#my poor grandad

[desastre-fag]

can my grandad be left alone pls wdym a 35-40 yr old punched him in the face then picked him up and threw him into a table. cuz he told him to shut up when he was making comments at a young girl behind the bar. HE ALREADY HAS A BAJILLION HEAD INJURIES AND HES LIKE 70 LEAVE HIM ALONE YOU CUNT!!!!!!

[certifiedbi]

Can't lie the pedroscar quadlock interview was kinda a hard watch because the interviewer asked Oscar wayyyyy more questions than Pedro

[gaytobymeres]

my grandad referred to me as a creature yesterday

[44prop]

just saw on tiktok that people are actually having babies and naming them lando after lando norris i need to sit down

[fizzytoo]

fizzy fact i’m a turtle plushie enjoyer, lover, appreciater <3 (and just turtle merch in general). today my dog pulled out all the stuffys from one of my turtle babies </3

[sincericida]

ANDREW GARFIELD - and all the Spider-Man -attends "The Amazing Spider-Man 2: Rise Of Electro" Premiere in Rome | April 14, 2014

About the grandad selfie angles of Andrew...

[eldritch-nightmare]

hi here is a rather late post of me wishing u all a merry christmas!! and if u don't celebrate then i hope u had a very pleasant monday. uhhhh. idk what else to say. hope u all had a nice day. love u all.

[euphoricfilter]

life goes on by bts not to be confused with life goes on by yoongi of bts 🧎🏻‍♀️

[girl-bateman]

I used to joke around that in a spiritual sort of sense I was always supposed to grow up rich. I've got the soul of an aristocrat, the wallet of a commoner and the politics of someone who is rly pissed off in the most pretentious way. Anyways, this little jokey joke feels wrong now that I know I SHOULD have been rich all along if it wasent for granpa being a failcore boy-loser. To be fair tho, growing up with an aristocrats soul in an aristocrats home would have undoubtedly made me so much more miserable and annoying. God knew the disaster he was preventing by stripping me from that lifestyle. Im still bitter tho but it'll pass

[thewritingofamadwoman]

That’s My Girl

Another attempt at writing Roy Kent. Inspired by the amazingly sweet @onceuponaoneshotfanfic

Pairing: Roy Kent x Fem!Reader (established relationship)

Warnings: Tons of fluff, more of Roy Kent’s potty mouth, a secret relationship and Jamie Tartt being the reader and Roy’s unofficial child.

Enjoy!!

The second the words “no curfew tonight” came out of Ted Lasso’s mouth, you just knew the evening was going to be a fun one. Both you and Roy had agreed on the way to Amsterdam that you’d both spend the last night together, sightseeing and then staying in bed for hours while everyone else was none the wiser.

As the team’s co-pr manager, it was imperative that you tagged along on the trip for business reasons; Rebecca also told you if you didn’t come along and enjoy yourself she’d purposely make your life hell. So here you are, on the charter bus with the rest of your friends. You looked down at your phone, the time reading 5pm. Roy suggested meeting up at around 9pm, when everyone else was surely going to be in their rooms. It was the perfect plan…which meant it probably wasn’t going to happen.

You looked over at Roy, who gave you a sly wink before getting up and roaring at Jamie Tartt.

“Not for you Tartt!”

Your beloved got up and grabbed Jamie’s bag, tossing it to Will before storming outside. Jamie, depressed that he’d be spending the rest of his time in Amsterdam training, got up from his seat reluctantly. Before heading out, he stretched and looked back, noticing you seated in the back. As if having a moment of clarity, his brain immediately came up with what he thought was an ingenious plan. He called your name and once you looked up at him, he put his plan into action.

“Hey love, do you have any plans right now?” He smiled, everyone else on the bus discussing their potential curfew free plans.

“Not really, I was gonna head back to my room and nap for a bit I guess. Why?”

Jamie’s smile widened.

“Nahhh a gorgeous girl like you alone in a hotel room? Not happening. Come on, hang out with me and grandad for a bit.”

You laughed, and so did some of the players listening in.

“Fuck it, why not?” You said, and the bus is filled with loud cheers once more as you made your way towards Jamie, who took your hand and pulled you out of the bus with him. The first thing you saw was Roy’s back to the bus as he stretched his legs.

“Took you fucking long enou-what are you doing here?” Roy asked, his face full of genuine surprise. You shrugged and pointed to Jamie who smiled like the cat who caught the canary.

“This stunner was going to go back to the hotel alone and take a nap. In one of the worlds’ most beautiful cities. I couldn’t let that happen. And who better to keep her company than us fine, young gentleman. Well, some of us more young than others, isn’t that right grandad?”

Roy gave Jamie a deadpan expression and growled lowly. You shook your head and chuckled.

“I hope that’s alright? You don’t mind do you, Roy?” You gave the poor man one of your sweetest smiles, one that Roy had fallen in love with over the course of the last few months. Roy sighed and eventually nodded, the thoughts of the night he had planned for the two of you going down the drain. Jamie cheered and punched Roy’s shoulder, jogging backwards with his hands in the air.

“Come on Roy! Lighten up! Here, I’ll run ahead while you two trail behind me. Can’t have gorgeous here run in those heels. Fantastic heels by the way,” Jamie said as he ran his gaze from your heels to your face, winking as he reached your eyes. The striker was doing his absolute best to get Roy to react to him flirting with you. He knew the coach had feelings for you, it was painstakingly obvious. But he doubted the man would ever make a move. So his “genius plan” was to spend the evening turning on the signature Tartt charm as much as he could until Roy had no choice but to confess his love for you. The perfect plan, Jamie thought to himself.

You blushed at the compliment and laughed , shocked that he was flirting so boldly with you in front of your boyfriend. Not that he knew you two were an item, but still. Roy, on the other hand, was glaring so hard at Jamie that it was a surprise the young man hadn’t combusted into flame. Jamie gave you both a very cheeky smile, turned around, and began to run.

“Come on, grandad! Keep up!”

Roy growled and you laughed once more, causing the older man to look at you.

“And what are you laughing at?” Roy grumbled, stuffing his hands in his pockets as you two began to walk, keeping Jamie in your sights as he ran up ahead.

“At how easy it is for Jamie Tartt to get you riled up. He’s only being silly, don’t let it bother you,” you smiled, reaching over and placing a hand on Roy’s arm.

“And besides, we did want to sightsee, and now we get to do that earlier than planned,” you added, looking around at the beautiful city around you. Roy scoffed and looked back at you.

