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[aeqghrwen]

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[cj-schlatt]

Take Me Out - Part One

Pairing: MLB player!Schlatt x gn!sideline reporter!reader

Word Count: 1.6k

Summary: Schlatt is the new first baseman for the New York Mets, and you’re the team’s new sideline reporter.

Content: Fluff!

A/N: I went with the Mets over the Yankees because a.) I���m a Red Sox fan, and b.) the Yankees are strict and only allow mustaches (long live the chops). Enjoy! :)

You feel like a kid on the first day of school. You’ve got that nervous, butterflies-in-your-stomach kind of feeling, but in a good way.

It’s your first official day as the sideline reporter for the New York Mets, and you couldn’t be more excited. All those long nights of studying, all your hard work to obtain your communications degree, have finally paid off.

You can’t help the grin that spreads across your face as you enter Clover Park for the first time. You’re in beautiful Port St. Lucie, Florida, and Spring Training is just getting underway. The smell of freshly-cut grass hangs in the air as you watch the players running drills on the field.

It’s here, as you speak to a member of the production team near the dugout, that you catch your first glimpse of him.

His laugh is what you hear first. Instinctively, you turn towards the sound, and that’s when you see him. He’s standing near first base, facing away from you, showing off the number 99 that covers his broad back.

Schlatt, everyone calls him, despite the surname stitched across the back of his jersey. His reputation precedes him. Everyone has heard the scouting reports, seen the viral videos passed around social media. In the minor leagues, he’s been known for his antics, taunting runners on the opposing team when they reach him at first base. It’s his first year being called up to the majors, and he’s one of the big stories for the team, the player to watch.

You’ve done your homework. You know all about Schlatt and his rather colorful personality. He’s certainly one of the more animated players in the sport, always fired up after a solid hit or a particularly impressive defensive play. He’s cocky, and, honestly, he has every right to be. He’s the Mets’ number one prospect, an above-average first baseman and strong power hitter. You know he’s going to be a handful in interviews, but you’re up for the challenge.

You can’t tell from this angle, but you know that if Schlatt were to turn around, you’d see the infamous mutton chops. Second to his spectacular playing ability, his unusual facial hair has been one of his defining characteristics since he was first drafted. Love it or hate it, it gets the fans talking, keeping that oh-so important spotlight on him.

You’re pulled out of your musings by a shout of, “Look out!” followed by a baseball whizzing past your head, narrowly avoiding you. You look to the field to see a few players standing around sheepishly.

“You okay?” To your surprise, it’s Schlatt who turns to ask you.

You give him a thumbs up. “All good,” you call out to him.

With a satisfied nod, he turns back to face the field.

It’s going to be an interesting season, you think.

You’re packed into the press room like sardines, shoulder-to-shoulder with fellow reporters. You all crowd around the podium where Schlatt sits, an array of microphones and cell phones in front of his face to catch his every word.

The press conference begins, and you’re called upon to ask the first question.

You open your mouth to speak.

Before you can get a word out, an older, male reporter begins talking over you. “What do you think—”

“Hey,” Schlatt cuts the reporter off sharply. “Let ‘em speak.” He gestures to you.

You feel your cheeks heat as seemingly every pair of eyes in the room turns towards you. You take a breath, then, as calmly as you can, ask your question: “What’s your takeaway from day one of Spring Training?”

Schlatt hums thoughtfully before answering, “That we look good out there, but we still have a lot of work to do before we’re ready for Opening Day.” He leans back a little in his chair and adjusts his cap. “That all?”

“One more thing: got any advice for a rookie reporter, as a rookie yourself?”

He grins wide. “Just enjoy it. We’re in the big leagues, baby!” he whoops, and the crowd erupts in laughter and scattered applause.

Before moving onto the next reporter, you swear Schlatt shoots a wink in your direction.

Spring Training flies by. Before you know it, you’re on a plane to New York for Opening Day. The sun is shining bright on Citi Field, helping to warm the chilly air.

You’re trying your best to soak it all in. This is what you’ve dreamed of for so long, and you want to enjoy every moment of it.

What an exciting Opening Day it turns out to be. The Mets and Phillies have gone back and forth, earning runs and keeping the score close throughout the game.

It’s now the bottom of the ninth, and the teams are tied three-to-three. There are two outs, no one on base, and Schlatt is up at bat. The count is full—three balls, two strikes. It all comes down to the next pitch.

You watch with bated breath as the Phillies pitcher throws a blazing fastball towards the plate. Schlatt swings the bat, and—CRACK! Just from the sound, you know it’s gone, and Schlatt does, too. He stands in the batter’s box for a few moments, watching the ball sail into the stands, before beginning his victory trot around the bases.

The crowd is going absolutely crazy. Lights are flashing all around, and music is blaring through the stadium speakers. The Mets dugout empties to meet Schlatt at home plate, where they convene in a huge group, shouting and high-fiving one another.

As the celebration on the field dwindles and players are headed off the field, you’re able to get Schlatt’s attention for a post-game interview. You can hear Gary, the announcer, in your ear, setting it up for the viewers at home.

“Schlatt!” you have to practically yell over the crowd. “That was amazing! What’s going through your mind right now?”

He’s breathing heavily, standing with his hands on his hips and leaning in to hear you better.

You think he starts to talk, but you’re suddenly doused in ice-cold liquid. You gasp and instinctively try to back away, but it’s too late. You realize, belatedly, that another Mets player has dumped the Gatorade cooler in celebration, but seems to have missed his mark.

“What the fuck, man?!” Schlatt shouts at his teammate, instinctively putting an arm around your shoulder, as if to shield you from another onslaught.

You shiver, not completely sure if it’s from the unexpected contact or the fact that you’re soaking wet in New York in early April. Maybe it’s a little bit of both.

The station must have cut back to the booth by now. At the very least, the audio will have been muted momentarily when Schlatt swore. Still, you’re pretty sure that, even though the camera is there, it’s not broadcasting you in all your drowned rat glory.

“Fuckin’ idiot,” Schlatt mutters to himself before focusing his attention on you. “Are you alright? Lemme get you a towel.”

“Oh, it’s fine,” you try to tell him, but he’s already jogging towards the dugout and returning moments later with a clean towel, ironically emblazoned with the Gatorade logo.

“Thank you,” you say, taking the towel and attempting, maybe in vain, to dry yourself off. You’re at least able to get the worst of it so there is no longer Gatorade running into your eyes, which is an improvement.

Schlatt crosses his arms and shakes his head. “I’m sorry about him.”

To be honest, you’re surprised he’s still here, still talking to you. You figured he’d want to get out of here as quickly as possible, but here he stands, looking genuinely concerned.

“It’s alright,” you try to brush it off.

“No, it’s not,” he insists. “I’ll talk to him, make sure it doesn’t happen again.”

You smile appreciatively. “Thank you,” you say again.

He smiles back at you softly. It’s so unlike him, you think—or, at least, so unlike the version of himself that he presents on the field and in interviews. It’s like you’re getting a peek at the real Schlatt, the man behind the persona.

You’re whisked off the field soon after. The production team assures you that you don’t have to stick around for the post-game press conferences, insisting that you go home and get cleaned up, for which you’re very grateful.

One very uncomfortable (but thankfully short) walk later, you’re back at your apartment. You quickly peel off your ruined outfit and hop in the shower, eager to wash off the day (and the Gatorade).

Soon, you’re curled up on the couch, cozy in your pajamas. It’s then that you feel your phone buzz, pulling it out of your pocket to reveal a wall of notifications. Confused, you unlock your phone, trying to make sense of the influx of Twitter mentions.

You nearly drop your phone when you open Twitter.

There, on your screen, is a video of you, microphone in hand as you begin interviewing Schlatt, before the Gatorade shower interrupts you both. The video doesn’t end there, though. You watch in disbelief as Schlatt puts his arm around you and continues talking to you, unaware that the camera is still rolling. Sure, there are a few moments where the audio is muted to cover up Schlatt’s f-bombs, but it appears that SNY aired your entire interaction with Schlatt.

You scroll down, eyebrows raising as you read through the replies. There are screenshots of Schlatt with his arm around you, followed by incomprehensible strings of letters and an impressive amount of emojis. You don’t really know what to make of it, and you try to put it out of your mind as you get up to make yourself dinner.

An hour or so later, you get a text from an unknown number:

can we talk?

A second message comes through moments later:

it’s schlatt

A/N: Thank you so much for reading! Let me know what you think! :)

[emeritusemeritus]

Nice sweater. [Fred Weasley x Reader]

Image found on Pinterest.

Title: Nice Sweater

Pairing: Fred Weasley x Reader (established relationship)

Timeline: Non-specified. Set after Christmas break.

Summary: Draco tries to wind you up about your handmade sweater from Molly and gets firmly put in his place.

Warnings: Draco being antagonistic. Derogatory comments about wealth. Mentions of shagging. Brief mentions of physical abuse and scars.

It was the first week back after Christmas break and you were thankful that Saturday had eventually rolled around as the early morning starts, hard classes and already mounting homework had taken some re-adjusting to. You'd spent the two weeks of Christmas break at the Burrow with your boyfriend Fred and his family, just as you had for the previous two years and it was both fun and relaxing at the same time, a perfect break from your usual school routine.

"Morning y/n," Hermione says as she walks into the great hall, sitting down at the table in front of you as she fills her glass full of pumpkin juice. Your sleep schedule had been thoroughly thrown off by the holidays and you'd groaned as you shot awake way before you needed to this morning, not able to get back to sleep. You'd begrudgingly dragged yourself out of bed and gotten dressed in thick, warm layers before taking a small walk around the grounds as the sunrise bloomed over the hills, the sun waking up with you.

You'd been early to breakfast, arriving at the deserted hall even before breakfast had started and so you slipped away into the kitchens and had managed to acquire a cup of tea that one of the busy house elves had placed onto the Gryffindor table for you with an accommodating and very appreciated snap of their fingers. You'd pulled out your book and had read a few chapters whilst drinking your cup of tea before the breakfast had magically appeared on the tables promptly at 7am.

"Morning Hermione," you greeted with a tired smile, still feeling as if you were waking up slowly. You chatted for a while as you both ate breakfast before some of your other friends turned up. You were just about to leave and go back to your dorm when a familiar presence appeared behind you, placing a kiss to your head as he climbed onto the bench beside you, his identical twin slotting in directly across from him.

"Morning gorgeous," Fred says with a smile, already piling up his plate with golden toast with one hand as the other wraps loosely around your waist from behind.

You noticed he and George were both wearing their new sweaters that Molly had knitted them for Christmas and you had to smile as you looked at your own sweater which was also a christmas gift from Molly and Arthur. Yours didn't have your initial stitched on the front like the others did but rather it was a beautifully intricate design of blended colours in a fair isle style, with multiple geometric patterns running across in various orange, autumnal hues. You'd been so excited to receive a Molly crafted sweater and she had really outdone herself with this one. You always looked forward to her gifts, having received a beautiful scarf last year and a pair of mittens the year before that, both lovingly created by hand.

"Morning Freddie, morning Georgie," you smile as George greets you enthusiastically, much too awake for this time in a morning. You tiredly rest your head on Fred's shoulder as he eats and he responds by stroking your back soothingly as you talk quietly to each other, joining in with the larger group conversation but also running your own little chatter just between the both of you.

"Did you want to come to Hogsmeade with me and George later? Got to pick up some stuff from Zonkos," Fred says as he tucks into his sausages, a smirk on his face at the prospect. "Thought we could get a butter beer or a takeaway tea from Puddifoot's and maybe have a walk to the shrieking shack."

"How romantic," you say sarcastically as he chuckles, nodding his head.

Feeling a chill run over you, you pull the sleeves of your sweater down over your hands, trying to fight of the cold air that circulated around the room.

