#the women’s field is so equally matched today but there is something going on with canadian fed and gabby. | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

prentissinred · 2 years

Text

Denique

Rated: G Warnings: n/a Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x Emily Prentiss Word Count: 3.2k Read on Ao3

All she did know, all she was certain of, was that somehow their presence in her life made her feel more at home than she had felt in a long time.

A birthday fic for my beautiful, talented, brilliant friend @sequinsmile-x. You are such a bright spot in my life, and I’m ever so grateful to know you and call you my friend. Thank you for your unending encouragement and support, for our talks about serial killers and reality TV, and all the adorable cat pictures. I hope you have the happiest birthday. I love you <3

(Title credit to the wonderful @ssa-sparks)

Emily pulls her car into an open slot as close to the field as she can manage, the animated sounds of children and their parents drifting in through her open window. She scans her eyes across the green and finds the only two reasons she was willing to get out of her bed this early on a Saturday.

In a rare moment of privacy, she decides to indulge herself. He’s dressed in a plain blue t-shirt and jeans, a far cry from the suit and tie she sees all week. It’s almost indecent, witnessing this stripped-down version of him. The version that always seems to elicit runaway fantasies of lazy, hazy nights draped around each other. Even from this distance, she can see him wiping sweat off his brow with his forearm, and a pang of yearning tugs sharply in her stomach.

Gathering two coffees in hand, Emily makes her way towards the lawn chairs she’s come to recognize, Jack’s duffel bag placed between them. She drops her coffee into her allotted cupholder and turns when she hears her name called.

“Hey buddy!” she exclaims, kneeling down immediately to be eye-level with the sandy-haired boy running towards her.

“Emily! You came!’ Jack gives her a broad grin, showing off the latest lost tooth. “Dad said I’m going to play forward today.”

“Woah, that’s awesome! I know you’ll be great. Are we still getting pancakes after the game?”

Jack offers an enthusiastic and unequivocal “Yes!” and they high-five to seal the deal.

“Let’s go find your dad.”

He’s reviewing his clipboard some distance away, brows furrowed in a familiar way that makes her smile. He takes his role of soccer coach as seriously as he does everything else in his life; Emily’s even made it a point to tease him about it. But she also can’t help the undercurrent of affection she feels watching him care so deeply about his son’s interests, knowing that if Jack decided to quit soccer tomorrow and take up orchestra his father would undoubtedly be equally invested.

She starts to walk towards him, Jack’s hand in hers, when she abruptly stops at the sight of an attractive woman approaching Hotch.

He greets her with familiarity, an ease in their interaction that makes something thud painfully in her chest. The woman’s blond hair is pulled back into an artful bun, her smile displaying a set of perfectly straight, white teeth. And while Emily is not one to compare herself to other women, she can’t help but frown at her own faded Yale sweatshirt and shorts when this woman in trendy athleticwear places a manicured hand on Aaron’s forearm and laughs.

“Emily?” She feels a tug on her arm and meets the questioning look on Jack’s face.

“Sorry, Jack. Let’s go.”

By the time they reach Hotch, the woman is still holding onto his arm, and he’s sporting his dimple as he matches her smile. Emily forcibly tamps down her irritation, pasting a friendly smile on her face.

“Emily.” Hotch turns towards her, the wrinkles near his eyes crinkling in that way she loves. She pretends to ignore the ripple of satisfaction she feels when his body shifts towards her, forcing the blond woman’s hand to drop down to her side.

“Emily, this is Julie. Her son plays on Jack’s team. Julie, this is Emily.”

Julie doesn’t hide her appraisal of the brunette standing in front of her. Green eyes scrutinize Emily head to toe, finally gracing her with a pleasant smile. “Nice to meet you.” Glancing between Emily and Hotch, she asks politely, “How do you know Aaron and Jack?”

“Oh, I work with, uh, Aaron,” Emily stumbles at the same time Hotch smoothly replies, “Emily’s a good friend.” The two glance at each other, equally bemused, but they’re saved from further questions by the referee’s whistle asking the teams to begin gathering for the start of the game.

Julie shifts her attention towards the Hotchner boys, wishing them a good game and leaving Emily with one more curious look before walking away to her own setup on the sidelines.

“I’m glad you came.” Hotch’s voice pulls Emily’s eyes away from Julie’s departing figure. She looks up to see him smiling at her, standing closer than she expected.

“Me too.” Her knuckles accidentally bump into his chest, and she finally remembers the coffee still in her hand. “For you.”

His fingers trace over hers as the cup transfers hands. “Thank you.”

The whistle blares once more in the background, followed by an impatient voice, “Dad!”

Emily chuckles, “I think that’s your cue, Coach Hotchner.”

“We'll meet you at halftime.” He shoots her a wink and a smile and lifts his coffee in a silent, second thanks as she walks back to her chair.

She spends the next forty minutes cheering for her favorite soccer player, jumping to her feet when Jack scores the first goal of the game, and wonders exactly when watching grade-schoolers kick a ball around a muddy field had become the highlight of her week.

-------

It had started four months earlier. After a case in Houston left her shaken, Hotch found her alone on the jet, and Emily upheld her promise — “I’m having a bad day.”

He said nothing for a while. The jet filled with their team, took off, and landed in its usual fashion. But just as she pulled her bag out of cargo and began to exit, he said, “I promised Jack if I made it back before bedtime we’d go for some ice cream. Would you like to join us?”

She didn’t, not really. What she wanted was to curl up on her couch with two fingers of the absurdly expensive whiskey Dave had gifted her.

But it was rare, exceedingly so, for Hotch to extend an invitation into his private world, and so she accepted.

When she arrived at the ice cream parlor, Jack greeted her as Ms. Emily, accepting her presence with a polite smile. She told him that calling her Ms. Emily made her feel old, so since they were now friends, he should call her Emily and she would call him Jack. At that, he grinned so widely, she couldn’t help but do the same. Her preferred flavor of cookie dough seemed to pass another unspoken test, Jack excitedly asking for a cone of the same.

An hour passed with pleasant, if a bit reserved, conversation between the two adults while Jack chattered away, eating up the silence. With each new dribble of ice cream on his chin, he told them stories of his friends at school, the experiment he did that day in science class, and a detailed recount of Charlotte’s Web, which he and his father planned to finish later that night.

An hour passed, remarkably, without a single thought of Doyle passing through her mind.

When they separated, at the moment before they turned to their respective cars, Emily grasped Hotch’s arm and whispered, “Thank you.”

It was two weeks later when Emily ran into the Hotchner boys at the park on a Saturday morning run, surrounded by a dozen other children running around in red nylon jerseys. So she was invited to watch her first soccer game, cheering Jack on and glancing occasionally at Hotch who was shouting encouragement and direction from the sidelines.

It was surreal, observing this glimpse into his everyday life. And when the game concluded, and Jack immediately ran up to her and wrapped his arms around her legs in a hug, she could only feel grateful that her Saturday plans had taken a detour.

It continued that way for the next few months. Hours stitched together, here and there, and Emily found that the restless fluttering that followed her around for the last year slowly began to dissipate.

On more than one occasion, she voiced her worry that she was intruding, overstaying her welcome in these moments that should be between father and son. But Hotch was quick to assure her that it couldn’t be farther from the truth, joking that Jack found her more entertaining than he could ever hope to be.

She wondered if she should be scared at how easy it all was. How they enveloped her into their little circle, no questions asked. How movie nights and soccer games and pancake breakfasts had eased that chaotic thing inside her that made her want to run and run fast.

She wondered why when Jack asked her to read him his book before bed one night, she didn’t panic at the thought of being needed and wanted by someone. Instead, when he had finally fallen asleep, and she smoothed the hair away from his forehead, she felt the weight of contentment settle in her chest.

She wondered how she could have been so blind to it, to him, for all these years. What she felt grew slowly at first, then consumed her all at once. When movie night turned into a glass of wine on his couch, and she was suddenly aware of the heat of his arm resting on the back of the sofa. When their goodbyes turned into goodbye hugs, and she could feel the imprint of him on her skin for hours afterward. When he smiled the way he did when she showed up on his doorstep, and she could imagine, just for a moment, that he wanted her as much as she wanted him.

All she did know, all she was certain of, was that somehow their presence in her life made her feel more at home than she had felt in a long time.

-------

For all the day before had been marked with violence and near-tragedy, the night of JJ’s wedding can only be described as idyllic.

Centerpieces of purple and white flowers sit on decorated round tables under a canopy of lanterns and string lights. Soft jazz floats through the backyard, as the guests mingle on the grass as they wait for the bride and groom to arrive.

Emily is talking to Penelope and Derek, commiserating about Kevin’s arrival with Gina, when she sees them. Her breath catches as he walks into the room, their eyes finding each other immediately.

“Emily!”

Jack runs into her legs, wrapping his arms tightly around her. She freezes when she catches the questioning looks from the others, no doubt wondering where this familiarity came from, when exactly Emily became the first person Jack runs to in a room.

It’s not that she and Hotch have been trying to hide…whatever it is they’ve been doing. But it’s always felt like something precious, unspoken. Something to be sequestered away just for them.

Emily gently ruffles Jack’s hair, bending down to smile at him.

“Hey, Jack. Don’t you look handsome?”

He beams up at her, telling her that his dad had to buy him a new shirt because he’s grown so big.

Behind them, Hotch clears his throat and says, “Jack, don’t you want to say hi to Derek and Ms. Penelope?”

Jack turns to wave, one hand still firmly holding onto Emily’s.

As Derek kneels down to high-five Jack, Emily looks at Hotch, and he smiles at her, a bit sheepish, as if he knows this interaction will undoubtedly raise questions from their inquisitive friends later.

Derek invites Jack to go look at the fountain outside, and Jack pulls gently on Emily’s hand, asking her to go with him. When they walk away, she glances back over her shoulder, and Hotch is still smiling. He gives her a small nod, a promise that they would find each other later.

The ceremony is lovely, JJ walking down a petaled aisle on her mother’s arm towards the flowered archway where Will and Henry wait for her. She stands next to Hotch and Jack, only too aware of the way his shoulder softly brushes against hers the entire time.

Dancing follows dinner, and everyone is passing partners around with each new song that plays. Emily’s dancing with Dave, laughing as he spins her in a circle, when she hears Hotch tell Jack it’s time for bed.

“Come on, Jack, you can go sleep in one of Uncle Dave’s bedrooms.”

“Can Emily take me?” Jack asks, his voice uncharacteristically plaintive, betraying his tiredness.

She and Dave pause their dance, the latter overhearing the same question, and Hotch meets her eyes.

“I can take you, buddy,” Hotch hesitates, looking up to meet Emily’s eyes.

Jack turns to find her and directs his plea to her, “Please Emily?” and her heart squeezes.

“Of course, little man, let’s go.” She holds her hand out for him.

“Emily, you don’t have to—” Hotch tries to interject, but she shakes her head.

“Don’t be silly. I’ll be back in a minute.”

Emily and Jack walk hand in hand into the house, and she can feel the confused looks on her back as they leave the party.

They find an empty bedroom easily, and Emily tucks him into the plush bedding, smoothing his hair away from his eyes out of habit.

“Emily?”

“Yes, Jack?”

“Are you going to marry Daddy?”

Emily’s eyes widen, her heart starting to hammer, as she wonders if she’s done this all wrong, somehow confused this young boy with her presence in his life. “What— what do you mean?”

“Daddy told Uncle Dave he loves you. And when you’re in love, you get married. Like Ms. JJ and Will. Right?”

His expression is earnest and sincere, and Emily feels like the floor has fallen out beneath her.

“Jack,” she asks slowly, “what exactly did you hear your dad say to Uncle Dave?”

Jack’s eyebrows furrow, a remarkable likeness of his father. “I heard them before. Before we ate dinner. Uncle Dave was talking about you. He asked Daddy if he loved you, and Daddy said yes.”

Emily can’t stop the burst of hope that blooms in her chest, or the smile that appears on her lips, even though a part of her is reminding her this could all be a misunderstanding.

But it’s enough for her, enough that she knows she has to ask.

“Don’t worry, Jack. Your dad and I are going to talk about this.” She bends down to hug him, brushing a kiss against his forehead. “Now you go to sleep, okay?”

“Okay. Good night, Emily.”

“Sweet dreams, little man.”

When she rejoins the party, she finds the man she’s looking for standing off to the side, surveying the dancing crowd as he cradles a drink.

“Do you want to dance?” Hotch seems almost surprised at the question, but he nods. Places his glass on the closest table and takes her hand in his. The song switches to something softer, slower, and they start to sway together.

Emily feels her heart thudding away in her chest, but she’s here on a mission.

“Clyde Easter called me today,” she starts, her voice casual, conversational.

“Oh?”

“He offered me a job. Head of the London office.”

She feels his shoulders tense beneath her hand, and she breathes a quiet sigh of relief.

“Is this— are you—” He takes a breath and starts again. “Congratulations, Emily. You’d be wonderful in that role.”

“Thanks.” She pulls back to meet his eyes. “I’m not sure I’m going to take it.”

The tightness in his jaw eases slightly. “Why not?”

“Actually, Jack helped me decide.”

“Jack?”

“He told me about a conversation he overheard tonight. Between you and Dave.”

He chuckles, and if she didn’t know him so well by now, she might not have recognized the undercurrent of nerves in the sound. “He’s always been a curious one. What— what did he say to you?”

“That you love me.”

He goes rigid for a moment, causing them both to nearly stumble, but recovers quickly. He’s quiet, studying her face, before he whispers, “And that helped you?”

She nods. “Because I love you too, and I decided a cross-Atlantic relationship wouldn’t be very fun for either of us.”

With that, his expression morphs entirely. Distinct relief, a hint of shock, and a newfound intensity in his gaze that makes her chest tight.

“Emily,” he breathes her name, and it’s like cotton candy, airy and sweet.

He searches her eyes for another moment, starts to bend down, when a loud laugh erupts from the crowd behind them.

Chuckling, he pulls away and squeezes her hand. “Maybe we should wait until we’re away from prying eyes,” his voice deep and laced with promise.

Emily agrees, though she’s sure if any of the others bothered to look in their direction, the smitten smiles on both their faces would surely give them away.

Instead, she steps into him, just on the edge of what might be considered appropriate. He takes advantage of her closeness, brushing his cheek against her temple as he says, “You look so beautiful tonight. I’ve been wanting to tell you.”

It’s almost ridiculous, the way her stomach erupts into flutters at his words and her skin starts to heat with the proximity of his body to hers and his breath on her cheek.

They separate after one song, not wanting to draw any more attention to themselves than they already have for one evening. Emily continues to dance, evading the insistent questions from Penelope and Derek, all the while feeling his eyes on her from across the dance floor and she’s all too impatient for the party to end.

When the night finally dwindles to a close and JJ and Will have said their goodbyes, he finds her in the empty hallway outside the bedroom where Jack is still asleep.

He says nothing, just tucks her hair behind her ear and cups her cheek with his hand. His lips are soft when they finally meet hers, a tender, hopeful kiss that speaks of their history, of their future, of finally.

They know they can’t linger, so he presses his lips to her forehead, then the tip of her nose, and whispers, “I love you.”

-------

The following Saturday, Emily is woken up by a kiss against her bare shoulder instead of her alarm. She pours Jack his bowl of cereal and drinks her coffee at their breakfast table. She sits in the passenger seat as Aaron drives them to the park, Jack talking away in the backseat, far too awake and animated for how early it is.

When they pull into the parking lot, Emily spots a familiar blond waving to Aaron from a few spots away. Jack runs ahead of them to meet his teammates, and Emily takes advantage, looping her arm around Aaron’s neck and bringing his lips down to hers.

He takes a moment to respond, taken by surprise, and he chuckles in amusement when she finally pulls away. “What was that for?”

Emily just shrugs, but can’t help her glance to the left. He follows her eyes and laughs harder when he sees Julie frowning at them from a distance.

He wraps his arm around her shoulder and kisses her temple, “Feeling a little possessive, are we?”

Her hand comes around his waist as they walk towards the field, and her voice is relaxed as she replies, “As long as she keeps her hands to herself, we’ll be just fine.”