“Yeah, I wanted us to sightsee without Jamie Fucking Tartt running around like a child we need to keep on a leash.” You giggled and Roy’s lip ticked upwards, the sound of your laugh being one of his favorite things.

“I don’t know babe, this might be a glimpse into our future,” you teased sweetly, looking at Roy playfully. Once again, Roy snorted and turned to look at you.

“Please, our children will be way more behaved than that twat.”

“Oh, so you’ve thought about our future children hmm?” Your heart soared at the thought of Roy seeing a future with you. Roy looked at you dumbfounded, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“Of course. Why the fuck wouldn’t I?”

Your heart melted, and you were about to reply when Jamie suddenly appeared from behind the both of you, squeezing himself in between you and wrapping an arm around each of your shoulders.

“Look at you two, looking all chummy. And look at this magnificent city! Have either of you seen the tulip gardens? Or the windmills? We’re actually coming up to the world famous Skinny Bridge, just up ahead. Did you know that it’s one of the most romantic places in the world? Legend says that a kiss between lovers while on this bridge ensures that they will be in love forever. Isn’t that LOVELY, Roy?”

Jamie had pulled you both close to him, and thus each other as he continued to spit fact after fact about the romantic connotations of the bridge. Roy looked murderous, annoyed at Jamie’s incessant chatter. Roy had originally planned to take you to the bridge later that night to share that very same fact. He was a romantic at heart, and you were one of the very few people to know that about the mysterious Roy Kent. He was also a man with a VERY short fuse.

“Fan-fucking-tastic,” he growled, and the striker stepped forward from between the two of you and turned around, running in place while he faced you.

“I think it’s lovely, Jamie,” you said, trying to defuse any tension and placate the young man. Jamie beamed at you.

“I thought you would. I bet even someone as tough and grumpy as Roy believes in true love, don’t you Coach?” Jamie began his jumping jacks while looking at Roy, who only grunted in response. The Mancunian then pulled out his phone and handed it to Roy.

“Come on Coach, take a few pictures of the two of us and I’ll take a few of you two as well!” He said enthusiastically as he grabbed your hand and pulled you along with him towards the bridge. After a few photos with you, Jamie suggested he take a few photos of you alone on the bridge. You agreed, posing and laughing, causing both men to smile as they watched you. Roy even let out a laugh as you posed dramatically on the railing of the bridge. As you continued to look out onto the water, Jamie nudged Roy.

“Look at her, mate. She’s fucking stunning. Do you think she’s seeing anyone? I mean, any man would be a fool not to snatch her up and never let her go. I mean, look at her,” Jamie nodded towards you as you were being approached by another young couple who asked you to take their photo. Roy watched as you smiled politely and took a few pictures of the couple, watching you light up as they loved the pictures and thanked you. Jamie watched Roy’s expression, seeing how the man let down his guard as he looked at you. Jamie nudged him again.

“Go on mate, don’t let someone else come along and steal her away. Don’t let another man have the opportunity to stare at that bum. I mean LOOK at that ass-“ Jamie was cut off from his sweet-turned-idiotic ramble by Roy advancing on him.

“Watch your fucking mouth, Tartt,” but before Roy’s fist could collide with his face, Jamie called your name, catching your attention.

“Would you like some pictures with Coach Kent? I’m sure he’d love to take some with you!”

Jamie watched as Roy glared at him before walking over to you to stand next to you almost begrudgingly.

“What, don’t want to take a picture with me?” You teased him and he gave you a look.

“Don’t start, you know that’s not true.”

“Come on now guys, you’re on a romantic bridge. How about you pretend to, you know, be in love or something. Like a couple. Pose couple-y. Go on.”

You and Roy looked at one another, before you decided to just play along. You stood close to Roy and placed a hand on his chest, stepping closer than you usually would when you weren’t alone together. As if running on autopilot, the second you stood close to him, Roy’s arm snaked around your waist. Jamie whistled and Roy glared even harder than before. You could tell Jamie was starting to get to him.

“Just take the photo please, Jamie.” You pleaded with a small smile. You had a sneaking suspicion that Jamie knew what he was doing but didn’t want to think of that yet, choosing to focus on the smell of Roy’s cologne and the feel of his warmth against you. After a few pictures, Jamie decided to start up on his training again and began skipping forward.

After a few more stops at historic landmarks and a few more ridiculous flirtatious comments and innuendos from Jamie, you paused for a moment of respite by a chip shop. Jamie went in to use the bathroom when you turned to Roy, who was fuming.

“I’m going to fucking kill him. If he talks about windmills ONE more time, I’m going to throw him over the fucking bridge!” You giggled at his anger and tried to soothe him, placing a hand on one of Roy’s arms.

“I don’t know if you can tell, but I’m pretty sure Jamie is either on to us or really wants to play match maker,” you admitted and Roy grunted.

“Yeah I know, he’s a smooth as a bull in a china shop. Phoebe would have been more subtle than him,” You let out a laugh and nodded and Roy continued. “I have half a mind to give in and tell him. But watching him think he’s failing at getting us together truly gives my soul the peace it needs.”

You laughed harder and Jamie finally made his way back with an order of chips in one hand and a tulip in the other. He walked up to you and handed you both.

“Crisp chips and a flower for the lovely lady. Coach maybe you should take notes, this is how you treat a beautiful woman,” Jamie preened and you could see Roy’s resolve begin crumble. Jamie was going to leave Amsterdam with a black eye if he didn’t stop pushing Roy’s buttons. You decided you had enough and made your move.

“I don’t think Roy needs any tips on how to treat a woman, Jamie. He makes sure I’m nice and satisfied at least twice every morning before even heading off to work. Now, if you’re done teasing him: yes we’re together, no, no one knows except for you and we’d like to keep it that way please, and thank you for the chips. Shall we continue?”

You didn’t wait for Jamie or Roy to reply before stepping forward and making your way down the cobblestone street, popping a warm chip into your mouth and twirling the tulip in your hand. Roy’s eyes followed you, full of pride and love, impressed at how you handled the situation. Jamie, however, looked like a fish out of water, mouth opening and closing before finding words.

“You fucking cunts, you’ve been together this entire time?? For how long?? I’ve been trying to get you to admit you like her for HOURS!”

Roy gave a smug, satisfied smile.

“Not that it’s any of your fucking business, but today marks six months. And I had fucking dinner plans tonight but you and your fucking windmills ruined it.”

Jamie was still gaping, staring back and forth between your retreating figure and Roy’s smug face.

