#i totally ran around disneyland plotting this out in my head

[your-high-lady]

Realisation

Summary: This story is about Feyre. She has a couple of small dreams she wants to achieve but turns out it isn’t as easy as she imagined it would. Trust me, the story is better than the summary. Modern AU. Feysand.

Chapter 1  Chapter 2   Chapter 3   Chapter 4  Chapter 5   Chapter 6  Chapter 7

Chapter 8  Chapter 9   Chapter 10   Chapter 11  Chapter 12

Disclaimer: I do not own of the characters as they all belong to Sarah J Mass, the person who created them. The only thing I own is the plot.

Chapter 13: Tensions are high

Our last day at Disneyland was the best in my opinion. We were all together and did the Tea Cup ride on Cassian's insistence and I watched and laughed as Rhys and Cassian flew past us, spinning as fast as they could on the cups and just overall screaming and annoying everyone. What made it even more humorous was when they tried annoying Azriel with their antics but he just stared at them with the most straight face I'd ever seen. It annoyed the heck out of them.

The next day Amren, Mor and I were out early morning. We had breakfast at iHop and then went to a nearby mall. We spent the day shopping, eating and just pampering ourselves. I ended up getting a small hair trim that was barely noticeable, and all of us got a full body wax—though I bailed out on the bikini part—, our eyebrows threaded and fake nails. After that, we went to the movies and watched a Rom-Com that was honestly one of the dumbest movies ever. I had a blast, despite my feet that had started groaning in pain two or three hours into our shopping spree. They both clearly had a lot of money and weren't afraid to spend it. One of our last stores was H&M and we ended up getting a dress each for tonight. Mor's was a fun thing, a black sparkly dress coming down to her mid-thigh. But what made it fun was the strings that hung down in layers across the whole dress which swung around every time she shook her hips. It was a bit showy for my taste but it suited her body so well that I couldn't help but think that she would most probably get laid today if she wanted. She really was very pretty and confident in her body. I was happy that she had that for herself.

Amren's dress was dark blue that resembled the blue theme the boys seemed to have going on with their tattoos and features. It was also a bit more plain than Mor's. It suited her and her personality. The straps were spaghetti and the neck was a straight line across her chest. A slit ran up her leg coming to a stop a little above her mid-thigh. It hugged her curves and made her seem a little taller. Also a little showy but perfect for Amren who also happened to have a spectacular body.

My dress was the most conservative: A purple velvet textured dress that came down to my feet though there was a slit running up my leg. The straps were halter-like and wrapped around my shoulders in a way that my dress wouldn't allow any accidents but showed off my bareback. And as a small addition, the dress had an oval-shaped cut out showing a little cut-out off my chest of too.

I was nervous. The dress made me nervous. It was one of the most glam things I'd worn since that day so long ago now, and I couldn't help but remember Officer Smith's words. He had told me that my dress was one of the many reasons, I couldn't file a case against Tamlin or Dagdan. It made me scared. Mor noticed that while we were trying our outfits on in the changing room and she very subtly sent Amren out of earshot for some time, during which she told me that she would give me a choice. She would let me choose whether or not I wanted to do this. If I chose not to go, she would fully support my decision and stay in the hotel room with me. And if I chose to go? Then she would be by my side the whole time and would keep me safe. She would be there for me, whenever I needed her. It helped. I decided to go. Partly because I also wanted to prove to myself that I could do this, that I was healing. I needed to keep my promise to myself of not letting Tamlin take over my life.

I would go.

—

We came home soon after that and Mor helped me do my makeup and hair as she did her own. Amren was in her own room getting ready. I was really happy with the results when I looked at myself in the mirror and thanked her for all her effort.

Now we walked down to the reception where we would meet the Amren, Varian and the boys. Boys. Rhys.

I couldn't but think about how he would react. Would he think I'm ugly, or pretty, or showing off too much skin and be disgusted?

Would he still stare at me, like he always does?

I forced the thoughts out of my head with a blink and directed my attention to Mor, who was squealing with excitement.

Walking backwards, ahead of me, she jumped up and down and then came back to me, linking her arm through mine, and squealed even more before saying, "Feyre! Aren't you excited!?" She practically screamed in my ears. I tried to resist the smile growing on my face but failed. It was impossible to not smile when Mor was screaming and jumping up and down in her delight. It was impossible not to join in.

We reached the lobby, and found that the Varian and Amren were already there but not the boys. We sat down to wait and Mor immediately started up a conversation with Amren about how excited she was to get drunk. We didn't have to wait for very long, as the boys strolled in only a minute later. And then there he was. Rhys was wearing a light-weight grey sweater over a collared, striped peachy shirt with black jeans that were a bit worn out. He looked spectacular. My mouth watered at the sight of him and I had to swallow as well as subtly rub my thighs together to relieve a little of the pressure that had instantly grown in between. Rhys's eyes moved to look at me and I jerked my eyes to move away from him and on to Cassian and Azriel. They had also gone for a casual look: Cassian wear a bomber jacket over a white t-shirt and blue tight jeans with rips running up and down both his legs, and Azriel was wearing a white sweater over blue jeans that he had rolled up to show a bit of his ankles. He was wearing white converse to match the shirt.

God really had put a lot of effort into all of the Inner Circle. And then here I was, with my plain brown hair that had some gold in it and blue eyes that were dulled by the grey in them. Ah well, there was so many of them, maybe I wouldn't be noticed. God, wouldn't that be a relief.

I noticed then, the eyes I could feel raising the hair on the back of my neck. I turned to see that Rhys was indeed still staring at not me but somewhere below. I wanted to look away because this wasn't anything different than what he usually did in my presence, but then I noticed the gleam in his eyes. It looked as if the silver in his eyes was sparkling with delight and a special desire for something. What could he possibly desire looking at me? I frowned a little which brought Rhys's attention to me. He blinked and I watched as the sparkle vanished from his eyes and his lips curled back into a cheeky smirk. My frown turned into a narrowing of the eyes but then I just sighed, tired of his games, before looking away, and felt the connection that had been forming break.

Soon we were in the car, and off to the club.

—

It was too much like the place Tamlin had taken me. Everywhere I looked it reminded me of something about that night. The neon lights were so much like the ones that had been at the Ale House. The dark corners were just as dark as the alleyway where it had all gone down.

Feeling my eyes starting to water up, I blinked the tears away and moved close enough to Mor that I could feel the tiny hairs on her arm. I needed her warmth, her protective aura to get rid of the icky feeling that had started to cover me, the feeling of Dagdan's sticky leer on my skin. Sensing me, she turned to look at me and smiled. I gave her a shaky smile back and she linked her arm through mine. I sighed in relief, glad that I had Mor and that she knew exactly what was going through my head and what I needed.

Bringing my attention back to my surroundings, I realised that we had reached a private corner. Rhys asked us what drinks we wanted and everyone told him their drinks, with me just wanting water, and went to get them.

After that, the night is more a blur than anything. It takes a while for Mor and Cassian to convince me to get on the dance floor and even then I wasn't really into it. I was back at the couch in fifteen minutes, Mor doesn't push me; she knew that I just needed some time to get fully rid of the memories the bar had stirred up. Rhys had given me a questioning look but I just ignored him.

By midnight all of them had had at least seven or eights drinks.

Mor had started with a single shot but then as the night progressed they just kept coming and she just kept drinking. Honestly, I was surprised she even lasted on her feet past midnight. I had expected her to fall on her face hours ago. But there she was dancing on the floor in her sexy dress causing the men around her to have their mouths gaping open, their tongues practically hanging out. Cassian was also much the same as Mor, as she and he were apparently drinking buddies tonight. Together they just kept on chugging and chugging and chugging into the night. Amren, however, was a totally different story. Two shots in, Mor dared Amren. Amren, being one not to back down from a dare, took the shot. And then another one. And another. Five shots in and she was swaying on her feet and then puking her guts out. Seconds later, she passed out and Varian took her home, as he was still mostly sober, using a cab. Cassian and Mor continued their drinking, and I watched as Azriel did the complete opposite and instead kept giving the others their drinks. It seemed that Azriel was the one who never got drunk and instead got the others drunk.

And then lastly Rhys. I tried to keep my attention away from him most of the time and I was able to except for those times when he was inches away from other women's bodies. By midnight he was pretty drunk too and wasn't hold back in his dancing. He was touching other women and letting them reciprocate. It disgusted me for some reason I couldn't for the life of me figure out why but every time I happened to turn to look at him, he was there with another person. Though something I found strange was that he didn't let anyone kiss him or get too touchy with him, and he didn't do the same to others either. He was beautiful and he knew that as well as the people around him. They threw themselves at him and he let them come but when they got touchy, he moved on. It was simple as that for him and he was aware of where he was the whole night despite being so drunk.

