#can you tell my type is dark haired smart ambitious women
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for @haticehurrem
#magnificent century#idk if its exactly what you envisioned but i tried my best!!#i had fun with this one#she's so perfect and without a doubt hurrem's best competitor among blood dynasty members#can you tell my type is dark haired smart ambitious women#nigar sah nurbanu...its there if u wanna see the vision!!#sah sultan#i might add a post onto it w more content later dhjdjdj
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Chess
Hereâs the next section of that original story. Still currently, and creatively called, Hospital Romance Drama. As always, Iâm neither a doctor, nor British. Â Iâm just a girl who fancies herself a writer and likes slow burns, smart women, and tall men.
âDid you sanction this?â Ms. Hale didnât knock when she entered his office, but the click-click of her heels had announced her.
âKnocking is common curtesy when entering anotherâs abode, is it not Ms. Hale?â He capped his pen without thinking about it. His muscle memory could tell she wasnât going to be leaving his office any time soon.
âIf you wanted people to knock you shouldnât have left your door off the latch.â Itâs not a hill heâs willing to die on. He can see sheâs spoiling for a fight; it sparks in her dark eyes. Theyâre not blazing hellfire at him, for once, but theyâre quick and sharp all the same. A bee in her bonnet for sure, and while he has a board meeting later today, he knows it would be worse than futile to try and rush her out of his office before she was ready to go. So instead he inclines his head, acquiescing to her point and waiting for her to get back to her original point.
âIâm told youâre getting rid of the â -- machines.â He didnât have to wait long.
The DOSâs office was on the 4th floor, amidst a maze of corridors that led to conference rooms, HR, and the records department. Sheâd visited it several times during Charlotteâs tenure as Director of Surgery. Sheâd not been back since Magnusson took over. The bones were the same. Same double doors framed by wave patterned glass blocks that provided both privacy and a vague sense of who was outside the door. Across from the door was a wall of windows with a beautiful view of the car park, along the ledge which ran under the windows he had kept with Charlotteâs tradition of keeping plants. His looked markedly more alive than hers ever did. It was perhaps a terrifying or a very fitting fact that despite being a talented surgeon and a devoted mother she couldnât keep a plant â even a cactus â alive for longer than a month. The walls were the same warm shade of ecru and the floors the same industrial beige Berber. Beyond that the room was completely different, as distinct as the two people. Charlotteâs office had been an eclectic mash of overstuffed seating and bohemian rugs, ornate lighting and a big vintage desk. Magnussonâs office was in a, predictable, curated Scandinavian design. He sat behind a sleek, teak L shaped desk, filing cabinets and bookshelves anchored on the wall behind him. At the other end of the narrow, rectangular office there was a small meeting table, in matching sleek, teak design and a very square, grey sofa. Tossed over the back of the seats was the only source of color, a blue ikat blanket, which looked delightfully soft. Even the pictures on the wall were in black and white. If the â -- werenât on the line she might be tempted to take a closer look at the objects dâart around his office. The sculptures on his shelves, the photo sitting on his desk â the only non-practical item on the tidy worktop. But the â -- machines were, apparently, at stake. Short notice as well. Probably hoping to avoid protest. She thought bitterly, Jokes on you!
Hale paced in front of his desk, hands slashing through the air as she spoke â making a passionate case for two old CT machines the hospital board had decided were surplus. Only used a handful of times a year, tops, the space could be better utilized. Without them the south Harvey bay would be entirely open for new, hopefully more lucrative, or at least ambitious projects. Heâd been apathetic about the idea before but seeing her agitation he was willing reconsider his position. Ms. Hale had good instincts, even if she also had a distaste for rules and a self-righteous streak wider than a football pitch.
