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simonxriley · 3 years ago

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OC lore part 1 of 7 for @gear-redfield

Since I have a ton of ocs I’m gonna start off with the ones that are in different fandoms and then work my way through the fandoms I have multiple ocs for. I think I’m gonna do 5-6 HCs for them so it won’t be a mile long. The other ocs I’ll go into more details (maybe).

Riley Sanders (Metro Series)

Has three Watchers for pets, they’re her babies. But there was barely any room on the Aurora for them until they ended up getting the other rail carts. They tend to sleep anywhere they want, mostly in place where they stop people from moving around the train.

She’s not very talkative, likes to keep to herself for the most part. The people she talks with the most is Ulman, Artyom, Anna and Duke. That was until Katya and Nastya joined them.

Being able to breathe fresh air was kind of liberating for her. It made her happy that there were placing where you can live and breathe on the surface, not stuck in the dark, cold and damp metro.

Besides her and Ulman, Nastya was the first of the Aurora crew to hold their son.

Her brother wasn’t with her when that whole issue on the train occurred. He has no idea if she’s alive or not and she vice versa. She’s hoping she’ll be able to see him soon and have him meet his new nephew.

Amazing at stealth. Can sneak by a group or camp in a matter of minutes without killing anyone.

Kenadee “The Viper” Taylor (Ghost Recon)

She joined the US Army right out of high school with her high school sweetheart, Maverick. They married a year later and a year after that had their daughter Addison.

Joined Delta Force at the age of 24. That whole selection process was rigorous but very rewarding.

She has a very happy outlook on life, always bubbly. You wouldn’t think she’s apart of Delta. It throws people off every time.

Lost her husband in the field when their daughter was 5 years old. She retired after that and moved back to her hometown of San Diego where she could raise their daughter in a better environment.

Joined Nomad’s Ghosts five and a half years later. All thanks to Midas, who she met because their kids go to school together.

Carries around a knife coated in snakes venom, only uses it during interrogations.

Anja Kovic (Uncharted)

Was born to Borislav Kovic, a General Major in the Yugoslavia Ground Forces and Svetlana Kovic, a former nurse. Also the younger sister to Vladimir.

She grew up in a highly abusive household under her fathers rule. He had that mindset of the men work and the woman stay home, then add on the strictness of being in a military family.

Wanted to be a nurse growing up but those dreams got shot down when her father married her off to the war lord Zoran Lazarevic at the age of 18.

Marriage to Zoran was horrific, she was just happy he spent more time in the field than with her. His death did not sadden her whatsoever.

Lost her mother to suspicious circumstances when she was twelve. Leaving her and her older brother at the will of their father.

After Zoran’s death she was finally free. She left for Serbia in search of finding her brother and during that time gave birth to her and unfortunately Zoran’s son, naming him Dragan. And yes, she did find her brother and became the nurse she always wanted to be.

Evelyn “Evie” Hazelton (The Order 1886)

Was born to Edith Hazelton and an unnamed father in London, England on October 1st, 1860. (Her mom was a prostitute)

She lived in a brothel up until her mom’s murder. She loved it, to be surrounded with so many women that helped her through her life, gave her advice and helped molded her into the woman she is today.

Sir Percival/Malory gave her a spot on the Order after her mom’s death and she became the protege of Sir Galahad/Grayson. There she learned how to fight and shoot a gun.

The first time she ever saw a werewolf she thought it was a big dog. It was late at night, she was young and couldn’t tell since it was in the far distance.

Has a scar going down her back from being scratched by a werewolf during a fight.

Very protective of the people she cares about. She was the only person who pleaded not guilty during Grayson’s trial because she knows him. She knew he wouldn’t have worked with the rebellion if it didn’t suit a good cause.

Lydia Wilson (Call of Cthulhu)

Her parents were apart of the cult that was trying to bring back Cthulhu. However, they left Darkwater when Lydia was five and moved to Boston.

No matter how much her parents tried to make her forget the past, she didn’t. She still has memories of the cult, what the uniforms looked like, the masks. It never left her.

Started hearing the voice of the Leviathan in her dreams once she hit her late 20′s. Eventually she caught wind of what he wanted and she set sail for Darkwater, a place she hasn’t been since she was five.

Her father ran a tailoring shop and she helped a lot through her childhood.

When she spaces out she has a resting bitch face. It makes her loo unapproachable according to her mother.

The first time she saw the Shambler she though she was hallucinating. That wasn’t the case and she never wants to deal with it again.

Lily (MCU)

Born on the planet Prometheus. A planet cover in lush green grass and waterfalls.

Ever since she was a child she had this fight in her. She use to find a decent sized stick and pretend to fight a tree.

Was married to Thanos for over 20 years. The only good that came out of it were her kids.

Joined the Avengers after Thanos’ death. It was nice to be around people and strike up conversations. She just loved learning about Earth and she would talk about her home world.

She was the first owner of the scepter until it was given to Loki. That made her angry, she really loved that scepter.

The first person she befriended was Carol Danvers because her youngest daughter, Lotus really liked her.

Ashlynn Davenport (Tomb Raider)

Was born into Trinity. Her father was a sergeant in the Trinity army and her mom was a nurse.

She liked her life for the most part, loved her parents and friends, but the more she found out about Trinity and all the harm they do she wanted out. Unfortunately they didn’t happen when she was being married off to the Trinity field commander, Konstantin.

Being married to Konstantin meant moving around a lot, never really staying in one place for too long. Once the mission was done then they moved on. She didn’t mind it, not at first. She liked traveling around and seeing the world, but the stuff Trinity did put a bad taste in her mouth.

Ash can be quite manipulative when she wants to be. It was something she learned from her dad growing up.

She helped Lara take down Trinity from the inside when they were looking for the divine source. No one figured it out, all of thinking it was Lara.

Ashlynn actually loved Konstantin, she just thought his mind was corrupted by his sister and was trying to make him see what was right. So when he died she was pretty pissed and was going to say her true feeling to Ana. Unfortunately the Trinity sniper got to Ana first. Leaving her with a bunch of anger inside her.

Sawyer Monrow (TLOU)

She was 12 at the time of when the cordycepts outbreak began. Her life was pretty great as well and then over night everything changed.

Her family ended up at the Hartford QZ, where her and her younger brother went through military training (just like in Boston) to teach them how to kill infected and other humans if necessary.

Met Joel and Ellie in Pittsburgh. She was with Henry and Sam at the time and after their deaths she stayed with them and made the trek to Jackson.

She can be very standoff-ish at first glance. It’s how she acts in this apocalyptic world, more so to protect herself and because she doesn’t trust people.

Started a relationship with Joel a year and a half later. He was the first person she really let in and was happy for the few years they were together. She even considers Ellie like a little sister.

She lost her family when the Hartford QZ fell. She tried to save her brothers, but couldn’t. That still haunts her to this day.

Phaedra Alexeyev (Werewolf The Apocalypse)

She’s very good at backstabbing and manipulating people. All thanks to her former caern. A part of her hates it, but the other knows how in handy it can be.

She was born at the Shadow Lords Thunderstrike Sept, Ural Mountains, Russia. Close to the city of Chelyabinsk.

Phaedra and Cahal became a surrogate family after they both had to kill a family member.

Always the first ready to jump into the action. When there’s a fight she’s on the front lines, she’s not going to miss out. And she just likes to fight in general.

She born under a full moon making her have the Ahroun Auspices.The Full Moon makes the Ahroun the living weapon of Gaia. They are the warrior among a race of warriors, the champion of a martial people. Ever ready to kill, and to die if need be.

Her name means Bright Defender.

Emma Ross (Stargate Atlantis)

Joined the Marines to help pay for her college tuition. She surprisingly enjoyed it and continued to serve as she got her degree in science.

Lived a very mundane life growing up. Had two wonderful parents, a good upbringing, nothing exciting really happened. Which might have been the reason she joined the military.

The hardest thing she has to do is lie to her friends and family when she was transferred over to the Atlantis expedition. Being so far away from them sucks, but with the Daedalus she has more of a chance to go visit them.

As much as she’s in danger, she’s never felt more alive than being on Sheppard’s team. All the action just makes her blood pump.

Ronon calls her ‘red’ due to her being a red head. She finds it kinda funny.

She’s very friends and loves to strike up conversations whenever she can. Getting to know more people on Atlantis made living there easier.

#gear-redfield #oc riley sanders #oc kenadee taylor #oc anja kovic #oc evie hazelton #oc lydia wilson #oc lily #oc ashlynn davenport #oc sawyer monrow #oc phaedra alexeyev #oc emma ross #long post

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eury--dice · 4 years ago

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history, huh?

chapter one: principium

(or: the Red, White, and Royal Blue TRC AU, but no knowledge of the book is needed to read this! ao3 link in the rb)

Adam knew he was in trouble when he found himself covered in cake, champagne, and shattered glass while clutching onto someone’s sleeve.

Admittedly, the memory of the night as a whole is a bit fuzzy around the edges, softened by jet lag and overwhelming anger and a few flutes of champagne worth more than the house Adam grew up in. But he remembered enough to recall some key details: one, it was no ordinary reception, it was the royal wedding; two, the cake covering him was the 75,000-dollar royal wedding cake; and three, that he clutched onto His Royal Highness, Prince Ronan Lynch-Mountchristen-Windsor, while covered in the remnants of his champagne flute.

It was an international relations nightmare that a rational Adam Parrish, the first son of the United States, would pay to avoid at all costs. Even the slightly-inebriated Adam could feel a distant spark of fear over what Maura and Calla were going to say to him once he was not covered in frosting and brawling with a treasured member of the English monarchy. (Well, “treasured” was a relative term. Prince Ronan was more of a recently-reformed scandal than a treasure.)

But as he caught a glimpse of Blue’s expression, a carefully constructed mask of surprise for the cameras that only those who knew her personally could read the amusement behind, Gansey’s hand wrapped around his wrist and yanked Adam off of the ground.

