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impaladolan · 4 years ago

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Capture - Grayson Dolan [8/-]

summary: y/n is quick to plot revenge.. but does she get away with it..?

warnings: swearing, alcohol consumption, and smut :)

a/n: i seriously love you

Anonymous said:

Ooohoohohoh I’m excited for her to steal his Rolex haha omg maybe she wears it and doesn’t give him it back when he asks for it OMG u know what would be cute!! if one day she goes snooping in his bedroom and tries on his chain necklace n rings and he walks out the shower n he’s like ummmm ok ily

Anonymous said:

i want y/n to ride gray’s thigh in his office, like he’s just got in still fully in his suite w his gun on his belt and she just walks in and strips 👀👀

Anonymous said:

I have an idea hehe!! WhYi f y/n gets drunk like she f inds alcohol in graysons office or kitchen or something and shes being really bratty but it’s so cute and she’s giving him nose kissies and hugging up and telling him stuff and he’s just listening and loving her

Relaxation.

That's how you'd explain the certain state of euphoria I'm embezzled within. Young love is a treacherous trap that can either end in favor, or be torn to shreds in only mere moments. To feel so passionate and fervently invested in someone you've only ever known and loved is such a thrill, and you could never forget those memories embedded in your mind.

Like right now, laying in bed while the sun's first shine leaks through the window and gleams down upon the two of us, nuzzled under the covers. His leg was wrapped over mine and his arms hung loosely around my hips, sheltering me from ever possibly leaving his grasp. I was the first to wake, but I dared not to move an inch.

The world around me was motionless, so peaceful and calm. Nothing could bother or disrupt the atmosphere around me. Everything felt so perfect, embraced by the one I love and the man I admire. Nothing, and I mean nothing, could ever unsettle me in this moment.

At least, that's what I keep telling myself...

A darkness warped over my newly sunken eyes, shielding the world around me. I called out his name, but nothing came out. The warmth I once felt upon my body, vanished into the air and seemed like it'd never return. The world became cold and useless, all the positivity and tranquility that once surrounded me was blown away and now, I sit in darkness;

All by myself.

Him.

It seemed too early in the morning to be awake at such an hour, but you had crashed shortly after making it back to your room last night. You were so mortified and embarrassed, for all those men to see you so vulnerable and being punished. Though, the crazy inside you kind of liked it, but still, it pushed boundaries.

Initially, you had wanted to sleep in all day, and hopefully never leave your room ever again. Although, today's forecast decided otherwise. A ground shaking rumble of thunder made you awaken and the shoestring lighting bolts strung across the darkened sky had drawn you in. Since you essentially have no concept of time, whatsoever, you had to believe it was early in the morning, unless you really had slept in all day...

It's been presumably an hour or so since you first fluttered your eyes open. By now, you had plotted a sickening revenge to his outrageous acts he had committed only a day ago. Of course, you had created horribly ill plans that even you could never pull off. Such as vandalizing his expensive vehicles or even trashing the entire house. You had even gone as far as to planning an "accidental" fire in the kitchen.

But something inside you had put a halt to those thoughts.

Other than not wanting to be known as a malicious arsonist, you had some sort of pull towards him— but what that pull was, you couldn't figure out. The phrase; " Darling, I may be a stranger to you, but you're no stranger to me," has been left in your mind ever since the words first left his mouth. You couldn't possibly help but wonder what that even meant. You felt like you've known him from a past life somehow, and that could potentially explain the affection you have towards him. All of that aside, you have to remember that he isn't who your brain morphs him in to be. He's a felon who's abducted you and has pulled you away from society and everything you've ever been a part of.

For some reason, that's hard for you to mentally consider.

Aside from criminalizing yourself too by creating a fire or becoming a vandalizer, the best option is to state your assertiveness and trespass the "laws" that he has forbidden you ro break. Unlike yesterday's escapades of you ruining the dining room table, today you were up for higher anticipated endeavours. You had it all planned out and you knew what you'd do in order to complete your vengeances.

And he's not going to be very happy...

The atmosphere above and around you still rumbles with the loud, crackling thunder and the strikes of lightning flooding certain increments of light through the surrounding windows pave your path to the daunting door. You were still dressed in the white shirt that could barely pass as acceptable in the public eye, and your feet were frozen at the first touch of the wooden floor. You kept on like you have done in the previous times you have left your room for mischievous reasons. You silently open the door, leaving it wide open as you crept out of your assigned room and into the hallway. You knew that the very first place you would go would be the kitchen. No, you aren't creating a fire or any of the sort, but you were going to raid the fridge and have your fill with what it has to offer.

You walk straight past the opening and right into the glorious establishment of cookware, like it was your very own home and you were just up for a midnight snack. In all honesty, you could get used to living here.

If only it weren't forced onto you, that is.

Your fingertips soon collide with the long, frigid handle of the refrigerator door and pull it wide open, marveling at the large display of different beverages and foods strategically set up. Of course, it was mainly veggies and several healthy-looking meal options. Which didn't surprise you whatsoever.

He has a nice physique for a reason...

You couldn't find anything that made your stomach growl with hunger, until you opened up the freezer drawer and spotted a nice looking ice cream container. Still, it looked healthy and it'd make you all the more frozen, but it would manage to subside your aching sweet tooth for now. You pop open the lid and fish around the drawers for a utensil. With a content sigh, you plunge a huge spoonful of the solid liquid and empty it into your mouth, savoring every last flavor like it would be the last time you'd ever eat the sugary treat again. It was delicious, the absolute best ice cream you've ever devoured in the entirety of your life.

You almost ate half the jar until you decided you were parched and needed a nice drink to soothe your throat. Luckily this time you were familiar with where the glasses were kept and already had your hand wrapped around a large wine glass that was a little bit higher up than the rest of the glassware. You set it down quietly, trailing your eyes upon the clean and prim counter.

A tall, fancy upscale bottle of what looked to be whiskey was settled in the corner, nicely organized with the other alcoholic beverages that were of the same importance.

Now, you weren't exactly a "drink-whiskey-out-of-a-wine-glass" type of gal, but as they say; desperate times call for desperate measures— and you were on the search of something to loosen you up a bit, and that was that.

You brought the glass over to where you had stationed your cup, not even flinching when you uncork the liquor and pour its contents out. With improper proportioning of the said liquid, you put the whiskey back how it was.

"Fuck, here we go." You inaudibly groan to yourself, just knowing that you'll regret every decision you've made in the near future. Raising up the plum-full glass, you tip it back into your mouth and down a whole gulp.

Nasty.

It's definitely an acquired taste, but the barely detectable taste of vanilla made it hardly feasible. You dared to not put the glass down until you were finished with it and had that sour taste submitted through your fiery throat.

The least you could say was that it's pretty smooth, but not something you'd drink in your free time.

In your head, you knew you'd feel a bit wonky, considering your nearly empty stomach and your abstinence from alcohol for the last month or so. It'd be easy to feel the side effects and overall feel much better, like you were aiming for.

Once you drained the glass of every last drop, you held your breath and rushed to the sink. The overwhelming want to just regurgitate what you ingested had drawn upon you, but you refrained from doing so. Waiting out the sickly feeling, you run a bit of cold water over your hand and press it against your forehead for a moment. Everything became hot, even with the freezing temperatures, you felt like breaking a sweat.

All just the side effects of alcohol, I'm sure.

Within the passing minutes, the faintness flew away and the sounds of the thunderstorm filled your ears. A large banging of the clouds above frightened you and you knocked over the glass you had just rested your lips on.

You didn't even feel bad about all the shattered pieces on the floor, it actually brought a smile to your face and you were ready to begin the fully planned extravaganza.

First stop; his room.

You skipped back the hallway, still quiet but not as careful as before. You weren't afraid of any consequences and whatever he was going to do to you wouldn't be too harsh. It's not like he's embarrassed you enough already anyway.

You easily find his door, pushing the handle down as slow as possible, just in case he was asleep in his room. His door didn't creak as you opened it, and nor did his floorboards as you walked straight into his marvelous bedroom. It was extravagant, but yet it still felt homely. You check the bed, no sign of him or anyone for the matter. He probably at a meeting, or something.

Not that you care..

You continue your stroll, glancing around his room for anything that could spark your immediate attention, considerably his desk. It held a lot of his more—fashionably inclined belongings. Such as his masculine jewelry and expensive watches. There was even a small, purple ring that reminded you of something you had worn a long time ago. You brush that off, it brings up sore wounds from a time where you were a lot happier and everything was simpler.

I wish I could say that now..

You began to pick up the neatly placed objects, slipping a couple of heavy necklaces around your neck and the large rings upon your fingers. You laugh at the size difference of your hand and how they barely stay on your fingers.

The stationary mirror attached to the desk caught your eyes, and you begin to make funny faces at it. Which sends you into a hushed giggle fest that makes you double over in your seat. Still caught up in your laughter, you take off all of the rings, just leaving a couple on the desk and tossing a few over to his bed. You do the same with the necklaces, except for the two that you threw into one of the drawers.

That’s when your eyes caught the nice watches, stuffed in clear pouches with the brand labeled across them. Rolex is the first you saw, and the first one you picked up. You weren’t thinking clearly. Hence the reason you tore it out of it’s protective packaging and brought it up above your head, throwing it down to the ground and watching the tiny glass fragments splatter everywhere.

It’s not like he can’t buy a new one, right?

Feeling content and a little less frustrated, you left the messy scene and followed your footsteps back into the hallway. He didn't seem to hear you, so the determination to find out his name came across your mind and you became dead set on finding it, so you basically sprinted into his ominous office and delved into his comfy chair without care.

Your motor skills were altered and it seemed to take for ever to lift yourself out of the chair and tap on the computer keyboard for it to wake up. While it began its process of turning on, you led your hand down to the drawers and pulled at them. And that’s when you found the very first locked up thing in this house.

“Care to tell me what you’re doing in here darling?” His alluring voice blasted through your ears and made you leap upward. “It’s not been a day and you’re already back to being a brat?” You couldn’t see what he looked like, but his silhouette looked suited and enticing.

Very enticing, actually...

“M’trying to find out your name, Daddy.” You spoke before you could think, crossing your arms over your chest while your lips form a pout. His body leaves from the doorway, and you’re barely able to see him as he strides over towards you. Suddenly, a light flips on and you’re met with his beautiful frame, a smile daunting his face as he looks down at your innocence.

“You have no idea what you do to me, do you?” He moves closer, wrapping his hand under your chin while his other has his blazer hung on his finger and thrown towards his back. He looks cute in a smile, until it forms into a confused frown.

“Have you been drinking, Y/N?” Your eyes widen and you quickly nod. You knew you’d be in trouble with him anyway, so might as well be honest now. “I c-couldn’t sleep and I- I just wanted a sip of somethin’.” You shrug, looking downward as you give him an okayish explanation.

“You know what helps me sleep?” He lets your chin go, dropping his jacket and beginning to roll up his dress-shirt’s sleeves. You shake your head, chewing your bottom lip as you take in his appearance. “A nice cocksucking does.” Thunder crackles loudly outside as his husky voice deepens and makes a cool wind run down your spine.

“Then let me help you..” You wrap your arms around his neck, twisting him around and forcefully pushing him down in the chair you were once sitting in. You were about to fall to your knees to “help” him, but he pulls your hips towards him and sets you on his lap. You replace your hands around his neck, sinking your fingertips into his hair and massaging the silky softness of it. He sweetly sighs, readjusting the leg you were sat upon.

And that’s when you feel the sensation you’ve been craving for however long you’ve been here.. you think..

“M’hm, do that again..” You ask, your voice barely above a whisper. He actually obliges, his brows furrowed as he watches your face contort. “Like riding my thigh, huh?” He asks as he placed his large hands around your waist. You nod, moving your hips in the same direction. You eyes shut, your head falling back a little as you smoothly move against his muscled thigh.

It felt so good, everything felt so good actually. He somehow looked so much more attractive, the beard dotting his face and his hair styled nicely. Even what he was wearing had you wanting more.

You open your eyes for a moment, watching his pleased expression as he watches you needingly thrust yourself upon his warm, clothed thigh. He even steadily lifted his knee in the correct places, aiding in the pleasure that him alone could bring you. Your eyesight seemed foggy but visible enough to see the gun at his waist side, and you almost froze when you saw it. Even in your intoxicated state of mind, you knew that just the weapon could possibly help you escape and make it back to your own home.

You didn't think it through thoroughly..

You lean in, your lips next to his ear as you practically collapse upon him, though your movements to further yourself towards releasing didn't halt. You slipped your left hand down to his waist band, sensually gliding it over his tented groin. He shutters under your touch, clearing his throat as his heads falls back slightly. As quick as your body would let you, you grab for the handle of the gun and raise it up towards his forehead, stopping all your movements and gaining his attention.

"Y/N—" He starts, gliding his hands up your bare thighs.

"Don't fucking move, or I'll— I'll shoot you." You sounded clear as day in your head, but your words became slurred as they left your mouth, and he smirked at your innocence. Just as quickly as you pulled the gun, he took it away.

He grabbed the barrel and snatched it from your grip, placing it back into its holster at his side. You yelp as he grabs your wrists, twisting them around your back and slamming you into the table with an evil chuckle. "Better keep those hands pretty little hands to yourself, princess. You're too innocent to commit murder anyway." He continues his hoarse chuckles, licking a stripe up his hand before striking your slick pussy. "D-Ahh!" You hiccup, pressing your legs as close together as you can.

“Better fuckin’ pray that you can walk tomorrow, darling...”

to be continued...

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openheart12 · 4 years ago

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Lost In This Moment

The day had finally come to an end, a long, exhausting day at that. They had saved not only Los Angeles, but the rest of the world from tragedy once against. If you had asked Michelle Dessler that she would reconcile with her husband during the day, she’d probably just laugh it off. She missed him so much, but she couldn’t stay and watch him ruin his life with his drinking. And today they were given their second, third, fourth chance? She had lost count by now.

This time was going to be different, they had made promises to leave CTU behind, they would start their own company and enjoy each other’s company for once without worrying about when the next phone call would come or the next terrorist would strike again.

But even as good as the day had gone for the two of them, Jack was going to lose everything. His identity, his family, his life. It didn’t matter how much good he did for his country, it only mattered how bad he did it. The same thing happened to Tony, they locked him up for years for protecting his wife, the same thing Jack did years ago and nothing happened to him.

On that fateful day was the beginning of the end of their marriage. Tony wasn’t the same man he was and that took a toll on both of them. After his pardon from the president, they went home where Tony didn’t say one word. She gave him space at first, but when he started to disappear for days on end was when she got worried. She always found him at bars, always drunk out of his mind and still, he didn’t say anything to her.

Did he blame her? She blamed herself, it was her fault he was in prison in the first place. If she only hadn’t listened to Jack when she did instead of getting kidnapped again they might not even be where they are today. She should’ve been more careful on the ride back to the NHS. She should’ve fought harder, should’ve done so many other things.

She always tried to talk to him, but there was always no response. She didn’t know what to do anymore and after one night when he finally talked, it was an argument that got blown out of proportion. They both said things they didn’t mean for the most part until he pointed his finger at her, blaming her for the way he was acting.

She had had enough and maybe leaving would be best for him. She already had the divorce papers in her bedroom upstairs and she went to retrieve them after packing up her essentials and never looked back. It wasn’t that she didn’t love him or miss him, it was the complete opposite. She thought he was better off without her.

And now here he was, driving her car after dropping Jack off with their hands interlocked. Today had been the first day she'd seen him in six months and he looked a lot better. For the first time in a year and a half, it was a comfortable silence. They said everything they needed to earlier and they would still need to talk about everything that happened the day of the virus and afterwards since they never had, but it could wait for now.

He stole a glance at her and noticed everything that others would’ve missed. He noticed how she lost weight even though she had always been small, he noticed the bags under her eyes that she tried to hide, he noticed her straightened hair, and most of all, he noticed the despair in her eyes.

Something he put there.

When he was pushing her away, going out drinking every night, he didn’t see how much it was tearing her apart.

A lone tear slid down his cheek at the memories. He didn’t deserve her and god knows why she was even willing to give him a second chance.

“Hey, you okay?” He heard her ask him.

“I’m perfect,” he picked up their intertwined hands and placed a kiss to her knuckle, a silent promise that he was going to be better for her this time.

“I love you.”

He let his eyes flutter close for a second, soaking in her words before whispering them back, “I love you so much.”

She hoped he knew how much she loved him. She still felt so guilty about choosing other people over him, afraid that he wouldn’t be able to forgive her after what he did.

The tears she had been trying to hold back were finally starting to make their way down her cheeks. She tried to control her breathing but Tony already heard her and next thing she knew, the car was on the side of the road.

“I-I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Tony.”

“What’s wrong, sweetheart?”

“I-I didn’t choose you, not like you did. And I thought I killed you. If you had died today because of me-” she didn’t finish her sentence, too scared of what her new reality almost was.

“You made the right choice, Michelle. If you hadn’t, you might be sitting in a jail cell right now and we wouldn’t be here.” She was still avoiding him so he cupped her face in his hands and turned her face to meet his. “I’m not mad.”

“You’re not?”

“No, I love you so much and…” he took a deep breath before continuing. “And if anything, I should be the one apologizing to you. I noticed how it looks like you haven’t been eating or sleeping and that look in your eyes… all of that is because of me. Because I pushed you away and made your life hell. I love you more than anything and you’re the best thing that has ever happened to me and yet, I treated you so badly and I don’t understand why I’m even here with you right now.” He finished, tears in his eyes.

“Because I love you,” she said simply and the look in her eyes told him all he needed to know. There was nothing but love and adoration in her eyes for him.

He pulled her to know, kissing her softly but conveying all the words he couldn’t say just yet. It only lasted a few seconds but when she pulled back, she smiled widely at him.

“Let’s go home,” she said and he mirrored her smile.

Home was wherever she was and vice versa.

I really need to spend my time doing something more than writing TnM fics 😃 I started and now I cant stop lmaooo

#michelle dessler #tony almeida #24 fanfiction #24 the show #24 #Tony x Michelle #I haven’t watched past day 3 yet bc I cant deal with that sadness so this is based solely on my memory from day 4 ifjfjdjd

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princesscatherinemiddleton · 5 years ago

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My thoughts and feelings on the Great British Divorce, as written on January 18th (and updated on February 19th)

I wrote a very long and detailed essay on my feelings when the Sussexes stood down and it was super cathartic. I’ve not reread it since (although I have added one final paragraph) but I am going to make you all read it...

Prince Harry announces he is dating Meghan Markle

I had Meghan Markle down with Ellie Goulding, Mollie from The Saturdays, Caroline Flack, and Jenna Coleman as famous women Harry has “dated” that would never come to anything. Then, on a completely normal day when I was at work, Harry released his statement. It was completely unprecedented. Everyone in the staffroom was talking about it, saying things like “I didn’t even know he was dating/Diana would want to see him happy/Who is she?”. And I knew they would be for keeps. This one would become Mrs Harry.

Engagement announcement

Do you want to know what my initial reaction was when the engagement was announced? Fear and worry. I was so so scared that Harry’s fiancé would be put through the same awful treatment Kate had gone through. I was also worried that Meghan would be pitted against Kate and vice versa – I hadn’t spent all those years watching people drag Kate against Diana/Sophie/Camilla/[insert female royal here] to live it again with Harry’s fiancé. But, despite my fears and the initial sinking feeling of dread, I was still excited. Apart from George’s first day at school, Harry and Meghan’s engagement announcement remains the only event with no Kate appearance that has a tag on my blog. I fell in love with the brilliant, charismatic, intelligent woman in the engagement interview. I was excited for the future.

Pre-wedding engagements

My main memory of how I felt at the time was disappointment at Meghan’s outfits. Where had my stylish young professional gone? Why was she wearing these wide-legged trousers that dragged on the floor with long coats? But I genuinely thought they both did really well. Meghan came across as personable and warm and intelligent. They were clearly in sync. They were a modern young couple and the perfect counterpart to the stability of the Cambridges.

Wedding

I was at uni when the wedding happened. I took the day off work and travelled home for one day to surprise my mum and watch the wedding with her. My auntie called me minutes before Meghan appeared to talk to me because she was watching it and she “knew” I was on my own in Bournemouth. When Meghan appeared, I literally crawled in front of the TV and sat inches from the screen so I could see her emerge in her dress in all its glory (I was disappointed, ngl). I cried during her wedding. I’d spent the morning spotting celebrities and Kate was there and the bridal party was fantastic. Meghan’s tiara shone like the jewel she was. Charles, Camilla, and Doria were literally angelic. After the wedding I went to my auntie’s house to watch the FA Cup final (as a family, we always do that and have a BBQ) and I spent all my time on my phone waiting for photos of their evening outfits. I cried again when I saw Meghan’s Stella dress. It’s one of my favourite wedding outfits of all time. I’m a super fussy bitch and I had plenty of complaints with the wedding and I have aired them before but it was a truly happy and wonderful day and I was happy and content.

Post-wedding engagements

I know I’m literally only talking about Meghan but I don’t pay attention to Harry so I barely know if he’s there or not. I think Meghan hit the ground running. She did some brilliant engagements during the time post-wedding and pre-Archie. Her patronage choices were inspired and the work she did with her patronages is some of my favourite Meghan work. Obviously, she also created the Together Cookbook, which doesn’t need going into. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again, Meghan would have been the Anne of this generation of royals, quietly getting the numbers and doing fantastic work. Meghan was connecting with people no one else could in a way no one had since Harry himself. She quite literally made the role her own.

Faux Pas

Meghan had teething problems but, most of the time, I put them down to cultural differences. Things like talking about abortion in Ireland – any British person knows not to do that. More importantly, it was a political statement, which is, essentially, “against the rules”. I think Meghan would have grown out of these, as she was making far less of them already, in the same way Kate, Camilla, Sophie, and Diana grew out of them. I also think the general public opinion wasn’t as positive as social media has people believe. I was talking to Cece about this but the Africa documentary went down badly. If it wasn’t for Andy’s well-timed interview, I think it would have been a much bigger deal but, as it was, it was swept under the carpet. Don’t get me wrong, I think Meghan made some incredible points in the documentary that deserved being aired BUT I never heard anyone in the real world say anything positive about those decisions. I think, during their time together, both Harry and Meghan made mistakes that warranted criticism and I don’t think they ever received that criticism because…

Press treatment of Meghan

Has every royal woman received incredibly negative headlines? Yes. Has Kate and her family been treated awfully by the press? Yes. Do I find it funny when people make comments like “look, Meghan touched her baby bump and people hate her and they loved it when Kate did it” when I had to sit through people talking about what trailer trash Kate was for touching her bump in her first two pregnancies? Yes. Was Meghan compared to Kate in the same way Kate was compared to Sophie and Sarah compared to Diana? Yes. Was Meghan’s coverage actually that different from the coverage Kate got? No. Did Meghan receive worse coverage than any other British royal? Yes. Without a doubt.

I’ve stayed away from talking about race too much. I am a white woman. I look like a “stereotypically” Jewish woman as my family is Jewish. A large proportion of my family is either from the Republic of Ireland or the Irish travelling community. I’ve seen my family be subject to abuse because of their ethnicity. My mum has scars because her house was set on fire as a child because her dad was Irish. Despite that, I have no idea what it is like to experience racism. I’ve had the most closeted white woman life when it comes to matters of race. None of the things I described was racism in the way Meghan experienced it and none of it means I am in a position where I can join in on this conversation. I have spent years learning about racism and every day I find myself coming across something that I hadn’t considered, like the idea that Meghan is a good mum for going back to work so quickly is a form of positive discrimination and we should tackle that. I genuinely don’t know how much I should get involved in these conversations but I also don’t want to add to emotional labour by continuously directing these conversations towards people of colour.

Coming from my position of privilege, Meghan received some truly awful and horrific treatment at the hands of the press and the public. She was humiliated, her family history and private life was raked over, she was blamed for war because she ate an avocado one time? I can only assume Harry is really good in bed because there is no way I would have stayed with him if I had to go through what Meghan went through. Announcing they were suing the press was still the dumbest thing I’ve ever seen though.