“Six fucking months?! Roy Kent, you absolute legend. She’s wonderful, I’m happy for you Coach.”

Roy smiled and for a split second, he could see himself becoming closer friends with the team striker.

“Oi!”

Your voice brought both Jamie and Roy’s attention back to you.

“Are you two coming or not? I was promised windmills and I want to see windmills!”

You smiled at your boys, one hand holding your flower and chips and the other hand on your hip as you waited for them to come to you.

“That’s your girl, mate.” Jamie teased as he looked at the taller man. Roy smirked, a genuine smile before nodding his head.

“That’s my girl.”

And with that, both men caught up with you. You passed the chips to Jamie before hooking your arm with Roy’s, the three of you making your way to wherever the windmill hunt took you.

[bat-to-da-robs]

The difference between developmental and environmental dyslexia is really interesting to me. If I remember correctly, develomental is a more innate, structural cerebral difference, whereas environmental comes from a lack of exposure to the written word within the critical window of childhood where your brain is still plastic enough to easily shift resources to reading.

^So I'm putting forward that a sensitive period for reading acquisition exists, as the Montessori school system also posits.

Check out Child and environmental risk factors predicting readiness for learning in children at high risk of dyslexia by Dilnot et al. for more on the environmental influences on dyslexia.

Given Blitzø's upbringing, I wonder if he had access to written language consistently enough to learn it? I wonder if the dyslexia profile we see in him is more developmental or environmental?

Kids that grow up in a travelling circus environment can have access to fantastic education through correspondence, virtual and/or homeschool systems. I knew two kids that performed in a circus that came around a year ago who were doing correspondence International Bacchealauriate (spelling lmao, I can never spell IB right) MYP, which is a hardcore education system.

Kids that grow up in static circuses (non-travelling hahaha) could of course attend a local school. Are there local schools in hell? Is there a public school system? Where do kids go to learn?

Do we think that Blitzø would have more developmental or environmental dyslexia? Both would ofc make him ND, but it's interesting to think abt the differences, and why he could present with the specific dyslexia phenotype that he does.

Similar to the how marvel fandom headcanons Hawkeye as dyslexic - it's really interesting to see people's takes on this.

[magiccath]

A very Noble Christmas

tenth doctor x GN!reader

Summary: In which Donna is really fed up with her love-sick best friends and calls in Wilf for backup

A/N: if you're looking for a Christmas song to go with this I suggest "Christmas Tree Farm" by Taylor Swift and a steaming cup of cocoa. Happy holidays! xx

“It’s so frustrating, Grandad,” Donna groaned, sandwiching her mobile phone between her shoulder and cheek so she could use both hands to fold laundry. 

“They’re not even subtle about it! They’re so thick they can’t even tell the other one has feelings for them.” she folded a shirt in one swift movement, placing it with the others in her laundry basket. She truly loved her best friends, but this was getting ridiculous. Having to deal with your level of obliviousness every day was starting to frustrate her.

“Have you done anything about it, darling?” Wilfred asked. Donna could hear a slight breeze over the phone. He was probably sitting outside, looking up at the stars. 

“That’s the thing,” she groaned, “I've done all kinds of things to push them together.” She finished folding her things and closed the dryer with her hip. She repositioned her phone to hold it with one hand and the basket in the other. 

“None of it has worked. Not even in the slightest,” she continued as she made her way through the winding halls of the TARDIS back to her room.

“Have you tried a romantic candlelight dinner?” he suggested. 

“That was one of the first things I tried. I made a reservation at a fancy Italian place so they could eat pasta and look into each other’s eyes lovingly.” 

“And?” 

“Aliens blew it up on the way over.” Donna rolled her eyes, even if Wilf couldn’t see it.

“It’s like I’m living in a horrible slow-burn rom-com,” she grumbled in exasperation. “I’ve done everything, Grandad. I don’t know how to get their thick heads to see it.” 

“Perhaps it’s time for my expertise…” Wilf whispered, deep in thought. 

“Huh?” Donna asked, frowning. 

“Christmas is next week. Bring them over for dinner, I can handle the rest.” Donna could hear the mischievous smile in his voice. Before she could respond or protest he had hung up. She pulled her phone away from her face slowly, staring at the blank screen before letting out a small laugh. 

She shook her head, there was no point in telling Grandad “no”. Plus, she really wanted to see you two together and her efforts hadn’t done much.  

Christmas might be a week away for Wilf, but Donna could just ask the Doctor to take you there now. There were some benefits of living in a time machine. Decidedly, she made her way out to the TARDIS control room. 

The Doctor was hunched over the console, fiddling with some buttons and switches. You were a little farther down the console, leaning against it. Your hands gestured wildly as you talked excitedly to him. The Doctor snuck small glances at you every now and then, a subtle smile taking over his face. It still baffled Donna that you failed to notice this, he was hardly incognito about it. The poor guy practically had heart eyes bursting out of his head.

“Can we go back to my place?” Donna asked, moving further into the room. “Grandad has invited us for Christmas dinner.” 

“You hate Christmas,” you pointed out with a frown. The Doctor nodded in agreement, both of you confused. Normally, you had to coerce Donna into Christmas dinner. 

“I like Grandad,” Donna shrugged casually. She hadn’t really thought about her distaste for Christmas when Wilf made the plans. She had figured that her biggest hurdle would be convincing the two of you to celebrate Christmas a week early, even if you both loved Wilf dearly. But, then again, the Doctor had no concept of when Christmas actually was. Hopefully, you wouldn’t see past her thinly veiled lie. 

You exchanged a suspicious look with the Doctor, determining whether you should trust her. Donna was known to get you all into trouble, even if she meant well. Silently deciding there was no harm in a Christmas dinner, the Doctor agreed. He’d been meaning to check up on the old man anyway.

“Alright,” he drawled, moving to flick some switches on the console. You watched him move about, your eyes following him as he rushed around the room. 

Donna really hoped that Wilf’s plan worked, she wasn’t sure she could handle another minute of this. It was like perpetually third-wheeling but so much worse.

The Doctor landed the ship with his usual flourish, turning to look at you with a wide smile, “The Noble residence, Christmas day,” he said dramatically.

He held his hand out for you and you took it without pause. Donna sighed before following behind you as the Doctor led the way out into the snow. 

The streets were dusted with a coating of stark white powder, a few boot tracks the only indicator that anyone was around. The snow was still falling, a gentle and soft flurry floating down to the ground. You smiled brightly and started to spin around in the falling snow, catching stray flakes on your outstretched tongue. 