#Happy Birthday Vic!!#birthday fic #hotchniss fluff #hotchniss #hotchniss fanfic #aaron hotchner x emily prentiss #aaron hotchner #emily prentiss #criminal minds fic

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theasstour · 4 years

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𝐅𝐈𝐂 𝐏𝐀𝐆𝐄 | 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓: 𝟏𝟑𝐤 𝐍𝐁: 𝐞𝐱𝐩𝐥𝐢𝐜𝐢𝐭 𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐮𝐚𝐠𝐞, 𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐛𝐨𝐝𝐲 𝐢𝐦𝐚𝐠𝐞 𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐮𝐠𝐠𝐥𝐞𝐬

AN: Massive thank you to my dearest @fromyourstrulyh who helped me sm with this chapter! Love you tons, Jess 🐚✨

Monday, 15 June

Fore Street wasn’t particularly busy this early in the morning. People were driving to work, and others were strolling by near the road, leaving the main shopping street of St Ives almost deserted. The bright yellow early morning sun peeked over the rooftops of the stone cottages, casting some of the street in a tad too chilly shadow and the other half in cool sunshine. Having just had breakfast with Bessie, Y/N was strolling along the cobblestoned street, relishing in the calmness at the start of the week.

Wearing her satin pleated forest green midi skirt, a white tee shirt and white Vans, Y/N was a little cold, but her walk wasn’t a long one. She walked by Vintage Divine a few times, but never gone inside, today that was going to change. With her tote bag at the ready in her purse, Y/N entered the vintage shop, quickly noticing she was the second customer there. She strolled on over to what looked to be a rack of dresses and long skirts. She had absolutely nothing else to do all day so she could spend all of it in here, she didn’t care. She’d most likely enjoy her time there very much.

Capital was being played over the speaker, and though Y/N wasn’t sure that was the kind of vibe a vintage shop had, she loved it regardless. It had been so long since she’d been in a vintage shop, and never had she had the privilege of buying something without having people inspect her finds when she got home. She was sure she walked around for an hour, maybe even a bit longer, before she recognised the voice talking behind the till.

Looking over, she saw Florence, one of the ladies in Bessie’s little knitting circle. She picked up the red and pink headband she’d been looking at before making her way toward her. When their eyes met, Y/N gave Florence a wide grin that she returned, waving Y/N over.

“Would you look at that? Speak of the devil, ey, Camila?” Florence said, gesturing at Y/N. A woman around the same age glanced at Y/N over the rim of her glasses, raising her eyebrows as she studied her.

“This is her?”

“Sure is.”

“Oh, my word, what an absolute beauty. Why Harry kept you away for so long is a mystery.”

“Aww,” Y/N chuckled. “Thanks. More to do with privacy than anything else, I suppose.”

“You know,” Florence said as she started scanning the items Y/N wanted to buy. “We were just saying, the person who most needs a partner right now is Harry.”

“Yeah, that lad’s been stuck in that lighthouse ever since his father died. It’s very sad,” Camila went on, making a point of looking at both Y/N and Florence over her glasses to see them clearly. “Maybe you can break him out of his shell a bit. Think having someone like you who can take him out will be good for him.”

“Harry likes being on his own.”

“That’s right,” Florence went on after Y/N, looking at Camila. “Y/N is living at the Crab Inn. At Bessie’s.”

Camila gasped. “He won’t even let her stay at his house?”

Y/N didn’t know why the two women were talking about her like she wasn’t there. Clearing her throat some, she said, “We don’t want to overwhelm each other. We haven’t stayed together for more than a few days before.”

“But don’t new couples bunny out in the first phase of their relationship?” Camila was as blunt as she was almost blind, Y/N thought.

This took Y/N off guard and she forced a breathy chuckle out, bringing a few quid out to pay Florence. “I’m sorry, but I don’t think that’s any of your business.”

Camila looked to Florence and Florence only shrugged, Y/N didn’t know if that meant Florence agreed with Y/N or Camila.

“Harry’s a handsome bloke, there’s no reason-“

“Have you at least been to the lighthouse?” Florence asked to speak over Camila, giving Y/N a friendly smile. Y/N appreciated Florence stepping in when she sensed Camila taking it a bit too far.

Y/N nodded, probably a bit too frantically. “Yes, quite a few times.”

“Harry won’t let anyone to the top, says it breaks some rule or something,” Florence said.

“Think it’s just him and his family being a bit selfish, if you ask me,” Camila went on.

“Oh, now you’re being proper arsey, Camila.” Florence only sighed before turning her attention back on Y/N. “Been to the top yet?”

“First place he took me.”

“Of course,” Florence smiled. “See you around, darling.”

“Bye, Florence. Bye, Camila.” Y/N waved at the both of them, walking on out of Vintage Divine and on her way back to the Inn. She felt her heart racing quickly with the lies she’d just told. How could she be fake dating the lighthouse keeper and not have been to the lighthouse yet? Though she hated to lie like that, she reminded herself that the reason she was doing it was to get people off Harry’s back. He seemed like such a genuine lad; she’d do anything to help him. But lying about something she could so quickly change by just taking a walk to the lighthouse seemed silly.

Wednesday, 17 June

Y/N had never been this close to a lighthouse. She’d watched them from afar, never really given them any proper thought. They were an essential part of navigation at sea, but she had no idea how they worked, and until a few days ago, she hadn’t given thought to how they were operated either. She didn’t think lighthouse keepers were a thing anymore, let alone that they even lived in the lighthouse still. Maybe they lived in town and occasionally spent time in the lighthouse, but surely, they didn’t live there.

However, as Y/N walked along the gravel road leading up to Clodgy Lighthouse, that seemed to be the case. It was an elegant white building. Strangely the lighthouse looked like it hadn’t endured a single storm in the decades Y/N knew it had stood there. That therefore made her draw the conclusion that Harry was the one keeping this lighthouse under pristine and incredible conditions. It shone in the sunbeams shining down on it. At the very top, surrounding the beacon at the top of the lighthouse, there was black fencing, so Y/N guessed one could sit out there and get a pretty grand view of the St Ives Bay. Well, not all of it, but a pretty good 360 shot regardless.

Beside the tall white building, stood a one-storey hut. It was white as well, matching transparent embroidered curtains hanging from all the windows Y/N could see from her vantage-point on the gravel road. They were neatly tucked to the side, letting natural daylight stream in through the windows and in on what she assumed to be Harry’s house. It was rectangular, with a dark blue door in the middle of one of the shorter lengths of the house. In front of what looked to be a pebbled driveway sat an old yellow Ford Econoline, a very out-there car for someone who was so incredibly shy.

She did a 360, looking about the open moor that surrounded her. It was completely empty, with no one living near the lighthouse, and St Ives a 40-minute walk from here. It must be equally liberating and lonely, Y/N thought, not sure if she could muster living all by herself like this. But Harry seemed to be just the guy for this job.

Different coloured flowers were strewn around the lighthouse and Harry’s cottage, wild and untamed. It didn’t seem like Harry bothered cutting the grass around his house either, just mainly around the lighthouse, probably for better access, Y/N had no idea. However, upon closer inspection, all types of insects flew to and from all the flowers and plants, zooming away once Y/N hunched down and picked two flowers she didn’t know the name of. She liked the fact that the bees could roam around the little field without problem. They were welcomed and encouraged to stay. Y/N didn’t know if this was Harry’s intention, but she liked to think it was. She’d always wanted to get into gardening, but she’d never had the time.

The door to the cottage opened and Harry came to view, taking a few steps outside to see what Y/N was doing by the ground. She stood, smiling and waving as she made her way over to him. He wore a pair of tapered retro black jeans, cuffed at the ankles, along with a loose fitted white, orange and blue shirt, one part of the front tucked into his jeans. His feet were bare, and his hair was a mess. It looked like she’d caught him off guard.

“Hiya,” Y/N smiled, walking closer. “Good morning.”

“Ehm…” Harry nodded, running a hand through his hair. While doing so it was as if he remembered he hadn’t styled it this morning, hurriedly trying to make it look somewhat decent without the help of a mirror. “Morning.”

“Did I startle you?”

“What? Oh! No, no, I…” He trailed off, pointing through the door with his thumb but letting his hand fall to his thigh, hitting it lightly. “Just drinking me morning cuppa reading the paper.”

“I’ve been up since 7, so I haven’t really done much besides eat and then walk here.”

Harry nodded, and for a few seconds, the two were left in silence as they just looked at one another. Neither knew what to say, or even what to talk about. They didn’t know what they had in common, or if they had anything in common at all. Y/N just knew she wanted to get to know the man she was supposed to be in a relationship with this summer. Coming to visit his lighthouse and home seemed like a good thing to do. She didn’t know what Harry was thinking, but by the blank look he was giving her, she was starting to regret coming here at all.

However, that was not going to stop her. If they wanted to make this work, she didn’t want to make it awkward for them by not knowing how to act around Harry when they were around people.

“So,” she started, walking past Harry and his van. “This is the tall, pointy house you were referring to the other day.”

Harry followed her towards the lighthouse, unbothered by the gravel under his bare feet. “Yeah, it draws attention, doesn’t it?”

Y/N giggled. “How much time do you spend keeping it clean? It doesn’t look weather-beaten at all. Would’ve thought lighthouses to be in much worse conditions.”

“Trinity House comes and does a thorough clean about once a year, but I do most of the work myself. As long as the sailors can tell this is Clodgy Lighthouse, then it’s fine.”

She paused. “Trinity House?”

“The official authority of lighthouses in the UK.”

“Ahh!” She nodded. “And how do sailors know this is Clodgy?”

Harry pointed at it, referring to the entire thing with a sweeping up and down hand motion. “From the sea, a lighthouse may be identified by the distinctive shape or colour of its structure, by the colour or flash pattern of its light, or by the coded pattern of its radio signal,” he explained and the more he talked, the more Y/N could detect a northern accent. “When ships pass here, they’ll know it’s Clodgy by the pattern of the beacon, as well as the fact it’s completely white. Others may be other colours, for example white and red stripes. But Clodgy’s always been white, I couldn’t really change it if I wanted to. Not that I do.”

That was the most she’d ever heard Harry speak, from what she knew about him so far he wasn’t much of a talker. Too nervous and shy by nature, it seemed.

“I didn’t think of that before.”

“You also didn’t think they were operated by lightkeepers anymore.”

Y/N gasped, smiling at Harry as he tore his eyes away from her, his dimples showing as he glanced to the ground again. “He’s got bants.”

Harry chuckled. “Career in stand-up comedy next.”

She laughed, walking around the lighthouse and looking about the cliffs. They were steep, looking right down on big rocks that made up most of the Clodgy Point where the lighthouse was positioned. Harry was standing a fair distance away, leaning against the white building with his hands in his jean pockets. Because of the constant wind, Y/N walked closer and leaned against the lighthouse as well, studying the landscape and the ocean before them.

“I’ve mostly seen masonry and brick lighthouses, this is concrete,” she said, not wanting their conversation to die out this early. She’d just gotten here. Maybe lighthouses weren’t their main concern seeing as they needed to establish their relationship before facing other people, but it seemed to be what Harry was most comfortable speaking about and she wanted him to feel comfortable around her.

“Concrete and steel are the most widely used materials,” he said. “Concrete especially makes for an aesthetically pleasing design for shore-based lighthouses.”

“Shore-based? There are different kinds. I mean, I always thought lighthouses would be out on islands rather than on land.”

“Yeah, there are-“ He stopped himself, looking at her to his right and meeting her eyes for a few seconds. “I won’t bore you with lighthouse facts.”

“Wouldn’t ask if I didn’t wanna know.”

He bit his lips together, turning to face the sea again. “Right.”

She continued to watch him, waiting patiently for him to find the right words to speak again.

He cleared his throat and went on. “There are two types of lighthouses, yeah? Those located on land and those located offshore. A land lighthouse like this one-“ Harry knocked on the concrete wall behind him. “-Its job is to aid navigation over land rather than water. They’re usually constructed in areas of flatland where the featureless landscape and prevailing weather conditions might cause travellers to get disoriented or lost. A tower like this is therefore visible for miles.”

“Makes sense.” Y/N nodded, glancing up at the house as Harry continued.

“Offshore lighthouses are the ones you seem to think of, they’re far from land. Reasons for them being built in that specific area can be ‘cause of a shoal, a reed, or a submerged island several miles from land. They’re there to warn sailors they’re close to dangerous territory, basically.”

“You know so much about this stuff.”

“It’s my job.”

Y/N laughed, maybe a little too loudly but she found it funny, so she didn’t see a reason to be embarrassed or excuse her loud exclamation of joy. “That explains your obsession.”

He smiled, meeting her eyes for a second before glancing at his bare feet. “What’s yours?”

“My job?”

“Yeah.”

“Oh…” Now it was her turn to not want to meet his eyes. It wasn’t that she was ashamed, it was just that her answer was so boring. Maybe even a little unusual, especially for someone who should’ve been in the middle of finishing uni right about now. “I don’t have one.”

“You doing uni then?”

“Nope.”

That got Harry to shut up. It was clear he didn’t know what other questions to ask after that. What did you ask someone who didn’t have a job and didn’t go to uni without sounding disrespectful or degrading? He glanced away, pursing his lips as he fell silent again.

“My Mum was a stay-at-home Mum, so I was kind of expected to end up the same way. Trained for it my whole life and all.”

“You don’t want to do that?”

“No.” Y/N shook her head. “I mean, it would be perfect in a sense ‘cause I could read all the time, but I don’t want to spend eternity reading, you know what I mean?”

“Know exactly what you mean.”

She smiled at him. “You don’t like reading?”

“It’s not something I do very often, no.”

“Boring.”

Harry chuckled.

“It’s fun,” Y/N said, trying to sound convincing, but she was sure that if some people didn’t like to read, she wasn’t about to force them to buy a book and read it. “Anyway, I got this one dream a few years back, but it’s silly, really.”

Just then, the same ringing tone she’d heard from Harry’s phone before sounded from his pocket again. He cursed under his breath and brought his phone up, looking at the screen for a few seconds as if reading something before shoving it into his pockets again.

“I…” He sighed, running a hand over his face. “Sorry, what were you saying?”

“No, if you have to take that, it’s no big deal.”

“It’s nothing, no one’s calling me-“ But he was interrupted by the ringing sounding again. He brought his phone out and brought it up to his upper right arm before checking it again, sighing before looking at Y/N. He gave her an apologetic smile before motioning back to the house. “Gotta get back in there.”

“That’s fine,” she said, really meaning it.

Harry nodded, biting at his bottom lip as the two of them walked back in silence. The wind was still harsh, but Y/N guessed that was because of the flat landscape and the ocean being right there. She was used to wind, but not as constant as this.

“Listen,” Harry said as they reached his front door that he’d left open. “I’m so sorry about the whole fake relationship thing. I feel like I pushed it on you, and you don’t really wanna do it. You don’t have to do it-“

“-I genuinely don’t have anything else to do all summer. I think it’d be fun.”

Harry nodded, running a hand through his hair. She could see the ghost of a smile on his lips. “Right, yeah.”

“We good?”

“Yeah, I just want to make it clear that we can break this off whenever. If it hadn’t been for me and my lie, this wouldn’t have happened.”

“It’s honestly fine. It’ll keep my otherwise dull summer eventful and it’ll help you out. Think it works out fine, we just have to establish our relationship a bit so we don’t go around telling stories that contradict one another.”

His smile grew some. “Smart. We should definitely just sit down and figure it out.”

“What’s your number?” she asked, walking over to him with her phone in her hand. He reached for it, meeting her eyes to ask if it was fine that he grabbed for it. She gave him a little smile; he took it and typed his number into her phone. “Just so we can get a hold of one another and figure everything out. I’ll send you a text so you get mine.”

He kissed his teeth for a second or two and gave her phone back to her before saying so quickly Y/N barely understood what he was getting at, “Would you mind coming to Gracie’s birthday party on Saturday?”

Y/N remembered Jessa and Grace inviting her when she met them a few days prior, but she hadn’t thought about it till now. Harry’s brows were knitted together, something that resembled worry on his face as if he expected her to turn him down.

“Yes, of course! When? Oh!” Y/N jumped a little, suddenly experiencing a jolt of excitement rolling through her. “Has she got a list of things she wants for her birthday? I should get her a present.”

“You really don’t have to,” Harry said, but he was smiling.

“I think I do, and I love shopping.”

Harry’s smile widened and he looked at the pebbles under Y/N’s feet. “I’ll pick you up at 2pm on Saturday, then. It’s on the family farm, just a five-minute drive from town.”

“That sounds so lovely.”

“It’s the best place on earth,” Harry agreed, staying quiet for a couple more seconds before he seemed to remember why the two had walked back to his house in the first place. He shook his head quickly, clearing his throat and taking a step closer to the door. “Right, I’m sorry I can’t hang out more today. I got to… work.”