BRF & Meghan

The BRF could have – and should have – done more to protect Meghan from the press. However, I think it was naïve to ever assume they would. I could talk until I’m blue in the face about how it would have helped Meghan’s confidence (and the BRF’s PR) to make a statement like “The Queen and the royal family are greatly distressed at the treatment of the Duchess of Sussex…”. I could talk about how the BRF uses symbolism rather than statements and I watched you all talk about how the Queen loves Meghan because she went on the royal train and had a solo engagement with the Queen so don’t pretend for one minute that you all don’t know that. I could talk about William releasing a statement (which everyone glosses over but go off, I guess). I could talk about how, if the Queen did not release a statement, Kate couldn’t very well have gone off and released one on her own (also, how come it’s always The Queen, Charles, Will, and Kate, where is Camilla?). But there’s no point. They should have done more. It was a massive oversight not to consider how being a woman of colour would affect Meghan’s treatment after becoming a member of the firm and they had a duty to help protect her. But no one should ever have thought it would have happened. The BRF look after number 1 and that, right now, is the Queen. That’s how it has always been. They treated Meghan the same way they treat everyone who isn’t in the direct line (also Andrew but that’s Andrew). As Katie says, anything else would have blown up in Meghan’s face. If I was in charge of the BRF’s PR, I would not have advised them to say anything.

Archie

Archie is a precious angel and I refuse to hear otherwise.

Archie’s birth was poorly handled by Sara but I don’t care. It was cute. Archie’s christening was foolishly handled by the Sussexes. I also don’t massively care. It’s miniscule in comparison to the bigger fish at play. Despite that, the only people who would have cared who Archie’s godparents were, are on this site. By refusing to allow the small bit of access the public get to christenings, it annoyed people who barely even know who Archie is. And we’re still talking about it today. I said to a friend recently that most British people only care about royals when it comes to weddings, babies, and money. With a wedding in Windsor, not London, and on a Saturday (meaning no bank holiday), coupled with a messy birth announcement, no “Lindo Wing” appearance, and the godparent faux pas, they missed golden opportunities to help the public fall in love with them and their family. There’s a reason the Cambridge kids are always seen after a PR disaster.

Sussex Statement

My opinion on the statement? Massively poorly handled. I think the BRF knew the Sussexes wanted out but did not know the statement would be released. This doesn’t contradict anything anyone has said. Harry and Meghan are right to leave. Mentally, and also for their family. They will flourish outside of the confines of the BRF. I also think Harry messed up by releasing the statement when he did. By forcing the hand, the public was calling for them to lose their funding before a decision had to be made (and lo and behold, they lost their funding), rather than being able to release a full statement confirming how much money they would keep. TLDR; good idea, hope it all works out, awfully handled.

Sussex/BRF Resolution

I think it was the best possible solution. I’m a little shocked they are completely stepping down but, as time goes on, I’m not surprised. I think the Sussexes clearly expected to be more half in/half out because their website had a whole section dedicated to royal work and supporting the Queen and taxpayer funding. The website used their titles. There are still things to work out (Duchy funding? How will they repay the taxpayers? Will they go to Trooping? Will they answer letters? SussexRoyal) but I think it’s a good middle ground.

Overall thoughts

The Sussexes are right to leave. The way they left was messy af and I blame Harry for that. I don’t think Meghan was innocent in how they left but I blame Harry for being so trigger happy. They made some bad PR moves in the last few months: announcing they were suing the press (do it quietly or they’ll just come after you more), the documentary, the statement. I think the press will be after them even more now and I think it’s interesting looking at how many times we’ve seen Meghan papped in Canada this year compared to the times we saw her papped in the UK since 2017. I also think, long term, they will lose their star power and become Reese Witherspoon levels of famous. Everyone knows who she is, most people like her, she does some good philanthropic work, she gets freebies, that’s pretty much it. Meghan and Harry’s appeal (and this goes for every single royal) is in the fact they are royal. Without the connection to the BRF, they’re just rich people preaching.

I’m also very sad. I thought Meghan would come back, post maternity leave, with a new project and put everyone else to shame. I thought she would take on new patronages, do a solo overseas visit, and generally flourish as a young working mum. We will see far less of her than we thought we would. I doubt we’ll see little Archie much at all. As for Harry, I can officially say that the most amusing and upsetting thing to come out of this has been seeing good, kind, left-wing people brown nose a rich, privileged, racist, quite frankly dangerous white man because he married a good woman. I think he will struggle more out of the royal bubble than in it because he’s lost the little structure he had.

Harry was always going to leave the royal family. Meghan might have been a catalyst, but she is not the cause. There is nothing the BRF could have done – no statement – that would have stopped him. He did a whole interview about how much he hates being a royal and then said the public need royals. In his new life as a whatever he is now, my biggest worry is that he will spend more time talking publicly about issues like mental health, without understanding what he is saying. I hope I’m wrong and that he flourishes and becomes a force to be reckoned with. But, while I know Meghan will do brilliantly, I have no idea what he’ll do.

Meghan, Archie, I hope you flourish. I can’t wait to see what you do next. Harry. Sayonara, biatch.

A final update

I thought I should give my thoughts on this now – mid-February – after the dust has settled. I genuinely miss a lot of the people the Sussexes brought to the fandom. I miss planning outfits for Meg to wear to events, I miss predicting what Meghan’s next patronages might be. I miss seeing Meghan interacting with the public, because that was where she shone. We now know the Sussexes will formally split on March 31st, after a final set of engagements. I’m super looking forward to these engagements and judging the vibe from everyone there. We also know it’s likely they will have to rebrand (my bet is Sussex Foundation) and I’m assuming this rebrand will happen in April/May time, possibly around their anniversary. Honestly, I was expecting to see more of them. I was expecting more posts on their Instagram about private visits to charities. I was definitely not expecting them to jump straight to JP Morgan and start attending exclusive events. Rich people going to rich people, I guess. Despite that, Meghan and Harry could start a business selling rubber ducks and, quite frankly, it’s none of my business. If we never see them again, that’s their choice as private citizens and I have to respect that. I’m still fascinated to see how this will all turn out but they are now free to live their own lives and, because of that, I’m going to live and let live.

#mine #the great british divorce #meghan #harry #archie #I'm going to queue this

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damianfitz · 6 years ago

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MEET DAMIAN

1. Full Name?

Damian Elliot Fitzgerald.

2. Preferred Names or Nicknames?

Damian doesn’t have any nicknames and he’s not really the type to go by one.

3. What does their name mean? Does it have any significance in their family? Do they like their name?

Damian means “to tame”, chosen by his father who took inspiration from St. Cosmas and Damian -- the patron saints of pharmacy and medicine. Context: the Fitzgeralds are a hoity toity family full of doctors, at least on his dad’s side. Elliot is his father’s name. Damian very much enjoys his name and likes to think that he’s very special and great things are meant for him because he carries his father’s name. (Unlike his ridiculously perfect older brother who is only named after their grandfathers, ha!)

4. Age and Date of Birth?

He is 18 years old and his date of birth is April 19, 2001.

5. Gender and Pronouns?

Cis Male. He/him.

6. Hometown?

Boston, MA.

7. Does your character fit into any well known archetypes or tropes?

The Chief? The Gentleman? I’m bad at archetypes. He’s also a very stereotypical Aries dude. (Me, pretending I know anything about zodiacs.)

8. How long have they been at Broadripple?

Damian has been enrolled at Broadripple since Freshman year.

9. What led them to apply to Broadripple? Was it a decision made by them or by their parents/guardians or somewhere in between?

Before his father even graduated from Broadripple, he planned that his children would attend the academy. They’re a staple there; it’s tradition and the Fitzgeralds are all about that.

10. Whether they’ve been at Broadripple four days or four years, do they enjoy it? Do they like Broadripple?

Damian absolutely adores Broadripple. He’s been fed stories about house Fenwick and the academy since he was old enough to understand words. Growing up, he fantasized about Broadripple the way some kids fantasize about attending Harvard or Yale. Every school he’s attended prior to Broadripple was just a stepping stone as far as he’s concerned.

11. What house are they in? Do they care very much about their house?

Fenwick. And abso-freakin’-lutely. He treats the house like he’s their dad and often refers to its members as his ‘Fenwick family’. He tends to go out of his way to befriend and develop close bonds with them, whether or not it seems like they’ll get along. Damian fully believes that the best kind of leadership is respect-based, so he’s relentlessly proactive -- always trying to take care of and encourage his Fenwickians with the hope that all of his hard work and toil will pay off in the long run. He 100% intends on winning the Clary Cup and getting his name engraved on the Clary shield before graduation so it’s important to him that his ship is always tight and out of trouble. #fenwickpride

12. Who do they share a dorm with, or are they on their own for the moment? What are they like to live with? Are they clean or messy? Early risers or night owls?

Damian shares a dorm with Connor Roberts, who he decided he quite likes so he’s been making an effort to develop a friendship with him. Damian likes to consider himself a very good roommate -- an ideal roommate even. He’s always mindful that his side of the room is tidy, with everything in its place and that his bed is always made when he’s not sleeping in it. He sleeps early and rises early. Since the start of November, he’s been a little restless for obvious reasons so he’s gotten a bit... nitpicky. If he sees something of Conny’s that’s on the floor or seems out of place and Conny’s not there, he’ll pick it up and put it where he thinks it belongs. He’ll also like, fluff a pillow if he thinks it looks a little flat, smoothens out the sheets if it looks a lil creased. You could leave your books open to random pages all over your bed and leave, and when you come back, they’re all neatly stacked on your desk and bookmarked and Damian’s just like :) I hope you don’t mind. You might have wanted to rest on your bed upon return so I took the liberty of tidying up for you. He’s just a little more intense than usual since Izzy’s disappearance.

13. How is your character’s dorm decorated? Is it bare or bursting at the seems with personality? Any particular sentimental items from home?

It’s very classic and masculine. All of his desk accessories are matching and made of tan leather and accented with brass. His mattress is fitted with fancy white Hotel™ bedding but his duvet is deep red because #fenwickpride. There’s a large monthly planner that adorns the wall that his bed is pushed against so he can review what’s in store for him tomorrow/for the week before he falls asleep. A bi-fold picture frame sits on his desk. One half holds a photo of him, his sister, and their parents. (Where is Joseph? We just don’t know.) The other half holds a photo of the 3 Fitzgerald beagles looking cute as hell bc obvi. Everything clearly has its place except these 3 photos that are stuck to the wall in front of Damian’s desk with tape (gasp!). One of the God Squad being pure having a picnic somewhere, one of Alpha being cute just because, and one of him and Eliza that he took that she doesn’t like because her face is in it and she’s laughing and that obviously isn’t allowed but like it’s Damian’s favorite so sucks 2 suck.

14. What is their favourite subject at school? Do they even have a favourite? Why?

Of all of the classes he’s taking right now, Damian’s favorite is World Culture. He likes learning about other cultures and ways of life; he thinks it’s interesting.

15. Are they involved in any clubs? Which ones?

He’s been a member of the Buddy Club since his second half of his Freshman year. He’s Vice President of the Student Weekend Activities Team. He’s also the secretary for the Student Council.

16. How does your character feel about Broadripple’s Unofficial Clubs? Do they know about them? Are they a part of any of them?

Damian thinks the Broadripple Boys Club is childish and in poor taste. He avoids associating with them if he can help it but he’s civil with them for the most part even if he thinks they need new hobbies other than destroying property, lives, and their livers.

He’s a member of the Unofficial Chastity Club because celibacy is important and you should always leave room for Jesus. 👀 (It's also a very good reminder that he shouldn’t listen to his hormonal teen body no matter how incessant.)

He doesn’t know about Broadripple Unsolved but if he did, he’d think it was a waste of time.

17. Does your character participate in any sports? If so, what made them join the team?

Damian is Swim captain and a member of the Cross Country team.

The Fitzgeralds think it’s important that their children grow up involved in at least one sport because the physical/social/mental benefits are far too great. Swimming just happened to be what Damian naturally gravitated toward and was best at, so it was no-brainer that it’s the team that he wanted to join upon arrival four years ago. (It may have also been about wanting to assert dominance since he’s been swimming competitively and kicking ass since the age of 8.)

As for Cross Country, Damian’s parents have always encouraged a healthy lifestyle. They’re the type of parents that jog in the morning and make the family run a 5K every year. It was familiar. He also just wanted to be able to workout and not worry about becoming a prune.

18. What afternoon activities does your character do? Do they just do the one mandatory one or are they involved in multiple? Why?

Damian is an animal shelter volunteer. He’s a big dog lover and he cares a lot about the city’s furry friends so it was the obvious choice. He’d honestly do more than one if he had the time -- he was a nursing home volunteer during his Junior year and he loved it -- but considering his involvement in literally everything else, he decided to stick with just one.

19. Do they miss their home when they’re at Broadripple? Do they often go home for the weekends or do they only go home during holiday breaks?

Funnily enough, not really. Damian isn’t the type of person to miss places. The person he would miss the most from home is his sister, Eliza, and since she attends Broadripple with him so he doesn’t really ‘miss home’. He does go home every weekend though unless there’s a SWAT outing planned because he misses his dogs and his parents think it’s nice if the family sits and has a meal together at least once a week. Also often, there’s a schmancy event the Fitzgerald kids need to show up at so their parents can boast of their achievements and show off what good parents they are, so :)))

20. Did your character know Izzy De Santis or Maggie Monroe?

Yes. They were all part of the same Bible-loving group of buddies that the Weekend Warriors cleverly dubbed the God Squad. Izzy was also Damian’s best friend and right-hand man, so he’s terribly saddened by the sudden hole the Melleray Senior left in his life. And while he wasn’t as close with Maggie, Damian does feel quite disturbed by her sudden departure as well. He just finds it rather difficult to keep in mind that her disappearance is just as important as Izzy’s when Maggie wasn’t the one who spotted Damian at the gym every other day.

21. Has your character heard of Edith Lynch? Do they know the story?

Yes and yes. It was a topic of conversation at the dinner table once and never again because his parents think it’s that ridiculous that people have made it some ~haunting tale. His parents, having both attended Broadripple, described it as a ‘terrible mishap that people have blown out of proportion’ and that’s exactly how Damian chooses to describe it if he hears anyone speak of it and need his two cents on the matter.

22. How does your character feel about Nighmore? Have they noticed the recently closed shops yet?

To Damian, Nighmore is just your everyday quaint little town. He doesn’t see anything wrong with the fact that they’re all very friendly and always willing to engage in a bit of conversation. He just thinks it’s good manners. He would even go as far as to say the rest of America needs to be a little more like Nighmore.

Yes, he’s noticed they’ve closed down. Though, he’s more bothered by The Kettle being closed than Hill’s Wholefoods. He was a really big fan of their lattes so it’s a bit disappointing to him that he can’t enjoy that product anymore. He quickly got over it though and hasn’t paid much of a visit to Nighmore since then.

23. Have you made any aesthetic Pinterest boards/WeHeartIt collections for this character? Or playlists? Anything you would like to share!

Pinterest / Playlist / Musings / Schedule

#listen i've been meaning to do this for 2342 years but things get away from you when you have one brain cell ok #smack that like button and i'll boop you for plots 🎉#bahq:task1 #damian ; musings #bahq:task

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joeybelle · 6 years ago

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Starlight - Chapter 27

Cassian Andor x OFC

Rating: Mature

Warnings: Angst, Strong language

Size: 7900

Waiting was the worst part. Cora worked and worked and when she didn’t, she made sure to keep busy somehow, but even so she still found herself looking out the window, waiting for Cassian’s return.

The rumours had spread like wildfire and although nothing had been confirmed yet, everyone was expecting the worst. They weren’t talking openly about it and, as far as she could tell, they were all acting like everything was fine, but the frightened look in their eyes told a different story.

Cora ended up spending some time with Melshi, who’d come in for a random check-up, something pretty unusual for him. So, after she made sure he wasn’t dying, she offered him a cup of coffee. She suspected he’d only come to keep her company, and she was really grateful for that.

“What do you think about all this?” she asked, after long minutes of silence and staring into their cups and out the window.

“We’ll have to wait and see,” he shrugged. He didn’t look too stressed, but he had always seemed to keep his composure better than most. Cora wondered if he was that good at hiding it or he just wasn’t fazed by the rumours.

“What will we do if there actually is such a weapon?”

“We fight it! What else can we do?” He said it like it was the most obvious thing in the world, and Cora wondered just how much of these rebels’ bodies were made of courage and pure optimism.

She propped her chin on her hand, and leaned closer. “How do you fight a planet killer?” she asked with the air of someone who wasn’t really expecting an answer.

“Maybe we can stop them before it’s finished,” he tried giving one anyway. “I mean, we don’t know if it’s finished yet, right? Isn’t that where that Galen Erso dude comes in?” He pulled a pack of crackers from his pocket, ripped it open and pushed it towards Cora. “If he’s built it, he has to know how to destroy it. That’s what I would do. That’s the smart thing to do,” he mumbled.

“I suppose,” she said, taking a cracker, but not biting into it.

“I’ve heard you know them,” he said, filling his mouth with crackers. Cora nodded. “Feisty, isn’t she? Knocked me right onto my ass when we tried to free her.”

So he’d been part of the rescue mission. Of course he’d be, he was one of the best and Cassian trusted him with his life.

“She didn’t seem that feisty to me,” Cora smiled, flipping the rectangular snack between her fingers.

“Well, you see that’s cause you’re scary,” he laughed.

“Really?”

“Really.” Cora could tell he was joking. She knew there was nothing scary about her. “Especially when you’re pissed at Cassian. That’s peak scary.”

She snickered, but then looked out the window again. “Do you think he’s alright?”

“Yeah, he’s a resilient bastard that one. Lucky too,” he said, throwing the empty coffee cup into the trash. “Don’t worry too much about him.”

She’d tried, but she couldn’t help herself. She wasn’t worried only about Cassian, she was worried about the future as a whole. Waiting and not knowing what was going on was killing her. She almost knocked onto the War Room door a couple of times, just to ask what was happening, but she figured there was no reason for her to interrupt them to ask stupid questions. She’d find out eventually, she needed to be patient.

Melshi’s presence was comforting. Despite his somewhat aggravating personality, he knew when to speak and when to shut up. He followed her around the med bay as she was keeping herself busy, telling her jokes, asking about stuff, helping her keep her focus away from the feeling of impending doom. She suspected he needed a little company too and wasn’t doing it only for her sake, so she appreciated his presence even more.

The roaring of engines made them both drop everything and rush to the window. Cora looked at the squadron leaving the strip, holding her breath.

“What do you think is going on?”

“No idea,” he replied, placing a reassuring hand on her shoulder and pulling her into a half hug. Cora shuddered, and forced herself to even out her breathing.

“Doctor Enoch,” she heard a voice coming from the doors and they both turned to look. “Your presence is required in the War Room.”

Her heart nearly stopped, and the only reply she could give was a curt nod. She looked at Melshi, but his face didn’t betray any emotion.

“I’ll see myself out,” he said, patting her shoulder. “Go see what the higher ups want this time.”

Cora nodded. “Thank you,” she whispered as she passed him and earned a smile from the sergeant.

The War Room was in an even bigger frenzy than before. She was guided towards the back, where Mothma was talking to Doctor Crane, looking all serious. This wasn’t good. This wasn’t good at all. She could feel her knees getting weaker with every step she was taking and she didn’t need a mirror to know that she was deathly pale. There was no reason for her to be called unless something really bad had happened. Cassian’s face appeared before her eyes and she nearly burst into tears.

“Everyone’s alright,” Doctor Crane assured her, before she could even open her mouth to say anything and Cora couldn’t thank him enough. She could finally breathe, although the knot in her throat was still there.

“But the weapon’s been confirmed,” Mothma continued. “It’s been used to destroy the holy city of Jedha.”

Cora’s breath hitched. So it was true. “And the crew?” she managed to mumble through shaky fingers.

“They’re currently running an extraction operation on Eadu. We’ve sent them some backup.”

“Eadu?!”

“Yes, are you familiar with it?” Mothma asked, curious.

“I know about it,” Cora said, realizing her reaction had been completely out of proportion. “Research facility. Shit weather. But you probably already know that.”

“Yes, we do. However, I don’t expect this extraction to go smoothly, no matter how much faith I have in our operatives. I do expect at least a few to… to get hurt,” she said. “I want you two leading the welcoming party; get them patched up before we talk to them. I don’t want anyone dying on us.”

Cora sighed with relief. She was still scared, frightened even, but at least now she knew what she had to do. “I’ll assemble a team and wait for them on the tarmac,” she said, before realizing she’d gone completely over Doctor Crane’s head. She glanced at the doctor, but he just nodded.

“I’ll prep the OR and make sure we’re ready for whatever might come,” he added.

“Good,” Mothma said, smiling briefly. “We’ll let you know if we find out anything else.” And she was gone, leaving Cora with Doctor Crane.

Cora didn’t waste much time either. She had a job to do, and for the first time since the superweapon rumour, she actually felt in control. As much as she could be, given the situation.

She could see Draven in the distance as she crossed the room, looking pretty distressed. She was sure that it wasn’t a good sign, but at this point what was? If she wanted to remain sane, she had to trust that Cassian was smart and lucky enough to come back to her. In mendable pieces, at least. She left the War Room in a hurry, not wanting to see or hear anything else. She felt like the weight of the world was pushing down on her shoulders.

Getting a team ready was really easy: everyone knew what they had to do—they’d done it a million times before—and they rarely questioned orders, even though Cora wasn’t usually the one giving them. But the wait was grueling. Having to stand on the tarmac, looking at a strip of gray sky not knowing anything was exhausting.

Well, she knew a little about what was going on, Mon Mothma had kept her promise and had gotten someone to fill her in. There were five people, not counting K2. The pilot had been imprisoned and might have been tortured by Saw Gerrera and they didn’t know what shape he might be in, so he was top priority. The others appeared to be functional, but Cora knew Cassian well enough to know that he could still function pretty well while being deathly wounded, so she didn’t trust it until she had the chance to examine him. So she waited.

Jedha had been completely wiped off the face of the planet, someone had told her. Only one beam of concentrated energy was all it took to destroy a whole city and everyone inside it. She wondered if anyone had escaped. Probably not. She hoped Cassian didn’t wait around until it was almost too late, but knowing him, he could have just barely survived the blast. She didn't want to know. It was better not to think about it.

But she couldn’t not think about what the existence of the weapon meant for them. She hoped with all her heart that they found Galen Erso and that he could help them destroy it before it did more harm. The only thing she could do right now was to hope.

She knew it was them when she saw an imperial cargo ship coming into sight. It was the last piece of intel she had received, that they would be coming back in a stolen ship. It was a Zeta shuttle, and it made her wonder what had happened with Cassian’s U-Wing. Actually, she didn’t want to know. She only hoped he was okay. That all of them were okay.

The medical personnel rushed towards the landing ship. The first one to come into sight was K2, and Cora breathed a sigh of relief when she realized that he was in one piece. He was followed by a couple of people she didn’t know and a reasonably angry looking Jyn.

“Which one of you is the pilot?”

“Depends on the situation,” K2 replied and Cora had a feeling he’d go into a full blown tirade if she wouldn’t stop him.

“The Imperial pilot.”

K2 pointed a finger at the figure hiding behind his metal frame. “Yeah-yeah, that would be me,” he stuttered, his hunched shoulders making him look smaller than he actually was. “Former… Imperial pilot,” he added, looking down.

“I’m Doctor Cora Enoch,” she said, trying to seem as friendly as possible—Melshi’s words still echoing through her mind even though she knew it was bullshit.

Cassian showed up from behind K2 and passed Cora without even looking at her, striding towards Jyn. They exchanged a few hasty words before heading towards the temple.

“Hey!” Cora yelled after him, making him stop, but not turn around. “Captain Andor, you’ll have to first get through me before going anywhere else.” Her voice sounded more desperate than commanding. He still wouldn’t look at her and Cora was hit by a wave of coldness.

“There’s no time,” he spat and continued walking, Jyn following close by.

“One day I’ll nail you to a bed and dunk you in bacta,” she mumbled, giving up and turning her attention to the other, less stubborn patients, because she knew that no matter how much she wanted to run after him to make sure he was alright, there were other priorities. She knew what her duty was and at that point Cassian wasn’t at the top of the list. Shouldn’t be at the top of the list. She forced herself to focus on the others.

