group present for the three of you. A larger box was just out of Autumn’s reach and Penelope’s was tempting the young girl with a Christmas cracker balanced on top.

“Who wants to go first?” Adam asked, a chorus of ‘me’s’ ringing out from all the kids old enough to understand.

You leaned in to whisper to Charles and Lando, slyly glancing along the line of adults. “$500 says Kelly’s pregnant.”

Lando looked at Max and Kelly who were busy chatting to Daniil and his eyes widened. “Holy shit, you might be right.”

Charles was just confused. “What is going on?”

You watched Kelly take another sip of her drink before Max refilled it, with water. “See, that is not a gin and tonic.”

“That doesn’t mean anything,” Charles laughed, shaking his head.

“And they invited Daniil.”

“Exactly, that would be more awkward, no?”

You huffed at fault in the logic until you snapped your fingers excitedly. “Except they want P here for the announcement and it was his year to have her for Christmas. Jesus, I am in the wrong line of work, I should be Sherlock.”

Charles picked up your glass and sniffed the wine. “I think it is you who needs water, amour.”

“Does that mean you are up for the bet?”

“I don’t need the money, but I will enjoy taking it from you,” he teased.

Adam quickly gave up trying to have any organisation and let the kids tear into their presents. Luka and Lio were the first to get through the wrapping paper and immediately wanted to play with the racecars. Mila squealed at the unicorn helmet she got to match the bike she had asked Santa for while Athena hadn’t even attempted to open hers as she was distracted by the cheese and cracker board. It was Penelope who sat in silence as she stared at the shirt she unwrapped.

“What is it, sweetheart?” Kelly asked with a knowing grin and you slapped Charles’ leg under the table.

P held up the shirt and started to bounce in her seat, a wide smile splitting her face. “I’m going to be a big sister!”

“I can also take the $500 in the form of sexual favours,” you whispered.

“Happily, but later,” he said before standing up and congratulating Max and Kelly.

“I’m surprised she could keep the secret,” Max said to Charles, his head nodding in your direction as you sank lower into the seat.

“Hmm, is that right?”

“She kind of figured it out a few days ago when she caught Kelly spooning marmite out of the jar with celery sticks. Cravings, mate, they are a strange fucking surprise.”

Charles laughed in agreement and clapped Max on the shoulder. “Speaking of surprises, we have one of our own too. Don’t worry, it’s not another baby this time.” He returned to his seat beside you and waited a few minutes for everyone to congratulate the two. Finally when the room calmed a bit he picked up his glass and tapped it with a spoon to get the adults attention. 

“I just wanted to thank everyone for being here and spending another Christmas with us,” Charles began, his finger tracing the lip of his glass he still held. “Every year the table keeps growing larger and, Max, you finally get to be the reason for an extra chair next year, so big thumbs up for taking that responsibility. My wife thanks you,” he chuckled along with Lando before reaching for the small box on the table, opening it to reveal the wedding bands you had chosen.

“You know, three years ago I would have never imagined being this happy without winning a championship, but I have learned that even if I do get to raise that trophy myself one day it is more important having loved ones to share the experience with.” Charles took the first of two identical rings. Your husband’s rings were relatively simple but it was all they needed - like the necklaces they wore, it was made of three bands woven together. “I can’t wait to experience it all with you,” he said as he slipped the ring on Lando’s finger before picking up yours. Similar to theirs, yours was woven with three bands but yours had a dazzling emerald and sapphire inset to represent them. “Every moment, good and bad, as long as it’s with you.”

You reached for his ring, the last one in the box and placed it on his finger with a smile.

“You’re meant to ask the question first, then give them the rings,” Lorenzo teased as Pascale nudged him to shush.

“That would be a proposal,” Lando laughed, curling an arm around Charles' waist and pulling you in too. “We are actually celebrating what comes next.”

“Wait, what?” Max gaped. “Marriage? You guys are married?”

“So, not quite, it’s, uh, actually a funny story,” you said with a grin. Now that everything had smoothed over you could finally laugh about the situation and the rest of the table found it equally amusing once they forgave you for not telling them. “I should probably update the FIA with my new name. How confusing is it going to be for Crofty to have three Leclerc’s on the grid?”

“Two,” Max corrected, but you just winked. His eyes widened and he stood up, walking around the table to grab your shoulders. “You got a seat?” You nodded and he squeezed the air out of your lungs with a tight hug. “I’m so proud of you, zusje.”

“Season hasn’t even started,” you reminded him. “There’s still a lot of work to be done but the testing looks promising for next year.”

“I know you’ll do great. It’ll be nice to have a little competition again,” he teased Lando and Charles, despite the final results being closer than they had been for a few years.

“The only competition we have to worry about is out on the slopes. I’m not pregnant this year so I will be out there at dawn ready to kick your ass, Verstappen.”

Max smirked at the challenge and raised his glass to tap yours. “You’re on, Leclerc.”

–

Epilogue

The same faces welcomed you back to the grid but the colours they wore had changed. Lewis was at Ferrari and Carlos was at Red Bull, but the most surprising change was Alex who had gone to Mercedes. Albon was meant to be your teammate but he had chosen not to renew his contract and rather than bring in a rookie to start from scratch they renewed Logan for his third year.

The American driver stared at the roof for the team meeting before the first race of the season and you tapped his cap. “You don’t need to worry,” you chuckled. “It’s just a boob.”

The man was born and bred a polite southern boy and still couldn’t bring himself to even look in your direction while you pumped the excess milk out. After finding out the hard way during testing, you knew you had to get at least a bottle out or there would be leaking in your racesuit before you passed the chequered flag. Starting in P6 there were high hopes that you would score some good points and you didn’t want to go to the media pit with two wet patches on your chest.

“I’m not worried, just giving you some privacy,” he said quietly.

“You’re good at that,” you said as you swapped the pump to the other breast. “I don’t think I properly thanked you for not telling anyone I was pregnant.”

He frowned and almost looked your way before turning his attention to the computer screen of data. “It wasn’t my place to say.”

“That doesn’t stop some people, so thank you.”

“No problem.”

“We are having dinner after the race, you’re welcome to join us if you want.”

“Isn’t it your family?”

The flow into the bottle had slowed to a drop so you turned the machine off and packed it away with the bottle, covering your chest back up at the same time. “We can have eye contact now,” you teased. “It’s a long way here, most of our family couldn’t make it so it’s really just a bunch of orphans congregating in our suite. You can bring your girlfriend too, or boyfriend - we don’t judge.”

“Definitely girlfriend,” he admitted before shyly scuffing his shoes on the concrete floor. “How did you know?”

“You’re very private, I figured you’re either in a quiet relationship or a serial killer. I’m really happy it wasn’t the latter.”

Logan loosened up with a laugh and began to relax as he joked, “Innocent until proven guilty.”

The rest of the briefing went quickly and strategies were made for the current weather readings. The mildly warm temperatures at the tail end of an Australian summer were promising from the data and you knew it would come down managing tyre degradation with all the right hand turns. Albert Park was a fun circuit but as Alex learned last season, one mistake and the race could be over in an instant.

“I’m just going to check on Autumn,” you said to James as you walked out of the garage after the driver parade.

The team principal checked his watch and gave a nod. “15 minutes.”

You knew those minutes would fly by so you jogged down the pit lane to Mercedes where Susie was watching over your daughter, when she could get her away from Toto. But it appeared you were the last one to arrive as Lando and Charles took turns having some last minute cuddles.

“I hope you have one left for me, my love,” you cooed as you stole her from Charles. “Mwah, mummy loves you.”

You handed her back and swung the bag off your shoulder. “There’s plenty of milk in here if she runs out, and some yoghurt too.

“Relax, mama, we will be fine,” Susie assured you. “Focus on the race.”

As if to remind you, the bell for the grid opening rang out and you knew it was time to head back. “Okay, focus,” you told yourself before kissing Autumn’s cheek again and inhaling her baby scent. “Love you.”

Lando tugged at your sleeve and you reluctantly let him pull you away or you wouldn’t have had the strength to. “Come on, love, time to go.”

“I know, it’s just…hard.”

“Always is,” Charles admitted, kissing your temple. “See you out there, Spitfire.”

—

Testing was nothing compared to the strain the race put on your body, but it was like riding a bicycle, once you got into the groove you couldn’t even feel it. Your sole focus was on the car ahead and the carbon fibre rear wing that belonged to Lando. Though the Williams didn’t have the down force to compete with a McLaren or Ferrari in the corners, it somehow had great straight line speed. That straight line speed mixed with a classic Ferrari strategy and a slow pit stop by Mercedes had you defending the third position you suddenly found yourself in. It would have been a different story if Carlos hadn’t’ve had a turn one incident with Lewis, but you would take all the luck you could get.

“Wow, what a welcome back,” Naomi cheered as you stepped onto the interview mat and you looked back at your car parked in the third spot.

“It doesn’t even feel like I left,” you admitted with a laugh.

Lando had already done his interview and stepped over to the barriers where Susie’s silver Mercedes uniform stood out in a sea of dark blue Williams mechanics, Autumn squirming to be put down when she spotted her daddy.

Naomi followed your eyes to your husband and she smiled. “But there have been a few changes since we were last standing here.”

“Some things never change though.” You jutted a thumb at your brother who was busy kissing Kelly and P who cheered with the rest of Red Bull for his win. “I was kind of hoping for a repeat of last year since Charles was right on my ass - I mean tail.”

“Three Leclerc’s on the podium would surely have been a historical moment and I apologise to our viewers for that little whoopsie.”

Not wanting to risk another swear word on live tv, the interview ended and you raced over to Lando and Autumn, enveloping them both in a hug. “Wish Charles was here,” you murmured to his chest.

“Me too,” he said, kissing your sweaty forehead. “Ready to go pop some champagne, baby?”

“Also-fucking-lutely.” You kissed Autumn and thanked Susie for watching her as you made your way to the cooldown room. “Remind me to pump and dump later because I am chugging that bottle.”

“You deserve it,” Max said as he entered the room and took Lando’s seat since he had stolen the middle one. “I had to double check you parked in the right spot.”

“Lando’s the one who does that,” you pointed out. “But honestly, it was like the stars aligned, I don’t know how it happened. I mean, testing was good, but everything just fell perfectly into place.”

Lando smiled proudly and took your hand, resting on his thigh while you watched the highlights on the tv.

As the Dutch anthem played you watched the crowd below the stage, your keen eyes finding Autumn on Toto’s shoulders where he stood with your principal and you were certain you saw him wince as she pulled his hair. Finally the last anthem finished and you grabbed the jeroboam bottle, giving it a swirl to really make it fizzy before bringing it down on the stage.

Bubbles tickled your skin as the fountain rained down and you turned it on Lando and Max before tipping it back and savouring the taste after almost a year without it. Floating on the high, you took a seat on the podium and watched the last of the confetti fall to the ground. Sensing the celebration was over, Max joined you, tapping his bottle to yours.

“Told them I’d come back and win in a Williams.”

“You didn’t win, zusje,” Max corrected, lifting the medal that hung around his neck for emphasis.

“Yet,” you grinned, taking another long drink before wiping the excess from your lips. “But it’s only round one.”

[qqueenofhades]

i do genuinely hesitate to ask, as i am sure i will find out more than i meant to in time, but atm my various feeds and an uninformed google are not telling me what most recently exploded about the british government, so if you have the time and the inclination i'm agog for your summary/take

HOO BOY. It has been a Things Exploding In the British Government day to the extent that in the hour-odd between my previous post and this one, I had to go back and check if anything ELSE had exploded while I wasn't looking. Everything that they are currently denying will probably be confirmed within the next 12 hours or less, though, so nobody get too comfortable.

Anyway, we all remember how Liz Truss succeeded Boris Johnson as Prime Minister, met the Queen, the Queen immediately fucking croaked which honestly was the funniest time she could possibly have done it, the country ground to a total halt for ten days, and then when it got going again, Truss and her chancellor (aka finance minister, for those of you happily ignorant of British politics), Kwasi Kwarteng, proposed a Thatcherite wet-dream economic plan of unfunded massive tax cuts for rich people, because something something Stimulate Growth. We are also generally aware that this crashed the pound through the floor, blew up people's mortgages and other mildly important bills, and did nothing to deal with the actual energy bills/cost of living crisis currently engulfing the UK. Oops.

After absolutely everybody, including the commie socialists at the Bank of England, screamed OH MY GOD WHAT ARE YOU MORONS DOING???, and the day after Kwarteng insisted he would absolutely remain in post and he had 100% confidence in the Plan, he... got sacked for creating this, the Plan that Truss had asked him to deliver and which had won her the Tory party members' election. This made him officially the second-shortest serving chancellor in UK history aside from the guy who literally died in office. Womp womp. That will be a pub quiz answer for you. You're welcome.

Having spent all this time hiding from the press, then giving eight-minute press conferences during which you could literally track the pound crashing in real time, and performing more U-turns than a dancing dashboard hood ornament, Liz Truss took a break from her busy schedule of conducting the Economic Disaster Waltz in the key of B Fucked to appoint Jeremy Hunt as the new chancellor. Jeremy Hunt is mostly notable for being a Tory who can put his pants on without assistance and being a genteel failure at all the previous cabinet posts he's held, which is why he is now regarded as a "safe pair of hands" in a party that has dissolved into a lot of shit-flinging coked-up gibbons who can only scream BREXIT BREXIT BREXIT and IMMIGRATION IS BAD!!! (Side note: they recently had to cancel a festival designed to "celebrate the freedoms of Brexit" due to logistics issues associated with, you guessed it, Brexit. That is not directly relevant to the current clusterfuck, but it is too funny not to include.)

To nobody's surprise, Jeremy Hunt then ripped up the entire economic plan and offered a new one, which was not measurably better than the last one but at least reversed some of the most egregious cuts, and which made everyone ask if Liz Truss had been tied up and duct-taped in the boot of a Range Rover and/or if Hunt had secretly staged a coup with the help of Larry the Downing Street Cat and taken over the government. Probably nobody in the Tory party would mind very much if he had, because they were all busy either planning how to oust Truss or publicly denying that they were indeed planning to oust Truss. One of the popular names for her successor? Boris Johnson! No, I am not making this up. Maybe this has all been a horrible dream and we're going to wake up and find that BoZo is back in charge, after massive public scandal for being a serial liar, which he had been from Day 1, finally made him resign. I repeat, what even the hell is going on here. Nobody knows. Meanwhile, Hunt is warning about even more budget austerity and "eye-watering" cuts to public services that can least afford it, because the last decade didn't result in quite enough preventable deaths for the Tories' tastes, and because they have been forced into this by a car crash completely of their own making.

....anyway. This brings us, more or less, to today. Yesterday, Truss refused to commit to protecting something called the pensions triple lock, which guarantees that old-age pensions (the UK form of social security) will rise in line with inflation, costs, or earnings. A) Inflation in the UK is now at a whopping 10.1%, and B) given as old people are literally the only demographic still willing to vote for the Tories, this miiiiiight seem like an even more unnecessarily stupid and self-sabotaging idea. Sure enough, U-Turn Number Eight Million was duly performed this morning, and Truss insisted she had always intended for the triple lock to be protected. But would Universal Credit and other welfare/benefits programs also be adjusted upward for inflation? HELL NAH! THOSE ARE FOR POOR PEOPLE! GROSS!

This, however, was only the beginning of the unpeeling of the latest idiot banana. Keir Starmer, riding high on the back of recent polls that have given Labour a 36-point lead and predicted that the Tories could be left with as few as 22 seats in Parliament if a general election was called tomorrow (leaving the SNP as the official opposition), appeared at Prime Minister's Questions and got to shoot fish in a barrel. Truss did not dissolve into a pile of goo on the floor and/or have a bucket of water thrown on her and melt into Margaret Thatcher, so that was taken as a win. Well, at least for two hours or so. Then Suella Braverman, the ex-Attorney General who had briefly run for the leadership when BoZo resigned, and who exists along with Priti Patel in order to prove that in the modern Tory party, women of color can heroically be just as much as awful xenophobic monsters as crusty old white dudes, resigned as Home Secretary. Did you even know she was Home Secretary? Neither did she. She took over Patel's job in a bid to apparently make Patel look cute and cuddly by comparison, as she is even more determined to do horrible things to migrants as much as possible. The official reason given for her resignation was that she sent an official document from her personal email account, and this had something to do with immigration and/or the Office of Budget Responsibility forecast that the Tories have, in the valiant spirit of freedom, resisted actually publishing for any of their current economic plans. CONSERVATIVES ARE GOOD FOR THE ECONOMY!! yell people on both sides of the Atlantic. Oh-kay.

Anyway, Braverman used her resignation letter to blast Truss for pretending that everything was fine and dandy, which means the BUT HER EEEEEEMAILS was absolutely just an excuse and even she wanted off this sinking ship as fast as possible. Grant Shapps is now the Home Secretary. It's not important. The point is, if more ministers start resigning, the government will probably implode just as it did when they deserted BoZo en masse. What the hell happens then? Fuck if anyone knows. Since they will, as noted, get absolutely cosmically annihilated if they call a General Election, the Tories will resist doing that with all their might (the next one isn't due until 2024, which is about 1004329 years away at the current rate that time is passing here). Truss was already elected by a tiny minority of the country (about 160,000 Tory party members). STICK RISHI SUNAK IN THERE AND CHANGE THE RULES AGAIN?? HECK, SOUNDS LIKE A PLAN! KEEP THOSE MUSICAL CHAIRS COMING, CHAPS!