âIf you have strong opinions about those machines.â He cut off the third verse of her rant about what a mistake they were making. She stopped pacing and stared at him. âI have a board meeting in an hour. Write up a proposal for me to give them.â
âWhat?â
âWrite a proposal for the board regarding the machines and Iâll present it to the board in,â he checked his watch, âfifty-five minutes.â
âItâs not a done deal? Thereâs a guy here to take the machines away now! He might have already taken them if heâd not hurt himself.â
âHe what!?â Visions of lawsuits danced in his head. What happened? Why hadnât he been informed?
âNot important.â She waved the question away. âHeâs fine. You wonât let him take the machines?â
âLet is a strong word, he has his orders. The board had decided already. I am offering you a second chance.â She studied him eyes pinning him like a bug under glass. The spark was still there, as was a wariness as if she was deciding if she trusted him. He stared right back. For a long moment they just stared at one another. Then, she seemed to realize what she was doing, and her gaze dropped. He could see her cheeks flush before he looked elsewhere himself.
âHow many copies do you need?â She asked, picking up one of the pawns from his chess set. Chess was one of his few hobbies. Playing against a computer was convenient, and challenging, but it felt so hollow clicking around on a screen. Even when he was playing the computer, he wanted to be able to see and move the pieces in the real world. The set had been a gift from his mother, the pieces carved from wood, based on the Lewis chessmen. The set was one of his most cherished possessions. Â
âHmm?â
âFor the board, how many copies do I need to run you off for this proposal?â
âSeven.â She had forty-five minutes to pull this off. But at least she seemed to be willing to follow the procedures in this instance. He was almost tempted to ask if she was feeling well. He resisted. Just.
âwell tempus volat, hora fugit.â She placed the piece back on the board.
âIâll get you the proposal before you meet. Seven copies.â
âThe meeting is in forty minutes.â She paused at the door, looking over her shoulder.
âIâll see you in thirty-five then.â She smiled. âThank you.â The door closed behind her with a soft click. It was the second time sheâd smiled at himâŚ
Felix, as a general rule, eschewed violence. However, in that moment he could happily throttle Sofia Grace. Things had been going so well. Sheâd gotten him her proposal five minutes before the meeting started, seven copies as heâd asked. There was only one type-o betraying the haste with which heâd written the document. Her prose had been clear, concise, and pitched toward her audience â emphasizing the PR/image those machines could generate since they were particularly effective in diagnosing issue with small, adorable children. Not that it mattered now.
Ms. Hale sat on the tailgate of the truck, as primly as if she was taking tea with the queen, except for the chains wrapped around her waist and the truck. Beside her, sitting as regally as if she was the queen was a striking older woman. Her hair the color of pure snow falling over her shoulders, wrapped in a lavender silk robe. She was, mercifully, not chained to the truck. Both were chatting amiably with Oliver Anderson, who for his part seemed to be trying and failing to coax the patient away from Ms. Hale.
âCome on, Colleen.â Anderson wheedled. âI really need you to come back to the ward with me.â
âAnd as your Doctor, I must insist.â She patted her knee, âGo with Dr. Anderson, darling. Iâve got it from here.â
âDo you? I know a thing or two about protests you know.â The woman preened. Across the parking she caught his eye.
âOh, I know. And after youâre in recovery Iâd like to hear all about it. But for now, please let Ollie take you to bed. My audience is here.â The woman was not subtle in how she looked at young Dr. Anderson.
âHeâs got eyes like Fonda.â Ms. Haleâs gaze slid from his, slowly, turning to look at Anderson, her expression softening to a wry smile.
âDoesnât he just.â
âCome on Vanessa Redgrave.â In the time that he had been at St. Sebastianâs Felix had been rather underwhelmed by the young foundation doctorâs medical skills, but he was exceedingly popular with the patients. And his eyes really were almost an unnatural shade of blue. The old patient turned from Anderson and took Haleâs hand.
âYou call if you need me, dear.â
âI was about to put your proposal to the board when I was called down here.â Magnusson crossed the parking, one hand in his pocket. He ambled over to her; his tone conversational. He might have been chatting with her about the recent Bundesliga game. It was an impressive performance considering the grinding of his jaw and the flint in his eyes. He was so angry he was calm. When she was angry, she knew she burned hot. Could taste the blood in the back of her throat, felt her hands shake, her stomach swoop. It felt like rage crackled from her fingertips. His fury was not fire. It was all ice.