“That’s completely fine, I’ll talk to you later. You know where to find me.” She deliberately used that last sentence as he’d used it when they last parted ways, and it seemed Harry recognised that as well. He met her eyes as she started walking backward, giving her a genuine smile, one of his dimples showing. She waved her bouquet of two wildflowers, hearing Harry’s phone ring again as she turned around to walk off, and then his front door shutting quickly after.

Saturday, 20 June

Two different massive books lay on the desk in front of Y/N, one a little bigger than the other. She wasn’t sure which one was better to get her started, she hadn’t researched that before buying them at the Waterstones at home in Hampshire. All she knew was that they would both help make her achieve the same thing: master the UCAT exam. She hadn’t signed up for it yet, didn’t know when the next one was, but she knew that before she did that, she had to study first. But which one of the massive books was she supposed to open first?

The University Clinical Aptitude Test was used by most UK Universities on top of general applications, and academic qualifications, for their medical and dental programs. It aimed to help Universities select applicants with the most appropriate skills and attributes required to be a successful doctor or dentist. It was a test that Y/N, who was usually good at not stressing herself out, was sure would make her very nervous.

Her parents had never been interested in her achievements at school. They were sure she’d end up like her mother, and quite liked the fact she’d picked up reading and that she read as she did. It was an intellectual and quiet hobby they thought suited her well. Though Y/N loved to read, she didn’t want to study it in school. She didn’t want to taint something she found so much peace in with sleepless nights and forced readings. No, she had always wanted to keep that part of her life in a separate box from her academic one.

In school, she’d always thought science subjects to be fascinating. She ended up studying chemistry, biology, and maths for A-levels, she realised she did well in them because she thoroughly enjoyed her time there. Though it was hard, she liked how it opened her up to everything she wanted. Her parents hadn’t cared much for what she studied in A-levels, but it seemed to have shocked them that she did so well in subjects that juxtaposed with everything they thought Y/N was interested in. A little part of her was proud of herself for startling her parents like that; for doing the unthinkable in their eyes.

However, that was years ago now. Y/N hadn’t touched an academic book since. She was 25 and hadn’t gone to University like her friends from school. She hadn’t pursued her dreams. In her strict, rich family, she didn’t have to work a single hour for the rest of her life because her Dad had all the money they’d ever need. Plus, she hadn’t helped herself when she started going out with Dominic, another man who studied Business Management at University and someone whom Y/N’s Dad very much approved of. Y/N had been set. That was her life.

But she didn’t want that. She’d never wanted that. When she told her parents and Dominic this, they agreed it could get a bit tedious sitting around doing nothing but house chores all day. Y/N and her Mum had therefore volunteered at the hospital in town a few days a week, and some other days Y/N spent volunteering at a dentist. That was when she realised, she wanted to be a dentist. She didn’t really know why, had never really harboured a proper explanation for her interest, but she knew she wanted to be one. When Y/N told her Mum this, she just shook her head and took Y/N’s hand.

“What’d I do if you went away to uni, darling?” she asked, something that immediately sent a jolt of sadness and guilt through Y/N. Her Mum was right, she couldn’t just leave her. Y/N was the only child her parents had; she couldn’t disappoint them.

Y/N ran her hands over her face and then through her hair, forcing back the tears that were threatening to spill over. She wasn’t going to cry. She just wasn’t. Why would she cry? She’d escaped the life she hated back in Winchester, the two UCAT practice books she’d bought in secret at Waterstones were right before her, waiting to be opened and devoured. Why was she thinking about her life before this?

Y/N jumped up from her seat, looking at herself in the mirror beside the dresser. She quickly wiped away the tears on her cheek, as if doing it fast enough would hide the fact she was crying. She refused to cry.

Walking downstairs, she helped herself to a cup of tea in the kitchen, saying a quick hi to Bessie and her ladies before walking back upstairs. Putting her cuppa down on the desk, she gave her cheeks a little slap each, then sat down.

“Concentrate,” she hissed at herself, opening the window in front of the desk to let in some fresh air and seagull song.

Taking a deep breath, she reached for the bigger of the two books, tapping her fingers against the blue cover as if bracing herself for what she’d find on the inside. Opening the book and starting to read it was a commitment. That was a big if, because so far she had a ton of money on her credit card, but she didn’t have enough to pay for University tuition or rent.

She closed her eyes and willed herself to not think about anything but the contents of the book before her. If she wanted to do this, she’d have to do it with her whole heart, she couldn’t let anything distract her when she wanted to read for the UCAT. Inhaling slowly, she opened the book, reading the table of contents before the introduction..

She could do this, she believed in herself. She told herself that over and over again the next three hours, not losing sight of what she wanted and deserved. At the end of the day, if she didn’t tell herself those things, who else would?

“You look lovely,” Bessie said as Y/N stood in the lobby of the Inn, grinning from ear to ear. “Heading somewhere special, dear?”

Y/N looked down at her baby blue mini smock dress, small daisies printed and sporadically littered all over it. She smiled at Bessie, nodding her head a little. “It’s Harry’s little sister’s birthday.”

Bessie raised her eyebrows a tad, a knowing smile on her lips. She looked Y/N up and down again. “You’re going to that are you?”

“Yes, is this inappropriate?”

“No, no!” Bessie laughed. “I’m just happy to see you and Harry hanging out. He’s such a sweet lad.”

“He is, yeah.” Y/N was unsure if she should thank Bessie for the other day, or if it had been so long now that it would be weird. The innkeeper had never brought it up again, never talked about Harry until today, but judging by the raised eyebrows and smile on her face, Y/N was sure Bessie knew more than she was supposed to. However, seeing as she’d lied with Harry and Y/N, Y/N trusted Bessie to not tell people. It’d break Jessa’s heart for sure, and Y/N had a hunch that if that woman’s heart was broken, the entire town’s would be as well.

The mellow yellow Ford van Y/N had seen a few days earlier at Harry’s pulled up in front of the Inn’s open entrance. A pair of orange pilot sunglasses were perched on his nose, almost matching the exterior of the car. He reached down rolling the window down manually, giving Y/N a smile when their eyes met, and then Bessie the same one when he noticed her standing by the reception desk.

“You alright?” he asked just as the window got a bit stuck. He yanked the handle a bit to get it all the way around and stopped when the window was fully open. Clearing his throat, he reached to rest his arm where the window was no more, bumping his elbow and top of his head in the process. Bessie chuckled some behind Y/N, but Y/N held her giggles back. Opting for a smile instead once Harry met her gaze again.

“Get yourself a proper car, Harry,” Bessie said.

“This one works just fine, Bess.” Harry pushed his sunglasses further up the bridge of his nose as they slid down some when he bumped his head. “Besides, it’s massive.”

“Why do you need a massive car?”

“Massive car for a massive hunk.” He glanced at Y/N again as both women laughed at his remark. “You ready?

“Tell you-“ Y/N said as she stepped outside, on her way around the front of the car when she stopped herself, waving at Bessie. “Bye, Bessie!”

“Bye, dear! Have fun!”

Y/N opened the passenger side door and jumped a little to get inside the van, sitting down in the seat and putting her seatbelt on as she talked. “Tell you what, you got bants.”

“What happens when you grow up overweight,” Harry said, a smile on his face so she’d know he was making light of the situation.

“Oh?” Y/N asked, rolling down her window as well when Harry motioned for her to do so.

“The AC’s a bit fucked,” he explained, giving Bessie one last wave before driving off down the Terrace. Wind blew in on them, nice contrast to the scorching sun outside, though it was a bit loud, but Harry just talked over it. “But yeah, you got to be the cracking bloke who always tells jokes and makes everyone laugh. Why else would they want you in their circle?” There was a slight pause. “Actually, forget I said that. That’s an incredibly depressing place to start our day together, I-“

Y/N just laughed, finding the way Harry’s cheekbones turned all red and how he scratched at his neck in embarrassment, adorable.

“Sorry,” he said.

“You don’t have to say you’re sorry, it’s completely fine.” She opened her purse, rummaging through it. “I got Grace this.” She held a headband out. Pink silk with red along the edges and red roses to match, Y/N had absolutely adored it when she saw it in Vintage Divine a few days before and she thought it’d look good in Gracie’s dark hair. “Dunno if she likes this kind of stuff, but if she doesn’t then Jessa’s free to take it.”

“If you give her something that nice, she’s going to cherish it and wear it every day. Mark my words.”

Y/N giggled. “Alright, I will mark them.”

Harry smiled a bit at that, keeping his eyes on the road ahead. When he didn’t notice her staring, Y/N took a few seconds to just study him and what he was wearing. A green and white tee shirt tucked into dark blue denim jeans, a pair of worn-down white Vans on his feet. He looked good, and the orange sunglasses made the whole outfit. She glanced away, not wanting to seem like a creep or like she was checking him out, because she was not.

“Who is coming to this birthday then?” she asked, putting the headband down in her purse again.

“Family. Maybe some of Gracie’s friends, but I think they’re having two separate birthday parties. Jessa and Gracie love a good social convention.”

Y/N smiled. “And you don’t?”

“I live by myself in a lighthouse.”

She laughed. “You don’t like people?”

“Nah, it’s not that,” Harry explained. “More the fact that I want to choose when to be around them, you know what I mean? I need a bit of breathing space, being around someone all the time makes me feel a bit claustrophobic.”

“Gotcha.”

Harry was silent for a few moments as he put on his turning signalled and then turned. “What about you?”

“Pardon?”

“Do you like people?”

Y/N sat back in her seat properly, thinking about that question for a little bit. “Depends.”

“Okay.”

“If I don’t particularly like spending time with them, I don’t want to be around them.”

“Understandable.”

“But if I don’t know them very well yet or if I like them, then I don’t mind. I don’t like feeling lonely.”

“But if you don’t know the people you’re around, that’s just as lonely as being alone, isn’t it?”

“Maybe, but if you don’t know someone, that’s potential to get to know them and make a friend,” she explained, watching as the town centre of St Ives started disappearing around them.

“Hmm,” Harry hummed, waving at someone out his window. “Can see that.”

Y/N smiled. “You seem popular, though.”

“Me?”

“Yeah, everyone seems to know who you are.”

“The former lighthouse keeper’s son, and now current lighthouse keeper. Think that’s why.”

Y/N shrugged, not wanting to press the subject as she didn’t want to force an image of him that she’d created in her head onto him before getting to know him. She had to trust what he was saying and make her own observations. “What’re you giving Grace for her birthday then?”

“Trip to St Austell next Friday,” he said, stepping down on the gas a bit once they were on a more deserted country road. “About an hour north from here. There’s gonna be a street market there and she loves going on trips with me. She gets to decide the music, what shops we go to, and I always buy her two ice creams even though Jessa has a strict ‘only one ice cream per trip’ policy. We usually don’t give one about that.”

“That sounds wonderful.”

“It kind of is, yeah.”

“Is there something special about St Austell, then?”

Harry turned his lips downward for a second. “Not really. Just know from a mate who travels there a lot that there’s gonna be a street market on their high street.”

“Every fortnight, there would be a market in the town centre at home. Anyone could put up a stall and sell their homemade stuff. There was always this cheese and this fish booth standing right next to one another, and they smelled absolutely rank.”

Harry smiled. “You don’t like the smell of cheese and fish?”

“I’ve never been a fan of cheese, and though fish isn’t bad smelling, it… right okay, doesn’t smell good, does it?”

Harry shrugged. “Dunno, I’ve lived here most of my life, so I’ve gotten quite used to the smell of fish over the years. Doesn’t really faze me now.”

“Lucky you, then.”

“And cheese is amazing.”

“That’s a blatant untruth. How dare you?”

Harry laughed, scrunching up his nose some before putting his turning signal on and then driving off the concrete road and onto a gravel one. They drove in silence the last part up to the farm. Forest rose up around them, but not thick enough so that you couldn’t make out distant houses or driveways leading up to other farms or neighbourhoods. It didn’t take long till Harry drove down a wider driveway, a thin line of trees along the edge of the estate that Y/N assumed was the Styles family’s.

A brick house along with a smaller brick house stood at the end of the small drive. Stone fencing surrounded the house, but the field outside of it was lush, green, and huge. Cars were parked there and people were hanging out inside the stone fence, sitting on tables or standing chatting. Different coloured flowers grew in front of the fence and by the looks of it, Jessa was growing a lot of vegetables on the other side. There were a few trees behind the house and inside what seemed to be the main area of the lot, so Y/N assumed they were trees that grew fruits as well. She couldn’t seem to remove her eyes from the little country oasis before her. It looked so tranquil that she almost wanted to live on a farm herself.

Harry parked his car on the grass outside the fence along with the rest of the guests. The second Grace noticed the mellow yellow van, she ran out to greet her older brother. Harry smiled at the sight of her and stopped the car, quickly turning to Y/N as he took his seatbelt off and started manually rolling up his window.

“I won’t leave your side, yeah? This can be a bit overwhelming, and you’ve never met my family before-“

“-And I won’t leave yours,” Y/N assured him, nodding as she took off her seatbelt as well. “Harry, we need to discuss our backstory-“

“-Harry!” Grace shouted, banging on the door and trying to get it open.

“One second, Gracie, I’m rolling the window up.” He turned his attention to Y/N. “Just keep yours down, it’ll get hot in here ‘cause of the sun.” He made sure his was shut before he paused for a moment, blinking once. “Fuck, we haven’t-“

“-Harry!” Grace knocked on the door again, jiggling the handle. “You haven’t said happy birthday to me yet!”

He sighed, giving Y/N a look before turning toward his door. “Step away, Grace. If I open the door now, I’ll mow you over.”

Y/N stepped outside as well, for the first time then paying attention to the noise of the farm. She thought she heard hens somewhere in between the chatter of the party guests, the smell of the open nature around her offering something besides the salt ocean and fish of St Ives. On the other side of the car, Harry pretended to struggle picking Grace up, something that had his little sister laughing. He walked over to the other side to Y/N, Grace grinning from ear to ear when she finally saw who’d come with Harry.

“You came!” Grace exclaimed, clapping her hands together.

“Couldn’t miss your birthday, could I?” Y/N grinned, opening her purse. “My birthday present isn’t as good as your brother’s, but here you go.”

She handed Grace the headband and as Harry gasped, Grace gasped with him. He put her down, letting her study her birthday present.

“It’s so pretty,” Grace said. “I think I like it more than Harry’s.”

“Oi!” Harry frowned down at her. “Hurting my feelings now, mate.”

Grace only giggled, giving Y/N a smile. “Thank you.”

“Happy birthday.”

“There’s food!” Grace pointed at the house and started making her way there, expecting the two to follow. Harry made sure Y/N was tagging along before the two strolled after his little sister.

“How old is she now?”

“Seven.”

“Oh.” Y/N blinked a few times. “Thought she was ten when I met her.”

Harry let out a breathy laugh. “That’s weird.”

“Hey now. I don’t know what seven-year-olds look like.” Y/N nudged his arm with her shoulder. It only made him laugh again.

“Oh, uhm…” He swallowed, glancing between the farm and Y/N. “You don’t have to do this, but with my grandpa – or step-grandpa, I usually call him lolo, which is Tagalog for grandpa – the pamilya and lolo would really appreciate if you did the mano po.”

“Mano po?”

“It’s a gesture of respect for the elders, basically. You take their hand-“ Harry pretended as if there was a hand before him. “And you take their knuckles or their hand and touch it to your forehead. Instead of a handshake, you do that. We don’t really do it to anyone else here as we don’t have that much Filipino family in Cornwall, but lolo is big on it. It’s dying out a bit, not a lot are doing it anymore, but lolo wants to keep the tradition going, and it’s not really asking for much, is it? Plus, it’s very nice.”

Y/N smiled. “How lovely.”

“It’s performed with the right hand.” Harry waved his right hand in the air in such a way that had a few of their family members waving back at him, he played it off as if that was his intent, clearing his throat as he turned back to Y/N. “You say ‘mano po’ to him to kind of ask permission to do it. I don’t do that anymore ‘cause he knows me and expects me to do it, but I think he’d appreciate you asking first.”

“Okay, nice to know.”

“It’s very important for Filipino children to do this as it shows respect to the elders, but they continue to do it to their elders even when they grow up. They’re kind of asking for a blessing from the elder, it’s usually done when entering their house or seeing them.”

“Oh, so… this is a bit of a big deal?”

Harry huffed, shrugging his shoulders. There was silence for a moment before a quick, “Yes.”

“Grand.”

“Also might want to do it to nanay.”

“Jessa?”