One of them smiled, the one Cora assumed was blind, by the haziness of his eyes. “It won't be that easy getting the captain to sit still long enough to nail him down.” The other man chuckled.

“I've got my means,” she said, allowing a sad smile to play on her lips before becoming serious once again. “Would you two please follow the other medics for a quick check-up?”

“I don't think it would be necessary. We weren’t wounded.”

“Yeah, don't bother with us, we're fine. Just the kid,” the burly one said, pointing at the pilot. “He's been through a lot.”

Cora nodded. “I promise it's gonna be quick,” she insisted. “If anything, they’ll at least fetch you something to eat and drink before the Council will require your presence.” She had no idea who these two were and how they ended up on Cassian's ship— although she had a hunch Cassian might have kidnapped them— but they were her responsibility until further notice so she wanted them taken care of as best as possible. Fortunately, they didn't seem to be the stubborn kind and actually agreed after what she considered to be only minimal protests.

“My name is Chirrut Imwe,” the blind one said, smiling as he followed the other medics. “My friend here is Baze Malbus. It was a pleasure to meet you, Corinthia Enoch.”

Cora’s blood froze in her veins, her breath catching in her throat. She wasn’t used to hearing her full name anymore, especially not from people she didn’t know. She looked after him over her shoulder, wondering how much of a threat he was to her. There was no reason some blind dude Cassian had picked up from fuck knows where should know who she was.

“Come on, Chirrut. You're scaring her,” the other one added.

“I didn’t mean to scare her,” he responded, turning around and taking a couple steps in her direction, but the one he’d called Baze Malbus put a hand on his shoulder. “Don’t worry about me, I’m a friend,” he said with a smile.

Cora smiled in reply but it was forced. “Please follow the medics,” she said, trying to hide her unease. Something told her she should have kept her blaster on hand. “Who are they?” she asked in a hushed tone, once they were far enough to not hear her.

“Guardians of the Wills,” the pilot replied. “They guard the Jedi temple on Jedha… well, used to.” The sadness was very easily noticeable on his face. Cora felt for him, she knew it would be insanely painful having to watch a whole city being completely erased.

“Are they Jedi too?” she asked, trying to shift his attention a bit. She’d only heard stories about the Jedi and it was really hard to imagine that there had been a day when they’d existed as more than just legends.

“No… I don’t think so.”

“Alright then. Will you follow me, please?” she said him, before turning around to look at the black droid. “Are you okay? Do you want me to call someone to check you up?” She had no idea how to look after a droid—her engineering background could come in handy in a pinch, but she didn’t trust herself to do a good job. However, she knew she could find someone who knew.

K2 scoffed, or at least that’s how Cora interpreted the cacophony of noises. “I’m fine. I wouldn’t let anyone besides Cassian poke at me anyway,” he said in an offended tone and Cora did her best to hide a smile. Of course he wouldn’t.

“As you wish,” she said, motioning for the pilot, who was still hiding behind K2, to follow. “You know where to find me if you need anything,” she told the droid, as she waited for the pilot to climb down the ramp. His legs were a little wobbly.

She suggested a gurney, but he refused, insisting to walk to the med bay instead. K2 followed them with his eyes until they disappeared inside the temple.

Cora decided to take the pilot, Bodhi Rook—as he introduced himself—to the main med bay upstairs. It was the best equipped and it was the place she felt most comfortable in. She let the others take care of Chirrut Imwe and Baze Malbus downstairs, since they seemed to be in pretty good shape, according to the few tests they’d run already.

Bodhi Rook was in a much better shape than she’d expected, although the scanners did show some worrying signs. She’d hooked him to an IV to make up for dehydration and lack of nutrients, gave him some antibiotics for his wounds and something to calm him down a bit, since he was a little jittery.

“You have suffered some sort of brain injury recently,” she said, frowning at his brain scan. “It’s not extensive and it’s already starting to heal, but I’ve never seen this pattern before.”

Showing her patients that she didn’t have a clue what was going on was tabu, but she was curious. She knew he had been tortured and he looked the part, but she had no idea how he’d gotten that sort of injury. It wasn’t consistent with head trauma, there were no signs of asphyxiation, it didn’t look like a stun gun or baton either. It was something she’d never seen before.

“Oh,” he said, his face lighting up like he actually knew the answer. “That was Bor Gullet. I think,” he explained.

“What’s Bor Gullet?”

“That’s what Saw Gerrera called it,” he said, and a wave of unease could be seen clouding his features. “It’s this creature, with tentacles. It can get into your head and find out things. Read your mind, find out if you’re lying.”

Cora felt a cold shiver run down her spine. “A mairan? They have a mairan?”

“I suppose.”

Cora shuddered. Bor Gullet. She remembered them being called Bors. Now his injuries made sense. She’d never tended to someone who had been interrogated with the help of a mairan, but the brain damage was consistent with what she had read.

“They’re terrible creatures,” was all she managed to mutter, trying not to let out all the hate and bitterness inside her. “And so are the people using them.”

“Have you ever seen one?”

“No, but I read about them.” She didn’t tell him that she first read about them in her father’s file and then when she researched the reconditioning facility where he was imprisoned for almost two years. She didn’t tell him that sometimes, even now, she had nightmares that she would be caught and a mairan would suck all the information out of her head and there would be nothing she could do to stop them. And he didn’t ask.

But they talked about little things. Their shared experience working for the Empire, their childhood, some gossip… however, all of these converged into the sad reality of their existence today. None of them could deny the threat the Empire posed, so the conversation eventually died down as they got lost in their thoughts.

The silence between them was comforting, at least. He’d been a really diligent patient, unlike a certain Captain Cora knew. She was still bitter that Cassian had brushed her off earlier, and was really set on getting revenge. Unlike him, Bodhi Rook was calmly sitting in the range of a healing field generator, and he hadn’t even tried scratching off the bacta patches Cora had applied on his various cuts and bruises. She really liked him.

It wasn’t long before someone came to get them. While she wasn’t explicitly invited to take part in the meeting she followed anyway and no one stopped her. There were a lot more people in the War Room than she had ever seen before, mostly unfamiliar faces. She assumed this was the whole Council gathered together for the first time since she’d joined them. How they managed to get them all in one place in only a few hours was a mystery, but she assumed the realization of impending doom had some magical properties.

Cassian was standing at the edge of the crowd, arms crossed over his chest looking terribly guarded. All eyes were fixed on Jyn telling them what had happened, so Cora advanced towards Cassian. She didn’t expect her hand on his elbow to be met with any kind of enthusiasm—after all, he wasn’t one to show his feelings in public—but she didn’t expect him to brush it off.

“Hey,” she whispered, pulling her hand back. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” he whispered back and took a step to the side, widening the gap between them. “Just busy.” Nothing more. No ‘I’ll talk to you when this is over’, nothing. He advanced through the crowd, until there were at least ten people between them.

Cora didn’t follow. She knew she wasn’t wanted there, and although she didn’t understand the shift, she didn’t question it. He was busy, that much was true, but she didn’t think that she was such a distraction that he wouldn’t be able to focus with her nearby. They would have to talk about this at some point, sooner rather than later, because Cora was starting to get tired of the uncertainty in their relationship. It seemed things were going well between them, and now this.

She assumed the whole imminent death by planet killer was to blame, but wouldn’t that make people kinder? The realization that life was fleeting and the ‘now’ was the only certainty they had?

Cora tried to focus on what was going on around her so she wouldn’t start tearing up. This wasn’t the moment to overanalyze Cassian’s odd behaviour.

The council listened to the story, both from Jyn and Bodhi and, as expected, they started fighting. All of them were scared, some of them visibly so, some hiding it behind a mask of cockiness. She understood very well the urge to drop everything and run into hiding. They would have to either stand their ground and fight, risking being wiped with the planets they inhabited or disband the Alliance, letting the Empire win. Cora didn’t think they would be able to reunite again, once they disbanded. Not to this scale, at least. Everyone would hide as best as they could and live for the rest of their life in fear.

She understood why anyone would choose to live. A year ago she would have done the same thing in the blink of an eye. Even now, her brain was telling her to take that one way ticket out of there that Mothma had offered her, but she hoped with all her heart that they would find a way, find a solution. She couldn’t leave— she didn’t want to—as long as Cassian was still there. As long as her friends and her new found home were still with the Rebellion.

She listened in silence. She didn’t have much to say, and even if she did, she doubted it would make any difference. Jyn had been really passionate, and her speech seemed to have moved some of them, but the majority was still too scared to agree to diving head first into a battle that had all the odds stacked against them.

Their plan sounded crazy too: attacking Scarif to try and steal some plans. That wasn’t something that was going to work, she was certain of it. She knew the security would be really tight, especially now that they knew there was a traitor. Maybe they’d have a chance if they waited, let things settle a bit, and then infiltrate the compound. She might be able to help them out a little, she thought. But by the way they were speaking, it didn’t seem like they’d have the time for that.

“I say the Rebellion is finished,” said one of the senators, and Cora’s breath caught in her throat. She never thought hearing those words would bring so much pain, but her hand went to her chest, clutching the uniform above her rapidly beating heart.

She didn’t believe them. Until she saw it with her own eyes, she wouldn’t believe that the Rebellion was done for.

“I’m sorry, Jyn,” said Mon Mothma. “Without the full support of the council, the odds are too great.”

Cora sighed. She figured as much. They weren’t prepared for such an endeavour right then. But Cora had faith that they would be able to find a way to get the plans and find a way to defeat the weapon in the end. After all, they had the best people working for the Rebellion. They just needed the time to think it through and find the best solution. She wanted to think that this was just one of the bigger bumps in their path, but one they will eventually be able to overcome. Her heart felt heavy.

The meeting was over, it seemed. Everyone was leaving the room, so Cora looked around for Cassian. She’d almost forgotten his outburst earlier, but she felt another pang of unease when she couldn’t spot him anywhere. He must have slipped out of the room when she wasn’t looking. Even in the busy corridor, he was nowhere to be seen. She’d have to hunt him through the base, but she’d do it if that was the only way.

“Doctor,” someone called, and Cora turned around to see Jyn following her. “I thought you might want your blaster back,” she said, touching the holstered pistol with the palm of her hand. Cora liked how she didn’t pull it out to hand it to her in front of everyone. She seemed to know how not to attract attention. She reminded her of Cassian somehow.

“I believe you’d get a lot more use out of it than I would,” Cora said with a smile. “I’m just a doctor after all.” Jyn didn’t insist, instead pulled her jacket to hide the weapon. “Speaking of which, I’d like you to follow me for a routine checkup.” Her voice sounded surprisingly unfamiliar even to herself. She had no idea why she was using her very professional tone, even with someone she was supposed to know. It kept her grounded, she assumed. Her brain was screaming.

“I’m fine,” the girl said, retreating into the wall behind her, something else that reminded Cora of Cassian. “There’s no need for that,” she continued.

“It only takes ten minutes, then you’re free to go,” Cora said, hoping that she was less stubborn than a certain Captain. But if she was, Cora was sure she had enough authority to be able to order her around, even if Jyn was the one with an unregistered blaster. But eventually Jyn nodded and followed her down the corridor. “Have you seen Bodhi Rook?” she asked, scanning the crowd for the pilot.

“I think I saw him head to the elevators,” she shrugged and Cora frowned.

“He should be resting, not walking around the building,” Cora said in a very pronounced imperial manner, an accent that she just now noticed—before turning on her heels and walking towards the med bay with Jyn in tow.

She was shaking. Not her hands, her hands were steady and her face stony as she helped Jyn enter the full body scanner, but her whole being felt like it was vibrating at a high frequency, ready to break any second. She needed to find Cassian, she needed him to assure her that everything was going to be alright. That he was going to be alright. She knew it was selfish, but to her the wellbeing of the entire world somehow came second to his safety.

Jyn was diligently waiting for Cora to finish running her tests, but she seemed jittery. She was nervously picking at the skin around one of her thumb nails almost to the point of drawing blood.

“I’m sorry about your father,” Cora eventually said, not looking her in the eye, but keeping her eyes glued to the data-pad in her hands. “He was a good man.”

“Was he though?” her voice sounded defiant and angry, but Cora expected that. “I don’t know, I didn’t have the time to talk to him because he was killed.”

Cora didn’t know what to say. ‘I’m sorry’ sounded mechanical even in her own mind, and after all, it wasn’t her fault. But she also knew that she wasn’t going to get an apology from the ones that were at fault either, not after the blatant mistrust they showed her in the War Room.

“I’m sorry,” she eventually said, putting the data-pad down on a counter and motioning for Jyn to hop up on the consultation table. “But I think he was a good man. He did what he had to do, and his help is now our only hope. I don’t think I would have been brave enough to try and sabotage the Empire right under their noses.” Cora smiled.

“You left.”

“Took me a very long time to do it, and I had help.”

“You know, I’ve been dreaming about him lately,” she suddenly said, looking down at her hands. “About him and mom. I haven’t thought about them for years, but now it’s like… all of it is coming back. I don’t know if they’re memories or just… he used to tell me to remember that he will always protect me,” her voice trailed off and Cora could see the glimmer of tears in her eyes. She didn’t know what to do, so she started applying bacta patches on her bruises. “In the end, I wasn’t able to return the favour.”

“It’s not your fault. None of this is your fault.”

“It is,” she said, her voice picking up in intensity. “If I can’t even convince them that what he said is true, if we can’t get the plans… It was all in vain. He died for nothing.”

“Trust Cassian,” Cora said with conviction. “He’ll find a way. He always does.” No matter the cost, she thought, but didn’t say it out loud as if afraid that saying the words out loud would automatically make them true.

“Do you love him?” she asked out of the blue, looking up to meet Cora’s eyes.

“Yes,” Cora answered, the weight of the statement only registering after she had said it. “I do.”

Cora dropped the leftover patches on a tray and took off her gloves. “You seem to be in pretty good shape, considering,” she said with a smile. “Although the wounds are superficial, I’d advise you to take it easy and rest for the time being. I can offer you a room with a bed—”

“Thanks,” she interrupted, and Cora wasn’t surprised in the least. “I think I should go find Bodhi. See if he’s alright. He seemed a little bit shaken.”

Cora nodded and didn’t stop her when she gathered her stuff and headed for the door. She knew deep down that the right thing to do would be to stop her, get her to rest and heal even against her will, but she was tired. “If anything happens with either of you, if you feel unwell in any way, come see me,” she said.

Jyn assured her she’d do so and left. Cora crashed onto a chair, covering her face with the palms of her hands. She really hoped she’d wake up and find out it’s been just another bad dream. Unfortunately, she felt incredibly lucid. Her mind was still buzzing.

She knew she had to pull herself together if she was going to be of any help, but she was scared and she had no idea what they could do about it. If she were to be completely honest, the idea of disbanding the Rebellion for the time being was getting more and more enticing.

They didn’t have to disband it for good, no, but they could lay low for a while, move the troops around so they wouldn’t be one single, easy to destroy target. Try to find out what the Empire was planning, find a way to get the plans in the meantime. After all, the Rebellion had some of the best spies in the Galaxy. Sending all of their troops to crash and burn on the Scarif shield was madness, especially since they knew there had been a security breach and they expected an attack. They had to do something, but a direct clash wasn’t probably the way to go right then. Maybe taking a step back would be the best strategy for the time being.

Cora’s fingers were still pressing her temples while her eyes fixed a tiny dark spot on the ceiling when K2 entered the med bay, startling her.

“Hey K,” she said, getting up the chair and fixing her uniform. “What can I help you with?”

The droid seemed a little confused, looking around the place as if this was the first time he’d seen the place.

“I have a favour to ask,” he said, and although his mechanical voice sounded the same as always, Cora thought there was a sense of hesitation surrounding him.

“Sure,” she said, becoming increasingly aware of the tension in the air. “Anything.”

The droid hesitated a little more, poking at a perpetual motion machine that Doctor Crane had put onto his desk. The ticking of the spheres hitting each other filled the room and the droid watched them for a few moments in silence.

Cora waited. Only when he moved towards her did she ask what she could help him with.

“I have something I would like you to hold onto for me, until I come back. It’s important to me and I wouldn’t want it to get lost.”

“Sure,” Cora replied, and the droid placed a blue, iridescent crystal in the palm of her hand. It was an octahedron no bigger than her thumb, its eight sides perfectly smooth, turning a coppery shade whenever one of them caught the light. There seemed to also be a sort of glow coming from the inside, but it might have very well have been the med bay lights reflecting weirdly inside the crystal. “Are you sure you want me to look after this?” It looked really expensive and by the way K2 talked about it, it seemed to be really important to him. “Wouldn’t Cassian be able to take better care of it?”

The droid snorted, if it could be called that way the noise he made. “He can’t even look after himself,” the droid replied. “I think you’d be able to take better care of it until we come back.”

“Where are you headed off to this time?” Cora asked, a shiver of fear running through her.

“Scarif.” The name hit her in the face like a cargo ship coming at full speed. “Cassian is convincing people to go to Scarif to retrieve the plans,” he said, matter of factly.

Cora felt her hands suddenly getting cold. “Now?” she asked, hanging on the tiny bit of hope that maybe she’d understood it wrong, but the droid nodded. “But that’s suicide,” she almost yelled, her voice cracking as she felt tears welling in her eyes. “I’ve gotta talk to him.”

Cora ran out of the med bay, almost knocking into a couple of people on her way out. It was the first time the elevator ride felt like an eternity. Maybe she was too late. She knew she wasn’t, because Cassian would never leave K2 behind, but what if… She clutched the crystal in the palm of her hand, the sharp edges digging into her skin. This wasn’t what she had in mind when she hoped Cassian would find a solution. She’d hoped he’d do it without killing himself.

When the elevator doors opened, she didn’t have the power to run anymore, so she just walked to the handful of people suspiciously gathered in the middle of the hangar, digging through a pile of supply crates. She knew most of them. They’d played Sabacc together and drank shitty jet juice, hidden away in their little makeshift bar in the catacombs. Most of them avoided her gaze when she got near. Melshi winked at her when he made eye contact, but didn’t say anything. Cora was much too jittery to say hello.

Cassian was there, of course, and so was Jyn and Bodhi and the other two she couldn’t name. He had his back turned to her, almost as if he was trying his best to pretend she hadn’t stopped a couple of meters behind him. She knew he’d noticed her, he always did.

“Andor, can I have a word with you?” It wasn't a question and her voice sounded harsh, but the forced rigidity of her body was the only thing that was keeping her from falling apart, as if she’d lose composure even for a second she’d break into a million pieces.

He seemed annoyed when he looked at her, the frown on his face accentuating, but nodded anyway.

“Oooo, you fucked up,” Melshi laughed as they were leaving the group to find a quieter place to talk, but his voice lacked his usual cheer. Cora didn’t look back, afraid that she’ll burst into tears if she did.

“K2 told me you’re leaving,” she said, crossing her arms over her chest once they were out of hearing range. “I had to find out from him, because I guess you had no intention to tell me.” She sounded reproachful and bitter, but that was just scratching the surface of what she was feeling.

“We have to,” he said, not meeting her gaze. It wasn’t an apology, it wasn’t an excuse. It was just that, a statement. He looked resolute and devoid of any emotion, and any trace of anger Cora held melted away once fear took over.

“You don’t have to.” Her heart was beating so fast it felt like bursting out of her chest. She had to use every ounce of self-control to keep her emotions in check and not let her voice show the pure desperation that dictated her every move. “There must be another option.” He didn’t reply, the stubborn look on his face not faltering even for a second. “We can pull back, think of another strategy and then regroup when the time is right,” she offered, although she knew she was talking out of her ass.

He looked tired, she noticed. He looked drained, but at the same time strung like a chord waiting to snap at the smallest impulse. She hated the Empire, she hated the Rebellion for putting so much pressure on him, and she hated herself for not being able to help.

Cassian looked at the ground for a long moment and eventually shook his head. “There won’t be another time if we don’t act now.”

Cora felt like she was trying to crush a mountain with her bare hands. “But it’s stupid! It’s suicide!” she yelled, hoping he would listen to reason.

“Stupid is all we’ve got!” he snapped, and Cora reeled back at the intensity.

“You’ll only die in vain.” Her voice was already shaky. “Trust me. I’ve been to Scarif, I know the odds.” Listen for once, she prayed. But he was defiantly looking someplace else, still avoiding her gaze. “Please, Cassian… Please!”

He wasn’t yielding. He’d made up his mind and Cora was sure that no matter what she said she wasn’t going to make him reconsider. Her heart ached when the reality sunk in: he was leaving. He was going to throw himself in a battle he’d never be able to survive, no matter how skilled of lucky he was.

She took a deep breath, “Then take me with you,” she said, resolute, and Cassian’s eyes shot up to look at her.

“Have you lost your mind?” he said, letting out a disbelieving laugh, devoid of humour.

Cora stood her ground. “I know the place. I know the archive. I can help.”

He snorted. “You’ll get killed in no time. And even worse, you’ll get others killed too.” His voice was turning to steel with every uttered word. “I don’t have time for this.”

Cora opened her mouth to protest, but Cassian cut her off.

“You’re a liability, Cora! Understand that!” he yelled, leaving her stunned. “And I can’t afford any liabilities.”

His sharp tone was like a slap in the face. She wondered if he meant her on the battlefield, of her in general; if he considered their relationship a liability. It certainly sounded like something the impenetrable, hyper focused Captain Andor would think, but she’d thought after all this time…

She forced herself to push her doubts to the back of her mind. This was not the time to feel hurt. This wasn’t about her.

“I can keep you alive,” she merely whispered.

“You can’t keep yourself alive,” he spat. “We don’t need you.”

She had no idea at what point she’d started crying, but when she lifted her hand and passed it over her face she felt her cheeks drenched in tears. She wasn’t going to give up on him, no matter how cruel he’d decided to be all of a sudden. The worst of all was that he was right and she had no way of fighting his words. He didn’t need her, he never did. She’d just hoped that at some point, he had wanted her.

“I won’t be able to face myself if I don’t do this now,” he said, and his voice sounded strangled, as if he was trying to find an excuse for the harsh words he’d uttered earlier. He lifted his eyes to look at her, but it didn’t last more than a second. “Everything I’ve done over the years will be for nothing if I don't do this now. The Rebellion will crumble. And I’m nothing if not for this.” The desperation in his voice was tangible.

Cora took a step closer and lifted her hand to touch his cheek, but he brushed her hand away. His gesture hurt even worse than his words had. “Cassian… You’re everything,” she whispered, defeated.

“I’m nothing without the Rebellion, don’t you understand?” he repeated, turning his back to her. Cora could feel her tears starting to stream down her cheeks. She took another step in his direction, this time grabbing onto the back of his shirt, clutching onto him with all her remaining strength.

“Please stay,” she said, feeling the panic rising, propping her forehead on his back. “We could grow old together,” he smiled, the shadow of a smile, trying to bite back the sobs that threatened to escape.

“There’s nothing to keep me here.”

There was no way to describe in words what she felt in that moment. She didn’t think she could hurt more, but her heart breaking was a new type of pain altogether. A numbing sort of pain.

“Nothing?” she managed to mutter, her throat feeling dry despite the wave of tears washing over her cheeks. “Nothing at all?” she asked again, her voice taking on a high pitch.

“...nothing.”

She let go of his shirt, her arms falling lifeless around her body. She didn’t have the power to stop him from walking away; her mouth opened, but no words came out. She watched him depart though the tears filling her eyes, but she still couldn’t get her body to move.

This was the end. One way or another, this was the end. Cora pressed her palm on her chest, feeling the familiar bump of the necklace he’d given her on Samarkand. She took it out, clutching it between her shaking fingers, trying her best to not break into sobs.

She prayed—to known gods and made-up ones—to keep him safe and bring him back; she promised them everything she could think of to just spare him this time. She even promised them her own life in exchange for his, but she had little hope that anyone out there was listening to her prayers.

But even if he did come back, for them this was the end.

His smell still lingered around her, long after the ship was gone.

“You’re an idiot,” Melshi said when Cassian walked up the ramp. He threw the sergeant a dirty look, but Melshi shrugged and entered the ship. “Just letting you know, in case you’ve forgotten.”