âCircumstances changed.â
âIâll say. Youâve hardly furthered your cause with this stunt.â He crossed his arms over his chest. At a glance it seemed passively displeased but standing next to her she could see the way his fingers dug into his arms, the wrinkles in his suit jacket under his nails.
âOther options werenât producing necessary results.â
âSo, you chained yourself to the truck?!â
âIt got attention, didnât it?â
âDo you ever think ahead? Or even care about your reputation?â He looked down his straight nose with an imperious eye. God Almighty he could be condescending.
I donât give a damn about my bad reputation! Joan Jett immediately got stuck in her head.
âCompared to whatâs at stake, not really.â
âPerhaps you should, considering this is the definition of insubordination and gross misconduct. You could be fired.â There was a hardness in his eyes as he stared down at her.
Fired.
It was admittedly not an ideal situation. And yet it did not scare her like it might have. Not anymore. There were worse things in this world.
It was steely determination, rather than incandescent rage, that shown out of those coffee brown eyes. It was in contrast to her wry smile which twisted across her cayenne colored lips without any humor. She patted the tailgate next to her, and he felt compelled to take the seat.
âI died once; you know.â She said softly. He recalled that from her file. More than once if one counted both the episode in the ambulance, her flatlining on the table during surgery, and an incident with a shard of glass after her initial procedure. There was a sadness around the edges of her gaze, in the undercurrent of her voice. And despite sitting on the filthy tailgate of a truck in the loading bay of the hospital the moment felt intimate.
âAfter being good and quiet and rule following my entire life.â She continued. âAnd I died. I got better and since then all I can think is like, whatâs the worst that can happen when youâve already died once? What can you do to me? Fire me? By the grace of God and these hands, Iâve got savings, Iâve got skills, Iâve got a support system. I can find another job. I got second chance and Iâm not going to waste it being âgoodâ when I can spend it saving lives. Go ahead, fire me over this. I donât think Iâm wrong though. These machines are worth saving.â
Well then.
âAnd I almost had, without any of this fanfare. If youâd just waited.â The proposal she had written had been a good one, and it was late enough in the meeting that most of the members cared about calling it a day. Twenty minutes and the machines would have been free and clear. It was almost as if she didnât want the process to work.
âCircumstances changed.â
âWhat? What circumstances?â He looked around, the machines werenât even on the truck yet and as far as he could tell the only people around were drawn by her protest. There was no maintenance men around, no laborers hauling away the machines yet. Nothing. She opened her mouth to speak.
âNo.â He cut her off. âI was in the middle of presenting your proposal. The middle. If you waited ten minutes this would have been taken care of. What circumstances changed? I see no change. Those machines arenât out here. No one is out here except the people this stunt has attracted. Itâs like you donât want this to work.â
âOf course I want this to work! I want to save those machines!â He hopped up from the gate. He wanted to throttle her. Rather than wrap his hands around her lovely throat he ran a hand through his hair.
âYou. You want to save those machines. Be the martyr. Be the savior. And you wonât let anyone take that from you. Even if someone else can help. If someone else could have succeeded.â It was possible for someone to look more insulted than Sofia Grace did in that moment, but only just. The hot, spice of her anger rolled off of her in a wave. Her eyes blazed.
âHow dare you!â She was incandescently angry. It was terrifying. Beautiful. And he found that he didnât care.
âWhy didnât you trust me?â His voice was so low she almost didnât hear him over the rush of blood in her ears. FLACHWICHSER! He stood over her, back ramrod straight, his jaw clenched, teeth visibly grinding.
âWhy didnât you trust me to take care of this. I told you I would. I was literally in the meeting doing this work when you stepped in with this self-righteous grandstanding.â He didnât raise his voice. The accusation landed as heavy as a slap.