(Also: we will recall the Daily Star's Lettuce Cam, where a picture of Liz Truss has been placed next to a head of lettuce to see if she is kicked out of office before it rots away. It now has a special companion, Tofu. This is because Braverman, just yesterday, gave a speech attacking the latest round of climate protesters as being spurred on by Labour, the Lib Dems, and the "Guardian-reading, tofu-eating wokerati," which she doubtless thought was a very clever line at the time. Because British Twitter is British Twitter, the Tofu: 1, Braverman: 0 jokes have been rife.)

And since we are still not done: tonight, Labour forced a vote on a fracking ban which was being treated as a de facto confidence vote in the government. Aka if the Tories voted for it, they would be considered to be defying the government. Because Britain is a cartoon country run by clowns, the method of Parliamentary voting literally involves walking through Door A for Aye and Door B for Nay. The "whips," or the people whose job it is to assure that party members vote according to the government's position, have thus been known to physically stuff recalcitrant MPs through these doors, because Hail Britannia, or something. So we soon had reports that the anti-fracking vote was, dare I say it, a total clusterfrack, and the Tory whips were literally throwing crying Tory MPs through the Nay door so they would Vote To Support The Government. This sounds like a beginning to a Monty Python sketch, but it is just another ordinary evening in British politics in 2022! (Did Truss herself vote? Or BoZo, Patel, or any of the other Tory big beasts? Nope. Evidently she was "too distracted" with all the other crises going on, which probably means she just didn't want to show her face or she might get killed. Hard to blame her.)

So: the fracking ban was defeated, Labour MPs were like "oh my god the sheer clownery," even Tory MPs were spitting mad, we soon had more rumors that both the Tory chief whip and the deputy chief whip had resigned (currently in the Official Denial stage, so yeah, that will be confirmed before tomorrow morning), and I haven't even mentioned the part where one of Liz Truss's press aides admitted that they used to lie about various relatives of hers having just died so Truss didn't have to do interviews (actual quote: "just aunts and cousins, not any major relatives!"). We all wondered if that wasn't actually a lie but the minor members of the Truss family had voluntarily decided to die rather than have anyone know that they were related to her. Either that or she just sent MI6 after them. It's entirely possible.

[wileys-russo]

stanway x reader where r is basically the back up cdm for england, only really plays that last few minutes of games if any so when keira gets injured at the wc, r freaks out because they have to go on and then play after until keira is back. maybe have georgia trying to comfort and hype up r before and then in one of the games where r plays the full 90, r makes like a big game saving tackle and georgia is super proud and happy for r after (you’re like carrying the woso fics on this app rn so thank you!)

crucial touch II g.stanway

"babe i'll be lucky to even see the pitch this tournament, i'm the back ups backup and i know that. i knew it when i accepted the call up!" you smiled at your girlfriend who frowned back at you from where she stood at the end of your bed.

"but i'm just sayin maybe if ya just talk to sarina and make your case you could get a start!" georgia pushed, knocking your legs apart and crawling up the bed to sit herself between them looking down at you.

"are you telling me to go behind your best mates back to try and get a start over her? harsh." you whistled teasingly, panic flashing across your girlfriends face as she stammered out that wasn't what she meant.

"gee! baby relax, i'm only teasing." you laughed, sitting up and grabbing her hands to still her.

"i love you and i appreciate you going to bat for me but i promise i am just happy to be here. would minutes under the belt be amazing? of course. but is being in australia, training with the squad and being with some of my best friends and girlfriend every day also amazing? yes!" you squeezed her hands with a smile of assurance, frown still dented into her features.

"but you've had such a great season and moved to the european league baby and-" "no more buts, i'm not going out of my way to plead for minutes with sarina. i trust that she always knows whats best for the team, that was well proven in the euros and i felt so much pride even just watching from the stands." you'd torn your hamstring mid last season which had unfortunately meant you weren't fit for squad selection, but despite how hard it was at times to watch your friends and wish you were in their position you learnt a whole new set of valuable lessons.

"babe i promise i am okay." you continued when once again your girlfriend opened her mouth to argue, finally giving in with a sigh and a nod.

"georgia!" you laughed as she pushed you back down onto the bed and flopped her body on top of you. "m'tired baby, lets cuddle and have a nap." the girl patted your head as her own settled on your stomach and your hands threaded her hair tugging it out of the bun it once was.

"what happened to going to watch the sunset before dinner?" "well, it rises and sets every day doesn't it? i'll take ya tomorrow."

~

"did she just say its her knee?" you whispered to lotte who was sat beside you, eyes flashing with the same fear you knew was conveyed in your own as she nodded. "shit." you mumbled, biting your lip nervously as the medics rushed on toward keira.

your leg bounced anxiously as they called for a stretcher, your stomach falling as sarina gestured for laura to start warming up as one of the coaching staff hurried over to run her through the plays.

all of you on the bench sent smiles to keira as she was stretchered off and disappeared down the tunnel, the sub made official as laura ran on and everyone tried to shake off what happened.

"they could have given us a small break of time to reset, they're clearly shook up." you mumbled to lotte who hummed in agreement, both of you watching on with limbs locked tight in stress.

thankfully the girls scraped by taking the 1-0 win against denmark and you didn't think you'd ever held your breath as long as until that final whistle blew ending injury time and the game.

you walked in between ella and georgia as you did your lap, thanking the fans, but you could tell that despite the smiles on everyones faces nobody was thinking about the win and rather worrying for how keira was.

and in particular if the team would see yet another victim to that dreaded three letter curse.

~

despite keira thankfully not having done her acl, she was under forced rest and a careful rehab program, and wouldn't be playing in the next game against china.

knowing that your teammate was okay had eased the mounting tension within the team and after a bonding day at the local zoo everyone was in high spirits.

which was likely what lead to the following 6-1 domination over china a few days later, everyone in even better spirits that night which was filled with karaoke, dancing and cheese boards much to lottes delight.

things took a more serious turn two days later at training when laura took a rather abrupt tackle from millie and headbutted the goal post, winding up with a concussion and with keira still not cleared to play that was how you found yourself sat across from sarina in one of the hotel meeting rooms.

she informed you'd not only be getting your first minutes of the tournament but would be in the starting eleven in tomorrow nights game. you had to ask her how to repeat herself making the dutch woman laugh and congratulate you, making a point to say she'd noticed that despite not playing you had still played a very crucial role within the team lifting morale.

still slightly in disbelief and pinching yourself with a sharp hiss you exited the room, making a beeline right towards your girlfriend who was mid darts game with niamh, ella and lucy.

with a wordless shake of your head you grabbed her hand, ignoring all of her questions and your friends teasing remarks behind you as you dragged her away from the game, staying silent right until the two of you were back in your room.

"baby whats goin on? you're bein very weird has somethin happened?" georgia asked for the tenth time, taking a seat on the edge of your bed as you shook your head and paced back and forth.

"oi, sit down and speak to me love ya gonna wear a hole in the carpet." georgia grabbed your hoodie and pulled you to stand between her legs, hands on the small of your back holding you there.

"i'm starting tomorrow." you blurted out with wide eyes, georgias own bugging nearly out of her head as her grip on you tightened. "you what!" she gasped out as you nodded firmly. "yeah, coombsy's still not cleared and neither is kei." you shook your head in disbelief.

"baby! you're starting in the fuckin world cup!" the breath was stolen from you as your girlfriend lovingly slammed you down onto the bed and jumped on top of you, kissing all over your face and mumbling how proud she was as you couldn't help but grin.

"wait!" you pushed her off and sat bolt upright. "what if i get injured? or i let in a goal? or i cause a penalty? or-" all of the worse case scenarios flew through your head, slamming around and around like a pinball machine.

"hey hey, stop that." georgia frowned, grabbing your face in her hands and forcing you to look at her. "you won't. you are so so brilliant, and hardworking, and passionate. it doesn't matter if this is your first start in a world cup or another match for bayern love, you tackle it the exact same way you enter any game. with your whole heart and ya head screwed on right!" georgia gently squeezed your cheeks and placed a tender kiss against your lips as you exhaled and collapsed into her.

"i'm starting tomorrow." "you're starting tomorrow, and you are gonna smash it baby."

~

the day of the match itself you were still a nervous wreck. word had spread of your start and in small groups all of the girls came over to congratulate and hype you up.

and as much as you appreciated each and every single one of them all of their hope and praise was just adding onto your existing nerves, which your girlfriend seemed to pick up on as she gently shooed everyone away, tucking you into her side at breakfast and changing the subject.

she made sure to sit beside you on the bus and walked you around the stadium for the pitch check with your fingers interlocked tightly with hers, swinging your hands together and distracting you with kisses when she noticed your mind start to wander.

right before warm ups your phone rang and you lit up seeing it was leah, you'd played with her for years at arsenal before taking the plunge to germany when both frankfurt and bayern came knocking.

so stepping out of the room the blonde gave you a stern talking to about believing in yourself and making the most of the opportunity the situation had presented you no matter how it came about.

and with that in mind you reset your headspace and tuned in, georgia sending leah a quick text thanking her as whatever was said worked as you now seemed your confident self when walking out for the line up.

unlike last match against china the game against nigeria was anything but easy. they were a fast and agile side and came out aggressive, so you did your best as a team to meet them like that but after a brutal 90 minutes it was still deadlocked at 0-0.

mary had been putting in a shift, everyone had, and with lj earning a red card you were down to 10 when they announced there would be extra time as a break was called and everyone huddled together on the sidelines.

sarinas words ringing in your ears you sucked up how much your body ached and readied yourself to go again, vowing to leave absolutely everything on the pitch as if it was the last game you ever played.

your chance came in the 118th minute as you missed a crucial tackle and one of the strikers snuck past you. you knew from watching her throughout the game where she'd likely shoot from so you diverted tactics.

you knew it was a risk but you had to trust your gut like always and sprinting down the length of the field on the opposite side your legs burned and ached but you just used that to spur yourself on.

sure enough it was a risk that paid off as the striker slotted the ball past mary who watched in horror as it slipped beneath her thigh and she crashed to the ground.

but you were there without even a millisecond to spare, the ball clipping the edge of your studs as you slid your body across goal and tapped it out earning them a corner but preventing the winning goal.

you only breathed once the referee signaled for nigeria to take their corner, your head slumping against the ground as you took a moment to reset and marys gloved hands hauled you up off the ground.

"you are a fucking superstar for that one mate." she grabbed your face and kissed your forehead with a loud mwah, brushing the grass off of you as you grinned and everyone set in for the corner which would be the last play of extra time.

your hands falling to lucy's waist you felt millies grab yours from behind, a defensive tactic which was yet to fail you as once again a goal was prevented with mary jumping to tap it over the top of the goal as the whistle blew yet again signalling the game would go to penalties.

you watched with baited breath, squished in between beth and millie as each kick was taken. you winced as your girlfriend missed, watching her face fall but sending her a reassuring nod and mouthing that you loved her.

beth, rach and chloe were next all sinking their kicks as chloes hit the back of the net with record speed and the stadium erupted into cheers, you'd done it and you lived to see another day, you'd won.

you raced right over to your girlfriend amid the celebrations who had the same idea, jumping onto her and wrapping your legs round her waist, both of you forgetting you'd just played over 120 minutes as her legs buckled and the two of you crashed to the ground.

"i am so so so fucking proud of ya!" georgia beamed, pressing her forehead against yours as you lay on the grass tangled up with one another. you were well aware of your surroundings but in her arms and by her side everything else slipped away, the two of you lost in one anothers eyes which shone with pride.

"can i kiss you?"

your girlfriend seemed taken aback by the question and your eyes widening you went to stand but your body locked up in surprise as her hand balled your jersey and tugged your lips to meet hers, neither one of you caring for a single moment what anyone thought.

in that triumphant moment all you had eyes for was each another.

[flemingsfreckles]

Pretend We’re Good

Niamh Charles x Reader

Synopsis: based off this request!

Warnings: toxic behavior from both Niamh and Reader, suggestive at the end, fighting, angsty

WC: 3.3k

A/N: this is the first time I’ve written for someone other than Jessie, but I follow Niamh as a player so idk thought I’d give it a go.

Also shout out to whoever this anon was, this song is a banger and has found its way onto my driving to work playlist which I am extremely picky about, so thanks for the indirect song suggestion! 🫶

Seeing the match announcement was one thing, actually showing up and playing it was another.

Playing England was good preparation for the Olympics, they were a quality team, you knew that, but that meant you’d have to see Niamh. That meant you’d have to mark Niamh on the pitch. It meant you’d have to give her a silly handshake before the game and wish her good luck.

You and Niamh had a complicated history. You played at Liverpool together for a season before she left for Chelsea. You had always had a flirty friendship as teenagers but it never amounted to anything.

Then when she left for Chelsea, it broke your heart. Which made you realize how strong your feelings were for the girl, bawling when she said goodbye and then again at home in bed. For hours at a time you would remain motionless on your mattress, wishing she’d come back. You had been a mess for a couple weeks not knowing how to handle losing your best friend and the girl you had seemingly fallen in love with. The two of you kept in touch but it wasn’t comparable to seeing her everyday, to being her travel roommate, to being her bus buddy.

Then you got a call a season later. A call offering you a spot at Chelsea, you barely thought about it, the club's reputation, plus being back with Niamh, you easily said yes, signing your name on the line to become a blue.

Niamh was your first call, she was ecstatic about you joining the club. It didn’t take long for the two of you to fall back into your friendship and with the friendship came the oblivious flirting.

“You two are insufferable. Will you just admit you want to makeout.” Erin had teased the two of you. Her teasing, while not appreciating in the moment, had forced you and Niamh to actually sit down and talk about your feelings. You both admitted to wanting more than just a friendship and you went on your first official date after.

The next two years with Niamh were pure bliss. You played well together, you’d spend your holidays together, you met her family and she met yours.

Everything was good, until you became unhappy at Chelsea. You were progressively losing playing time to new signings, only seeing the pitch as a sub, it was impacting you heavily mentally and hurting your playing time internationally as well.

So when you got the offer to move to the NWSL, you took it. You took it and you didn’t tell Niamh until the day you confirmed the transfer.

You had broken the news at dinner in your apartment and an argument had quickly unfollowed.

“I can’t believe you’d just leave like that!” Niamh stood from the table grabbing her plate, not offering to clear yours like she typically would.

“I’m not happy here Niamh!” Niamh would be lying to herself if she said she didn’t know you were unhappy. She’d heard you rant and complain about your playing time, your struggles in training, and she had been supportive thought it all. She just never imagined you’d go as far as to leave her, to leave her and leave the country, the continent behind.

“What? I don’t make you happy?” She screamed across the room at you.

“You do! You’re the best thing I have here!” It was all you could yell back.

The defender grew quiet, looking at you with hurt eyes. “But I’m not enough, am I?” She asked quietly.

“Niamh.” You wanted to scream at her that this had nothing to do with her, she was the only reason you had stayed at this team so long. You had been given other offers but you thought maybe, somehow you’d end up with more playing time again and you’d go back to being happy where you were but that day never came.

“No, you should go, enjoy New York. Go where someone or something is enough for you.” She slammed the door behind her leaving you alone in your apartment.

The next day, your final day at Chelsea, you showed up, puffy eyed from crying instead of sleeping all night. It was quickly picked up on by the other girls, especially when Niamh didn’t come in with you, and she didn’t show up to training.

You gathered everyone in the conference room before film review. You stood up, explaining that while you loved the friendships and connections you’ve made here, to better yourself as a player it was time to move on. As you spoke you noticed Niamh slip in through the door, she looked just as rough if not worse than you did. Red cheeks, bloodshot eyes, her hair was a mess, she wasn’t dressed for training. You finished your speech before quickly saying goodbye to everyone all the girls lining up to hug you and wish you well, all the girls except Niamh who remained seated in the back of the room.

You left the facility shortly after, taking all your belongings with you before hurrying home. You were set to leave early the next morning, your belongings to be packed up by hired movers, anything you shared to be left with Niamh. You packed up just the essentials, enough to get you through the first week of your move before you could get settled.

You sent Niamh a text, asking if she wanted to come over for a bit, thinking you could talk it out, but you got no response. The next morning you hopped on a plane, having no idea if you were even still in a relationship with the girl.

It took a few weeks until you heard from her. A drunken phone call after they had won the league. A phone call that part of you wishes never came. You could tell from her first words that she must’ve been hammered, standing outside a loud nightclub or bar. Her voice brought back all of the feelings you had managed to push down for the past few weeks. Her proclamation of love over the phone, begging and pleading with you to forgive her for her stupid behavior. She begged to have you back in her bed, saying she missed the intimacy with you, the connection. She begged for a chance at long distance, to still be the one you wanted.

You never called her back. You weren’t even sure if she remembered calling.

And now here you were, standing less than an arms length away from her as you both stood waiting to enter the pitch. When you had stopped next to her, she had looked at you, when you made eye contact she gave you a small “hello” with a look of guilt across her face.

The game was easier, it was easy to forget she was there. She just looked like any other England player. You were able to push her from your mind, putting you more at ease than you had expected to be being this close to the woman after all that had happened.

It was after the game where you found yourself in uncomfortable waters with her. You had shaken her hand last, avoiding all eye contact. When Niamh tried to speak to you, you quickly dropped her hand and then made a b-line for the locker room.

“Please wait.” Her voice pleading with you as you heard her follow you down the tunnel.

“Niamh, no.” You don’t even turn back to look at her. You couldn’t, if you looked at her your body might convince you to hear her out.