He must have abandoned his conversation with Roger Malory to come and bail Adam out; deep down, beyond the adrenaline and anger and alcohol pumping through his veins, Adam was touched at the gesture. Guilt also hit him with the knowledge that Gansey hadn’t had a chance to talk to Malory since he left England as a teenager and now Adam had ruined that, but he tucked it away to examine at a later moment.

Adam thought he might have heard Ronan mutter “Oh my fucking Christ” from somewhere behind him in his stupid posh accent. Slinging an arm around Adam’s frosting-coated shoulders to steer him towards the Secret Service Agents already surging forward, Gansey leaned his head towards Adam’s and whispered around a smile, “What the fresh hell did you do?”

And, well. It was a good question. He glanced back at Ronan where he lay on the ground, already brushing off the help of the royal guards and climbing gracefully to his feet, the bead of blood on his cheek sparkling in the majestic royal lighting. Just a few minutes before, the Prince had stood by himself, a dark contrast to the pristine tiered cake and tiny buttercream flowers and gleaming champagne fountain behind him. And Adam, who was rarely angry over anything but could easily go too far when provoked, decided to engage.

“If it isn’t His Royal Highness,” Adam had said, drawing Ronan’s eyes to him. He could see the moment Ronan realized he wasn’t himself, taking in the curled hand and slightly flushed cheeks. Adam was a convincingly sober drunk, and something about Ronan being able to see through it pissed him off. And the fact that Ronan had spent more than half the night hiding away from the cameras and drinking himself didn’t help. Adam would’ve expected to find him dead on his feet and barely standing, but clearly Ronan was less of a lightweight than he was.

Ronan’s lips curled in what might have passed as a smile but looked a little too much like a predator baring its teeth. “Mr. Parrish,” he said, all clipped vowels and stiff politeness that made Adam want to scream. His lips lingered on the ‘h’ shape for a moment too long. “I’m surprised you’re speaking to me.”

Honesty was the last thing Adam had expected. “Why, because you monopolized Blue and treated her like some kind of...toy to ignore?”

His nostrils flared suddenly. “No, I do not... use people. But you have been avoiding me all evening when I’ve done my best to be civil.”

Adam laughed too loudly at that. “Civil? Yeah, okay,” he said, his mouth curved into a smile. “Most civil member of your family, I’m sure. Declan and Ashley would agree.”

Ronan went silent, swirling his champagne around in his hand and raising an uncoordinated hand to run over his shaved head. When he spoke, he grit his jaw as though holding back some impulse like the good repressed English boy he was. “I’d suggest you to go drink some water and find your way out before you do something you regret.”

“Or what?”

Ronan stepped closer to Adam so that they were nearly chest-to-chest, his two-inch height advantage only pissing Adam off more. “I said I’d advise you to stop.”

And Ronan, so subtly that he doubted any camera could pick it up, pushed Adam away with one hand. It would have worked splendidly had Adam not back-tracked and grabbed Ronan’s sleeve, sending them both falling.

And now they were both covered in frosted roses and shame, Adam stuck with Gansey’s voice on the plane saying please table your rivalry for one night reverberating in his head.

What the fresh hell, indeed.

***

Silence hung over the West Wing briefing room like a wet blanket. Maura Sargent stared unblinkingly into Adam’s eyes from where she perched on the edge of the table. Adam, from his seat at the head, stared back with every ounce of courage his mother’s PR campaigns taught him. Maura seemed to be studying him, and Adam simply didn’t know how to look away.

“Blue,” Maura said finally. On Maura’s other side, Blue wordlessly handed over a stack of newspapers, her gaze shifting from Maura to Adam as though watching a ping pong tournament. Adam knew of Maura’s “no restrictions” policy at home with Blue, but everyone knew this policy in no way related to her work life. Still, Blue watched attentively with knitted brows as though trying to guess the outcome or will a better one into existence.

“Gansey?” Maura asked, all without removing her eyes from Adam’s. The touch of anxiety in Blue’s expression didn’t even begin to reach the anxiety in Gansey’s face, as he stared at Adam like he was a lost puppy. Still, Gansey had more poise than most politicians did, and he managed to smoothly relinquish a stack of magazines into Maura’s free hand. Maura combined the stacks into one in her right hand before dropping them into Adam’s lap with a dull thwap.

“These are just the ones being sold outside this morning, not to mention what’s circulating in the British tabloids,” she said, finally turning away and reaching for a mug of coffee. “Read them.” She muttered something that sounded suspiciously like Jesus, but Adam didn’t try to discern it. He went for the stack instead, glossy pages almost slipping through his thin fingers.

THE $75,000 STUMBLE greeted him on the front page of The Washington Post.

BATTLE ROYAL: Prince Ronan and FSOTUS Come To Blows at Royal Wedding

CAKEGATE: Adam Parrish Sparks Second English-American War

Everywhere he flipped, images of he and Ronan covered in sparkling broken glass and frosting assaulted his eyes. The images and headlines blurred together, and he flicked his gaze back up to Maura. All he could see for a moment was Ronan’s rumpled suit and the sliver of red on his cheek. He blinked three times in rapid succession and Maura returned, her brown eyes cool and calculating over the rim of her travel mug.

“Isn’t this a topic for the Situation Room, Ms. Sargent?” He asked. His mother, seated across from him, and Blue both pursed their lips, although for entirely different reasons; Blue appeared to be holding back laughter while his mother must have been holding back something else. Maura narrowed her eyes, oblivious to Gansey’s tightening expression behind her.

“Don’t Ms. Sargent me,” she replied, her tone cool. “I knew all your secrets, kid. I’ve been watching you since you were five. The sass will get you nowhere.” She snatched the Sun article from out of his hands, flipping it open to the correct page and hiding Ronan’s buttercream-smeared frown behind her fingers. “‘Sources inside the royal reception report the two were seen arguing minutes before the cake-tastrophe. But royal family insiders claim the First Son’s feud with Ronan has raged for years. A source tells The Sun that Ronan and the First Son have been at odds ever since their first meeting at the Rio Olympics--’” here Adam made an odd, strangled noise -- “‘and the animosity has only grown—these days, they can’t even be in the same room with each other. It seems it was only a matter of time before Adam took the American approach: a violent altercation.’”

Adam locked eyes with Gansey at the last line, watching Gansey’s lips thin just as he felt the blood drain from his own face. His eyes slid over to Blue, who yielded much of the same reaction. His mother, surprisingly, didn’t change her posture. If she was thinking of Robert Parrish like the rest of them, she had a better poker face.

“They’re blaming this on Ana’s administration,” Maura continued, pushing on through the stony silence. “Please, explain the joke to me.”

“He started it,” is all Adam was able to say, which was probably one of the worst ways to defend himself. Sounding like a petulant toddler helped nobody, but he had made his bed and so he would lie in it, too. “He shoved me and I grabbed his sleeve to-”

“Adam,” his mother said, raising one hand to cut him off with the smooth, brown skin of her palm. He quieted at once, recognizing her demeanor as half-presidential and half motherly. Ana’s voice was caught somewhere between the sugary drawl that lulled him to sleep as a child and the All-American southern twang that helped win her an election. “You know I trust you, sweetheart, but the press sure as hell doesn’t give a fuck about the nitty-gritty of who started what.”

“Ronan definitely touched him first,” Gansey said, his voice unhurried but his face clearly eager to shift some of the blame off of Adam. Maura shot a cool look in his direction.

“He-said, she-said, that doesn’t matter. The press thinks and we can’t change their mind, we can only prove them wrong.” She held out a hand again, and with a sigh Blue acquiesced a new, thick file. Maura dropped it in front of Adam like a hot potato. “Here’s damage control. This rivalry with the prince of England ends now.”

“It’s not a-”

“Rivalry, we know,” his mother interrupted wryly. The tone was odd from her president-mode self, her wayward curls tamed into a perfect ponytail and her face made up instead of the more casual expression she normally had when joking. “But, sugar, if it looks like a duck and quacks like a duck, it’s probably a duck. You can call it whatever you like, but it’s always gonna be seen as a rivalry.”

Adam sat silently, flipping through a section entitled TERMS OF AGREEMENT. Maura continued. “You’re flying to England on Saturday and spending the weekend with Ronan.”

It took a moment for the words to sink in, but once they did he couldn’t stop thinking of them. Dread settled just below the surface of Adam’s skin. He looked at his mother. “I’d prefer to fake my death, actually. Or just really die. I know Calla would be willing to help with either, and Persephone is good with that stuff, right? Death of a son should boost your polling. The voters love a sympathetic case.”

“Don’t tempt me,” she warned. She looked to her watch with a heavy sigh and leaned over to kiss him on the head. “I’m too overscheduled for this. Adam, listen to Maura and don’t ignore her plan. You two,” she gestured vaguely at Blue and Gansey, “Make sure he doesn’t do anything irrational while we’re wrapped up.”

Blue lazily saluted while Gansey nodded reassuringly. With one last glance at Adam, Ana was gone, her heels clicking away from the heavy doors. She slipped away from being Ana Parrish, Adam’s mother punishing him for stupid behavior, to become President Parrish, leader of the country. Adam envied her compartmentalization.

Maura leaned over the table, flipping pages in the file. “We’re releasing this statement in conjunction with the Crown as soon as they approve. It was an accident, no harm was intended, all that jazz-”

Adam lifted one eyebrow. “So the truth?”

“Call it what you’d like. And we’re clarifying that you and Prince Ronan have been close personal friendships for several years despite conflicts in schedule making it difficult to appear publicly.”

Blue laughed out loud at that, clamping one hand over her mouth. Maura didn’t even look over to her, but Adam’s expression must have been similarly dumbfounded because she sighed resignedly, taking another sip of coffee. “Look, it’s better for all sides if your tussle just looks like some...frat boy joshing.” Blue’s laughs crescendoed louder, and Maura shot her a cool look. “If you need to step out, please feel free to, Blue. I’m sure Gansey will fill you in later.” Adam looked to Blue and her wave of dismissal, gripping onto the wrist of Gansey’s blazer to steady herself. Maura turned back to Adam.