âBecause to you these machines are just numbers on a balance sheet. Dead space clogging up one of the bays.â
âReally.â He crossed his arms, suit jacket wrinkling under his fingers, the white knuckles the only thing betraying his state of mind.
âBut to me I see children with heart problems, a chance to make a difference in a familyâs life.â Her throat felt raw; tears were threatening. Sofia Grace hated the fact that she was an easy crier. Any strong emotion could send her into tears â anger, pain, joy, sadness. It completely undermined her, and she could never stop it once it started.
âDo you have any evidence for this allegation?â He challenged. âIs it because you believe that you have a monopoly on compassion, or do you truly think that I canât feel?â
Had she not been so far gone, in a berserker rage, she would have better noted his tone. Hurt. However, she was gone. So gone there was white around the edges of her vision.
âIf you cared about these machines, youâd not have let it come to his in the first place!â
His nostrils flared and the grinding of his jaw became more pronounced.
âI am but one man on a seven-member board that is ruled by majority vote.â
âSG! SG!â Oliver Andersonâs voice was like a bucket of cold water on his anger. âItâs Colleen!â The junior doctor came skittering to a stop, nearly bowling him over.
âSheiĂe!â
âHelvetes jävla fanskap!â Ms. Hale had chained herself to the truck and tossed the padlock key toward the dumpster. Maintenance might have bolt cutters, but it was a gamble on if finding the key (provided she hadnât actually hit the dumpster) or finding the cutters would be the faster solution. âFan out, we have to find that key!â All of his rage, his displeasure, the coil at the base of his spine disappeared and was replaced by clear purpose. âDo you ever think ahead?â He snapped. Alright, perhaps not all of his anger had dissipated. But really, what was she thinking? She was a CT consultant, on duty and just decided to not only chain herself to a truck in an act of pious protest, but also throw away the only key!
âHang on, hang on.â She snapped back, scooting to the edge of the tailgate, her hands tugging at the chain around her slim waist.
âWhat are you doing?â It was strange and uncomfortable looking as she slithered inch by inch down from her seat. The chain moving up her body inch by inch, bringing her claret colored blouse further up her abdomen. He didnât want to stare but he couldnât look away as more and more of her smooth, pale stomach came into view. The scar was long, bisecting her down a center line, almost perfectly, save for the slight jog it took around her navel. It was nearly twenty years old, healed and faded from the once angry, jagged line it had been but still pinker than her natural skin tone and slightly puckered. It continued down below the waistband of her slacks and up into her chest (not that it was visible yet, the shirt was bunched under her breasts as she kept wiggling through the loop). The upper half of the open surgery scar was slightly more faded, almost impossible to discern from her cleavage if she wore a blouse that revealed any (not that heâd ever admit to looking).
âJust a second.â She grunted, flattening her own breasts until the chain slipped over them, which it did eventually. She raised her arms above her head and finished slipping through. She found herself free of her chains, on her hands and knees in the car park. She quickly popped up, straightening her blouse and dusting her hands, her cayenne colored smile cocky and broad.
âI am not as dumb as I look!â She said brightly before rushing toward the door.
âMs. Hale, my office as soon as!â He called. She acknowledged him with a wave of her hand and disappeared into the hospital.
âWhat should we do with this?â At his elbow the junkman appeared, hobbling on crutches, answering that question more than Dr. Hale did.
âHold off, plans have changed.â The board hadnât formally voted, but enough members had told him they didnât care what he did with the machines if it mattered so much.
Three decisive knocks took his attention from the file he was only half-heartedly reading. It was past the hour people generally headed home for the day, but he had never been most people. More than that, he and Ms. Hale had a conversation they needed to have and she only now had gotten out of surgery.
Word on the ward was that it had not gone well.
Ms. Hale did not sweep in has she had before, proud and pugnacious. She was tired, faded. Sheâd dressed after surgery, but not reapplied her lipstick. He could not think of a better metaphor for how she looked than that faded cayenne.