“She once grounded Grace for not doing the mano po when she came home from school.” Harry opened the small gate leading into the farm. “I don’t think she expects you to do it, but I usually do when I see her.”

Y/N took a big breath, for the first time since coming to the farm feeling nervous. “I shook her hand when I first met her. Was that wrong of me?”

“Again,” Harry said, trying to give Y/N a reassuring smile. “She didn’t expect you to do the mano, but I think she’ll appreciate you doing it.”

“Harry!” Jessa called from across the lawn, waving them both over. Beside her sat a very old man in a chair by a table, surrounded by others that Y/N guessed also were family members.

“Hiya,” Harry said as they got closer, taking Jessa’s hand and bringing it to his forehead, touching her so tenderly and with so much respect it took Y/N’s breath away. She now understood why it was such a big deal to Jessa, Harry’s lolo, Harry, and their entire family, not just their Filipino part. As Harry removed her hand from his forehead, she grinned up at him, giving his hand a quick kiss before turning to Y/N.

“When Harry told us you were actually coming I started crying,” Jessa said, beaming so genuinely and widely her eyes were mere slits of pure happiness on her face. “Welcome to the farm!”

“Thank you so much,” Y/N smiled back, offering her hand and before Jessa could reach forward and shake it, Y/N said a soft, “Mano po?”

Jessa didn’t hide her surprise, but she was quick to wipe it off her face and nod once at Y/N. Jessa’s hand was warm and rough, reflecting the many years she’d lived on this earth and the hardships she must’ve gone through. Gently and with as much care as she could muster, Y/N brought Jessa’s knuckles to her forehead and held them there for a moment before lowering it. She understood why it was such an important tradition to their family now; it was respect. Doing so told the elders how much the youngers admired them, Y/N really liked it. Jessa squeezed her hand, gesturing with a pout of her lips to the right where lolo was sitting.

Harry was already taking his lolo’s hand, holding it to his forehead before lowering his lolo’s hand again. Harry gestured behind him, saying something Y/N didn’t catch. She smiled at Harry’s grandpa, offering to take the lolo’s hand and saying another “Mano po” to ask permission first. The lolo held his hand out for Y/N and she took it carefully, pressing the knuckles gently to her forehead for three seconds before lowering it again. The lolo didn’t give Y/N as much of a smile as Jessa had, but Harry had again explained how important this was to him. He’d most likely expected her to do it upon arrival. They shared a look and he blinked once, and for some reason, Y/N understood that was him telling her he appreciated her effort.

“Y/N, you have to try some of the food!” Grace took Y/N’s hand, dragging her away from everyone to get something to eat.

“Sorry, I’ll come over in a bit,” Y/N said to the little group, feeling relieved when Harry followed her and his sister. They entered the house, taking the first open door to the left to the dining room. The walls were a relaxing white, filled with pictures and lamps and art clearly made by kids. In the middle of the room stood the table, filled with food and drinks. And in the middle of it, taking up most of the space and hard not to have your eyes immediately fall to it, laid a pig.

“This,” Grace said, giving Y/N a plate before pointing at the first casserole of food. “This is shanghai lumpia, it’s one of my favourites. It’s egg rolls with sweet chilli sauce. This is sausage rolls, and scotch eggs, and this is palabok-“

“-Gracie,” Harry interrupted, standing on the opposite side of the table from them with a plate in his hand as well, helping himself to some shanghai lumpia. “Take it easy. Let Y/N have a look herself.”

“I’m sorry, I’ll let you look,” Grace said, making Y/N laugh.

“And what’s that?” she asked, pointing to the pig on the table that Grace had forgot to mention.

“Oh! Lechon!” Grace grinned from ear to ear. “It’s my favourite.”

“What is it?”

“It’s a whole roasted pig,” Grace explained. “It’s been cooked over charcoal for 6 hours. The entrails are removed and after seasoning, nanay skews the entire pig on a large bamboo stick and places it over the charcoal. You gotta be super patient to do it, which is why nay is so good at it.”

“The slow process makes the skin of the pig become very crispy and the meat’s always very tasty,” Harry chimed in, smiling at Grace as she nodded enthusiastically.

“A Filipino party is never complete without one. You know it’s a special occasion when nanay serves lechon.”

“So it’s served on special occasions?” Y/N asked, watching as Grace asked Harry to help her to a serving of it. He did, putting it on her plate as an excited squeal erupted from the seven-year-olds mouth. Y/N could see parts of Jessa in the small human before her and it made her very happy.

“Graduations, marriages, birthdays, Christmas, New Year’s, you name it,” Harry said.

“It’s my favourite part of special occasions.” Grace reached for a fork.

“While this all sounds lovely,” Y/N started, looking at the table packed with food. “I’m vegetarian.”

Grace looked to Harry. “Nay is gonna be mad with you.”

“Uhm, I…” He looked at Y/N, mouth opening and closing as he tried to come with an explanation. “I-I… There’s gonna be a brutal murder at noon.”

Grace laughed, finding Harry’s helplessness entertaining. Y/N was aware she should’ve told him before this, but it had completely slipped her mind. The last week had been incredibly interesting trying to convert into vegetarianism. It had been hard, and she’d slipped up a few times, but she really wanted to make an effort. She noticed Harry looking down the table frantically, eyes moving between the different dishes.

“I mean, if there’s no vegetarian food, I’ll just eat-“

“-Tarte!”

All of them fell quiet, watching as Harry blinked a few times, realising he’d just shouted that out loud. Biting his bottom lip and running a hand through his hair, he gestured at the pan nonchalantly.

“The root vegetable tarte,” he said, a little more calmly.

“Oh?”

Grace pointed at it at the other end of the table and Y/N walked over. “Nay makes the best root vegetable tarte. You’ll love it,” Grace smiled, watching as Y/N helped herself to a serving.

“Thank you, Grace.”

Someone shouted something from the front garden, Y/N recognised the voice as Jessa’s and supposed other guests had arrived. She was probably calling for Grace to come say hi.

“Don’t tell your Mum,” Harry hissed as Grace started making her way out.

“She’ll find out eventually.”

“Not from you.”

Grace walked outside and Harry sighed, gesturing for Y/N to follow him into the living room where they could sit and eat in peace. There were some friends of the family in there, but Harry only said a quiet hello before sitting down, shielding Y/N a bit from view. She supposed he did it more so she wouldn’t be bombarded with questions than anything else, she really appreciated that.

The living room faced the back garden; big and open, a few trees every here and there along with a greenhouse. A fireplace stood by the far wall, one sofa placed beside it and a telly before the sofa. There was another sofa opposite the dining room entrance, Harry had made the two of them sit in that one, clearly so they wouldn’t have to chat with the small group huddled behind the television. Again, in the living room as well, pictures of Harry, Grace, and the family were everywhere. Y/N had never seen this many frames on a wall before, or in a house even.

They started eating in silence, but Harry had barely managed to eat one lumpia before someone came over. He put the plate away, smiling up at the two women in their late 30’s it seemed.

“Y/N, my aunts Rachel and Abby. Aunties, this is my girlfriend, Y/N.”

Y/N sat up a bit straighter as Rachel and Abby started talking over one another, high-pitched voices that showed of unapologetic excitement. They reached for her hand to shake it.

“Jessa has told us so much about you,” Abby said.

“Well, not much, anyway, but she’s talked about you. She’s obsessed,” Rachel went on.

“We’re Harry’s Dad’s sisters, by the way.”

“But Harry’s never told us where you’re from! Where are you from?”

“And how did you meet?!”

“Harry hasn’t talked much about you, he likes to be a bit mysterious, don’t you, Haz?” Rachel pinched Harry’s cheek, laughing a little at his grimace.

“No, but seriously, how did you meet? Where was your first date?”

“You’ve kept her a secret for so long, we need to know everything.”

“Auntie Abby, Rachel,” Harry said, chuckling a little as he sighed. “You’re gonna overwhelm her if you keep going.”

“It seems unlikely that a lad that quiet has a loud family, doesn’t it?” Abby asked, nodding in the direction of Harry, but asking Y/N the question. Y/N was about to say something when Rachel interrupted her.

“You look proper posh. Don’t reckon you’ve ever made a flowerbed, have you? Harry,” Rachel said, looking at Harry. “Did you get yourself one of them posh girls from London?”

“Alright.” Harry stood from the sofa. “We’re escaping.” He turned around, offering Y/N his hand. Him doing that took her a bit off guard. They’d never touched each other, and they were just going to start holding hands? She hadn’t felt a jolt of panic till then, she didn’t know why. Gently, she placed her hand in his. It was soft, rough as if he was used to handling mechanics and doing manual labour, but the skin was soft regardless. She didn’t know how he managed the combination.

He helped her up into a standing position, letting go of her hand when she stood right beside him. They left their plates behind as Harry manoeuvred his way around his aunties, making sure Y/N was following him as he made his way up the stairs in the foyer.

“It was nice meeting you,” Y/N called over her shoulder, smiling at them. She hoped it came across as genuine. Harry walked up the stairs and down the corridor to his right, entering the room on the left. He held the door open for her, closing it once they were inside.

He let go of a small groan. “Masters of doing my head in.”

“They were very chatty.”

“One way of putting it.” Harry sat on a single bed and it was then that she noticed they were in a bedroom. The walls were a bright green colour, posters of different Manchester United players and other football things. Y/N didn’t know enough about the sport to say anything definitely, but she knew the Manchester United logo when she saw it. The room was fairly small, only a wardrobe pushed up against the same wall the bed was and a tiny desk under the window. Judging by the picture of a man and a boy on the nightstand, Y/N concluded this had to be Harry’s childhood room. That picture was of him and his father. They looked so much alike it warmed her heart. She wouldn’t pry, but she continued to look around, letting Harry sit in silence on the bed for a minute or two.

“Wondered why you had a bit of a northern accent,” she said, gesturing at the posters. “You’re from Manchester?”

“Mancunian at heart, yeah.”

“Why’d you move down here? Don’t northerners hate the south and southerners?”

Harry smiled a little at that, looking at her. “Depends on what kind of southerner you’re talking about.”

Y/N chuckled, glancing at the posters again. “The posh ones.”

Harry let out a breathy chuckle. “Only those from London.”

Y/N kept her eyes on the posters. “So, why’d you move? If you don’t mind me asking, that is.”

“Hmm,” Harry said, looking out the window at the party going on outside. “Dad wanted us to move. He got the position as a lightkeeper since his Dad died, so we moved down here and on vacation in the Philippines a few years later, he met Jasmine.”

Y/N smiled. “I love that.”

“Yeah.” Harry let that word hang in the air between them for a few seconds. She looked down at him. “Anyway,” Harry got up from the bed, running his hands through his hair. “We need to figure out what we should do. When did we meet?”

A little taken aback by his sudden urge for them to establish their relationship, Y/N stood just glancing at him for a moment. Though she had no idea where to start, she thought nailing down location could be key first. “Have you been to Hampshire?”

“No.”

“Then, to keep some truth in there, we say we met in Newquay since it’s in Cornwall, ‘cause I’ve been there with my family a few years back. We met…” She narrowed her eyes, trying to think of an appropriate time.

“Last summer?” Harry suggested.

“And we’ve been talking on and off since.”

He nodded. “Didn’t get serious till April, since then we’ve kind of been seeing each other.”

Seeing how eager they were at building their backstory, Y/N smiled a little. She remembered something he’d mentioned earlier. “It wasn’t till the Exeter trip in May that we made it official,” she went on. “Did you actually go to Exeter? Do you have the hotel you stayed in?”

“I did and yes.”

“Right, we’ll use that if people ask us about where we stayed while there.” She brought her hand to her chin, looking out the window as she thought for a moment. “What did we do on our trip to Exeter? What kind of activities would two adults in a relationship be doing in Exeter?”

The room fell quiet. Harry cleared his throat. When Y/N turned around, he was scratching at his neck again, looking at the ground. “I mean…” There was a pause. “They do… Do…” Another pause. “New sightseeing.”

“Yeah,” Y/N said, dragging it out as she put her hands on her hips. “I suppose they do. What kind of sightseeing would we be doing?”

He seemed to be caught off guard by that, swallowing thickly. Y/N noticed a slight flare to his cheeks. “Dunno… Depends o-on what you’d wanna do.”

“What you mean?”

“What you’d be up for that early in the relationship.”

“Oh, I would be up for anything.”

Harry looked up at her, wide-eyed. “Any… anything?”

“Yeah, I want to experience everything.”

A whispered, “Everything,” left Harry’s lips.

“Think we’d spend a lot of time sightseeing, especially if we were in a town where there’s loads of places to do it.”

Harry just looked at her.

“Okay,” Y/N smiled, leaning against the desk. “So, we met in Newquay last summer. Where?”

“Oh, uhm-“ Harry’s voice broke towards the end, he cleared his throat quickly. “The beach.”

“Classic. Were we with friends?”

“No.”

“Even better.”

“Neither family knew till around the Exeter trip that we were together?”

“You play off what you’ve told Jessa and Gracie, I’ll say my family knows, but I didn’t tell them till I left just now for St Ives.”

“Why not?”

She waved it off. “Overprotective parents.”

“Okay, uhm…” He looked out the window behind her as he thought for a bit. “How did we start talking on that beach in Newquay?”

Y/N cocked her head to the side, allowing herself time to come up with something good. “I could’ve come up to you and just asked your name, don’t you think?”

“Yeah, alright.”

“I mean this in the least disrespectful way possible, but you seem very shy, no idea if that’s your kind of move.”

He smiled a little. “Shy or not, don’t think I would’ve had the courage to walk up and ask for your name and number.”

She narrowed her eyes a little at him, unsure how to interpret that. But Harry didn’t let her dwell on it for long.

He kneaded his palm with the thumb of his other hand, averted his eyes from hers as he hid his face in the little shadow the room provided. “But yeah, I… I like my own company, I guess.”

“Sorry, daft of me to just put it like that.”

“No, you’re completely right. We’ll go with you coming up to me.” He looked down at his hand. “Why were you in Newquay then? And why was I?”

“I was there with family, but I went to the beach alone that day.”

He nodded a little. “I’ll say it was a lads trip then.”

She smiled at him, feeling herself let out a small sigh of relief. They were getting a pretty good overview of the beginning of their supposed relationship. “And we went on a date in Newquay?”

Harry nodded just as the phone in his pocket started ringing. He sighed, reaching for it with a slight tremor to his hand. He dragged it out and pressed a button before turning back to Y/N.

“Aren’t you gonna answer it?”

“No, no one’s calling.”

“Then-“

She stopped as it rang again. Harry groaned and brought it up to his upper arm before checking it again, sighing as he gestured at the door.

“Need to go do something,” he said.

“Oh.”

He stepped out of the room and disappeared from view, but a second later he poked his head through the doorframe to look back at her.

“You’re not coming?”

That got her moving. She followed him downstairs and back into the kitchen. He opened the fridge, bringing a cartoon of milk out and putting it on the counter before reaching for the cupboard behind Y/N.

A hushed, “Sorry,” left his lips and he was quick to step away from her after retrieving the glass. He poured himself some milk and then chugged the glass. Y/N had just thought it was him getting a sudden urge to have a glass of milk, but as he started pouring himself another glass, she debunked that thought very quickly. She watched him till the second glass was down, not saying a word as she didn’t really know what to say to that. Did he just love milk? And why did they have to stop mid-conversation for him to have two glasses?

He looked at her and when he caught her staring, he let a breathy chuckle leave his lips before glancing at the milk carton again. “Sorry about that. It helps my blood sugar.”

Y/N furrowed her brows some. “Pardon?”

Harry turned his body so his right side was facing her, dragging the arm of his tee shirt up till his shoulders. A white patch was attached to his skin, a bit larger than a fifty pence coin, round and standing in soft contrast to his tanned skin. Y/N stared at it for a few seconds before meeting Harry’s eyes again, not knowing what to make of what he was showing her.

“Diabetic.”

She didn’t know what to say to that.

“Type 1. Had it for…” He trailed off as he thought. “About 12 years now. I think. Time’s a social construct.”

“And milk helps when your blood sugar is low?”

“Yeah, that alarm is to tell me my blood sugar’s getting low or too high. It doesn’t happen all the time, by the way. You’ve just caught me when I haven’t eaten in a bit and my blood sugar’s been low.”

“So, what’s that white thing got to do with you being a diabetic?”

“A needle’s attached to the sensor which constantly checks my blood sugar, and that’s connected to an app on my phone, yeah? So it sends signals when the blood sugar’s extra low or high… Makes sense?”

“Ahh,” Y/N said, nodding. “Got it. I think.”