“I don’t need you back, I just want closure, you deserve closure, I didn’t give you that.”

“Do you want closure or do you just want to feel less guilty for what you did to me?” You spit back at her, turning around you watch as her already guilty looking face twists into one of anger.

“You left the country with one days notice! Don’t blame this all on me!” She shouts back at you.

You sigh, you couldn’t believe this was happening. You and Niamh, standing less than three feet from each other, face to face for the first time since she left your apartment. You couldn’t determine your feeling, half of you wanted to grab her, kiss her hard and make up for all the time you two had missed out on. The other half of you was ready to shove her out of the way, leave here and hope you’d never have to play the Lionesses again. “And you walked out! You didn’t even try Niamh!”

“I didn’t know how. I didn’t even know where to start! It was such late notice. I didn’t know what to do, I loved you, I still love you.” She’s making eye contact so intense you can’t look away. This is exactly what you feared. Unable to hold back from the girl you start rambling.

“I still love you too Niamh, you think I don’t? You’re the only reason I stayed Niamh, because I loved you so fucking much, I couldn’t leave you, until playing for Chelsea became so unbearable, I had to leave to save myself, I was ready to quit.” You feel the tears on your face, suddenly very aware that you were crying.

You had only expressed how miserable you were to Niamh on the day you told her your contract was signed. She didn’t know you were on the verge of quitting, giving up on your love for the game.

You notice some of your teammates starting to filter into the tunnel. You and Niamh both stop talking as they pass by. Catarina slows down as she walks by, you try and duck your face to hide the tears. She looks between you and Niamh, giving you both a sympathetic smile before she moves on.

“Quit?” Niamh's face matches the look of your empathetic teammates in the tunnel.

You nod, avoiding making eye contact with Niamh, not wanting her to see right through you. She could always read you, she knew, you expressed your emotions too well through your eyes.

“I didn’t know it was that bad. Why didn’t you tell me?” Niamh grabs your hand, you start to pull it away but the feeling of her hand in yours again makes your stomach flutter so you leave it. “I don’t know what I can do. But,” you feel her squeeze your hand. “I want you back, or I want you again, I’m not sure I lost you, ever I don’t know what we were doing for those few months. Please?”

“We weren’t together during those months.” Sure you never confirmed a break up but you had decided not hearing from her meant you were no longer a couple. But you also hadn’t started seeing other people, the feelings of Niamh still too fresh.

“No, I know, it’s just we never broke up.”

“Niamh, I don’t know.”

“Please don’t make me beg. Even if it’s just a night? Just dinner or drinks, I’ll pay, or we can go to my place and I’ll let you yell at me, or tell me everything I did wrong, or we can just sit, whatever, just one night, me and you can we pretend we’re good? Pretend we’re something again? Go back to how it was?”

“Niamh.” You breathed out. You knew you shouldn’t. You knew both of your behaviors were toxic, you leaving with little notice and her storming out and drunkenly calling you begging for you back. You two shouldn’t be doing this. You shouldn’t, but you wanted to. You loved her still.

You wanted to have a night with her, a date, an afternoon, something! In reality you wanted her for the rest of your life. You missed her hugs, you missed the way she kissed you, you missed the way you’d sing in the car together despite both having less than excellent voices. You missed falling asleep next to her. You missed her body on yours. You missed getting up early to make her coffee or tea and bringing it to her in bed, the way she’d sit up to sip it with crazy bed head. You missed everything about her.

You missed her and this was your chance to have her again. Even if it was just to pretend, for a night.

Niamh must’ve been able to tell you were pondering. She didn’t plea with you anymore, she didn’t beg again. She just waited patiently, studying your face, the face she’s been longing for.

“Okay. One night, like we used to be.” You finally give in.

“Really?” Niamh’s face lights up at your answer. A smile across her lips. “Okay, I’ll pick you up from your hotel? Can we have dinner? Or just drinks? Or I don’t know.”

“That sounds good.” Drinks and dinner would be harmless, a good way for the two of you to talk, in public, keep it civil.

When Niamh picked you up she was dressed up. You thankfully had dressed up as well. Subconsciously when you packed, you threw in a nice matching lace set, which you had put on underneath a simple shirt and nice pants. She had gotten out of the car to open the passenger side door, something she did when you were together.

“Thank you. Thank you for agreeing to this.” She said one back in the driver’s seat.

“Yeah.” You clasped your hands in your lap, when you were together you’d have your hand on her thigh or her hand in yours, today you kept them to yourself.

“I was thinking dinner?”

“Yeah that sounds good, I haven't eaten yet.”

Niamh nods before starting to drive to dinner. She pulls into an Italian restaurant, one the two of you had frequented while together.

When you sat down Niamh ordered a glass of wine, before looking at you. “Would you like one?”

“Yeah that'd be great.” you order the same wine as Niamh. When the glasses come Niamh holds hers up, tapping it to yours before you both take a sip and fall into silence.

You break the silence first.

You apologize for leaving on such short notice. You apologize for not telling her that you were considering leaving. You apologize for not expressing how you were feeling, truly upset at Chelsea. You apologize for never calling her, for never reaching out. You apologize for everything.

Niamh just sits, listening to you, really listening. She doesn’t interrupt, she just sits, making eye contact when you look at her. You find yourself looking away most of the time, feeling embarrassed as you list all the poor behavior, all the places you went wrong.

When you’re done, you sit back looking across the table at Niamh. Thankfully your food had arrived just as you finished apologizing and you were able to occupy the silence by eating. As you start to eat, Niamh begins to speak. She hasn’t started to eat and she’s hardly looked at the pasta in front of her.

“Niamh.” You interrupt, it was rude but you wanted to ensure she knew she could eat. “Please eat, we can talk after, don’t let it get cold.”

She nods, picking up her fork and swirling it into her meal. You eat for the most part in silence. Niamh asks a few questions about your new place in New York, your new team. When you tell her it’s going well, you’re playing more, you are often in the starting IX she replies with “I know.” When you told her you scored in your first game with them, she replies the same “I know.”

You look at her. “You keep up with me?”

“Of course I do.” She says. “I watch your games, I keep up with you, you have me rooting for you all the way across the pond. I, uh, I have your jersey.”

“Really?” You definitely didn’t expect her to own a jersey of yours. You had a couple of her Chelsea jerseys and you knew she had a couple of your old Chelsea ones as well, you just didn’t expect her to buy a new one, for your new team after what happened.

“Yeah.” She sighs.

She then begins an apology list of her own. She apologizes first for the drunken call. She had remembered doing it. She apologized for storming out on you, she apologized for ignoring you when you said your goodbyes to the team. She apologized for not reaching out, something you were both guilty of.

“I do still love you.” She ends her apology with those words.

“I still love you Niamh.” You can’t help it, you loved this woman, everything about her.

You don’t get to follow up on what that meant for either of you as the waiter comes with the bill, Niamh grabbing it before you can, when you let out a pouting huff, she just gives you a glance.

“Please it’s the least I can do, plus I asked you to this.”

“Fine.” You cross your arms. “But I get the next one.”

“The next one?” Niamh’s face breaks into a small smile, just creeping on her lips. “As in, another time?”

“If that’s something you want to do?”

“Yeah.” She says. “Does that mean, we’re…” she points a finger between the two of you.

You knew it was maybe too soon to let her back in, too soon for both of you but you really didn’t care. Sitting here being able to see her, hear her, admire her, made you miss every inch of her. You wanted her back, you needed her back. Long distance would be something to figure out, but not right now, right now you had her in front of you, within reach.

You’re not sure what to call yourselves yet, so you nod. “If that’s something you want too.”

“Yeah.” The waiter comes back to the table to give Niamh her card back. You both thank him before leaving the restaurant and heading to her car. Niamh goes to open your car door, just just barely cracks it when you push it closed.

“Hey!” She turns back to scold you, coming face to face with each other.

“Hi.” You breath out practically whispering, this was the closest you two had been in a non-match situation in months. Your faces inches from each other. You look at her eyes, temporarily getting lost in their beautiful blue color. Your trance is broke by her blinking a few times. Your eyes fall to her lips and then back to her eyes. Niamh gets the hint and brings her hands up around your shoulders, pulling you slightly closer.

“Is this okay?” She asks, looking up at you with wide eyes.

You find yourself leaning in, pressing your lips to hers, they feel better than you remember, you can feel your love for her flooding through your body, your hairs standing on edge, its electric and soft and it feels safe. You were kissing Niamh. Your Niamh. The love of your life, the girl you had waited for, the girl who was with you through your teenage years and into young adulthood. This was your girl, she was yours, you promised to never let her go again.

You kiss for a second, your front gently pressed to hers as her back is leaned up against the car. It’s a passionate kiss, both of you pouring months of built up feelings into it. When you break away you can’t hide the smile across your face and by the looks of it neither can Niamh.

“I love you.” You say.

“I love you.” She then turns opening the door again, you let her this time and you get into the car. When she climbs in the drivers seat she asks where to.

“Yours?” You suggest. “I can think of a few more ways we can make up for lost time.” You give her a wink and Niamh gets the hint, quickly starting the car in the direction of her apartment. It only takes a few turns before her hand finds its way to your upper thigh, giving it a hard squeeze.

Sure it wasn’t the healthiest way of working out your problems together, but it worked, you both got your frustrations out, you were able to express your emotions, show how much you missed each other, how much you loved each other, and by the time morning came the two of you had decided you were back together.

Girlfriends, just long distance ones.

[feltit-wroteit]

Better For Me. Not You.

Jean-Pierre Magnan x Reader

Your boyfriend doesn't understand why you need to attend school when you have him to teach you. But, for you, there is nothing more important than getting an high education. A fight might be what your boyfriend needs in order to not make a fuss at school.

You had arrived in France after your parents decided England had became to bland. Sure it was a huge change, but not a sad one. You didn't have a lot of friends back in England so nothing was left when you set trail. But here, it was perfect.

On your first day, your parents went to buy some meet at the Magnan's and that is where you met Jean-Pierre. You two immediately clicked and the rest was history. It started with you going back every few days to purchase new meat and finished with Jean-Pierre courting you and becoming your boyfriend. It wasn't hard for you to fall in love with him. He was like the men you read about in your books that your parents had bought when moving here.

Jean-Pierre taught you everything he knew when you had asked him if he could. Schools for girls were very prestegious and you hadn't known a thing beside litterature. He was the perfect teacher. Always taking his time when you didn't understand something. You now were almost his equal which meant you were more than an average student. That is what your boyfriend said anyways and that was enough validation for you.

Recently though, the relationship had been rocky. Jean-Pierre's school was oppening its door for a few girls and you had gotten and acceptable letter three weeks ago. It was your first day today, and officially the one week mark of you not talking to your boyfriend. He probably thought that he was the one ignoring you, but it was the other way around. You couldn't even look at him after what had happened that afternoon while you guys were havimg à nice pic-nic.

-One week ago-

"Fuck! I don't want you too. It should be the only good reason!" You looked at him and waited for him to say he was joking. Hoping he was joking. Nothing came..."I don't know what to say Jean-Pierre-" "Don't say anything. Just do as I say." Of course you knew your boyfriend had controling tendencies but he had never used them on you. "Jean-Pierre Magnan. You will not speak to me like that. I deserve respect. Besides, it doesn't matter what you want in this." He scoffed. "Well, yeah it does." You looked at him and finally decided to put your sandwich down. Your appetite was no longer there. "Oh yeah? And how may that be true? Explain away." You motioned for him to do so after whipping your hand clean from your lunch's remnants. "I am your future husband after all." He looked ta you with fire in his eyes. You looked at him with disgust. "What is that suppose to mean? That I can't be a good wife because I have an education. That I am less than a woman for wanting to do something that only men had the right to do not so long ago but should be reachable to anyone? You digust me right now Magnan." You voiced your thoughts and let your frustration take over. "No. But it means that you have me and that is plenty enough to learn- I don't want you around all these boys! There I said it." He tried to reach for your hand thinking this thing was resolved and it was now your turn to scoff. "How much of a man are you? Maybe I shouldn't be your wife since you think me for a brainless damsel who will jump at any boy in my usual unfaithfulness? You are selfish." You said as you pulled your hand from his getting up. He got up with you and you saw the regret painted on your face. But it was too late. "Y/N... That is not what I meant. I was being selfish. Pardon me, please?" "Good to see you taking responsibility for your actions. But your selfishness will get us nowhere. Maybe me going to school isn't good in your books, but in mine? It is too good to be true. And you, of all people, know how bad I want this. Shame on you Magnan." You stabbed his chest with your index finger and let tears fall from your eyes. "I am so sorry, darling. Please forgive me. I lost my thoughts-I-I..." You looked in his eyes and pulled your finger away from his chest. Silence was the inly thing leaving your mouth and that didn't sit well with your boyfriend. You picked your stuff up from the ground and went to leave. "What are you doing, Y/N?" He followed you slightly. You turned around and made a distance with your hand gently placed on his abdomen. "I think it's better if we both take time to breath. See you at school Jean-Pierre." You turned your back to him once more and left.

Jean-Pierre sat back down and slammed his fist on the grass after gripping his hair by the roots. "Fuck!"

-Now-

You were looking at the class board and you noticed your name after some slight searching. Right beside his. You sighed and went to see the other girls that had arrived. This day would be a long one.

When you entered your classroom, Jean-Pierre had kept you a seat beside him and smiled at you. You smiled slightly and went to sit at an empty desk. First period was soent with him looking at you and you trying to focus and answer all of the teachers' questions. The teachers were pretty impression and the other boys were now looking at you too. Not in any way were you comfortable. They were looking at you like a rat in a labotary. Maybe you should've sat with your boyfriend at the front.

When it was time for lunch, you made your way to the cafeteria but were snatched from the waist. You let a squeak out and landed in a man's embrace. "Let go of me! I'm married!" You screamed and only heard a laugh. "We're married now? I thought we were at the divorce stage, darling." The man let you go and you replaced your hair. "Jean-Pierre." You curtsied. "Oh dear Y/N, please forgive me? I can't live with the thought of you hating me. I admit, I was dumb." You looked him dead in the eye and nodded. "I trust you. But please, promise me to never be this controling of me ever again. I won't let it slide quite easily next time." You stayed cold and he nodded fastly. He went forward and reached for your hand. He laid a quick but soft kiss on your lips and smiled "I promise, darling! But can tou sit next to me? A compromise? I don't like all of them eating you up from their stares. I know you answering all the question is attractive, but only I can look at you with wanting eyes. Right?" You both laughed slightly. "Of course my love. Besides I was not comfortable amd want to dedicate all of my attention to the subject at hand." He smiled at you and replaced a stray strand of hair behind your ear. "Good." He kissed you again. "Good you replied with a smile.

While walking to the cafeteria, your head was rethinking of specific thing your boyfriend had said in that room. "So... You were dumb, huh? Do I make your head go mushy, mister Magnan?" You nudged your shoulder against his. "Oh shut it! You're stupid-" You faked a dramatic gasp. "Take thay back right now, Jean-Pierre Magnan!" There was a beat of silence before you burst in laughter.

[katie-luvr]

🌸 Peach 🌸 ~ katie mccabe x reader

an ~ this is the first one! thank for your service @lessi-lover! love you lots 🫶🏻

(katie mccabe x arsenal!reader)

~

today marked the beginning of a new chapter in your career; your very first official training session as one of two latest signings to the arsenal women's team, fresh of the high after being dubbed as 'the one to watch' during the 2023 world cup.

just a few days prior when the documents had been signed formally at the grounds, you had been given the chance to meet up with a couple of your national teammates, a handful of them already signing for london clubs.

moving to arsenal just made sense. it was always red and white for you. you were dressed in the red london kit before you could even walk, and the fact that you already had so many teammates living in england just made it all the easier to pick up the pen and sign.

you truly felt like you were on the top of the world, signing for your day one club, it was truly the height of your career and you still had so much longer to go.

having a quick breakfast with two of your older teammates in town, you felt more than assured by their words that you and your other teammate kyra, were going to create an incredible impact towards winning more titles and trophies this year.

the girls explained to you that this season they wanted to use the new signings to create more depth in the squad, become a stronger team and create a more meaningful connection with the clubs fans, and overall keep their reign as one of the most prominent clubs in europe.

"you excited to meet the girls, peach?" the aussie forward asked you, as she scanned her eyes over the menu. "they can't wait to meet you, peach. i've already got beth and jen lining up to go house shopping with you next week!" the other aussie added, fiddling with the leash connected to her dog's collar.

"peach?" caitlin worriedly questioned, as she watched you zone out of the conversation. "off with the fairies again this one." steph giggled as she poured you a glass of water. "yeah. yeah, of course i'm excited." you answered, although the hesitation in your voice was hardly convincing.

"it's okay peach. every footballer no matter how talented would be nervous to move to one of the most esteemed clubs in all of europe." she bragged, patting your shoulder, as your eyes widened further.

"not helping!" steph scolded, jabbing the side of her teammates arm, as she leant over to place a more comforting hand on your shoulder. "anything you want to tell us peach?" caitlin said, now with a more understanding tone as she spoke. "nothing its stupid." you responded quickly, shifting your eyes downwards nervously. "hey nothing you ever think is stupid, peach."

"we're your teammates, your caretakers and most importantly your friends. you can tell us anything that's bothering you, okay?" her gaze supporting, her hand moving comfortably up and down your arm.

caitlin nodded in agreement beside her teammate, genuine concern in her eyes, as they both waited patiently for your response. "no, don't worry about it." you quickly interjected, waving off their concern with a forced smile. "i can manage on my own. really, I appreciate the concern, though."