"Oi Weasel-bee, nice jumper," you heard Draco's whiny voice say from the table behind you, making you roll your eyes. You glanced up at Ron who looked immediately offended but was choosing to ignore him until he spoke up again, "I'm surprised your family could afford all that disgusting wool or does she reuse the same jumpers? That would make them what, fourth-hand at this point?"

"Shove off Malfoy," Ron says with a bite in his voice, turning abruptly back to the table as Harry tries to divert the conversation quickly away.  You can see George is looking angry across the table as he tries to calm himself and Fred beside you is stiff in his seat.

"Oh look, it seems the Weasley's have a new family member they can't afford!" He says, fixing his attention to you, looking at the jumper you were wearing.

"Nice jumper y/l/n," Draco says mockingly.

You simply look up at him with a fakest, most sarcastic smile and tone of voice you could muster and playfully said, "thanks Draco!"

He frowned briefly at your pleasantness before trying again to wind you up, not happy that he didn't get the reaction he wanted.

"So which one are you shagging again? Do their parents really hate you that much to give you that jumper?"

You feel Fred tense even more and you place your hand on his leg under the table to stop him from starting anything, knowing how cross Draco's words would have made him. You briefly catch George's eye, who looks furious, but you wordlessly tell him not to do anything with a subtle look before turning back to Draco.

"Are you deliberately thick?" You ask, raising your eyebrow at him as he blanched at your words, standing up and moving over to the table. "This jumper was a homemade gift from their parents, showing that I've got two sets of parents that love me and care enough to give a thoughtful gift, can you say the same? What did you get for Christmas from yours, more scars on your hand from your dad's stupid cane? Maybe another tailored black suit that shows how little personality you actually have?"

There's silence in the hall as everyone seems to watch your interaction. Draco, falling silent for a few seconds suddenly huffs and walks away muttering under his breath with Crabbe, Goyle and Pansy trailing behind him like faithful sheep.

Your friends all erupt in cheers at your little victory and you laugh at them as you take a sip of pumpkin juice.

"Which one am I shagging," you laugh, "that's a new one."

[yelena-bellova]

Heartfirst: A Ted Lasso Story - Chapter Four

Chapter Four: Learning Curve

Plot: With the prospect of both a biography and a new team member, Y/n learns more about the modus operandi of AFC Richmond.

Word Count: 6.3k

Warnings: f!reader, language, minor innuendo, (16+)

A/N: This is really the last chapter before things start to get going, so hang tight through the filler, because we’re about to take off lol

—————

Though she spent very little time there, the KJPR office was somewhat of a safe haven for Y/n.

Working at Nelson Road Stadium had proven to bring a level of chaos Y/n wasn’t used to. When she’d make the drive across town for her weekly meetings with Keeley, she was assured the only focus would be work.

So when Y/n entered Keeley’s office and found her boss on the couch, holding two cups of coffee, she was a bit thrown.

“Hi!” Keeley greeted.

“Morning,” Y/n replied, shutting the door behind her, “What’s this?”

“I thought we could have breakfast,” Keeley smiled, holding up the cups, “I want to hear all about your first week.”

Y/n tried to hide her true feelings on the matter, knowing Keeley had all the right intentions. It wasn’t many bosses who cared so much about their employees.

“Okay,” Y/n conceded, setting her things on the far end of the couch and joining Keeley in the middle.

“I didn’t know how you liked it, so I just got cream and sugar,” Keeley explained as she handed Y/n the takeaway cup, “I hope you’re good with dairy.”

“I’m fine,” Y/n chuckled, taking a sip of the drink, “It’s lovely.”

Keeley grinned victoriously. “So,” she kicked off her ridiculously high heels and tucked her feet under her, “How’s it going? Are you loving it?”

Love was a strong word in the case of Y/n’s feelings towards AFC Richmond. She liked Rebecca, she liked Higgins, she…could tolerate Ted. Coach Beard, whose lack of first name didn’t seem to bother anyone, and Roy Kent seemed decent. Some of the Greyhounds were more friendly than others. The work was something she was perfectly skilled at. But Y/n couldn’t say she was in love with any part of the job.

“It’s…” Y/n struggled to answer truthfully while staying grateful, “Definitely a unique place.”

“It’s a lot to get used to if you’ve never been in that world,” Keeley replied, picking up on the top notes of what Y/n was saying.

“Yeah,” Y/n nodded, relaxing a little, “That’s not to say that I’m not happy there. I just think it’s going to take a little while to adjust.”

Keeley took a long sip of her drink before speaking, “Well, if there’s one thing I learned being there, it’s that you’ve got to leave yourself open to new things. I mean, when I first met Rebecca, I was fucking terrified of her. Felt like I was gonna piss myself anytime she looked at me.”

Y/n scrunched her brows in confusion.

“But,” Keeley rested an arm on the back of the sofa, “Once I decided I wasn’t going to be intimidated by her anymore, we became best friends. Now I can’t imagine my life without her.”

“That’s wonderful,” Y/n smiled softly down at her coffee cup, trying to hold her tongue as much as she could, “For you guys, but…I can’t say that I’m looking for anything more from Richmond than a decent place to work.”

One look at Keeley’s face and it was clear nothing about that answer was computing. “Why?”

Y/n slowly shrugged as she searched for the proper answer. “I just…I don’t know, I just feel like there’s your personal life and your professional life and the two don’t really go together. That’s not to say it doesn’t work for some people,” she gestured towards Keeley with her cup, “It clearly did for you. Just…I don’t see that in the cards for me.”

Watching Y/n as she sipped her coffee, Keeley felt reminiscent of the very time she’d just described. She’d cracked Rebecca open, and this felt like another grand opportunity.

“Well,” Keeley smiled knowingly, “I think it’s worth investing time in the people you work with. Like us,” she reached forwards and tapped Y/n’s knee, “I want us to be friends.”

Y/n chuckled, feeling trapped between a very pink rock and an equally pink hard place.

“Even if it takes the whole season,” Keeley continued, narrowing her eyes, “And endless weekends sat in the owner’s box together…”

“This is getting into HR territory,” Y/n smirked.

“Shows what you know,” Keeley replied smugly, “We don’t have an HR department yet.”

Unable to stop herself, Y/n joined in with Keeley’s laughter.

“Now,” Keeley bent down and slipped her heels back on, “We’ve got a meeting to get to.”

Rising from the sofa, Y/n felt like she was going to get whiplash from how fast the atmosphere shifted from work to anything but.

—————————

Keeley and Y/n made the short drive to Nelson Road and went straight up to Rebecca’s office. Y/n had daily meetings with the Greyhound’s owner and Higgins, but Keeley only popped in once a week.

“Morning,” Keeley knocked on Rebecca’s door, but entered without asking.

“Good morning,” Rebecca said in a voice Y/n had quickly learned only came out when she was stressed.

“Something wrong?” Y/n asked as she set her purse by the coffee table.

Rebecca took a breath, “Trent Crimm will be joining our meeting this morning. Apparently he has a proposition he’d like to talk to us about.”

Y/n confusedly looked to Keeley before bouncing back to Rebecca.

“Trent previously worked for The Independent,” she continued, “I don’t know if you read the article about Ted’s panic attacks last season, but he was at the helm.”

In fact, Y/n hadn’t read anything about Ted’s panic attacks until recently. And if she had heard the name ‘Trent Crimm,’ it hadn’t made a lasting impression.

“So…” Y/n started, “Do we like him or…?”

“I suppose it’s neutral,” Rebecca sighed, “Or that could change within the hour. We’ll see.”

Y/n gave a thin lipped smile, “Fun.”

By the time the three letters hit the air. Higgins was knocking on Rebecca’s door, Trent Crimm in tow.

“Good morning, all,” he greeted, “I’ve brought our special guest.”

Rebecca stood to her feet, smoothing her blouse as she did, “Trent. Always a pleasure.”

“The pleasure’s mine,” Trent said, his voice smooth and even as he shook Rebecca’s hand.

“I believe you’ve met Keeley Jones,” Rebecca gestured to her friend, “But you haven’t met our latest hire. This is Miss Y/n Y/l/n, she’s heading up PR alongside Keeley.”

Y/n stretched her hand over Rebecca’s desk to take Trent’s.

“Lovely to meet you, Miss Y/l/n,” the former journalist greeted.

“You as well,” Y/n replied, keeping an even expression.

Rebecca gestured towards the chair on the opposite side of the desk, “Please.”

Trent took a seat while Y/n, Keeley and Higgins formed a united front on either side of Rebecca

“I’m sure you’re wondering why I requested to meet with you,” Trent said, pausing briefly after, “As you know, I recently left my position at The Independent in favor of pursuing other creative avenues. However, having spent much time here, as well as other clubs, I know how unique AFC Richmond is.”

Unique. The same word Y/n had used to describe her feelings on Richmond. So she wasn’t the only one who saw it…

“Not only this past season,” Trent continued, “Being relegated only to make a triumphant return, but the team, the coaches…” Trent spread his hands, “It’s all quite special in contrast to other clubs.”

Finally, Trent paused the flattery and got to the heart of the matter. “I’m quite interested in writing a book about AFC Richmond. It would, of course, contain some of the club’s rich history, but I’d specifically like to focus on this season, which would entail shadowing the club for its entirety.”

Red lights. Big, red flashing lights went off in Y/n’s head.

“Well,” Rebecca stuttered, reaching for her tea cup, “That is…certainly a proposition.”

“Quite,” Higgins agreed, that nervous smile pasted on his face.

“It’s wonderful to hear,” Y/n added, glancing briefly over to Keeley and seeing the same panic in her eyes, “That the club’s so highly regarded.”

Trent smiled easily as he waited for an answer.

“But,” Rebecca said rather loudly, before catching herself, “I feel that the final say can’t come from me. I think it’s only right that Coach Lasso be the one who decides.”

“Yes,” Keeley interjected, “That’s a very good point.”

Speak of the devil, or whatever inhumanly cheery being he channeled each morning, The Final Say rapped his knuckles on the door.

“Good morning, Viet-“ Ted began as he strolled in.

All at once, in nervous relief, Rebecca, Keeley, Higgins and Y/n all shouted, “Ted!”

“Hey, look who’s here,” Ted grinned, pointing to Keeley, “Hi, Keeley.”

“Hello, Ted,” Trent turned in his chair.

Ted stopped in place, before shaking the man’s hand, “Trent Crimm. Are you kiddin’ me? Hey, nice to see you, man. You know, they got a big ol’ Ziploc bag full of your hair ties down at the lost and found. You should pop on down, i-if you still want ‘em.”

Ted went about placing the daily delivery of biscuits on Rebecca’s desk, something Y/n still didn’t understand.

“Mr. Crimm has requested to follow the club this year,” Rebecca paraphrased, grinning unnaturally large at Ted, “He wants to write a book about us.”

“Oh, yeah?” Ted raised a curious eyebrow.

“I think there’s a story here worth telling, Ted,” Trent said.

“Yes,” Rebecca smiled, “And we all,” she gestured to her own team, “Love the idea, but obviously as manager, we thought you should have the final decision.”

Ted sucked his teeth, “Oh, okay.”

As he began to think it over, and while Trent’s back was turned on the group, Keeley, Rebecca, Higgins and Y/n began to mouth and gesture a silent chorus of ‘no’ to Ted.

“I mean, geez, you know…” Ted stalled, his eyes bouncing between his co-workers and Trent.

It was a nightmare waiting to unfold, Y/n tried to communicate that passionately with each shake of her head. All eyes were already on Richmond, waiting for them to mess up. Waiting for some drama that could be exploited. They didn’t need someone describing every failure in graphic detail, catching every ugly moment…

Ted felt otherwise.

“Sure, what the heck? Why not?”

Y/n grimaced.

“When can you start?” Ted asked, “No time like the present. Except 11:11, that’s my wishing time. Or 23:11, if I’m at a military base or Euro Disney.”

“Right, well,” Rebecca breathed, “Decision made. Wonderful,” she smiled at the newest addition to the Richmond fold, “Trent, welcome.”

Y/n kept the same polite smile, praying her face held.