And through all that, I stayed sober and in the dark alone. People came to me, but I didn't let them stay. I wasn't in the mood. I was too busy trying to keep my thoughts and emotions at bay. I'd known this would happen, the torrent of memories, both sweet and cruel. They threatened to crush me and break me, but I held strong, even as I was pushed back the smallest millimetre each time something about the place we were in triggered a memory. My resilience threatened to snap every second I spent in that place, but I held strong through it all. I had to. Otherwise, the night wouldn't have progressed.

—

It was around 1:30 in the morning by the time we left. Azriel helped me get Mor and Cassian into the car, while Rhys was able to stumble his way forward on his own.

Azriel drove the car to our hotel and then we were going to drag them up to their rooms when suddenly Rhys started giving orders to us, even in his drunken state. "Az, why don't you take Cass up to our room. I'll help Feyre take Mor." His words were slurred and Azriel's frown told me that he seriously doubted Rhys would be able to help me. But he was already moving. I scrambled to get an arm of Mor's over my neck while Rhys did the same with her other arm. I shrugged at Azriel, who's mouth was gaping open in a rare display of shock and directed Rhys as he helped me. It was a little awkward because of the difference in our heights but eventually, we reached our suite. Rhys took all of Mor's weight while I quickly opened the door and got back in position, helping him drag Mor's ass to her bed. She fell with a thud but didn't even moan. She was fast asleep. I was in the middle of taking Mor's shoes off and covering her with the blanket when I heard a loud thud behind me. I spun around to find Rhys splayed across the floor. My eyes widened and I crouched down, bringing my hand to his cheek. "Rhys. Rhys?" I tried to get him to wake up, but he was already snoring away. I exhaled loudly before deciding to just let him sleep on my bed. I couldn't take him all the way to his room; he was too heavy. I was grunting and struggling to get Rhys into my bed when I heard him. I felt a little of the weight leave my shoulders as Rhys come back to relative consciousness before I felt his husky breath in my ear. "Feyre," He drawled. His voice was more gravely than usual. Heat shot through my body at my name on his lips and came to rest in between my legs. "You're so beautiful." He said as I kept pushing him towards my bed. "So beautiful you make me want to cry. You're pure and smart and breath-taking. I might like you Feyre, even love you." I gulped, not willing to believe him. I kept telling myself, He's drunk, he's drunk, he's drunk. He doesn't know what he's saying. As I let him fall into my bed, his arm falling away from around my shoulder causing my back to immediately go ice-cold, he carried on, oblivious to my thoughts. "You're nothing like her, you know. She was beautiful too, but in a different way. Her beauty was a malicious kind, the type that slowly kills you. And I made the mistake of loving her. And then she destroyed me." I was struggling now to keep myself moving but I did it. Slowly I took his shoes and socks off, covered him with the blanket. "She ripped me apart. She killed them. They both did." I was stunned into silence at his words and I couldn't do anything as tears dripped out of the sides of his eyes. And then all of sudden, he was snoring again, fast asleep. It was like nothing had ever happened. It was like he hadn't just told me the very reason he was so broken. Because I knew whatever the women and the other person had done to whoever Rhys had been referring to as "them"—I assumed they were some type of family member of Rhys's—it had been bad. Bad enough that Rhys was who he was today. Hurt and broken. Just like me.

I moved away from the bed, only to be tugged back by his hand which was tightly gripping mine even though he was sleeping. I gently unwrapped his fingers from around mine before slipping out of my clothes, putting on a loose shirt and sweatpants and hopped into bed with Mor.

It felt like only seconds later when I was woken up. It was still dark out and I felt a little disoriented before I realised what had woken me up. "No, no, please no." Rhys. "Leave them alone please." He was murmuring in his sleep. As I rushed over towards him he got louder. "No. No! Let them go!" Sitting on the edge of the bed, I put a hand over his cheek, feeling the sweat on his skin and wetness from his tears, and tried to wake him. "Rhys. Rhys, wake up." I said waking him up but when he didn't, I got a bit louder. "Rhys! Rhys, you're dreaming, wake up!" And then finally his eyes blinked open, his hot breath hitting my face as he gasped. He stared at me for a couple of seconds before coming up and wrapping me tightly in his arms. I grunted from the force, before hesitantly bringing my arms up to wrap around his hard, muscled body which I could feel through his clothes. He was still breathing a bit unevenly in my ear, so I calmed him down with words, "It's okay. It was just a dream. Just a dream." And slowly I felt his breath even out before his arms dropped from around me. I watched as he slowly leaned away from me, his head hung low, his shoulders slumping. I didn't know what to do or say so I just stared at him, waiting, but thankfully he filled the silence seconds later. "I'm sorry," He said looking back up at me. "I'm sorry for waking you up. I didn't mean to." He frowned, clearly disappointed with himself.

"It's alright. No one can control their dreams. It's not your fault." I hesitated before saying. "Do you want to talk about it?" He shook his head, glancing back down where he was wringing his hands together in his lap, and I nodded in understanding before getting back on my feet. "I should probably go back," I said pointing back at Mor's bed. He looked up at me and opened his mouth as if he was going to say something but ended up not replying. I was about halfway across the room before I heard him call my name softly but loudly enough that I heard it. I turned to find him looking at me, a strange expression on his face. He stared at me for a second before pushing the comforter away and padding across the room until he was inches away from me and with his height he had to look down at me. I gulped, watched as he slowly, hesitantly brought a hand up to cover my cheek. I sucked in a breath as I felt his body-heat course through my veins. His eyes drifted down to my lips before coming back up to look into my eyes. There was a question in them, and I knew what it was but I couldn't believe that this was what he wanted. But then he spoke the words and I was forced to believe him. "Feyre. Can I kiss you? I've wanted to kiss you since the day I first saw you." I stared at him for a second but then I nodded, and he brought his lips to mine. I couldn't help but gasp as I felt his lips join with mine, pleasure shooting from the ends of my hair to the tip of my toes before coming back up and resting right there, in my core. My hands came up to weave themselves in his hair which was tousled from sleep and soft to the touch. The kiss was slow, Rhys letting me take control. It was soft and sensual and blissful.

I broke apart from our kiss, breathless and stared at him. I could see more questions in his eyes: Did you like it? Can I do it again? I didn't answer him and instead thought about how my lips felt. How completely comfortable and happy and safe I felt with him. Kissing Tamlin had never been like that. Never, not once. Not once did he ask me first before kissing. Not once did he make me want to melt from the raw emotion I felt in our kisses. There never was any emotion. He was kissing me for the sake of it and himself, and I was kissing him back because I felt obliged to. That's what partners do, right? Kiss each other. So I kissed Tamlin but it was never as exhilarating as the kiss I'd just shared with Rhys.

Rhys.

He had kissed me. He had actually kissed me. I looked up into his eyes. And saw that he wanted to kiss me again. Very badly. Immediately I pulled on his shirt, jerking him forward, and joined my lips to his again. His hand came up to caress my cheek and my knees buckled beneath but before I could fall, Rhys's hands came and caught me. With a jerk of his arms, he hitched me up and I wrapped my legs around his hips, my dress riding up my thighs.

"Feyre. Feyre." I heard him groan, breathlessly, around my lips. I kissed him even harder. I felt his tongue poke around my mouth looking for my tongue. I moaned as they touched, and I lost myself in the wonderful kiss we were sharing.

And then I felt his thumb come around my throat. My body involuntarily locked up, my bones going rigid with fear. Tamlin. Tamlin used to do that. Rhys broke the kiss, his face mere inches away from mine, and frowned. Before he could speak I pushed on his shoulders and he dropped me to my feet. On my feet, I took multiple steps away from Rhys, until the back of my legs connected with the bed Mor was lying on and I fell on my backside. My breathing was deep and irregular and I could see Rhys in front of me, worry and confusion in his beautiful night-sky eyes. He took a step toward me and I choked out, "Please leave. Please." He paused looking at me for a second before dropping his eyes and nodding. He looked up at me once again, and in his eyes, I saw so much emotion. I knew he liked me. Maybe even more. Our kiss had told me that much. But I couldn't reciprocate right now. Not with Tamlin at the front of my thoughts. I watched as Rhys turned on his heel, and walked out of the room. I stared at the door for a couple of seconds. I regretted telling him to leave now but I knew it had to be done. Sighing, I got on my feet and walked into the bathroom.

And once again, I found myself looking at myself in the mirror after such an unusual night. Rhys's kiss and the memory of Tamlin choking me warred for attention in my mind.

Tamlin won.

It had happened a few times and every time I'd just brushed it off, thinking he must've gotten lost in our kisses and didn't realise where his fingers were going.