"alright, peach," steph said with a gentle nod, a silent look towards your other teammate that you would speak again whenever you were ready to share. "just remember, we're here for you. no pressure, no rush. when you're ready, we've got your back."

~

"you excited? you excited? you excited?" echoed the relentless voice of a young australian in your ear, each sentence coming with a jab to the side of your arm. talking in the back of your teammates car, you found yourself staring nervously out the window, a pointless attempt to quiet your thoughts as they raced rapidly through your head.

turning towards the blonde, you gave her a deadpan look, "kyra cooney cross, what do you mean, 'am i excited', of course i am!" you mocked, poking your finger into her chest with every word.

you tried desperately to put on your signature fearless persona, however your voice betrayed you as you trembled out the last few words.

kyra having already been signed for at least three weeks now, awfully tried to console your nerves even hitting you with, "hey, if they don't like you, you can always move countries." this only made you feel even worse, and you let yourself sink into your car seat.

"oi, peach, ky, we're here." caitlin said as she turned off the car engine. taking a deep breath, you released all your nerves. steph opened the door from beneath your elbow, causing your body to fall backwards, almost completely onto the ground. a sharp chill ran through you, as a gust of wind brushed past your skin.

the london weather was already making you want to book the first flight home back to sunny australia. you brushed down your clothes, feeling steph pat the top of your freshly washed hair.

"hey, watch the hair, i need everything to be perfect today!" you said in a a stern voice as caitlin and kyra exchanged a glance over your shoulder. "peach your gonna be just fine, i'm telling ya, no ones gonna care if a few pieces of your hair are sticking out." caitlin assured you.

"your going to be just perfect." ~

now dressed in your new kit, you made your way over to the gym. as today was the start of the season, you had been told that these strength and conditioning sessions would be a primary part of your program for the next couple of weeks. the anticipation of the waiting season filled you with a mix of excitement and nerves.

walking out the changing room, you felt as if you were living in a dream, although the high slightly out of your reach. the sound of your sneakers slid against the floor of the hallway, your body swirling with different emotions. "you ready peach?" kyra asked, lifting her arm over your shoulder as you walked.

"is katie a nice person?" you responded frantically, as you and kyra made your way through the building. you bit the side of your mouth anxiously, nervous that kyra would only further prove your thoughts. "yeah. i've only known her for a couple of weeks, but she's really funny!" kyra answered enthusiastically. nodding her head, as she fixed her sleeves.

the last time you had encountered the irish girl was back in august at the world cup, australia versus ireland. you could say this game left quite the impression on you, even if you spent majority of the match on the bench.

the intensity of the game, the clash with your close friend katrina gorry, had you painting a picture in your mind that was hard to shake no matter how hard you tried to move on. although, hearing your best friends words of her fellow teammate, painted a picture in your head that was at odds with your expectations.

but before you could ask more about kyra's experience with the brunette, steph suddenly appeared next to you, a bright smile on her face. "some of my best mates are headed over to meet you!" the defender exclaimed in an excited voice, grinning from ear to ear.

the introduction of several of her teammates did nothing to calm the turmoil of feeling racing through your body. if anything, it only made your heart race further, and your excitement heighten. a group of girls made their way over to you, dressed in the training kit, their faces smiling.

as they drew closer, you felt your nerves settle, as each player kindly introduced themselves to you. "hey, you must be the one and only peach!" says a loud blonde, as she wraps her arms tightly around your body, engulfing you in a hug. "beffy don't scare her away!" a tall brunette said, her scottish accent shining through her words.

"it's so great to finally meet you! we have heard so many amazing things about you." a girl spoke, the number thirteen in bold on her top. you felt your cheeks heat up, the tips of your ears burning at the attention you were receiving from your new teammates.

a couple more girls made there way over, many of them familiar with you over the course of your world cup journey as you properly met a series of players from the swedish national team. then came the english girls; leah, alessia and lotte, before viv and laura also came introducing themselves and sending you a small welcoming wave.

moving into the gym, you completed a series of intense exercises, the gym alive with the sound of chatter, weights clanking on the ground, shouts of encouragement, and the collective huff of your teammates pushing their limits.

it was in the middle of an exercise, one in which you were paired with a very irish girl for a partner drill. the realisation that you hadn't introduced yourself to her hit you like a pile of heavy bricks, your mind short - circuiting and delaying your thoughts. you hadn't spoken directly to her, and of course it was your fate that partnered you with the one person you'd hoped to avoid.

as she walked over to you, you attempted to greet her, "heyyy... so im uh, umm-" you stuttered awkwardly, your face flushed a deep pink. "peach?" she finished off, voice laced with amusement. using your nickname, sending you a wink as she lifted weights onto the bar.

"so, why do they all call you peach?" she asked, her eyes filled with genuine curiosity as she lifted the bar with such ease. you felt the blush creep further up you face, almost spreading over your whole body. "its a long story but-." you mumbled, fingers fiddling together. "she just can't help it. she always blushing, so the aussie girls named her peach." caitlin interrupted you, giggling as she watched you redden once again.

the rest of the training session was what could be described as pure discomfort for you both, as katie tried desperately to keep the conversation going to fill the awkward silence you had created. the both of you moving around each other with such difficulty that you'd wished you just stayed completely still.

finally it was as if the trainer had heard your prayers, he rung the bell to signal that the session was over.

quickly you rushed on over to the water station, swiftly grabbing a clear water with your name bolded on it. "-want to come with the girls tonight?" as you twisted open the cap, a distinctive accent caught your attention. turning around with your bottle in hand, you were faced with your earlier partner, a hopeful look on her face.

"care to join the girls tonights? beth's organised a small get together at a quiet bar downtown." she asked, her words accented with her signature cocky grin, as she lifted her shirt upwards to wipe her sweating face.

the brunette had invited you to go for dinner with her and the team. your face lit up brightly, as a smile took over your face. "of course, wouldn't miss it." you responded eagerly.

it was in that moment that you finally felt complete. as if all your hard work to get into the team of your dreams had finally paid off. a feeling of belonging fluttered in your chest. "perfect. see you there, peach," she grinned.

you felt like a gunner, you felt like you fit in and you couldn't wait to prove yourself to your team.

~

"hey y/n!" you heard a voice call out from the carpark. turning around, you saw your teammate alessia, quickly hurrying out the door to catch you before you left. although, before the the blonde could reach you, she stumbled clumsily over the curb, landing flat on her face, her bag falling freely out of her arms and onto the pavement.

"less! are you alright?" you questioned, rushing to her side to lift her to her feet, as she picked up all her things. "never better. are you coming tonight?" she asked urgently, a sense of anticipation in her voice. "yes, katie asked me a while back. i'll be there." you answered. smiling up at the tall girl, as you watched her break out into a cheeky smile that you couldn't quite place.

"can i come over? see the new house... and maybe.. i don't know.. pick your outfit?" she requested, but you missed the mischievous glint in her eyes that came with it. "alright less," you giggled, brushing a strand of your hair back.

driving your way through the busy streets, you handed alessia your phone, the blonde responding with a smile as she entered her number. "so how do you like london?" she asked, breaking the comfortable silence. "london? it's incredible." you replied, letting your eyes rake over the various tall city buildings.

"the clubs, the players, the city, the buildings, the people, - it's amazing. it's exactly what i dreamed of."

the striker nodded at your words, her eyes sparkling with her shared agreement. "i know what you mean, it's as if the city never sleeps. i just have to show you some of the special spots around here." you chuckled, nodding your head that you would have to go out sightseeing eventually.

pulling up to your apartment, you guided alessia up the elevator and into your living room, a series of unpacked boxes littering your floors. "steph and cait were meant to come over to help me unpack, but they just spent their time with whiskers." you explained to the blonde, as she explored your house.

"whiskers?" she questions, her brows furrowing, as she tried to understand you. "whiskers!" you yelled out, your voice bouncing off the walls. "oh." you said contentedly, gesturing to a small grey cat curled up in the corner. "he's friendly, you can go up and say hello if you want." but you weren't even halfway through your sentence as the english girl raced over to greet him.

~

"hm. what about this one?" alessia asked holding up a sparkly dress with a hopeful expression. the striker having poured the entirety of your freshly organised wardrobe all throughout your bedroom, clothing and shoes littering the once clean floor.

"it's just dinner, less. i hardly think a tight black dress is casual enough." you chuckled, body flopping backwards onto you bed. "oh cmon! i'll even wear something similar! all the girls will wear them."

she tried to convince you, waving the small dress around in front of you face. "less.." you mumbled, frowning up at the standing blonde as she faced you. "oh please!" she begged, her mouth forming an upset pout, as she clutched the dress close to her chest.

"oh fine" you agreed begrudgingly, sighing as the striker smiled at you. rolling your eyes, as her face lit up in excitement, a cheeky grin plastered on her lips. "you're going to look amazing! we're going to have so much fun, i promise!" she exclaimed enthusiastically.

"blush, less?" you asked, gesturing to the light palette in your hands. "if you don't mind!" she answered, taking it from your hands with a wink. sitting down at the vanity, you both began to get ready, although you're sure you spent more time talking rather than anything else.

giggling over the blondes stories of her england camps, and your own, you both bonded over each others individual stories. "you just started choking?" you breathed out, laughter stuck in your throat, as alessia told you stories of her younger self, from when she was first called up to the U15 teams.

"and you wouldn't believe the looks i got when my own coach had to help me spit the meatball out! it was so humiliating!" she chuckled, her face flushed in embarrassment as she recounted the story. "only you could manage that, less." you giggled, the sides of your mouth turned up in a cheeky grin.

"only you could manage that!" she said cockily, continuing to apply a light amount of makeup to her face. "what do you mean, less?" you responded, brows furrowing inwards as you tried to understand the blonde's words.

"i mean only the one and only y/n could receive a follow from the devil herself you know." she answered, waving your phone in your face. you could see a notification at the bottom of your screen, 'katie_mccabe11 started following you.' you frowned at the message, although you quickly went to follow her back.

"you got the devil part right." you sighed, switching off your phone to rest beside your elbow. "she's coming tonight ya know." the striker nods, again the mischievous glint in her eyes appeared, which only spurred you on further.

"i know. she invited me actually." you confirmed, body turning to face her, as you caught her smirk in the mirror. "really?" she grinned, shaking her head, whilst you sat there confused. "didn't think she'd have the guts to ask you out!" the blonde laughed, her hand falling against her chin, smiling at herself.

"what do you mean, less?" you said, pushing away your makeup, as you tried to pull the distracted girl's attention towards yourself. "oh nothing. just that she has the biggest crush on you, like ever!" she blurted out.

"oh my god! you didn't hear that!" she said worriedly, her hands coming up to slap against your ears, a look of true regret in her eyes, as she tried desperately to make you unhear her words. "uhh." she mumbled anxiously.

"that didn't happen! none of this ever happend! i- uhm! i was never here!" she shouted, racing around your room to pick up her belongings, as she raced out the front door. your chest tightened, a familiar feeling settling in your chest that you couldn't quite place.

you felt a slight tinge of a real blush coat your cheeks, the tips of your ears burning at the blonde's confession. "no way." you whispered dismissively. katie rarely ever talked to you, and there was doubt in your mind that your friend was just making things up.

surely katie didn't actually like you?

~

[ourloveisforthelovely]

The Family (Part 1)

Regulus Black AU

Request: Can you write a story where Regulus and the reader have been best friends for years. After Hogwarts, they move to France and get married without telling The Blacks? After being away a few years, they come back and surprise everyone.

Parings: Regulus Black x Reader

___

“You know that my family isn’t friendly…right?”

You looked up from your dressing table. Regulus sat on the bed looking at you with a slightly worried look.

“Like I’m concerned. I can be unfriendly too. Let fire meet fire.”

You chose to ignore the little wince that your “husband” gave you. It was no secret that Regulus was worried about facing his parents after eloping. This was the most “un-Regulus” like thing that he had ever done in his life. Meeting the repercussions of his actions was now beginning to worry him.

It had been nearly three years since Regulus had seen or talked to his family. The two of you had been hiding out in France. After moving back to England, it was time to face the proverbial music.

“Y/n, I really don’t think that you know what you are getting into. My parents aren’t like your parents. Mine are deranged and…chaotic.”

You put your brush down before moving to settle yourself on Regulus’ lap. Reaching out you twirled your fingers around one of the curls that was about to fall into his eyes.

“Regulus, we have been best friends since we were 11. I know all about your family and their…ways. It's going to take a lot more than I am the almighty Walburga Black to scare me off. Granted, I do wish that I could have a mother-in-law to do fun things with but, hey, you get what you get. You, my love, are worth whatever those nutcases have to throw at me.”

You were relieved when Regulus smiled. It wasn’t often that a smile graced his face but when it did, your heart melted.

“Maybe, if I’m l lucky, mother will fall over dead from a heart attack and the rest of the family will just spontaneously combust.”

Regulus commented with a smile. He knew what he was getting into. Regulus knew that his family was about to have a fit when he brought his new “wife” home. He knew that evening’s dinner was bound to be a fiasco. You were the absolute last person that Walburga wanted Regulus to marry. She hated the fact that the two of you were best friends. The literal only reason why she finally shut up about it was the fact that you were a Slytherin and a pure blood.

“If you must be friends with that girl, fine. It isn’t like you are going to marry her one day.”

Regulus had never forgotten that comment from Walburga. He had been 13 at the time and told his mother that you were his friend. He had no intention of stopping being your friend. It didn’t matter how angry it made his mother. Regulus had banked on his “being his mother’s favorite” card to keep her from beating the stuffing out of him after that comment.

To Regulus’ relief, Walburga stomped off muttering to herself about wondering why her sons were so obsessed with the Potter children. She just couldn’t understand what was so fascinating that Regulus and Sirius couldn’t say no to. At the moment, that was enough for Regulus.

Now, however, things were different. Regulus had fallen in love with you. After a completely “innocent” kiss at 15, he was hooked. There would be hope in Regulus ever wanting to stay away. He couldn’t…not even if he tried.

The following years were full of Regulus keeping you away from any member of his family. No matter how many times you told him that you were ready to officially meet them and rip the “bandage” off, Regulus always said no.

“Reggie, I hate to break it to you but no one will be dropping dead of any heart attacks. Besides, your mother should expect something. We are always together. One would think that with as smart as she “claims to be”, she would have figured out that we have been together since 5th year. Like it or not, she will just have to get over it.”

“I hate knowing that I am taking you into that lion’s den.”

Leaning forward, you placed a soft kiss on Regulus’ lips. You hoped that some kind of physical contact would calm down his raging mind.

“Regulus, I want you to hear me. It will take a lot more than your family to scare me off. I knew what I was getting into when I said, I do. I know your parents aren’t like my parents. They will just have to accept that we are in love. If they can’t…then that is on them. That won’t be our problem.”

“But we have two things that will be their problem.”

Regulus commented as his grey eyes flickered to the corner of the room where your twin daughters sat playing. Both girls were not the least bit interested in the conversation that their parents were having. You looked at your daughters sympathetically before turning back to Regulus. He didn’t have to say it for you to know this was the other source of his panic.

“Maybe knowledge that they are suddenly grandparents will take them out.”

You suggested with a smile. Regulus couldn’t help but smile as you got off of his lap.

“I have to keep them safe from mum and dad. I don’t want them pushing their ideals on Matilda and Rose.”

Both girls looked up and gave Regulus matching little smirks before going back to their toys.

“Regulus, I have known you for a long time. I know that you won’t let them hurt the girls.”

Regulus was quiet a moment as he watched Matilda and Rose play. He coudln’t help but wonder why his own father wanted absolutely nothing to do with him until he had gotten older. Regulus wanted nothing more than to be a part of whatever it was his daughters were doing.

“What if being around them makes me act like…him?”

Regulus questioned. You moved to stand beside your husband. Reaching down, you wrapped your hand around his and squeezed gently.

“The fact that you are even worrying about it tells me that won’t happen. If it were your father, he would never even have that thought. He would just be uncaring and believe that children are to be seen and not heard.”

Before Regulus could comment, the doorbell rang.

“That will be your brother.”

Both twins' heads popped up as they stood up to toddle out of the room shrieking Sirius’ name.

You moved to walk out of the bedroom to answer the door but stopped to look back at Regulus.

“I mean it, love, you are nothing like your father and you won’t become him. Now let's get this exciting evening over so we can have something to laugh about later.”

Walking downstairs, you smiled seeing Sirius holding both Matilda and Rose. Both twins were trying to look through his shirt pocket for the lollipops that he always brought them.

“Mine!”

Matilda shrieked before taking the lollipop out of Rose’s hand. This resulted in Rose screaming “mine” right back at her sister. Sirius looked between both toddlers and sat them down. He handed each girl a lollipop before shaking his head.

“You both get one. No need for the yelling.”

“Thank you”

Matilda muttered before going to sit down at the little table in the corner. Rose patted Sirius’ leg and went to join her sister as Sirius started trying to wipe some sticky substance off of his face.

“I don’t want to know what that is.”

He commented as you handed him a wet cloth. Chuckling Sirius cleaned the gooey spot off before giving you a smirk.

“I never thought in a million years that my neat-as-a-pin brother would be open to being a father. I thought he would barf the moment that a kid drooled on him. So…are you two really going to subject yourself to a delightful dinner from hell with Norma and Norman Bates?”

You nodded.