“I know he’s difficult. You can hate him for all I care. In privacy, feel free to construct intricate arguments for his removal from this earth. Fantasize about dumping yogurt on his head. Compose songs to drive him insane. But, for the love of God, you will act like he hung the moon with nothing but yarn and a sewing needle whenever there’s the slimmest possibility of a camera or another living being witnessing it. Kapeesh?”

It wasn’t like he was allowed any true reaction, but he nodded all the same. His powerlessness was because of his own actions, not Maura. It was his own fault, and he would own up to the consequences. Even if the thought of willingly spending time with Ronan made his stomach turn.

“Your job is to not piss anyone off and to gush about Ronan. You’ll memorize this fact sheet-” she slid another page from the file and tapped it, “-and be prepared to answer any question with these as an answer. Your deal includes a minimum of two social media posts a day about Ronan and your visit. On Sunday, you have an on-air interview with ITV This Morning, and you’ll be fresh as a daisy with nothing but sunshine to say about Ronan’s competitive yachting hobby. There are only two photo ops, one in private where you can bitch and one charity appearance. That’s it, you’re free.”

Adam opened his mouth.

“Don’t care,” Maura said before Adam could make a noise. “You ruined the Royal Wedding and a cake that’s worth a year of college tuition. He’ll attend a state dinner in a few months for his part, and you will pay your penance now.”

Adam nodded slowly. He gathered the file in his hands along with all the decorum Gansey taught him over the years. He smiled a small smile at Maura. “Well, it will be an experience, won’t it?”

“I’d expect it, yes.”

“Thank you, Maura. And I’m sorry.”

She waved her hand. “Don’t apologize. Your apology will be not screwing this up even more.”

“I’ll try.”

Adam rose, Blue and Gansey following his lead. As he turned to walk away, Maura spoke again. “Oh, and Adam?”

“Yes?”

The corners of her eyes crinkled, and she looked younger, somehow. Almost amused. Guilt panged in his chest at the thought that he’d caused the tiredness on her face before. “Try to have a little fun. It’s a trip to Europe and you’re not even missing class.”

He paused, thinking of Ronan and his shaved head and cruel smile in front of the wedding cake. He tried to imagine what fun might be for him - whether to trust the fact sheet proclaiming fencing and yachting as Ronan’s pastimes or the tabloids that traded stories of illegal drag racing and getting black-out drunk. He wasn’t sure which version of Ronan sounded worse. “Sure,” he agreed quietly. “I will.”

***

Those who work in the White House know a few things about the First Family’s habits, but they never know the full truth.

They can observe things the average citizen would die to know; they see staffers pacing the halls and tearing their hair out over Instagram captions, overhear expletive-laden and fond familial conversations, and occasionally see the pristine members of the executive branch with dark crescents burning under their eyes and old high-school sweatshirts adorned like the newest fashion. But none were more elusive and two-sided than the White House Trio.

In their case, two-sided didn’t necessarily mean something bad, only something drastic. Blue Sargent, Richard Gansey, and Adam Parrish presented the perfect dynamic for the press to eat up: three attractive early twenty-somethings inside the White House who were notoriously open to the public about their lives. There were veneers crafted and stories concocted every day, all designed to get the perfect media response without sharing too much. There was Blue, the Indigenous American daughter of a single mother and prominent staffer, barely five feet tall but laser-sharp with any numbers you threw at her; there was Richard Campbell Gansey III, better known as the single-named Gansey who came from the billions that funded the Vice-Presidency but wanted nothing more than to give it all away, always ready with his winning charm and a new polo shirt to distract the press from his scathing op-eds; and there was Adam Parrish, a true American Dream born from a father from the Heartland and a mother from Mexican immigrants, a single First Son set to graduate valedictorian from Georgetown amid a political campaign with an ease most of the country only wished to possess.

Together, they hit every demographic that they could without even trying too hard. Their progressive politics were helped along by their identities, and so they aided their parents by nature of existing within the White House walls. White House staff saw these versions of them, but only glimpses of what lay beneath - Blue wandering the halls in self-created shirts and dresses with stacks of newspapers clutched in her arms, the scent of mint clinging to Gansey everywhere he went at all hours of the day, Adam’s frequent requests for coffee at midnight and propensity to wear coca-cola tee shirts.

They all knew very well that no one really saw the full picture of them, but that was how the White House Trio liked it.

The three of them spread out in the music room, one of their only haunts where they could be truly alone. For once, they weren’t a marketing ploy of their own creation or a group of kids on a pedestal; they were just Blue, Gansey, and Adam. After that meeting, they had to be.

Adam sprawled on the couch, laying exactly horizontal, flipping over the HRH fact sheet.

“You’re on the cover of Us Weekly, Blue,” Gansey called across the room, undoubtedly fulfilling his guilty-pleasure hobby of obsessively tracking their tabloids. “Full portrait of your Royal Wedding outfit.”

“It’s about time,” she responded from her perch on the windowsill, a bottle of red wine and a bottle opener in her hands. “I wore that lace to catch attention, thank you very much. It’s been at least four months since a solo cover.”

“Well, they do mention the cake-tastrophe in the corner.”

Blue waved her hand dismissively. “That was bound to happen. Scandal sells, but so do I.”

“Okay, ew,” Adam said flatly.

“They’re speculating about you two again, you know.” Gansey scrolled to a new part of the magazine, lifting a thumb to rub against his lower lip. “‘Tryst with a mystery brunette: Heartthrob First Son Adam Parrish caught sneaking back to the W hotel for an amorous rendezvous in the Presidential Suite. Sources say the brunette is none other than Blue Sargent, the twenty-two-year-old member of the White House Trio.’”

“Less than a month!” Blue exclaimed, popping the wine open. “You owe me, Gansey. Pay up.”

He ignored her, dropping the hand from his face. “You didn’t really…”

Neither Adam nor Blue responded. Gansey knew very well that their short-lived relationship on the campaign trail was due to die a quick death, but something - perhaps the lingering stares he seemed to throw Blue more and more often - was making him touchier to the subject of their former relationship. Of course, Adam and Blue did nothing of the sort, only watched the West Wing and made sex noises at young Rob Lowe with a bottle of champagne passed between them. Confusing the tabloids was an added bonus to their game. Blue took a swig directly from the bottle of red.

“You’d think they’d be talking more about your spat with Ronan than your possible sex life,” Gansey said, returning his focus to Adam. Adam finally looked away from the HRH fact sheet and towards Gansey’s squinting eyes. He really needed to put his glasses on, but far be it from Adam to mother Gansey. It had to be the other way around.

“No one cares about what happens over the pond.”

“Don’t they?” Blue said, scrunching her nose in a similar fashion to Gansey. “They seem to follow the royals pretty well. Tabloids were in a tizzy over the Prince’s lack of date.”

“In a tizzy,” Adam mocked. From where she sat on the floor, Blue stretched her short frame as far as possible to nudge Adam’s leg with the toe of her socked foot. “Why does anyone care? It’s not like he’s, you know, interesting.”

Blue and Gansey were staring again, he could tell. “Adam, honey,” Blue started, her southern accent heavy and thick. Gansey reached for the bottle and she relinquished it easily. “I know you hate him, but he’s probably the most interesting royal out there.”

“Wasn’t he caught in a club with his underage brother right after their father died?” Gansey asked, taking a prim sip from the bottle of wine.

“Apparently has a huge sucker of a tattoo on his back, too.”

“Isn’t that against royal etiquette or some shit?”

“Probably.”

Adam waved the fact sheet around, spinning himself so that his head hung off the edge of the couch. “Explain this, then. He’s more wonder-bread than Gansey, and that’s saying something.” Blue spluttered out a laugh, and Adam slung an upside-down apologetic glance at Gansey. “Sorry, man. No offense.”

“None taken,” Gansey said, reaching for the fact sheet and plucking it from Adam’s grasp. “What’s wrong with these? Charles Dickens as a favorite author? What do you have against Charles Dickens?”

Adam and Blue exchanged a glance. “Nothing in theory. It’s just a bunch of garbage I don’t need in my brain.”

Blue snorted. “No thoughts, brain full of GDP calculations.”

“You know I just finished my macroeconomics midterm.”

“That’s the point,” Blue said, snatching the bottle back from Gansey and peeking at the sheet. Her nose scrunched again, squinting her eyes as she always did when drinking. “Mutton pie? Who loves mutton pie?”

“It’s a very versatile meal,” Gansey defended.

“I mean, sure, these are boring as hell,” Blue conceded, ignoring Gansey’s scandalized look. “But this is clearly slapped together by his PR team to make him look like the perfect prince.”

“So?” Adam said, unimpressed.

“It’s not a reason to hate him.”

“Oh, I know. I hate him anyway. But I have better use for my brain space than facts about His Royal Dick.”

“That just sounds like you’re talking about Gansey.”

“To be fair, Adam,” Gansey said, “it’s your fault. You fought him.”

“What happened anyway?” Blue asked. He knew the question was coming, but all the same, he didn’t want to answer. “He was fine when I danced with him.”

“Fine,” Adam said curtly. “Cold and severe sounds more like it.”

Blue’s eyes scanned over him with an uncanny feeling she could see into his thoughts. “So you were...defending me? God, please don’t blame me for this.”

“That’s actually kind of nice, Parrish.”

“No,” Blue interrupted, a hard edge to her voice.. “Not if he does stupid shit because of it. I’m perfectly fine on my own.”

“I know!” Adam rushed to say. “Believe me, I know. It was…” he withered under her look. “...An excuse?”

“Look at me,” Blue said, voice firm. He did. Her lips were thinned with seriousness. “Don’t protect my honor again, please. It’s a weird-ass fishbowl world we live in, but if you do, I will leak to the press that your favorite song is Africa by Toto.”