Tamlin moaned as we kissed and pushed me further into the wall behind me. I had been walking to the cafeteria but on the way, I'd been pulled into janitor's closet. I'd let out a mini shriek before I saw who exactly had pulled me into the closet and by then he was kissing me. I'd tried to push him off at first but then his lips had moved down to my throat finding one my sensitive spots and I'd lost my train of thought. Which brought us to now. I felt Tamlin's teeth bite down on my skin softly before moving on to my jawline. I pushed my head back, giving him further access. I felt one of his hands come up from where it had been resting on my behind, and first, squeeze my breast and travel further up before reaching my throat. His fingers squeezed enough that it was a bit uncomfortable but since he wasn't choking me, I didn't say anything. His lips moved around my face, going up to bite an earlobe before moving to suck on my other one. Both us kept swapping with the dominance, wanting to please the other person.

He was on my lips, sucking them hard enough to bruise when it happened. I felt his thumb come over my windpipe, applying at little pressure at first but then increasing. I waited a couple of seconds waiting for him to realise what exactly his fingers were doing to me, but when he didn't, I pulled away from the kiss, bring my hand up to take his fingers off my throat. "You nearly choked me there," I nervously half-chuckled. His frown smoothed as his brows rose before he softly said, "Sorry," and then went back to kissing me, making sure to keep his fingers away from my throat.

That was the first time he did something like that, but not the last. Now I wondered how I could have been so stupid to just tolerate everything he did to me while we were together and only opened my eyes when he let Dagdan rape me. When it was too late.

I brought a hand up to softly touch my swollen lips. They looked bright pink and plump. My whole face was red. Flushed. Rhys'd done that to me. He made me nervous in a good way if that was even possible. I backed up a couple of steps. When I felt the door behind me, I let myself slide down, bringing my knees up to my chest as I wrapped my arms around them tightly and tilted my head so that it was resting on my knees. As I stared at nothing, I sorted through the thoughts zooming around in my head.

I liked Rhys. I knew that. Despite the way he'd acted towards me, I wanted him. I wanted him to want me. I wanted to kiss him. I wanted to go on dates and go to the movies and study together and draw him. I wanted to do everything with him.

I wanted him to love me.

Rhys was so, so beautiful. He took my breath away with his raw beauty. I knew that, and I knew that he knew that too. But so had Tamlin. They were both beautiful in their own ways, but still, both were two very, very different people.

Rhys, though arrogant and sassy, was loving and kind and caring.

Tamlin was just plain looks and greed and obnoxiousness.

I'd been blind to all those qualities before that night, but after what had happened to me, I refused to continue being blind. I wouldn't let myself be trampled under anyone. I was still healing, still, in the process of gaining the self-confidence, I knew I would need if I ever found myself facing someone like him again, or worse, Tamlin himself. But I was getting there, slowly but surely.

And I knew Rhys was making the same journey. Though he hadn't told me, it was clear on his face when he looked at me. The way he looked at me tonight—he looked so vulnerable and raw as if he had, just for a moment, not filtered his emotions before letting them show on his face. He did that for me. And today hadn't been the first time. He'd been laid out in front of me right from the beginning when we first shook hands. Unknowingly maybe, but we had both laid ourselves bare in front of the other in that first meeting and all the ones afterwards.

With haste, I pushed myself up onto my feet and speed-walked back to my bed and picked up my phone. I scrolled through my texts looking for Rhys's name and once found him, I texted him: Can we talk? Tomorrow? Please? I stared at the phone for a couple of seconds before dropping the phone back onto the bed and went back into the bathroom and got ready for bed. I didn't check my phone before closing my eyes.

AN: Phew! That was a long chapter. I really need to work on my consistency. But anyways. Did you like it? They kissed! Was it right? Did you swoon? Did I do it right? Tell me everything! I love hearing from you guys. XOXO

[dubsism]

Today’s Movie: Take Me Out To The Ball Game

Year of Release: 1949

Stars: Frank Sinatra, Esther Williams, Gene Kelly

Director: Busby Berkeley

This movie is not on my list of essential films.

NOTE: This installment of Sports Analogies Hidden In Classic Movies is being done as part of something called the Esther Williams Blog-A-Thon being hosted by Love Letters To Old Hollywood. I’ve been fortunate enough to have been included in several of her events…frankly, she had me at Van Johnson.  Speaking of which, there’s another event coming for him soon as well.

The Story:

“Take Me Out To The Ball Game” takes place in 1908 and centers on a baseball team known as the Chicago Wolves (not to be confused with the current non-fictional minor-league hockey team of the same name). Ostensibly, this is supposed to be the actual Chicago White Sox because they play all American League opponents, but the producers don’t want to say that as there’s a not-so-subtle reference to gambling and the whole 1919 “Black Sox” scandal later in the film.

Right off the bat, most will notice this movie is a bit thin on plot.  That’s why it works as a musical; a genre where the story-line really only serves to stitch the “song-and-dance” numbers together. To that end, two of the Wolves are also part-time Vaudevillians; Eddie O’Brien (played by Gene Kelly) and Dennis Ryan (played by Frank Sinatra). Obviously, those two are the engine for the “song-and-dance” part of this film (along with Betty Garrett and Jules Munshin).

The plot comes when the team finds out they are getting a new owner.  In and of itself, that would upset the club house of any team, but matters intensify when it is discovered the new owner is a woman who intended to take an active interest in running the team. The team envisions the new owner to be some frumpy dowager, but the reality proves to be the exact opposite.

If I were an umpire, Esther Williams could kick dirt on me anytime.

K.C. Higgins (played by Esther Williams) is not only improbably gorgeous, she just so happens to know baseball.  After the expected period of adjustment beginning in spring training and stretching into the season, the novelty of having a woman as the owner wears off and the “love interest” complications set in.

First, Dennis has eyes for K.C., but all the while he’s the target of the affections of a “Baseball Annie” Shirley Delwyn (played by Betty Garrett). Eddie eventually falls for K.C. as well, and this “J. Geils-esque ‘Love Stinks'” motif teams with the musical numbers carrying the movie until we get to the real “hook” in the plot.

As far as the songs go, they are standard fare for an MGM musical; light and meant to drive the pace of the movie.  Highlights include the require d title track performed by Kelly and Sinatra when they meet the other players in Florida.  They also pair for an “All The Girls We’ve Loved Before“-type number called, “Yes, Indeedy.”  There’s no way you’re getting an MGM musical starring Frank Sinatra without “Ol’ Blue Eyes” doing what he does best, crooning a love song titled “The Right Girl for Me.” Betty Garrett provides a major dose of comic relief with “It’s Fate Baby, It’s Fate;” sung while she seems to be seriously considering jumping Sinatra’s bones.

Interwoven through the messiness of the love interests is the fact that there’s a lot gangsters around this story, the head thug being Joe Lorgan (played by Edward Arnold).  This brings us to the aforementioned allusion of the Wolves as the Chicago White Sox as Lorgan is a thinly-disguised Arnold Rothstein, the man who was indicted but never convicted of conspiring to “fix” the 1919 World Series.  Vaudevillian Eddie gets tangled up with Lorgan when he performs in a show bank-rolled by Lorgan and his cohorts who are betting on the Wolves to lose the World Series. Eventually, this leads to a series of events which result in Eddie being kicked off the team.

The Hidden Sports Analogy:

Much like the Wolves had a incorrect assumption about what K.C. Williams was going to be, if you think the hidden sports analogy here is about baseball, you would be mistaken. Today’s episode is a tale of a real-life K.C. Williams three-quarters of a century after the setting of “Take Me Out To The Ball Game.” It’s also a story as interwoven as the love interests in that film…come along on a journey which will take us through Hollywood, the National Football League (NFL), and straight-up sexism.

ACT I – Bob & Carroll & Ted & Alice & Baltimore & Los Angeles

The story starts in 1972 when a businessman named Robert Irsay purchased the NFL’s Los Angeles Rams. At the same time, another business giant named Carroll Rosenbloom owned the Baltimore Colts.  Rosenbloom amassed his fortune with the Blue Ridge Clothing Company; by 1959, Blue Ridge had grown to include almost a dozen shirt and overall companies and had over 7,000 employees.  This led to Rosenbloom being known “America’s Overalls King.”

While Rosenbloom was born and raised in Baltimore, he fancied himself being part of the glamour of Hollywood…and he fit the part as well. An athletic, dashing figure, Rosenbloom cut a larger-than-life presence…he always reminded me of Lorne Greene, and I think Rosenbloom would have been right at home as the patriarch of a TV western family.  To that end, he was was one of the largest share holders in Seven Arts Productions Limited, which backed the Broadway musical “Funny Girl,” and the films “Lolita,” “What Ever Happened to Baby Jane?” and “The Night of the Iguana.”

Rosenbloom also had the pedigree for a perfect NFL owner. He had an “Ivy League” education having studied at the University of Pennsylvania and playing halfback on the football team.  This is also where his connections to the NFL began; his backfield coach for the Penn Quakers was future NFL Commissioner Bert Bell.