Donna noticed the Doctor was watching you with an equally excited smile plastered on his face. He had a certain kind of smile that he only ever wore when looking at you. The best way Donna could describe it was lovesick, and it was starting to get pathetic. 

“Let’s go in before I freeze,” Donna urged, tilting her head in the direction of the door. 

The Doctor nodded, his brow suddenly furrowing. He moved closer to you, tugging the neck of your coat so it wrapped around you tighter. 

“Don’t want you to catch frostbite,” he whispered, adjusting your scarf as well. He stopped for a moment to look at you, your face flushed from the cold. A small smile tugged on your lips and he felt his hearts skip a few beats.

“We should go in,” the Doctor finally said, pulling back from you. His hand rested gently on the small of your back reassuringly, guiding you towards Donna’s house.

Wilf greeted you all at the door, a childish grin plastered on his face. A pair of reindeer antlers perched on this head, the small bells attached jingling quietly when he moved. He pulled each of you into an excited hug, squeezing tightly. 

“How have things been, Wilf?” the Doctor asked, instantly following him through the foyer. 

You hung back with Donna for a moment, putting your coats on the hangers and shaking out the small flecks of snow that had stuck to you. You slipped your boots off before padding down the hall after Wilf and the Doctor.

In the dining room, the table was set with nice plates and Sylvia was busy setting numerous steaming dishes on the table. You smiled and sat down in front of a bowl of potatoes, inhaling their scent with a small but satisfied smile. You loved Sylvia’s Christmas dinners and couldn’t wait to eat this one. The Doctor took a seat next to you, still deep in his conversation with Wilf.

Slowly, the rest of the food came out while the traditional Christmas crackers were opened. Wilf wasted no time perching the paper crown atop his antlers with a big, silly smile. On the other hand, Sylvia deemed them childish, and Donna didn’t want to mess up her hair. Still, you and the Doctor put your crowns on proudly. Once you had placed the brightly colored paper on your head you turned to the Doctor for approval.

“It’s a bit lopsided,” the Doctor commented, gently shifting the crown on top of your head. You felt a flush creep across your face at the contact, but the Doctor didn’t seem to notice. 

“Much better,” he grinned, leaning back to admire his work.

Donna cast a wide-eyed and frustrated glance over at Wilf with an exasperated sigh. Surely he could see how ridiculous this was. Wilf nodded in acknowledgment but didn’t do much else to ease her frustrations.

Dinner went by in a blur of smiles, laughter, and lingering touches between you and the Doctor. His hand would brush against yours slightly and hang there for a moment. You could even swear that the Doctor’s fingers brushed against the back of your hand in a comforting motion.

At one point, you even used your napkin to wipe a bit of sauce off of the Doctor. Donna practically got up and left the table at that. It was as if you were already a lovey-dovey couple!

Once more she looked over at her grandad, wide-eyed and aggravated. How could the two of you not realize?!

“Are you seeing this?” she whispered to him, gesturing aggressively over at the two of you. Somehow, you remained blissfully unaware of Donna’s angry whispers.

Donna could feel herself going more and more insane as the minutes crept by, and the two of you continued your usual longing glances. She looked over at Wilf numerous times for assistance or even reassurance, but he just nodded knowingly. As much as she loved her grandad, she was starting to lose faith in his matchmaking abilities. Perhaps it was a dauntless task after all. 

When dinner was through, you and the Doctor helped clean up the dishes on the table. You stacked the dirty plates and bowls, all the while happily whispering and laughing to each other.

You carried the stack to the kitchen with the intent to help with dishes before Sylvia yelled at you to get out. The last time the two of you had done the dishes there were soapy bubbles everywhere and only a fraction of the dishes actually got done. She learned her lesson long ago to not trust the pair of you with important tasks. 

As you sulked out of the kitchen and into the hallway, the Doctor paused slightly. 

“What’s up?” you asked, noticing that something had caught his eye.

His eyes drifted up to the ceiling, and you followed his gaze. There was a small bough of mistletoe tied with a brilliant red bow hanging above your heads. 

“Huh, I wonder why they put that up,” you questioned. Considering there were no couples in the house it felt a little silly. Still, you felt a thrill rush through you at the implications of the small herb.

“I believe the tradition is to kiss…?” The Doctor asked bashfully, a blush creeping across his cheeks. He could be quite bad at remembering Earth traditions, but he was fairly certain about this one. Honestly, he really just wanted an excuse to kiss you.

“I do think that is proper,” you flushed, averting your gaze. You would never admit it, but you wanted an excuse to kiss him too.

The holiday music drifted in from the other room, the soft and familiar tunes filling the silence between you. The twinkle lights in the hall cast a soft glow over the Doctor, making his handsome features more prominent. As far as mistletoe kisses go, it truly was the perfect setting.

The Doctor moved closer to you slowly, his lips hoving over yours while still giving you space to pull away. Gently, he pressed his mouth to yours lovingly. The kiss was short and sweet, over far before you wanted it to be. 

“That was-” you gasped, your fingers drifting up to your lips subconsciously. 

The Doctor looked at you worriedly, suddenly concerned he had done the wrong thing. Maybe he should have asked your permission before kissing you. Waves of anxiety crashed over him, his woes written all over his face.  

You took in his pained expression and furrowed brows and shook your head quickly, cradling his hand in yours softly. You smiled brightly, halting his worried thoughts. 

“Amazing,” you finished with a grin. The Doctor smiled back at you, a twinkle in his eye. It all felt like a Hallmark movie. The sort of scene that could only ever occur if it had been masterminded. It was almost better not knowing that it had been.

With a sly smile, you grabbed his tie to pull him in for another kiss, this one longer than the last. His hands wrapped around you, pulling you closer to him. You could have stayed there forever if it hadn’t been for Donna’s sudden appearance. 

“Bloody finally!” she cried out. 

You turned around in shock, the Doctor’s hands still resting firmly on your waist.

“Wha-?” you gasped, slightly embarrassed to be caught in the act. “What are you yelling about?” 

“I’ve been waiting forever for you two idiots to kiss!”

You and the Doctor turned a deep shade of scarlet and instantly avoided your friend’s gaze. The Doctor’s hands slipped away from you and you took a small step back from him. You stared at the floor, flustered. Next to you, the Doctor fiddled anxiously. 

Donna rolled her eyes in exasperation, of course, the two of you were still going to deny your feelings for each other. 