“Please do,” Adam said, scoffing. “It’s a bop.”

“And do you want it dogging your every step?”

“Maybe I do.”

Blue shrugged. “Your funeral.”

“This is quite Shakespearean,” Gansey said, most likely in hopes of interrupting their budding argument. He gestured grandly to the gaudy tapestry-ridden walls and golden tassels on the furniture, although Adam imagined that Gansey thought it would look more impressive in his head. “Two sworn enemies forced into friendship for the sake of tension between their countries.”

“We’re not enemies,” Adam said. “That implies we’re...on the same level. Have actually spoken.”

“Exactly. Shakespearean.”

“Then let’s hope I get stabbed at the end of this. Blue, will you do the honors? I know you’ll do it mercifully.”

“Oh, cheer up now,” Blue said in a false British coo. “You’ll be the darling of England before Sunday even rolls around.”

“What does it matter?” Adam said, not lifting his gaze from the fact sheet. “They just think I’m another violent American over there.”

He could feel the weight of Blue and Gansey’s stares above his head. No one needed to say the words themselves to invoke the double-wide of Adam’s earliest years, where blood covered most of the carpet. “They don’t mean it like that, Adam,” Gansey said finally, breaking some of the tension with his reverberating voice. “They mean it like… UFC fighters, or rioting after the Patriots lose the Super bowl. Or win.” Gansey’s frown deepened. “I can never figure out how they’re doing.”

“Yeah, I know,” Adam said, lips twisted downwards. He regretted bringing it up. “I know.”

Blue nudged him again with her foot. “Want to watch Parks and Rec and make fun of the Prince’s fact cheat-sheet?”

“God, yes.”

She snatched the sheet from Gansey, reading it over again. “Drinking game: drink whenever Prince Ronan’s interests are laughably terrible.”

“Counter-offer: drink whenever Adam overreacts to his interests.” Gansey offered. Blue passed him the bottle to reach for her laptop instead.

“Either way, we’re getting alcohol poisoning.”

“Oh, definitely.”

“We’ll quiz you,” Gansey offered Adam, just as Blue pulled up an episode of Parks and Rec. “Not season seven, Sargent, what the hell are you thinking?”

“Season seven can be great!” Off of Gansey’s glare, Blue complied, clearly not wanting the fight. “Fine. Season three?”

“Now you’re talking.”

Blue balanced her laptop on an old piano bench and joined their huddle near the couch, beckoning the bottle back.

“Alright,” Gansey began, eyes settled on the top of the sheet. “You better be ready to learn something, Parrish.”

***

None of them succumbed to alcohol poisoning, but they did learn several facts about Prince Ronan.

There was the basic information, things Adam knew already: his mother, Queen Aurora, took the throne with a dreamy demeanor and high hopes at the age of 19 after her parent’s untimely death and her twin sister’s abdication. The year before, she married Niall Lynch, an Irish actor, and practically upset the whole place. Niall died in 2015, not too long before the Rio Olympics, and Aurora’s public appearances had dwindled ever since, leaving the press to have a field day with rumors of illness and mental breakdowns. Ronan had a raven (why, Adam could not fathom) named, of all things, Chainsaw. His best friend, Henry Cheng, was heir to Cheng Industries and managed their charity branch.

Gansey actually knew both Cheng and Ronan, having spent a year at Eton in high school, and Adam just rolled his eyes at Ganey’s relentless knowledge of every human person.

His music tastes were listed as baroque, death metal, and Irish jigs, a combination that left Blue wheezing. “His Royal Highness may be my new favorite person,” she insisted, leaving Adam scowling.

The week came and went, and Adam found himself on a private tarmac following a trans-Atlantic flight with a man in an impeccably pressed suit and a cup of tea nestled into his hands. Calla, one of Blue’s pseudo-aunts and a secret service agent accompanying him, pressed forward to shake his hand and exchange a few words under her breath with him. He almost pitied the man. Calla, with her high bun of perfectly-contained curls and steely gaze, oozed intimidation out of her very being. But to his surprise, Calla actually smiled at the mystery man. She wasn’t quite warm, but he received considerably kinder treatment than everyone else subject to Calla’s jurisdiction. When she stepped back, the man turned his gray eyes on Adam. He smiled without any mirth.

“Mr. Parrish,” the man said, reaching out his free hand. Adam shook it, trying to keep it short and firm as his mother taught him. “It’s a pleasure to have you with us in England. I’m Mr. Gray, Prince Ronan’s equerry.”

“It’s very nice to meet you. I apologize for the turn of events that led to this weekend.”

“Well,” Mr. Gray said, turning and beckoning Adam to an Aston Martin with blacked-out windows, “once you reach my age, Mr. Parrish, you’ll find that these matters are quite simple to see coming.” Adam barely had a chance to blink in response before he was sliding into the back seat of the car, the rumbling of the tarmac shut out succinctly with the door’s closure. A lull in conversation settled around them; Adam, after clicking his seatbelt in, favored looking out the window to London’s scenery over making conversation. The blur of grey and white passed for a few minutes before Mr. Gray finally informed him of his role.

“There are a few matters of paperwork to go over before entering Kensington Palace. They’re currently next to you, and signing them is of highest priority before we begin this weekend.” Adam was no stranger to non-disclosure agreements and confidentiality paperwork; he’d expected the practically novel-length stack. By the time he’d finished signing on all the correct lines, the car slowed to a crawl. “Prince Ronan has just finished his tennis practice, and we’re here to escort him to our first activity.”

“Splendid,” Adam whispered under his breath, unconsciously mimicking Mr. Gray's crisp voice.

The English countryside hit Adam full in the face as soon as he stepped from the car; fresh air, the kind you never find in DC, welcomed him like an old friend, and though the English air was nothing like the air he remembered growing up with in Virginia, it felt nostalgic all the same. He suddenly wanted to be back there, in the home he remembered so well. He wanted to be anywhere but England with the goddamn Prince of Wales loping his way towards him in an all-white outfit, a racket swinging in his hand.

Jesus, how pretentious could he be?

Annoyingly, Ronan was not sweating and not fatigued looking in the slightest. He actually looked incredibly refreshed, the harsh lines of his face softened and a flush under his cheeks, his blue eyes charged and alight. Looking into them, Adam felt startlingly as though he was staring out at the horizon on a cloudless day.

“Parrish,” Ronan called, jogging the remaining distance quickly and closing the gap between them. “You've found the directions, I can see.”

“It’s difficult to miss,” Adam replied tightly, holding out a hand for Ronan to shake. “Extensive wealth tends to smell for miles around.”

Ronan took his hand, and his smoothed palm slid uncomfortably against Adam’s calloused hand. An unpleasant jolt started in his stomach. Ronan affixed his same unkind but not terrifying smile to his face, looking ridiculously like Declan for a moment, before continuing their conversation. Both knew to disconnect their words from their faces, conscious of the photographer unsubtly circling them. “It’s a rather pleasant odor, yes? I prefer it to fried food and pollution.”

“London, known for its fresh air, right?” Adam laughed, the charming laugh that beguiled TV hosts and entranced his mother’s constituents. “Excited for the days ahead?”

“I’d rather lie on the NASCAR racetrack, or even concede an argument.”

Adam slipped his palm from Ronan’s, choosing instead to slap him jovially on the arm. “I never thought I’d see the day where we agree on something, Your Highness.”

“Fuck off,” Ronan said, the words slipping through his unkind but certainly camera-friendly smile with practiced ease, and oh, there was the difference between this weekend and all their other interactions: Adam couldn’t speak of their interactions at all, locked behind an NDA. Ronan could swear as much as he pleased and not face retribution from his family.

“Gladly,” he replied through gritted teeth.

“The car is ready if you’re ready, then,” Mr. Gray said from behind Adam.

“Perfect,” Ronan said, any hint of his bleached teeth disappearing. “The sooner this is over with, the better.”

And they set off, side by side, for the car.

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defendingtheduchesses · 3 years ago

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November 1,2021

Outfit details 👗✨💖

Coat dress:Eponine London

Earrings: Kiki McDonough

blue topaz and diamond earrings

Heels 👠:Rupert Sanderson

Malory pumps

Purse 👛:Emmy London

Natasha clutch

#photos #my edit #outfit details #kate’s fashion

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florencepughoutfits · 4 years ago

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@florencepugh / At the Little Women London Premiere / December 16, 2019.

Wearing:

@emiliawickstead Cut out Dress Custom inspired by her SS20 collection ($N/A)

@rupertsanderson Malory Pumps - White ($612.50)

@mariatash Plain Pear Shaped Threaded Stud ($105)

Hair by - @peterluxhair

Makeup by - @babskymakeup

Styled by - @rebeccacorbinmurray

#celebrities #fashion #florence #florence pugh #dont worry darling #actress #dwd filming #beauty #dwd #film

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princesscatherinemiddleton · 5 years ago

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#RoyalVisitPakistan Review

The Duke and Duchess of Cambridge’s official visit to the Islamic Republic of Pakistan has come to an end after five days of engagements, fashion, and last-minute weather disasters. This was the Cambridges’ most high-ranking and complex tour yet, as they visited the country while they are in a state of near-war with India.

Day One - Arrival

Number of engagements: 1 (Arrival at Nur Khan Airbase)

The Duke and Duchess arrived in Pakistan at 9:30pm, local time on Monday 14th October, where they were received by the British High Commissioner to the Islamic Republic of Pakistan (His Excellency Mr Thomas Drew). The Duchess wore a Catherine Walker ensemble, which appeared to have been inspired by the Pakistani shalwar kameez. She also wore her Rupert Sanderson ‘Malory’ Heels, Zeen Woman Earrings, and carried her Zeen Woman Clutch.