The chime of Higgins’ mobile broke the awkward silence.

“Holy shit,” the man exclaimed, “Zava is leaving Juventus.”

“Whoa,” Keeley cried, reaching for her phone in time with Rebecca.

“Wait,” Y/n paused, “‘Zava’ Zava?”

Ted gasped, “What about their kids?” He earned himself a brief glare from the foursome across from him, “I’m sorry. I didn’t know what any of those things meant. I thought it was like Greek mythology or something. I was just lost. I just went with that. Sorry.”

“Zava’s a world class striker who’s about to leave his club in Italy,” Trent explained for Ted’s benefit, but Y/n listened as well. She knew nothing more than the name.

“Ooh,” Ted replied, “Cacio later, Pepe.”

“Apparently,” Higgins began to read from the headlines, “He wants to play in the Premier League because his wife binged The Office and she wants to live in England.”

“I think you mean Scranton, Pennsylvania, buddy,” Ted pointed toward Higgins.

“We didn’t do it first, Ted,” Y/n replied, glancing up from Google quickly, “Ricky Gervais?”

“Oh, that’s right,” Ted remembered, “Y’all did a premake over here.”

Higgins brought them back to the original topic. “If we got Zava,” he breathed, “That would be amazing.”

“He would be huge for the club’s brand,” Keeley added, “He’s got, like, 90 million followers. One time he just posted the word ‘7 million likes.’ It got 10 million likes.”

“Yes, but he is very expensive,” Rebecca countered, “And isn’t he supposed to be a bit of a diva?”

Y/n was scanning the top search results for the star player, already not thrilled with the level of consistent inconsistency she saw. But Keeley was right, he was on his way to Beckham level status.

“Yes, huge diva,” the blonde answered, “Enormous. He goes through teams like you go through manicurists.”

“The fumes make me dizzy,” Rebecca defended, “And I overshare,” she quickly looked to Trent, “Please don’t print that.”

“We have to balance what he’d do for the brand versus the enviroment he’d create,” Y/n spoke up, “But, yes, generally speaking, he’d be incredible.”

“Zava has gone through 14 teams in 15 years,” Higgins spoke for the other side, “Leaving behind nothing but chaos and trophies,” longing developed in the man’s eyes, “Beautiful, shiny trophies.”

Rebecca sighed, “Yes, but, Leslie, who wants to deal with all that drama?”

“Apparently, everyone who can afford him,” Higgins answered, scrolling an article, “Chelsea, Arsenal, United, West Ham…”

“I say, let’s just go for it,” Rebecca said, barely letting a beat pass after the utterance of her ex’s team, “I mean, maybe he’s a handful, but who doesn’t love a handful?”

“Well, I mean, if you’re talking salted peanuts,” Ted replied, “Yes, please. If you’re talking Skittles though, no thank you. You know, the dye melts and it gets all over your fingers, makes ‘em all sticky,” Ted laughed before pointing to Trent, “And that, you can print.”

“Wonderful,” Higgins decided, “Let’s set up a meeting.”

“Great,” Rebecca cheered as the rest of the room voiced their own enthusiasm, “Let’s go get Zava. Zava-dabba-doo!”

Keeley and Y/n each collected their things and headed for the door with Higgins and Ted.

“This is exciting,” Keeley said cheerily.

“Potentially a huge headache,” Y/n replied, ever the more pessimistic, “But it could be great.”

“So, am I to assume,” Trent asked Rebecca, not having moved from his spot, “You’re going to pursue a notoriously mercurial player you can’t really afford simply because the team your ex-husband owns wants him?”

From the door, Ted, Higgins, Y/n and Keeley all gave an encore of the previous performance, gesturing wildly to Rebecca to answer ‘no.’

Following Ted’s lead, Rebecca responded truthfully. “Yes.”

A second of silence passed before Trent gave an approving smile, “Love that.”

Feeling safe leaving Rebecca and Trent alone, Y/n followed the group out and down the stairs. Keeley informed her along the way that she was off to oversee a commercial shoot, but to text her if she had any questions. Regardless of Y/n’s reservations, she admired that Keeley was a hands-on boss.

Once in her office, Y/n set down her things and tried to ignore the nagging feeling in her gut that she needed to speak to Ted. He’d gone forward with Trent Crimm’s book idea without even considering the possible repercussions for the club. One week on the job had shown Y/n that Ted was optimistic to a fault.

“He knows what he’s doing, he knows what he’s doing,” Y/n muttered to herself, taking a deep breath and sitting down at her desk. She’d barely made contact with the chair before she was back up, “Nope.”

Descending down the staircase with purpose in each step, Y/n made a beeline for the coach’s office, passing Keeley and Isaac. She knocked on the door twice before poking her head in.

“Well, hey there, Y/n,” Ted greeted from his office, waving her over, “Come on in.”

“Hi,” Y/n smiled, shutting the door behind her and coming to stand before Ted and Coach Beard’s adjoined desks. The latter wasn’t in yet. “Do you have a second?”

“Hey, for a fellow ex-pat, you can have two,” Ted joked.

Y/n had prayed on multiple occasions that she’d learn to appreciate Ted’s off-beat humor as everyone else seemed to. God had yet to deliver.

“I just wanted to make sure you’re considering,” Y/n gestured circularly with her hands, “All the angles of what allowing Mr. Crimm to follow us this season means.”

“Okay,” Ted replied, moving to sit down at his desk, “Speak your mind, small fry.”

“Look, I know that a book all about Richmond sounds flattering,” Y/n explained, “And it is, but…regardless of whether he currently works for a publication or not, Trent is, at his core, a journalist. And some journalists may say they’re out to capture the good, but most of them are only interested in capturing the bad. And he’s going to be here for,” Y/n shut her eyes to accentuate the point, “Every single moment of the season. Which means every slip of the tongue, every mistake, basically,” she gestured between Ted and Coach Beard’s chair, “Any wrong move you or the team make will be put into print and potentially inflated to make you look even worse. It’s just…” Y/n took a breath, “Not the best idea.”

To his credit, Ted not only listened to Y/n’s points, but seemed to genuinely consider them.

“Well, I appreciate you bringin’ all that up, Y/n,” Ted finally replied, “Really. But I’ve known Trent a while and he’s a good egg. He’s not gonna try and paint us any other way than which we are.”

Y/n’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion, “This is the same man who wrote about you having a panic attack on the pitch.”

“Oh,” Ted waved the memory off, “He was just doin’ his job. Ain’t no water needs to pass under that bridge.”

“Uh-huh,” Y/n replied, her mouth hanging open at the lack of thought that was going into this.

“All that aside, I think Trent’s gonna do a bang-up job,” Ted smiled, “And if anything comes up, we’ll make sure to let him know to leave it out.”

“Okay,” Y/n clapped her hands together before holding them up, “Forget I said anything.”

“Wait, what was that?” Ted asked, pressing a hand to his ear for added comedic effect.

Y/n threw him a courtesy chuckle as she made for the door, letting the faux smile fall as soon as her back was turned. She could officially go on record of saying she’d tried to save the club’s reputation. If Ted wanted to sabotage that, it wouldn’t fall on her head…

Emerging in the hallway, Y/n was more in her head than her surroundings. A solid blonde and blue blur in her peripheral vision, Jamie Tartt, brought her back. He was laser-locked on something down the hall.

Y/n came to a stop, glancing down the way from them to see the back of Roy Kent, bobbing down the hall, and Keeley standing by herself, with a bag over her shoulder.

“What are you looking at?” Y/n asked, more confused than curious.

“Science,” Jamie mumbled, his eyes following Keeley as she turned on her heel.

Y/n squinted at the reply, “Huh?”

“I think Roy and Keeley broke up,” Jamie answered.

“They were dating?” Y/n asked, her eyes now trailing Keeley as well.

The question finally broke Jamie’s focus and he turned to Y/n, “How could you not know that? I thought you and Keeley were mates.”

“She’s my boss,” Y/n gave a sideways glance, “Her personal life is none of my business.”

Y/n turned to Jamie, who was already tuned out of the conversation. “But something tells me it’s yours so,” she clutched the rail and swung up the stairs, “Have a good one.”

Behind her, Jamie mumbled some reply as they went on their separate ways.

—————————

Later in the day, after extensive research on Zava amongst other tasks, Y/n’s phone buzzed with a text from Keeley.

Are you free for a drink after work?

She sighed tiredly, out of all the people trying to befriend her, Keeley’s efforts were the hardest to combat. Maybe because she was sunshine personified, maybe because Y/n could tell she didn’t have an dis-genuine bone in her body…all she knew was she truly didn’t want to hurt her feelings.

A second text came through, offering salvation.

Promise it’s work related.

Y/n sent a reply immediately.

Sounds good. Text me where.

Once quitting time came around, Y/n drove to the posher side of Richmond and the address of the bar Keeley had given her. It was more upscale than the Crown and Anchor, but not so much so that it would be obscenely priced.

To her credit, Keeley dove right into the business of it all when they sat down. She told Y/n how at the commerical shoot, she’d run into an old friend from her modeling days and had offered her a job with KJPR. Something along the lines of a liaison coordinator between clients.

“Okay,” Y/n shrugged, “I don’t really see how this involves me though.”

“Well,” Keeley slid her martini glass away, “I was wondering, since you’ve got so much experience, if you wouldn’t mind helping me help her get adjusted? It’s a bit of a jump from her previous jobs and I just want to make sure she does well.”

While Keeley could sometimes appear naive, she wasn’t to be underestimated. Y/n knew this already. She was never in the KJPR office for more than twenty minutes at a time. She barely knew the names of the other employees. Keeley knew all this as well.

Y/n narrowed her eyes at her boss, “That’s not why you asked me out tonight.”

Keeley held her gaze a few seconds before breaking with a small smile, “No, it’s not. I just said that so you’d come.”

Y/n rolled her eyes only in half-annoyance as Keeley cackled.

“But I really would appreciate your help with Shandy whenever you’re around,” Keeley said firmly, “She’d benefit a lot, learning from you.”

“Sure,” Y/n shrugged, not even realizing that she was smiling, “Fine. But if she’s as deceitful as you, I want nothing to do with her.”

Keeley chuckled, “Fair. How’d your day go?”

“Fine,” Y/n sighed, twirling the olive on the toothpick of her drink, “Sounds like you had a better one though.”

“Yeah,” Keeley replied, her voice dropping and her eyes suddenly turning sad.

Y/n didn’t need to be told not to pry into anyone’s life, it was a professional courtesy she wanted herself. But if the members of AFC Richmond were so personally intwined, there was a certain amount she had to know.

“Can I ask you something?” Y/n carefully broached the topic.

“Yeah, of course,” Keeley replied softly.

“You and Coach Kent…” Y/n awkwardly ran her finger along the bottom of her glass, “Were you…?”

Keeley gave an almost imperceptible nod, averting her gaze back to her drink.

“I don’t need to know anything,” Y/n held her hands up, “I-“

“No, it’s fine,” Keeley dismissed her, “I mean, it sucks, but it also helps to talk about it.”

Not the intended result, but Y/n wasn’t going to shut Keeley down. It felt like girl code.

“I don’t know, it just…” Keeley pressed a hand to the side of her face, “Really came out of nowhere. I keep thinking back and trying to find where things started going wrong, but I can’t find anything. I mean, I’m wracking my brain constantly just wondering what I did wrong.”

“Look, I don’t know the situation,” Y/n replied, “The little I know about Coach Kent, he seems like a…” she searched for the right word, “Somewhat difficult person.”

Keeley breathed a laugh, “Yeah, sometimes. But not how you’d think.”

“But…maybe things just didn’t work because they didn’t work?” Y/n suggested, trying to ease a fellow woman’s pain a little, “I don’t know.”

“Yeah, maybe,” Keeley replied, not yet meeting Y/n’s eyes, “I just…”

She didn’t need to finish her sentence. Judging by the longing in her eyes, Y/n knew the next words would only reflect the love that remained on her end.