He made an effort not to look back, as the main hatch was closing behind him. He hoped Cora had gone inside, but something told him she was still there. He didn’t look back, in fear that if he’d see her he’d step down the ramp and run to her, leaving everything behind. Growing old together, what an enticing dream that was.

“You could’ve at least hugged her goodbye if you’re that scared of telling her you love her. Might never get another chance.”

Cassian shook his head. He couldn’t. Of course he couldn’t. “It’s done,” he said, walking to the front of the ship.

K2 was sitting in the co-pilot chair, next to Bodhi, throwing him a dirty look. It was a weird feeling not being in the pilot seat this time, but he was grateful. His hands were shaking.

“Where have you been?” he asked, frowning at the droid. He knew where he’d been, Cora had told him, he just wondered what made him run to her. He’d never been the one to snitch on Cassian before.

“None of your business,” the droid replied, switching his attention back to the controls.

“Five more minutes and we’d have left without you.”

K2 snorted. “I’ve been here for the past 14 minutes, waiting for you,” he said, flipping switches, but Cassian had already tuned him out.

The base was getting smaller as they exited the moon’s atmosphere. The place he’d gotten used to calling home was being left behind, along with the woman he loved and the smallest tinge of hope he still had for the future. The only constants in his life. These, and the terrible things he had to do in the name of freedom.

He hadn’t been truly scared in a long time. Not for himself, and if he’d have to be fair, not for others either. He’d been numb for many years, pushing everything as deep down as he could, hoping that eventually he wouldn’t feel the weight of the things he was doing. But it was slowly crushing him.

With Cora, he’d allowed himself to feel, he’d allowed himself to hope for a future where he wouldn’t have to be the person he was now. Where he could be a better man, worthy of her love.

Melshi had been right, he thought, passing a hand over his face, this could have been the last time he’d ever see her, and he didn’t even take a good look. He didn’t have to, he’d memorized her features in the countless nights he’d watched her sleep peacefully next to him.

He didn’t want to look either. He didn’t want to see the pain he’d caused her and be eaten by guilt. It was for the best, he told himself. He wished he didn’t have to be cruel on purpose, but he couldn’t face her. He couldn’t give her hope, have her fight for him when his resolve was already so thin.

He was just one smile, one embrace away from abandoning the cause he’d believed in all his life. One kiss away from quitting the fight to go live a domestic life with her. One look. That was all he needed to give up.

His love for her had made him a coward.

Cassian pushed his feelings to the back of his mind and focused on the mission.

Masterlist in bio

#Cassian Andor #cassian andor x ofc #cassian andor x reader #star wars #rogue one

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osaycanyousolo · 6 years ago

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Ok so you were replying to the other anon about Hope dropping off from the planet. But I thought it was mostly coz people (her teammates and everyone) shun her out of their lives because of whatever happened (which btw I'm not even sure what happened) so she stopped as well? Idk. Do you mind explaining that to me ? I'm pretty new and curious.

Ok well first I overestimated her dropping off the planet. She didn’t. She has posted something continuously on her insta since being booted from the team. She just stopped saying stupid shit on Twitter, which was most likely her publicist giving her very clear social media rules. And her actually following them, which is honestly surprising.

Second, I’m not convinced anyone shunned her. The federation was just looking for a reason to boot her after multiple fuck ups and her going off and calling the Swedes cowards was just the reason they were looking for. Most of the fans were pissed and even the media called it blown out of proportion. They also pointed out that the federation was just trying to get rid of her and there were a lot of articles about double standards around gender. Some teammates still associated with her (Harli is hard to break up), but I’m positive that the federation threatened the players and told them to keep their mouths shut if they want to keep their jobs. And not everyone liked Hope so I imagine some players weren’t all that sad to see her go.

I guess it felt like her falling off the face of the earth because it was like one day she was there and the next she wasn’t. She’s fine though. Has a good gig at the BBC and preggo with twins. I’m sure the people she played with are happy for her. And happy that her brand of drama is gone. I’m also not convinced she would have made it all the way to this World Cup. Her body started hating her and she had shoulder surgery. She was always injured and yes she was the best in 2015, but wtf happened at the Olympics? I’m not sure she would have been any better than Alyssa in 2019 just because she had already peaked. At least this way we never had to watch the true decline. I miss her and I wish it would have gone differently but it’s in the past now and all we can do is see who is going to hold it down in goal for us next!

#dear brooke #i know you love her #but i know you hear me #they cant all play forever #shes doing just fine

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petri808 · 6 years ago

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Can I request a one-shot of Akito and Shigure's wedding? :)

Sorry it took so long. Here you go, I hope you like it!

To New Beginnings

It was a decision he’d left up to her of what type of wedding they should have, Shinto or western styled. The latter was growing in popularity, and with Akito maturing and moving away from the olden ways of thinking, Shigure had assumed she would choose it. So, it was to his surprise when she’d picked Shinto. You hate wearing suits, was her justification, and that was true. Shigure preferred to wear a comfortable kimono, but he also knew that for the females, the heavier wedding type could be very cumbersome. Akito had merely shrugged it off, saying she didn’t mind.

She chose a heavily brocaded red uchikake kimono over the pure white shiromuku type. Both colors represent purity in the Shinto religion, but in her opinion, she didn’t deserve to wear white, which even in the western sense invoked a sense of piety and virginal goodness that did not fit her background. He had to agree. Akito has made many leaps in terms of gaining forgiveness, but not all of her sins have fully washed away in everyone’s minds. ‘Yet,’ Shigure reminds himself. Saying I’m sorry doesn’t fix a lifetime of pain inflicted, but considering every zodiac RSVP’d to the reception, it showed a promise of absolution.

With the help of the Sohma family staff, the wedding ceremony was set to be a very small affair with only the closest members in attendance, with a bigger reception planned for the late afternoon to host the rest of the family. It was a big deal for the head of the Sohma clan to be marrying, but Akito didn’t want it to be blown out of proportion simply for her.

“Who should we have as the nakodo?” Shigure asks his fiancé, “the priest said we should choose someone to fill the role.”

“It’s stupid to have a fake matchmaker,” Akito responds.

He chuckles, “I agree, but it’s part of the tradition and you did chose Shinto.”

“I did,” she sighs. “Well I suppose Tohru might be the closest to match the description, if not for her coming into our lives, this may never have taken place.”

“You really believe that?” Akito nods. “In that case, Tohru it is!” Shigure teases and kisses her on the cheek. “I’m sure she’ll be honored.”

The eleven zodiacs with any significant others stand at the back of the room behind the tables of sake and fruits, watch the shinzen kekkon procession. In the middle stand Shigure and Akito, while up front flanking the alter, a priest and miko call upon the Gods to bless the couple. Everything is highly ritualized, and for a few in attendance, this was the first time they were seeing a Shinto wedding ceremony.

“Please,” the priest motions for Shigure and Akito to stand in front of the altar where three cups now sit.

As the husband-to-be, Shigure begins the san-san-ku-do ceremony, picking up the smallest cup. Sake is poured in and he drinks from it before offering it to his bride-to-be. Akito now takes the second cup. Again, sake is poured for her, she drinks, and offers it to her husband-to-be. And finally, the third cup and final partaking is first drunk by Shigure, then Akito, symbolizing an oath of sharing both the joys and sorrows between them.

Once the sake portion is complete, the priest address Shigure. “Your vow, please.”

Shigure takes Akito’s hands in his, smoothing over the webbing between her thumb and pointer fingers. He lowers his gaze, a light tinge of moisture filmed over his eyes, and a sunny smile perched upon his face. “It had been an endless dream for so many years, haunting me ever since I knew of your existence. But I knew, I’ve always known, that there would never be anyone else in this world that I could ever love more than I’ve loved you. The first half of our lives were a struggle. There were moments that I wanted to give up and times it was the furthest thought in my mind. I’ve watched you go from a broken and angry man to a humble and adoring woman, whose raven-hair beauty now matched with the soul that resides within. I give thanks to the woman who helped to make this all possible,” he looks over, and Akito follows his gaze, “Tohru Sohma. Whose kindness and loving nature disrupted all of our lives, breaking through the walls around our hearts and opening them to receive love again. It is because of you,” Shigure returns his gaze back to Akito, “that I get to marry the woman that I love. To new beginnings my love, we shall write a new chapter of our lives from this day forward.”

Tears gathered in Akito’s eyes as she quietly listened to Shigure’s vows. All of the emotions, their lives and the journey that to led to this moment coming back. She could honestly say, it was the happiest time in her life so far. It was clear how much this man truly loved her. He pushed her, struggled with her, and yet never gave up on her. Shigure could have easily done so a long time ago when she’d been cruel, but because he stuck it out, she was now blessed with his acceptance.

More sniffles ring out from the back of the room while the rings are exchanged, and the priest does his final prayers to Izanagi and Izanami. “May the Gods bring you peace and balance,” the reverent older man prays as he places the ornamental evergreen upon the altar. Shigure and Akito then place their offerings next to the altar, followed by their chosen familial representatives, Hatori and Tohru.

“Kanpai!” Once the offering symbolized a closing to the ceremonies, congratulatory tributes ring out from the gathered zodiac’s and Sohma family members. “Kanpai!” Sake is poured and everyone, even those still under 19, get a sip to honor the new union. Shigure and Akito give their thanks to everyone for being there to bear witness, then take their leave to change before the reception.

In an adjacent changing room, Shigure kisses his new wife and gathers her in his arms. “How are you feeling?”

Akito sighs, closing her eyes and resting her cheek against his chest. No other words could truly describe how happy she felt. “Just Blessed…”

Some info on Shinto weddings

#shigure x akito #fruits basket #fruits basket fanfiction #shigure sohma #akito sohma

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psychosistr · 6 years ago

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Don’t Cost a Thing- Part 3

Summary: Domino is stuck at F.O.W.L. HQ all day for meetings. Which wouldn’t be so bad if he someone hadn’t swiped his lunch... Well, at least Steelbeak’s there to keep him company.

Notes: References to death and murder in this one, but it’s just an every day conversation as far as these two are concerned.

-First Part-

For Dominic, the next day at work held one of the events that he dreaded all year long:

Review day.

Normally, the work he did, with or without his partner, revolved around covert operations, deadly assignments, espionage, toppling governments- the exciting stuff that was normally blown out of proportion in spy movies for the sake of funding the special effects industry.

Today, unfortunately, was not one of those days.

Review day was a generally loathed mark on the calendar of every F.O.W.L. operative from the eggmen to the chief officers (he seriously believed that even high command themselves hated the day). While most days the agents would be free to go about their day to day lives until called in for a mission, review day required all agents to stick around the designated F.O.W.L. headquarters for their district while high command called different agents in and out of the meeting room to review their previous missions of the year and possible new ones that may be on the horizon. What made the day even more loathsome and tooth-grindingly boring was the fact that it was an all-day affair and no one was allowed to leave until it was over. Which usually took at least eight to ten hours…minimum.

As an experienced agent who’d sat through his fair share of review days, Dominic had come prepared for the tedium the day would entail. He’d brought plenty of reading material ranging from his favorite books to whatever magazines he had lying around, his own thermos to refill with coffee from the break room when he had trouble staying awake, and a large pre-packaged meal for when he was eventually given a long enough break between meetings and planning sessions to actually eat.

Luckily for him, now happened to be such a time and he was starving after sitting through six straight hours in the meeting room.

When he opened the door to the special agents’ designated break room (having a break room separate from the eggmen masses was the first thing he’d been grateful for after officially becoming a higher-ranking agent), he was relieved to see that the room was nearly empty. The relief died slightly, however, when he realized that the ‘nearly’ part was because his partner was also in the breakroom.

Steelbeak was apparently on his own break, currently leaning against the counter that housed both the microwave and the coffeepot. He hadn’t reacted to Domino’s entrance yet, apparently lost in his own thoughts while waiting for the seconds on the microwave count down. The rooster seemed to be doing that a lot lately- getting lost in his own thoughts when no one else was around to call him out on it.

Dominic would have been happy to leave the chief officer to his thoughts, but, unfortunately, he would have to get by him to reach the fridge where he’d left his own food…and with the way Steelbeak was leaning with his back to the counter, his legs and torso were blocking the quickest path to his destination. He could’ve just vaulted over the nearby table and tumbled onto the couch to avoid talking to him, but that was honestly more work than he was in the mood for just to save himself three steps.

So, resigned to his fate, Dominic set his small suitcase (which he was just using to carry around his books and magazines in a more orderly fashion) on the table then walked up to Steelbeak and cleared his throat once. “Ahem.”

“?!” The simple sound was enough to jolt the taller bird from his thoughts and make him look down at Dominic. “Oh, it’s just you..” Apparently guessing what the loon wanted, Steelbeak stood up straighter and took a step back so his hip was against the counter instead of his lower back, giving his partner plenty of room to walk past without bumping into him.

“No need to sound so disappointed about it.” Dominic commented on his way to the refrigerator. He opened his thermos and left it on the counter beside him to refill on his way back to the table before opening the fridge.

“Hey, I’ve been stuck sitting at a table being bored out of my skull for almost seven hours and could use some company that’s actually entertaining for a change- sue me.” Steelbeak finished his comeback right as the coffee finished brewing and took the filled pot off of the machinery to fill his own thermos (he’d been through enough of these days to come prepared as well, it seemed). “You can’t tell me you ain’t bored of this shtick, too- even you can’t be THAT uptight.”

Dominic rolled his eyes and spared the fowl a side-eyed look of annoyance before he began searching the cold shelves for his meal. “Of course I’m bored. Anyone who says they actually enjoy this sort of thing is either an office worker or an undercover S.H.U.S.H. agent..either of which deserve to be shot on sight.”

The taller bird gave that distinctive clipped nasally-laugh of his while filling up his thermos with the piping hot coffee. “Whattaya know? You DO have a sense of humor in there.”

“Who said I was joking?” Dominic asked with a tone full of sarcasm, hiding the smile on his beak thanks to the fridge door beside him. Hearing the sound of more coffee being poured, Dominic peeked back out and saw Steelbeak filling his thermos for him. That was…surprisingly thoughtful of the selfish bird. “…Thanks.”

“Eh, I was doin’ it anyway.” Steelbeak said casually while putting the pot back for whoever wanted the next cup. He then grabbed a handful of the various packets of sugars and creams from their cardboard containers along the back of the counter and, without even asking, he set aside the exact type and number of packets that Dominic would have grabbed himself.

“You know how I take my coffee..?” The loon asked with a quirked brow, feeling…well, impressed, honestly. Being able to sneak into his apartment and leave him a high-dollar present was one thing- a very flashy, unwelcomed thing that felt entirely superficial- but to know something small like how he took his coffee seemed somehow much more personal.

Shrugging as he grabbed a coffee stirrer and began mixing in his own cream and sugar, Steelbeak’s tone remained casual. “Little trick I picked up after workin’ with my first partner.”

“Really?” That was certainly news to Dominic- the two never really talked about their previous partners.

The information was available in their files, and he’d briefly skimmed over Steelbeak’s before being assigned to him, but the other agent wasn’t very forthcoming with information unless he felt it necessary. Not to say that HE was any better himself, but he was pretty sure Steelbeak already knew about what happened with his previous partner and why he was moved to his current sector. Admittedly, he was grateful that Steelbeak never attempted to pry into his past or dig up old wounds, even when the two of them had a disagreement on something, and he’d attempted to show the same level of professional courtesy.

Still, it was interesting to hear Steelbeak bring up one of his previous partners so casually-

“Yeah, I poisoned his.” He replied just as casually as if they were discussing the weather. Which, to a F.O.W.L. agent, was actually a pretty common thing to discuss, but, still, WOW, that came out of NOWHERE.

“That doesn’t exactly inspire confidence…” Dominic muttered while briefly eyeing the coffee sitting in his thermos.

Steelbeak rolled his eyes and blew on his own coffee “He was a mole for S.H.U.S.H.” He paused to take a sip before continuing. “The geezer was a senior agent that was supposed t’ be showin’ me the ropes- used to make me do the rookie stuff like fetchin’ the coffee and puttin’ away his paperwork. Thing is, he didn’t count on me overhearin’ a VERY interestin’ conversation between him and his handler in S.H.U.S.H.” A smirk briefly turned up the corners of his mouth around the metallic beak, the deadly steel catching the light and giving him a more menacing look that fit his next words perfectly. “He also didn’t count on me puttin’ arsenic in his coffee instead of almond milk…his mistake.”

Dominic nodded, a brief scowl turning down the corners of his own beak. He knew all about the damage an infiltrator from S.H.U.S.H. could cause… “He got what he deserved, then.”

Steelbeak gave a short chuckle and set his thermos aside when the microwave finally finished. “Exactly. So, long as you don’t go turn-coat on me, you ain’t got nothin’ t’ worry about.” He spared Domino a look with a cocked brown while pulling a large container of food out of the microwave. “You lookin’ t’ help fight global warmin’ there, Deedee?”

“Hm? Oh..” A slight chill along his feet made the rooster’s words sink in and Dominic realized he’d been standing there with the refrigerator door open the whole time. “No, that would be pretty pointless since half of the world doesn’t even believe in it yet.” After searching the shelves for a moment and, begrudgingly, moving a few containers and bags around to make sure he wasn’t missing anything, a frustrated expression replaced his previously confused look. “Has anyone else been in here today?”

Steelbeak popped the lid off of his meal’s container while thinking the question over. “Ammonia and Ample were leavin’ when I got here…well, Ammonia was leavin’- Ample was gettin’ dragged along and complainin’ about not gettin’ t’ eat yet.”

“Was she holding anything when she left?” Dominic pinched the bridge of his beak in frustration and closed his eyes, already anticipating the answer and dreading its validation.

“White box with a red lid.” Steelbeak looked at the loon’s frustrated expression and smirked a little. “I’m guessin’ that was yours?”

“It’s HERS now.” Dominic corrected while finally slamming the refrigerator door closed. Even if he was hungry, if something had been in Ample’s hands, he did NOT want it back. Ever. “Guess I’m getting takeout..” He said under his breath, taking the opportunity to properly prepare his own coffee now before attempting to walk out.

He was barely three steps from the door when Steelbeak’s voice stopped him. “I would NOT recommend that today.”

“And why would that be?” It was hard for Dominic to keep the aggravation at his increasingly aggravating situation out of his voice as he turned back to look at his partner for an explanation.

“Megavolt and Darkwing Do-gooder had a fight at the city’s traffic control hub.” Steelbeak provided the explanation, calm even with the loon’s glaring red eyes pointed at him. “Lights all over the city are fried and traffic’s backed up for miles. So, ‘less you know any good places within walkin’ distance or can find a place that delivers to evil secret agencies, forget about it.”

“Great.” Dominic scowled and took a seat at the table. “Guess I’m drinking my lunch today…” He opened his suitcase and pulled out the book he’d been reading earlier, ignoring the shuffling sounds of whatever Steelbeak was doing at the counter. He was just finding the line he’d left off on when the other bird took a seat at the table and, to his surprise, slid something over to him. “…?” Dominic moved his book enough to see a paper plate piled high with a rather sizable helping of steaming-hot roasted vegetables and potatoes as well as half of what must have at one point been a sixteen ounce, inch and a half thick New York strip steak topped with sautéed mushrooms- there was even a napkin set off to the side with some cutlery. Looking over to his partner, Dominic saw that Steelbeak had a plate that practically mirrored his own and was already eating his share of vegetables. “I didn’t ask for this.” Dominic said while trying to slide the plate back towards the fowl.

Steelbeak nudged it back over to him with the blunt end of his knife. “Eat it. I packed way too much, anyway.” He paused to take a drink from his thermos. “Besides, if F.O.W.L. high command decides t’ send us on a mission tonight, I don’t need you passin’ out from low blood sugar or somethin’.”

“I’ve gone days without food before- I think I can survive a few hours.” Dominic countered, refusing to look at the plate in front of him and instead fixing the other bird with a mildly offended glare.

Steelbeak shrugged, once again not even remotely bothered by the harsh look sent his way. “Hey, do what ya want, I don’t care- it was just gonna go in the garbage, either way.”

Dominic glared quietly at the larger bird for a few more seconds, but gave up when he realized it really had no effect on the incorrigible fowl. He still tried to ignore the food in front of him, but catching a brief waft of the tantalizing aroma made his stomach growl.

Darn it, that did smell REALLY good…

…

……

…Well, if it was just going to be thrown out, anyway……

Snapping his book closed, Dominic set it aside and reluctantly pulled the plate closer. He cut the food into smaller bites than what Steelbeak himself was shoving into his mouth and began to eat. To his surprise, the food tasted absolutely incredible, despite going through the microwave. Everything was perfectly seasoned, none of the vegetables or potatoes had gotten too soft, and even the steak retained a healthy amount of tenderness and was still fairly pink in the middle, suggesting that it must have been extremely rare before to retain so much juice after being reheated like that.

“This is pretty good.” Dominic conceded after the first few bites, looking across the table at his partner. “Where did you get this?”

“Oh, y’know, just a little hole-in-the-wall joint called ‘my kitchen’.” The taller man replied with that smug grin of his.

“What?” That actually surprised Dominic, making him blink twice in an attempt to dispel the disbelief he felt at the idea of the other agent actually COOKING something. “You can cook?”

“Hey, what’s with the look?” Steelbeak’s smug grin changed to an overly-dramatic affronted expression. “You think a body THIS good-lookin’ comes from eatin’ take-out and TV dinners every night?” He flexed one arm to help illustrate his point.

“I suppose not..” Dominic glanced to the flexed arm before meeting his partner’s gaze again. “You just don’t strike me as the type to cook your own meals. I would’ve assumed you had someone else cook for you; either that or you had some five-star restaurant delivering to you directly- you could definitely afford both options.”

Steelbeak shrugged and sliced up the last few bites of his steak into more manageable pieces. “I could, but I don’t. I don’t mind cookin’ for myself, so why bother payin’ someone else t’ do it unless I’m just NOT in the mood? And if I ordered food from some fancy joint all the time, I’d get bored of it eventually, even if it was better than Hamburger Hippo.”

“Hmh, that makes sense.” The loon conceded with a nod after taking a bite of the steak as well. “For what it’s worth..” He began after he’d finished his bite and before he started on another. “You could probably give quite a few of those ‘fancy joints’ a run for their money.”

Steelbeak gave that distinctive chuckle of his and looked at Dominic with an expression somewhere between a smirk and a smile. “Are my ears playin’ tricks on me, or did I actually just hear a gen-u-i-ne compliment come out of that big beak?”

Dominic rolled his eyes, but it was hard not to smile at least a little bit as well. “Don’t let it go to your head.”

“Too late for that.” The other agent chuckled again. A comfortable silence settled between the pair as they ate, the two going several minutes without saying anything else before Steelbeak opened his beak again. “Y’know…you could pop over for dinner sometime…guarantee I won’t charge as much as some of those swankier places uptown.”

Dominic almost said no on reflex. He wasn’t normally a fan of going to other people’s homes for dinner. Disorganized spaces were not something he was fond of, and neither was the small talk that seemed inevitable when visiting someone’s home. Combine that with the much more lax health standards in most home-kitchens compared to professional restaurants and you had three major reasons for him NOT to go.

What stopped him, however, was looking back up at his partner’s face.

The normally over-confident and arrogant rooster was keeping his eyes on his plate rather than meeting Dominic’s gaze. He wasn’t giving him one of those usual smirks or that trying-too-hard-to-be-cool look like when he gave his unwarranted gifts. On top of it all, he’d been chewing the same bite of food well past the time it should’ve been finished- a classic stalling tactic when one wanted to avoid saying what they’d mentally dubbed “the wrong thing”. This was different behavior then what he was used to with the cocky fowl.

But, all things considered, Dominic found that he preferred this genuine and sincere version of the bird far more than the façade he’d been wearing for the past six weeks every time he tried giving him a gift. Besides, it’s not like Steelbeak’s home was more than a few feet away from his own- if he felt uncomfortable, he could always just LEAVE.

“Sure.” He finally answered after resolving his internal conflict on the matter. “But no finger foods.”