Day Two - Education

Number of engagements: 5 (Visit to the Islamabad Model College for Girls; visit to the Margalla Hills; called upon The President of the Islamic Republic of Pakistan and Mrs Arif Alvi; called upon Mr Imran Khan; attended a Reception at the Pakistan Monument given by the High Commissioner to the Islamic Republic of Pakistan)

On their first full day in Pakistan, the Duke and Duchess remained in Islamabad, the capital city of Pakistan. Their first visit was to the Islamabad Model College for Girls (a public school for children from nursery-age to adult), where they learnt more about the Teach for Pakistan programme. Teach for Pakistan is modelled on Teach First, a programme which focuses on improving quality of teaching in schools in the UK. They then went to The Margalla Hills, which is found at the base of the Himalayan Mountain Range. They helped children set up a leopard camera trap, and identify different species of plants. During these engagements, the Duchess wore a Maheen Khan shalwar kameez in Royal Blue, as well as her Zeen Woman Earrings.

The Cambridges then met with President Arif Alvi and, later, Prime Minister Imran Khan. While meeting President Alvi, the Cambridges learnt about Mrs Arif Alvi’s work with breast cancer, and the Duke had the idea to wear breast cancer pins in the photos released from the events. After meeting with Mr Khan, the couple remained and enjoyed lunch with the Prime Minister. Catherine wore a Catherine Walker tunic (in Pakistani green), as well as trousers from Maheen Khan and a Satragni dupatta. She also wore her Zeen Woman Earrings, Emmy London ‘Rebecca’ Shoes, and she carried her Emmy London ‘Natasha’ Clutch.

For their final engagement of the day, the Duke and Duchess of Cambridge atteneded a reception at the Pakistan Monument. The reception was celebrating the very best of Pakistani music and culture, as well as highlighting the UK-Pakistan relationship. William shocked everyone by wearing a Pakistani sherwani, while Catherine wore a sparkly green Jenny Packham gown, as well as Jimmy Choos and new Onitaa Women Earrings.

Day Three - Conservation

Number of engagements: 5 (Visiting a retreating glacier; visiting Bumburet village; watching a Search & Resuce drill; meeting with Kalash people; meeting with General Qamar Javed Bajwa)

The Duke and Duchess of Cambridge travelled to Chitral, in Northern Pakistan, for a day focused on the climate and on conservation. For their first engagement of the day, the Duke and Duchess visited a glacier in the Hindu Kush mountain range. There they learned about how climate change is impacting the glacial landscapes. They then travelled to a Bumburet Village, which suffered from severe flash flooding as a result of nearby glaciers melting. William and Catherine then watched a drill conducted by volunteers from the local Emergency Response Team, which is supported by UK aid, as well as a drill by a local Search and Rescue Team, who demonstrated their ability to evacuate casualties across a river. Before leaving Chitral, the Duke and Duchess of Cambridge visited a settlement of the Kalash people, to learn more about the Kalash community and their unique heritage and traditions. During these events, the Duchess wore an understated outfit made up of two different UFO dupattas, as well as a UFO skirt and a pair of UFO sunglasses. She also wore a Mint Velvet dress (as a shirt), her Really Wild waistcoat, and her Really Wild boots.

After returning to Islamabad, the Duke and Duchess received General Qamar Javed Bajwa, the Chief of Army Staff, and Mrs Qamar Bajwa.

Day Four - Communities (Culture)

Number of engagements: 6 (Arrival in Lahore; SOS Children’s Village; National Cricket Academy; Badshahi Mosque; meeting faith leaders; Shaukat Khanum Children's Cancer Centre)

For their final full day in Pakistan and the best day of their tour, the Duke and Duchess of Cambridge travelled to Lahore, a city known as Pakistan’s city of culture. After arriving and being received by the government of Lahore, the day began in earnest at SOS Children’s Village, a charitable organisation in the heart of the city. The village, which is attached to a school, provides a home and family structure to over 100 children. The Duchess gave her first speech on the tour during this event. The couple then visited the National Cricket Academy, where they joined a match with children who are participating in the British Council’s DOSTI programme. During the morning, the Duchess wore a Gul Ahmed shalwar kameez, along with a Maheen Khan Shawl, new J Crew Pumps, her Asprey Oak Leaf Earrings, and she carried her Mulberry ‘Bayswater’ Clutch (she changed into Hampton Canvas trainers for the cricket match).

In the afternoon, the Duke and Duchess visited the Badshahi Mosque, the most iconic Islamic site in Lahore. The couple toured the mosque and courtyard, before joining a discussion with faith leaders to understand how they are promoting interfaith harmony within their communities. Afterwards, they travelled to the Shaukat Khanum Memorial Cancer Hospital and Research Centre, a state-of-the-art cancer facility located in the centre of Lahore. The Duke and Duchess visited the children’s ward to spend time with patients undergoing treatment at the hospital, and will spoke to a number of their families. Catherine wore a Maheen Khan shalwar kameez, her Catherine Zoraida Fern Hoop Earrings, and the J Crew Pumps she first wore that morning. While at the hospital, Catherine also donned her only tiara of the tour.

Day Five - Military

Number of engagements: 2 (Army Canine Centre; Departure from Pakistan) THIS IS SUBJECT TO CHANGE WHEN THE CC IS RELEASED

The final day of the tour was disrupted somewhat, after the Cambridges were forced to spend the night in Lahore due to an electrical storm. Because of this, they were forced to miss a planned trip to the Khyber Pass. The Duke and Duchess were sighted leaving Lahore in the morning, with the Duchess wearing an Elan embroided kurta, J Crew pumps, a Maheen Khan dupatta, Accessorize earrings, and carrying her Smythson bag.

For the new first engagement, the Duke and Duchess visited the Army Canine Centre, where they joined dog handlers as they train dogs to recognise and scout out hidden explosive materials. They then supported some of the puppies who were undertaking the an agility training course. Shortly afterwards, the Cambridges departed from Nur Khan Airbase. Catherine had changed into a Beulah London coat and Russell & Bromley shoes, while still wearing her Maheen Khan dupatta and Accessorize earrings.

#mine #statistics #2019 tour #kate #will

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wickedwitchofwestminster-blog · 5 years ago

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Catherine’s Monthly Breakdown- July

We saw the Duchess of Cambridge six times over the month of July, and three of those appearances were at her beloved Wimbledon! So how did her fashion figures break down?

14/07/2019- Men’s Final at Wimbledon

Emilia Wickstead ‘Jordin’ Seersucker Dress in Blue- £1390

Aldo ‘Nicholes’ Block Heel Pumps in Nude- £65

In2Designs Baroque Pearl Drop Earrings- £120

TOTAL OUTFIT COST: £1475

13/07/2019- Women’s Final at Wimbeldon

Altered Dolce and Gabbana Pocket Watch Dress- £2150

Rupert Sanderson ‘Malory’ Pump in Nude Leather -£475

Ray Ban Classic Wayfarer Sunglasses- £127

Dolce and Gabbana ‘Sicily’ Micro Top Handle Bag- £775

Asprey London Oak Leaf Small Hoop Earrings- £5500

TOTAL OUTFIT COST: £9027

10/07/2019- Family Day Out at the Polo

L.K. Bennett ‘Madison’ Dress in Pink- £325

Castañer 'Carina' Espadrilles- £80

Mulberry Small ‘Darley’ Satchel in Red- £455

Catherine Zoraida Fern Leaf Hoop Earrings- £150

Ray Ban Classic Wayfarer Sunglasses- £127

TOTAL OUTFIT COST: £1137

06/07/2019- Christening of Archie Harrison

Stella McCartney Pink Shift Dress- £1425 (Catherine rewore a dress from the ‘09 Stella McCartney collection, possibly remade in a different fabric)

Gianvito Rossi 105 Pumps in Claret- £555

Juliette Botterill Modified Pleated Pillbox Headband- £500

Collingwood Diamond and Pearl Earrings (worn by Diana to Harry’s christening)

TOTAL OUTFIT COST: £2460

02/07/2019 Attending Wimbledon

Suzannah Flippy Wiggle Dress- £1850

Alexander McQueen ‘Wicca’ Handbag- £1190

Ray Ban Classic ‘Wayfarer’ Sunglasses- £127

Gianvito Rossi ‘Piper’ 85 Pumps in Black- £520

Catherine Zoraida Fern Hoop Earrings- £150

Alexander McQueen Black Bow Belt- £280

TOTAL OUTFIT COST: £4117

01/07/2019- Hampton Court Opening of ‘Back to Nature’ Garden

Sandro Printed Flowing Midi Dress- £260

Castañer ‘Carina’ Espadrilles- £80

Accessorize ‘Polly Petal’ Earrings- £8

TOTAL OUTFIT COST: £348

In July, Catherine was seen in items worth an approximate £18684, of which £6035 was new.

British brands and labels were represented in 53% of the items the Duchess was identified as having worn this month.

With an estimated total spend of £18684 across 6 appearances this month, Catherine wore £3114 worth of items on average per appearance. (Or £1005.84 if we exclude items that have been recycled and reworn).

#kate middleton #duchess of cambridge #Catherine Duchess of Cambridge #british royal family #brf #royal fashion #royal spending

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whumpiary · 5 years ago

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[update: this drabble used to be two posts but has since been edited to be one coherent piece!]

content warning: referenced past drugging, implied/discussed drug abuse, paranoid thoughts.

Cass is sitting in J’s bedroom, trying to sleep despite the daylight creeping in through the blinds. He’d been confused at first when Josiah had shepherded him in and peeled the sheets back from the bed. When he hadn’t moved to lie down Josiah had said that he needed to put the house back together and Cass needed sleep and that neither would happen if Cass was lying on the couch. Cass felt a pang of guilt through his fog and hadn’t argued. He’d done enough arguing today.

He’s not sure if he sleeps but he’s certainly awake when there’s a gentle knock on the door, followed by a man with long blonde hair and a neatly trimmed beard letting himself him. Whatever Cass was expecting when Josiah said his friend was a doctor, this is not it.

“Hey there,” he says with an easy smile “Wasn’t sure you’d be awake”

Cass tenses, sitting up against the headboard and trying to look less vulnerable, less weak. He hates doctors. Hates them even more when they’re so casual. Trying to act like your friend. They weren’t friends.