“Right, enough about me,” Keeley said, perking back up, “I just spilled my guts to you,” she poked Y/n’s arm, “Now you’ve gotta give me something.”

“I’ve got nothing to give,” Y/n chuckled and took a sip of her drink.

“Oh, there’s gotta be something,” Keeley squinted, “Have any of the players started hitting on you yet?”

Y/n nearly choked, “Thankfully no.”

“Are there any you want to hit on you?”

This time, Y/n was thankful she didn’t have anything in her mouth or else she definitely would have choked. “No,” she replied, her voice going up in pitch.

“Oh, come on,” Keeley laughed, “There’s gotta be someone.”

“Absolutely not,” Y/n swiped a hand through the air, “Unless you count Dani Rojas picking me up and spinning me around like he’d just come home from war, there’s been nothing.”

“Oh, that’s just Dani,” Keeley smiled, “He’s a sweetheart. But I’d bet you five quid, someone’s already got their eye on you.”

Y/n scrunched up her face at the possibilities of the thought. “Oh, don’t say that.”

“What?” Keeley shrugged, “You’re mad fit, you’re there all the time…someone’s gonna notice you.”

“Subject change,” Y/n shook her head,“Dear God.”

The night went on like that: Keeley trying to see how uncomfortable she could make Y/n until she laughed, which only resulted in them both laughing.

—————————

Richmond’s first match of the season arrived on a clear Sunday afternoon in Chelsea.

Y/n got herself to the stadium, clutching her Richmond badge just in case Rebecca had forgotten to put her name on the list. But sure enough, she sailed right on through security and rode the elevator all the way up to the VIP box. Coming down the aisles of seats, Y/n spotted the trio that were quickly becoming her group. Higgins, Keeley and Rebecca were huddled together in deep discussion.

“What’d I miss?” Y/n asked as they parted, taking the vacant seat next to Rebecca.

“According to Higgin’s wife’s, friend’s, sister’s airline stewardess’ massage therapist,” Rebecca sputtered, “Zava’s going to sign with Chelsea.”

“Oh,” Y/n sighed, feeling a bit deflated, “That’s too bad.”

It didn’t take long for the crowd to begin chanting, though neither team had come onto the pitch yet. Y/n glanced down at the field and spotted Roy Kent, facing the crowd and giving a reserved salute. She’d forgotten he was a Chelsea legend.

Y/n glanced over to Keeley, who was firmly squeezing Rebecca’s hand, and felt a twinge of sympathy pain.

But as quick as the crowd had been to cheer on Roy, their attention flipped as Zava himself came through the VIP section, taking a seat in the front row.

Y/n sighed, “Well, that’s a bit of salt in the wound.”

Not before long, the match kicked off. It had been a solid year since Y/n had been to a game, and even longer since she’d been remotely interested. But working for a club, she had to get back into it to some extent. She reacquainted herself with the rules as the clock ticked, her eyes bouncing between players. By the end of the first half, it was 1-0 in favor of Chelsea.

A loud gag came from Higgins, breaking Y/n out of her thoughts. “Is he okay?”

Rebecca didn’t seem at all concerned, “What now?”

“I might’ve jinxed it,” Higgins replied nervously, looking over towards where Zava was seated.

Y/n leaned forward to see an older man approaching the striker, shaking his hand confidently.

“I knew it,” Rebecca complained.

“I’m confused, who’s-“

Y/n’s sentence stopped in its tracks as the older man took off his sunglasses, revealing himself to be Rupert Mannion.

“Oh,” Y/n’s mouth hung around the vowel.

“Would you please go and find out as much as you can from your vast network of lip-reading massage therapists?” Rebecca asked of Higgins, who promptly departed with his phone.

Y/n took the opportunity to scan Rupert from a distance. He looked perfectly pleasant and somehow, that let Y/n know he was as dangerous as he’d been made out to be.

“Rupert’s gonna land Zava,” Rebecca stated.

“You don’t know that,” Keeley replied.

Rebecca sighed, launching into a story, “Years ago when I was bartending in that private club, Rupert and his then wife came into the bar,” she laughed, “He was the life and soul of the party. Buying rounds of drinks for everyone, telling stories. Just charm personified. And he left me a massive tip. And then about a week later, he came back without his wife and asked me out. I, of course, said no and then he left.

“What a dick,” Keeley replied.

“I’ll second that,” Y/n raised an eyebrow, glancing over at the dick in question.

“But then he came back the next night, and the next night, and the next,” Rebecca continued, “And he would just sit at the bar with a drink and chatted to me till close. And he just said ‘It doesn’t matter if you ever go out with me. It’s just worth it being here to get to know you.’”

Y/n and Keeley looked out at the air ahead of them, both contemplating the almost magic of it.

“It’s a fine line between stalking and romance,” Keeley mused.

“And after about six weeks of that,” Rebecca was building towards the conclusion, “He asked me out again. And I said yes without any hesitation because by that point…I just felt so lucky because he wanted me.”

Y/n gazed over at Rebecca, feeling the pang of understanding only women could share. The same one she felt for Keeley.

“He made me feel special,” Rebecca said, old emotion welling in her throat, “Chosen,” she glanced over at where her ex stood, “He made me feel like that.”

Y/n and Keeley looked over to a grinning Rupert, charming many laughs out of Zava.

While Keeley reached over and took her best friend’s hand, Y/n met Rebecca’s eyes and gave her the warmest smile she’d given anyone at Richmond so far. Through that, she hoped, Rebecca would know she was with her.

Not a moment later, Higgins shimmied his way back through their row.

“Well?” Rebecca asked as the three women straightened.

“I just got off the phone with my son’s karate teacher,” Higgins began to recall the trail of communication, “Who used to date the woman who ran Zava’s avocado ranch-”

“Would you please get on with it?” Rebecca rushed.

“He might be going to West Ham,” Higgins nervously answered.

“Damn,” Y/n fell back in her seat, more disappointed with more context.

“Shit,” Keeley exclaimed.

“I knew it,” Rebecca shrugged, entirely unsurprised. “Rupert always gets what he wants.”

The four of them sat there, wallowing in defeat, before Rebecca’s posture perked up again.

“You know what,” she pulled her purse from the floor, “If Rupert can sweet-talk Zava into joining his club, then so can I.”

“Yes,” Keeley cheered her friend on, standing up to let her out the row.

“Alright,” Y/n nodded, proud that Rebecca was willing to fight for the club. Better yet, despite her desperation, she could handle it with grace.

The second half began and the Greyhounds came out on the attack with a new vigor. Y/n wasn’t sure what happened in the locker rooms between halves, but something had changed during the fifteen minute break and it was working for them. Colin delivered the ball to Jamie, who passed it to Sam, who made a spectacular kick that bounced off the goal post, hitting Dani in the face, which resulted in an even more spectacular rebound into the net.

Keeley was out of her seat cheering, hugging Higgins before tugging on Y/n’s hands excitedly. Even though she was only getting re-familiarized with the sport, Y/n felt a pit of joy in her stomach as she watched the team celebrating on the pitch.

After the point, Rebecca made her way back down the row and rejoined the group.

“Well?” Y/n asked, extending her hands in anticipation.

“Did you sweet talk him?” Higgins asked.

“Uh,” Rebecca adjusted her coat, “What’s the opposite of that?”

The three of them thought a moment.

“Sour-yell,” Keeley came up with.

“Yeah,” Rebecca nodded, keeping her eyes on the match, “I did that.”

Keeley, Higgins and Y/n looked to one another in confusion. Any dignity Rebecca possessed seemed to disappear in the face of Rupert Mannion. But now, it had possibly cost them Zava, and Y/n felt the opportunities slip through their fingers.

The game, however, ended better than Rebecca’s conversation. A 1-1 draw and Richmond left with a goal on the board. The team was proud, and in turn, Y/n felt an inkling of pride.

“Right, well,” Y/n sighed as their section began to empty, “Shall we?”

“Yes,” Rebecca replied speedily, gathering her items, “I don’t think I can handle another run-in.”

The foursome picked up and left, heading back into the stadium.

“No one else was around for your…” Y/n fished for some better term for Rebecca’s blow up, “Sour-yell, right?”

“Thankfully, no. But I still think we need to get straight back to the office,” Rebecca answered as they climbed the steps, “It’s not safe here.”

As they made their way out, an above head TV screen spoke unavoidably loud.

“Please welcome the newest member of Chelsea Football Club,” one of the team’s staff said from the press room, “Zava.”

Keeley, Y/n, Rebecca and Higgins froze under the picture, unable to look away as Zava picked up the contract and paused before signing.

“I have changed my mind,” he told the room full of journalists, “Zava will not play for Chelsea.”

“Oh,” Rebecca sighed, “I’m sorry, I can’t watch this.”

As she left, Keeley followed with Higgins and Y/n bringing up the rear.

“Zava will play for Richmond.”

At hearing the name of their club, the group hastened back around the hall corner, mouths agape. As the press room filled with question after question that Zava would leave unanswered, Keeley hugged Rebecca and squealed. Y/n found herself laughing, pressing a hand to her chest in shock.

“So he responds well to yelling,” Y/n exclaimed.

“You did it,” Keeley grinned as she squeezed her friend, “You did it!”

Rebecca looked proud of herself, and rightfully so. This was a win for her, for the brand, for the whole of AFC Richmond. The season had just taken a massive turn in, potentially, the best direction.

“Okay, definitely back to the office,” Keeley made a plan, “We’ve got to put out a statement.”

“Right,” Rebecca smiled, victoriously leading her team out of the stadium.

—————————

After writing up an official announcement with Keeley, Y/n headed out for the night. She made it down the staircase just as the last of the Greyhounds were leaving the locker room, dressed for a night out.

“Ah, Y/n,” Sam called, giving a little wave.

“Hey,” Y/n greeted, “Congratulations on that goal today,” she looked to Dani with an awkward smile, “And…you too, I think?”

Dani laughed, “It was magnificent.”

“That it was,” Y/n chuckled.

“Listen,” Sam interjected, “The team is going out for a celebratory drink. Can we convince you to come and join us?”

Y/n shut her mouth and wracked her brain for replies that wouldn’t make her sound like an asshole. She liked the players, from the few interactions she’d had with them, but going out to a club with them was definitely not in her job description.

“That’s really sweet,” she smiled, “But I actually have plans.”

“Ah,” Sam nodded, painting his face with mock defeat, “Perhaps next time? When we win?”

“Maybe,” Y/n smiled, realizing she’d have to come up with another lie when the time came, “But you guys have a great time.”

“Oh, it is already a great time,” Dani replied as he began to make his way down the hall, pumping his fists in the air, “We got Zava!”

Sam and Y/n shared a laugh before bidding each other goodnight. Y/n waited a few minutes in the hall until the last sports car had left the lot before exiting herself.

Once back in the safety of her apartment, she changed into pajamas and flipped on the television. Keeping the volume low, she pulled out her cell from her purse and dialed a familiar number.

“Hey,” her sister’s voice came through after two rings.

“Hi,” Y/n sang as she moved around her kitchen.

“How’s the great football executive?” Caylee asked.

Y/n scanned the contents of her freezer, settling on a frozen lasagna. “Definitely not my title. And definitely not one I want.”

“What? Who wouldn’t want to be in charge of a team who score goals with their face?”

Y/n got a laugh out of the memory, “You watched the game?”

“Of course I did,” Caylee replied, an smile evident in her voice, “Still don’t fully get it, but I watched it.”

Watching as her dinner spun in the microwave, Y/n smiled. Thousands of miles between them and it felt like her little sister was just in the next room.

“Well, ‘one’ would not want to be in charge of a team that scores with their face, or allows a tabloid writer to tail them all season,” Y/n listed off the incidents of the week, opening the microwave before it could beep, “Or gets photographed coming out of a bloody sewer.”

“Ah,” Caylee understood immediately, “Still got that ten foot pole?”