“Its best we get this over with. The quicker we totally rock their words the faster it will be over>”

Sirius winced.

“I don’t think it will be that easy, love. So, how is Regulus handling it?”

“Like I’m about to fall through thin ice on a pond.”

Regulus commented as he walked into the room pulling on his suit jacket. Sirius turned to face his brother and gave him a sympathetic expression.

“Maybe she will have a heart attack? I mean telling her that you married Y/n and that you have kids will be a huge shock. What if she just kills over at the dinner table? Are you just going to leave her or will you call for help? Reg, what if dad kills over too? Wouldn’t that be great?!”

Regulus only wished that he could have Sirius’ level of enthusiasm at the moment.

“I’m not that lucky, Sirius. Look, the twins go to bed at 8. Try not to hype them up on sugar this time. The last time we didn’t get them to sleep until after 11.”

Sirius gave Regulus a cold scowl.

“Look last time, they asked for ice cream. Try saying no to those little faces.”

As if on command both Matilda and Rose gave Regulus their signature “I’m cute” face.

“Love you daddy.”

Matilda muttered. Rose nodded eagerly but didn’t give up a moment with her candy. Regulus shook his head.

“Love you too, princess.”

He turned back to Sirius discreetly giving him the middle finger.

“And you’re teaching them to suck up knowing very well that I can’ say no to them.”

Sirius chuckled to himself before moving to sit on the couch.

“Well, you’ll be okay.”

Glazing down at your watch, you turned to Regulus.

“We better get going if we want to make our appearance as planned.”

Regulus groaned.

“Damn.”

The two of you moved to kiss your daughters goodbye. Sirius gave you both a final look.

“If you need me, I’ll be there in a jiffy.”

“I’ll remember that. You should pray that I don’t kill her.”

Regulus replied before following you out the door.

A moment later, you stood beside Regulus outside of Grimmauld Place. Neither of you moved to knock on the door. After a moment, you turned to look at Regulus. His handsome features were set into a hard scowl.

“Reggie, remember what I said. You aren’t your father and are nothing like your family.”

Regulus nodded. Hearing those words come from your mouth always seemed to make him feel better. Right now, it was especially helpful because he felt as if he was throwing his family into the lion's den.

“We should get this over with.”

Regulus commented before knocking on the door.

A moment later, Kreacher opened the door. The elf’s eyes got huge seeing the one person that he loved most in the world.

“Master Regulus, you finally came home. Kreacher is delighted to see you.”

Kreacher turned his attention to you and frowned. He knew exactly who you were after hearing Walburga fuss about you for many hours. Regulus had followed Kreacher’s gaze and took a breath.

“Kreacher, this is my Y/n. I want you to treat her with respect.”

The elf didn’t look thrilled by the comment. He held back the vile comment that he wanted to make about the Potters being blood traitors. If there was one thing that Kreacher wouldn’t do, it was upset Regulus.

“Yes, Master Regulus. Please follow Kreacher. Dinner has just been served.”

Regulus tightened his hold on your hand as the two of you stepped into the house.

You had never been inside Grimmauld Place before. After stepping in the door it was as dark and gloomy as you expected. Nothing about this place screamed warm and welcoming.

“This makes me love my family all the more.”

You thought as you followed Regulus and Kreacher down the dark and gloomy hallway. At least, with your family, the home was always warm and welcoming. No one had to worry about being hexed over the dinner table.

Your thoughts stopped the moment that you stepped into the dining room. Just as you expected, the room grew silent. Multiple sets of cold eyes were initially upon you. You squeezed Regulus’ hand as Walburga stood up looking furious.

“Regulus, why is that girl here?”

Regulus took a breath. He didn’t expect much of a greeting from his mother.

“Hello, mother.”

He glanced to where his father sat. Orion was watching him with a hawk-like expression while his grandmother and grandfather took sips of their wine. Cygnus and Druella both were giving each other hesitant expressions as if to say “here we go.”

“I asked you a question, Regulus. It's been three years since we have seen you and you come home with this girl.”

Regulus swallowed, suddenly remembering just who the hell he was. If his mother wanted to play hardball then so could he.

“Yes, Mother it has been three years. Furthermore, this girl has a name, and its Y/n. I expect respect for my wife.”

Both Walburga and Orion went pale. Cygnus and Druella’s mouths dropped while Arcturus and Melania tilted their heads.

“Silly of me, but did you say wife?”

Walburga finally choked out.

“Yeah, he said wife. My name is Y/n. Just so you know, Walburga, I match people’s energy. You be nice to me and I’ll be nice to you. If you want to start shit, you better be ready to dance. That goes for all of you lovely people. Now, we are here in goodwill. We aren’t here for this to turn into some muggle soap opera-level crap.”

You watched as Walburga quickly began to stutter. She clearly did not expect that to come out of your mouth. Orion, meanwhile, was looking at you with a look of amazement.

“You wanted to see us. We are here but play your cards carefully. Remember that I’m the heir to this family.”

Regulus added in a calm even tone. Walburga continued to blink before turning to Orion. Orion gave his wife a cold glare before turning back to his son.

“I see that you couldn’t be bothered to tell us about any of this.”

Regulus smirked.

“Sorry, Father but we have been rather busy in France. There is more you should know. We have twin daughters. If you have any interest in seeing them, the lot of you will agree to my terms.”

Walburga sank back in her chair before grabbing Orion’s arm.

“They have children. Oh heaven help me, they have children.”

Orion didn’t say anything immediately as he glanced at his wife. He knew Walburga would kill him later but he had a feeling that she would do exactly as her son asked. In private, Walburga had been a wreck since Regulus moved away. There had been multiple times that she had shed tears over the subject. Of course, Orion would never tell Regulus this.

“Yes, we have children.”

You replied. Melania turned to her grandson with a gentle expression. Regulus had always been her favorite. Now seeing him as a husband and father made her extremely pleased. While she still could see the darling little boy that Regulus was, it was clearly time to see him as the man that he had become.

“You didn’t bring them with you, Regulus.”

Regulus’ cold expression softened as he addressed his grandmother.

“No, grandmother. I didn’t with reason. Our family has a talent for losing our tempers and acting out of places of anger. My daughters don’t need to be exposed to that. Before any of you lay eyes upon them, you’ll listen to what I have to say and agree to my terms.”

Orion leaned back in his chair with a scowl.

“We’re listening.”

___

@geeksareunique @jessyballet @knreidy1 @dumbbunnys-safes @siriuslyceleste @mimisparkle12 @teletubiswszpilkach @spideyxalmighty @lucasfilms77 @readtomeregulus @i-love-scott-mccall @iluvthe-marauders @justfinishthis @fific7 @woohoney @abaker74 @regulus-black-223048 @saramaple @missgorldafirst @f4iryluvy @s-we-e-t-t-ea @taylor-will-be-the-death-of-m @ivybeeloved @i-love-scott-mccall @panpride @bennyberry @gugggu6gvaii @jag9000 @quinis @haroldpotterson @mentally-unstable-hoe @daddyslittlevillainx @goldensunshineshit @marichromatic @melaninnbarbie @ravenhood2792 @play-morezeppelin @spideyxalmighty @lucasfilms77 @rubyroscoe1 @brokencasbutt67-writer @un-lovesherself @emiwrites3reads @padf00ts-l0ver

[margareth-lv]

🏳️‍🌈 Every girl needs a gay best friend 🏳️‍🌈

Last week, I wrote a post here about the morbid shyness of a certain music manager.

My text was based on an interview Caitríona gave in mid-February 2018, shortly after her so-called 'engagement' and after she'd just won the Irish IFTA for her work on Outlander.

In the interview, Caitríona talked about how she met her fake fiancé. In the February 2018 version, Caitríona met her PA through one of her best friends.

So I decided to look into the subject of this "best friend" who brought the unfortunate music manager to Caitriona.

What I'm going to write today is, I think, 100% obvious to veterans of the fandom. But for those just starting out, I hope it'll be news. And I, well, I'm somewhere in the middle, between newbie status and more than three years of wading through the facts and the myths.

For me, the fun part has been reconstructing the chronology of events. The dates are interesting.

*** *** ***

The beginning of my story is quite surprising. Because we reach Caitríona's 'best friend' by clicking on a link in an article published in 'People Magazine' on 15 August 2019.

The article is entitled: 'Everything to Know About Caitriona Balfe's Super Private Relationship with Husband Tony McGill' and it tells us that: 'the couple tied the knot in England last weekend'.

😱

What excellent investigative journalists People Magazine have (bravo, bravo!), that in a twelve sentence article they could link to a post from Donal Brophy's Instagram.

👏🏻👏🏻👏🏻

And look at this description:

"It’s unclear exactly when Balfe and McGill started dating, but the earliest evidence of their romance dates back to 2015, when a friend posted a video of her sitting on his lap at a bar in Ireland on Instagram. (McGill was not tagged and does not appear to have any social media accounts of his own.)"

🤯

Isn't that brilliant work from Starz/TPTB/whatever's PR Dept?

*** **** *** From the above it seems fair to conclude that the 'best friend' who brought Caitriona bad luck in the form of an unfulfilling music manager was Donal Brophy, because who else could it be?

*** *** ***

And now, let's take a quick look at the Instagram post (dated 1 January 2015) linked to the 'People Magazine' article. We all know it, of course! Here is the irrefutable proof of the passion between our two lovebirds: the rhythmic (and how sexy!) patting on the hip.

🥱

Well, hip-slapping is boring (and not at all sexy).

Far less boring, however, is the look on the music manager's face, the look that seeks Donal's approval (tell me I'm patting her well, do tell!). Could it be that, like the People Magazine link, this video was made to show? I wouldn't rule it out.

*** *** *** Now let's talk about dates: the sexy (not 🤢) slap on the hip was posted by Donal with a date of 1 January 2015, but two days earlier, on 30 December 2014, Donal shared another photo on Instagram featuring both the hapless music manager and Caitríona. ⬇️⬇️⬇️

Perhaps the decidedly less seductive and sensual appearance of the 'fiancée' in the December photo was the deciding factor in "People Magazine" not publishing a link to it?

Who could know?

*** *** ***

It certainly wasn't love at first sight. The new boyfriend seems rather tired of Caitriona's presence. 😉

I know this is a mischievous conclusion. I am so, so sorry, my friends.

❓

But one thing is for sure: Donal is an old friend of Caitríona.

I haven't done too much in-depth research, but the oldest photo I've been able to find of both Caitríona and Donal is… a photo in a Flickr album belonging to Caitríona's ex-boyfriend, Dave Milone. The photo is dated… 2002.

😨

You get the idea - Caitríona's ex (and real) boyfriend, Dave, Donal, and after many, many years a new 'fiancé'. It feels like my brain is exploding. 🤯🤯🤯

*** *** ***

But back to Donal: I have a feeling that Donal may have been Caitríona's +1 at times when she did not have an official boyfriend.

*** *** *** And let's not forget: Caitríona has a sweet and tender relationship with Donal.

June 2013, Miss you babe!

December 2013, Caitríona on IG:

December 2013, Donal on IG:

April 2014: They even went hiking together in the Scottish Highlands.

I wonder, by the way, who was their mountain guide? Was it an unfortunate music manager? I think not.

I would rather point to someone else, someone who loves (and knows!) the (S)cottish (H)ighlands. But I won't name him.

⛰️🧗🏻‍♂️

*** *** ***

For those who are unfamiliar with the name Donal Brophy, here are a few words about his professional profile:

You know, it works for me: "While in New York, Donal was also known for epic parties. Everything he organized automatically became a “must-attend” event for New York’s most with-it residents."

You know, that kind of vibe (2007):

😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫

*** *** ***

Had he been Caitríona's false fiancé, it would have been easy for us to believe in the beautiful, loving bond that existed between them. But he was only the messenger of bad news. What wouldn't you do for your best friend?

❓

PS. Unless something has changed, Donal was married to Emrhys Cooper, a British actor, singer, dancer, and filmmaker. Together they run Idyllwild Pictures, an entertainment company.

Taken in July 2023:

[January 23, 2024]

[foreverisntenough]

- YOU’RE MINE -

Summary: While you daydreamed about his face an ocean apart, he had no idea what yours was about to do to him. With a twist of fate and the heat of summer, a new relationship would completely ransack his heart - Everyday heavy with the thought of one another, neither of you were going to let the unexpected love of your life go. You were going to be his, you were his, and you were going to stay his.

Warnings: This series will contain fluff, suggestive, smut love bombing, little sad, and kind of angst- not sure what else really… if i miss anything please lmk!

Note: I hope you like it! There will definitely be more parts (don’t know how many just yet though.)

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Chapter 8 | Chapter 9

Chapter 10 - ‘You’re Mine’

You sat on your apartment floor in a pile of your clothes. What the hell do you bring to visit a boy… in another country… for an unspecified amount of time. Lingerie was the first thing in your suitcase but like… what else?

Trent had been kind enough to organize everything for you so you really only had to lock up your apartment, he had gotten everything sorted down to a car picking you up and bringing you to the airport. You had an inkling it was more likely Tyler orchestrating the logistics but Trent was the one relaying the information to you. No matter, it was incredibly thoughtful.

He had booked you a hotel suite down near the Liverpool waterfront because you had mentioned that you had liked staying near there before during previous visits to the city. It was unsaid but assumed you’d more than likely be in Trent’s bed anyways but you didn’t want to pressure him or bother him after a match day and he hadn’t wanted you to presume this was a trip solely to get his dick wet. It also occurred to both of you that Trent lived with his family. It was comforting to him, something he loved, something you actually found endearing, and as much as you got along with his brothers, throwing you into the family home seemed like a big ask.

There were a lot of uncertainties about the trip… the most glaringly obvious, the length. You and Trent both just wanted to be back together so you hadn’t really set a return date. You were off and on your way to England tomorrow. You couldn’t exactly uproot your life for a man you hadn’t known for that long, let alone explain to your family that you suddenly had struck up a whirlwind romance with the Trent Alexander-Arnold but your return to New York was still TBD.

To be honest, your dad might be thrilled at the idea of the potential access to Anfield and return to his home country but you were a daddy’s girl so moving countries might throw him for a loop. Your mom, well.. she’d miss you but you having a boyfriend, no matter the location, would just make her life complete. That was another thing… you were so excited to visit ‘your Trent’ but he wasn’t your boyfriend really so what was this to him? You had told most people who needed to know your whereabouts that you were going to England to visit a friend, you’d be going to Liverpool for a game which you had done before… purposely avoiding the details though that seeing a player was the sole reason you were being flown out. You wanted to keep it hush until it was official with him or god forbid… if it were to all fizzle out. Your head was spinning when your best friend FaceTimed you breaking the trepidation.

“Are you even going to pack clothes?” She joked before even saying hello to you.

“Rude…. I am, but honestly haven’t got a clue what yet… I want to look good but not try too hard. I wanna be hot for him but I’ll also be with his family so the lines are a little blurry.” You began to rant, panicking. You initially had asked Trent what to pack but his response was zero help.

“You look amazing in anything… but I also want you in nothing.. so” he joked, providing no assistance during a recent phone call.

Despite everything being done for you, the trip was still a little overwhelming. The plan was to fly into Manchester, Trent insisting that Tyler pick you up because he wasn’t able to get you himself because his match was that day. Tyler would drive you to your hotel, check you in, let you settle in and then he and Marcel would grab you a bit later on to head to the stadium for the game so you could see Trent. After that…not a clue what was in store but you could only imagine it would involve little to no clothing… heavily depending on if you were able to manage to stay awake after the long day.

It all sounded so seamless but after a 7 hour flight, the idea of going to a packed season opener at Anfield and attempting to look presentable after not seeing your man for over a month was stressing you out. Trent didn’t really think that this was, rather the reunion would be exciting, fun, and romantic.

“Okay, okay… I’m thinking you have to go with basics right? Like heels, boots, a sneaker, jeans, white tee, and then obviously have to bring all the gifts and shit he’s sent you..” your best friend was trying to be practical and she was right. Just simple, like your first date, hot but comfortable.

“Yeah, okay, smart. Weather is kind of weird there… like if I need a jacket… I need to think a little more. Maybe I’ll shop when I’m there when he’s busy like at training…”

“You shop? Let him shop! He’s clearly not opposed to buying you things! Also… you’re going to the north of England not a deserted island. I hope you shop when you’re there.”

“I’m not letting him do that… he’s gotta chill with the..” you stopped your own sentence “oh my god! There’s a Selfridges in Manchester… wow I totally forgot. Ugh I can’t wait for that.” You were drooling at the idea of bringing those yellow shopping bags home, forgetting the current task at hand.

“Wow, yeah… I miss that place.” Your friend also getting lost for a second.

“Fuck! Focus Y/N.” You said aloud to yourself. “I need to pack now. I’m hanging up. You’re not as helpful as I needed you to be!” You poked fun sarcastically at your friend who had actually been helpful.

“Love you! Let me know when you you take off, land, fuck him, you know the important things” she cooed cheekily.

You managed to finish packing. An incredibly heavy full suitcase that barely zipped closed and a burgundy Goyard Saint Louis tote bag stuffed full of flight essentials; passport, charger, headphones, just the usual.

You hadn’t realized until you were in line for security rereading your ticket but you were pleased when you realized you were in first class and you had access to a lounge. You texted Trent an update as if he hadn’t planned your entire itinerary for the next 24 hours.

“Text me before you take off, baby 😘” he responded.