Steelbeak swallowed the long-finished lump of food and the corner of his mouth lifted in a slight smile that Dominic caught before the chief officer schooled his face into its usual smug smirk. “Fine, no chili dogs or cheese fries.”

They both shared a brief laugh over the idea of Dominic so much as touching such messy excuses for cuisine, the loon’s laugh much quieter compared to the large rooster’s but no less real.

After that, they went back and forth between different conversational topics and comfortable silences in equal periods. This was much better than the tension that had existed between them since the beginning of their partnership, and it was something Dominic preferred hands-down to the shift they’d gone through over the past few weeks.

He wasn’t a fool, he knew what the change in their dynamic was about and what had caused it. He knew the reason why Steelbeak kept trying to shower him with things that he’d never asked for, and he knew that it was related to why the other bird had asked him over for dinner.

Despite what Steelbeak himself might think, Dominic wasn’t completely against the idea or the notion behind the presents, it was merely the method he’d employed in trying to garner the loon’s favor that he disapproved of. Gifts were fine with him- his previous partner had given him plenty over the course of their relationship that he still held onto. The big difference, though, was the thought that was put into them: What his last partner lacked in over-the-top expensive taste, he made up for by showing how well he knew the bird, often getting him things that he knew Dominic would enjoy such as a book from a series he liked (even though half the time he got him one he’d already read), and it would always make him smile because it showed just how much the other man cared. Steelbeak’s gifts, on the other hand, while classy and definitely venturing into the territory of things that Dominic hadn’t thought to buy for himself, felt more like they were purchased simply for the sake of showing off and looking flashy- they could’ve been bought for anyone, not exclusively him.

Steelbeak’s behavior today, however, was a step in the right direction. Little things such as showing how well he’d come to know Dominic and making an effort to approach him in a more sincere and less over-the-top way were preferable to the materialistic method of essentially trying to buy his attention.

If the rooster continued acting like THIS, maybe Dominic could actually give him a chance.

<-Previous Part Next Part->

End Notes: Some heart-warming interaction between our main characters before things get crazy next chapter. This was the calm before the storm- you have been warned.

#steelbeak #dominic domino #darkwing duck #dwd

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boogiewrites · 7 years ago

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Choking On Sapphires 23

Title & Song: Fever

Characters: Alfie Solomons x Genevieve (OFC)

Word Count: 4800+

Summary: Genevieve is a force to be reckoned with.She’s been intrigued by Alfie since she met him. But where will she draw the line between business and pleasure? The tension that’s growing between them is getting harder to ignore. Both of them showing cracks in their armor of denial. Will they be able to keep ignoring it when forced to work together for a job that requires seduction?

Warnings/Tags: Language. Fluff. Suggestive Dialog.Mentions of past trauma of a violent nature.

A/N: Every chapter of this story will have a song to work as the title and as a soundtrack. Chapter song is Fever by The Black Keys.

Positive feedback is MUCH appreciated! Reblogs, likes and comments feed this artist to write more!

My Masterlist. (Includes Parts 1-22)

He's sitting on a stone bench in the garden, coffee in his cup, sipping noisily and admiring the countryside and sunrise on a lazy morning. He sits up straight and twists, working the sleep out of his body as he takes a deep breath and watches the lavender he gave you move in the breeze, most it now planted in an empty section near the field's edge. The rest littered the garden, bunches of it placed among the low lying flowerbeds, the last bit of it put into a large decorative planter that you'd placed in front of the window in your bathroom. He let’s his mind contently disconnect from the present, his thoughts turning to you.

After requesting to speak to him, your request’s delivery a bit delayed from the mouth of a maid, he’d eventually wander the house to find you. The journey ended many times with him following the sound of your record player. Leaving him standing in the door way to your bathroom as you’re planted deep in the tub. You would greet him with a entirely too casual fluttering of lashes over your flushed cheeks, your hair piled on top of your head in a way that made him wonder how it’d look spread out across bed sheets. The bubbles would mask the surface of the water with its bits of flowers, petals, and herbs scattered throughout the rolling hills of the soft mounds. You set flight to small clumps of bubbles as your pinked lips pursed and blew. If he remembered the sight of you, what you'd asked him on each occasion couldn't be recalled with it. He just recalls seeing you break pieces off and using in your bath and with your little bottles of oils and perfumes. The smell of the lavender he'd bought you slowly penetrated your hair and skin. He couldn't help but feel smug at the thought that you went out into the world smelling like something that you would associate with him.

His thoughts and the near silence of the early morning are broken as he hears hooves. He gazes out, seeing a horse riding over the rolling field that lay before the forest on your land. You're atop the horse, galloping in, your hair bouncing with the rest of you. It had blown back, the long braid loose and messy down your back. The first rays of light just starting to break through the gloom of the morning, he can see the heat coming off you as you slow and dismount. As you approach he see's you're wearing another old fashion choice in dress, this one including a corset. The light white fabric of the sleeves, open front shirt underneath the tight fitting plain bodice. Your layered skirt was gathered up into your lap as you hold it while you rode. He clears his throat, eyebrows rising as he's noticed the garters that hold up your stockings, worn underneath your riding boots. He finds himself quite fond of the look. There was something about the way the worn leather of your tall boots mixed with the soft white petticoat under your fluffy skirt, that roused him ways beyond just alertness. The just slightly darker, but he imagines even softer skin of your upper thighs match the billowing fabric of the skirt, almost distracting him from noticing the tightness of your garters, squeezing your thick thighs just enough to be noticed as you raise up the skirt, giving him a risque glance at you, the shine of silk of your pants as you fuss with the stockings, having wandered from their preferred placement while you rode. His eyes continue to watch you as you fix your skirt, hair, and chest as you call out for the man who works in the barn, the horse's reins in your hands. He decides to cut his morning reflection short to investigate.

"What are you doin' up this early ridin' about?" he asks in a gruff shout as he crosses the dirt path from the garden to the barn.

"Good Morning, Alfie." you say, you scratch your head and mumble to yourself, distracted, walking the horse into the long line of stalls in this side of the barn.

He scoffs and laughs, hands on his hips are you blatantly ignore him. His shoulders still shaking in amusement as you walk farther into the barn, he stands and waits as he sighs and shakes his head at you. --- Alfie has elected to stay outside the barn, getting to watch you walk with a stomping purpose back towards him, rolling your sleeves up over your elbows.

"I was distracted by Essie, I didn't hear a word you said." you say, shaking your head with a laugh as you crack your knuckles on approach.

"Forgiven, dear." he says with a dismissive shake of his head and wave of his hand. "I was inquiring about what ya doin' ridin' around so early." he politely explains again.

"I ride out before dawn to the forest quite frequently," you say, your face and chest flushed, he notices your hair with varied bits of leaf and twig stuck in its soft waves, you reminding him of some sort of forest nymph. "I have a spot for Essie to graze and run while I take off to the woods much like a rabbit, runnin' and jumpin' and carryin' on." you say with an easy going expression, your eyes bright. "Gets the blood flowing, ya know?" you tilt your head and wrinkle your nose. "Keeps me in fighting shape." you nod and raise your skirts as you take a pitchfork in your hand and move towards a stall. "Gotta stay on top of these things for work." you conclude sweetly before you move from his sight into the stall.

"I didn't know you rode." he chimes in, surprised to find you shoveling the contents of the stall into a barrow in the corner.

"What kind of little rich girl would I be if I didn't know how to proper ride a horse?" you say with a laugh, wiping your face with your forearm.

"Is that why you wear a corset to do it?" he smirks and you turn with narrowed eyes and a half smile.

"In part," you say, your eyes looking up for a moment. "When you're plentifully proportioned in such a feminine manner, as I am," you say with a cheeky smirk that compels him to mirror the expression. "You have to have support to ride a horse. Don't want to knock myself out or break my back." you say indifferently.

"I've always thought of corsets as a pleasing aesthetic choice, did not occur they would help in such a way." he beams that cake eater grin at you and you give him a scolding but still warm glance, a heavy sigh quickly follows when you shake your head at him.

"I'm sure there are lots of things you don't know about the reality of dealing with such aesthetically pleasing things." you jeer.

"Also didn't know shoveling shit was something you bothered yourself with, eh?" he asks with crossed arms and a raised brow.

"Well I'm having Winston look after Ess and this was the last chore he needed to be finished before he could leave for holiday, didn't want to keep the man away from his new baby any longer than I already had." you said, he thought he might've heard a touch of guilt in your voice.

"Here, gimmie that ya milk maid lookin' thing." he laughs, holding his hand out for the fork in your hands. You purse your lips at him, shoving the fork further into the hay.

"I am perfectly capable of doing it myself, thank you." you say with a smile but a defensive tone.

"I didn't say you weren't, but I'm a bigger lad than you, eh?" he asks, fingers gripping into his palm for you to hand it to him.

Your shoulders slump and you move to carry what's on the fork into the barrel but one hand slips in your distraction, knocking the metal of the handles of the wheelbarrow, and with the force you exerted to take the heavyweight over, the handle snaps in your hand.

"BAISEUR DE LA MERE!" you shout, one hand immediately covering the other as your shoulder shoves past him quickly. He sees the blood on the splintered handle that rests on the ground now. He hurries after you. You're cursing in anger, your face set in an angry pose that would have been adorable if the anger behind your eyes hadn't been so hot. You see Ess in the far stable, as you trot back to Alfie. "Winston's gone, I'll need to fuckin' clean and bandage this fuckin'-" you let out an angry growl, foot stomping as you bend slightly. "MERDE qui fait mal!" you laugh loudly, madly, holding your hands to your chest, taking deep slow breaths. "Enfer." you grumble as Alfie jogs away from you and you follow less enthusiastically as his loud voice booms across the garden.

"OI!" he booms across the flowers. His tone and word choice reminding you of boys from your school days. "Don't fuckin' see no one. You need me to go? I don't know where it's at but-"

"No, wait I'm sure it's not as bad as it seems-" you explain, not moving your hands apart, afraid to be proven wrong.

"OI!" he yells again, making you roll your eyes with no real annoyance in your face for him, only at the volume with which he announced his displeasure. "Imma go tell 'em." he mumbles out before he moves away quickly. He returns just as fast. "You need to hire girls who know where the fuck things are Genny." he says, annoyance in his voice. You tilt your head at him in question. "She said she didn't know where it was either but she'd go find out and bring it." he rolls his eyes, hands on his hips.

"It's fine. Just help me sit and we'll use this skirt to stop the blood for a bit. I don't feel faint or anything, I think it hurts more than the damage warrants. Lots of nerves in the hand, ya know." you say with a sweet smile to offset your rough words.

"Here, luv." he says sweetly, holding your elbow and sitting you on a stone step outside the barn. "Want me to tear a piece off?" he asks, the hem of your dress in his taut hands.

"Go on." you give permission. You groan as he pries your shaking hands apart, wiping off the non injured one first, setting it down on your dress, his strong hands are so gentle as they move you about the wrist. You can see the cut is near your thumb in your palm. You make a disgusted noise and shake your head. "Bollocks." you mumble with a sigh. He wraps the fabric around snuggly, you wince a bit but beyond that, his touch is like a whisper.

"You'll be just fine, least it wasn't your dominant hand." he's looking towards the house as he speaks, his hands taking yours between his, still holding a pressure to the cut. You were somehow flattered by his knowledge of which hand you wrote with, then you realize you also know his. Your brow would have furrowed if it hadn't already been from pain. You stop to study his hands as he holds yours, his impatient expression still looking over your shoulder. He already had on a few rings at this early hours, they glinted despite the sun not being very high yet. They were so steady against yours, still shaking and upset about the adrenaline rush from hurting yourself. The hand that rets on top, tattooed with a single black crown and slightly fuzzy, its square-tipped fingers caress yours to comfort the non-injured hand. By the time the cold morning air chilled gold starts to warm against your skin, your notice the tick in his eyebrow. Your arms are pushed together by his holding of your hands, your bodies are directly up against each other, arms and thighs almost on top of the other as he'd pulled you to him to inspect you.

"You're going to make me nervous for no reason if you keep acting like this." you insist, eyes wide up at him, your doe-eyed expression catching him off guard as he'd been distracted by your aloof maid's ignorance.

"Uhh.." he stutters out, chin pushing back into his neck. "Sorry luv, that rocks for brains little girl got me frustrated." he says with a sigh.

"Then let's distract ourselves, shall we?" you suggest with a tilt of your head. He gives you a soft nod and smile, turning his attention and shoulders back to you. "Since they are directly in my vision, I can't help but be pulled to ask you about your tattoos, Alfie." you suggest. His head moves in small quick movements in surprise, looking down to his hands.

"Ah." he says with a quick series of nods. "You curious as to why I've got the crowns, eh?"

"How could I not be?" you say with a sweet grin.

"I got 'em after the war." he declares after a deep breathe before he elaborates, indulging your curiosity of him." The story starts before 'at though." he says shaking his head, brow low, face looking out towards the garden, being lit by the sun as it rises over the hills. Your eyes float across his handsome features as he speaks in his animated and captivating way when he tells stories. "'Spose me scrappin' and fightin' about as a boy was the true beginning," he says with a shrug. "But boxin' was where it became more than something that kept me occupied in my free time at school." his stare moves to meet the one you'd been giving him. You notice the sun picking up the yellow flecks in his blue eyes as he speaks "I's a touch good at it, yeah?" he says with a wrinkled nose, nodding over at you.

"I can imagine." you say looking up at him, your heart thumping at the thought, your adrenaline fading, your posture slumping with your shoulders as he continued to speak.

"After the war I knew that weren't what I wanted to go back to. But it did certainly help save my arse more than a few times." his eyebrows raise in emphasis. "I was a Captain, right? 'N as it came to pass you have to fight your own when you're fighting others sometimes." his nostrils twitched slightly in a tiny tell that tells you the memories could still bother him if he let him. "Whether there were words or drink or just bein' fuckin' stir-crazy, we'd brawl," he says as if it's common knowledge. "With my position, there were many names I'm sure they called me," he lets out a huff of a laugh. "But the ironic usage of righteous fists in the insults they would whisper behind my back were always my favorite," he says in a whisper, nodding his head at you. "Somethin' about it." His eyes narrow and move away from you, darting about the garden again. "Even said in such hateful ways you can't help but feel a certain respect in the title. I ended up fightin' when I'd drink too much for all the wrong reasons, but I'd win every time." he turns his face back towards yours, you make sure to lift up your half-lidded eyes. "Not a brag so much as a fact." he nods sincerely, face set softly to sell his point. " Wasn't exactly clean fighting, as you might be able to imagine." he almost mumbles, frowning slightly for a moment before his eyes twitch again and it disappears.

"I can." you say quietly to show you're listening. You notice you've been biting your lip and change this fact as soon as you realize. You hate to admit you'd let yourself get flustered at the power that came off him as he told his tale. The thought of him bare-knuckle boxing and then the number of men he'd been victorious over admittedly had done something for you on a deeper, darker, more animalistic level.

"I don't like to dwell on the memories from the war but that dunnit mean they're all useless." his words start high pitched and more to a deep rumble as he speaks, he looks down at his hands." I got myself out of the mouth of hell more than once with the help of these fists." the slightest hint of pride in his voice. "Seemed proper to remind meself of that." he gives that funny little face, his exaggerated frown when he wants to show his support for his point. "And to warn others I can send 'em back to their makers by my own judgment." he adds, a tilt of his head, his voice back to soft." 'N remind me that I still have yet to meet mine." his voice was growing more gritty as he continued sharing.

It hits you hard how dark and powerfully sexy his words were feeling to you. "That story is far much elaborate than I could've imagined. I can't help but be terribly interested when you speak to me of yourself in such ways. I love knowing what darkness motivates you." your lashes look long as he can't help but think they're batting up at him, your head tilted towards his earnestly as your too close, wet pouted lips stay ever so slightly parted as your eyes move quickly from his lips, back up to his face. He wasn't imaging the flush to your chest, was he? The usage of such sultry words makes the darkness you speak of stir just slightly within him.

"I've seen your paintings, Gen. You don't fear the darkness in the same way others do." he shakes his head just slightly, looking down at you with a question in his eyes and voice.

"Same as you?" you clearly bat your lashes up at him, your lips parted just slightly, still distracting but set in a different pose than the last time they'd stolen his attention. He doesn't know if you mean to come off so seductively but you do nonetheless. As you lean forward to speak to him, he looks away, his peripheral vision aching at the noticing of how your breasts heaved when you slumped your shoulders to speak closely with him.

"Certainly seems so, yeah?" he gruffs out, eyes lowering to your chest as you look out the garden with a thoughtful smile and a nod.

"You know I'd thought of getting a tattoo before..." you say in a light-hearted way, glancing down at his hands. He lets out a sudden, high pitched scoff.

"Now why the hell would you go and mark up a gift from god like 'at?" the words blurt out, sounding like a disciplinary scold, his face turned up in an expression of pure confusion and perhaps even disgust at the suggestion. The red reaching his face as his clumsy and boarish delivery of the words hits him. Your eyebrows shoot up in surprise at the delivery of his opinion, you fight back a patronizing smile and choose to speak softly to counteract his knee-jerk reaction.

"Well," you say with a half smile, looking off to the side to nothing in particular. "I'm quite fond of them on men so I thought I would be fond of them on myself as well." you say with an entirely mischievous smile, he knows you've seen the crack in his calm facade in reaction to your feminine charms. You see his eyes, although skilled at not getting caught looking at you in ways he liked to pretend he didn't, grasping at the chances you give him consciously, and not, to look at you. In particular your breasts. Which were, in his defense, very distracting to a fan of the female form such as himself and in this corset nonetheless. The compliment isn't missed by his hungry mind as you watch his Adam's apple bob up and down.

"You don't need no further decoration, luv. Believe me." he recovers in a gruff tone, his head swiveling about and not meeting your eyes. You can't help but be endeared to his boyish behavior. Getting his feathers ruffled over you getting hurt so simply. His opening up to you, the fumbled words from his suppressed impulses your body sent his way; a big, grown man like him getting flustered over some cleavage was for possibly the first time in years you can recall, was something you found yourself getting turned on by. It seems you did have a soft spot for weak men, but the catch was, the weakness had to be you. ------------------------------------------------------------------============================================== It's another slow Saturday morning, Alfie sat in the study putting the papers away on his desk. He hears a high pitched squeal from you from the front door and he carries himself with a jog to the sound.

You've got your arms wrapped around Tommy's son, Charlie. He's on your hip and he's very weakly defending himself from your assault of kisses to his round little face. "How is Auntie's little gentleman? Look at you gettin' so big! I could eat those chubby cheeks right off your face!" you baby talk him enthusiastically, making 'nom' sounds and blowing raspberries on his face as he laughs and squirms. Tommy is closing the door behind him as Alfie rounds the corner, he's laughing quietly and smiling as Charlie tries to answer questions.

"Afternoon, Alfie." Tommy greets the man as he approaches, they share a mutual pat on the shoulder.

"It is." he gruffs out, looking at you as he speaks to Tommy. "Didn't know you were coming in today, mate."

"He's here on business and surprised me with this little man." you coo affectionately, bouncing the boy around.

"Well, I knew you'd want to see him. He likes driving around in the new car anyway." he shrugs slightly, hands in his pockets.

"Business, eh?" Alfie asks, looking back at Tommy.

"Don't be nosey, Alfie." you say, walking towards them both. "If you need to know, you'll know." you say with a non-threatening smile. You give Charlie one last smooch before handing him off to Aggie. "Shall we get the business over with so we can all enjoy each others company?" you suggest in a politely enthusiastic way. "I've got an adorable godson to spoil if you don't mind." you say matter of factly as you walk towards your office. ------------------- You're sitting on the front of your desk as Tommy speaks to you of a job proposition. A nouveau riche man, coat-tailing on a politician cousin has been throwing his weight around on the wrong people. Literally on girls that work for Tommy and figuratively with his drunken rants that begin with "Do you know who I am?". Tommy didn't go into specifics but he didn't have to.

"I had heard words spoken of the man but until the girls brought him to my attention I didn't think much of it. Once they told me what he had done to them, and rumored to have done to others, I knew you were the woman for the job."

That's all he'd had to say. He could ve lead with that and shook hands and been done honestly. Tommy knew a lot about you. He knew more about you than any other Shelby. More than Polly and even more than Arthur. After jobs in years past, you had spent the occasional very drunken night together talking. It'd all start with a drunken blurting out of something about Grace. You'd both be left raw and the stories just came tumbling out. As much of a pain in the arse he was, he had always kept your secrets. And of course, you'd kept his. So from these quiet confessions, you cathartically purged previous pain of your lives. Spoken into the flames of a dying fire, your pouring and drinking to kill that pain still very much alive.

Because of the nature of the stories told, he knew you preferred to take on jobs that required murder if you thought the person deserved it. Due to the nature of this man's crimes and your stories told, Tommy came to you when he found out a man causing trouble had harmed women because he knew you'd say yes. You had yet to fail him on a job and he was noticing that Alfie was also catching on to how much your allegiance was worth. This didn't bother him in the slightest, he honestly wanted to encourage it. The thought had crossed his mind more than once that if you and Solomons were to join forces, that would mean mutually assured loyalty of Solomons through your orders. He'd only ever known you to be, and frustratingly so at times, a loyal person to those you loved, and as much as you claimed not to like him, he couldn't help but think you counted him amongst those you were loyal to. He didn't see this as changing anytime soon, and you wouldn't let Alfie harm him if you had any control over it, and he suspects a woman like you would certainly have control over a lot of things in a relationship.

So this power hungry pig was known for his fondness of burlesque starlets. It would be easy to get him alone for the purpose of seduction. The man thought he was clever, thinking that dancers couldn't possibly be threats. He'd send his men away, except his driver who Tommy said he could have taken care of with no work needed on your behalf.

"And where will this be happening? You don't own a bar with a stage." you say, holding your hand out to ask for an explanation.

"That's why I wanted the meeting here and on a Saturday afternoon." he says with a subtle smug smile and you nod.

"You want to use Alfie's club," you state, lips pursed, looking at the door, wondering if the bugger was eavesdropping. "You want me to go grab him or ask him later?" you sigh out, swinging your head back towards Tommy.

"I'd actually like to speak to him alone first if you don't mind." he says in an indifferent way. You sigh and stand.

"If he'll speak of business on Shabbat." you say sarcastically with a closed mouth smile.

"He's not trying to sell you that holy routine is he?" he shakes his head, eyes rolling but an amused look on his face.

"No, but I do find his hypocrisy and blasphemy highly amusing." your chuckle shakes your shoulders as you leave the room to send Alfie in. ------- After being informed to the situation, the plan and the inquiry to use his club to do it Alfie sits back in your chair at your desk, hands on his stomach, shoulder hunched and brow low, clearly hesitant.

"I've kept the place quiet so far mate, best not mix things up right now. Not with the way the politicians are actin' skittish after our last job." he says, his face less tense but still unhappy.

"This man's cousin will not mind him gone. I'll clean it up. I just need a controlled environment." he offers, shrugging his shoulder. "Since Genevieve would be in a reasonable amount of danger with this rather large and strong man alone, I thought you might prefer to be around if anything did not go according to plan." he offers in a voice that is too still and calm to not make Alfie's eyes narrow at the man in offense to his assumptions of him.

A "Hmph." of consideration was the only response given to him for using you as a means to appeal to his emotions. He wasn't sure how he felt about the man's boldness to suggest he'd care about such a thing. Even if he was exactly correct in his presumption.

"If I know I can trust the owner of the establishment and the men in it, that lessens the probability that something will go awry significantly," he states with an easy going nod, presenting the attempt at persuasion and using you as a piece of the negotiation. "And we both know we can trust her, eh?" he offers, leaning forward with a nod of his head towards the door.

"You'll clean it up?" he asks, fingers tapping together in front of his face. "I just gotta give you a place for her to dance and 'ats it? You handle all the planning and dirty work?" he leans with his elbows on the desk.

"Every bit of it." he says convincingly.

"You got them political connections now, dontcha? Running for office and what not." he huffs out a laugh. "This a job for 'em?" he asks, tilting his head. "A favor among the aristocracy?" he lets out an amused breathy chuckle.