Y/n could finally sigh in exhaustion without worrying anyone would catch her. “Cayl, if you spent two seconds here, you’d understand why.”

“No,” Caylee calmly said, her voice jumping an octave, “That’s never been my thing. It’s always been yours.”

Setting her dinner down on her kitchen table, Y/n took a seat. “It’s not that it’s a bad place, it’s a good gig. The people are just…a lot.”

Caylee hummed, decoding what her sister meant. It came off condescending.

“What’s that?” Y/n asked, semi-annoyed.

“Nothing,” Caylee replied.

“It’s something.”

“Nope,” Caylee popped her lips, “Just wondering if you ever get lonely up there in your cold corporate castle.”

The thing about talking to people who knew you…was that they knew you. Caylee was the only person that could see through Y/n’s barriers and knew exactly what prompted their creation. She was the one person Y/n couldn’t hide from.

“How could I ever be lonely when I’ve got you?” Y/n finally answered, reaching for the tv remote.

Caylee snorted, “Alright, c’mon, fill me in. I wanna hear everything.”

Y/n channel surfed until she hit Sky Sports, where the highlights of the match were being played. The main attraction, of course, was Dani’s goal.

“I don’t even know where to start…” she smiled, watching the replay and settling in for the night.

—————

Heartfirst Taglist

@lalla-04p @optimisticsandwichgladiator @makingmunson94 @taytaylala12 @storysimp @sokkigarden @lightninginab0ttle @poohkie90 @alipap3 @verra-nerevarine @shineforever19 @spaceagechimera @burnafter-reading @qardasngan @cyberpvnk-enthusiast @sogoodtoheritsvicious @buckybarnex @angelsunflxwer @blueanfield

[poetry-protest-pornography]

Okay, okay. I can't stop thinking about Kang and his approval seeking.

He plays a part to maintain his grandma's adoration, he tries so hard to do things that his dad will be proud of only to have the man shoot down every attempt.

And then, there's Sailom.

Even when he was actively bullying him, he was mostly angry that Sailom wasn't reacting the way he wanted him to. Sailom wasn't afraid of him, he wasn't giving in, he wasn't even properly mad. Sailom didn't give Kang a good grade in bullying him.

And now that they're... Whatever they are, Kang has rapidly shifted to wanting Sailom's positive attention and approval.

They do the money dance again when Kang leaves Sailom's house, only this time, Kang frames it as an almost apology:

When Sailom insists he won't keep the money unless Kang accepts his tutoring, Kang has a whole little moral crisis about standing him up (after carefully smiling and laughing off the comments from Max about how much he enjoys his own hot tutor), Kang shows up to the library hours late, and (after a fortifying breath) actually apologizes:

And then, when Sailom assures him that he wasn't waiting on him, Kang asks to dive into studying with this face:

After completing his assessments, we get this:

Look at those pleading eyes. Please please please tell me I did good.

And when Sailom's first reaction is confirmation? Look at how happy Kang is? Look at how he lights up!:

And then, the reveal:

He failed to get Sailom's approval, and he's devastated.

But it's more than that, too. He's realizing -- a little bit, at least, and it really comes together for him later with his dad -- that the way he's skating through life, the way he's letting his dad's lack of expectation and faith in him turn him into someone without direction, someone who can't meet simple expectations, even when they really want to, is making him miserable. The lack of effort has put him at a real disadvantage, he is woefully behind in school.

And for someone who puts a lot of work into coming off as the smartest, coolest, most in control guy in the room, he is at a loss. And all that wrong-footedness gets all wrapped up in his getting about Sailom. So first, he runs, and then, he doubles down on needing Sailom ('s approval).

We get the renewed commitment for tutoring when he shows up early. We get "let me drive you home", complete with "hold on tight " and both of them looking unbearably soft while the other can't see them. We get the dinner date with extra takeaway to share with Saifah. We get ... This:

And then later, after so much vulnerability and a whole ass chase, and a disaster of a surprise party, there's this:

Kang, getting a taste of what Sailom's attention feels like, of what meeting his expectations might gain him, and looking absolutely lost about it.

Kang has been trying to do well to prove himself to his dad, and his dad just constantly undercuts his efforts, and we see him give up, even after spending this whole episode fighting against the apathy and associated failures and disappointments that that has gotten him so far. But Sailom won't let him.

Sailom literally fights him in order to get him to keep going, to keep trying. Sailom sets himself as the motivation, as Kang's reason to keep going (Sailom took a very long pause when Kang asked "Do you want me to say I want you to be proud of me?" and let that particular word problem start working itself out in the background, and the answer came out "Yes" sometime thereafter).

And Kang is overwhelmed by the prospect of having someone's expectations, of being able to earn someone's approval.

And Sailom is overwhelmed by all the things he's feeling for this boy he literally spit on last week, but has now discovered is a whole mess, and also soft sad-boy under all that (I am on the fence as to whether he knew Kang was Umbrella Boy before he saw the picture).

They are both feeling so many things, and half of them are confusion, and I am also feeling many things.

[gandalfsbignaturals]

just watched the terror for the first time and i think my biggest takeaway was that the only man to survive the expedition was not a native born englishman (captain crozier is irish) not there by choice (asked by his prospective wife to go for the sake of her father) and the only reason he did survive is because he was uniquely willing to abandon his english way of life (by assimilating with the netsilik)

[anghraine]

melyzard replied to this post:

You know, given that P&P was published in 1813 before the 1696 window tax was repealed, she might just be admiring both the outdoors AND the expansive and numerous windows themselves. I mean, good windows really were a big sign of wealth and consequence until 1851 when the tax was finally repealed. But yeah,also,yeah, she's definitely more interested in the outdoors than the Great Chimney Places of the Wealthy

It's true that windows were a major status symbol at the time and long before, but I don't think Elizabeth much cares about that, in all honesty! That is the relevant historical context for Mr Collins's rhapsodies over Rosings' windows, for instance:

she could not be in such raptures as Mr Collins expected the scene to inspire, and was but slightly affected by his enumeration of the windows in front of the house, and his relation of what the glazing altogether had originally cost Sir Lewis de Bourgh

He's silly but he's not mistaken in identifying the windows as a significant status symbol (which without that cultural context can seem like just another Mr Collins absurdity). But Elizabeth specifically, as a person, is consistently not very interested in these kinds of status symbols (though she knows they're there and understands what they signify). She is attracted to natural beauty and unassuming elegance, which is the overwhelming note at Pemberley:

She had never seen a place for which nature had done more, or where natural beauty had been so little counteracted by an awkward taste.

Even when it does come to Pemberley's expensive interior, she focuses on the aesthetic dissimilarity to Rosings and, even more, about what is suggested about Darcy's relationships to other people dependent on him (Elizabeth's takeaway from the pretty interior decorating project for Georgiana is "He is certainly a good brother" and not how much disposable income this represents, say).

The fuller quote when she first approaches the window is pretty clear about what Elizabeth is focusing on, IMO:

Elizabeth, after slightly surveying it, went to a window to enjoy its prospect. The hill, crowned with wood, from which they had descended, receiving increased abruptness from the distance, was a beautiful object. Every disposition of the ground was good; and she looked on the whole scene, the river, the trees scattered on its banks, and the winding of the valley, as far as she could trace it, with delight. As they passed into other rooms, these objects were taking different positions; but from every window there were beauties to be seen.

[burningvelvet]

I officially finished Pride and Prejudice yesterday! Some more rambles to add to the ongoing collection:

1 Learning that Wickham and Lydia are on the downward path I predicted is really satisfying for some reason. Just the image of the classic rake being forced to marry the unruly teen he had a fling with and then being forced to deal with the repercussions of his actions for the first time in his life — so good considering he seemingly believed he could partake in ruining her reputation and get away with it. And Lydia isn’t consciously suffering (although in reality, her prospects/reputation have indeed suffered) because she’s so oblivious to the misfortune around her that she thinks her life is much better than it is. It’s all just so true to life imo. Nothing is black-and-white. Every family has the worrisome trainwreck couple and these two are the perfect representation of that. Also, Wickham/Lydia give me major Byron/Claire Clairmont vibes (my fellow Romanticists iykyk).

2 Elizabeth’s conversation with Lady Catherine was so nerve-wracking. Elizabeth handled it so well, which surprised me. Toward the end of the novel I was getting a sense that Elizabeth had really come into her own self & seeing how expressive she became in comparison to some of the other women around her was very refreshing.

3 Elizabeth and Darcy’s long conversation while walking was actually cute, I can’t lie. I didn’t really find Darcy personally appealing at first, but he grew on me — which I’m aware was the intention — but due to the popularity of the romantic elements of the story in popular media and film adaptations, I was really surprised just how little Darcy and Elizabeth interacted if we take into account the entire length of the novel and how many actual conversations they had. It’s more realistic that way due to how things like travel, socializing, and marriage were conducted back then. I think for the sake of modern audiences and modern concepts of romance/etc., adaptations and maybe even fans themselves really overemphasize the romantic elements of the story. What I mean is that it is a love story, yes, but our concepts of love in the Anglosphere have changed a lot since Austen’s time. Adaptations reflect this change, although they also probably skew the reader’s reception of the original novel. Alternatively, the Georgian era was a bit more lively than we regularly think, which is seen by Wickham/Lydia’s rendezvous, and so we could also interpret the novel as containing more passion covertly hidden beneath the pages. There are a lot of ways to interpret the concepts of love/romance as shown in the novel.

4 Lydia is truly her mother’s daughter imo. I don’t have a thought-out argument to defend this opinion but it definitely showed that Lydia was her mother’s favorite and Elizabeth was her father’s favorite — and interestingly, they married two men who were enemies to each other, and diametrically opposed in personality. I think one of the biggest takeaways from the novel is that the Bennet parents were an ill-suited match and so their children are having this struggle of trying not to repeat the generational curse — in Lydia’s case she fails like her parents did, whereas Elizabeth and Jane manage well.

5 I routinely forgot that Mary Bennet existed. Like was she even in the novel or was I just zoning out every time she appeared? Lmao

6 Mr. Bennet sarcastically saying that he loves Wickham and Collins more than Darcy and Bingley because the former two amuse him more and give him free entertainment… same tbh!

7 It’s interesting how all the men and women function as foils for each other and represent various reactions to the system they live in. Mrs. Bennet, Mrs. Bingley, Lady Catherine, Mrs. Gardiner, are all interesting to compare to each other, and Mr. Collins, Mr. Bingley, Mr. Wickham, Mr. Darcy, Mr. Bennet, Mr. Gardiner are also in that way very neatly comparable.

8 I’m biased because I’ve studied Shakespeare but I really got a big Shakespeare vibe the entire time. I saw someone on here post that the novel may have been inspired by Much Ado specifically and I completely agree! I looked it up and there have been articles and academic papers writing about the influence of Shakespeare on Austen and P&P particularly, so we’re not alone here.

— Overall, I’ve been pleasantly surprised to find that I enjoyed this book way more than I thought I would! If none of you have read it, or are only familiar with adaptations, definitely give it a try.

[themetaphorgirl]

where I've been

hello friends! it's me!

I know my presence has been really hit or miss over the past year and change. if you want the short version, life has just been really tough, but I'm at the point where I really want to feel like life feels more normal again, which includes writing and posting and being more active.

if you'd like the deluxe edition of what's been going on, I do feel like I want to share what's been happening. it's been really rough and the next steps are only going to be more difficult, so knowing I have friends rooting for me will really help.

you don't have to read if you don't want to, it's kind of a bummer! the biggest takeaway is that I've been going through a garbage time but I want to start writing regularly again, so hopefully you'll see a lot more of me moving forward.

everything else below the cut!

tw: pregnancy, pregnancy loss

okay so. y'all know I got married in December 2022 (and we are still very happily married!!). we've known from the getgo that we want a family, but hadn't quite pulled the trigger.

well, there was another situation that happened that made me realize that I really wanted to start trying now, but it also unlocked a really deep trauma. when I was 23 I was in a really horrible relationship, and I got pregnant. and I ended up miscarrying pretty early on. and I got zero support. that's the short version.