“I give up,” she groaned, throwing her hands in the air before stomping off in frustration.

You turned to the Doctor with a knowing smile before the two of you burst into bouts of hearty laughter. His hands naturally made their way back to your waist, pulling you into him. 

“How much longer do you think it will take her to find out we’re dating?” He whispered into your ear with a grin.

[balrogballs]

Working on Chapter 4 of Cast in Stone and I am having WAY too much fun having Maedhros and Maglor interact with the feral preteens of the Third Age, aka Maedhros fully embracing a WHEN I WAS YOUR AGE I WALKED 3000 MILES TO GET WATER AND HAD MY HAND CHOPPED OFF FOR BACKTALK grandad persona

(Estel deserved this one, he referred to Maedhros as 'the handless wonder of a bygone age' and poor MaeMags had to set him a punishment before they pissed themselves laughing)

[benedictscanvas]

be still, my foolish heart [2] - jamie tartt x reader

pairing: jamie tartt x fem!reader

word count: 2.7k

series warnings: lots of language throughout, some allusions to smut but nothing explicit, a LOT of fucking fluff mostly ngl

a/n: the response on the first chapter of this was so overwhelming in the best way. i'm literally beside myself that people enjoyed it! my current plan is to update this every other day and try and get some little blurbs and one shots out in between. have a fabulous saturday night my loves <3

series summary: when jamie gets called up to the england team for the first time, he's terrified. enter you, all smiles and swearing, and suddenly his only fear is falling head over boots for you.

previous chapter | series masterlist | next chapter

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chapter two - i swear i thought i'd dreamed her

“Is that all you’ve got, Tartt?”

“Oh you’re so fuckin’ on, Rife.”

It’s day four of training camp. Jamie is over the moon to find that the England lads are largely similar to his Richmond lot and while he’s not half in love with them like he is back home, they’re a good bunch of lads. They get on. They can rib each other endlessly and then enjoy a good meal. He feels far more at home than he could have imagined.

He hadn’t expected Ted to get quite so jealous when he was telling him all this on FaceTime the night before.

“It’s nothin’ like being at home, though, Ted. ‘Course fuckin’ not. Haven’t got a grandad screaming at me all the time, ‘ave I?”

That was enough to placate Ted, allowed him to get on with telling Jamie how everyone was getting on at Richmond. Apparently, Ted had originally called him to get some advice on hair care products, but Jamie didn’t buy that for a second. He knew Ted could tell how nervous he was before he left. He was so grateful to have a gaffer - and a friend - willing to make up a shit excuse to check up on him.

He was holding his own in the training sessions too. He knew he wasn’t first choice up front, and however much it might have irked him previously, now he was able to enjoy the prestige that came with being here. The feeling he got when he shrugged on his England kit every morning just like he’d dreamt about when he was only a sexy little baby.

He loved penalty practice with Rife, tackling Marko in a 5v5 and knowing he’d be tackled back any second. He knew they were training for what would turn out to be some of the most important matches of his career, but it didn’t feel like it. It felt like making a few new friends and dragging them down to the nearby pitch everyday to have a kick about. It felt nice.

Still hadn’t managed to talk to the City lads, though.

It was beginning to affect his play, too. When one of them would shout out an instruction to him, he’d do it without hesitation, wanting to make nice. But he knew that his own instincts got him his place on this team and blindly listening to others wasn’t going to get him any minutes.

Which was why he was stood behind a plant, outside the hotel bar, trying to figure out his move to just go over and talk to the fuckers.

They were nice lads. He knew that. They used to be friends, yeah, but he was a prick back then, so maybe they only liked prick Jamie and weren’t that nice at all. Or they hated prick Jamie and wanted nothing to do with him ever again. Or they thought he was a total joke who didn’t deserve to be there. Or-

“What did the plant do to you?” came a voice from behind him, which made him realise he was gripping the stem with a vengeance, “You need me to kick it over? I’ll do it, but you’ll need to be lookout.”

That playful teasing, that voice, was familiar. When he turned and found you, kind head of PR you that he hadn’t seen properly since your first meeting, he couldn’t decide if he was a lucky bastard or had the worst misfortune in the whole world. He groaned either way as he let go of the poor plant.

“I’ll water it later to say sorry, I guess,” he said, patting a leaf in a way that felt pretty pathetic, “You’re stayin’ ‘ere too? I haven’t seen ya.”

That wasn’t totally true. He’d seen you about once a day since that first day, but only around the camp itself rather than the hotel. The two of you had shared curt nods each time, a reminder of your first meeting, but each time these nods had been followed by easy smiles to each other.

Each time you’d been sharply dressed. A pencil skirt here, a trouser suit there. It reminded him a little of Rebecca, except for the little touches that he’d noticed you let slip through the professional facade. A beaded anklet, a pair of fluffy earrings. You were a ray of sunshine around the place, that much he had picked up on. The regulars at the camp greeted you as a similar breath of fresh air.

“Perk of being head of a department,” you smile, “How’s training treating you? Issues with the grass that you’re taking out on all plants in sight?”

There was a very loud sigh waiting in his throat. He could make up a lie about waiting for someone, or checking out the plants because he wanted to get himself one back home, but you’d see through any bullshit he offered up. And he didn’t really want to bullshit you anyway.

“More embarrassin’ than that, I think,” he admits, watching as your face falls from that teasing smile to something with more worry in it. It’s very hard to keep eye contact with you when you’re looking at him all concerned like that, “I’m gonna give y’ the option to walk away now, if ya want, so y’ don’t have to be part of it, like.”

He watches you make a face as if there’s an obvious answer to what he’s just said. Without thinking, he takes a quick glance back at the City players huddled around the bar to check they haven’t clocked him. Of course, you notice.

“I hope you know how mysterious and intriguing you just made this situation,” you say as you come to stand beside him, more behind the plant than you were, “Something to do with the lads in there?”

That big, loud sigh he’s been holding in manages to break free.

“Yeah, it is. Yeah,” he doesn’t even know how to say it without sounding like a sad sack of shit. You smell really good and it’s the first time he’s seen you in anything other than work clothes and you look incredible in cargos. His thought process is scrambled, “They’re all City, yeah? Sooo…we were teammates an’ then we weren’t. Now I’m…fuck, I don’t even fuckin’ know what I’m doin’.”

Part of him hates swearing like that in front of you until he remembers your penchant for swearing. He hadn’t looked at you when he was talking, but when he risks a look back at your face, there’s no more of that worry that had been there briefly. There’s understanding instead, and he likes it a lot more. 