Carroll Rosenbloom and Robert Irsay

On the opposite end of the spectrum, Robert Irsay was bombastic and a heavy drinker who cared little for the glitz of Hollywood. So, in 1972, he and Rosenbloom swapped franchises. Irsay got the Colts and Baltimore, at the time a tough, blue-collar seaport city much more befitting Irsay’s persona…and Rosenbloom got “the team of the stars.”

Carroll Rosenbloom quickly became entrenched in the milieu of Hollywood, and the Rams enjoyed tremendous success during his ownership.  The Rams won their division (NFC West) for a then-NFL record seven straight seasons between 1973 and 1979.  They even earned the franchise’s first trip to the Super Bowl after the 1979 season.  However, the relationship between Rosenbloom and the city of Los Angeles was less than rosy.

The home of the Rams, the Los Angeles Memorial Coliseum was 50 years old at the time Rosenbloom bought the team.  The aging venue not only lacked modern amenities like luxury boxes, but it cavernous capacity of over 90,000 seats created problems with the NFL’s “black-out” policy of the era. In order to protect ticket sales,  games in which all the tickets were not sold 72 hours prior to kick-off were not broadcast in the local market. The reality was it proved difficult to sell that many ticket when even the closest seats were close to 30 yards from the playing field.

The inability to sell-out and the resultant lack of the Rams on Los Angeles television proved to be a vicious cycle with one feeding the other.  Without TV, the Rams struggled to keep drawing fan interest, which drove down ticket sales, et cetera…The continual sag in attendance drove Rosenbloom to cut a deal with the city of Anaheim in burgeoning suburban Orange County. The deal involved Rosenbloom agreeing to hold Rams’ home games in the city-owned Anaheim Stadium once it was expanded to approximately 65,000. “The Big A” was located right off a major freeway, was literally in the shadow of Disneyland, and was already home to baseball’s California Angels.

The future looked bright for both sides. Rosenbloom got a newly-remodeled venue for his football team and the more reasonable capacity likely meant the end of television black-outs. For Anaheim, it meant adding another major attraction to it’s growing list to compete with its gargantuan neighbor 30 miles up the Golden State Freeway.

But Rosenbloom would never see his Rams play football in Orange County.  In April of 1979 while the deal was still being brought to fruition, Rosenbloom suffered a heart attack and drowned while swimming in the ocean off Golden Beach, Florida.

Act II – Georgia On My Mind

Rosenbloom’s memorial at his mansion in Bel-Air was attended by nearly 1,000 wishing to pay their respects. The group was an eclectic hodge-podge of NFL owners and dignitaries, the entire Los Angeles Rams organization, and a solid representative sample of Rosenbloom Hollywood connections.  Comedian Jonathan Winters was the Master of Ceremonies.  Howard Cosell, Ricardo Montalbán, and Ross Martin were among those who delivered eulogies.  In a salute to Rosenbloom’s legendary “raucous” sense of humor, Don Rickles did what Don Rickles does.  Warren Beatty made an appearance, having just played a Ram in the previous year’s “Heaven Can Wait.” Other attendees included Kirk Douglas, Cary Grant, Jimmy Stewart, Rod Steiger, and Henry Mancini.

But it didn’t take long for the details of Rosenbloom’s will to emerge. His son Steve had been left with the “managerial and operational” duties for the Rams, and Steve his two siblings, Daniel and Suzanne, and half-siblings, Chip and Lucia each received equal shares in ownership of the franchise, totaling 30%.  But it was Rosenbloom’s widow Georgia who inherited a controlling 70% stake in the team. Another clause in the will stipulated that the ultimate decision as to who ran the day-to-day operations of the team was entirely a matter of “as long as the successor trustee, in his discretion shall determine.”

In other words, the ultimate control of the Los Angeles Rams was now in the hands of Georgia Frontiere.  Would she flex her new organizational muscle, or would she let Steve Rosenbloom run the Rams?

It took less than three months for Frontiere to assume control of the Los Angeles Rams. Frontiere was not the first female owner in the history of the NFL.  When Charlie Bidwell, the owner of the then-Chicago Cardinals, died in 1947, the team was left to his widow Violet.  In the 1950s, the controlling interest of the San Francisco 49ers was held by two brothers, Tony and Vic Morabito. When they died in 1957 and 1964 respectively, control of the team passed to their widows Jo and Jane Morabito.  But none of them ever took over the day-to-day operations of their teams.  In other words, Frontiere took the NFL into new territory.

But the main-stream sports media didn’t wait that long to create a demonstrably false narrative about her. Born Violet Frances Irwin to a beauty queen mother and businessman father in 1927 in St. Louis,  Frontiere grew up to be a voluptuous blond who aspired to be an actress and singer. Her career started performing alongside her mother in various dinner theaters.  She worked her way up through small theater productions, eventually landing on television.  She became a local celebrity in Miami in the 1950s as the host of her own interview show, a gig which landed her several appearances on NBC’s “Today” show.  It was through television that she met her future husband Carroll Rosenbloom.

In other words, Frontiere was “tailor-made” to have the narrative hung on her about being little more than being the rich, old guy’s younger “trophy wife.” Nothing says part of that couldn’t be true, but the hypocritical ass-loafs in the media never even bothered to discover the reality.

That became clear from the first time Georgia stepped onto the field at the Rams training camp as majority owner and team president.  From that moment, it was clear she didn’t give a frog’s fat ass what people thought of her.  She gave the tobacco-chewing head coach Ray Malavasi an “air-kiss” greeting and played catch with starting quarterback Pat Haden.  The New York Times treated this spectacle with it’s usual pseudo-intellectual hypocrisy, quipping that Frontiere “took Haden’s spirals on the edge of her fingertips in a way indicating that she happened to be a woman who’d been catching passes all her life.” The Baltimore Sun referred to Frontiere as “a rather shapely blonde.” But it was the Orlando Sentinel who cut right to the chase by calling her “a bosomy blonde who jiggles.”

Forget about her gender for a minute. There was hardly a mention of the fact that here was an NFL owner despite being well into their 50s could still throw a football and hang with the players on some calisthenics.  While it shouldn’t shock anybody the American media would do a trash-job on somebody; be it 1979 or today, it’s what they do.

To understand why, you need to remember two things about the American media, sports or otherwise. The first is that any semblance of journalistic integrity died with Walter Cronkite, and the second is that no major story in America in the last 50 years has been reported without being shackled to a political agenda of one sort or another.

In Frontiere’s case, this is critical to understanding why the media savaged her as they did.  She ascended to the presidency of NFL franchise precisely at the time the deadline had passed for ratification of the Equal Rights Amendment to the U.S. Constitution.  Upon the failure of that amendment, the American media immediately began beating a drum decrying the “oppression and second-class status” of American women.  The problem was that by her very existence, Frontiere was illustrating that much of the media narrative was at the very least conflated.

She made matters worse by not trumpeting herself as some sort of feminist icon; she just wanted to run a football team; the idea being that she wanted to stay busy during her period of grief and believed that is what her late husband would have wanted.  That’s also why her successes were downplayed, if not straight-up ignored.

While the media portrayed her as a meddling dowager of questionable competence and limited intellect, Frontiere in fact proved early on to be a decisive and gutsy leader. In the first instance of Frontiere being treated unfairly by the media, there was a portrayal of her as some sort wallet-driver power monger. The headlines were splashed about with a tale of Frontiere storming into the Rams’ offices in July of 1979 and summarily firing Steve Rosenbloom from his inherited duties running the team.

What was overlooked in that narrative was that Rosenbloom had stripped power from his father’s “right-hand man,” Don Klosterman, who Carroll Rosenbloom and many others in the NFL believed to one of the best general managers in football.  Rosenbloom did this without telling Klosterman, instead he sent a message to the rest of the league stating that all business dealings with the Rams should be addressed to Dick Steinberg, the Rams’ new director of player personnel.

Naturally, this created a bit of consternation within the Rams’ organization and confusion outside.  Frontiere was surprised by the move and when she came to the to the Rams’ training camp to deal with the discord it caused, the media came in sporting dorsal fins. Doing what she normally did, she spent time with the players during which she kicked some footballs off a tee.  This was characterized by The Baltimore Sun as “posing for publicity shots with her well-shaped legs.” This ignored the fact Frontiere tried extending the proverbial olive branch to all parties by offering to create a position of “chief advisor,” thus freeing him from many managerial duties to focus on executive-level decisions.  But a month later, Rosenbloom fired Klosterman and Frontiere fired Rosenbloom that same day.

Don’t tell me it doesn’t take guts to fire your own step-son…especially knowing what the media is going to say about you..

A week later, Frontiere held a press conference which was attended by more than 20 reporters along with camera crews from ABC, CBS, and NBC. Unfortunately, Frontiere arrived late causing  a reporter to state “she must have been out shopping.”