Harry poured himself another glass before putting the milk back in the fridge. “Suppose I should’ve told you earlier, it’s a pretty big part of my life.” He laughed a bit as if to make light of the situation, but Y/N only shook her head.

“Just ‘cause we’re fake dating doesn’t mean you have to tell me things about yourself that you don’t want strangers to know.”

He held onto his glass of milk, only looking at Y/N for a few seconds as if he was thinking about something. He shook his head a little, bringing his glass to his lips. “I’m not ashamed of it, if that’s what you think.”

“There you are!” Jessa walked through the front door, grinning just as widely as always upon seeing Y/N. She practically skipped into the kitchen and up to the small round table positioned in the middle of it. “Have you introduced her to everyone, Harry?”

“Not yet.”

“Well, people are absolutely dying to meet the woman who has captured our Harry’s heart.” Jessa put a hand over her own heart, looking at Harry with so much love it made Y/N almost tear up a bit. “Everyone’s so happy for the two of you.”

Harry and Y/N looked at one another. Harry’s expression was blank as if he was waiting for her reaction to Jessa’s excited exclamation, so when Y/N scrunched up her nose and smiled at Harry, the dimples in Harry’s cheeks started to show some as well. They didn’t know what else to do or say to Jessa’s statement, but judging by her reaction, it was the correct response. Jessa gave the two an applause no one asked for, but she looked so incredibly happy Y/N didn’t mind.

“Y/N, you have to come to the beach with us on Monday!”

“Nay,” Harry sighed, opening one of the drawers by the counter he was leaning against and pulling out a bar of Dairy Milk. He got himself a row before placing the bar on the counter and then eating his row.

“No, it’ll be amazing. You’re always welcome around here, know that,” Jessa said, that bright beam of hers not once leaving her face once. “Monday we do kamayan on the beach. It’s a summer tradition in the Styles-Flores family!”

Harry looked at Y/N again, swallowing the last of his chocolate. “You don’t… You don’t have to come if you don’t wanna.”

Y/N looked back at him, her smile still present. “Of course I’ll come.”

“Yay!” Jessa clapped again. “I’ll go tell everyone then, they’re going to be ecstatic.” She jogged out the front door then, walking over to a small group of people and saying something that Y/N guessed was the news of Y/N coming along to the beach.

Harry downed the rest of his milk before putting the glass in the dishwasher.

“I almost feel a little bad that we’re going to break up at the end of summer now,” Y/N said, speaking so lowly that only the two of them would hear.

Harry glanced out the window of the kitchen at Jessa. “She’ll be devastated, but I just need to take her on a little road trip and play her some music and she’ll be fine.”

Y/N smiled. “Both Jessa and Gracie love it when you take them on a road trip and they get to listen to music.”

Harry chuckled some. “Guess they do.”

The both of them looked out the window at the garden where both sides of the Flores-Styles family were mingling. Jessa walked up to Harry’s lolo, grinning like always, and Y/N thought she might’ve seen Jessa’s Dad smile back at her. It was hard not to when the woman genuinely glowed and brought happiness with her wherever she went.

Y/N turned back to Harry again, catching him looking into the living room where his aunties were sitting on the sofa he and Y/N had been sitting in earlier. They had his abandoned plate of food between them, eating while they talked about some gossip Y/N couldn’t and wasn’t interested to keep up with.

“Harry,” she said, voice low. He looked back at her. “About… About the diabetes, I-“

“-No, I…” He averted his eyes to the tiled floor of the kitchen, a small furrow appearing between his brows. “Let’s not talk about that right now. My blood sugar will get better in a bit, I’ll stop shaking. We can go outside and chat with some of me family members.”

“You’re shaking?”

He let out what sounded like a short chuckle, holding his hand up so she could see that he was indeed trembling. “Hypoglycaemia. It’s normal.”

“Ahh, yeah, I’ve heard of that.”

“Anyway,” he said. “Let’s not think about that now.”

Y/N inhaled hugely, pushing away from the counter to look at Harry without turning her face. “Shall we mingle like couples do, boyfriend?”

He leaned his head back against the cupboard, running a hand over his face before taking his sunglasses off the top of his head and putting them back on. “We shall, girlfriend.”

He gestured with his arm for her to walk first and she did, waiting for him to appear beside her once they were outside. He walked her over to where Jessa was standing beside her Dad, saying something to a taller man who stood beside her. His grey hair was slicked back, the shirt and trousers he wore looked worn-down and old, but they looked good on him still.

“Uncle Tom,” Harry said as they approached, a smile on his face as the tall man glanced over. “Hi.”

“Harry! Heard someone say you were here and I saw your car, thought you were hiding from me.” Uncle Tom gave Harry a big hug, patting him on the back a few times before they stepped away from one another. Tom’s eyes settled on Y/N, a smirk on his face as his eyes darted between Harry and her a few times. “So, this is the infamous Y/N.”

“Oh,” Y/N said, waving her hand some as if to dismiss the ‘infamous’ part. “You lot make me feel like a celebrity.”

“Well, when you make our Harry happy, in our eyes you are a celebrity.” Uncle Tom opened his arms, bringing Y/N into a hug she returned quickly, wrapping her arms around him. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d hugged someone. “I’m Tom, Harry’s uncle,” Tom said as he pulled away from Y/N. “I’m not really his uncle, just very good friends with his late Dad.”

“I’ve called him Uncle Tom since forever.”

“It’s very nice to finally meet you, Tom,” Y/N said.

“And I hear,” Tom started, pointing at Jessa over his shoulder, who was still chatting to Harry’s lolo. “You’re coming to the beach next week.”

Harry made a noise. Y/N wasn’t sure what it meant. “Jessa forced her.”

“No, no. Don’t listen to him.” Y/N looked at Harry as he looked at her. She gave him a smile before looking back at Tom. “I want to come; it’ll be an honour.”

“Cheers. It’s one of those trips we take around the beginning of summer every year. The entire family comes, we bring food, and we spend most of the day there. It’s not an extravagant tradition, but it’s ours.”

“It sounds so nice.”

Tom smiled. “The way you’re dressed and judging by how polite and well put-together you are-“

“-Uncle-“

“-I would’ve thought a casual beach day with poor folks down south would sound dull?”

The way Tom said it wasn’t degrading, and Y/N could tell by his smile that he wasn’t saying it to challenge her in any way. With one hand dangling at his side and the other placed on Harry’s shoulder, he looked quite relaxed and not at all like he was trying to interrogate or make Y/N feel inferior. No, he was just wondering. Which was fair, because it seemed a lot of the people in Harry’s family and in St Ives had picked up on the fact Y/N had grown up in a very posh household. The question of why her wealth was so important for them to point out was something she didn’t bother thinking about. It didn’t define her any longer.

“Not dull at all. Maybe even a little refreshing. Don’t get to go to the beach much since I don’t live near one.”

Harry nodded. “We, uh… We actually met when the lads and I visited Newquay last summer. On the beach.”

“You mean you met on the beach?” Tom asked and Harry nodded. Tom glanced at Y/N again. “And you like the beach, Y/N?”

“Love it.”

“Maybe you should move here then. From what I’ve heard, Harry’s left the solitude of his lighthouse a few times already to be with you in town.”

“Only twice,” Harry mumbled, but Tom ignored him.

Y/N only laughed. “A bit too early to think about that. We’ve only been seeing each other for two months now.”

“Nah, this family moves fast, darling. If we fall in love, we fall hard, and we fall fast. Why measure love in hours spent together when it could be measured by the quality of that time, instead of the quantity?” Tom said, patting Harry’s shoulder. “Ain’t that right, mate?”

“No comment.”

Tom grinned. “Alright, alright.”

“I’m gonna take Y/N for a stroll so she can meet the rest, just wanted her to meet you first,” Harry said, looking to Y/N for some kind of confirmation, that she was okay with this.

“Yeah,” she said.

“I’ll see you two Monday, then,” Tom smiled, giving both a wink. He had the kind of old Dad charm that made you feel warm and safe, Y/N understood why Harry considered him family even though he wasn’t.

“Bye.”

“Good to meet you, Tom.”

“And you, Y/N.”

The rest of the afternoon went by very quickly. Harry introduced her to some other friends and family members, and though they asked them questions about their relationship, the two seemed to have already gotten a pretty good overview of what it was. That little chat in Harry’s childhood room had done wonders to get their head in the game. That, and the fact their relationship was so new meant there wasn’t a lot to tell, so some questions the two simply did not know because it wouldn’t be realistic for them to have experienced or thought about that yet.

At one point, Grace asked Y/N to help with her new headband. She didn’t know how to wear it in her hair, and she needed help. The two sat down on a bench beside the barn – which, by the sound and smell of it, housed hens – and Y/N helped Grace. The red and pink looked gorgeous in her black hair, and when she turned around and looked at Y/N once she was done putting it in, she grinned from ear to ear and asked, “Do I look pretty?” Y/N didn’t even have to hesitate before telling Grace she looked absolutely beautiful. The seven-year-old blushed and ran over to Harry who was walking over to them. He picked her up, throwing her small form in the air before bringing her to his hip again.

“Ready to leave?” Harry asked and Y/N said she was.

They said goodbye to everyone, and Jessa brought Y/N’s hand to her lips, kissing it quickly and giving it a warm pat before she let her walk off. Jessa, Grace, Uncle Tom, and Lolo stood by the white tree gate as Y/N and Harry left, watching the mellow yellow Ford van drive off down the gravel road. The sun was about to set, causing the sky overhead to bathe in a soothing orange and purple colour that promised sunny weather the following day. The drive back to the Inn was short and quiet. The silence lingered somewhere between exhaustion and awkwardness, and though Y/N wanted to say something to erase the tension, she couldn’t bring herself to.

When the town started appearing a bit more around them, she felt the phone in her purse vibrate. First she didn’t know what was happening, but then her heart suddenly dropped. She felt hot all over, the wind from the open window didn’t do anything to cool her down. Swallowing thickly, she tried to ignore it. But it was hard when the purse was in her lap. Harder when it was so loud. Even harder when her heartbeat sounded in her ears. As if the quiet in the car hadn’t been loud enough, the sound of her phone vibrating and her not picking up, was louder. There were only three people it could be. She didn’t want to bring her phone out to see which one it was. The ringing stopped after an excruciating 30 seconds, and Y/N closed her eyes. Just ignore it. Just ignore them. It’ll be fine. Ignore it and it’ll go away.

They arrived a minute later, and Y/N was grateful Harry didn’t ask about the phone incident. She stepped out and around the car, the smell of the sea surrounding them once again.

“The beach thing on Monday,” Harry said as Y/N stood by the entrance to the Inn, his window rolled down and orange sunglasses resting in his messy hair. “It’s on Porthmeor Beach. Send me a text when you start walking from here and I’ll walk in your direction, I’ll meet you, yeah?”

She smiled. “Thank you.”

He shook his head once to dismiss that. “Goodnight, Y/N. Cheers for today.”

“It was fun.” She gave him a little wave. “Goodnight.”

He started his engine as Y/N walked inside. Bessie stood by the reception desk sorting through some documents. When Y/N glanced in her direction and met her eyes, the innkeeper quickly glanced away, but the tiny smile on her face gave her away. Once in her room, Y/N checked who had called. It had been a few minutes now and they wouldn’t care to call again tonight, she thought. The ‘Mum’ on her locked screen made something inside her chest ache. She opened her phone to remove the notification but then closed it again a second later. Her Mum had called. After days of no one reaching out, of no one asking her where she was, of no one caring. Her Mum had called.

Changing out of her dress and removing her make-up, Y/N didn’t allow herself to think about anything. The only thing she allowed herself to focus on was a blackness. If you focused on nothing, nothing would hurt you. She didn’t want hurt. She’d had enough of that.

NEXT UPDATE: Sunday, 16 August, 9PM GMT!

A HUGEEE thank you to my amazing and beautiful beta readers! 🌊 @aileenacoustic 🌊 @bopbopstyles 🌊 @fromyourstrulyh 🌊 @harrys-creature 🌊 @honeydearly 🌊 @summerfeelng 🌊 @withallthelove-a 🌊

#harry styles #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles x you #harry styles x reader #harry styles smut #harry styles fluff #harry styles angst #harry styles fic #het fic #1dff #:DDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDD #PLS DO COME CHAT ONCE YOU'RE DONE READING MWWAH

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calacuspr · 3 years

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Calacus Weekly Hit & Miss – Simone Biles & Rassie Erasmus

Every Monday we look at the best and worst communicators in the sports world from the previous week.

HIT – SIMONE BILES

Simone Biles has been the superstar of gymnastics - if not female sport - since she burst into global consciousness by winning four gold medals at the Rio 2016 Olympic Games.

With 19 world championship gold medals as well to her name at the tender age of 24, expectations were high at Tokyo 2020.

Not content with leading the world in gymnastics, Biles showed remarkable strength from one so young by putting her mental health ahead of the attention and anticipation of her performances at this year’s Olympic Games.

After pulling out of the women's gymnastics team final. Biles explained: “I have to focus on my mental health. I just think mental health is more prevalent in sports right now.

"We have to protect our minds and our bodies and not just go out and do what the world wants us to do.

"I don't trust myself as much anymore. Maybe it's getting older. There were a couple of days when everybody tweets you and you feel the weight of the world.

"We're not just athletes. We're people at the end of the day and sometimes you just have to step back.”

The Olympic Games may be one of the biggest stages in world sport, but Biles showed remarkable poise to withdraw given her unofficial role as the symbol of Team USA.

It is further proof, if proof were needed, that sports stars now feel empowered to stand up, not only for social justice but also for themselves, as we saw with Naomi Osaka withdrawing from the French Open in much the same way earlier this year.

Michael Phelps, himself an Olympic phenomenon, defended Biles after previously revealing his own struggles with depression. He said: “This is an opportunity for all of us to really learn more about mental health, to all help each other out.

"For me, I want people to be able to have somebody that can support them, who’s non-judgmental and who’s willing to hold space. There’s a lot that we can do to help one another and we have to start. We can’t brush it under the rug anymore.”

Biles, remember, has spoken out about the sexual abuse she and many others faced at the hands of the former U.S.A. Gymnastics doctor Lawrence G. Nassar and the devastating effect it has had on her life.

She has also spoken out about racism, which she has encountered in life and in gymnastics competition; She said: “It happens every day, and I feel like every Black athlete or colored athlete can say that they've experienced it through their career.”

Biles has had to watch as her brother Tevin Biles-Thomas was accused and then recently acquitted of 15 charges including murder related to an incident three years ago.

The gymnast later withdrew from the final individual all-round competition, with USA Gymnastics stating: “We wholeheartedly support Simone’s decision and applaud her bravery in prioritizing her well-being. Her courage shows, yet again, why she is a role model for so many.”

There have been accusations that she let down her team by walking away, that she displayed an appetite for ‘losing, quitting and failure’ rather than seeing the bigger picture of fighting through adversity.

American conservative activist Charlie Kirk was also quick to criticise, saying: "We are raising a generation of weak people like Simone Biles. If she's got all these mental health problems: don't show up."

“She's probably the greatest gymnast of all time. She's also very selfish, she's immature and she's a shame to the country."

Those opinions were echoed by other right-wing activists and yet US newspapers such as USA Today called Biles’ decision “important” and a “powerful message.”

The New York Times lauded the 24-year-old for putting her “mental health first and the expectations of others, at best, second” and after Biles spoke about the mental exhaustion endemic to being the best, the Washington Post asked, “What are we doing, breaking our athletes?”

Mental health organisations such as The Rethink Mental Illness charity praised Biles and said: “Everyone needs to prioritise their mental health, even the best athletes in the world.

“Simone Biles’s decision to withdraw from an Olympics final will not have been taken lightly, and it’s great to see the support she received from her teammates.”

Mind also congratulated Biles on her bravery and posted on Twitter: “Working in elite sports like gymnastics comes with unimaginably high levels of pressure, perfectionism, scrutiny, and comparison. Simone Biles is incredibly brave for speaking out, and highlighting the importance of looking after your mental heath.

“Simone is a role model for women and girls everywhere. She deserves our applause, respect, appreciation – and above all our support right now.”

MISS – RASSIE ERASMUS

Rugby union prides itself on respect and one of the most fundamental aspects of game is based on how referees are treated.

It’s common law within the sport that players and coaches accept refereeing judgments without abusive disagreement but in recent times, the game has been caught up in controversy due to reactions over refereeing decisions.