“You want to talk but don’t know how? Think they hate your guts?”

“Well, it’d be hard to hate these guts,” he says, words cocky but he doesn’t get the tone right and he’s quick to self-deprecate instead, “But yeah, that sums it up. Pretty fuckin’ pathetic, huh?”

“No. Not fucking pathetic at all, Just Jamie. Don’t call yourself that.”

You’re looking at him expectantly so he nods, a little confused by your ferocity.

“Good. Not pathetic,” you say again, for him or for you, he isn’t sure, “So, let’s get us a game plan. How about we go in there, order a drink maybe, definitely some chips, and I’ll wave them over after ten minutes. I’ll make up some PR bullshit, get the conversation going.”

He hesitates. Suddenly, he realises his previous plan was to stare at them all night through the leaves of this plant before running back to his room when they looked like they were about to get up.

“I dunno…maybe I should leave it? Like, I’m making a big deal out of nothin’, really.”

“I think they’d appreciate you making an effort,” you insist, “I can confirm that they don’t hate your guts, if it helps. They’re decent lads. Warne is a dickhead, but he’s harmless. I’m sure you know all this, really.”

“You might be underestimatin’ what a dickhead I was, Just Y/N,” he laments, although the use of what he could now call a nickname between the two of you makes him feel better, “I was fuckin’ awful.”

“No, I know,” she says instead, and he wasn’t expecting that. His head snaps to gape at her so quick she actually laughs at him, “I watched Lust Conquers All. It’s trash but it makes you feel better about yourself, you know? And yeah, you did seem like a dickhead, but you don’t seem like one now. Anyone with half a brain would notice, so I’m sure even Warne will realise you’re not coming at them from the same place you were at.”

It’s a lot to process. Firstly, that yet another person has watched that godforsaken fucking show and it’s you and he feels like a total idiot in front of you now. But then he registers the rest of it, that in such a short time you’ve just proclaimed that he’d obviously not like that anymore. That he’s changed. He knows he has, but he doesn’t always expect other people to notice straightaway.

“How the fuck did you watch that show and still manage to be so nice to me when we met?” he asks, because he can’t help himself. He wants to know the answer. Wants to know if you’re just like that with everyone, because that would probably be easier.

“Hey,” you lower your voice, “Richmond fan, remember? I’ve been to the games. Even a couple of the open training sessions. Everyone at Richmond knows you’re a different person now, right?”

He gulps. Nods.

“Yeah.”

“Yeah. So…I do too,” you’re practically whispering now. Talking to you is like having a piece of Richmond with him, maybe even more so than the playlist. You’re Richmond and you know the new Jamie. It means more than he should tell you to feel like he has someone on his side, “Also I’m pretty good friends with this guy at the club. Do you know Trent Crimm?”

“You know Trent?” he exclaims, louder than he should. You hush him, but you’re smiling as you do it. He repeats his question a lot quieter, “Sorry. You know Trent Crimm?”

“Yeah, he used to do some reporting on England, for a while. We ended up chatting quite a lot. There’s not many male football journalists out there worth making friends with, but Trent’s one of the good ones. He texted me to look after you, actually, so you must be pretty great.”

Now Jamie was really torn. On the one hand, Trent texting you to take care of him was really fucking nice for a man he hadn’t even spoken to all that much. On the other hand, there was now a sinking feeling in his chest that all this kindness was a favour to Trent and had nothing to do with him at all.

“Oh. That’s- uh, that’s nice to hear.”

“Oh fuck, that’s not why I want to help you!” you said quickly, like you’d read his mind, “I just saw you with the plant, wanted to check you were okay. I’m not just, like, fulfilling a promise to him or anything.”

That sinking feeling lifted. Especially because he liked that you wanted to make sure he knew that. He could feel little pieces of his confidence floating back into his body. They were on thin ice, however, when you tugged on his arm to follow you as you walked straight into the bar, heading directly for the City players as you did so. He had no choice but to follow you.

His first thought was that you really did look criminally good in cargos, and his second thought was that this wasn’t in the fucking plan.

“Boys! My City Folk,” you greet them, definitely going for awkward on purpose. The three players smiled and waved as you came to stop beside them at the bar, Jamie following behind attempting to look as cool as possible, “I do hope you’re not breaking any rules? I am a known grass, and I will tell Gareth.”

They laugh and Jamie joins in because then maybe he’ll be part of things. Also, you’re funny, and he can tell you know it.

“Don’t worry, Y/N, just water for us tonight. We thought if we came down here, it might at least feel like we were drinking.”

“And I thought there might be some girls to chat with,” Warne added, as expected by pretty much everyone who knew him, “None around until you showed up, Y/N.”

“You’re a fucking idiot, Warne,” you reprimand, though there’s enough teasing in it that he just grins, “Didn’t the others remind you this hotel is entirely booked out for England players and staff?”

“Yeah. But you never know who you haven’t met yet.”

Jamie snorts at that and it draws more attention to him than he’d like. But it’s an opening, and your eyes are wide telling him to go for it! So he does.

“Strangely profound for you, Warne,” he supplies, grateful when you chuckle and the other two City boys join in, “Hey, how about the next round of water is on me?”

That really draws a laugh out of them, even Warne.

“You were always a generous son of a bitch, Tartt,” Rocky smiles, clapping him on the back. Again he sees an opening and with you still looking at him all encouragingly, he wants to take it.

“Nah, I wasn’t. I was a prick when we last talked. But I’ve been told I’m slightly better now, sometimes,” he glances at you when he says it, but you look so fond he has to look away, “Anyways, what I’m tryin’ to say: I’m sorry for before. Hope we can start fresh, like.”

“Mate,” Rocky shakes his head, brushing him off, “We’re all good. Long as you don’t keep drifting offside when I’m trying to thread one to you, I think we’ll manage.”

“Yeah, and don’t beat me in the fitness trials, alright? That’s my time to shine,” Warne adds, and even he’s got a friendly look in his eye, an attempt to respond to Jamie’s obvious and unexpected vulnerability. The weight that Jamie feels lift off his chest is massive. He can breathe properly again.

“No promises, mate. I’m fuckin’ fast now. Lightning, me.”

And with that, it’s easy to fall back into the banter he was used to. When Warne has launched into a story about not being able to find a toilet in Ibiza, he turns to you to say a silent thank you, but you’ve vanished from his side. He tries not to let his disappointment show on his face.