Act III – Meet Me In St. Louis

Another shaft-job Frontiere got from the media was her being blamed for the Rams move to Anaheim starting with the 1980 season.  Everybody conveniently forgot that move was set in place by Carroll Rosenbloom. But the move was terribly unpopular with the Rams fan base, and it was easier to blame “the woman” than the beloved late owner.

It didn’t help matters that Anaheim Stadium proved to be a horrible venue for football. It was originally built to host baseball, and as we’ve learned time and time again, baseball and football do not fit well into the same stadium.  In the case of the Big A,” the sight-lines were awful and many of the seats forced fans to sit at awkward angles to view the field.  But the worst part (and I can tell you this first-hand as a California Angels fan) was the stadium being further inland meant the late summer and early fall heat caused by the Santa Ana winds coming off the desert made the “Big A” a 60,000-seat blast furnace.

The “Big A” got an “F” for football.

The awful stadium, the less-than-ideal conditions, and the 30-mile commute from Los Angeles meant the fan base didn’t follow the Rams to Anaheim. The Rams’ years in Orange County were nearly a decade-and-a-half of declining attendance, running gun battles with both the Angels and the city of Anaheim…and Frontiere taking sniper-fire from the media.

Part of the deal between Carroll Rosenbloom and the City of Anaheim was a partnership in land development around the stadium, which in the late 1970s was surrounded by orange groves and other underdeveloped properties. But the California Angels’ owner Gene “The Singing Cowboy” Autry wasn’t about to let that happen. While to this day Autry is the only person to have a star on the Hollywood in all five disciplines (Motion Pictures, Television, Radio, Recording, and Live Performance/Theater), he became a billionaire by investing in real estate. As such, he became one of the most powerful people in Southern California, which meant there was no way he was letting somebody else get rich building hotels next to “his” ballpark. In other words, Autry and the California Angels successfully sued the city of Anaheim and the Rams to kill those development deals.

Eventually, things got so bad in Orange County that Frontiere entered discussions in 1989 to move the Rams back to the Los Angeles Coliseum.  That died a quick death because of the 1983 move of the Oakland Raiders into that venue, and they weren’t keen to have “roommates.”  That refusal by Raiders’ owner Al Davis, plus his demands for a new taxpayer-funded stadium would lead to both the Rams and the Raiders leaving Southern California within five years.

Naturally, the media blamed Georgia Frontiere for all this.

Maybe that played a role in the next move she made…maybe it didn’t. But what surely did was she couldn’t take the Rams back to the Coliseum, and life in Orange County wasn’t the cornucopia it was supposed to be.

During the transition of moving the team to Anaheim, Frontiere gave herself an insurance policy by acquiring the 30% of the team she didn’t own which was held by Carroll Rosenbloom’s children. With 100% ownership, she was free to do whatever she wished with the Rams, and once it was clear she wanted out of Orange County, the suitors for a NFL franchise beat a path to Frontiere’s door. Cities like Oakland, Las Vegas, Nashville, and San Antonio all showed some level of interest, but in the in the end, it was Frontiere’s home town which became the new home of the Rams.

The city of St. Louis was building a brand new domed-stadium perfectly suited for football.  The city sweetened the deal with incentives like $20 million in annual profits from guaranteed season-ticket sales, personal seat licenses, and a favorable lease. However, the NFL tried to stop the move, noting that St. Louis had been abandoned by another NFL franchise just a few years earlier when the Cardinals left for Arizona. As a result, Frontiere filed an anti-trust lawsuit against the NFL, and she won.

That meant 1995 saw the birth of the St. Louis Rams.

Act IV – The Sweet Smell of Success

Under the ownership of Carroll Rosenbloom, the Los Angeles Rams were perennial play-off contenders, but to be honest they were consistently winning a weak division. Throughout the 1970’s,  the Atlanta Falcons, the New Orleans Saints, and the San Francisco 49ers were never much of a threat to the talent-laden Rams. While they made the play-offs every year from 1973 to 1979, they just couldn’t over the hump that was beating either the Minnesota Vikings or Dallas Cowboys.  When Carroll Rosenbloom died before the 1979 season, many thought the Rams would drift off to mediocrity from losing the organizational direction he provided.

During the pre-season of 1979, Frontiere firmly established herself as the organization’s leader.  She penned a doctrine in which she made it clear she was the boss…there were literally no “ifs, ands, or buts” about it.  To clear up the mess left by Steve Rosenbloom, Frontiere believed that strong leadership would get the Rams over that hump, and in the short-term, she was right. After she posted her paper to the team, she told Sports Illustrated “Right now, we don’t have much leadership. Oh, they played well—they’re trying to earn their positions—and I’m not talking about the coaching. We have good coaching. I’m talking about the top. There are some things that have to be ironed out.”

Whatever she told the team must have worked, because the Rams finally reached Super Bowl XIV after the 1979 season. The Rams lost to the juggernaut Pittsburgh Steelers 31-19.  There was no shame in that loss; nobody else could beat the Steelers of that era.  But the Rams franchise took the next step, and Frontiere became a bit of celebrity when she appeared in an American Express commercial with the Rams players. and graced the cover Sports Illustrated.

The 1980s saw a series of ups and downs for Frontiere and the Los Angeles Rams. On the field, The Rams of the 1980s remained a perennial play-off team, reached the playoffs eight times between 1980 and 1989, although they did not return to the Super Bowl as long as they remained in Southern California. Frontiere became less “hands-on” with the organization by passing much of the daily financial and football management responsibilities on to key executives.

Things started going downhill in 1986.  Frontiere had remarried after Carroll Rosenbloom’s passing to composer Dominic Frontiere.  That year Dominic was arrested for for lying to a government agent as part of a federal investigation that came from allegedly scalping 1,000 Super Bowl tickets. While he ended up being incarcerated for nearly a year, Georgia was not implicated in any wrongdoing, but this didn’t stop the media from trashing her once again.

By the 1990s, matters were getting bleak. Attendance had fallen to 45,000 fans per game; off from a peak of 62,000. Again, this most of the Rams’ home games were blacked out, and the team had been replaced by the new “team of the stars,” the newly-arrived Los Angeles Raiders.

Naturally, the Rams’ financial health was suffering as well. Frontiere’s attempts at having stadium built in Los Angeles garnered no support from local leaders. By the 1990s, the end of the “Cold War” resulted in massive-scale layoffs by defense contractors in Southern California. As a result, by 1994, the Los Angeles Rams claimed to have lost $6 million, and made only $7.6 million during the previous four seasons. Hence the 1995 move to St. Louis.

Naturally, the media fanned the flames in Southern California, making Frontiere out to be public enemy #1 for moving the team.  But after having lost the Cardinals to Arizona, the city of St. Louis welcomed with open arms Frontiere and her football team.  The city even hosted a rally downtown and thousands of fans chanted “Georgia, Georgia!” Frontiere responded to the cheering crowd with “St. Louis is my home, and I brought my team here to start a new dynasty.”

That’s exactly what she did.  The Rams took a few years to recover from 15 years of being the “red-headed step-child” of the Southern California sports world, but once they did, the Rams emerged as one of the best teams in football in the late 1990s and early 2000s. Frontiere had an odd formula for building a winner in St. Louis, but there’s no doubting it worked.

It began with the 1997 hiring of head coach Dick Vermeil, who had been out of football for 15 years (and who has a Dubsy Award named for him). Vermeil’s first player personnel move was to trade up in the draft to pick offensive tackle Orlando Pace…who would become a consistent All-Pro and ended up in the Hall of Fame. The Rams then traded Jerome Bettis (another future Hall of Fame player)  to the Pittsburgh Steelers for draft picks.

By 1999, there seemed to be cause for optimism for the Rams. They had acquired quarterback Trent Green and future Hall of Fame running back Marshall Faulk in separate trades, and it looked like offensive coordinator Mike Martz finally had the makings of a winner.  That optimism disappeared when Green shredded the anterior cruciate ligament in his knee; an injury which would sideline him for the entire season.  A tearful Vermeil (hence the category of his Dubsy award) made a solemn vow the Rams would “play good football” behind Green’s backup, a 28-year-old guy named Kurt Warner.

Not only had nobody ever heard of Warner, and his pedigree for professional football seemed rather suspect. No NFL team drafted him out of the University of Northern Iowa.  His only professional experience came from stints with the Amsterdam Admirals of NFL Europe and the Iowa Barnstormers of that now-defunct sideshow known as the Arena Football League. In fact, Warner was making ends meet by bagging groceries and stocking shelves in a supermarket before joining the Rams. Most saw the Rams having yet another losing season, some even going so far as to say they would be the worst team in the league.