âShe had been a long-term patient of yours Iâm told.â And quite the character too by all accounts. Sofia Grace ran a hand through her curls.
âYes.â
âYour proposal passed, with amendment. We will keep the equipment but move it out of the bay and downstairs with the less frequently used machines.â
âThank you.â She gave him a small nod before turning her attention to his chessboard once again, slim fingers brushing over the pieces. âI was out of line today. Iâm sorry.â The apology was so unexpected he wouldnât even complain about the way her eyes failed to meet his. Or even look at him.
âYes. You were.â
âI should have trusted your word when you said you were bringing the matter to the board. I certainly jumped the gun in the most dramatic way possible.â He couldnât help the dark chuckle. That was putting it mildly. âMore than that, I crossed a line. I should have never even remotely suggested that I have a monopoly on compassion or that you do not care for your patients or the wellbeing of the hospital more broadly. And for that I am sorry.â
He was not expecting that.
Apologies were not natural for him. He did not give them easily nor did he know how to accept them.
âYes, well.â Awkwardly he cleared his throat. âIf you are going to continue to work here, Ms. Hale, youâre going to have to learn to trust me. Â I am not the enemy.â
âI guess we shall see then.â She picked up a white knight from the board, turning the piece over and over in her fingers. It was not the response he expected.
âSee what?â
âIf Iâm still working here for one.â She raised her eyes to his, slowly. âIf Iâll trust you. If youâre not the enemy.â
âEverything I have done and everything I will do is for the good of this hospital.â Her dark eyes twinkled at him.
âYou certainly believe that.â
âI do.â He replied firmly. âHave some faith in me, Ms. Hale, if only a little.â
âI will try.â She said firmly and then placed the knight back on the chessboard, not in its original place but out into the field. âItâs your move.â
#Hospital Romance Drama#cait writes#original fiction#I don't know Swedish but I do know Google translate#Sofia Grace is Chaotic Good chaffing under Lawful Good Rules#If stacked end to end this story is like 75 pages long and they still don't like each other#Well maybe they're more friendly than before than that's it#this is the slowest burn I've ever written
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Okay, so, I was tagged by @mrsgordo84 and later by @buffy-angel-and-co (who reminded me I had been tagged in the first place) to name 10 favorite female characters from 10 different fandoms! Thank you for remembering me!
Okay, so the first 5 are part of what I call my âfictional girl squadâ because I donât have an actual rl girl squad :( They are basically characters that I fucking admire or want to be like.Â
1. Lara Croft (Tomb Raider games - not the fucking awful movies or even the comics I never read but think exist).
So, Lara means a lot to me. I grew up with her because my dad has been playing TR since the first game came out when I was born. I used to make my Barbies be archaeologists because Lara is one.Â
Laraâs physical appearance might be catered to the male gaze but the writers really respect her as a person. Regardless of how good or so so the games are, Lara is always such a fucking hero. Sheâs intelligent, dedicates her life to the pursuit of knowledge, to the separation of myth and reality, to following her dadâs footsteps and honoring his work. Sheâs always the smartest, most knowledgeable person is the room. And that never happens with women. No matter how smart the heroin is thereâs always the guy she goes to for advice or who is wiser: the Giles to Buffy, the Dumbledore to Hermione, etc. And although Lara had some brainy dudes and even a couple of mentors, she was always the smartest one to me. Particularly in the games after PS1. Lara can speak almost any language (dead or not), sheâs daring, an explorer, ambitious, determined to the point of ruthlessness, warm, moral, brave, isolated, sad, traumatized (by her parentsâ deaths). Sheâs essentially everything men are allowed to be except sheâs a woman and sheâs always been like a friend and a role model. I love her so much. I also adore how she doesnât have love interests and how her love or sex life is a non issue - no one cares.Â
2. Trinity (The Matrix)
Iâve said before that Trinity is probably the reason I love black leather, but itâs so much more than that. Trinity is, in many ways, the badass sidekick/love interest, but sheâs written and played with such integrity and respect that it doesnât even bother me. She first appears as Morpheusâs favorite, as one of FBIâs most wanted. She finds herself in a tight position and gets out of it alone. Sheâs intelligent, resourceful, patient, caring, loyal, trusting and trustworthy. She also becomes a loving partner but maintains always her own beliefs (like when she tells Neo he can go to hell if he doesnât want her to help him get Morpheus back). Trinity, like Lara, is someone I want to be. Mature, strong, kind.Â
3. Carrie Hopewell (Banshee)Â
Banshee is like a show most people donât know and itâs one of the reasons why I love it so much. Itâs intimate, loving something most people donât love. I watched two seasons of Banshee while they were airing (which always makes me fonder of a show that I already like) and I bonded with the characters. Carrie is like this beautiful badass woman. She wears black jeans, a black tank top and black boots. She wears smoky, dark eye shadow. Sheâs the type of woman I want to be and look like. There was obviously an attraction there. Sheâs not particularly moral, sheâs the clichĂŠd daughter of an Ukrainian mob boss, but the more I think about her, the more I like her.