“I take it you’re Mal,” he grunts.

“I take it your Cassius”

“Cass”

“Cass. Right,” Mal corrects. He’s got a relaxed grip on eye contact, holding Cass’ gaze a few seconds longer than should’ve been comfortable. There’s something vaguely familiar about the way this man hold his gaze and it settles in Cass’ gut with a rocking sort of unease. Despite himself, Cass looks away.

Mal sets his bag down on the desk with a thud. It’s one of those old leather ones that border on the line between outdated and cool depending on who’s carrying it. Cass rolls his eyes. Wanker.

“How’re you feeling, Cass?”

“What, what do you think?” Cass spits. The other man doesn’t miss a beat.

“I literally do not know, mate. I met you about thirty seconds ago.”

Mal sits down on the chair by the desk, a careful distance from Cass, and begins rolling up the sleeves of his henley, revealing a litany of old-school tattoos that wouldn’t have looked out of place on a Sailor Jerry’s bottle.

“What?” Mal asks, smiling at Cass’ obvious stare. “Did Josiah fail to mention my rugged good looks?”

J had, in fact, failed to mention his doctor-friend’s rugged good looks. He’d failed to mention anything at all about Mal, actually. Cass had half expected a half-dead, half-deaf 67 year old racist who’d scribble a prescription for Valium without looking at him and head off again. Instead he was staring at a 30-something Adonis who looked like he oughta be on the cover of an alternative home-goods magazine selling kombucha.

“You just don’t, don’t really look like a, like a doctor.”

Mal nods like he’s used to that assesment.

“Well, if it makes you feel any better, I’m technically a nurse.”

Cass coughs a laugh, “It, it, it does, actually.”

“Thought it might,” he says, smile dancing back on his face “Now. Josiah said you took something?”

Any amount of warming Cass had been feeling toward Mal turned ice cold in an instant.

“I didn’t take shit.”

Mal shrugs, “Alright, well did someone else give you something?”

Cass’ head jerks up and he squints at Mal, trying to figure out the trick.

“You believe, believe me?“

"Well are you lying?”

“No.”

“Then I believe you,” Mal says, like it’s the simplest thing in the world. He puts on a pair of blue-rimmed glasses, smiles like this is the only thing he’d prefer to do right now.

Cass stares at him. Right. Definitely not what he was expecting.

“So. If you didn’t take anything, did someone else give you something? Josiah, maybe?”

Cass’ heart falters and his eyes flit to the door. This is a trick. A trap. They’re tricking him into saying something against J so he can be thrown out or hurt or- he takes a deep breath and stops that particular train of thought. It was stupid. It was Josi- J - for God’s sake. And Cass’d named him, anyway, made him tell the truth. He knew J hadn’t given him anything.

He looks back at Mal, suspicious all over again. Why would he plant a thought like that?

“Wouldn’t he… wouldn’t he have told, told you if he gave me something?”

“Well, see, Josiah knows I’m not a huge fan of roofies, so I doubt it,” Mal says, rolling the desk chair closer. “Alright if I take your blood pressure?”

Cass nods blankly and shoves the sleeve of his shirt up to his shoulder, offers his arm.

“Do you, you, you think he gave me something?” he asks.

“Seems a little out of character but you’re the one that knows what’s going on here, so I figured I’d ask,” Mal straps the blood pressure cuff around Cass’ upper arm “This might be a little uncomfortable, but it’ll just be a minute.”

They’re silent for a moment as Mal pumps air into the tourniquet. He’s right, it is uncomfortable. Maybe not in the way that Mal thinks. The cuff tightens slowly with each pump, cutting the blood circulation in a way that feels far too much like a rough hand gripping too tight. What did you think was gonna happen, Ace?

Cass takes a deep breath, tries to remind himself where he is, who he’s with. “Is Mal short for, short for something?“

“Unfortunately, yes,” says Mal and smiles as he makes quick eye contact. “Malory.”

Hipster with a medical degree. ‘Course his name is Malory.

The cuff constricts a little more and so does Cass’ chest. What did you think was gonna happen, Ace? Deep breath.

“It’s not that bad,” he shrugs.

“It is when you’re middle name is Valerie.”

Cass snorts a laugh. He doesn’t care if it’s true or not. The distraction is welcome.

The fact Mal’s not actually touching him helps. The tattoos even more so.

Classic American sailor tattoos, thick dark outlines coloured with red and yellow, a little blue. Sparrows, an anchor, a swashbuckling lady, a dagger, a heart. Then the less conventional ones. An astronaut, a small cat, an umbrella, a tea cup. Cass’ eyes catch on a trio of roses on Mal’s left arm, warped slightly. Or rather, the skin is. Bubbled scar tissue sits uneven under the ink, spreading neatly along his inner arm, starting at the wrist, stopping before the crease of the elbow. You’d barely notice it if you weren’t this close. Cass leans a little closer.

“You admiring the artwork or the scar?” Mal asks in an even tone, his attention on the blood pressure gage. Cass pulls back away, quickly, cheeks burning hot with the shame of being caught staring.

“Sorry,” he mutters.

“It’s alright, I don’t mind. It’s a good scar,” he says removing the cuff. Cass flexes his fingers as blood rushes back into them in a hot flush. Mal rolls his chair back to dig something else out of the bag. “It’s from when they cut me open to hardwire in this here biometric, fully automated, life-like mechanical hand”

Mal flexes his fingers, as if to show off the dexterity of each digit. Cass stares. Mal’s face splits in a stupid grin.

“I’m kidding,” he assures quickly “Hand’s real. It’s the foot that’s fake” And he knocks on his shin, the full thud of hollow plastic helping pitch the punchline.

Cass frowns, looks back down at the bed sheets. He feels like an idiot for nearly falling for it. But he’s tired and he doesn’t feel right and wasn’t this asshole meant to be helping? Not just fucking around? He feels even more like an idiot because everything Mal does makes him feel small and young and stupid. Like some kid, doe-eyed and staring, about to be tricked by Dad jokes and an easy smile.

“That’s a stupid, a stupid joke,” Cass mumbles. Like a fucking kid. God. There’s something about Mal that Cass can’t place, can’t pick and it keeps sending him off-kilter. Something familiar-but-not that he doesn’t want to think about.

“Yeah I know. Bad habit,” Mal is picking something else out of the bag now. “He holds up a stethoscope. “Give your chest a listen?”

“Do I have to take, take my shirt off?”

“Yeah,” Mal says with a deep sigh, apology etched into his face. “Unfortunately, while medical science has advanced far enough for me to hear through several inches of muscle, blood, and bone, we have not yet cracked the ability to also hear through a thin stretch of cotton, so…”

He gestures with his hand. There’s a beat. Cass remains thoroughly unimpressed. Mal sighs again, with another smile.

"Yeah I know, stupid joke. Leave your shirt on. I’ll get you to lean forward though, if you can”

Cass obliges silently. He fucking hates this guy, he decides. He hates the jokes and the hair and the tattoos and the one fucking foot. The painfully ‘not your average doctor’ vibe of him.

Complete wanker.

“I know, know what you’re doing,” he spits after a few moments of quiet. The other man hums an acknowledgement, moving the stethoscope to his back “With the, the, the jokes and the stories. Tryna be friend- be friendly. Just tryna get me, get me more comfortable so I’ll tell, I’ll tell you shit”

Mal sits back, taking the stethoscope from out of his ears. He’s got an impassive sort of look on his face that’s kind of annoying. “Is it working?”

“No. You’re not my, not my friend.”

“I’m not trying to be, mate, I’m just trying to figure out what’s going on,” Mal holds his gaze as he says it. Piercing and ice blue, Cass is overcome with a feeling that he’s being looked into, gently inspected. That he doesn’t need to tell Mal anything. He already knows.

There’s a fear that grips Cass for a moment. J wouldn’t send a reader in without telling him, right? His eyes flit to the warped skin on Mal’s wrist. Hiding a mark?

Then the moments gone. Snapped in two like glass as Mal breaks his gaze to throw the stethoscope back in the bag.

“The stammer normal for you?” he asks, suddenly.

Cass blinks. “The what?”

“The stammer. You keep repeating, keep repeating yourself every few, every few words, like this, like this,” Mal demonstrates. The not-a-mechanical hand turns in the rhythm of his voice, like a conductor keeping time for an orchestra “That how you usually talk or is it new?”

Cass frowns, tries to think about how he’s been talking.

“Uhh… new, it’s new I guess,” he says. Mal hums low, produces a small pen light.

“Follow this with your eyes,” he says “What about the tremor? That new too?”

The flip between conversation and consultation is dizzying, but Cass does his best to oblige. There’s a faint feeling of nervous dread creeping over him. Something’s wrong.

“Um, it… It happens when I’m, when I’m, when I’m tired. Or when I’m stressed, stressed I guess. Been pretty norm, pretty normal for a while,” he says. He’s overly aware of the tripping of his tongue, now, embarrassment and frustration eating at him with every word he snags on.

“Push through’d do it too, I guess?” Mal asks, pocketing the light again.

Cass stares at him, gaping a little.

“You know, push through?” Mal tries again “When you’re spent but you keep using your-”

“I know what, know what push through means,” Cass snaps.

The other man puts his hands up in a hasty surrender. “I didn’t mean anything by it, mate.”

“I’m not your mate.”

Cass knows exactly what push through means. If he spent too much time in someone’s head, if he named too many people one after the other, he’d start to feel the tug of it. Tingling in the hands and feet, faint ache in the chest or the head. But a blood rush, your heart pulsing with something other than blood. Like you could do anything.

So then you’d push through, keep going. Full splitting headache, churning stomach, dizziness, aching joints. But your brain felt electric, so much bigger and faster and you could see so much more than anyone else. So many connections and vibrations.