But the beauty of sports is that it rivals Hollywood for the ability to produce “fairy tale” stories. Something magic happened, and within weeks Warner and the Rams were the toast of the NFL.  Sportscasters dubbed them “the Greatest Show on Turf” because of their high-speed, quick-strike offense which seemed as though it could score at will. The Rams finished the 1999 season with a 13-3 record, and they cruised through the play-offs on the way to a 23-16 victory over the Tennessee Titans in Super Bowl XXXIV.

Frontiere and Vermeil with the Lombardi Trophy

Frontiere, Vermeil, and Kurt Warner after winning the Super Bowl

Hoisting the Lombardi Trophy in Atlanta that night in January 2000 was the vindication of Georgia Frontiere.  This was the pinnacle of her 28-year ownership; an era which began with sanctimonious hypocrite New York Daily News columnist Mike Lupica writing bilge like “The board of directors of women’s liberation ought to keep an eye on sweet Georgia… If she continues to run the Rams, pretty soon it is going to be back into the kitchen for every woman.”

How did that Lombardi Trophy feel when she shoved it up your ass, Mike?

ACT V – Epilogue

Georgia Frontiere was the pioneer for women taking an active role heading professional football franchise. In an era of women’s liberation, Frontiere never saw herself as a feminist icon, which is why the “liberal” media trashed her at every opportunity.  In fact, one of the only times she ever spoke on the subject her words were taken by some as a “shot” at the feminist movement.

“There are some who feel there are two different kinds of people — human beings and women. As soon as a woman tries to be a human being, people think she’s trying to be a man.”

Taken out of context, you can interpret that statement several ways. What is certain is Frontiere didn’t want be a man; she wanted to run a football team the best way she could.  That’s exactly what she did. She may not have been the greatest owner in the history of the game, but she wasn’t the worst either. Her team won a championship, and there’s a lot of owners who can’t say that.

You can say whatever you want about Georgia Frontiere. After her death in 2008, minority owner Stan Kroenke acquired a controlling interest in the St. Louis Rams and moved them back to Los Angeles in 2015. In 1995, Frontiere may have been the most hated woman in Los Angeles, but a quarter-century later her name is headed for the ash-heap of history. But what can’t be argued is her commitment to her team.  Throughout her time as the owner of the Rams, it simply was not possible to attend to a Rams game and not see Georgia Frontiere somewhere in the stadium.

But that doesn’t mean she was perched in a luxury suite lording over her subjects fans separated by so much plate glass.  Georgia Frontiere preferred to mingle with the players, the fans…the people who she knew made it all possible.  On the night of the Rams Super Bowl victory, Frontiere succinctly stated the source of her desire to succeed, “From the time my late husband died, it has been a constant effort to do what he expected me to be able to do. He said ‘If anybody can, you can. You always stick to your ideas, and nobody pushes you around.’”

And nobody did.

The Moral of the Story:

If you’re going to be “the first” at something, you had better be tough.

Check out Dubsism’s Movies and Blog-A-Thons page for a full schedule of projects past, present, and future!

Got a question, comment, or just want to yell at us? Hit us up at  dubsism@yahoo.com, @Dubsism on Twitter, or on our Pinterest,  Tumblr, Instagram, Snapchat or Facebook pages, and be sure to bookmark Dubsism.com so you don’t miss anything from the most interesting independent sports blog on the web.

Sports Analogies Hidden In Classic Movies – Volume 87: “Take Me Out To The Ball Game” Today's Movie: Take Me Out To The Ball Game Year of Release: 1949 Stars: Frank Sinatra, Esther Williams, Gene Kelly…

[lolbtsaus]

Nightmare (Father!Jin)

Plot: A nightmare with father!Jin

Word Count: 989

A/N: so I don’t totally know what this is, I was writing a different request with the nightmare idea but then I decided to toss that and just write this bc my heart is soft for father!Jin I literally wanna have a father!BTS week tbh, I may do it, the link for this is father!Jin (all of the father related posts are here)

Your daughter had always gone to Jin when she wasn’t feeling well. Whether it was because something had scared her, whether it was because she had eaten something that made her stomach hurt or even if she was just feeling tired and wanted something, or in this case, someone, to rest her head on. He had always been her go to for comfort, for a laugh session over his funny faces, for anything that involved making her day better in just a few minutes. It had always been endearing to see her running into his arms for a hug, soaking up all the attention he gave her, letting him press as many kisses to her cheeks as he wanted to, letting him hug her as long as he wished to. But then it came time for Jin to go back to work.

He had taken some time off to spend with her and you as a family, taking the both of you to Disneyland for a vacation so she could meet all of her favorite characters. He had taken a countless amount of photos of her over the week you spent there, of her reaction to seeing Mickey Mouse “in person” for the first time, of her in the Minnie Mouse ears you’d bought for her, of her passed out in the middle of the bed, exhausted after the exciting day of exploring. He had taken an entire month off to just focus on his family, knowing he’d be preparing for the next comeback and would be busy just about everyday.

Nothing broke his heart more than walking over to his phone during break to see ten missed called from you, along with a few texts explaining your daughter had had a nightmare during her nap and wouldn’t stop crying, no matter what you did. He left practice almost immediately after seeing the texts, nearly running to get to the car so he could head home as soon as possible. If his had broken just thinking about the idea of your daughter in distress, when he wasn’t there to help her, it fully shattered when he stepped into the house to hear her cries, one of his least favorite sounds. Her laughter, her saying “I love you,” her coos or mumbles when she was tired, those were his favorite but her cries? Those were far, far down the list. When they were just crocodile tears, it was cute but genuine tears were never something he wanted to see.

She normally ran over to him when he came home, squealing with excitement. It was his favorite part of the day, coming home to his mini me, coming home to a onesie clad toddler with messy hair from her nap, giggling and smiling so wide he wondered if her cheeks would be sore afterwards. But today he was met with a pouting daughter, her stuffed dog toy clutched tightly in her arm. She calmed down somewhat once she saw him, lifting her free arm up so he would pick her up. He mumbled out a greeting to you while he held her close to his chest, laying his chin on the top of her head. She was only three, she was still so little, still his baby, though he knew she always would be, even when she was forty and had a family of her own. 

“Are you feeling any better?” he asked quietly once her sniffles had stopped, his hand still gently rubbing her back.

She only nodded, rubbing at her eyes and laying her head on his shoulder. He walked around the house with her in his arms, making sure to sway side to side as he did to help get her to calm down enough to go back to taking her nap. He hummed one of her lullabies, feeling her head slowly get heavier on his shoulder, her grip on her plush dog loosening up. He sat on the bed next to you as slowly as he could, not willing to put her down just yet.

“I feel awful.” he admitted, a frown on his face. “I should’ve been here.”

“Nightmares aren’t something you can normally predict, we had no way of knowing she would get so scared. I got her to calm down eventually, it just took a lot longer. You’re gonna have to work at some point or another, we can’t just wait until she’s older for you to go back to work.”

“But maybe the schedule should be loosened up or something. I can’t have my baby getting so upset and worked up, especially not when I don’t have access to my phone.”

“Well maybe, you can explain it to everyone or ask someone to keep an eye on your phone while you work. I’ll only call you if one of us needs you so you’d know it’d be important.”

“And maybe now that she’s older she can come to work with me on some days, take her nap in one of the studios, she’s a heavy enough sleeper to be able to sleep straight through our rehearsal, she’s done it before.”

“I think she’d love that.”

When she woke up, he went straight to work on cheering her up. You had never heard her laugh so loudly, getting chased throughout the entire house by the “giant” also known as Jin, who made a show of stomping his feet as he followed her. You had never seen her smile so widely as when Jin gave her one of his hoodies to wear, running into the room to show you her new pajamas. She fell asleep on his chest that night, his fingers playing with her hair while he sang to her, reminding you of just how much he loved her. You knew he’d probably been singing on and off all day long yet he still made sure he never forgot her lullaby.

“Sleep well, princess.”

[tyson-berry-blog]

Miles Wood #1 - Cast

Anon asked: I didn't exactly have a plot thought it but if you could, could you please make a miles wood imagine that is extremely cute and fluffy 😁😁

I am totally on board if y’all don’t have a plot besides “fluff” or “angst” but it is also slightly terrifying because I’m afraid I will royally fuck it up somehow. It gives me free reign which is so much fun but it’s also interesting to attempt a specific prompt because I like the challenge. Anyway, the idea behind this one is from a mix of two trips I took in the past. One was the road trip from Yosemite to Disneyland and the other was me in a foreign country tripping on the side of the road and hurting my ankle badly. For an athlete I can be very uncoordinated. Anon I hope you enjoy this fluff!

You had been planning the off season California trip for months. Most of the activities you had booked required the early planning because the slots filled up very quickly. The idea was to start in Yosemite National Park and work your way down the coast, ending at Disneyland. There were sightseeing opportunities, museum visits and amazing restaurants to try but not even two days into your three week trip your plan came to a grinding halt. Your long term boyfriend and normally your favorite person Miles Wood was currently whining and sitting in a hard plastic chair in a hospital waiting room. He was holding his wrist delicately and attempting not to move it.