I ended up, I guess for my own sanity, blocking it out. there's big gaps in my memory that just. don't exist. and for a long time I told myself it didn't happen. later, when I acknowledged that it did happen, I told myself that it was for the best, that I would have been a bad mother at that point in my life, that I would have had to maintain contact with my ex, that it just wasn't the right time and it was a good thing that I lost my baby.

the problem was I never grieved. I never healed. it was all just locked away and festering and killing me slowly.

so I ended up spending a good part of last year grieving and trying to deal with pain that I should have dealt with years ago. which...let me tell you, it's a rough process.

and at the same time, I realized that I wanted to start trying. my whole life I've wanted to be a mom. I've wanted five kids for as long as I can remember. Every time I pictured the future I pictured children. And I didn't want to wait anymore. which...is extra complicated to start that process when you're also in the midst of unpacking trauma.

and as you might have guessed...I'm not pregnant yet.

I'm very lucky that my work has a great medical program and they don't have waiting periods to see fertility specialists, so I started seeing doctors last April. And there's nothing wrong. I've done bloodwork, I've done ultrasounds, I've done so many tests, Shane has been tested. We've done three medicated cycles with trigger shots. They can't find anything wrong. They keep shrugging and saying that it's just the matter of the right time.

Unexplained infertility is a bitch.

It's so painful. It's so unfair. And because of my job I'm constantly doing orders for pregnancy announcements and gender reveals and baby's first Christmas. I cannot tell you how many times I've run to the bathroom to cry because I just can't handle being surrounded by reminders that I'm not anybody's mother yet.

I'm currently on cycle 17 of trying. which. that on its own hurts so much. s e v e n t e e n.

we have to hold off on starting the next steps because Shane lost his job (which is another absolutely insane stressor) but he's in a new job that he loves and pays better, and I'm getting a referral for a new clinic for a second opinion. but it looks like we're going to move forward with IVF.

I'm very very lucky that my work will pay for a significant amount towards IVF, but there's still payments we have to make, so we're working on getting our ducks in a row. and it's a terrifying prospect. medications and egg retrieval (my first surgery ever) and transfers. and the crippling fear that they won't get enough eggs or none of them will fertilize or the transfer won't be successful. it's eating me away. I've been feeling like such a shell of myself, every failed cycle feels like another piece of me has faded away.

right now I'm trying to focus on getting myself in as healthy as a place as possible, emotionally and physically, before we start procedures. am I still hoping that I'll get pregnant without IVF? oh, desperately. but at this point, nearly a year and a half into trying, this is probably going to be our best bet.

so moving forward, I'm hoping I can start doing things that make me happy again. I've spent most of the past year and a half being incredibly depressed and not really doing anything other than laying around in bed. I did discover Lockwood & Co thanks to Maeve, and that's helped so much because it gave me something new to think about and fixate on (and write for), but it's still been rough and sporadic. which, actually, is a good describer of how the past year has gone. I need to get back into living again.

in the meantime thank you for everybody who's checked in on me, especially QuiddoDitto. I haven't really had the energy to message back, but I've seen the comments and messages and it's meant so much to me while I slog through this.

hopefully things will get better soon! hopefully I start feeling like a person again! hopefully I'll be writing and posting regularly because I miss it!

and hopefully there'll be a baby in my arms soon.

[mariacallous]

Just before the recent advance of Ukrainian forces into Russian territory, there were signs that Americans were becoming somewhat less confident about Ukraine’s prospects in the war with Russia. Add to this that the United States is in the middle of a heated election season where Republican politicians have been less supportive of backing Ukraine, one might have expected a drop in American public support for Kyiv.

Yet, our new University of Maryland Critical Issues Poll with SSRS shows robust, even increasing, support for Ukraine.

The poll was carried out by SSRS among a sample of 1,510 American adults from their probability-based online panel, in addition to oversamples of 202 Blacks and 200 Hispanics, July 26-August 1, just before the Ukrainian incursion into Russia’s Kursk region. The margin of error is +/- 3.0 %.  Here are some key takeaways.

Americans across the partisan divide are far more sympathetic to Ukraine than to Russia

A strong majority of Americans across the political spectrum sympathize more with Ukraine than Russia in the ongoing war: 62% of respondents express more sympathy with Ukraine than Russia, including 58% of Republicans and 76% of Democrats. At the same time, just 2% of respondents said they sympathized more with Russia in the conflict, including 4% of Republicans and 1% of Democrats. Republicans (20%) were more likely than Democrats (7%) to say they sympathized with neither side, while equal numbers of Republicans and Democrats (5%) said they sympathized with both sides equally.

More Americans want the United States to stay the course in supporting Ukraine as long as it takes

The percentage of respondents who said they want the United States to stay the course in supporting Ukraine grew from our October 2023 poll, reaching the highest level in our tracking since the spring of 2023. In our latest survey, 48% of all respondents said that the United States should support Ukraine as long as the conflict lasts, including 37% of Republicans and 63% of Democrats. All these numbers are new highs in our four polls since March-April 2023.

This shift among Republicans is especially striking considering recent campaign statements by the Republican candidates for president and vice president, Donald Trump and J.D. Vance. Both members of the Republican ticket have made statements opposing further U.S. military aid to Ukraine.

Fewer Americans say Ukraine is winning and Russia is losing

Since the start of the Russian invasion of Ukraine, our polls have tracked the American public assessment of Russia’s and Ukraine’s performance and prospects in the war, as we had reason to think that this assessment might influence the degree of public support for backing Ukraine. In the previous three polls, since March-April 2023, we found little change in that assessment. In the latest poll, there was a marked drop in the assessment that Ukraine is winning and Russia is losing.

Overall, 30% of respondents said Russia is failing in the latest poll, compared to 37% in October; and 21% said Ukraine is succeeding, compared to 26% in October. A plurality of about one-third said each side was neither winning nor losing. Democrats were more likely to think Ukraine (29%) is winning compared to those who said the same about Russia (9%). Republicans were more likely to express equal attitudes about the extent to which Russia (17%) and Ukraine (17%) are winning.

Fewer Americans view current levels of Ukraine funding as about right

American public attitudes on the level of funding for Ukraine remain highly partisan, with more Republicans saying the level is “too much” (52%) and more Democrats saying it’s about “the right level” (39%). Fewer respondents to the question about the level of U.S. support said, “they didn’t know” (26% compared to 33% last October). At the same time, there was an increase in the overall respondents who said the United States is spending too much (35% compared to 29% in October), and there was a simultaneous increase among those who said it is spending too little (15% compared to 10% in October).

The percentage of respondents saying that U.S. support for Ukraine is at the right level has dropped from 28% last October to 24% in July-August, with Republican support dropping from 18% to 15% and Democratic support dropping from 41% to 39%.

Americans support encouraging Ukraine to engage in conflict-ending diplomacy

We asked: “How much would you support or oppose the United States urging Ukraine to engage in diplomatic negotiations with Russia and the United States as soon as possible to end the war in Ukraine?”

We found strong bipartisan support for American urging of Ukraine to engage in diplomacy with Russia, though Republican support is more intense. Overall, 77% of respondents were supportive of diplomacy, with 40% saying they “strongly support” and 37% supporting “somewhat.” Republicans were more “strongly” supportive (53%) compared to Democrats (33%).

Conclusion

Before the recent advance of Ukrainian forces into Russian territory, the American public was growing less confident about Ukraine’s prospects in the war. Surprisingly, this has not undermined overall public support for Ukraine, especially the expressed commitment to stay the course for as long as it takes, which increased since last October. However, attitudes toward the level of support, while partisan, indicated some decline: A 6-point increase among those who say the support is too much, compared to only a one-point increase among those who say either that support is at the right level or too little (from 38% in October to 39% in July-August).

The most striking finding is the degree of bipartisan overall sympathy with Ukraine that encompasses majorities of Republicans and Democrats. The significant increase in the percentage of Republicans who want to see the United States stay the course in its support for Ukraine for as long as takes is especially notable as it occurs in the middle of a presidential campaign where the presidential candidates have taken contrasting views that might lead to a deeper partisan public divide. Early reports about the success of the Ukrainian advance into Russia may have impacted U.S. public support for Ukraine further, as in our previous studies, we found a positive correlation between the degree of perceived Ukrainian success on the battlefield and the degree of public willingness to support Ukraine.

[updownlately]

stay a minute (let my troubled heart rest)