Searching around for a second, as subtly as he can, he spots a flash of your cargos behind the plant he’d been so well acquainted with. You pop your head out when you see that he’s looking and shoot him a double thumbs up and it’s all he can do not to excuse himself from the conversation and run over to you.

But you’re already giving a little wave and walking the other way. He watches you until you’re gone. Lets his eyes linger even a little longer than that.

When he turns back to tune into Warne again, hoping none of them noticed his wandering eye, he’s so incredibly grateful that you helped him face his fear. That he’s got his wish, and can get back to the game he loves without anymore unfinished business hanging over him.

Alongside that gratefulness, is the tugging at his heart that thinks his position behind that plant wasn’t so bad, once he gained some company. 

But he wouldn’t have flirted with you. He isn’t going to. Bad idea. Just talking, in a totally friendly way, would have been a pretty fucking nice evening, he thinks.

---

next chapter

if you've got this far, i fucking love you!! <3 and if you're at all into real life football like i am (enough to be pursuing a job in the field ffs) then see if you can work out who any of the England players might be based on hahaha

[inchidentally]

never realized there was a similar Oscar interview to Max's and I'm probably late to this but interesting how Lando's and Oscar's dads weren't able to afford to pursue racing themselves but ended up being able to comfortably fund their sons:

Also, my grandad on both sides of the family (so, my mum’s dad and my dad’s dad), were both mechanics and have both followed motorsport for years, so it was always in the family but my grandparents didn’t have enough money to fund my dad. He actually used to race BMX bikes and couldn’t really afford motorsport, so I’m the first in the family to actually have the first real step into motorsport rather than just watching from the side lines.

“My dad was a racing fan,” admits Norris of his father, Adam Norris. “He loved everything about Formula 1 and racecars, but he didn’t get a chance to do it when he was growing up. It was too expensive, and he couldn’t afford it. - x

and while that in itself isn't uncommon I do find it unique that Oscar's dad gave him the fair ultimatum of 'if you choose to continue racing in the UK you'll need to go to boarding school bc I can't abandon the rest of my family' and Lando made a pact with his dad to never buy his way onto an F1 team. neither of the dads were willing to do 'whatever it takes' to make their sons' dreams come true - sort of a, if you want something that's so incredibly hard to reach then you've got to prove that you really wan it. and if not, then just come home.

idk the way that both their dads are so physically affectionate with them and are the ones to travel to see them but !! there's no toxic masculinity and no pushiness with their sons' careers. (I love that Oliver just decided to peace out of racing and it was no big deal, even though he was incredibly good) very much an expectation instilled in them that to earn such rarefied careers the boys have to do it on their own steam (Oscar's dad was open about how the costs for F3 and F2 were already getting too much for them and Mark stepping in to get sponsors saved the day).

that and the fact that Lando and Oscar individually and now together never had it instilled in them to motivate themselves by being antagonistic to their teammates/competitors. they're both still good friends with a lot of guys from their feeder series teams. the lack of toxicity definitely comes at least from the start from the dads setting an example.

like it's very weird for me A Poor to be talking about this stuff sympathetically but I do know The Rich at least in a few people and esp for children born to money it's Just Different. but good principles and appreciating privilege and immense good fortune are honestly even more important in children of wealth and it's good to see all of that was at work for Oscar and Lando from their families - and even more important that it comes from the dads in such a male dominated environment.

[ode-to-fury]

Was that Gale’s Grandad?

Summary: This line has been stuck in my head for months so here is whatever this is. Karlach pov. Based on my Tav but again it’s fairly vague so

Karlach watched with interest as the old man gestured at Gale, then at Tav, then into the air. She watched Gale heave a deep sigh, and Tav’s frown become deeper and deeper as the old guy talked. He had a damned good beard, if you asked Karlach. Obviously the news he had wasn’t the best, but… another day for the likes of them, huh?

She watched as Gale said something with a certain look on his face, a look Karlach thought she didn’t like. Seemed Tav didn’t quite like it either, cause soon she was frowning even harder, and obviously getting annoyed.

Gramps chose then to say his goodbyes and whoosh off into the afternoon.

Tav turned to Gale, frowning at him. An impressive frown, when it came to it. And Gale… Karlach winced when he said something with a determined expression on his face, gesturing decisively in front of him, and Tav threw up her hands.

Not great with women, was he?

Tav stalked off, straight toward the fire, and Karlach walked over too, not above a bit of gossip. Bonus points if she could find out the details before Shadowheart did.

“So…” she said, walking up to Tav’s side.

“Was that Gale’s grandad?”

Tav fixed her with a Look. She was damned good at those, too. Had the jaw for it, sort of square and hard. Karlach smiled, and pretended not to notice. It was a damned good Look, but you couldn’t beat the ones she’d seen in Avernus, unfortunately.

“Not exactly,” Tav grated out, somehow managing it between clenched teeth.

“That was Elminster Aumar,” she continued. “Come to tell Gale he needs to sacrifice himself for Mystra’s forgiveness.”

Karlach blinked.

“Wait. What?”

“You heard me,” Tav ran a hand through her hair, making the brown shimmer golden where it caught the light.

“Detonate the orb, kill this Absolute, Mystra deigns to forgive him.”

She spat into the fire, a thick gob that made Karlach proud, and a little sick.

Sacrifice himself for Mystra… gods, the poor man. He could be a bit of a twat sometimes, but she didn’t think exploding was a fair punishment for that. Being asked something like that by someone he trusted, someone he’d loved… if anyone could relate, Karlach could.

“Poor Gale…” she said, aware of Tav’s fists clenching in the corner of her eye, a muscle ticking in her jaw.

Karlach put a hand on her shoulder, grinning.

“I bet he could do with some cheering up. Oh! Oh! Tell him I haven’t read a book since secondary school and watch his face melt off!”

Karlach flashed an even bigger smile at Tav, but the other girl just frowned deeper, her lips a hard line.

“Go tell him yourself,” she said, and there was a deep sadness behind the bite in her voice. “I want nothing to do with him. Ever. Fair warning, though, he’s being insufferable about it.”

Karlach opened her mouth to respond, but at the glint in the younger girl’s eyes thought better of it. Instead, she let go of her shoulder, squared her own, and walked over to Gale with a practiced grin on her features.

He started slightly as she reached him where he was reading in front of his tent. Staring glumly at a page was a better description, though, since his eyes weren’t even moving across the page.

His eyes met hers, and the first thing she saw there was fear, before he mastered himself enough to smile.