“I will 😘 going to see you so sooon… absolutely insane”

“Getting impatient” he texted, always managing to make you smile, make you feel wanted. So you boarded the plane, tucked into your seat with a smile and a warm feeling in your chest. You picked a movie, popped in your headphones and prayed for a safe flight and the ability to get some rest during it.

While you were in transit, Trent was busy with pre-match preparations and also ultimately getting ready for your arrival. He was so excited he couldn’t sit still, pacing around his house. He hadn’t really shut up about you over the past few weeks, more often than not talking to his mum, knowing she could keep a secret. He didn’t want to over share with his friends, teammates and brothers because he was well aware how whipped he was for you and they would no doubt give him shit. That said, he didn’t exactly hide his obsession all that well.

“I’m sorry I can’t make it to the match tonight, sweetheart” Dianne sincerely apologized to Trent standing in the kitchen that morning. She had a prior commitment she couldn’t get out of unfortunately. It didn’t really bother Trent, she had seen more minutes of him on the pitch than anyone but it also meant that it would postponing your meeting.

“Mum, really it’s fine… besides I’m getting a little nervous about who's all in the box tonight.” He said anxiously.

“You shouldn’t be nervous… you invited her and she wanted to come.” Dianne knew he was referring to you being in the box.

“I know I never say this….” Trent sighed leaning his forehead against the refrigerator door. “What if I play bad and she gets like the ick.”

“The ick?” Dianne perplexed by the term.

“Yeah, like the ick…” Trent poorly and inadvertently didn’t explain so Dianne moved on.

“Trenty, it’s just another normal night.” She tried to reassure him like he was still her little boy.

“She is flying to another country… for me.” Trent said initially with some fear but his own words actually had instilled some confidence in him. You were flying to see him. You didn’t have to do this, you wanted to.

Trent had to leave to meet with the team, start the whole process of match day so he gathered all his things, said goodbye to his mum, and made his way to the driveway. He stopped in his tracks half way to his car trying to remember if he had made his bed, hoping that tonight he could convince you to come sleep with him instead of your hotel. The thought of you back in his arms had him eager for the final whistle before kick off even happened.

You woke up with about a half an hour left in your flight. By the time you gathered yourself you had landed in Manchester. You were going to text Trent but you didn’t want to bother him as it was getting closer to game time so you opted to text Tyler letting him know you had arrived. Customs wasn’t too long but you needed a few extra minutes in the bathroom to reapply some tinted moisturizer, fix your hair, spray some perfume, it was fine for now but you couldn’t wait to shower at the hotel.

“In arrival pickup, I'm refusing to hold a sign like Trent wanted so just look for my car…black Mercedes.” Tyler texted. It made you laugh, he clearly was just being a nice brother doing Trent a favor. He downplayed his car exponentially, it was a massive Mercedes G-Wagon, not exactly subtle, it was matte black with completely tinted windows. You easily spotted it and rolled your suitcase down the pavement. Tyler got out of the car, calling your name lowly. You greeted him warmly with a sweet ‘hi’ and a big hug.

“You okay? Flight was fine?” He questioned genuinely, taking your suitcase and putting it in the boot of his car.

“Yeah, yeah all good. Airports are just so stressful so thank you for handling everything. Obviously wasn’t T.” You teased and Tyler shrugged knowing that was incredibly accurate.

You opened the car door to find a little box wrapped neatly with a bow on the front seat. You picked it up to try to hand it to Tyler like it was his.

“Obviously, it’s for you. He wasn’t going to let you arrive without getting you something… be real for a minute.”

You giggled knowing it was true. Gifts were one of Trent’s love languages for sure. You shuffled around in the seat a little awkwardly at first fumbling with the box before putting it in your bag.

“Everything good?” Tyler asked, noticing as he started to pull out of the lane.

“Sorry, just haven’t driven over here in a minute, was confused for a second.” You giggled more readjusting to the roads.

“I don’t have anything comforting to say, just the way it is, the way it should be.” He teased you.

“Sure.. whatever you say.” You poked back rolling your eyes. Being American made for easy jokes.

“I told him I got you, he won’t be on his phone today really so if you don’t hear from Trent before don’t take it personally.” Tyler spoke unprompted.

“Oh… yeah? Thanks. I didn’t want to bother him. Don’t really know anything about match day protocol I guess…. I usually am a few pints in by this point.” He laughed at your honesty.

“We'll get you a drink eventually. But after… usually best bet is to let him come to us depending on the result. I know he’s embarrassingly excited to see you though so I’ll get you to him.” He said openly not taking his eyes off the road.

You arrived at the hotel and Tyler offered to help you check in but you assured him you could manage, he already had done a lot and had to come back for you in a little so you felt a little guilty taking up more of his time. He left once you gestured to him through the window you had successfully got your room key.

You got to your room and immediately collapsed on the bed not long before springing back up and practically ripping off your clothes thinking about getting airplane germs on the fresh bed. You swiftly made it to the shower immediately.

You wrapped yourself in a fluffy towel sat on the edge of the bed, trying to remember what you had planned to wear to the match tonight. You looked at your open suitcase, beauty products now covering the counter tops, the sweatshirt you wore on the plane spilling out of your Goyard when you spotted the little box Trent had left for you peaking out.

“Oh shit” you exclaimed out loud in the empty room recalling you hadn’t opened it yet. You pulled at the ribbon, unraveling the knot opening the lid to reveal a small velvet jewelry box. You popped it open to see a gold band, it was a classic ring but it had a raised block font with the letters ‘TAA’ pressed onto it. You liked how personal it was, you liked that he wanted you to wear his initials. There was a little card with his scribbled handwriting, nothing too grandiose, just simple.

‘Your TAA xx’

You slid the ring on and you felt like your heart could burst. Getting a ring from Trent caused your mind to fantasize at what other sort of ring he could eventually buy you. Calling himself yours made you smile uncontrollably too. You threw on a tank top and shorts to lay in bed for a moment telling people back home you arrived safely in England when your screen flashed with an incoming FaceTime.

“Guess where I ammmmm” you answered while sitting up a little in the bed. Your arm wrapped tightly around your chest in excitement seeing the gorgeous boys face grace the screen. Overjoyed considering Tyler’s warning you may not hear from him.

“Baby, I cannot believe you are so close right now.” Trent said beaming.

“Weird right?!” You giggled.

“You promise you’re actually coming tonight, you and Ty aren’t just messing with me?” He sounded more serious than he needed to be. You flipped your camera to face away from you showing him your dainty hand now fitted with the ring with his initials, the Liverpool waterfront visible from the window behind your fingers. Confirmation you were definitely here before turning the camera back to you.

“Promise, pretty boy!” You cooed “Cannot wait to see you tonight.”

“You cannot wait to kiss me.” He corrected you, his eyes dropping a little lower to your chest now.

“Mmm” You hummed to get his attention knowing that your tits were on display. “Don’t you have to focus, dial in?”

“I’m focused… trust me.” Trent said lustfully before snapping out of his gaze.

“I do actually have to run but just needed to make sure you got here safely.” He rambled.

“All safe” you smiled.

“If there’s a lot of stoppage time tonight, I’m going to be pissed. Need to see my baby.” He groaned

“See you tonighttt, my T” you practically sang your smile getting bigger at the thought before hanging up. You pulled yourself out of bed knowing that Tyler and Marcel would be coming to pick you up sooner than later and you had to get ready.

You went for light makeup, your hair in a middle part and down, natural. You slipped on some promiscuous lingerie inspecting how you looked in the mirror. Once you confirmed this looked like the right set for your first night back together you put on Trent’s jersey. The warm feeling returned in your chest. You were a fan before you’d ever met him but knowing this was his, from him, it just felt different and you couldn’t suppress the butterflies filling your stomach. You pulled it tucking it up into the band of your bra, a hack you did to crop the shirt showcasing your stomach.

You chose a pair of fitted leather pants, you knew your ass looked good in them. After a long internal debate you landed on a Barbour jacket, it seemed the most weather appropriate. Frankly, your shoe choice was impractical, committing your look so you went with a pair of tan suede pointed toed heeled boots. And of course, it would only be right to bring the Chanel bag Trent had got for you. You weren’t monogamous to silver or gold so you wore both metals dripping in a ton of jewelry. Grabbing your phone from the charger you double checked you had everything and stood in the mirror analyzing every aspect of your outfit but was interrupted by the unknown UK number calling your phone. You usually wouldn’t but you answered assuming, not surprised to hear a familiar scouse accent giving you shit for running behind.

“I’m sorry!! I’m coming right now” you sincerely apologized to Marcel on the other end of the phone rushing. You walked through the lobby adjusting your outfit when the lady who checked you in earlier friendly questioned you.

“Headed out to the game tonight hun?” She asked spotting you adjust the team jersey.

“Yep!” You said sweetly with a smile but trying to hurry along as to not hold up the boys any longer.

“They are a handsome lot, maybe you’ll find yourself a player to bring back.” She said quite cheekily but it was meant with good lighthearted intentions.

“Maybe…” you said smugly, slyly, little did she know your reality.

You jumped into the familiar big Mercedes back seat you were in mere hours ago.

“You’re aware it’s a footie match?” Marcel made fun of your over the top outfit. It really wasn’t, frankly, they just were in far more casual clothes.

“Yes, I do and your opinion is not important to me. I like my outfit. Thank you very much!” You quipped teasing back.

You were thankful you’d been to Anfield before because it was actually quite overwhelming arriving. You had entered in sectioned off areas but even so the two brothers weren’t exactly walking around going unnoticed at the stadium. You could feel people staring. It was loud, bustling, and being thrust into the close circle of families and friends of players had you feeling out of place. You had made your way into a box nestled high in the stadium. It actually vibrated from the fan curated atmosphere. Opposite of you, the boys were so relaxed, they looked to be completely at home, before offering you a pint as promised. Haphazardly they showed you around the suite, the seats, where things were gradually. The noise outside only grew when the team made their way onto the pitch to warm up.

Even though he was younger than you Marcel felt like he needed to keep an eye on you. He could sense your nerves so he put his hand on your shoulder gently and guided you out of the box into the open air seats overlooking the field.

“He’s number 66.” He said facetiously pointing obviously down at Trent. Your heart nearly stopped seeing him. He was actually focused on football now opposed to your tits on FaceTime earlier, striking the ball with ease, laughing a little.

He looked so beautiful. Under the floodlights, his skin was just glowing. He had aura… god, he just radiated a coolness. He was so subtly confident, so sexy. Your finger stroked over the raised letters of your new ring settling your rapid breath. You couldn’t peel your eyes away, it had been so long since you’ve seen him in the flesh and there he was but he was still so so far away.

In a moment, the crazed environment completely faded away when Trent lifted his head, inspecting the stands, combing through faces in the box till he landed on yours. That smile. Oh my god, that smile on his face had you completely falling apart inside. He sent a quick wink your way, still attempting to keep his concentration on the game. Although small, his acknowledgement calmed you feeling more comfortable, finally taking off your jacket, admittedly slightly shyly considering you were sitting with boys who shared the last name on your back.

“Uhhohh we got a fan” Tyler jeered.

“Ugh T, you’re so sexy. Please let me be a WAG” Marcel moaned in a terrible, but equally funny, American accent impersonating you.

“I hate you both” you said with no real conviction, your eyes refusing to break from watching Trent stretch, it was hot.. you couldn’t deny it.

You had relaxed, meeting a few people, drinking and laughing with his brothers, you were having fun. The starting eleven took their positions before kick off. Trent had made his way to the back right of the pitch that was closer to where you all were sat. There was a pause, a hum of anticipation for the match to begin but in the lull Trent turned to look for you once more. He found you much faster this time, pressing his hand to his lips, blowing you a kiss pointing up to you directly. You couldn’t wipe the smile off your face if you tried. It was bold, it was public, it was just for you. You were lost in the moment, looking longingly into the big brown eyes that felt miles away. You pushed your lips, pressing a kiss into the crisp air towards him. He smiled before putting his head back down to regain focus.

His brothers looked completely shocked at the interaction. Marcel’s hand gripped Tyler’s leg. They knew you two were into each other, it seemed to be serious, but never… never had they seen Trent break professionalism and do something so affectionate, not only in public, but on a massive stage. This game was at a fully packed stadium, broadcasted, spectated internationally and he without a single second of doubt was blowing a kiss to you.

The ref blew the whistle signaling the start of the match but also the start of something much more.

•

Thank you for continuing reading! DW smut will return! Let me know what you think!!!!!

Next part - Chapter 11

[massachusetts-official]

I grew up on the Cape but no longer live there. despite this I am still insufferably from Massachusetts and bring up MA (the best state in New England as well as America as well as the world) constantly. thank you for making my indefatigable fire of superiority burn even hotter

Official Post of Massachusetts

[irate-iguana]

Hello and please look at the Stratford Festival’s poster for Richard II. Because I am obsessed:

The play’s been adapted by the queer playwrite Brad Fraser, it’s set in late ’70s/early ’80s New York (aka disco era), and they’ve got a nonbinary actor playing Richard.

I swear I’m not hired by the Stratford Festival, I’m just really excited about this production. Here’s a link to their website, for those curious:

Edit: the Stratford Festival is in Stratford, Ontario. Sorry if I got anyone in England’s hopes up.

[louisupdates]

Louis Tomlinson Is Officially Embracing His Gray Hairs at 32 — and of Course Fans Are Swooning!

The singer leaned into his silver fox status while at Glastonbury Festival in England

By Hedy Phillips Published on July 1, 2024 05:32PM EDT

Louis Tomlinson with his sister Lottie Tomlinson at Glastonbury Festival. PHOTO: LOTTIE TOMLINSON/INSTAGRAM

Louis Tomlinson is officially a silver fox.

The singer, 32, embraced his grays while at the Glastonbury Festival in Somerset England during the last weekend in June. Tomlinson's normally shaggy brunette hair had wisps of gray strands peeking through, mostly on the sides.

Tomlinson was at the festival with a group of friends and his sister, Lottie Tomlinson, and the "Silver Tongues" singer and his crew made waves for bringing a TV onto festival grounds to watch the England football club's UEFA match because there was nowhere else to watch it during the festival. Thanks to his bold decision, Tomlinson (and his grays) made it all over social media, onto the news (including the BBC!) and into headlines.

Tomlinson's fans have been quick to swoon over his status as a silver fox, praising him all over every social media platform.

One person captured a video of Tomlinson from one of the newscasts, adding little emojis to the gray hairs and wrote, "I will protect you louis’ gray hair, while another added, "Louis’ gray hair being one of the most talked about twitter discourse, with locals writing paragraphs to defend him was not on my bingo card. Atleast everyone is appreciating this silver-fox dilf."

Tomlinson, who rose to fame as part of One Direction alongside Harry Styles, Zayn Malik, Liam Payne and Niall Horan, has slowly been embracing his gray hair over the past couple years as he's gotten older (and the quick-witted and sassy artist would probably have words for us for calling it out).

A few gray hairs have poked through all over his head from time to time, and fans have captured the evidence in plenty of photos that they've shared on social media (with fervor). While he hasn't yet gone fully gray, he's gone in and out of brown and gray phases — even with his facial hair.

One thing is for certain, his fans, are here for the grays. One fan put it very simply (also quoting one of Tomlinson's own tattoos): "let's just say I am a silver fox fan and will always be a silver fox fan. Love the gray hair. It is What it is!"

[siriusleee]

a better year

a/n: i linked this one to ao3 a week or so ago, but i figured i'd do it now i'm procrastinating the next chapter to adamantine chains lmao this is my take on the bookstore au tags: mentions of sex but nothing explicit, cursing, signs of ptsd, , original female character, retirement from the military, bookstore au 6.7k words summary: He takes her shoes off of her while she insists she can do that herself. He slips the right one off when the fireworks go off outside; the entire town is bathed in their light. "Midnight," she says as Simon rises up on one knee in front of her, ready to tell her goodbye and good night. She kisses him over the mask. She doesn't mention it the next day.

The official order rolled in on plain white paper, an unceremonious carrier of his future. He was the first to go: a sign that the team was being unraveled slowly. After all, they're not young men anymore. 

"You'll receive your pension; it's enough that you shouldn't have to work again. And we've made sure that you have an official background. It's not much, but it's what we can do."

Laswell doesn't move her eyes from his, her fingers clutching a pen so hard her knuckles are white. 

"It's for the best Simon," she says, setting the pen down carefully on her desk, "and if it makes you feel better: everyone will be released soon. I'm sorry."

He's not dumb; he knows these things only last so long. Forced retirement is something to be celebrated - celebrated that he lived long enough to have one, celebrated that his body isn't rotting in some foreign country, a home for worms. Celebrated that the 141 made it out mostly intact. Mostly together. 

Johnny claps him on the back and promises that when Laswell brings him that paper when Johnny gets his own forced retirement, he'll come to find Simon. 

Simon doesn't stay in England - he doesn't like the way the gray settles around him. He leaves the apartment Laswell set up for him untouched, a note for Johnny for where to find him. 

He finds a small house to rent somewhere in the American Southwest, spitting distance of Alejandro's territory. It crosses his mind more than once to make the trip across the border, to see how Alejandro's doing; to see if Rudy is still scared of fantasmas . 

But he isn't a fantasma anymore; he's just Simon Riley.

And it's just Simon Riley who paces the aisles of her bookstore, trying to find something to take his mind off of the fact that he is utterly and completely bored. 

"This is the third time you've been here this month. I'm not putting you into debt am I?"