| leah williamson x reader | hurt/comfort | 1.9k | a/n: another fic based off another song in another language :) this song's dear to me, one of my faves and i just had this idea while listening to a slow version of it. didn't edit this as much as i would've liked to but oh well... hope y'all like it!

~~~

Nights like these had a special place in your heart.

A tranquil atmosphere blanketed your shared apartment, ignorant of the UWCL semi-finals game you and Leah had played in today. 

The emotions of the game had long worn off, excitement, joy, anxiety, pain, all vanishing the second the pair of you had entered the apartment, takeout in hand a mere few hours ago.

Since then, you both had made base in the living room, Love Island playing on the tv, Leah enthralled by the show, a welcome distraction from the failures of the day.

The room itself was dark, save for the flashes of light from the screen illuminating the nearby area. You were cuddled up against Leah under a blanket, empty takeaway containers and dishes littering your coffee table, the warmth of each other's body more enticing than the prospect of a pristine apartment.

You hadn't been as interested in the show as your counterpart, instead opting to let yourself snuggle further into her chest, fingers tracing over the veins in her forearm, wandering over her lover tattoo as she focused on the screen ahead, her other arm silently wrapping around your waist, holding you closer. 

Ever since the pair of you had come home, few words had been said, eyes communicating everything you didn't need words to. Between showering again to wash off the tension in your sore bodies to changing into each other's hoodies and sweats soundlessly, letting the scent of each other bring you both home, a comfortable silence enveloped the pair of you, wrapping you cozily.

The game hadn't gone how you had wanted it to, the loss no doubt hitting you both immensely. Yet, in this moment, the grief of the defeat was quietly being washed away, the waves of your lover's tenderness quietly cleansing your heart, misery flowing like a river out of your soul. 

Taking a deep breath in, you willed the assault of negative thoughts in your head to go away. You knew you had quite a few missed opportunities to put the ball in the back of the net, nothing seeming to work in your favour though. Even worse, you know there were a few instances that you had made a few poor decisions, but with the game long gone, no results to be changed, you willed yourself to focus on the present, on being in your girl’s arms, safe and loved.

Entranced in your own musings, eyes closing, preoccupied by the calming heartbeat of the English captain, you failed to notice her attention resting upon you.

Leah wasn't happy with the result herself, heart aching at the conclusion that the prospect of being Champions League finalists was once again just barely out of reach. She was familiar with this feeling, friendly with despair, accustomed to wishing she had just given it a little bit more effort, yearning for a different outcome. Still, even as miserable as she felt, it seemed that it all wiped itself away the second you made yourself comfortable in her arms.

As soon as the pair of you had changed, you hadn’t wasted a second before tugging Leah over to the couch, fluffiest blanket in the house in your other hand. You had sat her down, a gentle stare threatening her to stay before you had warmed and plated the food for both of you. 

Immediately settling right beside Leah upon your return, shoulders millimetres apart, you had both silently ate dinner, knowing the faintest of touches would calm the other. 

Post dinner, the pair of you hadn’t separated, you only moving to better snuggle against Leah, hoping your body warmth would comfort the blonde.

And it worked. Unbeknownst to you, while the weight on Leah’s chest hadn't lifted from earlier, her breaths did come a tad bit easier now, the rock in her throating shrinking slightly. 

Yet, just thinking of the game brought another wave of sadness to the central-back's mind though, her arm tightening its grip on you, unknowingly seeking the comfort only you could provide. 

She couldn’t help but replay each tiny mistake in her head. The way certain passes didn’t connect, how a few tackles were just terribly mistimed, how she should’ve done better. The thoughts were battering her mind, a rush of frustration stifling her calming mood.

Eyes beginning to dampen, Leah held a shaky breath back, hoping you wouldn't notice the way her chest shook ever so faintly. 

She should've known better than to doubt your love for herself however.

To you, the change in Leah's demeanour was immediately noticeable, the shiver running through her chest an earthquake to you, quickening heartbeat just as easily distinguishable. 

Quietly and carefully, you shifted in her hold, your own arms reaching to grasp hers, pulling her up gently, bringing you both into a sitting position. 

You situated yourself in her lap, straddling her but being careful to avoid putting too much pressure on her thighs, knowing they'd likely be sore. Letting your knees do the work instead, you smiled as Leah gently clutched either side of your waist, silently steadying you, ensuring you wouldn't fall. 

Bringing your own hands up, you let yourself trace her fingers on your sides. Skimming your touch up the length of her arms, pausing for a second on her shoulders, long enough to just gently let your fingertips kiss the nape of her neck, your eyes scanned her face, taking note of the barely visible hints of hurt hidden in her eyes.

Eventually carrying on, you let your hand tenderly run up her neck, coming to rest across either side of her face, digits fanning her cheeks. You knew that she was beating herself up mentally, you both were. It was the way you both worked. It’s why you worked well together, differently similar, aware of the depths of self-anguish that each other’s minds could reach.

Placing a gentle kiss on her forehead, you felt the first of her tears fall onto your arms, a slow trickle of a few following soon after. 

Leaving another affectionate peck between her eyebrows, right where the creases in her forehead tended to form when she was unhappy, you remained put, lips ghosting the spot you had just kissed. You gave her a minute, knowing quite well that she needed some calm before you checked in on her.

You knew you both were hurting, would be for a while too, yet you hoped that in this moment, your presence could comfort the woman you loved, erase her pain even if only for the time being.

The two of you rested together for a little while, arms wrapped around the other, each holding your own world in your arms. 

Eyes closed, basking in the moment, in the anguish you two were undoubtedly sharing, you let your love fill the voids your pain had torn open.

It was only when Leah's breath hitched for a second time, that you opened your eyes, the gentle sniffles confirming what you already knew.

Pulling back just a tad bit, you directed the blonde to look up at you, lifting her chin with your hands. Your thumbs gently swiped the few falling tears away resting ready to catch the few new ones that joined the descent down as well.

Kissing her again, this time on her lips, her soft tears not ceasing to fall, you hoped that your heart could tell her everything no words could ever say. 

You prayed that she understood that you were going to be with her every step of the way, through all the good and the bad. You wished that she knew that if you could, if you so absolutely could, you wouldn't hesitate to take her grief and let it make home in your heart instead. You desired to be able to show her just how miserable you would be without her by your side, how vital she was to your being, to your existence, her the oxygen that you so desperately craved, needed.

You longed to show her how much you loved her, how if the world was in your hands, she'd never spend another day miserable, never have to hold an ounce, a gram, of grief in her heart ever again. You wished that you could explain to her how much she meant to you, in this moment, and every in the past and those that would come in the future. Yet you couldn't, unable to quantify just how deep your love ran for her, how deep you were willing to cut yourself just to see her smile.

So instead you settled for your kisses, inwardly pleading that they would be enough to rest her heart. 

Kiss after chaste kiss, you both ignored the salty taste of tears on your tongues, letting your pain quietly bleed you dry and tired. 

Only breaking apart to catch your breaths, you looked into Leah's eyes, the dim lighting not weak enough to hide the tiredness that hid behind.

Slowly climbing out of her lap, you kept your gaze on Leah as you reached for the remote. 

Switching off the tv and tossing your long forgotten blanket to the side, you tugged on your lover's arm, urging her to follow you. She silently agreeing, her trust in you unwavering.

Letting herself be led, Leah padded softly behind you, quiet footsteps placed in the wake of your passing ones.

And when you gently sat her on the bed, sharing a sweet kiss before quickly exiting the room, Leah waited patiently for your return.

She could hear you make quick work of locking up the house, the gentle slams of windows being shut and the sound of two waters being poured, before the house went silent, save for your hushed footfalls.

Returning, you placed the waters down on either side before quietly sidling up next to Leah. 

Reaching your hands out, you waited for her to intertwine her own before climbing over to your side of the bed, drawing Leah with you.

Letting go briefly, you carefully brought the covers of you both, before once again, pulling her into your arms. 

You wrapped your arms around Leah once more, her head tucking into the crook of your neck, your hand in her hair, gently scratching her scalp. Your bodies were intertwined, not a hair of space between you two, the feeling of each other’s body providing the comfort you both craved.

You knew you couldn’t take away the sorrow that plagued her right now, no matter how much you wanted. So instead, you hoped your presence would be enough to calm her troubled heart, holding her tighter, kissing her softly, loving her forever.

Closing your eyes, the pair of you drifted off not too long after, misery finding sweet company in each other's pain, hearts finding tender love in each other's arms. 

With each other in close proximity, never more than a touch away, you both knew that every grief would pass and each joy would be cherished.

Pain would never not burrow itself in the cracks of each other's heart, but you knew you'd both let your love for the other help the fissures carefully heal.

Now and for years to come, the pair of you would always be there for one another, sharing comfort, care, and love.

So for now, you'd settle for this moment, hoping your presence would say everything words couldn't and your arms could provide a safe space for her troubled heart to rest.

[ingravinoveritas]

I’m excited for the renewal of GO3 but I’m also kind of a little worried for David because he’s been performing McBeth for 6 six weeks now and rehearsals are also killer and now their set to film GO? Just thinking about this exhausts me so I can’t imagine how he would feel (and Michael also for that matter since he’s been rehearsing for his own show). Also, please please PLEASE don’t let GT and AL be in GO PLEASE

Hear, hear, and three cheers to the renewal of GO 3!

All I can say is, it's about damn time we finally got this announcement. I am ineffably thrilled as well to know that we will have our boys back together in Scotland to bring us the resolution to Aziraphale and Crowley's story.

In terms of filming, I did see the press release that said GO 3 filming would begin "soon," but I think "soon" is a relative term here. David's run in Macbeth goes until early February, and then Michael is in Nye at the National Theatre from the end of February until May 11th. So "soon" likely means a good six months from now at the earliest (i.e., mid 2024). Hopefully that means both David and Michael will have time to rest up and prepare for the start of filming GO 3, but I would imagine them both feeling a sense of excitement and anxiety at their forthcoming schedules.

What I think Michael and David likely do not feel anxiety about, however, is the prospect of getting to spend more time with each other. And we know they are already seeing each other at least somewhat regularly right now, what with Michael being in London at the moment, so it stands to reason that Michael and David are going to be frequent fixtures in each other's lives and worlds for a very good portion of the next year. Lovely.

In terms of Georgia and Anna possibly being in S3, I will echo what @thereallovebug previously excellently said, which is that it is very tiring to think that we haven't even had the GO 3 announcement for a day, and already people are calling for them to be cast in the show, and it's just...can we not even fully process/absorb this news before jumping to yelling at Neil to cast people? Or maybe just skip the "yelling at Neil to cast people" part completely? I'm just confused as to why there has to be an immediate call to have them in the show when there may not even be a place for them in it.

I also keep thinking of the discussion that took place when the news about GO 2 first came out, which was that having any family member of Michael's or David's would be distracting, and we saw what ended up happening with Peter Davison and Ty. I thought Peter did very well as Job, but Ty just seemed out of place the entire time and it was like you could "see" him acting instead of just...being, and as a result, his performance did not quite gel with the rest of the scene.

The takeaway point here is that the role of Ennon could have gone to any number of aspiring young actors, talented actors looking for a shot at the big time, but who did not get to have that opportunity due to nepotism. It only makes sense, then, that the same would hold true for GT and AL. And to me, it's disrespectful to the show, to Neil, and to Michael and David at this point to act as if GO 3 is somehow "not good enough" unless GT and AL are in it. As if the thousands of other talented actors in the UK aren't good enough simply because they're not Georgia and Anna. I've been accused on multiple occasions of only disliking Georgia and AL because of who their partners are, but the fact that so many people are only fans of theirs for the same reason is apparently not a problem.

(I will not go into detail here about the myriad of reasons why people are fans of Georgia and AL's because of who their partners are, but I suggest reading this post from @artificial-indulgence, who has perfectly enumerated my own thoughts on the subject.)

It is for the reasons that are mentioned in the post I just linked to that I feel many fans are unwilling to see the reality of things, which is that Georgia is a passable actor, but Anna is not, and any halfway decent casting director is not going to overlook that. I'm thinking back to an Ask I answered yesterday about her being edited out of the photo used for the I Talk Telly Awards and (more significantly) that no one actually seemed to notice that she was missing.

Given that, it's highly unlikely that someone whose performances are so unmemorable would be cast in the third installment of a major global TV show--at least purely based on merit. And knowing how important this third season is, how it's meant to resolve Aziraphale and Crowley's story and give us what Neil and Terry envisioned so many years ago, it would be truly unfortunate to see all of that overshadowed by other things.

But yes, today was very much a day filled with good news (and which I wholeheartedly appreciated, given that I am dealing with some difficult personal issues at the moment). More thoughts to come in a follow up post, so stay tuned...

[vigilskeep]

Still thinking about that one Circle mage with a spouse and children in DA:O and wondering whether Bioware originally intended to allow mages marry or maybe he was an Apostate and was married with kids before being found out...

I know Teagan flirts and you can tell him you're a mage and say he'd have to be very brave to marry them but maybe that's in reference to you being a Warden and, therefore, outside of Chantry law?

oh no, it’s very specifically established in dao that circle mages can marry! teagan specifically says that in the conversation you mention, but a banter between alistair and wynne goes into more detail