“Karlach!” Deceptively cheery. Alright, she could do that. “To what do I owe the pleasure of your company?”

She stared for a second. Shit. Hadn’t thought this far ahead, had she?

“Help,” she blurted, then, when he raised an eyebrow expectantly, realised that wasn’t much better than no answer.

“Help… with… a book!” She said, smiling more out of appreciation for her quick thinking than anything else.

“I was wondering if you had one for me to read, since I haven’t picked one up since secondary school.” She shrugged.

“Figured it was time I picked up the old… ink… I suppose.”

Smooth, Karlach. Really smooth.

He stared at her for a moment, eyes wide.

“You haven’t…” he grimaced. “Please tell me that was an ill timed joke.”

She shrugged as innocently as she could manage.

“Wish I could, soldier.”

He sighed, fingers moving up to pinch the bridge of his nose.

“Weave help us all. Hold on a moment.”

He tried to stifle the groan as he got up to go through the books he had. The same way Tav did when she had to get up quickly. Karlach shook her head at the two of them.

Idiots.

As he was looking, she wondered what would be the best way to approach the topic, then settled on direct. The way she did everything in life.

“…So,” she started innocently, “You really thinking about going through with it, are you?”

He stilled, crouched over a pile of books.

“Ah,” he said, sitting back on his haunches. More athletic than she’d given him credit for, if she was being honest.

“I see. Tav put you up to this, did she?” He stood up from his knees with another stifled groan, and frowned up at her.

“Well, you can tell her I don’t need, nor do I want, any help making this decision.”

“Actually, she told me not to come over here. Said you might get…” she paused, trying to find the right word. “Touchy.”

“I’m not touchy!” He snapped at her.

She crossed her arms in front of her chest, popped a hip, and he took a breath before continuing.

“I’m merely… irritated,” he said, sounding as much, “by the fact that everyone else seems to think they know what is best. That she seems to think she knows what is best.”

He jerked his head in the direction of the fire, then turned away from Karlach, toward the entrance to his tent.

“Why don’t you explain it to me, then?” She asked gently, stopping him in his tracks.

“I’m your friend, Gale. If you really believe this is the best thing to do, then I want to hear about it! Why do you care so much about Mystra’s forgiveness?”

“Because… because magic is- it’s who I am!” He threw his hands in the air as he spun to face her again.

“My goddess gave me an order. Mystra gave me an order, and it is not my place to defy her.”

He took another deep breath, and his dark eyes seemed to look far away from their little camp in the mountains.

“I made a mistake, Karlach. I made a terrible, terrible mistake, and if my death is what it takes to make it right, then by the Weave I will do everything in my power to see it come to pass. If my death is all it takes to overthrow this Absolute then I have a moral duty to see it through.”

And he stood there, wrapped in self-righteousness and holy purpose with a lethal bomb in his chest, almost convincing himself that this suicide mission was really what he wanted, and Karlach couldn’t help but feel the biggest surge of pity for him. For both of them, if she was honest.

“Ugh,” she said, putting a hand on her hip as she studied him. “Wizards.”

He blinked, shut up for a moment. For once.

“Sorry?” He asked.

She sighed.

“Gale… look, as someone who knows what it feels like to have a bomb in their chest… you have so much to live for. And now that the orb isn’t a problem any more, you can live for it. So why would you throw it all away, just like that, on the whim of a goddess?”

He grinned at her, a sad little smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. Pity, since he was better looking when he was smiling.

“Huh,” a self deprecating little laugh. “Until a few weeks ago I was a hermit living in his tower with no one but his cat for company. What do I have to live for?”

And as if the gods willed it to happen, at that moment a bark of Shadowheart’s laughter reached them from the fire, and Karlach looked over to see her standing next to Tav, grinning. Tav was trying to hold back a smile of her own, trying, and failing miserably to hide the dimples in her cheeks, the twinkle in those grey eyes of hers.

Karlach watched them for a second, thanking whatever gods were up there for giving her friends like the two of them, especially now.

She turned back to Gale, and he was staring over at the fire with half a grin on his face, his eyes filled longing, with so much adoration she wanted to puke almost. Fuck, he was an idiot. Both of them were idiots. Fuck.

“Oh, I dunno,” she said, unable to stop a knowing little smile from forming on her lips. “I can think of at least one thing that might be worth living for.”

He started, his eyes leaving the fire, and a blush creeping over his bearded cheeks as he looked down at the ground, avoided her eyes. It was actually sort of adorable.

“You know,” she said softly, gently, “if I could find someone to look at the way you were just looking at her, I think I’d find every reason imaginable to stay alive.”

“Come now, Karlach,” he shook his head, like she was a child who hadn’t quite figured out how the world worked yet. She saw his eyes drawn almost involuntarily back toward the fire.

“What type of man would I be to choose one woman over the fate of the entire world? Or, if Mystra is correct, the fate of all Nine Realms?”

Karlach had never been one to mince her words. Or hide her feelings. Or be shy about the important stuff. Especially now.

“The type of man who’s in love, Gale.”

Another bark of laughter reached them from the fire, and this time it was Tav’s. This time her head tilted back as she laughed at something Shadowheart had said, and the light from the fire and the setting sun caught her just right, and she looked like a golden statue of herself, her eyes screwed up with laughter. It was such a truthful, open moment that Karlach found herself grinning along.

When her eyes opened, they met Gale’s across the fire, and she frowned immediately and looked away.

But not before Karlach saw the same longing she’d seen in Gale’s eyes. Not before she saw the hurt.

“The type of man who’s loved back,” she said quietly.

Gale didn’t reply, and she didn’t expect him to, but maybe she’d given him something to think about. Maybe she’d given the two of them a chance to be happy, at least for a little while. That was more than most people ever got. More than Karlach had thought she’d ever get.

That was worth something.

“‘Sides,” she continued more jovially, “She’s probably going to end up being the one that saves all of us anyway, I’d bet. Now I know she probably already told you this, but I’ll say it again. We’re going to find a different way.”

And with that she started toward the fire, because she had a bomb in her chest, too, and she’d be damned if she wasted even a second of her new life worrying about it. She’d be damned if she wasted even a second being sad about it, instead of living, instead of feeling, instead of hoping.

She supposed it was up to Gale to want the same.

“Karlach!” He called after her when she’d taken a few steps. She stopped, turned back to him, already grinning at the fragile hope in his eyes.

“Do you… you truly believe she… returns my feelings?” He asked her.

“I think you’re an idiot if you don’t, soldier.”

Ugh. Wizards.