So you push through, go a bit further, just a little more. Breathlessness, slamming heart, bones like glass, thoughts like fog. And it’s burning now, a little, but the spark is still just in reach. So you push through.

Just a little further, knowing you’ll get it back if you just keep reaching. Memory loss, delirium, pain like your body was going to kill you. Or floating, unhooked, free.

Cass knew what fucking push through was. Intimately. The question was how the fuck did Mal?

"Josiah didn’t give me anything,” Cass says suddenly. It feels like a confession. Mal doesn’t say anything. “There was... The... The, the, the people I was, people I was staying with. I think they, they… I think…”

“Do you know what it was they gave you?” Mal asks gently. He does everything so fucking gently. Cass squeezes his eyes shut, shakes his head.

“I don’t even, even know for sure that they, they, they did,” he admits. His voice isn’t shaking. It’s not. “I’d just… wake up and I would feel, would feel wrong. Like I’d gone on a bend, a bender or something”

“Like a hangover?”

“More like withdrawal. Then push through on top.”

“Is that why you took the oxy? It felt like withdrawal?”

“It wasn’t an oxy, just a-” Cass stops abruptly, biting down on his tongue. Idiot. “I thought you said you believed me.”

“I thought you said you didn’t take anything.”

Mal’s eyes glint. This isn’t right. What did you think was gonna happen, Ace?

Cass can feel his breath ducking shallow in his chest and he hastens to control it, shove it down, stave off the black spots that are suddenly flickering in his vision.

This isn’t right. He leans forward where he sits, gripping the edge of the sheet. He barely has anything in him but he needs to get this guy away because something isn’t right, none of this is right.

He barely has enough in him but he has enough: “Mᴀʟᴏʀʏ, ʟᴇᴀᴠᴇ ʀɪɢʜᴛ ɴᴏᴡ”

But Mal doesn’t flinch, doesn’t change his face, doesn’t move to go. He just tilts his head slowly, looks Cass in the eye. His voice is so gentle when he speaks.

“That one’s not gonna work on me, mate.”

Cass feels his heart miss a beat, like skipping a step on the stairs, foot sliding through free fall. He thinks about bolting, but Mal is blocking the door. He thinks about trying to name him again but he has nothing left, he was nothing left and it doesn’t matter because it didn’t fucking work.

“I knew, knew it. I fuck, fucking knew it,” he spits. He tries to lean forward, but the dizziness hits him too fast and he sits back “You’re a reader, aren’t, aren’t, aren’t you?”

Mal laughs softly like the accusation is surprising.

“No, not quite,” he says, quietly.

“Well what are, what are you, then?”

“I’m honestly just a nurse, mate,” Mal leans back in his chair, pushing that long mane back with one hand “And, unfortunately for you, Josiah’s friend.”

He almost looks sad. Cass isn’t fucking falling for it.

“I don’t believe you.”

Mal shrugs, taking his glasses off, “You don’t have to.”

There’s a long moment between them, quiet and still. It’s so silent that Cass can feel the air around them pulsing. Maybe that’s why the yell from the other room is so loud. Something like a crash. More yelling. An argument, a fight. Mal, who has been seemingly unphased the entire time Cass has been talking to him, suddenly seems very, very phased.

Someone is here. Someone has J.

Cass is moving before he has time to register the pain that swoops in at the rush in his head.

“Who’s, who’s here? What’s happening?”

Mal tries to stand in front of him but Cass is already pushing passed. He can barely feel the juttering of his legs. Mal grabs for his arm-

“Everything’s fine, it’s jus-”

Cass doesn’t notice way his heart is suddenly not beating but fluttering, surging, buzzing. He shoves Mal backwards, reaching for the door.

“Everything’s not fine, fuckhead. Who, who did you bring here? What, what what have you done to Josiah?”

Cass doesn’t notice that his lungs are straining to grab oxygen, straining to do anything other than squeeze mercilessly.

“Nothing, mate. Cass, you need to-”

Cass doesn’t notice the blood rush in his ears, drowning out Mal’s words.

He opens the bedroom door, prepared to see anything; prepared to see a bloodbath, prepared to see a gun to Josiah’s head, to see an armed fucking militia. Prepared to see them. The them he’s running from, the them he should know better than to have run towards, the them who could find him and drag him back, and drag Josiah along too if they wanted to.

But that’s not what he sees.

He sees Josiah, standing with his back to the hallway, completely fine. Angry, sure, but when wasn’t Josiah angry? His voice is still echoing sharp across the room but his body language is open and loose. He almost looks relaxed. Comfortable in a way Cass hasn’t seen him since coming back. He’s fine.

And then he sees her. Small and leather-clad and familiar and furious.

Oh.

Cass feels the fear fall off him like a cloak, which maybe was stupid considering who he’s looking at. He wishes he hadn’t opened the damn door.

Lou.

“I assume you’ve met my wife?” Mal says from behind him.

Right. Fuck.

And then.

And then Cass realises someone’s squeezed all the breath from his chest, and that his legs are shaking so hard they shouldn’t be holding him up and that his heart has somehow turned into a wasp’s nest, and that his brain is a brick of dynamite about to explode.

Cass looks at the woman in front of him, looks at Josiah, looks at Mal.

Lou. Here. Right.

Fuck.

And then he faints.

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lesbiansterlingarcher · 5 years ago

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Y'all know i headcanon krieger as jewish due to his dreamland plot (and the fact that he cant be a clone of...that guy since he looks NOTHING like him) and like...

Ok so Malory orchestrated the killing of his father when he was 15 in Brazil, then took custody of him. I think she brought him to NY with her, back to whatever agency she was working at, where he met Archer. So Krieger and Archer have been friends/colleagues since their teens.

But Krieger was in NY that whole time, and we know where his salary goes (his work, no luxuries or pleasure because work IS his pleasure). But then the gang moves to California. Where they're not very successful. And there's no real lab to speak of.

So what if Krieger starts doing research that he'd been putting off for years, and has been too scared to actually do, especially after meeting his clone brothers and thus confirming that he's a clone of some kind?

They get busy with the Longwater thing, and Veronica Dean, but after Archer gets shot everything changes. Malory's never around, Cyril allocates what meager cases they get to Lana and Ray and himself, and Archer was the only one really demanding he pump out gun mods and cool gear and shit, so krieger has a lot of time on his hands. And theyre in cali now so proximity is closer so....maybe Krieger takes a trip to Brazil. And, if you dont think he took his brothers home with him from San Marcos back in s5 (even tho he totally did and i genuinely think that that's canon, which is why lucky yates and adam reed wont give a str8 answer on the subject, and why Krieger bounces between being himself and posessing all the appropriate knowledge and not knowing anyone's names), feel free to imagine he stops there on this trip and retrieves them.

So Krieger goes there and finds out everything. I've theorized that he's a clone of a Jewish scientist who wouldnt sell out to the govt (though not during Nazi Germany) and that he and his clone brothers were bred to imitate his genius brain, but be blindly loyal to the government. A rogue scientist took Krieger away, unable to save all the brothers, that's his "father." But that's just my theory.

So Krieger finds out he's Jewish after decades of being told the exact opposite. He comes back to California and his mind is just totally racing. Who does he confide in? Archer.

But ofc hes in a coma, so this story manifests itself as a dream to Archer.

Archer wakes up, as we know, and has weird vague memories of his dreams. Not memories of incidents but like, an old movie comes on the tv in his hospital room and hes like why is this so familiar...he passes a french restaurant and Ray comes to mind for some reason.

So when archer and krieger reunite, and Krieger - who's decided to fully embrace his culture, since it's the only sense of family he'll ever had - is wearing a star of david necklace (or maybe even some other traditional garb) it feels very Right to Archer, but so alien too, so he can't help but ask.

"Have you been Jewish this whole time?"

"What whole time?"

"Like, ever?"

"I mean...I have been, but I didn't find out until a couple of years ago. I told you about it."

"I feel like I remember that."

"Probably not."

"Yeah, probably."

#archer fx #ok to reblog #dr. krieger

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world-of-wales · 2 years ago

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CATHERINES STYLE FILES - 2016

16 MAY 2016 || The Duchess of Cambridge and Prince William attended the official launch of the Heads Together campaign at the Queen Elizabeth Olympic Park in London.

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dudleyguildford · 6 years ago

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Angst 17 robron please 😇

damn it malorie you had to pick this one…….

“stop making empty promises!”

Robert’s never seen someone fill up a tank of petrol so angrily before. It would almost be impressive if his chest didn’t feel like a boulder had landed on it. He rubs his palm across the jagged rhythm of his heart, trying in vain to soothe some of his panic, but it only takes another glance in the rear-view mirror and suddenly he feels like he can’t breathe again.

There’s the option to pay at the pump but Aaron deliberately ignores that and marches over to the petrol station instead. Robert watches his head appear in the window as he moves towards the cashier, his face like thunder. The woman says something and Aaron turns, pointing at their car, before handing over his card. It takes all of a few seconds but by the time Aaron re-emerges, Robert feels like he might be sick at any moment.

He’s convinced that Aaron is going to ask him to get out. That he’ll drive off on his own and leave Robert at the side of the road, miles from home. He’s got his fingers clamped around his mobile, ready to call Vic and explain everything that’s happened, when Aaron yanks open the driver’s door and climbs in.

Robert opens his mouth to speak, to force his tongue round an apology he’s not sure he’s brave enough to say, but the engine roaring to life beneath his feet stops him. Aaron floors the accelerator, propelling them forwards at such a speed Robert’s neck snaps back. If this was a normal day, he’d make a joke of it. Easy, boy racer. Aaron would roll his eyes or, if he was in a good mood, possibly chance a grin, but today isn’t that day. Aaron’s more likely to thump his jaw than smile right now.

Even with the heavy thrum of the engine and the sound of wet tires on tarmac, the cabin is painfully quiet. Aaron’s breaths are loud and harsh in the confined space, his nostrils flared in silent rage, knuckles ivory as he tightens his grip on the steering wheel. Robert’s hands are clasped together in his lap, a kind of pseudo-prayer to whoever might be listening that he hasn’t just destroyed their marriage… for a second time.