During the 2021 British and Irish Lions and South Africa test series, South Africa head coach Rassie Erasmus has taken the disrespect of officials to a whole new level, as he openly criticised the officiating of the first test match between the two sides.

In an hour-long video, Erasmus let out his fury towards Australian referee Nick Berry in which he analysed 26 clips from the game of incidents which he believed were blatant mistakes.

In the video, he said: "It's comical the respect the [officials] showed towards the South African players compared to the Lions players.

"Let the Springboks and the Lions have an equal chance on the field when it comes to laws, respect, the way players are treated, what is said in the coaches' pre-match meeting with the referees, how they give feedback post-match and how things are said in the media.

"When Siya [Kolisi] spoke to the referee and when Alun Wyn [Jones] spoke to the referee, I just felt the reactions on how they treated both those players, there was a vast difference between who he was taking serious and who he wasn't taking serious."

Erasmus ends the video by saying that he recorded the video “in my personal capacity, and not as part of the Springboks”, even offering to quit his position for the remainder of the series.

But when you’re the head coach of the world champions in any sport, let alone rugby union, recording a video criticising a referee is entirely inappropriate.

Despite his claims that neither Nick Berry nor World Rugby provided feedback on the officiating during the first test, Erasmus raised his complaints in a totally unprofessional manner.

In response to the video, Rugby Australia defended Nick Berry and deemed the comments from Erasmus as "unacceptable", while World Rugby reacted by saying they would be taking up the matter with the South African Rugby Union.

Erasmus has never been afraid to speak out, but his comments towards referees has cast a shadow over the already disrupted Lions Tour in South Africa.

In the week running up to the first test, Erasmus refused to disassociate himself from a burner Twitter account named “Jaco Johan”, which carries video clips of controversial refereeing incidents for the previous games of the tour.

“When something makes sense to me I like to retweet it,” Erasmus said. “If you do analyse the things that he is supposed to see, then you are actually spot on with the integrity of the game.”

It’s also not the first time that the Springbok head coach has been caught up in controversy regarding the officiating in rugby.

Back in 2019, the then New Zealand head coach Steve Hansen accused Erasmus of trying to pressure referees into preferential treatment towards his team, after the South Africa boss suggested that the All Blacks had for years received soft officiating during matches.

Debate surrounding refereeing decisions has been a constant theme of the Lions series, with the tourists also raising concerns regarding the appointment of a South African television match official in the first game.

With South Africa going on to claim victory in the second Test, Erasmus could claim that his mind games paid off, especially considering several decisions went the Springboks' way.

Regardless, raising concerns about refereeing in rugby should be done in a respectful manner and in that regard, Erasmus missed the mark completely during the 2021 Lions tour.

#Tokyo Olympic Games #Tokyo 2020 #olympics #mental health #Simone Biles #Team USA #USOPC #USA gymnastics #Larry Nassar #Michael Phelps #New York Times #Rassie Erasmus #Springboks #British and Irish Lions #Siya Kolisi #World Rugby #Rugby Australia #Conor Murray

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tejaswrites · 4 years

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Wildflowers

For @14daysdalovers!

Pairing: Persephone Hawke x Knight-Captain Rylen Summary: It’s spring in the Frostbacks. One of the hold’s young men asks Rylen for romantic advice. As he gives it, he reminisces on loving Persephone. Rating: Gen / Word count: 1416 Also available on AO3

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It was one of those days in early spring when the earth had a last become more alive than dead, when Rylen laid back in the grass and tilted his head toward the late morning sun. The earth was still damp with the last of the melting snow disappearing no more than a few days before, but he enjoyed it anyway, as he did the first outing every spring.

Winters were harsh in the mountains and he relished the coming of summer, even if it was far from the ones he’d grown up with on the shores on the Minanter. The streams of the Frostbacks never ran warm enough to take a dip in, for him at least. The cold never kept the youth of the clan away though. Maybe they were made of sterner stuff, or maybe he was just getting too old to be playing in rivers like he did when he was young.

A shout from across the field drew his attention to where a group of teenage boys wrestled in an effort to impress a few of the young women braiding wildflowers into crowns nearby. The girls whispered behind their hands; giggles, laughter, and gasps slipping out every so often when the boys knocked each other into the dirt at their feet. Younger children frolicked: some cartwheeled down the hillside while others played tag, darting between the older youths and adults. Everyone celebrated the return of spring in their own way.

He tilted his face back toward the sun and couldn’t help but smile at the way his life had turned out.

A shadow interrupted his sunlight and he popped an eye open.

Angus stood next to him. One of the older teens, he’d known Angus since they’d arrived at the hold nearly a decade ago, though he was just a boy then. He was proud of the man he was becoming. One who cared for his family and looked out for others. From what Rylen had learned about the Avvar, he might even be thane some day.

“Something wrong?”

Angus shook his head as he squatted down. “Can I ask something?”

“I’m always glad to. You know that.”

“I know, but…” he hesitated as he sat down with crossed legs. He scratched at the back of his neck and his eyes flickered toward the group of young women crafting flower crowns.

Rylen followed his gaze. No longer just young women, he realized as he caught sight of Persephone settled among them. Wrapped in the heavy winter skins she’d wear until the height of summer, she focused on a basket of greens, tying the collected herbs into bundles for drying. She laughed at something, and Rylen’s heart lightened at the smile that spread wide across her face.

Even after all these years and all his travels, her smile was still one of the most beautiful sights he’d ever seen.

At Angus’s continued silence, Rylen prompted him, “But what?”

Angus snapped his eyes back to Rylen, away from the group of women. “You and Augur Hawke, you are not married.”

“That’s right, we’re not.”

“You never untied knots from her rope?”

Rylen shook his head, wondering what the young man was getting at. “Nay.”

“Why not?”

Rylen shrugged. Their arrangement might be unusual, even for the Avvar and their marriage traditions, but it worked for them and that was all that mattered. Years ago, when they’d first arrived in the mountains, some thought it meant they were available to marry others, but after so long most had come to understand they were committed to each other, marriage rope or not. “I love her, and she loves me. We don’t need a ceremony to tell us that.”

Angus picked at the grass in front of him as Rylen glanced back over at Persephone, still bundling herbs as she chatted with the group of young women. Fifteen years since he’d first laid on her and fifteen years since he’d wanted anyone else. She’d been made from the same piece of the Fade as he, that much he knew. Even during their darkest days he’d never doubted that.

“How did you know?” Angus finally asked, intent on shredding the blades of grass he now held between his fingers.

“Know what?”

“That you loved her...and that she loved you back.”

Rylen laughed. “I’m not the one to give you that advice. I loved her far before she knew she felt the same.”

“But how did you know?” he pressed.

Settling back on the grass, Rylen stared up at the sky. “It was intense, at first. The world was brighter and every breath sweeter because of her. Every moment of every day, she was all I thought about. All I wanted.”

Kirkwall was a world away now, as though it had been a dream. It wasn’t. He had been there, in the aftermath of the explosion, and so had she. They were different people now. How could they not be after all they’d been through?

“Yeah?” Angus breathed next to him.

Rylen pushed himself onto his elbows and his glance confirmed the young man was hanging on his every word. “It was like now: the first warmth of spring after a long, dark winter. As though I finally lived for the first time.”

“I know what you mean.”

“Do you now?”

Angus sucked in a deep breath, as though he were about to share something important. “I feel that way about Jorunn.”

“Jorunn Asdisdottir?” Rylen wouldn’t have that she would catch Angus’s attention, but then, who would have thought he’d catch Persephone’s? Love worked like that.

“Quiet!” Angus dipped his head and a flush appeared. “She’ll hear you.”

“I dinna think so.” The group of young women surrounding Persephone were now singing and braiding each other’s hair, the young men showing off for them all but forgotten. The particular woman in question was situating a flower crown on her younger sister’s head.

“I want to marry her,” Angus confessed, following Rylen’s gaze.

It would be a good match. Jorunn was known to be as equally kind and generous as Angus was. If their marriage lasted, it would be good for the future of the hold. “And what does she think about that?”

Angus shook his head. “I haven’t told her. What if she says no?”

“She may, and if she does the gods will see that you find another good match.”

“But I don’t want a good match. I want her,” the young man lamented.

“I know, Angus, I know.” Persephone had begun to gather her herb bundles, returning them to her basket. Rylen pushed himself to his feet, offering a hand to Angus to help him off the ground. “You dinna have to tell her today, but start letting her know how you feel about her.”

“How?”

“Talk to her. Pay attention. Learn. Some will tell you to give her gifts or sing her songs, but none of that matters until you know her. Let’s go help.” He gestured toward the group of women now gathering their belongings.

He held Persephone’s gaze as he crossed the meadow directly for her. “I’ll carry that,” he told her as he took the basket laden with spring herbs, slipping it onto his forearm.

“My savior,” she teased as she lifted her heels to give herself more height to give him a chaste peck on the cheek.

Rylen wasn’t letting get away that easily. He wrapped an arm around her waist and kissed her properly. The herbs went flying out of the basket when he dipped her and her arms flew to wrap around his shoulders with a shriek, “Rylen!”

He laughed and kissed the tip of her nose. “I got them.”

And he did, picking up every last bundle and returning them to the basket on his arm, before he reached for her hand. “Back to the hold then?”

“Were you matchmaking?” Persephone lifted an eyebrow and nodded in front of them. Angus walked alongside Jorunn and her sister, intently listening to whatever it was the former was talking about.

“Not so much that as encouraging,” he chuckled, bringing her hand to his lips and spreading kisses along her knuckles.

“You are hopeless.”

“Aye,” he smiled as he intertwined their fingers. “Hopelessly in love with you.”

Persephone shook her head at him but returned his smile all the same. Hand in hand, they followed the group back to the hold, back to the life he wouldn’t trade for anything.

#14daysdalovers #persephone hawke #knight captain rylen #dragon age #hawke x knight captain rylen #hawke x rylen #my rarepair loves #tejaswrites

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beatrice-otter · 4 years

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Period Fic Primer: Mawwiage is what Bwings Us Togethah Today

Welcome to my next installment of the Period Fic Primer, where I talk about stuff that period fic often gets wrong! Today we're going to talk about how people think about marriage. Because about 90% of the time, when I read a period fic with a romance in it, it's pretty obviously modern people with modern ideas about love who just happen to be wearing funny clothing. And, I mean, if that's what floats your boat, go for it! But if you want to write something with characters who feel they might actually come from the time period the story is set in, here are some things to think about. Stop me if you've read this fic/watched this movie: Our hero and heroine are In Love. But there is a problem! There is a class difference! Their families have other ideas of who they should marry! The hero and heroine don't understand how anyone can stand in the way of True Love! What kind of monsters could want someone to marry without being in love with their new spouse?

That reaction--that assumption that of course being in love is the only and most important reason for marriage--is extremely modern. People have fallen in and out of love throughout human history, it's something most humans do; and falling in love with the wrong people is also fairly common. But the idea that romantic love and marriage are naturally connected is a modern idea which was only starting to come into popularity in the Regency. Instead, up until the late Victorian era, most people (of all social classes) would have agreed more with Max instead:

In most times and places, marriage has had two primary functions: 1) consolidate/amass resources needed to sustain the family, and 2) pass those resources on to the next generation so that the family will continue to prosper. Why? Well, to answer that, we have to back up a bit. Did you know that, throughout history, most communities were only one bad year away from famine and people starving to death? This is not an abstract thing. It didn't happen most years, but it happened regularly enough that it was never far from peoples' minds. Also, farming up through the late middle ages took huge amounts of backbreaking labor. In a good year, you'd have a surplus, and could sell it to get some extra stuff. In an ordinary year, you'd have enough to survive on. In a bad year, people died. Organizing things so that you and your family and your community--the people you cared about--would have the best chance at survival in a bad year was really important. Now. Where do the resources come from? From the land. If you want to farm, you need land. If you want to mine, you need land. For pretty much anything, you need land. Making sure that you have access to the land you need--and that your children will have access to it--was a really big deal. For the few things that didn't need land, but rather used the products of the land and turned it into something else--all the trades, basically--there was also a lot of concern for how to balance things so that the people already in the trade can be sure that they and their families will have what they need to continue on in the trade. Access to resources was a huge deal. For most of human history, in most places, that's been one of the most important considerations for marriage. It's all about who has access to resources, and how they are going to pass those resources down to the next generation intact so that their children will have enough to live on. This looked different at different levels of society and in different cultures, but if you ask yourself "where are they getting resources from" and "how do those resources flow from one generation to the next" and "what effect is a prospective marriage going to have not just on the couple, but on their family and community" and questions like that, a lot of different marriage customs suddenly make a lot more sense. I'm going to be using European examples (mostly English), but these are the questions you need to ask if you're doing any worldbuilding or writing historical fiction. Because these things matter. On the small farm community level, in England, farming mostly happened as a communal thing. That is, specific families would lease specific fields, but everyone in the village would come together to help and some things would be used in common. (The growing trend in 17th-19th Centuries of rich people enclosing common lands and using them for their own good instead of the common good is one reason poverty in the 19th Century was so dire.) But you needed to control how many kids there were: it was a balance between having enough hands to do the work, and having few enough mouths that you could afford to feed them all. So the eldest son would inherit the lease, he'd have enough to get married, and the younger sons would work for him and the community but not have the ability to get married because they wouldn't be able to feed their kids. If they worked hard, they might be able to take over the lease of another local family that had a tragedy; if they left the village they might have an opportunity somewhere else to find another way to make a living (but that was extremely rare, because people would make sure opportunities went to their own kin first so you'd probably end up doing the same sort of hard work for nothing more than room and board in a different village). To marry, you need resources; you need to be able to feed your children. And, ideally, you want your spouse to be able to contribute to those resources. So the girls would spend years building up a store of household goods, hoping to marry one of the older sons who had a lease and therefore could afford a family; if you didn't snag one of them, you probably didn't marry, and ended up doing the sort of hard-labor-for-nothing-more-than-room-and-board that your younger brothers were doing. It sucked for the younger children, but it made sure that there usually weren't more children than the land could support. It's not about love; it's about who could afford to support a family. (In many places on the continent, they divided the land up equally between all the sons, and that was fairer but ended up with lots of cases where there were simply too many mouths to feed.) If you had a trade--you were a blacksmith, say, or a weaver, or a tanner, or a cooper, or a baker--well, there was a finite amount of work in any given area. You would pass on the trade to one of your sons, and the others you would try to find jobs as apprentices in the hope that they might one day be able to open up their own shop, but realistically most of them wouldn't. And realistically, most of them would never have enough money to get married and support a family unless they were able to open a shop of their own ... or marry the only daughter of someone with such a shop, or the widow of one. And even if you weren't marrying to get the shop, you wanted someone whose family was in the same trade, because even if women were rarely formally apprenticed in a craft, there was a lot less hard division between "men's work" and "women's work" and it was much easier to run a successful shop if both spouses knew how to go about it. So you might fall in love with someone from a farming family ... but (if you had the money and resources to marry) you'd still probably end up marrying someone from the trade you'd been brought up to. Because, again, it's not about love; it's about making sure you have the resources (skills and equipment and contacts, in this case) to build a comfortable life and support a family. And also, about making sure you have connections with the people who are most likely to have the things you need in your daily life. If you were of the gentry or nobility, well, they were rich enough they weren't going to starve in a bad year, but they had a correspondingly greater desire to keep and maintain that status for their children. So the oldest son inherits the main bulk of the lands; the younger sons get professions like the army and the navy and the church, which may or may not pay them enough to support a family; the daughters get lump sums of money called a dowry. And you want to keep all that lovely money in the family. You want to keep the land intact. You want to keep the power intact. You want to make sure that your children will have the best life possible ... which means they need resources, which means you need to marry appropriately. You might fall in love, but if the person you love isn't an appropriate match, then you're probably not going to marry them because marriage is about collecting resources and keeping them in the family over generations. In all these cases, according to the society and mores of the day, if you allow your child to marry outside their sphere simply because they've fallen in love--if they marry "beneath" them, or if they marry when they don't have the resources to support a family, or if they marry someone from a different trade/walk of life--you are a bad parent. So they're in love, who cares. Love will not feed your grandchildren. I mean, if you're a decent parent you'll care about making sure their spouse is a good person they can get along with, but as long as the spouse is not actively abusive, marrying someone they don't care for (but who has the resources for marriage) is far more likely to end happily than marrying someone they love who doesn't have the resources. I mean, if you're a farm girl and you marry a younger son of a farming family who doesn't have land of his own, all it takes is one bad year and you and all your kids starve. If you're in a trade and you marry someone from outside the trade, your shop is less likely to suceed. If you have money and land and marry someone who is lower class, you will be socially outcast and likely fall in social status and wealth and being ostracized from your community has negative repercussions for you and your children. Our bone-deep association with marriage is that it's about love. But prior to the 19th Century, romantic love was a bonus in marriage. If you found someone you were in love with who loved you who was the right social group and had the right resources, that was awesome! But the right social group and the right resources was far more important to have. Think about that. Think about what it means to have "being in love" be an optional add-on, a nice thing if you can get it, rather than the purpose of marriage. And it's not even something that has to be related to marriage at all. Consider the medieval idea of courtly love, where knights would fall deeply, powerfully in love with great ladies, be visibly devoted to them, write them all sorts of love poetry ... and never put any serious thought to marrying them or even sleeping with them because relationships/marrriage and romantic love were in two mostly-separate conceptual boxes. Loving someone from afar was the ideal, not the tragedy. You'd be surprised how much of the social mores of the pre-20th Century world were based on "we have to keep resources in the family and make sure our resources are passed on to the next generation." Obviously, things directly related to marriage and inheritance, like entailments and marriage settlements and wills were a part of it, but also things like "who talks to whom." You know all those rules about needing to be properly introduced to someone in order to talk to them? And the husband/father needing to call on someone and make their acquaintance before the wife and/or daughters can meet him? That's about making sure your daughters only marry the right people. They can't fall in love with a guy they never talk to, or at least, it's harder to do so. If you only ever talk to the "right" people and you fall in love, your love is going to be one of the "right" people and you can safely marry them. If you only talk to the "right" people, anyone that you don't know (and that none of your friends know) is obviously not the "right" sort of person, and so if you never come into contact with them, the chances of them being able to marry into your circle of family and friends is much reduced. This is one of the reasons why connections were so valuable, too: if you were at the lowest rung of the gentry but had a cousin who was in a far higher level, you would probably get invited to their parties sometimes, and your kids might be able to marry up into that sphere because they had an "in." It's all about keeping all that lovely money in the family not just in this generation but for the generations to come. You will notice that I have been assuming that every marriage will produce children. These people didn't have contraceptives, just abortificants, and those abortificants were dangerous. If you weren't infertile, and you got married, you were probably going to have children. And if you didn't have children, it was seen as a great tragedy that (especially for women) lowered your social status. But even in cases of infertility, whatever wealth you had would pass down to the family because chances were you would have a niece or nephew to adopt. If there were any relations living, someone in the family would get it. But the ideal was for the couple to have children, because then both of the families that put resources into the marriage get a share of the wealth through the children who inherit it. It's all about keeping resources in the family. This changed over the course of the 19th Century, but it changed slowly. Consider Austen's novels. In Sense and Sensibility, of the two couples in love we see, Elinor and Mr. F can't marry until Mr. F has resources under his control (an appointment as a vicar), and Marianne and Willoughby ends in tragedy, and the happy ending for Marianne is marrying the nice-but-boring-and-dependable guy with lots of land (and hence wealth). In Pride and Prejudice, Jane wants to marry for love, Elizabeth wants to marry someone she respects (and ends up with someone she loves AND respects, because she is a virtuous heroine), and Charlotte just wants to be married to someone with good prospects even if he's an idiot. (If you're protesting about Elizabeth wanting to marry for love, you're thinking about an adaptation or fic, because it isn't in the book; she explicitly starts considering him as a desirable marriage partner when she visits Pemberly and sees a) how responsibly it's managed and b) how well he treats his servants and sister, i.e. the people he could abuse with impunity if he wanted to.) In Mansfield Park, the reason Fanny has no money or status and can be abused by Mrs Norris and her cousins is because Fanny's mother married for love and thus Fanny and her siblings are penniless and depending on charity. In Persuasion, Anne and Wentworth fall in love but don't marry because, while he has prospects, he can't afford a wife yet (and might not actually gain the status and wealth needed to support a family), and even after all the angst of their meeting again and thinking he would marry someone else, and they reconcile and are married, Anne still thinks that refusing him when he didn't have enough money to support a family was the right thing to do. Now, over the 19th Century, three things happened. First, the standard of living rose, mostly in the middle class and upper working classes. Second, all sorts of new opportunities developed. There were new ways of getting the resources necessary to live on besides inheriting them. Third, the novel flourished and there were all sorts of stories about true love conquering all. All of these things fed into each other. You could marry for love without it being an utter disaster, and there was a cultural stuff about marrying for love being okay. But it was a gradual change, and the higher you were in society the longer it took for that change to take hold. The upper classes in England were still marrying for social rank and money well into the mid-20th Century. To sum up: if you are writing a period fic, or a fantasy set in a low-tech world, chances are that "marrying for love" is something most people think is silly at best, and dangerously foolish at worst. Even people who fall in love and end up marrying for love might agree that they're being stupid to do so! Also, consider: 1) Who has resources? 2) How are those resources passed from generation to generation? 3) What are the social customs and mores that encourage this to happen in the "right" way? 4) What are the legal rules in place to enforce those customs and rules? 5) How does the family of the couple either benefit or lose from their marriage? If you take these factors into account, your fic will be a lot more accurate.