Her accent is different from everyone else's in town - still decidedly American, just not from here American. Simon ignores her, his eyes focused on the row of books in front of him. She sighs heavily, but drops it, leaving him behind to stock the end cap. Last week's murder mysteries replaced by this week's contemporary romances. 

"I need to lock up you know - I can't stay here all night." She speaks as if it's not odd that Simon only comes in on Thursday nights - the only night of the week she stays open late to rearrange the end cap displays, to vacuum the floors to perfection. 

"You haven't even cleaned the windows yet," Simon replies, pulling a fantasy book from the shelf: something about a world full of malicious fairies and a secret world beneath New York. It's something new. 

"For your information, I did that before you got here," she says, pushing herself up from the floor with a groan. "And I have a life. I can't sit here all night and wait for you to pick a random book off the shelf."

"I never said you didn't."

Simon places the book as she dips behind the counter, a lukewarm cup of coffee left beside the cash register. She drinks from it, wincing at the taste as she rings the book up.

"That'll be seventeen forty-five."

Simon gives her a twenty and she breaks the change, counting out how many pennies he's supposed to have on her fingers. 

"You going to be back next week?"

"Why?"

"I want to close early next Thursday; I need to know if my best customer is going to be here or not."

Simon doesn't speak as he takes the plastic bag from her hands. She waits for him, eyes never leaving his as she sips her coffee, waiting on him to answer. 

"I can come by Friday instead."

"I'm closed Fridays."

"What about Wednesday?"

"I can stay late Wednesday."

He leaves her with just a crinkle of the plastic bag and the chime above the door.

***

He spends too much time at the gym ignoring Johnny's text messages. Johnny tells him Price was next - swearing that he was going to retire to the countryside where he can smoke his cigars in peace. Maybe find himself a nice girl to cook him dinner every now and then.

His fingers hover over the buttons, almost messaging Price to tell him congratulations. But Simon's not sure it really is. 

He's alone at night; no one's in the gym at two in the morning. No one's there to watch the way he slams the weights down when he's done or hear the way he gasps for breath after lifting too heavy - the tear in his chest that never quite healed right burning him from the inside. 

The walk home is quick; the stars shine brighter than anything he'd ever seen in England. The closest he ever got to seeing them like this was in the Middle East, but he hardly noticed the stars then. He wasn't expecting to be left looking up.

He sits in the shower at home. He can't stand the way the water hits his skin, but can't stand the idea of sitting in the water either. So he stays huddled in the corner of the bathtub, the water barely touching him. 

Simon Riley thinks about death. 

He thinks about what would happen if he died right now. 

He thinks about what it's like to die twice. 

***

The door is locked when he comes by Wednesday; he feels foolish standing there with his hand still pulling on the door, knowing it won't open beneath his touch. Foolish to think that she would-

Foolish when his heart ticks a beat as she comes around the corner. Foolish when he steps inside just a second after she unlocks the door.

"Sorry, my last employee must have locked the door on their way out. So did you like last week's book?"

"It was alright."

The silence is almost awkward as she locks the door behind him.

"Let me know when you're ready. I just made coffee in that pot behind the counter; you can have some if you want. I shouldn't drink it all myself."

She leaves him behind to disappear into the store room. He paces the aisles aimlessly, waiting for something to jump out at him. It's quiet tonight; the music that's usually playing softly over the speakers is absent. Simon can hear her through the storeroom wall moving boxes around, the sound of a box cutter piercing the quiet every so often. 

She reappears, a box in her arms that she drops heavily onto the counter. Simon watches her over the bookshelf of non-fiction works as she pulls each book out, scans it into the computer, and stacks them on the counter 

When the box is empty, she breaks it down and leaves it on the counter. She looks up, almost catching Simon staring at her. He ducks away, taking a book on the Korean War with him. At the counter, she can barely see him over the stack of books in front of her. 

"Last week was fantasy and this week is the Korean War? You certainly have varied tastes."

Simon hands over the fifteen twenty-two he owes her, her hands linger in the distance between them. 

"Do you have a job?"

"What?"

Simon's taken aback at her candor. I used to have a job he thinks, as he pockets his change. 

"No, I don't."

"Do you want one? I need a weekend worker. It's just me on Saturdays and Sundays now my other guy quit to go to college. I can't pay you a ton, but I kind of get the feeling you don't need it."

He falters for a moment; that's all it takes. If he's being honest with himself, he misses taking orders, missing feeling useful to someone.

"I can do that." 

"Can you start this Saturday?"

"I can do that."

She's locked the door behind him before he realizes they don't even know each other's names. 

***

Her name's Billy.

"What's your name; I probably should have asked that before I hired you."

Simon doesn't answer, placing the box down slowly before he answers. It's odd, telling someone his name. His real name. 

"It's Simon. Simon Riley."

She looks him over, elbows resting on the counter. 

"What?"' He asks, uncomfortable under her x-ray analysis of him.

"Just didn't peg you for a Simon. You know with your general countenance; the mask and all that."

She doesn't ask why he has the mask on. Simon gets the feeling that she never will. 

She works him like a dog; he's moving some of the shelves around when he thinks that this is probably the reason her last employee quit. It's like being ordered around by Price again, but this time his enemy is the dust. He doesn't stop moving until well after noon; sweat gathering in the small of his back. In her office, Billy is on the phone, yelling indistinctly at the person on the other line.

He doesn't have to watch her to know she's angry when she slams the phone down. He expects her to storm out of her office, to slam the door shut behind her. But she doesn't. When she comes out she's calm.

On Sunday she shows him how the books are organized, and she has him switch around the genres.

"Romance sells best during the spring, and mystery best in the fall and winter. So we need to pull the mystery books up to this front aisle and move the romance towards the back. These shelves roll so they're easier to move."

She's meticulous; Simon moves the same shelf four times before it's lined up exactly where she wants it. His constellation prize: cash wages handed to him at the end of the day.

"No paycheck?"

Her nails tap against the counter, the white paint chipped.

"I haven't processed your paperwork yet. I can take the money back if you want."

Simon pockets it.

They lock up together. It's warm outside, but she still tugs a hoodie over herself whenever she finishes, tucking her keys into the pocket.

It's a complete coincidence that they set off in the same direction. 

Simon wants a cigarette; his fingers itch for the pack in his pocket. But she'd said earlier in the day that the smell was disgusting and she couldn't breathe whenever someone with cigarette smoke on them passed her by.

They split up two blocks away from the bookstore. She motions up to the upstairs apartment of a shitty duplex. It's not the kind of place he expected her to be in.

"This is me. I'll see you next Saturday right?"

"I'll be there."

"Good night Simon."

She doesn't wait for him to say anything; not that he would have known what to say. She's up the stairs and inside (she didn't unlock the door; he has to restrain himself from going upstairs to tell her to lock it next time) before he can think of anything to say.

He smokes a cigarette at the bottom of her stairs; watches the outline of her against the curtains in her window. A fat black cat peers down at him, peers down at the cherry of Simon's cigarette in the darkness. The street lamp is burnt out, the shadows dark. He stubs the cigarette out on the sole of his boot and throws the cigarette butt out in the street. 

He's almost certain she'd chide him for that - the same way she did a kid who had the audacity to throw a cigarette down in front of her shop. 

His apartment is extra cold when he gets home.

***

"Maybe Price has it right: a life in the countryside. A pretty girl to cook you a few meals. Maybe a dog to curl up at your feet," Johnny drones on the other end of the line. Simon doesn't answer, his focus on cutting the potatoes in front of him into meticulous cubes. Johnny doesn't need him to speak. 

"What about you L.T.? What have you been up to?"

"I'm not a lieutenant anymore Johnny."

"You'll always be L.T. to me. And don't ignore the question."

Simon drops the potatoes into a pot, waiting on the answer to unstick from the back of his throat.

"Not much. I go to the gym a lot."

He doesn't tell Johnny how he has to break his gun down and put it back together three times each night before he can sleep.

"That it?"

"I'm working at a bookstore."

"A bookstore! A few months out and you're domesticated."

"Watch it, Johnny."

A pause.

"I have to go L.T.. Gaz is yelling at me."

Their goodbye is the silence that follows. 

***

Billy's arguing with a customer when he arrives Saturday morning.

"Listen, dude, I don't care what price you want to pay. This is my business and I set the prices. If you don't like it, you're not being forced to come here."

The customer drops it when Simon steps behind the counter. 

"I hate that guy," Billy tells him as she hands him a box cutter. "He comes in every week and tries to get me to lower my prices. It's a bookstore; I'm not getting rich off of this. I can't afford that. Anyway-" 

She sweeps her hair behind her shoulders. Simon catches a hint of a tattoo behind her right ear and a glint of cold chain disappearing beneath her shirt.

"Finals are coming up for the local community college so I had two different study groups book the tables in here today. They're usually pretty good, we just have to make sure to keep the coffee pot refilled for them because they'll drink it dry. It's $5 if they want coffee - per person don't let them try to swindle us - but they can refill it as much as they want."

Her fingers tap against the counter. Her nails are blue this week.

"If they ask about selling us their textbooks, tell them to come back next week. I have a shipment of children's books coming in - you can sign for it if I'm busy. Do I need to show you how to use the cash register or can you figure it out?"

"I can figure it out."

"Ok. The code is 4532. For now, do you mind breaking down the boxes in the back room and taking them to the dumpster? It's hard for me to reach to open up the dumpster lid."

She doesn't wait for him to answer before she disappears into the back room.

This Saturday is busy. 

Simon's about to snap at a kid who won't shut up about how the comic section is too small when Billy appears beside him. 

"I'll take over here Simon. There's lunch in the back room."

He's thankful for her in that moment.

He's more thankful when the storeroom shuts behind him and locks. The table has a small bag with his name written on it. A sandwich from the deli across the street and a bottle of water inside.

There are no tomatoes on the sandwich.

Just like he always orders it.

***

He smokes a cigarette again outside her apartment. But this time he tucks the butt back into the pack. He'll throw it away at home.

***

"I want to put a coffee shop in here," Billy tells him when the store is slow. She traces the right side of the store with her fingers.

"And I want to open the shop up earlier and stay open later."

"Why don't you?" Simon asks without looking up from his task of the day: putting 'half-priced' stickers on books that aren't selling well.

"I'm not making enough money. I have just enough to pay you and my weekday employee and the overhead cost of this place, plus pay myself. There's not any extra coming in. The bank-," she pauses, red nails scraping at a piece of tape on the counter, "the bank is willing to give me a loan on the coffee shop stuff - the machines and all that - but I don't have the money for the renovations. My contractor told me he'd have to build the cabinets, open up the drywall and put an extension on our water pipe. A water filter needs to be installed. It's just - it's just a lot."

She slides the stack of books he's already put stickers on off of the counter and into her arms.

"Maybe next year."

***

The next time Johnny calls, Simon can hear the strain in his voice. 

"It's my turn L.T.. Laswell said I failed the psychological and I can't stay."

"You going to keep good on your promise to come to be my annoying neighbor Johnny."

"Not yet. I want to go home to my mom for a little bit. Maybe next year L.T.."

"Next year's going to be a big year I guess," Simon says more to himself. 

"What's that L.T.?"

"Nothing Johnny. We should be happy we made it out."

Simon knows Johnny's not happy: not happy he never received the rank he wanted, not happy he has to go back home and take care of his mom again.

"You're right L.T.. I'll call you again when I'm home. How's the bookstore thing?"

"It's going alright. Bye, Johnny."

"Bye."

In the silence after the call, Simon thinks he should get a cat. Something to make the apartment less quiet; something to give him purpose when he's there.

Something that won't crawl all over him at the end of the day.

***

He needs something to do with his hands.

That's what he tells Billy when she arrives at the store on Saturday morning and Simon's ripping up a portion of the carpet, a stack of flooring waiting to be installed.

"So you have to do it when I'll have customers here?"

"Tell them it's a new addition; they'll be alright."

"I'm not paying you extra for this."

"I didn't ask you to."

Billy looks at him, one foot tapping a sharp staccato muffled by the carpet. 

"Fine."

She pauses for a moment, Simon's knife running down the carpet to separate it from the floor beneath. She picks up one of the pieces of flooring, turning it over in her hand.

"What is this?"

"It's vinyl. It's waterproof in case you spill something."

Billy drops the plank back onto the stack and leaves to unlock the front door.

Simon revels in the way his shoulders burn at the work, the way the rough concrete scratches his knuckles once everything is pulled off the floor and he has to start laying down the underflooring. He revels in the way his back cramps as he's bent over.

In the way he feels useful.

It takes him all day to get half the flooring down.

Billy doesn't speak to him about it, doesn't ask where he got the money from, or why he's suddenly doing free renovations on the place. 

Simon knows she appreciates it by the way she drops down his lunch - no tomatoes, just a water to drink- beside him without expecting a thank you. By the way, she chides the little kids who come over to ask him a million and one questions, he doesn't know how to answer and brushes them away from him. 

She catches him smoking in the back alley on his break. She's polite enough to turn back when she realizes he has his mask down and keeps her back turned to him.

"That shit's going to kill you."

"It can only hope." 

Simon can tell she's giving him a withering look at him from her position half inside the doorway.

"If you come in smelling like that cancerous poison I'm not going to talk to you for the rest of the day."

He must smell because she doesn't speak to him for the rest of the day, not even saying goodbye when they depart at her apartment.

Simon hides the cigarettes in a drawer when he gets home.

***

It's Price that reaches out to him first, a quick phone call, a holdover from their days in the field.

"Are you holding up?"

Not "how are you holding up?", but "are you holding up?" The difference between three letters is so vast Simon doesn't know how to cross it.

"I'm doing fine."

"Johnny told me you've got a job?"

"Just something to keep me occupied."

"Is that all you've got?"

"What more do I need?"

The receiver is filled with the sound of Price inhaling a cigar; Simon can almost smell him through the receiver.

"You're not Ghost anymore Simon. It takes more than that to survive this."

Survive this . As if this is the most dangerous mission Simon's ever been on as if being forcibly retired has some sort of great mortality rate. 

"Understood."

He listens to Price's dial tone for five minutes before he hangs up.

Maybe it does.

***

He paces the town at night. Once the gym doesn't become enough to wear him out, doesn't help his brain relax, he walks the streets. 

He thinks more than once that someone is going to call the cops on him and report him for being suspicious. 

But Simon Riley isn't Ghost anymore. Simon Riley is someone not worth noticing. 

It's almost surprising how well the little town sleeps with the remnants of Ghost stalking through it; how now one seems to have any idea of what he was once - and still is - capable of.

He steals a lot of time sitting on people's steps, on the stoops of little houses, picking the petals off of the flowers in big pots, and lining up the shoes and toys that were left disarrayed in the chaos of the daytime. He wonders if someone is going to catch him on their security camera and name him the town freak, but no one does.

He keeps up at it enough that he can feel the shift in the air, feel winter creeping in. He notices it in the way more and more boots are left outside, by the plants with plastic coverings over them, protecting them.

He finds himself, more often than not, taking the long way around to stop at the bottom stairs of Billy's apartment. Most nights the lights are off, and the window open. He wants to tell her to stop doing that, to lock the window, but he doesn't know how to say it without giving away his nights. So instead he keeps watch, hands buried in his pockets as he counts the moths in the streetlights. 

Sometimes though the lights are on and he can hear the sound of her house through the open window. Sometimes the cat peers down at him as if prepared to leap through the window screen at him - sometimes she grabs the cat, never looking down at Simon; more often than not the cat curls up in the windowsill without budging. 

A few times he could hear her talking to someone, the conversation muffled from above. He wondered about who she could be talking to so late at night. Why she was up in the middle of the night to talk to someone? 

He makes his way home as the town starts to wake up.

***

He moves once - to a tiny house in the middle of town, just enough to have a yard big enough to cross in two strides.

He tells Johnny it's because he was tired of the noises of the neighbors. 

He tells Johnny it's because he's taken up woodworking and needs a spot for the tools.

"What are you building you old bastard?"

"Some cabinets."

"For what?"

"Mind your own business, Johnny."

It takes weeks to get them perfect. Eventually, though, they're good enough to put in the back of a rented truck. 

He does it on a Friday when no one is around. He tells himself that it's easier that way, no one walking underfoot. 

That night he lets himself admit - just for a moment as he sits on the shower floor - that he didn't want to see her face if she's disappointed by it.

***

She refuses to open the door for him the next day, opting to yell at him through the glass instead.

"You cannot keep making renovations to my store without asking me!"

"It's no big deal; open the door."

"No big deal: you put a floor down, you handbuild cabinets, and you broke into my store to install them!"

"You gave me a key."

"Not for that!"

It's a stalemate: Simon poised with his hand on the door handle, her hands tucked into the pocket of her jacket.

"I still have to do the plumbing."

She massages her eyes before leaning forward to turn the lock. Simon steps inside with the biting wind.

"You're fucking irritating, Simon Riley."

I know .

She makes him put up the Christmas tree - a fucking monstrosity that takes up the entire front window. It takes him all day to get the decorations to her standard; her yelling through the store at him to move something incrementally to the left or right.

Billy leans on the counter, shuffling through official-looking papers and refusing to look at Simon when he's finished.

"Thanks to you," she says, never looking up at him, "I have to start getting the paperwork processed to be able to serve food and drinks here."

"Is it difficult?"

"It's not easy."

Their conversation pauses just long enough for her to check out a customer. She turns back to Simon as soon as the door shuts.

"Why are you doing all this Simon?"

He doesn't answer, and he realizes as he stands there, hands folded behind his back and spine rigid that he needs to tell her something, but all he notices is the black ink mark on her cheek. She doesn't pressure him to answer, but she doesn't let her eyes leave him.