Carrie is a fake persona created when Carrieâs boyfriend went to prison because the two of them betrayed Carrieâs father (the mob guy). Carrie was pregnant and needed a place to hide, so she found Banshee (the typical small town with a dangerous story). She had a good life becoming the perfect women society forces us to be: a mom of two, perfect wife to the townâs prosecutor, arm candy when she needs to be, owns a family house, has an easy, respectable job. And itâs not like she didnât like being a mom or a wife but she chose it because she had no choice and because it was easy and convenient. Itâs difficult to juggle all of these things and when the ex returns, he brings back memories of the life she used to have and was born in to. She used to be Anna, an expert safe cracker (the task she performed during robberies), driver of the getaway car, rule breaker, dutiful daughter. Carrie finds an escape from her perfect life in Anna. She makes a living doing something sheâs good at and loves (crime) and indulges in the lack of perfection and rebellion offered by that side of her. No one can be perfect all the time and trying to achieve this normalcy and perfection often leads people to search for less than healthy outlets. I relate to this and also sympathize with Carrieâs identity issues and struggle to be a good mom and wife.Â
4. Lilah Morgan (Angel the Series)
Itâs hard not to love Lilah. Intelligent, ambitious, confident, glamorous, witty. Sheâs the perfect femme fatale. She finds freedom in the fact that she knows sheâs not a good person and doesnât care. Sheâs not hypocritical or confused. Sheâs genuine and sincere even in her manipulations. Yet, she can also reveal a tender side. Sheâs full of bravado and sadness - again, the perfect femme fatale, but she lives her life unapologetic and unafraid which is more than I can say about myself and almost everyone.Â
5. Nymphadora Tonks (Harry Potter)
Sheâs my latest addition to the squad. Tonks is this delightful, vibrant girl. Her favorite hair color is bubblegum pink. She can change her body at will but sheâs confident enough to only change her hair! Sheâs brave, a rebel (part of the Order), patient, kind, hard working (sheâs a Hufflepuff). She found joy in the middle of a war. She married and had a baby - and she was so excited about both of those things. She wanted to stay at home during the Hogwarts Battle but her love for Remus and her responsibility as an Auror and a member of the Order got in the way. She treated everyone like a friend and died a hero... *sobs*
Non squad members (without lengthy descriptions) are as follows:
6. Faith Lehane (Buffy the Vampire Slayer)Â
7. Paris Gellar (Gilmore Girls)
8. Lucille Bluth (Arrested Development)
9. Gina Linetti (Brooklyn Nine-Nine)
10. Rebecca Bunch (Crazy Ex-Girlfriend)Â
Iâm sorry for the lengthy reasoning. I tag whoever wants to answer!Â
#ask#lara croft#lilah morgan#nymphadora tonks#trinity#carrie hopewell#faith lehane#paris gellar#lucille bluth#gina linetti#rebecca bunch#sorry for the rant
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