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#writing #history #european history #economics

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justfandomwritings · 5 years

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Urban Legends (Part One - Chris Beck)

Pairing: Chris Beck x Reader

Word Count: 1.7k

Warnings: i don’t think any apply.

Summary: (Y/n) Watney was something of an urban legend at NASA. Commander of the Ares I mission, (Y/n) was the first human to set foot on another planet. She heard names like Neil Armstrong and smirked. She was on her way to being the most famous astronaut in history, and she was determined to bring her brother along for the ride. She recommended Mark to Vincent Kapoor. She helped him get on the Ares III mission to Mars.

Her brother was stuck on Mars because of her, and she was determined to bring him home.

After all, if he was the first human to die on another planet that would thoroughly steal her thunder; and she couldn’t have that.

Notes: This story is being simultaneously posted to AO3 as an OC story if you’d prefer to find that version. Also of note, Beck won’t be in the first few chapters, but I promise its coming.

There’s an urban legend about NASA.

In the 60s, the Soviet Union and the United States were deep into what is now called the Space Race. When the Soviets launched Sputnik 1, the first manmade satellite, Americans were wracked with panic. If the Soviet Union could launch a radio satellite into orbit around the Earth, who’s to say they couldn’t launch a gun?

The space program, NASA, became every Americans top priority. It was a nuclear deterrent, as well as a matter of national pride. If the Soviets had satellites in space hovering over American soil, then America needed satellites in space over Soviet soil. But America couldn’t just equal the Soviet Union; America needed to beat the Soviet Union.

When the first astronauts went into space, Soviet-born Yuri Gagarin beating out American-born Alan Shepard by less than a month for the honor of being the first man in space, they encountered a dilemma.

The ballpoint pen was pattented in the United Kingdom during 1938 as an alternative to the dip pen. It was a simple design. The new pen utilized a cartridge of ink attached to a metal ball over which the ink rolled out, allowing the user to write. There was only one problem. The ink was drawn down and fed out of the cartridge over the ball by nothing but the force of gravity. Meaning, in space, there was nothing to draw out the ink; leaving all modern pens effectively useless.

The United States invested $12 million of its funding into designing a pen that would function in zero gravity.

The Soviets just used pencils.

The truth isn’t quite as amusing as the legend, but it isn’t far off either.

When the United States realized that ballpoint pens were effectively rendered useless by zero gravity, they contracted a company called Tycam Engineering to order a set of 34 mechanical pencils for their next mission. Tycam Engineering charged NASA $4,382… for 34 mechanical pencils. After extensive criticism from the public and within their own departments about the wasteful spending, NASA canceled their order.

The Americans just used pencils.

Eventually, in the late 60s, a privately owned firm called Fisher Pen Company would indeed design a pen that worked in zero gravity. It became known as the Fisher Space Pen. The pen replaced the usual pull of gravity by installing a pressurized ink cartridge that functioned in any environment.

NASA paid $6 per pen for the privilege of writing in ink.

The Soviets paid $8.

(Y/n) tapped her Fisher Space Pen against the edge of her desk.

The amount of work that had been put into this moment, put into her sitting here now, was incalculable. Sure, she could add up the amount of hours she’d put in training. She could find out the amount of time she’d spent out on missions. She could factor in time doing research for her thesis or working on related projects. She could even calculate the opportunity cost of lost wages elsewhere in her field. None of it would give a definitive answer, though.

This moment was so much bigger than her effort and her work, and nothing symbolized that more than her pen. It had a history that went well past her, well past Alan Shepard, well past NASA. This pen spanned the Ares Mission, the International Space Station, Project Apollo, Project Gemini. Every astronaut before her had held one of these pens. The minds at Fisher Pen Company had put hundreds of hours and millions of dollars into designing it, and they had built their work on the minds that came before them.

The Fisher Pen Company could not have pressurized the pen cartridge if countless men and women before them had not perfected the cartridge pen’s design, if the Biro brothers who patented the first ballpoint pen in 1938 had not thought to innovate on the dip pen.

The giants of every field today rested on the shoulders of those who came before, and the Fisher Space Pen was no exception. (Y/n) was no exception.

It might be a bit of a stretch to call Fisher Space Pen a giant, but (Y/n) was self aware enough to know that she, in fact, was a giant.

(Y/n) twisted off the pen cap and set it aside with a deep breath. Eight years ago, in 2027, (Y/n) had picked up the very same pen and signed her name to a contract, and now she was doing it again. She couldn’t decide if she was more impressed that she was back in the chair or that she’d managed to keep track of one pen for eight years.

“You understand the full personal, professional, and legal ramifications of the contract you are about to sign, Miss Watney?”

(Y/n) looked up at NASA’s in-house attorney sitting across from her. He was a feeble man with a bald patch slightly to the right of center atop his head that perfectly matched the shape of the Tycho lunar crater, right down to the tiny tuft of hair that coincided with the peak at its center. They had only met once before, eight years ago, and understandably she didn’t remember him very well.

Back then, he had given her a full lecture, two hours long, about the document she was signing, the commitment it entailed. He’d clearly gone lax this time around. Perhaps he wrongly assumed she remembered any of what he’d said.

She couldn’t even recall his name when she first walked in the door minutes before. Back in 2027, she was practically shaking with the anticipation of putting her name on the dotted line. Back then, he was all that was standing between her and Mars. How could she be expected to pay attention.

“Don’t worry about me, Mr. Levinson.” (Y/n) falsely assured him. “I know what I’m getting myself into. I’ve been here before.”

“That you have,” Mr. Levinson wheezed out a laugh. “I was excited when they told me you would be leading this new program. It’s always good to see some familiar faces on the cover of my cereal box.”

(Y/n) chuckled to herself. Her brother had given her hell for those cereal boxes. Whenever NASA forwarded her inbox along to the Hermes, there were always a handful pictures of Mark with the cereal box strategically placed in various spots (Y/n) should have been.

Her birthday? He put it on the table with a cake in front of it. Family beach trip? He covered it in sunscreen and set it in the sand. Dad’s retirement party? He brought it along to a black tie event tucked under his arm. Mark somehow managed to talk some of the techies into letting him put the box in the seat next to him while he did his takeoff simulations. He even took the stupid thing as one of his personal items into his isolation chamber for 10 days.

Gem that he was, Mitch Henderson had sent along the video of Mark talking to the picture of her on the cereal box cover because, as Mark explained, ‘What? I got bored of talking to myself.’

(Y/n)’s eyes scanned over the contract. She wasn’t really reading it. Mr. Levinson knew that, but she needed to pretend for the sake of protocol. “The cereal box was all Annie. She thinks putting us out there in the public eye will increase awareness of NASA programs, and increased funding will follow.”

“It’s not a bad idea.” Mr. Levinson hedged. “It might be good for kids to have successful, intelligent role models for once.”

Role models. They’d certainly tried to make (Y/n) into one of those. Weeks upon weeks of PR training. It was worse than the actual astronaut program!

...That was probably an exaggeration, but it felt like it.

(Y/n) was the Commander of her mission, the face of the team. A face that was everywhere, and not just for the moment. A face that wouldn’t just be in history books, but would be on the covers of them.

A face that Annie refused to see dropping the f-bomb during any of the over 100 interviews (Y/n) had been expected to do before take off and certainly not during any of the countless hundred she had done since her return.

(Y/n)’s pen paused over the line she was supposed to sign, and a smirk tugged at her lips. “Wait, you were eating the kid’s cereal?”

Mr. Levinson spluttered for a moment, but his embarrassment was saved by the door bursting open.

“Mitch?” Mr. Levinson questioned.

(Y/n) turned when she heard Mr. Levinson say the name. The Hermes Flight Director stood in the office doorway looking absolutely terrified.

A cold chill ran up her spine. He didn’t need to say anything. Mitch’s eyes did all the talking, and she shoved away from Levinson’s desk, ignoring as the lawyer shouted, “Miss Watney, we’re not done here.”

Mitch led her through the halls down into the control room where the usually mild-mannered scientists were in frenzy.

(Y/n) didn’t frequent the NASA control room. Her eight years in the program had mostly been spent in training facilities or research labs, but she’d met the staff working the room before. She knew procedure well enough to know that this was unusual, and something was going very wrong.

“What’s going on, Mitch.” Her tone left no room for questioning.

“We had to scrap the mission earlier today. The winds got too strong. MAV was tipping.”

(Y/n) narrowed in on the readouts scrolling up the side of the screen. The wind speed was far too high. “Have they left the surface yet?”

“They haven’t yet, and the last updates from the communications system indicate the MAV was tilting too far. They were running out of…” Mitch never got to finish explaining the situation to (Y/n).

A crackly voice came over the loud speaker, indicating a transmission from Hermes to mission control. “Hermes, this is Commander Lewis. We have successfully docked the MAV and are beginning to route our return to Earth.”

(Y/n) felt intense relief fill her only to be washed away by sheer horror.

“Mark Watney was hit by debris en route to the MAV… He… He died on impact and didn’t make it to the MAV.”

A loud cry split the air, and (Y/n) only realized it had come from her when pain shot up her knees as they gave out and hit the ground.

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Next Time on... Part Two

Taglist:

Forever Taglist:

@maybe-a-fangurl / @libbymouse / @geeksareunique / @deathbyarabbit / @spilltheearlgrey

#chris beck x reader #chris beck #chris beck imagine #sebastian stan x reader #chris beck fanfiction #sebastian stan imagine #sebastian stan fanfiction #chris beck x you #chris beck fluff #the martian imagine #the martian fanfiction #chris beck drabble

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carolyncaves · 4 years

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Today is Day 7: Pastel (I checked!), and I thought of a fun clothes application, and then it took me 800 words to even get to it ... because that’s how that works. We’re back to ace!JC and Lu Lian’s spouses-to-friends situation. This follows this almost immediately.

1297 words, ace!Jiang Cheng & OC, post-CQL reluctant marriage. Fighting like a married couple (oh wait ...); JC’s lingering dead-sister issues get a shoutout (poor JYL); wardrobe movie makeover

Lu Lian spent a beautiful day on the water, with her bizarre husband and his equally bizarre nephew.

Jin Ling was her nephew as well, she supposed. It took her the entire evening and the next morning at her and Jiang Wanyin’s customary breakfast to try to understand her own reaction to the young man’s demand. It was, by all logic, something she should have bared her teeth at. She was not this petulant child’s belonging, something subject to his whims. But she had not felt the hot tight outrage she was accustomed to.

She too had lost her parents. Perhaps that was part of it. She herself been old enough to remember them, at least, but it meant she carried always a deep painful nostalgia for their all-encompassing care. Her own uncle had provided for her, but she had been a half-stranger in his home, an interloper he supported out of familial duty. She had seen something of herself in Jin Ling’s desperate yearning. Still, his behavior was extremely presumptuous. She should ordinarily not have tolerated it, empathy aside.

By the time she had finished her porridge and her second cup of tea, she came to an acceptable conclusion. It was because he had in fact been demanding to belong to her, instead of the other way around.

Apparently something in her heart had been keen to take a possession of her own.

“The robemaker is coming this morning,” Jiang Wanyin said, without preamble. “You need clothes in Jiang colors.”

“What?” she said, calm and placid even though she felt the coals spark. She was an interloper here, too, and though Jiang Wanyin had given her plenty of leeway, she still knew she was living on his grace.

“I noticed yesterday, when we were out in the fields – you’re still wearing your old clothes. You should dress like Madam Jiang, like the Sect Leader’s wife, not some stranger visiting from out of town.”