That morning the two of you had set out on the Mirror Lake Trail; an easy five-mile loop around the beautiful lake in the heart of the park. Roughly two miles in, Miles decided he wanted a picture of him on top of a small boulder looking out over the park. You tried to convince him it was too slick with water and that his shoes were not well equipped but he waved you off as a worrier and did it anyway. Just as you had predicted he took a wrong step and slipped, promptly falling off of the rock. In an attempt to lessen his fall, he stuck his arm out and ended up not only scrapping his face, but breaking his wrist.

This is why the two of you were currently sitting in the uncomfortable hospital chairs waiting to be seen by the doctor on call. You were filling out his insurance sheet because of course it was your luck he hurt his dominant hand. When finished you turned the form in to the front desk and sat down next to your boyfriend.

“I’m sorry babe,” he said.

“It’s fine Miles, not much we can do now anyway.”

“I know this throws off your plans.”

“Your health is more important than getting to see some waterfall.”

“You’ve been planning this trip for months. Maybe we’ll get lucky and it will turn out to be just a bad sprain.”

You looked down and the awkward angle his hand was sitting, “I don’t think we’ll get that lucky.”

The door leading to the examination rooms swung open and an elderly nurse stepped through.

“Mr. Wood?” she read off of her clipboard.

You and Miles stood and made your way over to her. Just as you were about to cross the threshold she put a hand up to stop you.

“I’m sorry, only immediate family is allowed back here.”

“Excuse me?” you asked with more of an attitude than you intended.

The nurse gave you an apologetic look, “it’s hospital policy.”

“I probably know more about him than he does,” you insisted, “I filled out his insurance form for shit’s sake.”

“Please watch you language; this is a family-friendly establishment.”

Your boyfriend who already passed through the door was watching the conversation but saying nothing to defend you.

“Miles,” you spit out, “tell her.”

What he said next was unexpected, “that is my fiancé Miss.”

The nurse looked at her form, “not according to this sheet.”

“Fine, this isn’t how I wanted to do it but my arm is killing me and I am not going back into that exam room alone so,” Miles dropped clumsily to one knee.

Your eyes widened and your hands flew to your mouth, “Miles what the hell are you doing?”

“They said only immediate family is allowed back so let’s become just that. Uh okay let’s see. We’ve been together a long time, I love you, will you marry me?”

“This seems a little extreme and you don’t even have a ring.”

“Check the middle pocket of my backpack.”

You unzipped the pocket and sure enough, sitting snugly at the bottom was a black box.

“Miles…”

“I had this whole thing planned out for when we reached the lake because I remembered you telling me that your parents got engaged there. I had this long speech that I promise I will read you later if you want but I am in so much pain.”

He smiled up at you but it looked a lot like a grimace, “yes Miles I will marry you. Now please get up so we can get your arm looked at.”

He struggled to stand but managed. You still had the ring box in your hand but decided you didn’t want to open it yet. You’d let him have a “do over” when he wasn’t in excruciating pain.

Miles looked at the nurse, “was that good enough for hospital policy?”

The nurse could do nothing but nod and waved you through the door. She pointed you into an exam room and explained the doctor would be in shortly before quickly ducking out.

You leaned against the wall across from the examination table and watched as Miles tried to climb up without jostling his arm.

“I cannot believe you proposed to me in the dirty waiting room of a hospital.”

He smiled, “well she presented us with a problem that had an easy solution.”

“Easy you say? You think a marriage proposal is the easy way? You know what a marriage proposal signifies?”  

“Yes I am perfectly aware of what it means.”

“Enlighten me then,” you teased.

“It means you’re stuck with my sorry ass forever.”

Before you could retort the door opened and the doctor walked through.

“Mr. Wood is it?”

“Yes ma’am.”

“Alright well Mr. Wood what seems to be the issue?”

“Uh,” Miles looked down at his severely swollen arm.

The doctor chuckled, “ah yes I should have guessed. Let me get your vitals very quickly and then we can get you an x-ray.”

The doctor worked quickly and soon enough Miles was whisked off to the x-ray room. You messed around on your phone to keep yourself busy enough that you wouldn’t go and open the ring box.

Miles returned a few minutes later, “the x-ray technician has to send the scans off to the doctor who will bring them in here to look at them.”

You nodded and went back to your phone.

The doctor returned and slipped the scans into the holder on the wall.

“Alright Mr. Wood as you can see along here are a series of breaks that clearly should not be there. From what your chart says about the incident I would consider you to be very lucky that it isn’t much worse. We are going to prescribe you some pain medication that you will take twice daily. Make sure you have food in your stomach when taking them otherwise you can become sick. Someone will be in shortly to get you situated with a cast.”

“Thank you doctor,” you and Miles said in unison.

The doctor smiled at the two and left the room. You moved to stand in between Miles’ legs and wrapped your arms carefully around him. He pressed a kiss to your forehead and the two of you remained there until a nurse rolled a cart in. Thankfully it was a different nurse than the one from earlier.

“What color would you like?”

The question surprised you and caused you to laugh, “I didn’t realize adults got to choose.”

“Most adults don’t care but we always get a few who do and by bringing in the options it keeps it from getting weird,” the nurse answered.

Miles looked at you, “would it be cliché if I picked red?”

“You can pick whatever color you want, whatever gets us out of here faster.”

“Can I have red please?” Miles asked, all too pleased with himself.

You snapped a picture of the cast being applied and posted it to Instagram with the caption, “He asked if red was too cliché.”

Within minutes your phone was blowing up with a combination of likes and texts from your friends. Several of Miles’ teammates commented variations of “what did the dumbass do?” and the ones that had your number, directly asked you. You could hear his phone vibrating from his bag, no doubt with calls from his teammates.

The nurse finished wrapping the cast in what seemed like a record time and bid you both good bye. You couldn’t help but laugh at Miles with the bright red cast.

“Here wait a second,” you rummaged through your own backpack and produced a black sharpie.

You gestured him forward and drew the all too familiar symbol smackdab in the middle of his cast. The New Jersey Devils logo was a dark contrast to the cast itself.

Miles laughed loudly, “well are you going to sign it?”

“If I have too.” You pulled his arm back towards you and signed your name next to the logo.

As the two of you exited the hospital Miles suddenly stopped.

“What are you doing?” you asked as you nearly ran into him.

“I think I forgot something.”

“What could you have forgotten? I had your bag the whole time.”

“I forgot to thank the first nurse and ask her to sign my cast.”

You shoved him forward, “oh shut up Miles; she was rude.”

“Yeah but because of her we are engaged.”

“You said you were going to ask me anyway.”

“Yeah but she really gave me that final push. Maybe I can send her a thank you card.”

“You’re ridiculous,” you walked away from him.

“What?” he called after you, “is a card not enough? Should I send flowers?”

You shook your head and didn’t respond. You couldn’t believe you were stuck with that idiot forever.

[setmefreewritings-blog]

The first time Rowan saw Silme’s apartment wasn’t until they were two months in to their relationship. Her place had always been out of the way, so they spent most of their time at Rowan’s nice apartment. She had told him there wasn’t much to see at her place, anyways. It wasn’t in the best part of town. Rowan didn’t really grasp what she meant until the night they finally went back to her place.

They had eaten dinner at a new restaurant not too far from her place. It made sense to go back to her house for the night. And so Rowan drove them down the dark, dirty streets of her neighborhood in his sleek and completely out-of-place Audi R8. Rowan’s eyes took in the dingy, grungy sights of the neighborhood. She wasn’t kidding when she said there wasn’t much to see.

“I would make sure the alarm is on,” Silme instructed as they got out of the car. “A ride like this will definitely attract attention. And not the good kind.”

Rowan furrowed his eyebrows but said nothing.

Silme lead him down the sidewalk. As they walked, Rowan look at the street around him. Only half the streetlights were working; the rest flickered on and off. Broken fences trailed the sidewalk, the ground was cracked, and sounds of a cat - or even a man - rooting through garbage could be heard down one of the passing alleyways. The buildings were squished together with no front lawns, no privacy, and what alleyways they did have were dark and most likely housed a homeless person or two.

A man leaned against one of the streetlights that didn’t work. He smiled at Silme as she walked past him. “Hey there, little thing. Where are you off to at such an hour?”

“Don’t mind him, he’s harmless,” Silme muttered to Rowan, ignoring the man. This was clearly not her first encounter with him. As they passed the man, Rowan stared him down with a stone expression. The dirty smirk fell from his face.

“This one.” Silme lead him to a building that was just as dirty and cracked as the rest. threRowan noticed she had not pulled out her keys. Instead, she simply opened the door and walked inside.