"Not exactly, no. It being at your club should bring no suspicion to you with the ends I have tied up." he says with a subtle purse to his lips, head tilting back at the man to show he wasn't backing down.

"So ya just use me place and ya payin' me? Is this what I'm to take away from this?" he asks, hands out in question.

"Yes, Alfie, that's what I'm offering." he states very matter-of-factly.

Alfie spits in his hand, Tommy follows suit as they move to open the door to include you in on the conversation.

Pt 24 Every So Often

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seriouslyhooked · 7 years ago

Text

Scoring Your Love (Part 9/?)

Part One, Part Two, Part Three, Part Four, Part Five, Part Six,Part Seven, Part Eight. Story also on FF here and AO3 here. Banner by the wonderful @timetravelandfairytales

Modern AU where Killian is a world famous soccer star who has hit rock bottom and been sentenced to the place where ‘football’ legends go to die – America. While here he crosses paths with Emma, an up and coming musician and film scorer who challenges everything he thought he knew and makes him want more than the game he’s always loved. Will be filled with fluff for days, and eventually rated M.

A/N: Hello all! I am back again with another chapter, this time from Emma’s POV again. We are jumping ahead a few weeks, and surprise – we are still firmly in a land of fluff. This will be the case for a few chapters yet (though there’s some more to the story I have envisioned that will at one point pop up). That being said, I hope you guys enjoy this chapter as it provides some CS cuteness and Emma and her friends as well.

LA was synonymous with many things, stardom, fame, and money just to name a few. But a defining word that both locals and visitors used when describing this place was sunshine. All year round this was a city where people could count on the sun. The weather was supposed to be sublime at any time of year… but sometimes, every so often, rain came to the city, and when it did people collectively lost their shit.

“So you’re seriously telling me that the rain is reason enough to close all these shops?” Killian asked as he and Emma walked down the street under the large umbrella he’d come prepared with for their date today. They had just passed the third place in half a block that had a ‘closed early’ sign in the window and the count was bound to get higher as they made their way to her apartment.

Emma had to laugh at the face of confusion and of complete disbelief that Killian was sporting. Clearly he did not understand the LA mentality, and she couldn’t exactly blame him. London was known for its rain and the gray. To Killian this weather must feel like nothing, but to residents of always sunny California, multiple inches of rain in one day was far from normal. In fact, it had set some people into full-blown panic, causing early school closures and a mass migration of people from their work to their homes. Most people she knew didn’t even own rain boots, but after a handful of road trips with her friends, Emma had acquired a pair and a raincoat to match, helping her enjoy the precipitation rather than distress over it.

“Well we don’t exactly get snow days…” Emma hedged, trying to give her fellow citizens some benefit of the doubt, even if she knew they were all totally blowing this out of proportion. “Besides most people are just trying to get home at a decent hour. You thought rush hour traffic was bad on a good day? Imagine it when you throw a whole day’s worth of rain into the mix. ”

“Good God, I don’t think I can bear to,” Killian mumbled and Emma laughed, leaning closer into him as she did and knowing before she looked back up at him again that his grin had returned. They’d developed a habit as of late; Killian said something funny and charming that made her laugh, and that only made his already constantly good humor burn brighter. It was a seemingly never ending cycle, a really good one that always meant their dates or their calls ended well, with Emma feeling hopeful and happy and wishing she didn’t have to say goodbye.

“You know you could always stay over… wait it out with me until tomorrow,” Emma offered as they got to the front of her apartment building, knowing already that as much as she meant it Killian would still decline the invitation.

“I could, Swan, but we both know what a night at your place would lead to.”

Killian uttered the words as he closed the umbrella to hold the door for her. He was always the gentleman, but the feel of his hand as it slid over her lower back was hardly chaste or polite. It made Emma want things, things she knew Killian wanted just as badly even as he denied both of them. Three weeks – three freaking weeks of dates and talking and getting a little more wrapped up in each other every day, but still he was holding firm to the thought that they should wait until the time was right. Emma knew arguing the point was a losing battle, but she couldn’t help poking all the same.

“That really hot sex you keep promising?” She asked, feigning ignorance of the influence her words would have as the elevator doors opened and they entered together. “Because I have to be honest, I wouldn’t mind giving in at all.”

“Bloody hell, Emma,” he cursed as he pulled her to him, her chest coming flush against his as her hands landed on him to brace herself.

Being so close to him now Emma saw in his eyes just how much hunger was brimming under the surface. All afternoon he’d reined himself in, never closing himself off but holding firm to control over any baser urges. In this moment though Killian was so close to giving in, closer than he’d come any day before, and Emma wished he would just do it. Three weeks was an awful long time to wait with an attraction like this in the mix. Hell, they’d passed the third date mark what felt like ages ago, but at the same time it was kind of thrilling to have a man who cared so much about them making it that he advocated for taking things slower. Despite Emma’s want for more, she gained a little more assurance of Killian’s intentions every time they did this dance. Little did Killian realize, however, she didn’t need any more assurance. She was already certain of him, he just had to realize that.

“There’s never been a woman more tempting than you,” Killian said as his hand cupped her cheek, his gaze glancing from her eyes across her features before landing at her mouth. “You just might kill me one of these days.”

“Or you could just give in,” Emma said before pressing a quick kiss to his lips, one that she knew he would have liked to take further if the doors of the elevator hadn’t opened to her floor. Instead she led him by the hand to her place. “I know you think I only want you for your body, but I promise I’ll still be here in the morning.”

“Well you would be, love, it’s your apartment,” Killian joked and Emma rolled her eyes and shook her head, trying to pretend she didn’t love the banter. Then he got serious, taking her in his arms again and waiting for her to meet his gaze. “Besides, my waiting has nothing to do with trust. I know the goodness in your heart, Swan. I know you’re a woman of your word.”

“But…?” Emma asked, curious as to what still held him back.

“But when I finally have you in bed, Emma, I want you to be sure. I want you on the exact same page as me. The one that says this thing between us isn’t ending, at least not any time soon.”

Emma couldn’t be entirely sure, since she wasn’t a mind reader, but it felt like those last few words weren’t the exact ones that Killian had wanted to say. Maybe she was projecting, but it felt like he didn’t want her to imagine this ending period, and if that was the case he still didn’t have much to fear. As crazy as it was, and as foreign as falling so deeply into a relationship was to Emma, she was in this too. She knew the way they fit together, the way it was easy and how even the complicated messy parts still seemed right. She knew that she had given more of herself already to Killian than she had to so many men in her past, and that even without the sex she felt more intimately connected to him than most people did with anyone. It didn’t matter that he was this big soccer star or that their lives were both crazy busy – they’d been finding a way to each other for weeks now, always carving out the time to truly give this all they could. But, Emma didn’t know what words he wanted exactly or what she could do to prove to him that she was in this. So far her plans hadn’t ever worked. They’d all led to moments like this, moments that were sweet and sincere but not all that she wanted.

Frustrated with her own lack of ability to sort this out, Emma did the only thing that felt right. She pulled him in for another kiss before her doorway, melting into it as she always did and luxuriating in the heat and passion that flared bright between them. Killian Jones was a hell of a kisser, but more than that he had this way of holding her and giving off this warmth and this sense of protection. They were in the middle of her freaking hallway, in plain view of any of her neighbors, but they might as well have been in a world all their own. Emma was lost in this and in him, reveling in the lines of his hard body as she moved against him. She took an indescribable amount of pleasure from the groan/growl that came from Killian before his lips set on hers again, and she swore she was getting through to him too, expressing what she couldn’t in words until an unfortunate interruption came barging in.

“Emma, we know you’re out here!” The door opened but Emma and Killian processed it just a second too slowly to not be caught. They broke apart, but still stayed close, flustered, but together all the same. “What’s taking so long- oh, crap! I’m sorry! So sorry!”

The door slammed back in Emma and Killian’s faces, but the commentary this evening had come from an unexpected source. It would be one thing if it were Ruby who had interrupted. Emma could totally see that happening (since it had come close to occurring before), but the culprit of this interruption was her friend Elsa, someone who never would have dreamed of such an infringement. It was a break in politeness Elsa could never forgive, and Emma knew her friend was probably on the other side of the door blushing like crazy and mentally berating herself. Then another voice sounded through the door.

“I told you not to rush her, Els,” Ruby said, sounding pleased as freaking punch that Elsa hadn’t listened.

“You didn’t say she had a date tonight!” Elsa whisper-shrieked, losing some of her composure. “You should have told me! Not cool, Ruby.”

“But real talk, what were they doing?” Ruby asked, ignoring that last part.

“Kissing!” another voice that was definitely Mary Margaret said with the gleeful giggle that only ever came when her friend had wine. “Definitely kissing.”

“Do you think? I thought Killian was taking it slow,” Belle mused and Emma squeaked out a sharp sound of embarrassment because Killian had definitely heard that.

“Slow doesn’t mean the man is dead, Belle. It’s not an Austen novel. There are more than stolen glances and heart eyes between those two.”

Emma groaned aloud now. Jesus, it was a certifiable party in there and now everyone was discussing her love life in full volume. She would die of mortification if she could, but then she met Killian’s eyes and saw the grin he had going and somehow that instinct to hide and to cower faded away. He wasn’t looking at her like she was the crazy girl with even crazier friends. No, Killian Jones was looking at her like she was the best thing he had ever seen, and Emma was powerless to feel anything less than thrilled. Then his fingertips came to brush a piece of hair that had fallen from her ponytail back behind her ear and she shivered at the contact.

“I guess in your imagining of this there’s also a little more privacy when things finally happen, right?” Emma asked, now very very glad she hadn’t convinced Killian to come in. He chuckled at that.

“Aye, love. It seems you’ve got a full house, but I’m certain you didn’t realize you would when you offered.”

“Definitely not,” Emma agreed, her hand running down her chest as she sighed. “Well I guess that’s it then.”

“Hardly,” Killian replied before bringing her in again and dazzling her all over with another heated kiss. It was tantalizing and dizzying, a kiss designed to entice her and remind her of something she never forgot – that she wanted Killian, and she wanted him bad. But it was also too short, too brief for Emma to come even close to satisfied, and it took everything not to moan at the loss when he pulled back, his eyes having gone darker as they held hers spellbound. “This is far from over, Emma. I’ll convince you of that soon enough, but you can be sure that when I do we’ll have two critical things – distance from the rest of the world, and time.”

“Time?” Emma asked, still distracted from the kiss.

“Time,” Killian responded.

That one word sparking about a dozen fantasies of what she and Killian could do with all of that desirable time. Unfortunately noises from inside intruded again, and with one last goodbye and a promise that he’d call her tomorrow when the team had landed in Denver for their next game she headed inside to face the rabble-rousing crowd currently camped out in her living room.

The chatter going on once Emma closed the door behind her gave the appearance that her friends were engaged in some kind of conversation, but Emma didn’t need to hear the particulars to know that it was staged at this point. She and Killian had no doubt been the hot topic since Elsa’s opening the door, so walking in to hear Mary Margaret discussing a new cupcake recipe she’d tried this week sounded a little less than organic.

“I must have missed the memo on girl’s night this week,” Emma said calmly, sizing all of her friends up and seeing the ranging senses of shame or regret. There was Elsa, who looked just as stricken as she did before, followed closely by Belle who gave a definite ‘I’m sorry’ vibe through her expression. Mary Margaret looked slightly torn, clearly chomping at the bit to ask questions but also wanting to be respectful, but Ruby – always predictable Ruby – went right in for the kill.

“I called an emergency meeting, Emma. A situation like yours requires immediate back up.”

“Excuse me?” Emma asked, halting mid-step. “My situation? What does that even mean?”

“It means that you have a sinfully sexy soccer star traipsing all over this city with you, calling you when he’s away, sending you things just because they make you smile, basically killing it as boy friend material and you’re still hesitating.”

Emma scoffed at the idea. She was hesitating? Wow clearly her friends were off the mark with this one. They thought that she was the one who was taking things slowly, but they couldn’t be more wrong. Emma didn’t know how to feel about that. On the one hand she was glad that Ruby hadn’t been eavesdropping through the door during these goodbye moments (something Emma would not have put past her), but on the other hand it was kind of rude to have her friends plotting an intervention for a problem she didn’t have.

“Did it ever occur to you that hosting an intervention might complicate matters if I were hesitating and decided to finally give in?” Emma asked and Ruby tilted her head considering.

“Nope, but was he coming in tonight?” Ruby asked and Emma sighed and shrugged off her jacket before shaking her head no. “See! Hesitating.”

“Oh I don’t think she’s hesitating,” Elsa said before covering her mouth, as if she were shocked by the fact that she’d commented. “Sorry, Emma.”

“It’s fine,” Emma sighed, the feeling she had of agitation a moment ago slipping away. “And for the record Elsa’s right. I’m not.”

“So why the molasses pace?” Belle asked, surprising Emma with the bluntness of it. Belle wasn’t exactly known for jumping into bed with people. She didn’t do casual hook ups, so her thought that three weeks was a long wait was striking to Emma. Then Belle explained the inconsistency. “Sorry, Ruby’s words.”

Of course they were, and though they were hyperbolic Emma smiled despite herself. She was a person who valued her privacy and who didn’t love to be confronted about things she saw as personal, but the reality was that her friends were more than friends. They were her sisters, her family, and the best part of family was sticking together and knowing that through whatever came you could count on them.

“I’m assuming everything I say never leaves this room…” Emma said, to which all of her friends swore agreement. With their word delivered, Emma finally sat down on the couch between Mary Margaret and Elsa. “We’re taking it slow because Killian wants us to. It matters to him that we do this right.” Belle and Mary Margaret sighed dreamily at the confession.

“What could be more right than good sex? Nay, epic sex even,” Ruby asked. At this Mary Margaret interjected.

“Maybe love? I bet he’s a big romantic isn’t he, Emma?” Emma nodded at her friend’s question.

“He is. I didn’t expect it, but he’s thoughtful and present and interested, and I know that everything he does he does because he cares. It’s just…”

“You want more,” all of her friends said at once, causing them all to chuckle as Emma agreed.

“I want more.”

“And what did he say when you told him that?” Belle asked quizzically. “What were his exact words?”

Emma didn’t even need time to think on them, she just reiterated the words that were engraved in the memory of this evening. Unsurprisingly her friends all swooned a bit at his phrasing, and a mention or two of that damn accent was thrown around, but there was no deflection allowed on Emma’s part. Her friends wanted to know how she truly felt and she had no choice but to be honest.

“I’m falling for him, you guys. It’s fast, and it’s terrifying, but I can’t seem to help it,” Emma mused, her heart skipping a beat as she confessed these feelings aloud for the first time.

“Falling?” Ruby said with a laugh. “Honey you already fell. You’re not even trying to hide that, and neither is Killian.”

“Maybe,” Emma said, which by her standards might as well have been a shout from the rooftops that she was in love with Killian. “But I don’t have the words for that yet. If that’s what he needs for me to be ready… Let’s just say I have to find another way. At least for now.”

Her friends all volleyed around ideas of ways that Emma could say or do something to take that next step with Killian without throwing around that four letter ‘L’ word that had no business appearing so early in a relationship. But it was Elsa in the end who gave the wisest counsel and who got through to Emma in the way she truly needed.

“I think we all might be over thinking this. It’s not about looking to others, Emma. It’s about looking to yourself. How have you always expressed yourself? Where in your life can your emotions really live?”

“Music,” Emma whispered with a smile, one that Elsa immediately matched. No doubt her friend understood better than the others what it meant to find answers in music. It was a totally personal and undeniable experience to create that way, and it was also Emma at her most vulnerable, sharing a part of her heart and her thoughts with someone else.

“That’s genius! A love song! Emma you can do the melody, Belle can write the lyrics – I’ll do lead vocals of course. Mary Margaret how do you feel about tambourine?” Emma gaped at Ruby’s words, thinking she was serious but then her friend broke and laughed aloud. “Kidding! I’m totally kidding. This is all you, Ems, as it should be.”

“Definitely,” Mary Margaret agreed. “And from now on we promise no more interfering.” Emma blinked at that, trying not to laugh right in her friend’s face, but the giggle escaped all the same when Mary Margaret clarified. “Actually, scratch that. We need attainable goals… Hmm, let’s see. How about we promise no more interfering this year?”

“Eh, maybe this month?” Belle offered with her own laugh, tossing a pointed look at Ruby before Elsa chimed in.

“I give it a week max.”

“Oh hush. We will carry on as we always have. And do you know why?” Ruby asked rhetorically. “Because everything we do we do out of love and Emma knows that. Don’t you, Emma?”

“Yup. But just remember, what goes around comes around. And since some of you have intrigues of your own popping up,” she said looking to Ruby and Mary Margaret specifically. “You might want to keep that in mind.”

To that the friends all agreed, moving from Emma’s love life to other topics and enjoying a lovely evening together. And as she enjoyed the rest of the night with her very best friends, Emma found herself smiling about how good things were right now and how great they would be when she put this new plan into motion. Tomorrow she’d start crafting her way to show Killian their truth, and she knew in her heart this was the perfect way to show him she was ready. Soon enough she’d have what she wanted, and the best part about it was she’d do it her way and stay true to herself in the process.

Post-Note: So as I said this is a fluffy installment with both CS cuteness and also humorous friend time. I know I know, to some of you I am a tease and this has been described by a number of you as ‘torturous’ and ‘highly unfair’ but I’ll just go ahead and spoil for you guys - we get to the smut next chapter. To those of you have been hounding me about slow burn on this, I hope you’ll finally be appeased, but in the meantime I hope this was a good addition to the story for you all. Let me know what you thought and have a great rest of your weekend!

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carlylexwheeler-blog · 7 years ago

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The Chaser I Seek

Summary: Muggle-born Anne Wheeler is thrilled when she receives her Head Girl badge in the mail the summer before her final year at Hogwarts, and so is Pureblooded Phillip Carlyle when he discovers he is to be Head Boy. Neither Phillip or Anne knows much about the other, except for what they have learned from afar. Phillip has been watching from the Slytherin side of the stands for years as Anne leads the Ravenclaw Quidditch Team to victory after victory. Anne, on the other hand, has listened to the whispers about the Carlyle family and their obsession with Pureblood lineage, and she knows along with the rest of the school that the Carlyles are instrumental in Voldemort's slowly gaining success.

Neither is prepared to be jarringly thrown together their very first day by a food-fight blown out of proportion.

As both students struggle to balance new responsibilities, they will begin to see new sides to one another-- sides that Phillip has been taught never to look for, and sides that Anne is not ready to explore. But with the wizarding world taking new steps every day towards war, Hogwarts must cling to unity stronger than ever... Especially the two students who are the face of it all.

Word Count: 3,767

Warnings: Language, Phlip Phlop Screwing Up

Chapter: 3 of ?

Read it on Wattpad or AO3.

Playlist

Song of the Chapter: "Disconnect" by Marina and the Diamonds

Chapter Three: The Package

When the Head Girl woke in the morning to the shrieking of her alarm clock, it was with a foggy head and a heavy body. She most definitely had not gotten enough sleep after the ordeal yesterday, even though doubling up on the baths had saved her a bit of time. The sleepiness did not help her to remember, as she sat up, exactly where she was. The room which Anne had found waiting for her was lovely, with pale blue walls and Ravenclaw hangings as well as a window that looked out over the grounds. There were several bookshelves and a closet made of the same dark wood as her four-poster, and the room was furnished in the timelessly beautiful way the rest of the castle was.

After a moment, her foggy head remembered that this was her room now, not a dormitory with four other girls she barely knew. She could only assume that Carlyle's room was sporting green and silver rather than blue and bronze, and the magic surrounding the room interested her.

As she peeled herself up from her bed, Anne stifled a yawn irritably with her fist and dragged herself to her school trunk. There, she began rifling through her meager belongings for a pair of socks. With the hand that was not in her trunk, she gripped her wand and mumbled, "Accio robes." She pulled on a pair of worn knee-highs sporting the Ravenclaw colors as her robes flew into the room, nearly hitting her in the face. They were filthy, and Anne made a face at them as she began to murmur a few incantations, siphoning off the food and laundering them.

The problem with Anne's robes was that, frankly, they could only handle so much magic. She only had the one pair and she was as careful with them as possible, but she could only mend them so many times before the fabric would eventually not be able to take any more. It was already starting to show; well, it had started showing a long while ago. The material was frayed and faded and the hem was a few inches too high no matter what spells she threw at them.

When the robes were presentable and clean, Anne pulled them on and then put on her shoes beneath them. She glanced into the long looking glass that the room had provided and found the reflection of a girl who was clothed in a hygienic and modest manner, but one that also appeared shabby and worn. Anne let out a soft breath, knowing this was the best it was going to get.

Anne quickly pinned her hair up into the bun that she normally wore, hesitating for a moment as her fingers raked through her curls. For a moment, she remembered the strange events of the night before, in their bathroom. Carlyle had helped her remove a bit of food left in her hair, and his fingers had lingered in her curls for just a moment longer than she expected. She had been able to smell the scent of pine, and his hands in her hair had felt almost... Good.

And then, like the idiot she was, Anne had panicked and turned, bumping into him without clothes on. If he had not thought her to be a mess before then, he surely did now. It did not help that he seemed so intent upon engaging in banter with her. The Head Girl was competitive by nature and determined to have the last word, so she could not very well back down from his attempts to catch her off-guard. No matter what she did, it somehow seemed to amuse him... It drove her insane, and it had only been happening for a day.

When Anne realized she had been staring into the mirror thinking about Carlyle, she quickly finished pinning her hair into the bun and turned away from the glass.

The Head Girl picked up her school bag and slid the comfortable black satchel over her shoulder before exiting the dorm. Mercifully, the hallway outside the room was empty. All Anne needed to do was brush her teeth, and then she could be off. She quickly crossed the Common Room and pushed open the bathroom door, only to find the was not alone.

Carlyle was standing at the faucet and mirror all the way across the bathroom, styling his hair meticulously. He was clothed in a white t-shirt and a loose pair of pajama pants, and Anne was careful not to look at him for too long. She took a deep breath and made sure to remain in complete control of her face as she crossed the bathroom. He glanced up at her, muttering, "'Morning," and then returned to styling his hair into the same style he always wore.

Anne hummed in response, moving to the counter where she had left her toiletry bag the night before. She unzipped it and pulled out her toothbrush, running it under warm water in the second of two sinks. She began to brush her teeth, and as she did so, she fiddled with a loose curl that had escaped her bun. For some reason, she could not stop thinking about the events of the night before. It was foolish, she knew. There was nothing between them, and they barely knew one another. But they would not leave her mind no matter how hard she tried to make them.

When the Head Girl had finished brushing her teeth, she rinsed the brush under the water and relished the minty taste in her mouth. She was zipping up her bag when he said, "Wheeler?"

Anne looked up, a forced impassive expression spreading across her features. "Yes?"

"Unless you'd like another display of all this-" the smirking Slytherin gestured to his chest, and Anne felt her eyes widen in disbelief. "-I suggest you hurry up."

She blinked several times at him, caught off-balance. Finally, she managed to say, "Yeah, I don't fancy another look at your love handles, so I think I'll pass." She was such a bloody liar, and they both knew it. He was fit, which was not fair because the Ravenclaw Quidditch Captain worked constantly on her broom to remain in shape and he just somehow was.

"Keep telling yourself that, Wheeler," Carlyle hummed, and when he looked at her his eyes gleamed with mischief. Anne shot him a look and turned, leaving her toiletry bag on the bathroom counter. She was glad that he could not see her face as she left the bathroom because it was rosy in a way that she loathed fiercely.

As soon as she left the bathroom, Anne let out an exhale that she prayed he could not hear through the door. She pinched the bridge of her nose for a moment, shaking her head. Their dynamic was strange, and she was not exactly sure what he was to her and vice-versa. But Carlyle certainly seemed to enjoy his attempts to fluster her, and he succeeded more often than she would have liked. Damn him, she decided as she walked to the Ravenclaw side of the room and began to prepare a cup of jasmine tea.