They manage to get to the last roundabout on the outskirts of Hotten before everything implodes. A BMW cuts Aaron off and he blares his horn, leaning out of the open window to scream a series of swears at the bloke who’s already sped off into the distance. His cheeks are red with anger but it’s the dampness at the corners of his eyes which leaves Robert stricken.

“I’m sorry,” he finally feels able to say, and Aaron’s answering scoff is salt to an open wound.

“You’re sorry,” Aaron mutters, scraping his teeth over his bottom lip as if trying to stop himself from shouting. Robert can’t blame him.

“I didn’t mean–”

“Bollocks!” Aaron interrupts sharply. “Course you meant it. You were itching to find a way out of this, you have been from the beginning, I was just too stupid to see it.”

It stings. Mainly because it’s utterly untrue, though he understands Aaron’s lack of trust all things considered.

“Why did you even go along with it if you were just gonna fuck it all up now?” Aaron continues, the car now reaching 80mph and climbing. Robert wants to point it out, remind them that they can’t carry on an argument if they’ve both gone head-first through the windscreen. He’s not quite sure if that will go down too well, though, so he stays quiet.

“I mean, I asked you. Over and over again, I asked you if you were sure! And you said you were! You said you couldn’t wait for us to have a kid!”

“That’s true!” Robert jumps in, because he can’t hold his tongue any longer.

Aaron shakes his head, eyes burning holes in the road ahead. “So what, then? You thought she’d like us better if she knew we broke up just months after we got married?!”

Robert doesn’t know how to answer that, or not in a way that Aaron will readily believe. He’s still not fully sure why he said it himself in all honesty. The whole meeting is a blur now. He remembers him and Aaron entering the cafe, seeing Natalie across a crowd of pensioners and young mums with pushchairs. He remembers them sitting awkwardly around a too-narrow table painted mint green. He remembers Aaron going up to order them tea, and Robert being struck by a sudden and inexplicable urge to run, and compensating for that by just starting to talk. He doesn’t properly remember what he said, only that Natalie’s face had gone from a polite smile to one of concern far too quickly. By the time Aaron had come back with a pot of tea and three cups, Robert was too far in, dredging up their entire history while his husband and their potential surrogate looked on, horrified.

“I don’t know,” he says honestly, but even to his own ears it sounds pathetic. He’s not surprised when Aaron shoots him an accusatory glare.

“Well, I’m glad, Robert. Glad you’ve just fucked up our one chance at this surrogacy thing and all because… you don’t know?!”

His words ricochet in the small cabin and Robert bows his head, guilt claiming him. He can feel his whole body shaking with it and has to look out of the passenger window just to try and focus on something that isn’t their broken future. He’s staring so hard at the endless sweep of greenery that he doesn’t realise Aaron’s pulled them into a layby until the car comes to an abrupt halt.

Robert turns, not sure what to expect, but Aaron’s out of the car before he can ask anything. He sits for a moment, just watching his husband attempting to calm himself, and then slowly steps outside as well.

Aaron’s breathing deeply, eyes closed, and Robert waits. It’s an exercise his counsellor taught him, a way to re-focus his energy back on himself rather than on whatever chaos is surrounding him, and Robert knows not to interrupt. He rubs his thumb against a stain on his jacket sleeve instead. It might be paint – Liv’s got an art exam coming up and she’s been creating masterpieces for weeks now – or it might be any number of fluids from Seb. The perils of being a father… Robert’s chest tightens again at the thought.

When he finally looks up again, Aaron’s staring hard at the bonnet of the car, and Robert braces himself to say: “I swear to you, Aaron. I swear–”

“Stop!” Aaron’s voice is raw, the word fracturing before it’s left his mouth. “Stop making empty promises! You’ll only break them, Robert.”

It feels like a lifetime since they had a row like this, and the weight of it knocks him back a step. He’s choking on a denial, but instead what comes out is: “That’s not fair.”

“Isn’t it?” Aaron asks, but he sounds hurt now rather than angry. It’s worse, Robert thinks. Much worse. “She might’ve liked us. I had it planned out… I had a whole speech in my head, how I was gonna tell her about us, our family, the house. She’d see we were good people, that we wanted a kid because we love each other–”

“Aaron…”

“Just tell me why?” he demands, a solitary tear escaping to roll down his cheek. Robert aches to wipe it away, to erase it completely, but he’s rooted to the spot. Couldn’t move even if he tried.

“I don’t know,” he repeats, shoulders at his ears, before turning his face to the sky. “I was just… I was scared, Aaron.”

He’s certain he’ll be met with more anger, but instead his husband looks at him with recognition, understanding almost. It encourages him enough to continue: “It feels like we’ve had every obstacle thrown at us with this surrogacy. All the money problems and then Faith and fucking Bear Grylls or whatever his name is trying to sabotage the whole thing. We’d only just got Natalie to agree to meet us properly and… it just felt like everything had to be perfect. One wrong move and it would all come crashing down again.”

Aaron’s eyes are wide, lips parted, and it takes a few seconds of silent processing before he finally says: “I didn’t know you were so worried about it. You seemed… I mean you were just so… confident.”

Robert sighs, running a hand through his hair. “Yeah, well, we can’t both freak out, can we? And I wanted to support you, to be the strong one for a change. You were there for me with Seb, and I wanted to be the one helping you this time.”

Aaron closes the distance between them, enough that he can reach out and gently take Robert’s hand tentatively in his own. “You should’ve told me.”

“I thought I had it under control,” he confesses. “And it’s not like I wasn’t excited as well. The thought of us getting to have this… getting to grow our family… I want that, Aaron. You’ve got no idea how much. But when I saw her today, I remembered all over again what we had riding on a… a stranger liking us.”

Liking me, he amends internally, because secretly he knows that only one of them was going to be a problem and it definitely wasn’t kind, gentle, blue-eyed Aaron. Natalie was always going to take one look at Robert and run for the hills. That’s why he said what he did – rip the plaster off in one quick move rather than a more agonising, drawn out process.

“Hey.” Aaron’s voice is a murmur, soft and encouraging as he raises his chin just enough to meet Robert’s lips. The kiss is a whisper and no more, the tenderest of brushes, but it’s enough to undo him completely.

“I’ve ruined everything,” he says, barely keeping himself whole. Turns out he doesn’t have to, because Aaron’s got one hand on his shoulder, the other curved around his ribs, keeping him steady.

“You were honest. More honest than I was gonna be with her. And you know what? If she was dead set against us after ten minutes than she wasn’t the right one, was she? We’ll find someone else, someone–”

Aaron pauses, pulling out his mobile which is vibrating in his hand. Natalie’s name flashes up on the screen.

“Oh God,” Robert hears himself say, and Aaron immediately pushes the phone towards him.

“You answer it.”

“What? No!” Robert exclaims, already backing away.

“It should be you, Rob. Explain what happened,” Aaron encourages, already pressing the answer button before gesturing for Robert to speak. His mind stutters, panic overriding every sense, but eventually he finds his voice enough to say: “Natalie? It’s… It’s Robert, Aaron’s husband.”

“Oh,” she says, shocked. “Um… hi.”

“Hi.” His feet are itching to run again, to bolt like a spooked horse from the gate, but this is too important. He’ll fight this time, for him and Aaron… and their child. “Look, I’m sorry about before. I was… I was nervous. Me and Aaron have wanted this for a long time, we’ve had to go through a lot to get here and I just… well, I panicked. I’m sorry, I know I must have sounded crazy–”

“Robert, it’s okay,” she cuts him off before he spirals. “I mean, I didn’t really expect to get your whole life history straight away but part of me is… relieved? You’re not the first couple I’ve met and… the ones I’ve spoken to all put on an act, pretended to be something they weren’t. You’re the first ones who didn’t.”

He’s not sure if he wants to cry or pass out. Possibly both. He thought he’d snuffed out any chance of hope they had, but now…

“Do you think we could meet again?” he chances, holding his breath. “I promise we’re not as terrible as I made us sound before. This is all we want – to be dads, to be a family. And we know we can, I promise we can. Just… give us a chance to prove it to you.”

He can feel his heart beating at the back of his teeth as he waits. She’s going to say no, he thinks, but refuses to let that sink in. It can’t happen. It can’t.

“I’m working the rest of this week, but I could do Saturday? At the same cafe?”

“Yes,” he says immediately, legs almost giving out. “Yes, that’s fine. Absolutely. Yes.” He’s just saying words again, relief overwhelming him. They say their goodbyes, Robert now holding onto the car’s wing-mirror just so he doesn’t collapse on the road. Aaron watches him, eyes wide, and eventually asks: “So? What did she say? Is… is it good news?”

“Well, that depends,” he answers after a pause, keeping his face neutral.

“On?” Aaron’s cheeks have gone red again, this time with a mixture of hope and panic, and Robert can’t contain his smile any longer.

“On whether you still want to have a baby with me?”

It’s a moment Robert knows he’ll remember for years. The look on Aaron’s face, the weak sunlight catching in his eyes, his breathless laugh as he rushes at Robert to pull him into a hug. He’ll remember all of it, but especially the feeling which had wanted to take flight before, but has now settled, warm and heavy, in his chest.

“That a yes?” he jokes, nose buried in Aaron’s neck, arms tight around his waist.

“Almost,” is Aaron’s answer, pulling back just enough to flash Robert a grin. “Luckily though, we’ve got an empty layby and nowhere to be for half an hour, so you’ve got time to win me round.”

“I like those odds,” Robert murmurs, tugging him back in by his belt so he can finally get his mouth on Aaron’s.

#i've done that thing where i've read over it too many times #and now i think it's terrible #but i'm posting anyway in the hopes that i might be wrong lmao #for malorie <3 #robertisbisexual #robron #robert sugden #aaron dingle #emmerdale #my fic

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