i forget if there’s any more mentions. oh, a good one is shale’s old master wilhelm, who is a bit of a complicated case but as you can see in honnleath, was allowed, in his role as mage to the arls of redcliffe, to take a wife and even live with and raise his children

i think the takeaway between wynne’s “what sort of man would marry a mage, do you think?” and a female mage warden’s “only if the man is brave enough” to teagan, it’s pretty clear that this is a right mages very rarely get to exercise even if they are ostensibly granted it. i mean, think about the logistics required.

for one thing, the circle mages are all trapped in a tower and all their options in that tower (fellow mages, templars, priests) are forbidden or Strongly Not Encouraged to the point that the templars finding out you’re in love is the source of terror. so only the very very limited number of circle mages with regular duties outside the tower could meet anyone. then there’s the huge stigma about mages baked deep into the very core of your entire culture, especially about bringing one into your line, which is a real threat considering the risk of having mage children and that you know exactly what kind of life their inheritance from you would give them. and then if you found somebody who was still willing to marry you under those circumstances, you’d be a very poor prospect for them: locked up in the circle, with no property and no money, no way to support them or even be with them, liable to being spirited away by the templars at any given moment. let’s say you do miraculously manage to find someone who’s willing to marry a mage and face the cultural consequences, all to have absolutely no life with you and possibly children who will likely be stolen from them too. then you’d also have to seek the first enchanter and knight-commander’s permission, because yes you may have the right to marry in general, but let’s not get carried away

it doesn’t surprise me that the right to marry is barely more than a platitude. but yes, they do have it

[miryum]

Foundling Villa- Chapter 3

Royal!Charles Leclerc x Reader. Princess Y/n is arranged to marry Prince Charles. There will be many ups and downs that the author hasn’t planned out yet, but read along to find out more! (Yes, I know that sounds super cheesy) Warnings per chapter. Hope you guys enjoy!

Warnings: mentions of sex, mentions of misogyny

ao3 link  next chapter>>

“What are our three takeaways?” True to his word, Lorenzo had sat his brothers down in a small library and given them a lesson on how to correctly please a girl. Charles would never admit it, but he learned a lot. Being a prince under the scrutiny of the court, he didn’t have a lot of time to fool around with girls. Lorenzo was the only Leclerc brother who had gone all the way; and that was only because he tied the knot. 

Arthur groaned, running a hand over his face. The poor boy had been scarred for life. “Aim for the neck like a wild animal you want to kill, wiggling is great, and you’re horse racing.”

“Charles?” Lorenzo waited for him to translate Arthur’s words into something not as sarcastic.

“The neck is a sensitive spot,” Charles rattled off. “Don’t discount your fingers… down there. And change paces and speed.”

“Exactly.” Lorenzo nodded. “Trust me, your wives will thank me.”

“I’m not married yet!” Charles exclaimed, standing and stalking out of the room. He rubbed his temples, wanting to erase the memory of the last hour. Lorenzo had pulled out old medical books with diagrams Charles wanted to forget. His mind unwillingly went to you. Would sex be all that Lorenzo said it was? 

As if he had wished you into existence, you rounded the corner in front of him, following a maid. Your head was bowed and you shuffled along, as if you were a child awaiting punishment. That is not how a future princess of Enza should look, Charles thought. 

He had spent the past days under the careful eye of his mother, the Queen inputting her opinions whenever she could. Admittedly, Pascale had made him see things from your perspective. Charles thought about what it would be like moving to Williams where he would be leaving his family and didn’t know anyone- not even his future bride. He knew of the misogyny that was still held over the women of this continent and couldn’t imagine what you must be feeling. Having to play the silent, passive type, without knowing what Charles was like. What if he quelled your ideas with a flick of his hand? Or if he was abusive? Or wouldn’t take no for an answer? 

Charles had shuddered at those thoughts. The simple prospect that you might mistake him for a vulgar and insensitive man baffled him. 

“Excuse me,” Charles stepped in front of the maid that was escorting you. “May I ask where you’re taking Princess Y/n?”

“Your Highness!” The maid dropped into a low curtsy. “Princess Y/n is scheduled for a dress fitting. The seamstresses have made her wedding gown and need to make sure it fits.”

“That sounds lovely.” Charles found you staring at him sceptically. You looked away when he caught your eye. “Would you mind if I accompanied you?”

The maid turned back to you. It wasn’t her place to agree or refuse. You were the princess, after all.

You nodded. “I wouldn’t mind.” Prince Charles held out his arm and you placed yours over his. “How are you?” you asked. 

“Not bad. I was just lectured by my brother, though, so I could be better.” 

“Oh? What about?” 

“Anatomy.” 

You chuckled. “Yes, I received the same lecture from my older sister. It’s a shame older siblings tend to be so direct.” 

“Indeed it is.” Prince Charles shifted topics, “my mother said she had a lovely brunch with you yesterday.” 

“As did I.” You smiled at the memory. “She’s a wonderful woman, Prince Charles. Very considerate and sweet.” Queen Pascale has asked you many questions about yourself and never once brought up the impending marriage. She made you feel human and not just another thing to be auctioned off for the sake of your kingdom. 

“Have you met my brothers?” Prince Charles asked.

“Have you met mine?” Your reply was harsh and quick. “Oh, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean it that way. No, I haven’t had the chance to officially meet your brothers yet.”

“I’m sorry as well,” Charles sympathised for you. You were expected to conform to his kingdom whereas he had never set foot in yours. “But your siblings, they’re coming to the wedding?”

“My eldest brother, sister, and my youngest brother.”

“What of your other two sisters?” You were surprised he remembered you had two more siblings.

“Um,” you stumbled for the correct wording. “Their husbands are too busy.”

“Can’t they come alone?” Charles realised his mistake. Your sisters couldn’t travel without their husband’s permission. “I’m sorry,” he muttered. He promised himself that he would always allow you to do what you wanted. He wanted you to feel so safe and welcomed and loved that you didn’t even ask him for permission. 

“It’s alright.”

“Your Highness, my Lady,” the maid addressed you, pushing open a door. Prince Charles guided you through it and into an expansive room. Many seamstresses were running about, putting the finishing touches on gowns and robes and tunics for the wedding. Bundles of fabric were thrown about the place and practically every seamstress had pins sticking out of their hair to fix the clothes of the royal family. Tailor dummies were positioned around the room, each in front of a large mirror. You saw King Hervé, Queen Pascale, Prince Lorenzo, and Prince Arthur’s outfits. You didn’t see yours or Prince Charles’s. Once you and Prince Charles stepped in the room the hectic energy ceased in time for everyone to curtsy before returning to their task. 

“Princess Y/n!” A man called out to you. “My name is Esteban! Call me Este! I’m the head tailor for Enza. It’s a pleasure to meet you!” Charles hid a smile at Este’s enthusiasm.

“Hello Este!” You reached out and grabbed his hand to shake. “It’s a pleasure to meet you as well. Are these all your designs?”

“Yes, of course!” Este gestured around. “Do you like them?”

“They’re beautiful!” 

“Would you like to see yours?” Este couldn’t stop beaming. He was so excited to show you the gown he designed.

“Yes, please!” Something about Este radiated intoxicating energy and you loved it. You felt excited for the first time in a long while.

“Come on, stand here,” Este pushed you towards a small pedestal in front of a mirror. “Monica! Help the princess.”

A seamstress rushed over to you and started unbuttoning your dress. “Uh, pardon me,” you instinctively jerked away. “What are you doing?” Your gaze flickered to Prince Charles. His eyes were anywhere but you.

“I’m sorry, my Lady, but we need to make sure the dress fits.” She kept unbuttoning. “You may still keep your slip-on.” 

Soon you were reduced to nothing. Standing, literally, on a pedestal in front of everyone, you were only wearing a flimsy little linen chemise. Your arms were crossed in front of you and you were staring at your toes. 

“Are you sure Prince Charles should be here for this?” You asked, “Isn’t it bad luck for the groom to see the wedding gown?”

“Nonsense!” Este waves you away. “It’ll give us a chance to make sure his suit fits as well. Go on up!” Este pushed Prince Charles onto the adjourning pedestal. “Take it off,” he demanded.

Prince Charles smiled sheepishly at you and started unbuttoning his tunic. You looked away when he started on his pants. Soon, both you and your future husband were dressed only in your undergarments and you still had three weeks until the wedding. 

“Princess Y/n,” Este dragged over a large swath of pink material. “I know we said a red dress, but I couldn’t let you have a wedding without a somewhat white dress. I would feel terrible. So, if you mix red and white, what do you get?” He didn’t wait for you to answer. “A lovely rose colour!” Este bunched the dress on the floor so you could step in. Once you did, a team of seamstresses swarmed you, hooking, buttoning, and tying everything into its correct place. “And don’t you worry, Prince Charles,” Este winked at the prince. “It’s much easier to get off than it is to put on.” Charles nodded, chuckling awkwardly.

“Wow…” Once the seamstresses stepped back proudly, you took yourself in. The dress was one of the softest, yet heaviest things you had ever worn. To account for Enza’s weather and the fact that you and Prince Charles would be paraded around town after the wedding, your sleeves were thin and airy. Paired with a sweetheart-neckline and a tight corset which exploded into a thick skirt, it was beautiful. Lace and small jewels cascaded down the gown. 

Charles let out a breath. He saw you admiring yourself in the mirror and smiled. You felt beautiful. He wanted you to feel beautiful more often. He liked your expression when you did. 

“It’s wonderful,” you told Este, grinning. “I didn’t think I would like it this much. But would it be possible to lose a layer of fabric? Enza is much warmer than Williams and I wouldn’t want to sweat.” The honesty surprised Charles. Once you arrived in Enza, Charles had quickly realised that you would conform your emotions to whatever others wanted. If you didn’t like the food at the dinner table, you would eat it anyway in fear of offending the cooks. It surprised Charles that you were openly asking for adjustments.

“Of course, Princess!” Este rushed to take notes. “And let’s take it in here, here, and see that stitch right there? I don’t love it.” He started directing the seamstresses who pulled out pins and did what Este commanded. “And Chelsea! Where’s Prince Charles’s outfit?”

Chelsea stopped sewing and swept up the cloth. She helped Charles climb into the royal mantle. The jacket was blue with golden threads stitched over it. Pressed white tunic and pants added to the wedding outfit and you could almost picture a crown on Prince Charles’ head, shining brightly. Chelsea clipped on a white and black cloak. He looked regal. Granted, he was a prince. He was always regal.

“You look good,” you commented. 

“As do you,” Charles wasn’t looking at the gown; he was looking at you.

You broke eye contact and asked Este, “is there anything else we can do for you?”

“No, this all looks beautiful!” Este said. “Let’s get you two undressed so we can make the final adjustments.”

You agreed, saying, “I may have to visit here more often. I adore these dresses you have,” you referenced other gowns that lined the walls. “And I would like to alter some of my existing outfits. Maybe get rid of some of the sleeves and layers?”

“Anytime, Princess! We would love to have you down here!” Este clapped excitedly. “Welcome to the Enza family!”

You took a deep breath. The Enza family. You needed to buy the Foundling Villa, and soon.

[thyrell]

i feel likeyou are really missing the point of what other ppl are saying and painting detractors with sucha. broad brush its weird but i will say, if it helps at all, from my perspective speculating on aaron’s gender is inappropriate because the last thing he did was self immolate so that no one would look away, so that the conversation would be about palestine. it is disrespectful of his very last wishes to focus on anything else other than that.

while i feel a deep sadness at the prospect of having lost another trans woman to the cruelties of the workd - one of the takeaways i had when looking at the op that started this - it is still deeply disrespectful to go against gis dying wishes, to focus on any other message than the one he died screaming

again - i agree with you here, i hope people dont continue trying to investigate this. my only point is that it didnt warrant such widespread harassment towards the person who posted it and towards other trans women who were only tangentially involved. if that was what people were talking about and not all the other shit i was getting in my inbox i would have taken this much better.

[diegoshargrieves]

not to get emo about the silly dog cartoon on main but

so many people are missing the point of the sign. "oh it doesn't teach kids to cope with change" "oh it sends the wrong message to kids about parents who have to move around" shut the fuck up !!!! first of all it's a kids show and calypso literally says that fairytales have happy endings because life gives you enough sad ones second of all if that's your takeaway from the ep then you completely missed the point because it's not about the kids !!!! bingo is indifferent to the move up until the end and yes bluey has a hard time dealing with the prospect of leaving everything behind but it's not up to either of them because at the end of the day it's bandit's decision. it's bandit's story. the episode is ABOUT BANDIT. it's about bandit realizing that if he truly wants to prioritize his family's happiness then he has to listen to what THEY want, not what he feels may be best for them. having a job with more money wouldn't make his family happy if it forcibly uprooted them from everything they love. and by the time he realizes that there's no going back because the house is sold, and he and chili even acknowledge that the move is a mistake. in that moment he finally truly regrets selling the house and when the buyers back out he gets the do over. he gets the chance to fix things and the first thing he does with ZERO HESITATION is remove the "sold" sticker, in an almost trancelike state, and suddenly with so much resolve and determination and RELIEF tear the sign out by himself. everyone who tried to pull the sign out themself couldn't. bingo, bluey, and muffin couldn't, even with frisky's help. bingo couldn't by herself either. but bandit is able to tear the sign out BY HIMSELF and throw it away because in that moment he is strong enough to do not what he thinks may be best for his family but what he knows deep down is RIGHT for them. it's not about bingo and bluey learning to adapt to change it's about parents having the strength to listen to their children and do right by them it's about bandit being a GOOD DAD to his girls and learning from his mistakes and acknowledging that he made a mistake and being able to set things right !!!!!!! it's about him taking the chance to do so without even thinking twice !!!!!!!!! it's about the way he looks between his family and the sign and the way his expression suddenly becomes so fucking determined and the way he stares down the sign before tearing it out because he finally sees it as the threat it is to his family's happiness. shut up about kids being subjected to lifestyle changes shut up about it not being realistic enough you are literally willfully missing the entire fucking point !!!!