Simon breaks first, eyes cast down to the floor.

"Ok," Billy whispers under her breath, "you don't have to answer, but just let me know when you're going to do something else. Can you text me next time before you start?"

"I don't have your number."

She doesn't ask for his phone, instead, she tears a corner of a piece of paper off and scribbles her number on it. Her hands don't shake when she holds the paper out to Simon, but his shake when he takes it. Simon can tell Billy notices. He stuffs the paper into his pocket, pushing it past his keys and his phone. 

"Hey, Simon," Billy chews on her lip.

"What?"

"Are you busy tomorrow night?"

***

Johnny's chatting his ear off, Simon's barely paying attention to him as he stares at the shirts thrown out on his bed.

"- L.T.? Simon?"

"What? Johnny, what?"

"Are you even listening?"

"No, Johnny. I'm not."

The static of Johnny's disapproval.

"What could be distracting you from my wonderful conversation?"

"I'm busy Johnny."

"With what?"

"Nothing Johnny. I just have somewhere to be later - I'm trying to get ready for dinner."

"Dinner? Like with someone else?"

Simon hangs up on him.

***

Simon wants to pretend that he doesn't have the path to her house memorized; doesn't have each step calculated to know when exactly to stand on the bottom step at 6:59 so that he can knock on her door right at 7. But he does, so he hovers on the bottom step for an extra minute.

She doesn't answer when he knocks; she yells through the door for him to come in. In his pocket his phone buzzes every few seconds, Johnny sends another message insisting that Simon tell him who he's eating dinner with. Simon thinks for a moment about blocking his number for the night.

Billy smiles at him from behind the counter, elbow-deep in bread dough. All at once, Simon feels overdressed taking in the large shirt covered in flour Billy's wearing. 

"Hey. Sorry, dinner's going to be like 30 minutes later than I said. I couldn't get this shit to rise properly for like an hour."

"It's alright."

Billy must sense his apprehension because she jerks her head at a chair pulled up to the counter. 

"Come sit down."

Simon appreciates the order. Billy rolls the dough out on the counter, measuring the thickness with her knuckle with a precision Simon would expect out of her. He has to keep himself from staring at her; instead, he analyzes the rest of the apartment. 

He can see everything but the bedroom from his one spot; that door is firmly shut. It's clean but the type of clean houses have whenever someone new is coming over and everything is thrown into a closet. After a few minutes, Simon thinks he needs to speak.

"What are you making?"

"Rolls. I made - uh - what is the fancy word for it - beef bourgine?"

"Beef bourguignon?"

Billy smiles down at the dough as she cuts squares out.

"I'm glad one of us can say it - I can cook, I just can't speak French."

"Do you always cook like this?"

"Only on special occasions."

Special occasions . 

It's awkward at first for Simon to sit there while she moves about the kitchen, putting the rolls in the oven and cleaning the counter; Billy doesn't speak much and Simon knows she doesn't feel the need to fill the silence either. 

His phone buzzes again - under the counter he checks it.

Johnny:

don't leave me hanging lt tell me whos it is

"Your girlfriend?" Billy teases without turning to look at Simon from the other side of the kitchen. 

"Not exactly," Simon says, muting the phone and shoving it back in his pocket. 

"Do you have one?" Her voice is prying, but she doesn't look at Simon as she pulls bowls down from the cabinet. 

"A girlfriend?"

"Yeah."

It bubbles inside him - just once - the urge to tell her about himself . He swallows it down.

"No."

"Not even back home?"

"Back home?"

She grins at him slyly, setting two glasses of water down in front of the two of them.

"Why do you think I have to keep paying you in cash? Your um….paperwork didn't exactly list you as being an employable American. And you have - you know - an accent."

Simon doesn't realize he's leaning toward her until his elbows hit the counter. 

"No, not back home."

She seems satisfied by that answer - or she doesn't have time to ask anything else. Behind her the oven timer beeps and she turns to pull the rolls out. They're barely out of the oven whenever she ladles the stew into the bowls and pulls two rolls off one for each of them.

 Pushing the bowl towards Simon she opens her mouth - Simon thinks she's going to ask something else but she just shakes her head. 

"I'm going to eat over there, so you can eat too," she says passing him a fork. 

"No cameras?"

"None you can see."

She retreats to the other side of the room and drops down on the couch so that she's facing away from him. Muffled behind a door to the right, Simon can hear her cat meow once. 

They eat in silence; Simon knows she's only eating slowly to give him time to finish without her accidentally turning to see his face. He doesn't need it: he realizes he hasn't had a meal that hasn't consisted of a sandwich or some form of potatoes in weeks; he eats fast, slowing down just as he finishes to keep from embarrassing himself. 

He sets the bowl down with enough dramatics that she can tell he's done without having to turn around. It's quiet again when she comes into the kitchen and takes his bowl to rinse it out in the sink. The sound of the water makes his skin crawl; it clashes with the domestic feeling of being taken care of. 

She laughs quietly to herself as she dries her hands on her shirt, lifting it up just enough to expose the little shorts she has on underneath.

"Something funny?"

"Not really funny," she says, hands stilling in her shirt, "I don't know - it just - I - well it's about this time of dinner that guys usually try to take me to the bedroom. I was just thinking about how different this night would be with anyone else."

With anyone else . 

That bothers him some.

"I don't suppose that's what you came here for," she grins at him as she speaks, resting her elbows on the counter. "Besides we don't even know each other."

"We work with each other every weekend," Simon retorts, not sure why he feels the need to prove her wrong.

"And we barely speak the entire time."

She points at him, her bright yellow nails glinting in the light.

"I've never seen you in anything other than long sleeves, even on the hottest day. You could have like fucking tentacles under there and I wouldn't know. And you don't even know anything about me."

For once, Simon doesn't think - he does.

He pushes his sleeves up slowly, each one nearly to his elbow. Billy leans forward, just enough to see the tattoo ink and scars that mar his forearms. Her fingers twitch against the countertop like she wants to reach out and touch him, but they stay still.

"Do you - do you only have tattoos on your arms?"

Simon reaches up to hook one finger in his collar and pulls it down just a half inch - just enough to show her the ink there.

"Your turn," Simon says, dropping his hand down. Under the counter, it lies fisted on his thigh.

"My turn?" Billy asks eyebrow cocked at him.

"Do you have any tattoos?"

She licks her lips once; Simon can see her thinking. After a pause she reaches down to grab the edge of her shirt - Simon's heart clenches. She lifts the hem up, just enough to show him the edge of a tattoo on her side, disappearing beneath her shorts and rising above where she lifted. She laughs a little as she drops the shirt.

"Is that all we need to know about each other?"

"It's a start."

***

He finally tells her he was in the military four Sundays after the first one. She'd told him at work she was too tired to cook and apologized, promising to make it up to him. So when he showed up at her door with a pizza and a promise that he was just dropping it off on his way home, he was surprised when she asked him to come in.

Each week they coaxed something new out of each other: a snippet about their families, about their travels. He loves Kentucky; she's from the East Coast. Her father died young. He's from England.

She's curled up in the recliner the cat on her stomach - they're watching something on television but they're both not really paying attention to it. So he blurts it out - a new confession in this weekly therapy.

"I was in the military."

"I guessed. The British Armed Forces?"

"The SAS."

She frowns and Simon stiffens.

"Is that like a unit or something?"

"Yeah."

This time she grins.

"Is that why you always lock my door behind you when you come in?"

"No. I do it because you never know who could come in when you're alone."

"You mean when you're not here."

Yes.

"No."

She rolls over, clutching the cat to her chest so as to not dump him on the floor until her feet hang over the arm and she can eyeball Simon across the room.

"I can shoot straight."

"Can you?"

***

She can. She takes him through the desert on Friday afternoon, bundled up against the cold. Out where they can target practice without anyone bothering them.

She hits every target.

***

"Christmas is this weekend."

"Yeah."

"So you know we're closed right? I'm not paying you time and a half."

A pause longer than he's used to.

"Are you doing anything for Christmas?"

"No."

"Do you want to come over?"

***

She makes Chinese on Christmas. A tradition she says because when she was younger the only places open were Chinese restaurants and her dad couldn't cook. They didn't have real dinners until she learned to cook herself, but it was always Chinese on Christmas.

The cat has a bell around its neck for the holiday and it latches onto Simon for the night. She wrinkles her nose at the cat and calls him a traitor. The cat doesn't seem to care. 

"I didn't get you a present," she says, putting her bowl on the coffee table. From his spot in the kitchen, Simon speaks.

"I didn't get you one either."

"Well, you're slowly building me an entire coffee shop."

"That's not present."

"Well, it's not exactly in your job description either."

He leaves his half-eaten bowl on the counter to drop down on the couch. She's sideways in the armchair, shirt riding up and a bruise on her shin. She's back to white nails.

"I can make out with you for Christmas; other guys have liked that present."

Simon's heart nearly stops. 

"Excuse me?"

"I'm just kidding Si."

Just kidding .

***

She begs and pleads with him to please go out to the bar with her for the new year. He doesn't have to drink, she says, she can drink enough for the both of them. 

She does. She doesn't even make it until eleven.

He carries her home on his back. Her door is unlocked and wants to think about how dangerous that is, but all he can think about is her warm breath on his neck.

He drops her unceremoniously onto the couch - he thinks about carrying her to the bedroom, but that's one place the door has always been shut to. 

He does take her shoes off of her while she insists she can do that herself. He slips the right one off when the fireworks go off outside; the entire town is bathed in their light.

"Midnight," she says as Simon rises up on one knee in front of her, ready to tell her goodbye and good night.

She kisses him over the mask.

She doesn't mention it the next day.

***

By summer, Simon has the entire cafe portion of the store finished. He's embarrassed when she hangs a sign over the area: 'Simon's Spot'. 

"What?" She asks, peering down at him from the top of the ladder. "You built it."

***

He breaks during the summer. Billy calls him on a Tuesday, asking if he knows anything about air conditioning systems.

"You built the cafe, so I know you're handy."

He doesn't. But he can figure it out. 

After hours the bookstore is sweltering. Billy has the blinds pulled down in a futile attempt to keep out some of the heat and the setting sun. Her shirt, already cropped short, clings to her with sweat when she unlocks the front door for Simon. 

It takes him two hours but he figures it out. When it kicks on she looks up at him, one arm resting on his shoulder, and tells him he's her hero.

He makes it all the way to her apartment - the promise of something for dinner and a cold drink as for payment the ruse - before he does it. 

It's dark inside, dark enough that when he locks the door behind him, he slips his mask off. She turns to ask him something - he doesn't hear it; he's too busy kissing her, pushing her back against the kitchen cabinet. 

It's messy - the kissing - he can't remember the last time he kissed somebody like this - all teeth and tongue and need.

When they stumble into her room, he doesn't take his shirt off, and she doesn't ask why.

***

"Come visit me L.T.. Scotlands beautiful this time of year."

"I'll have to book two tickets Johnny; that's not cheap."

"Alright, you cheap bastard you can afford it."

[inkskinned]

you know, the light that fades at the end of Goncharov isn't light.

i am not a very good person to talk to about movies. i haven't seen most of the "official" american canon - jaws, psycho, citizen kane. i have seen sharknado, though. like so much in my childhood, what i knew was a little jar on a long shelf of gallons; my world was a catholic desert in new england weather.

my father had gotten his snout up about something; so we had to watch it. he was mad we hadn't seen it, the way people are going to be mad i haven't seen those three up i named there, as if i me having-not-seen-the-movie was because i was making some kind of political statement or argument. i just haven't seen them yet, i have no opinion about it. i'll eventually get around to it, god be willing.

during that time, i was doing bad in school and worse in taking care of my body. i sat on the floor on this green pillow, one of the ones my dog eventually tears up. my dad typed g-o-n into the DVR with that slow methodical passion, the remote tilted so the "rays" or whatever would somehow find the ever-smaller input.

he was excited. "you need to understand the light." he didn't look at me while he did it, focused.

"are you spelling gonorrhea." my brother, the eldest, was 17 in this memory. he was sitting on the chair in the corner, playing a game i can't remember the name of. (starfleet? star invaders? it was online, i know that. lots of clicking.)

my dad is used to this. we talk over each other all the time. "when they made it, scorsese wanted this specific hue over everything." my father looks over his shoulder at me, but i'm on the floor, stretching. i don't have a smart phone yet. i'm just watching with the anxious-restless feeling we all get when your father is painstakingly typing something into a virtual keyboard at an eighth of the speed you could have managed. "you'd like this, raquel. what color do you think he wanted?"

my mom comes in from the kitchen. "do we want salt or butter on the popcorn?" she has a handful she pops into her mouth. "wait for your sister to come upstairs. she'll be mad if she misses a part."

"salt," i say, while my brother says "butter."

"spruce." my dad is undeterred. he finally clicks the v, and then navigates over the red tiles to enter. "Spruce."

"okay?" i like dark green too. to be honest, i have no idea who Scorsese is or why he is important. (this is, by the way, still true.)

"here's the thing." my father doesn't actually click the "enter." he just looks at me, adjusting his glasses. "it doesn't exist."

okay. he's right. i do like this. i squint up at him, the signal to go on.

"it came to him in a dream. it's not a real color." my brother monotones, flat. he's heard this story before, and he's 17.

"i still say it's green," my mother says. she comes in holding the salt-and-buttered popcorn, fluffy in an orange bowl. "he just never painted a house, is all."

"it's a candle smell," i say.

"a tree." i don't know when my little sister came upstairs. she's braiding her hair, frowning. "i thought we were going to watch psych."

"it's old movie night," my mother answers. there's something there, in the cant of her smile, which i won't understand until i am much older. if you are over 25, you know what i saw. my mother, seeing her family settle like tired birds around a movie screen, for the moment placid, not-fighting. none of the children are happy about the selection - why would we be?

"Scorsese says it's not green." my father finally clicks rent for 2.99. "he was looking for this specific color, the one from his dreams. the color he had been told was called spruce, through someone in the dream." he looks to me again, his poet. "you know how dreams always feel... different. when you look back on them in your memories, they don't color in all the way. and he wanted that dream tinge."

the memories of my dreams are covered in colored static. sometimes i nightmare in black and white. i did not share this information, thinking it was too private. (forgive me. i was 14. everything was too-private for me.)

"a regular hitchcock," my mom mutters. we don't know, yet, not really, about what hitchcock did.

"he revolutionized the lighting industry. raquel, you have to look for the light in this thing. it's only in a few frames per scene. he didn't want it to be overwhelming."

"he fired like 10 people while he was doing it." my brother doesn't look up from his screen, clicking feverishly. "in order to get the color, he had to develop a software to switch lighting past human speed." he sends a glance towards the TV, kind of relenting. "it was cool, actually. he didn't actually light the room with that speed, he used one set of colors on the set and then another set specifically over the film. we're basically seeing two films: one that has the regular lighting, and then just this lighting track playing on top."

"like a sound list - ah, what's that called?" my father's remote hovers over play. i am trying to figure out what color i think spruce is going to be. "soundtrack," he amends. "are we all ready?"

"i still don't think it's real," my mother says. "i think he made it up for PR." my mother is good at colors. my mother would be right about that kind of thing.

"hon, he spent thousands of dollars on this." my father isn't angry, for once, he's smiling. "i'm telling you, it happens."

she shrugs. "i'll believe it when i see it."

we are not ready. we have to each find places to sit. i've been lying about how bad my eyesight is getting, so i keep my seat on the floor, close to the television. my mother, father, and sister take the couch. i make sure i am within reaching distance of the popcorn. my brother even kind-of closes his monstrosity of a laptop. then my mother has to use the bathroom, so we all do, so we won't have to pause later. then my sister remembers her homework, so i get mine too, spreading it uselessly in front of me. i slide open my verizon sidekick keyboard phone to text Dean who the fuck is scorkayze? [sic] and then we are ready.

my mom falls asleep by the end of the first 15 minutes. my father misses most of it, since he's already seen it, going downstairs to play World Civ instead. my sister doesn't get it, so she ends up at the dining room table, doing homework instead. my brother goes back to the video game.

i stare really, really, really hard at the film, trying to figure out where the spruce happens. a few frames per scene.

i don't like the film. like most movies i saw at the time, i found it boring. i had undiagnosed adhd. i spend most of my time stretching and texting and not-doing my homework. again, i'm sorry - i was 14.

when the "gun" finally goes off - if you've seen the movie, you know the scene, and i won't spoil it here for other readers - i looked back over my shoulder towards my family. all of us, quiet in our own little seats. satellites. did i want this memory to be different? that i would turn and see my family, happily crowded chickadees, our wings brushing? or is this just the real-life, the type of love where we are not nesting birds, but foxes. prowling the edges of our comfort with our jaws open. snapping at the shadows, wishing for the closeness we don't allow ourselves to get. tomorrow we will watch psych. this is the last year of my life that all of us will live under the same roof. my brother goes off to college, and my sister and i follow suit. it is the last year my grades don't matter. it is my sister's first year of middle school. it is 2007; and in 2008, in the recession, we will no longer be able to afford to turn on the heat.

behind me, on the television, the light was fading.

sometimes, when i think back to it, shifting through the memory: it appears out of the thin air. a frame of spruce. it's never around the movie. my father's hands on the remote. my brother's low voice. the sound of my sister walking up the stairs. the popcorn smell hanging in the air. for a moment, the sense - everything is easy. and you know? i think i see it, mr. scorsese.