A few minutes later, when she was pouring her tea into a mug that her brother had bought her for her birthday with money they did not have, she heard the bathroom door open. She did not turn, only set the kettle down and turned with the mug of steaming goodness in her hands. There was no sugar in it; Anne did not want to taste anything but the earthy green tea and the delicate, floral jasmine. She did not mind the bitterness so long as it came with the former. She found herself holding her breath as she heard Carlyle approach, and for a moment she was unsure what he was going to do. A little breath of relief left her lips when she saw he was going to the coffee pot beside her.

Carlyle glanced down at her straight tea, devoid of milk or sugar, and wrinkled his nose. "Disgusting, Wheeler," he commented, though his voice was relaxed and more playful than unkind. Anne raised an eyebrow and took a deep sip, not breaking eye contact with him as she did so. He wrinkled his nose, but amusement filled his eyes as he looked at her. "Yeah, alright, to each their own," he consented as he turned to the pot. For a moment, the Head Girl leaned against the counter with her tea while he fetched a mug from the shelf above the counter. She figured they might as well go down to the Great Hall together since they had to hand out schedules that morning anyway. The coffee pot was clearly enchanted, as was the kettle; the water took much less time than it did in the Wheeler flat, where the old machines took their sweet time to warm the water. Anne took another sip of tea as Carlye poured himself a cup, adding liberal amounts of cream and sugar both. It was her turn to wrinkle her nose at his beverage choice.

"You're going to get diabetes," she decided as she stood up from the counter and walked to the door without seeing if he was following.

He was, and when he finished his sip of coffee, he had a mustache from the cream. Anne took pleasure in her decision not to tell him about the cream lining the top of his full lips. "Maybe you're so prickly because you don't take sugar," he decided to himself as he walked beside her. She was having trouble taking him seriously with the mustache.

"I am not prickly," she huffed. "I have a low tolerance for nonsense."

Carlyle took another sip of his coffee (if it could even be called that), humming happily. "If this is nonsense, then I'll take more, please," he replied, and the two were comfortably silent the rest of the way down the steps to the Great Hall.

When they entered, Anne was grateful that they were earlier than most of the students. Admittedly, they had a shorter commute than the rest of the students. Still, she liked being early to things. She was never late for anything because it felt like it was giving up control, losing it in a way that everyone would notice. The young witch held the mug of tea close to her chest as she and Carlyle walked down the center of the Hall to the Head Table. There, Professor Lutz was sitting with eyes that looked just as tired as Anne's and Carlyle's own.

When they approached, the charms professor nodded to herself, approval in her eyes. "There you are," she hummed, and though she did not smile, there was a proud sort of affection in her gaze. "I missed you last night, dealing with the aftermath of all of that, but I was informed by several staff members that you stayed into the night to help. Your actions have been noted. Now, schedules..." The professor raised her wand, and then in an instant, a large mass of scrolls appeared out of thin air. The pile divided itself evenly into two, and then one massive pile of schedules fell into the Head Girl's arms while the other fell into Carlyles. "You have Gryffindor and Ravenclaw, Ms. Wheeler, and I'm going to let you take a wild guess at which schedules I gave you, Carlyle."

Professor Lutz's eyes came to rest on Carlyle's upper lip, and the head of Gryffindor allowed a little sparkle of mischief to glimmer into her eyes. "I see you decided to make a change, Carlyle. Your mustache might need a bit more grooming than that if you're going to keep it."

Carlyle's eyes widened, and he turned, struggling to wipe his upper lip with the scrolls in his arms. Lutz gave Anne a knowing look before turning to walk back towards the table, and then the morning was off to a busy start.

Passing out the schedules took a great deal longer than it should have, thanks to a mix-up involving a set of First Year triplets. By the time they were done, Anne only had time to scarf down the rest of her tea and then rush to class. Anne was immensely grateful for the fact that most of her classes were spent going over basic etiquette and expectations. Anne was much too tired to deal with anything much more than that, and if she had been given homework, she might have started crying right then and there.

Anne spent a lot more time than she had expected with younger students. They approached her with questions in the hallway, particularly the First Years. Anne was flattered that they had chosen her to come to and that she was approachable to the younger students of Hogwarts. Though she was desperate to get away from the poverty that she and W.D. were trapped in through hard work, she would miss this castle and its students with her whole heart. She would have to leave, yes... But that did not mean that she would not leave a legacy behind.

Anne did her best at giving advice, telling the First Years tricks to get around the castle and how to keep from getting stuck in one of the moving staircases or open particularly stubborn doors by sweet-talking them. She made sure that she left them with smiles or looking visibly relieved, and the Ravenclaw tried her best to make sure that they did not think they were inconveniencing her, even if they were. After calming down a particularly panicked second-year student who did not know how to get to the Year Two greenhouse, Anne practically had to sprint to Herbology all the way across the grounds.

Anne slipped into the greenhouse where the Advanced Herbology class took place just as Professor Stratton called, "Wheeler, Anne."

"Present," she called breathlessly as the door closed with a thud behind her. Several of the students turned to glance back at her, and Anne heard whispers among the clump of Slytherin students who were gathered at the back corner of the greenhouse next to the Venomous Tentacula. The Head Girl noticed that the group was mostly boys from her year... Ones that she realized had been heavily associated with He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, ones she often had in her detention for harassing younger students of Muggle descent. There were a few girls interspersed, many of the prettier ones from her year who came from rich families. And in the far back corner, Anne could see Carlyle, lounging against one of the greenhouse's glass walls as if he owned the place.

A little pang shot through Anne as she met his gaze, and then she quickly turned away.

Stratton was going on about protocol regarding the different lethal plants of the greenhouse, and Anne distanced herself slightly from the discussion. She had a way with plants and potions that had been noted by most of her professors, and her instincts generally carried her away from harm in the greenhouse. It was when she overthought things that she found herself in danger. As long as she understood the nature of the plants, she was always able to free herself from their grasp in record time.

It was while the Head Girl was zoning out that she heard the whispered conversation of the group in the back corner, an exchange she was sure they wanted her to hear.

"-Showing up late, and looking like that? Honestly," laughed Darya Flint, a tall girl with gorgeous green eyes and flawless ebony skin that matched the wood of her wand. "I swear, she hasn't bought robes since the Third Year."

Anne stiffened, and her hand tightened around the polished handle of her wand in her pocket. The beech wood seemed to warm up slightly in her grip as if it were trying to comfort her.

"It's hardly hygienic, is it?" agreed Cassia Harrows, the petite blonde who was always by Darya's side. "Probably stink like the sty she and her brother live in."

"I heard he's working in Hogsmeade now, at the Three Broomsticks," Darya murmured conspiratorily.

"Well, if we have to tolerate Mudbloods, at least they're scrubbing the counters like they should be," sneered Cassia.

Hearing them mock her brother, the brilliant wizard who deserved so much more than a sister to support and sleepless nights, caused her blood to run cold. Fury ran through her, and her wand seemed to suddenly feel like a chip of ice in her hands. It was itching to spring to action, sensing the emotions of its owner. But before Anne could do anything she regretted, she heard a quiet voice from the group.

"Can we please talk about something else?" the cool, bored voice of the Head Boy interrupted their conversation. Anne felt her eyes widen. Was he defending her? "I don't want to hear about any... Other girls." Anne was not facing him, but she could perfectly envision the smirk on his full lips, the one that he had whenever he was trying to rattle her. Anne's grip loosened around her wand, but she found herself feeling a bitter pang in her chest.

She had started to believe in him, last night during the food fight when their efforts managed to put an end to the madness. She had not thought they were friends exactly, but she had begun to imagine that maybe their partnership could be comfortable, beneficial to the both of them. But that had been foolish.

She had not been expecting him to leap to her defense, she had imagined that he might at least ask them to change the subject, plain and simple. Even if what he had just done was his attempt to put a stop to it, he had not come to the defense of his partner in a way that enabled her to say that for what it was. Instead, he was flirting with them, and she heard them let out little, almost simpering laughs in response. Anne turned back to Professor Stratton, shaking her head slightly.

Anne Wheeler was a fool for expecting him to be any different than she had imagined.

The rest of the day dragged by when all that Anne really wanted was sleep. She had skipped lunch in order to help a Fourth Year boy sort his schedule, and so when dinner time rolled around the Head Girl was absolutely starving. In favor of sitting alone at the table, Anne loaded a bowl full of French onion soup and took several warm, buttery rolls up to the Common Room, where she set them on the table in the middle of the table. It was then that she noticed a parcel, wrapped in brown paper and tied with twine, in the center of the table. The witch assumed it was for Carlyle, and she went to move it aside when her eyes landed on the tag on the crisp package. Her name was there, written in jet black ink and an elaborate scrawl.

Carefully, Anne took the package into her lap and untied the string. When she unwrapped the paper, she found a pair of robes in her hands. Anne's eyes narrowed as she turned them over, noting the Ravenclaw crest and the fact that they must have been brand new. A mixture of embarrassment and pure frustration washed over Anne in a single, powerful wave.

It was then that she heard footsteps coming down the stairs.

Anne turned and was met by the face of none other than Phillip Carlyle. She hated herself for noticing that his tie was loose around his neck, and he had clearly just been running his hands through his hair to smooth it back. His eyes widened when he saw her, and she thought she might have even seen a hint of fear when they took in her icy expression. Clearly, he had not been expecting her to be here.

"Wheeler," he greeted carefully. "Thought you would be down at the Hall."

"I have a lot to do tonight," she said coolly. Her narrowed eyes meeting his uncertain ones.

"Right," he muttered, glancing at the package in her lap. "Well, I was just setting down my things, so I'll just be-"

"How dare you." Anne's voice was quiet but sharp as steel, and he flinched.

"I don't know what you-"

"The robes."

He was a horrid liar, but he still attempted to defend himself. "I don't know what you're talking about," he fumbled. "But if you're talking about that package, it could have come from anyone. Maybe your mum was late sending the post."

"I don't have a mum."

This time, he had the decency to wince. "I'm sorry."

"No," she said quietly, dangerously.

"What?"

"I don't want your apologies, I don't want your pity, and I sure as hell don't want your charity," Anne spat. Her voice started out quietly, and then with every syllable grew louder. To punctuate the sentence, she wrapped the paper around the robes again and set them on the table. "I don't take charity, and your pity is insulting."

Carlyle's brow was furrowed over blue eyes, and he quietly began, "If this is about our-"

"Our what?" Anne hissed, shoving aside her chair and standing with clenched fists. His eyes flashed, and she thought she might have seen hurt. "Our partnership? Get over yourself, Carlyle. There is nothing between us, not friendship, not bloody teamwork. You are Head Boy, and I'm Head Girl, and that is all. I don't want anything else to do with you, especially not with your galleons. So you can take the money you spent on these damn robes and spend it on something more useful, like maybe having someone surgically remove your second face."

Anne ignored what she thought might be a mixture of frustration and hurt in Carlyle's eyes, but at least he had the decency not to say anything as Anne stood and turned on her heel. She raised her wand, and the tray from the table floated over behind her. The soup sloshed dangerously and she stormed past him towards her room. As soon as she was inside, she lowered the soup to the bedstand and let the door slam shut behind her.

Anne wasn't hungry anymore, so she pulled aside the covers of her bed forcefully and slid beneath them, forcing herself to think about anything but hurt blue eyes.

#phillip carlyle x anne wheeler #anne wheeler fanfic #Anne Wheeler #anne wheeler x phillip carlyle #anne wheeler fic #phillip carlyle fanfic #phillip carlyle #phillip carlye fic #the greatest showman #tgs fanfic #TGS #tgs fic #tgs hp au #the greatest showman au #the greatest showman fanfic #the greatest showman fic #hp au #the greatest showman hp au

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the-real-xmonster · 8 years ago

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Figure Skating and the Media

I’d like to build on Chibura‘s notes after Cup of Russia, which I shared the other day, and which I’d highly recommend you to go through if you have the time. My favorite part is her take on the media, which is as scathing as it is fair, and makes for an enlightening read.

I am not trying to justify the media's questionable practices, far from it. However, I want to point out that in this day and age, when the impact of an article is measured less by its ability to inform and more by the number of clicks it attracts, it should be to nobody’s surprise that sensationalism dictates a large part of the media’s modus operandi. The same is true for all kinds of sport journalism (if you can still call that journalism), but is even more prevalent in coverage of figure skating, a sport whose judging system is frequently viewed as esoteric, whose chance to be in the spotlight of public interest comes only once every 4 years, both of which factors serve to render it, at best, exotic, and at worst, incomprehensible and therefore uninteresting.

It is no secret that skating, for all the rise in popularity it enjoys in the East, has gradually lost its traction in the Western world. There are many different ways one could take to revitalize interest in skating among the North American and European audience. It just so happens that among those, sensationalism is the fastest and overtly most effective, at least in the short term. It’s too much work to educate the public on the technical requirements and too highbrow to discuss the artistry. Perception of esoteric, remember? We don’t want to perpetuate that. Now the drama, the rivalry, the glory of the title Olympians, the honor that comes only once in a lifetime, the nationalistic pride, in short, the narratives, those are much easier to, yes, narrated, and, if need be, conjured up on demand.

Moreover, from the media’s perspective, we are, as of today, already in the short term. The Winter Olympics is barely half a year away and that sets a definite deadline for them to rack up points for figure skating in the mass’ popularity index, that which would eventually transform into the oh-so-precious increase in viewership of TV broadcasts. The media might even manage to trick itself into thinking that it is doing good for skating. After all, what harm can come from attracting more viewers to the sport? The end justifies the means, right? Sure, once the Olympics is over, the adrenaline spent and the temporary curiosity satisfied, figure skating will recede once again to its obscure spot, but that would be somebody else’s problem. It is also easy, in between Olympic cycles, to pen heartfelt pieces lamenting the decline of a once beloved sport and berating the ISU for its inefficiency. It is even easier to find another non-mainstream sport to push into the spotlight. Look, isn’t that Tokyo 2020 rounding the corner?

So, for this entire skating season, do please brace yourself for a barrage of historical trends being misinterpreted, statistics being misrepresented, rivalry being forged from the most tenuous of contexts, controversy being made up and then dramatized and then blown out of proportion, kings and queens and rising stars and has-beens being crowned and then denounced and then crowned again just as quickly after each competition. I have lived through Torino, Vancouver, Sochi, and I can tell you the exact same cards have been laid down in the past, are being picked up this year, and will be played again 4 years later. The only significant difference between now and Torino is in the speed at which (mis)information is being created and disseminated, and together with it, an ever-increasing pressure on journalists to strive for the latest updates, the hottest news, the most scandalous stories, and a corresponding deterioration in their sense of responsibility and their ability to care. Not all journalists are like that, but their reaches are being overshadowed by those who are.

So, for this entire skating season, as fellow skating fans, may I be so bold as to invite you to, together with me, look at everything the media reports with a grain of salt, to be more cautious with what we are being led to believe, and to try our best in discerning fact from alternative facts?

I should also point out, however, that the media cannot be blamed for everything. They are for profit organizations, and their promotional strategy for figure skating, from a business point of view, is legitimized by the fact that there are not a small number of people out there who watch this sport for the stories and who are thrilled not by the jumps and spins and steps themselves but by the associative heroics and the dramatic undercurrents. I was pointed by @the50-person, the other day, to a post where the blogger essentially say that they don’t want to see Yuzuru Hanyu winning, through no fault of his own, but rather because him winning is boring and does not fit their preferred narrative (the original post has since been deleted, but as we all know, The ‘Net Remembers).

If you happen to be one of those people, well, listen, may I politely suggest the possibility that watching real life sports is not the most suitable form of entertainment for you? I’d think what you are searching for is no sporting action, but a story with a sport background. Think about it and let me know if I am not wrong, and then message me, if you want, I’d be most happy to recommend you works of fiction in any form you prefer (books, TV shows, movies, manga, anime) which cater exactly to your entertainment appetite. If you are partial to a certain type of plot, say for example one where the underdog miraculously prevails against a challenging opponent, I can also point you to specific titles containing such story line. In return, I ask only that you say this out loud and then keep it in mind: real athletes are NOT fictional characters. See, it’s not that difficult, isn’t it, to stay sane, rational, and disentangle fantasy from reality?

I’d like to make one final point, and I should warn you that this will appear entirely counter-intuitive: please, if you have the means, contribute financially to your sporting news outlet of choice, preferably a primary source. To echo John Oliver from one of my favorite Last Week Tonight episodes, the less we are willing to pay for the work of journalists, the more their business has to rely on ads revenue to survive, the more callous they have to be in generating contents whose sole aim is to attract the most number of views, which lowers the quality and in turn makes us even less willing to pay. It’s a vicious, toxic cycle which would not stop unless we consciously make the choice to break away.

*please visualize an adequate apology for ranting and long post here because I have run out of them*

P.S. This week my updates will be sporadic and I’m not going to be very responsive to asks and messages *visualize another apology here please* because I’m rather tied up with selling my soul to capitalism (an activity more commonly known as working).

#figure skating

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a-cup-of-polynectar · 5 years ago

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FAME

Rebelde AU

Word count: 3,3 k

Characters: Minah, Jane, Tara, Sungjae, Tyler, Daniel

Fame has just as many downsides as it has perks…

Fame has just as many downsides as it has perks. One of them —the one concerning Minah Delacroix and Jane Durand at the moment— it’s the fact their private lives as part of one of the worldwide sensation that is Impulse, are always exposed to the scrutiny of the public eye. One would expect just as much considering the pop group became an overnight sensation across the globe after starring the namesake TV series, but after so many years of being harassed by paparazzi, the media and even their fans and having pretty much lost any remaining bit of privacy, Minah and Jane have somehow believed —rather innocently, to be fair— that gossip-hungry tabloids would be tired of them by then.

Yet, it seems the world can never get enough of them, which from Jane’s perspective is just as sad —for a media machinery that has nothing better to report— as it is beneficial for the group.

“If you see it the positive way, at least we’re still relevant enough for a simple interaction to make it to the headlines” Jane tries to comfort Minah, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. It’s been the third rumor in a month regarding Minah’s romantic life and at this point, she’s dated a veteran Hollywood actor, the bassist from the most popular pop-rock band of the moment and now a member of the biggest boyband in South Korea —well, maybe biggest is a bit of an exaggeration, but they are undoubtedly the one with the most number of members if that serves as consolation—.

Deep inside, Minah knows Jane is right and had she not been harassed online by NCT’s fans, she would probably even go as far as to agree with her best friend out loud, but Minah is mentally exhausted and she just had the bad luck of bumping into Sungjae and his long time partner, holding hands in the elevator. Sungjae is one-sixth of Impulse and Minah’s former “love interest” in the drama series that launched them into stardom. He is also the love of her life, or at least that is what delusional fans and an even more delusional Tara —the third female member of the group— stubbornly insist on.

“I mean, will they ever get tired of us?” Minah groans, burying her face in a cushion and letting out a frustrated scream. Jane only pats her back sympathetically and bits on her lower lip. Should she say what she really believes or is this one of those situations where you tell a white lie to protect your friend’s feelings?

“I want to say yes, but it’s probably not going to happen anytime soon” someone else’s voice replies and for once in her life, Jane is actually glad to hear that voice. “I saw the news” Tyler Lee materializes behind the two women, holding a copy of Gossip Star in one hand and a coffee delivery box on the other. As per usual he’s clad in one of his head-to-toe signature Gucci outfits and looks as relaxed as a ten thousand dollar outfit allows him to.

Minah slowly lifts her head from the cushion, her hair a mess and her eyes red as though she had been shedding tears. She is about to snap at her groupmate when she recognizes the logo of her favorite coffee shop printed on the front of the box Tyler is now showing off with a silly smile. t’s been a nonspoken tradition for the group that whoever went to the coffee shop downstairs first was obligated to pick everybody else’s orders. It is usually either Sungjae or Jane in charge of the morning delivery, but since Sungjae was too busy doing whatever he was doing with his girlfriend and Jane spent the morning trying to humor Minah, the daily coffee dose is arriving later than expected.

Minah can’t help but let out a relieved sigh at the sight of coffee.

“I trusted you enough to never get involved with a member of the worst boyband in the world and yet you still managed to disappoint me picking the worst of them all” Tyler says, plopping on the empty spot on the sofa and chuckling lightly. It earns him a poke with the elbow and an eye-roll from Minah, but he is still smiling when he places the delivery box on the coffee table in front of them. “I mean, it was expected from Jane…of course she has a terrible taste,” Tyler says that bit eyeing the blonde woman with a judgmental look that she completely ignores in order to keep the peace. The last thing Minah needs now is to be stuck in the middle of one of the day-to-day arguments between them. “Apparently she’s been sharing her tips on serial dating with you” Tyler attempts to joke “But, are you serious, Minah? Mark Yang?” Tyler scoffs, smirk still present on his lips.

Minah’s reply takes a lot longer than it has any right to do, just because she’s been feeling as though someone is hammering on her skull and Tyler’s voice has only made her headache worse.

“It is obviously a misunderstanding” she states, reaching for the paper cup that has her name written on. “It was just a simple interaction blown out of proportion. I met Mark at our lobby a few days ago and walked him out.” A sigh heaves from Minah’s lips before she takes a sip from her caramel macchiato. “I was just being a good friend-” she says that last bit without realizing the full implications and though she tries to move on from the topic, Tyler manages to ask the question, before she can bring up the TV show Tyler and Tara have been invited to.

“What do you mean you were being a good friend?”

“I- I was actually-“ Minah hesitates, not knowing what to say. It is not a secret for anyone that Tyler tends to be a tad overprotective of Tara, so letting him know that Mark was at their building a few days ago to see her didn’t sound much like a very clever idea. She has enough for the time being as well, she doesn’t think she can deal with Tyler’s annoying nagging without considering homicide.

“She was just making me a favor and returning Jaehyun’s stuff to Mark” Jane intervenes. For a brief second Minah is surprised by Jane’s ability to make up intricate lies on the spot, but she settles for a thankful smile thrown in her way and squeezing the blonde girl’s hand briefly.

“Yes, I was doing Jane a favor, but somehow I’m now involved in this mess,” Minah says recomposing herself. “It’s sooooo unfair”

“You know what’s truly unfair?” Another male voice asks from the hallway. “It’s unfair I can’t go to my own apartment because Sungjae and his lover are having a passionate rendezvous” Daniel, yet another sixth of the group snarls, walking into the living room as he pushes a pair of Chanel sunglasses over the bridge of his nose. “In this broad daylight, for god’s sake”.

Jane offers a glare to the newcomer and has to use all her self-restraint to stop herself from tackling him down, but he doesn’t notice her reaction or if he does he knows exactly how to pretend otherwise. Instead, he sits on the armrest of an empty couch and brings attention to the paper bag he has been holding this entire time.

“Brought donuts,” He says, lifting his hand playfully, “I thought miss Delacroix could indulge in some sugar and forget about the diet just for today”

Minah rolls eyes. Of course, Daniel would be the one reminding her how Sungjae is upstairs probably fucking that awful girlfriend of his while she is stuck in her apartment, dwelling on yet another groundless dating rumor. The young woman doubts for a second, but ultimately decides she needs something to pass the bitterness in her mouth.

“Thank you, but I know you just want me fat” Minah says, reaching to snatch the bag from Daniel’s hands and pulling a chocolate donut that she immediately places in her mouth. Comforted by the taste of chocolate and the mouthwatering and soft texture of the dough, she gives Daniel a thumbs up and offers one of the sugary treats to Jane and then to Tyler, who are looking at her with something that looks like concern.

“What? It’s just a donut, stop staring and eat before I eat them all” Minah grumbles. She is ready to go off on anyone who dares to annoy her on what might be one of the worst days of the month, but her group mates know better than to irritate her under the current circumstances and they are quick to do as they were told.

“You know, maybe next time you should let Tara deal with lover boy on her own” Daniel says, pensively sliding on the couch “If she had talked to Yang herself, you wouldn’t be involved in this mess” Daniel rolls eyes “With Yang of all people” He adds, scrunching up his nose. “You could do so much better in that group…” The guy briefly looks at Tyler as if to make sure he’s paying attention “Taeyong is such a cutie, for example. I wonder if he’s dating-”

“I thought you said Yang came to pick up Jaehyun’s stuff” Tyler scowls at Minah

From her position on the sofa Jane can see Tyler’s jaw clench and Daniel’s eyes narrowing and though she is convinced her little lie is not to blame, she stills forces herself to speak to save Minah from Tyler’s accusations.