“Don’t you have a lock?” he asked.

“Not really,” she answered. Silme disappeared inside the dark home and three furry creatures darted out. Rowan flinched, stepping out of their way. Damn cats. He had to date the one woman in the world who owned a thousand stray animals.

He finally slipped into her home. With a soft click, a light in the corner turned on, illuminating Silme along with half the room. She went about the room turning on lamps one by one. Rowan stood just inside the doorway, eyes beholding the sight before him.

The place was a dump.

Not in the messy, sloppy kind of way, but the get-murdered-and-not-be-found-until-a-week-later kind of way. The apartment was small; nothing more than a living room, a kitchen in the corner, and a door for the bedroom. Several small cracks lined the walls, the wallpaper was peeling in the corners, and there were no bars on the windows considering the neighborhood she lived in. The floor in the center of the room dipped down a level, creating a square pit. Silme had filled it with dozens of pillows varying in sizes. Her “Pillow Pit”, as she called it. It looked like the safest place in the entire neighborhood. A cat sat on top of a pile of pillows, casually licking its belly.

“I know it’s nothing like your place - I mean, your bedroom is bigger than my entire apartment - but it works.” Silme finished turning on the last lamp, revealing one large crack in the corner. She turned to Rowan. He stood in the same spot, looking around the apartment before him. Finally, his eyes landed on Silme.

“No.”

She blinked. “What?”

Without another word, he walked out the door.

“Rowan?...Rowan!” Silme called, darting after him. She hurried up to him as he walked back down the sidewalk. “Hey, what is the matter with you?”

“We are going back to my place,” he calmly declared, eyes focused forward.

“What?"

“I won’t stay there.”

Silme crossed her arms. Her shorter legs had a hard time keeping up with his fast, determined pace. “What is your problem? It’s just an apartment, Rowan. If you’re afraid of the neighbors, I think I should remind you that, given your current profession, you can take them. Maybe not their whole gang, but still.”

Rowan gave her a sideways look. His expression was void of all humor. Unlocking the car with his remote, he pulled the driver’s side open, then faced Silme. “Get in the car.”

She looked at him like he had gone crazy. Which, as far as she was concerned, he had. “No. It’s late, Rowan. Just suck it up for a night and stay with me. You can have the bedroom if it means that much to you.”

“Silme, get in the damn car.”

“I said no, you ass. Would you please stop being dramatic and come back inside? It’s freezing out here.”

He stared at her, face hard. “Either you get in this damn car right now, or I’m leaving without you. Your choice.”

She squared her shoulders.

Rowan let out a frustrated sigh. “Fine.” Slamming the car door behind him, the Audi purred to life, then took off, leaving Silme alone on the cold, dark sidewalk..

She didn’t see him again for four days.

He didn’t call. He didn’t text. After day three, Silme finally went down to Rowan’s office to see what the hell was up with him. Hutch was the only one down there. He informed her that Rowan was assigned an undercover case for a few days. That explained part of his absence, but that still didn’t explain why he didn’t contact the other few days. Feeling angry and betrayed, Silme stormed out of their office, only to be stopped by Hutch.

“I would give him a chance if I were you,” Hutch had advised. “I know you are angry, but trust me. I have a feeling you won’t regret it.”

The next day, which happened to be her day off, there was a knock on her door.

She looked up from her pillow pit. No one ever knocked on her door. Silme had a good guess as to who was standing on the other side of the door. If she was right, then he had guts coming to her home turf. Setting her drawing pad aside, Silme climbed out of the pit and opened the door.

Yeah. It was him.

“What the hell do you want?” Silme greeted not so warmly.

A hint of surprised crossed Rowan’s features. He must not have expected such a cold welcome. “I want you to come with me.”

Silme crossed her arms, staring him down. “And why should I do that?”

“Is being your boyfriend not good enough a reason?”

Her eyebrows knitted together. “I wouldn’t be quick to assume we’re still dating if I were you. Four days, Rowan. You haven’t contacted me in four days. Where the hell have you been?”

“On assignment in Los Angeles. You know I can’t call you when I’m undercover. I didn’t get home until yesterday afternoon, anyway.”

“And you just now remembered we were dating and thought you would, what, drop by and creepily ask me to go somewhere with you? Fat chance, D’Barbarac.”

Rowan let out a sigh. “Look, I was busy all day yesterday. Busy doing the thing that I now want you to come with me to see. Can you please stop giving me that face and come with me?”

“You just left me. You wouldn’t tell me what was wrong, got in your car, and drove away. I still don’t know why.”

“Okay, you’re angry. I get it. But I will explain everything if you just get in that damn car.”

Silme had half a mind to slam the door in his face. No call, no note, not even a lousy message left with Hutch. And then he just shows up and expects her to pretend that everything was fine? Silme never had a real relationship before, but she was pretty sure boyfriends shouldn’t treat their girlfriends that way. In the back of her mind, however, Hutch’s words floated about. I would give him a second chance if I were you. I have a feeling you won’t regret it.

Letting out a frustrated sigh, she caved. “Okay. But it better be good.”

Rowan smiled. She retrieved her jacket and followed him to his truck.

They didn’t speak the entire way. Silme was still angry at him. No matter what he had waiting for her, it was not going to excuse his actions.

Rowan drove them to a nicer part of the city. She rarely came to this part of town except when Rowan took her out for dinner. The apartments in this area were a lot more than Silme could ever dream of affording, that much she knew. They parked on the street in front of a tall apartment structure. Offering no explanations yet, Rowan lead her inside.

He briefly spoke with the security guard inside the door. The foyer was bigger than Silme’s living room. It had a nice seating area fully equipped with a couch, several chairs and a coffee table. The foyer alone gave a hint of how nice the apartments would be. This was no crummy apartment down in the lesser part of the city. This was where the wealthy businessmen or young couples lived.

The security guard handed something to Rowan. He nodded to the man, then turned to Silme, gesturing down the hallway to the left. Watching him carefully, she followed. He stopped halfway down the hallway. A plaque with the letters “1H” engraved in gold hung beside the door. Producing a key from his hand, Rowan paused to look at Silme. She raised an eyebrow at the smile he gave her. Finally unlocked the door and stepped inside, holding it open for her.

She stepped into an empty room. The place was big - at least the size of Rowan’s apartment, maybe bigger - with several doors leading to God know’s where and an archway leading to what Silme assumed was the kitchen. Staring in awe, she stepped across the bare hardwood floor.

“Rowan, what is this?” she asked, stepping through what she guessed was the living room.

“Our new apartment,” he answered.

Silme turned back to Rowan. He managed not to grin despite the the look on her face. “One bedroom, two and a half bath. It took me forever to find a place that was on the ground so your damn cats could get in and out. And, by the way, I had to pay the landlady a massive fee to let you keep all eight of those demons, so, you’re welcome. And don’t worry - I am getting a contractor in here later in the week to see what can be done about putting a pit in the living room.”

She blinked at him, shaking her head slightly. “What are you...”

“You can’t live in that hellhole anymore,” he cut her off. “It’s horrible. You deserve better than a gang-infested, meth-dealing neighborhood with peeling walls and cracked floors. And I sure as hell am not going to have a girlfriend that lives in a neighborhood with an eighty percent chance of being murdered every night. You didn’t even have a lock. So, being the amazing boyfriend I am, I bought us a new apartment. I considered you moving into mine but it was way too small to fit all your cats. This bedroom is much bigger, anyways.”

She was at a loss of words. She turned back to regard the bare apartment before her. Live here. With Rowan.

“If you don’t like it, then I’ll just find another one you do like. And if the whole living with me thing is a problem, well... then you are just going to have to either let me pay for a new apartment for you or break up with me now because there is no way on this planet I am going to let you live in that hellhole as long as you are my girlfriend. It’s not right. I’ll take those stupid cats if it means I get you out of there.”

“I love it,” Silme suddenly said.

A smile spread across Rowan’s face. He stepped forward to join her in the middle of the room. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” She smiled at him. Then she nailed him in the arm, hard.

Rowan flinched. He scowled, rubbing his arm. “Ow. What was that for?”

“I’m still mad at you. You haven’t apologized for storming off and then ignoring me for half a week. Jackass.”

“You knew well before this relationship I was a jackass. That’s your own fault,” he pointed out. She smiled slightly, but wiped it away. He sighed. “But you are right. I’m sorry. I should have called you the moment I got home. I guess I’m still trying to figure this whole boyfriend thing out.” He stepped closer to her and gave her his best remorseful pout. “Forgive me?”

Silme eyed him, crossing her arms. “You are still a jerk,” she said. He gave her a soft smile.

“Agreed,” he quietly conceded, grabbing her and pulling her in for a kiss. She gently smiled against his lips, returning the kiss as they stood in the middle of their brand new apartment.