“I lied, ok? Mark came to see Tara, but she didn’t want to talk to him” Jane admits “So Minah went down and told him she wasn’t home”. The blonde girl attempts to wind up the conversation by picking a cup of coffee and sipping from it.

“Did you know that?” Tyler acknowledges Daniel presence for the first time, which is hilarious —for Jane anyhow,— considering Tyler has been unsuccessfully trying to ignore Daniel for almost a week now with less than stellar results because he always ended up being the first one to talk to him. Daniel only shrugs innocently in response and changes the topic.

“Is that my coffee?” He asks and without even waiting for a response he hovers over Tyler while he picks one of the cups on the table.

“I asked you a question�� Tyler growls annoyed, which makes the other male smirk behind the rim of the cup as he sits back down.

“I happened to be here when he rang” Daniel says, a teasing tone lightly laces his words. The intention is rather clear “But Tara refused to receive him, so I didn’t think it was important at all-” he doesn’t finish his sentence, instead he spits the coffee right out and starts coughing and choking.

Jane checks her phone distractedly and Tyler snickers discreetly while Minah, sighing wearily, is the one who reaches to pat —rather violently— Daniel’s back and saves him from what he claims, could’ve been a potential death. Tyler rolls eyes at that.

“I think M messed up with my order because this is definitely not a mocha!” Daniel complains dramatically as he puts the cup on the table, glaring at it as though it had offended him.

“That or you drank Sungjae’s espresso” Jane points out, signaling the name written on the side of the cup.

“Who drank my what?” Speak of the devil. Sungjae’s voice causes everybody to redirect their attention towards the entrance hall, where he emerges looking tired and slightly disheveled, his hair sticking out in all sorts of directions.

Minah thinks she can recognize that expression and she immediately looks away. The only mental image of Sungjae and his girlfriend is like a knife to her chest and it has her stomach plummeting.

As pretentious as it sounds, Minah Delacroix is not used to not getting what she wants. From a young age she’s been handed everything she’s ever wanted —and many other things she never knew she needed— on a silver platter. Minah never had to ask for anything. Even her fame came swirling like a strike of good luck, becoming the wildly popular icon of the French ‘It-girl’ rather effortlessly. Her refined recklessness and unique beauty have secured her star status and now, Minah is at the top of the world. Knowing that there’s something —or rather someone— as close and yet unobtainable is a new sensation, unfamiliar and daunting, and she doesn’t like the feeling at all.

“Question is who allows you to dress like this” Tyler scowls, looking at Sungjae as though his clothes have insulted him.

The lives of Impluse’s members are usually filled with responsibilities and high expectations. They are expected to be graceful and composed at all times, only speak wise, clever words and never to have anything but a beautiful, perfect image in front of cameras and their fans. If any of them were to make one wrong move, the future of the group may be in peril. It is so rare to see any of them in anything than overly elaborated, expensive clothes, that Sungjae’s simple black jeans and t-shirt almost feel out of place —especially in comparison—.

“Anyhow, Daniel drank your coffee” Minah says, her eyes trying to avoid Sungjae’s once he occupies the place across her on an empty chair.

“What’s with the mood?” As the appointed leader of the group, Sungjae knows to recognize when something is off, and the way everybody is suddenly quiet and Minah plays with the hem of her blouse obviously raise his suspicions “Did something happen?”

“Nothing much, just the usual dating scandal of the week and Tyler being clueless” a haughty smirk guised as an innocent smile makes its way onto Daniel’s lips.

“Dating scandal?” Sungjae repeats, brows arching and eyes jumping from Minah to Jane, as though he is expecting them to elaborate on it.

“It’s not a scandal” Minah finally speaks after an exasperating moment of silence. “It’s just a picture blown way out of proportion” she says in a hushed voice, still not daring to look at Sungjae.

“What picture?” Sungjae inquires and Jane can’t ignore how tensed his words sound, as if he were keeping himself contained within his body.

“A picture of Minah talking to Mark Yang in the lobby of the building” Jane is fully aware of Minah’s conflicting feelings, so she helps her out.

“And what was Mark doing here?” Sungjae’s voice is calm and it slightly evokes the tone parents use to talk to their teenage children.

“Visiting Tara, apparently” Tyler replies sounding eager to bring up the fact Mark has been unsuccessfully trying to woo his sister, as if Sungjae needed to be enlightened as well.

“Ohhhh” Sungjae trails off, understanding what happened without further explanation.

“Yeap…” Jane nods along, grabbing her cup and pressing it to her lips.

“Wait, did you know it too?” Tyler lets out an offended snort and glares at Sungjae.

“Everybody knows, Tyler” Daniel deadpans “Move on.”

“So everybody knew of Yang harassing my sister and no one said anything about it?” Tyler inhales sharply. At this point, it wouldn’t be a surprise if there were actual steam escaping his nostrils. “How can you all be ok with it?” He questions raising his voice.

“No one is harassing Tara” Jane sighs tiredly.

“It sounds like that to me!” Tyler retorts angrily “If not why is my sister making excuses not to see him and sending people to talk to him?” He asks with a roll of his hazel eyes.

“For the same reason you keep giving Daniel the silent treatment” Jane snaps, making both Tyler and Daniel turn to her, looking more than aggravated. How she dared to use their couple issues against them? “It’s obvious they had an argument.”

“To have an argument they would need to be something other than simple acquaintances” Tyler points out, purposely ignoring Jane’s previous words “Which judging by the sounds of it, they’re clearly not.” his eyes narrow, almost shutting close. “It’s all one-sided.” He states convinced.

“Not really” Jane counters back, eyes looking wearily at Tyler “Mark likes her and she likes him too. She just doesn’t want a relationship for the time being.”

“Not to mention she is afraid of romance” Minah sighs absentmindedly, without realizing she’s voicing her thoughts out loud. When she does, a fraction of second later, she covers her mouth as if she’d just blurted out one of her own secrets.

“That’s nonsense” Tyler rolls eyes “What is there to be afraid?” He crosses his arms over his chest rather childishly, “She just doesn’t like him”.

“Falling in love can be pretty scary” Minah doesn’t know where that confession is coming from and she’s pretty sure she’s probably talking about herself at this point, but she still goes on, her eyes briefly settling on Sungjae longingly before looking down at her lap “Especially when you’re in this industry” she lets out a long sigh “And unfortunately we are not the greatest of the examples, Tara believes she’s gonna get hurt and she doesn’t want to be just like us”

Silence fills the room for a moment that seems to last hours, filled with gazes and expressions that try to convey all the things no one in that group is brave enough to say.

Fame has just as many downsides as it has perks. There is glamour and shoes and handbags and expensive cars and exclusive invites to even more exclusive parties. There are the picture-perfect smiles on the front covers of magazines, the platinum albums and TV interviews and everything in between they’ve given up in order to keep the appearances. There are Jane’s failed relationships, Tyler and Daniel’s constant arguments, Minah’s willingness to settle for anyone as long as it helps her to bury her real feelings deep inside and of course, there’s Sungjae, holding desperately onto the last bit of his life before stardom, the last thing that makes him feel like the ordinary person he sometimes craves to be.

There’s only giving up.

“What do you mean we’re not a good example to her?” Tyler narrows his eyes dangerously. “I am a great example, thank you so much”

“Yes, watching you and Daniel fight every day is undoubtedly a great example” Jane snorts.

“Maybe it’s you not being able to date the same guy for more than a week that’s truly a bad example” Tyler retorts hurt. Jane looks at him, offense widening her eyes, mouth hanging open. It was a low blow.

“Ok, this is about enough” Sungjae has been massaging his temples for a while now and his voice is scarily calm when he finally speaks. “This is getting ridiculous. Whoever Tara is or is not dating is definitely none of our concern. It’s Tara’s personal life” He says, trying to reason, although he already knows Tyler will protest using some stupid excuse.

“That is probably none of your concern, but in case you’ve forgotten Tara is my sister” Tyler states, his lips slowly curling into a wry smirk before letting out a huff.

“It’s still none of your concern” Tara walks into the room and occupies the only available spot next to Sungjae. “But just so you know, none of you have anything to worry about” She says, smoothing the wrinkles of her skirt distractedly. “The fact I don’t want a relationship right now has nothing to do with any of you” That is a blatant lie and everybody is painfully aware of it at some level, but they —unusually wisely— choose to take her word and move on.

Fame has just as many perks as it has downsides. For Impulse, the greatest pop group in the world, one of them is sharing their daily lives with one another, for better or for worst, amid loud screams and even louder laughs or silent coffee breaks where there’s no need to talk because even silences carry their own meanings.

This one is one of them.

—

#minah #jane #tara #sungjae #daniel #tyler #rebelde au #story #by may

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cyclinginaskirt-uk · 6 years ago

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Oh Mr Claud Butler how I have missed you. Whilst your body may be rather battered and showing the ravages of age and many miles, who am I to judge!

Actually, despite a bit of rust and a few scuffs Claud the bike is running extremely well for his age and the minimum care I’ve subjected him to over the years.

Not bad considering I’ve crossed continents with him. But, since returning back to the UK, Claud has been enjoying a retirement of sorts as my shopping and beach bike with only the occasional foray back into touring.

I hadn’t realised just how long it’s been since I last went cycle touring on the road and on my own. Looking back my last trip was to Guernsey nearly 4 years ago, how did that happen?

Having done quite a lot of off-road bike packing in the last couple of years I’ve recently been itching to get Claud back on the tarmac and, whilst I’ve enjoyed the company of others, there’s nothing quite like the excitement of going it alone.

So, bags packed, chain cleaned and route planned I eagerly await my imminent departure for a 3 day nostalgia trip. The weather however has other ideas.

You’d think the middle of August and UK summer-time would be perfect for cycling and camping, long sunny days and dry roads. However, it seems we’re experiencing the wettest August on record, with my departure day set to expect 60 mile an hour winds and torrential rain and the country on storm alert. I do briefly still consider going but sanity (and strict orders from family) prevails.

Not wanting to be beaten though I spot a potential weather window a few days hence and, after some ninja-like planning, and half an hour with a credit card I’ve rearranged and re-routed my trip. What could go wrong?!

All sorted, I set out a few days later on a surprisingly sunny Sunday morning. There’s a lovely feeling about just shutting my front gate and pedalling off down the road. No need for stressful trips to the airport in the wee small hours, just me and Claud and a small mountain of luggage. Even short trips it seems necessitate bringing as much stuff for 3 days as you’d need for 3 months. That’s the joy of camping I suppose.

It is lovely though, riding out on familiar roads, which also helps me settle. After a temperamental start the Garmin 810 that I’ve borrowed grumbles into life and she’s now directing me along lanes both familiar and new. It’s the first time I’m not using a paper map and I’m slightly nervous. If the Garmin packs up I’ll be stranded, or at least I would be if my phone and second GPS device also fail (last minute panic bringing 2).

And that’s it, I’m underway! It feels both scary and wonderful to be going solo again. The wheels soon find their rhythm and my legs grudgingly get used to the once-familiar load they need to pedal.

The plan is for a 3 day tour from my home town to Newport in Wales, just over 120 miles away. I’ll cycle this over 2 days, 60 miles (100km) a day, with the final day spent taking the train part way back, before catching a ferry and finally disembarking to cycle the final 35ish miles home. Simple.

When searching for GPS files online I came across a wonderful mapping site called cycle.travel . This nifty tool allows you to plan either road or a mix of road and gravel routes anywhere in the world. In the UK it uses the National Cycle Route Network where possible and shows handy things such as elevation, mileage and even camping/accommodation. After you’ve plotted your route it can then be saved in a variety of electronic formats for use on GPS devices. I was like a child with a new toy.

So now, as I pedal, my plotted route is unfurling and I’m being sent down the first of a series of former railways lines which have been turned into cycle paths. Since Dr Beeching’s much hated closure of hundreds of branch lines and stations in the 1960’s a goodly proportion of our railway routes have been gravelled and given over to cycle and walking trails. The railway’s loss is our gain it seems. This first is a fine example even boasting old platforms and at one point a working steam locomotive driven by older gentlemen sporting oil stained overalls and big child-like grins.

It’s familiar territory but not. On my road bike I don’t venture down these paths and on my mountain bike they’re usually too tame. For Claud however they are perfect.

The day continues sunny and delightful as I wind my way out of familiar territory and along tiny country lanes filled with fields of corn and sunflowers, hedgerows, bees and at one point a herd of deer.

I’m so lost in my own thoughts and reverie that I nearly miss Garmin-lady’s directions into the drive of a big stately home. I obediently swerve across the road but thinking surely not, this doesn’t look right? But it is and, with some trepidation, I follow the cycle route signs through the middle of Stourhead country estate right past the front door of the mansion itself and exiting via a private wood.

And the surprises don’t stop there. Not much further down the road I round a sharp turn to find myself starting through the magnificent gatehouse arch towards none other than the magnificent Longleat House itself.

I wait nervously, expecting at any moment to be shouted at by security guards or arrested for trespassing, but nothing happens. Tentatively, I start pedalling, coasting down the quarter mile of ceremonial and deserted main approach towards the magnificent house. I will also admit to pretending I was the owner, arriving home to be greeted by my household staff….

The fantasy is blown as I intersect with the car-driving public as they wind their way towards the safari park and the famous drive through the lion enclosure. Everyone is jostling for space and, whilst still in shock at my grand arrival, I’m also slightly scared of the prospect of ending up in with the lions. Luckily the road peels off again just before the safari drive. Unluckily, the huge and ominous black cloud towards which I’ve been riding now decides to make its presence felt.

It disgorges its contents in spectacular style including thunder, lightning and biblical rain. I try to wait it out for a while but it’s cold and damp under the trees so, with a deep breath I take the plunge. Oh and it was a plunge, within minutes I’m beyond drenched. Water bubbles up through my shoes with every down-stroke of the pedals as it streams past us above the rims of Claud’s wheels. It coming down so hard that I can’t see the GPS, I can only hear the particular, smug beep it makes when you go off course. The tiny map is unreadable in the downpour so I blindly go up and down roads listening to the off-course trill and retracing my steps. Soaked, cold and lost I spot salvation in the shape of a ‘smoking shelter’ (a 3 sided shed structure) in the grounds of what looks like a nursing home. Beyond caring I make a bee-line for it and sit shivering in its semi-shelter watching the rain lash down. At one point someone comes out, gets in a car, waves at me and drives off. I don’t think they had the heart to move me on (or to get wet trying).

Finding a lessening in the deluge I grimly push Claud back out to the road and plough on. It’s sod’s law that I’m in the only big town I ride through today where directions are coming at me thick and fast but after much swearing and misdirecting I finally find the trail out of town. The campsite is now only 5 miles away but they are cold squishy ones, although the rain is at least easing as I pull onto site.

The wonderful owners of the aptly named Pitch Perfect couldn’t have been kinder and solicitously let me drip dry in their reception whilst bringing me a cup of tea and a refund (apparently I’d overpaid, they charge less for cyclists). Restored somewhat, a shower and a good meal in the local pub go a long way towards humanness and even if it is still raining un-forecast rain, as I curl up in my tent I am feeling, happy. Day one survived and, despite the soaking, enjoyed.

More un-forecast rain wakes me on day 2 but it’s dry and cosy in the tent and I really don’t want to get up.

Only the promise of a cooked breakfast supplied by a sweet little on-site catering van drags me out. The hot food and coffee instantly perks me up. Normally, on a longer tour I would be cooking most of my own food but just being away for a few days I’ve decided to indulge myself by mostly eating out.

Thankfully the drizzle is now waning as I pack up and say a fond farewell to a lovely campsite. Back on the road and the hot breakfast isn’t seeming such a great idea as I head straight into the first big hill of the day, after which the hills keep on coming, much steeper than yesterday’s mostly undulating terrain. Somerset keeps throwing lumpy tarmac at me. I’m still heading along very quiet back roads however, wonderfully, mostly traffic free but in decidedly poor shape, slews of mud, gravel and cow-dung drifting around huge potholes meaning I have to keep my eyes on the road for hazards.

The miles are going slowly today, bogged down by the hills, but at least the sun is out. Ten miles or so in I join what soon becomes a fantastic run of dedicated off-road cycleway, gravel and tarmac paths exclusively for bikes and pedestrians and skirting round or right through the bigger towns.

I’m soon riding through the city of Bath on some wonderful cycle path when ahead of me looms a tunnel mouth. I’m hesitating uncertainly when some cyclists shoot past me and disappear into the gloom. Nothing to do but switch on my lights and follow. Wow, it’s dark. Small recessed lights vaguely illuminate the walls but not the floor so you are nearly riding blind. It’s eerily quiet too, apart from the sound of water dripping and my own breathing. Occasionally a group of cyclists or walkers will appear suddenly out of the murk heading towards me and be swallowed up equally quickly. But the really strange thing is the tunnel just goes on, and on, and on and….. Just when it feels like I’ve entered some strange twilight zone I finally emerge the other side very grateful to see daylight.

Having never been a fan of confined spaces I’m glad at least it’s over until….. rounding the next bed there’s another tunnel mouth. Fortunately this one is far shorter than its sister. At the exit a handy sign now informs me that the first, Coombe down tunnel is actually just over a mile long and the longest cycling/walking tunnel in the UK. This, combined with the second, shorter Devonshire Tunnel was originally part of the Somerset & Dorset Railway which closed in. Apparently there’s even an audio visual installation which plays music although I don’t recall hearing this but maybe it was drowned out by the sound of rampant claustrophobia!

After the tunnels the dreamy, traffic free tarmac bike path continues. Stretching for miles through the city and beyond it runs prettily past a canal and through woodland, all the time following the line of the old railway. At one point there’s another old station, this time converted into a café complete with maintenance tools and a bike pump. I think I’m in heaven.

Rested and refreshed after my station stop Claud and I are preparing to head onward when I get chatting to some other cyclists. According to them it sounded like, from now on, I’d be following a dedicated cycle path all the way to my next big marker, the Severn bridge across to Wales. Now, whether I misunderstood or I went wrong I’m not sure but sadly, soon after the café, Garmin-lady directs me away from the lovely bike lane and back on to the local roads.

The traffic begins to build now the nearer that I get to the bridge until at one point I wonder if I’ve somehow wandered on to the start of the motorway. Just as I’m about to be directed on to a horrendously busy multi-lane roundabout the ‘off course’ beep sounds.

With relief I turn back and find the only other option, an underpass. Twenty metres in and the ‘off course’ beep sounds again. I retrace my steps and pick my original direction which leads to more beeping. The only option now left is to cross the exit slip of the busy roundabout. As traffic zooms by I take a deep breath, spot a gap and dart across the lanes. Heart pounding Garmin-lady emits a final disgruntled ‘off course’ beep and freezes.

After much swearing I manage to restart her and find, thankfully that I’m back on track. Until, that is, a few metres later when the road she wants me to take sports a big – ‘Closed for Maintenance’ sign. I can see the bridge at this point; I’m practically on top of it I just can’t get there. It takes several more hairy roundabout exit crossings before I finally pick up an alternative bike route one which thankfully does lead onto the bridge.

Despite the stress of getting there I’m childishly excited about riding over the bridge, one that will also deposit me in a new country as it marks the border between England and Wales.

Since 1966 the Severn motorway suspension bridge (Pont Hafren in Welsh) has enabled traffic to cross the vast river Severn between Aust (England) and Chepstow (Wales). Whilst a newer, larger bridge was constructed some years later to ease traffic congestion and offer a more direct route for those travelling from the south, the original structure remains the best route for cyclists and hence our presence.

It’s a windy ride to the apex but I enjoy looking at the wide expanse of the river Severn and the beautiful shape of the new Severn Bridge a few miles up-river. The bike lane is well-separated from the main traffic and allows for a more relaxed crossing, despite the traffic fumes and it feels wonderful to arrive in Wales on the great downhill swoop from the top of the arch. Crossing complete and the very urban tarmac gives way surprisingly soon to country lanes again. Unlike yesterday the sun is shining and I can relax a bit and enjoy the rural surroundings.

These continue, with the route winding in and out of quiet roads and unpaved gravel tracks. The headwind unfortunately is the only annoyance. I’m starting to get tired now too but push on, eager to cover the last few miles.

The ride in to Newport city centre to find my campsite is, as expected. Everyone I’d talked to had helpfully pointed out what an un-lovely industrial city Newport is. But, for all that, the bike lanes were well marked with some nice routes through urban common land as I wound my way across the sprawling expanse, past docks, warehouses, industrial units and back out into suburbia.

The very welcome Camping and Caravan Club site (the closest to the city centre I could find) is situated in the grounds of a stately home and parkland, a strange find indeed on the outskirts of the city. I nearly had a major meltdown when asking directions to the campsite at the house’s gift shop and the sales adviser said it was caravans only! Fortunately my booking confirmation and the site staff said otherwise as I very gratefully checked in after a long 63 miles. At least it wasn’t raining……

Seems I spoke too soon as I lay in my tent listening to more un-forecast rain that evening and throughout the night. Fortunately however the next morning dawned bright and clear, if not a little cold. At just a few degrees Celsius my breath was misting the air as I rushed through packing up my tent, hurrying in an effort to keep warm.

I wanted to leave plenty of time too to find the main Newport station and, riding in to the city centre, I was extremely glad it was still early, the traffic being light and pedestrians few. I love cities in the early morning, when it feels like the streets belong to you and you can make much needed u-turns across the road when you go wrong. Several times!

Due to the lack of time I had left I’d opted to catch a train most, but not all of the way home to Southampton, the nearest stopping point. Given this opportunity there was definitely one thing I wanted to tick off my ‘to do’ list. Catching the Hythe Ferry.

Even though I’ve lived locally for a number of years I’d never been on it, until now.

The ferry service is one of the oldest in England and runs between Southampton and Hythe in the New Forest. According to the historians it’s been doing so in some form since 1293 when it was discovered that Hythe provides a natural gravel bank forming both a sheltered bay and a good place for landings. It also significantly cuts the travel time between the city and the New Forest (and my route home).

Disembarking the train at Southampton after a very relaxing 2 hour journey I pedal the short distance, only a mile, past the ancient city walls (and not so ancient shopping malls) to the Town Quay. After a short wait Claud and I proudly lead the queue of passengers aboard and who luckily help give him a shove around a particularly tight corner.

The 20 minute journey across the water goes by all too quickly as I wave at the other shipping and wonder at the enormous cruise ships which also dock nearby.

On landing I discovered that Hythe also seems to boast the UK’s oldest pier train which runs along one of the world’s longest piers. Unfortunately for me this historical train doesn’t allow bikes and I’m also not allowed to cycle along the pier, according to the many signs. Nothing else for it and Claud and I begin the long walk back to dry land, all 640 metres of it.

From here on in I’m in mostly familiar territory although the joy of my new planning tool means that Claud and I get directed on to some fantastic new trails as well as the familiar favourites. My final 25 miles are through the stunning ancient woodland known as the New Forest National Park, famous for its herds of roaming native ponies which stoically wander along the roads blocking the traffic. It’s also known for its ancient Oak forest, with trees that are centuries old. Reputedly Henry the VIII hunted here and, at times, away from the tarmac it doesn’t take much imagination to conjure up a Tudor hunting party or two.

There’s not too much time for daydreaming though as I push on a bit. Mostly due to a large black rain cloud which paces me less than a mile to my west. I can actually see the rain coming down but, despite a few errant drops, amazingly I remain dry as I navigate the final few miles and arrive once again at my front gate.

It’s less than 3 whole days since I departed but it feels like I’ve packed in weeks of happenings.

All told, 1 train ride , 1 boat ride, 2 nights of camping, 2 countries, 151 miles of cycling, over 6,200 feet of climbing, 1 drenching and an unquantifiable amount of enjoyment. Cycle-touring rocks.

Now, to begin unpacking.

The best journeys are the ones that bring you home. Oh Mr Claud Butler how I have missed you. Whilst your body may be rather battered and showing the ravages of age and many miles, who am I to judge!

#Adventure #Camping #challenges #cycle paths #cycle touring UK cucling #Cycling #life #old bikes #panniers #Rain #Severn bridge #solo women&039;s travel #tent #travel #Wales

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