That ignited the flame. “Will I be permitted to wear my old clothes at Lotus Pier at all?”

There was a crinkling between Jiang Wanyin’s eyebrows. “You can wear your family’s colors whenever you want,” he argued, bewildered, “but most of the time you will want to wear the colors of Yunmeng!”

“Will I? So you know what it is that I want? I thought I was not going to be that kind of wife to you.”

“Of course you’re my wife! What are you talking about? What does it matter that we aren’t involved in some ways? Are you not Madam Jiang?” he demanded of her.

She was, she was, and she despised that he was the one being right, being honest with the situation, and she was being foolish, a paper tiger battering uselessly against the thin walls of the beautiful, prosperous room she’d been fortunate enough to find herself in. The outrage roared up in her chest, but she crushed it down. “You’re right,” she said tightly, from the strain. “You’re right. Of course I will see the robemaker.”

He looked so unhappy at her answer, wounded and then enraged from the pain. He cast around, searching for something, helpless to find it. “Fine,” he spat at her, and he stormed away.

When he was gone, when she was entirely alone in the stillness of the porch, she slammed her fist down on their breakfast table, making every piece of porcelain clatter. It wasn’t as satisfying as smashing a cup would have been, but Lu Lian had much more control than that. She would never break something that belonged to someone else.

………

She had cooled off somewhat by the time the robemaker arrived, which mostly just meant her unfocused fury had subsided and there was nothing else to distract her from her shame for her behavior.

They convened in her personal rooms. Her personal attendant joined them, along with the robemaker’s two assistants. Jiang Wanyin was there as well. He did not look at her, instead glowering angrily at the robemaker. The robemaker looked nervously between them.

It was possible Lu Lian was glaring at him as well.

The robemaker addressed a point on the wall behind their heads. “What will I be making for Madam Jiang? How many pieces, and what sorts?”

Jiang Wanyin did not answer. Not even as the silence stretched.

Jiang Wanyin was not going to speak for her.

Lu Lian sighed, letting the heat fall out of her. “I am not yet familiar with the customs of Lotus Pier,” she said, “and I would like to wear my title with grace and dignity. Therefore, I will ask my husband to decide.” It was meant as an apology. Hopefully he would hear it like one.

He stared sideways at her for some moments longer. Then he began. “She will need a full wardrobe in Yunmeng style, befitting her title and station. Daily wear suitable for presiding over Lotus Pier, and formal items for visiting other sects. Enough that she can dress with comfortable variety, and she can commission more pieces later as she decides what she would like.” Clearly he had given the matter – her matter – some thought.

“Yes, Sect Leader. What colors would be appropriate?”

“What do you mean, what colors? Light purples and pinks, good pastels.”

Lu Lian frowned despite herself, and every eye in the room snapped to her.

The robemaker bobbed his head nervously. “Would Madam Jiang prefer different colors?”

“No,” she said immediately.

Jiang Wanyin was certainly looking at her now. Was scowling at her, in fact. “What, you won’t argue with me with servants present?”

The flame in Lu Lian woke at that challenge. On top of that, Jiang Wanyin did not seem to mind her arguing with him on this point – in fact it seemed he was asking her to, perhaps as some apology of his own – so she squared her shoulders at him and said, “I would not prefer pastels.”

“Why not? They’re nice colors for Jiang women.”

“Nevertheless, I would not want my entire wardrobe in them. They’re not to my taste.”

“They’re what my A-Jie wore,” Jiang Wanyin fired back, and by his face, he’d surprised even himself with it.

Lu Lian dampened the flames, just a bit, so she could be gentle when she said, “I am not your A-Jie.”

“I know that! I know that.” Jiang Wanyin clenched his teeth, and then he sighed, and then he said to the robemaker, “Never mind what I said before. Madam Jiang will have whatever colors she pleases.”

“Perhaps you would like a set in those colors for yourself,” Lu Lian suggested.

Jiang Wanyin huffed scornfully. But he answered with, “Perhaps so.”

“I will have one as well,” Lu Lian said quickly. “A set of pale robes. We will wear them together, so we will appear matched. Then, I liked the deep purple robe you wore the first day I arrived here. I would like one to match that as well, and for the rest … I would ask for similar colors. Dark and rich.”

“Yes, Madam Jiang, very well, good choices …” the robemaker was muttering, but Lu Lian was most focused on Jiang Wanyin, who was watching her just as she was watching him. He looked … satisfied, in an almost ferocious way. She didn’t know if it was agitation from the mention of his sister, or if he was pleased with the wardrobe she’d chosen for herself. Perhaps it was both. He jerked his head at her, a sharp nod, and she nodded back. The robemakers’ assistants asked her to please stand up so they could begin taking her measurements.

Jiang Wanyin swept out of the room, and for the first time Lu Lian felt like she might in fact be Madam Jiang.

#untamed spring fest #cql #the untamed #mdzs #jiang cheng #this was productive in terms of like #exploring ll's characterization #which i had been wobbling over bc i'd been writing everything from jc's pov #the task is ultimately to give her a Voice #capital V #as a writer i can only dream #my fic #jc

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kickassviv · 5 years

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Pernille Harder: "I first dared to say that I would be the best in the world when I got away from Denmark"

Danish national team leader Pernille Harder was only a fan of the women's soccer World Cup. However, due to her high profile on and off the field, she left her mark on the tournament. Berlingske has met her for a conversation about love, homophobia, the fight for equality and the ambition to become the best in the world. And about two parties that got the national team leader out of the chair.

Credit to @magdaerikssons for the article and disclaimer, google translate was used to translate into English.

Is there a Danish "Liebes-Spionin", a love spy who helps the Swedish women's team against a victory?

That's how the German newspaper "Bild" speculated about the Danish national team leader and Wolfsburg player Pernille Harder in the heat during the just over the World Cup in women's football in France.

The newspaper had noted that the "Bundesliga's best player with a good knowledge of Germany" was constantly found among the Swedish players because of the girlfriend and defender Magdalena Eriksson. Eriksson plays daily for the London club Chelsea.

Two days before Berlingske meets Harder in the French city of Rennes, a picture of her and her boyfriend, both wearing Swedish national team jerseys, went viral on social media, not least in South America:

“It's a little crazy. I've gained 10,000 new followers on Instagram and I haven't even posted the picture myself. Many are from South America. I don't know what it is about homophobia down there, but it obviously means a lot of two female soccer players openly dare to show their love, ”says Harder, who also notes that she has lost no followers because of the picture.

It's 38 degrees hot, and the blue-and-yellow fans are trying to hide in the shade of bars and cafes before heading out to the stadium where the double world champion Germany, with some of Harder's teammates, waits.

Commander's Tour de France as the roe Instead of just being upset that it missed out on Denmark's participation, Harder has been taken to the World Cup as a Swedish roigan. The qualification smoked on the floor, among other things, as Denmark, due to a conflict between the national team and DBU, could not place teams against Sweden in the fall of 2017 and therefore lost 3-0 at the desk.

Now, instead, she is undertaking her own personal Tour de France in cities such as Nice, Paris, Rennes and Lyon. To support her girlfriend, who otherwise beat Denmark in the World Cup qualification, and to become smarter in her sport:

“It gives me another perspective to be here as a fan. I sense what the football gives off the field to all the fans. When you play a final round, you don't think so much about it off the field. But now I realize how big it all has become with fan march, etc., and that makes me want to put even more heart into it on the track in the future, "says the 26-year-old star, while the Swedish fans agree a new kind of song.

Harder and Eriksson have been together for five years. The Dane has not been exposed to homophobia or hate emails herself, but decided in the spring of 2019 to go actively into the debate on homophobia. This happened after FCK star Viktor Fischer was met by homophobic calls.

In a broadcast on TV 2, Harder openly talked about how she had previously fallen in love with a guy, but fell for Magdalena when they both played in Linköping:

'I didn't really think much about it. It just came very naturally. You have to be with the one you love. I have always felt that if there is something I want, then I do it and do not go into what other people think. And then I also have a good family that totally doesn't care who I love, just like it is pretty normal in the women's soccer world, "says the Wolfsburg player.

According to Harder, in the men's football »a front figure is missing. There are certainly gay and bisexual men in men's soccer too, but they obviously dare not stand out because the tone is different in the dressing room and among the fans. That is a sorry trend. You have to be proud of the one you love '.

More edge in women's football Courage to step up in the homophobia debate, Pernille Harder shares with female U.S. national team leader Megan Rapinoe, who up to the World Cup declared that her team would not accept an invitation from President Donald Trump if they returned home with the World Cup trophy. In addition, Trump was too homophobic and condescending to women:

"There are several in women's football who dare to have an opinion, although that may not be the opinion that other people think one should have. And so it gives something more edge. After all, not one of the really big men's team players actually does. Maybe just with the exception of Zlatan, ”Harder points out. Swedish Zlatan Ibrahimović has, among other things, commented on the Swedish immigration debate.

A party in Basel In addition to the fight against homophobia, Harder's main theme is gender equality. And here we are approaching the canceled match against Sweden and the football conflict with DBU.

Instead of looking back at the conflict, Harder first takes a mental detour to Switzerland. In 2018, the FC Basel football club held an anniversary party that got Harder out of the chair.

Before the party, the club had decided that the gentlemen should attend a gala party with a three-course menu, while their female counterparts were asked to sell the ticket and were literally eaten off with a sandwich:

“It's incredible that it can still occur today. But that's why it's so important that we have enough self-respect to say. And that women know what value we have. If we don't, they just do it again. And that is exactly why we had to take that fight with DBU, 'says Harder.

Similarly, Harder and teammates from Wolfsburg said when the club in 2017 asked the women's team to postpone their championship party until it became clear if the club's men's team avoided relegation.

When the women's team won "The Double" again the following year, no-one was thinking of issuing a ban - even if the men again fought relegation.

The conflict between the national team and the DBU was primarily about the remuneration of the women's team players. A sub-agreement between DBU and the Players' Association was landed in October 2017. But negotiations are soon on a long-term agreement, so that the national team is in control if Denmark should be able to arrange the European Championships in 2025 at home.

And here too the national team leader is ready to make demands. However, she fully agrees that in the future there will also be a difference between women's and men's salaries and bonus schemes, simply because Denmark does not have a women's league that can afford to pay the domestic players sufficiently in salary.

This is why DBU has to step in with scholarships, and then "there is something else you can't get," Harder points out.

The decisive point, however, is not the money, but that the national teams - regardless of gender - must have the same conditions for all the matches:

“Now just take the planes. Now we have to go to Georgia soon and play the European Championship qualifier. It is such a match that we risk playing a draw and thus lose important points to qualify for the European Championships in England. So it's mega important. But we are definitely traveling over there with two stops where we have to get up at 05:00 in the morning. DBU should, therefore, charter an aircraft. After all, they do this to the gentlemen, and so does the German and Swedish Football Federation for their wives, ”Harder points out.

Of other differences, the leader mentions that, unlike the gentlemen, the women travel without a cook and only occasionally have a volunteer analyst who can help understand and illustrate the tactics of the opponents. According to Harder, it is also not OK that the national team has only 18, and not 23, players with:

"It's a problem when we have to play 11 against 11. Then the physical therapist has to get into the field. There, I think we can demand equality and that it must be completely the same regardless of gender. And it's not, ”Harder points out.

The conflict was not the main problem Although the conflict is still filling, it is definitely not the whole story of why Denmark is not on the field in France:

“We simply weren't ready physically after the summer holidays in 2018, when we were going to play against Croatia and Sweden. Before the two matches went well. But we have learned from that and have now got a new physical trainer in Peter Krustrup. "

Harder is also confident that Peter Møller's new director of football, Peter Møller, will address the women's case to the DBU board.

She is aiming for Denmark to qualify for the European Championships in England in 2021, just as she hopes that Denmark can secure the European Championships in 2025:

"It will be crazy for Danish football, but we can learn something from them down here about how to set up fan zones and use modern, hard-hitting discos rather than always horn music for the matches," the national team leader says.

Although the level in France is high, Harder is not intimidated on behalf of Danish women's soccer: “We have a good team, and now we work with physics. This is where we need to put in. We are already fully involved in the technical, football and tactical aspects. "

According to the leader, a number of new talented players are also emerging, such as Emma Snerle from Fortuna Hjørring.

Harder welcomes the high viewership of the World Cup, which has seriously given women's football its popular breakthrough. In England, the fight against the United States was the most-watched TV show of 2019:

"I also don't understand if people can't see the exciting thing in eg. the battle between France and the United States. There are 40,000 at the stadium, high pace, chances, and fighter will. Now I have also seen men's football at the stadium several times, so it is not because I think 'hold it up, where does it go 100 times stronger', 'notes Harder.

Football camp in Ikast As we speak, several fans pass by in national team jerseys with women's names on their backs and no longer just men's stars such as Mbappé, Messi and Müller.

As a child, Harder had only one possible role model, Brazilian Marta, but it was now United gentlemen David Beckham and Ryan Giggs who hung in the children's room. Back in the nineties and nineties, there was also no opportunity to attend a girls' soccer camp.

That's the main explanation that, a few years ago, Harder and her sister and cousin decided to start a girls soccer camp:

“I want to pass on some of what I have learned both on and off the field. I even train the girls some of the time and give presentations. And this year I also had my mental trainer who gave parents some tips on how to be good parents. "

The world's best is the goal In 2018, Pernille Harder was named the second best Danish footballer ever to be Europe's best. The first to achieve this honor was Allan Simonsen in 1977. But despite the lack of World Cup, the goal remains to be the world's best footballer.

“I know it might not be very Danish with the Janet Act and all that. And I also dared to say it out loud first when I moved away from Denmark. But why is it so dangerous to say that I want to be the best in the world? One must dare to put words into one's dreams. And the worst thing that can happen is only that I don't reach it, but then I have pushed myself to do my utmost. "

The dream, which she first put into words when she came to Sweden, was born in Ikast. “Recently, I found a style that I wrote when I was ten years old. And there I wrote that I would be the world's best in ten years, 'says Harder.

The road over there is provisionally over Wolfsburg, where this year the club has invested in five to six new players to be able to conquer the Champions League trophy, which lost after another defeat to Lyon.

But Harder, whose contract expires in 2021, is open to trying her hand at a new country and league - also to learn a new language.

"German is doing very well," laughs Harder and continues:

"Although I do not always have a say in whether the pronoun should come in the middle or at the end."

During the World Cup, there have been rumors that Real Madrid are looking for the striker. As one of the last major clubs in Spain, the "king's club" now also enters women's soccer. Before the World Cup, the women's match between Barcelona and Atlético Madrid set a spectator record in Spain with over 60,000 on the limbs.

“We must say that both Denmark and Germany are behind. In England and Spain, they are targeting a professional league, where big men's clubs also invest in women's soccer. It would be optimal if we also did it at home. But it is clear that e.g. FC Midtjylland does not have as much money as Manchester United, so it will cost in the beginning, 'says Harder, pointing to FC North Zealand as a men's club, which is now also focusing on women's football.

On the team with Magdalena? A new club change could also open for the girlfriend couple Harder and Eriksson to put an end to the long-distance relationship, which is, however, facilitated by a direct flight connection from Hanover to London:

“Right now we are each running our own race. But we are about to be where we can again play on the same team. Defenders are slowing down a bit, but Magdalena has become one of the key players on Chelsea's team entering the Champions League semi-final, "Harder points out.

If the pair are on the same club team, there will also be no danger of the relationship being put to the test in a Champions League match between Chelsea and Wolfsburg:

“None of us can stand to lose. I want to win everything. Also in ludo against children. And so will Magda. If she loses cards to me, she won't talk to me for the rest of the day, 'says Harder, laughing.

But in France, the couple both get something to laugh at. Magda and the other Swedish players secure a bronze medal at the World Cup. Yet another image of the couple kissing each other goes around the world. Although Pernille Harder has not been on the field, much has been noticed by the Dane during the World Cup.

#pernille harder #magdalena eriksson #denmark wnt #hardersson

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gucciwins · 5 years

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World Cup - Lyon, France

Y/N roots for USA and Harry is the best

Word Count: 2.4k

A/N: The World Cup is my favorite. Harry is also add them together and it is a match made in heaven. The perfect opportunity presented itself and I could not let it go by. England vs. USA was an intense match but these teams played their heart out.

Happy Reading !

July 2, 2019 11:00 am

You have the TV turned on to Fox Sports channel and are listening to the commentary before game time. Harry is upstairs doing god knows what but he said he would join you shortly. You think he agreed to join you because you made your famous cheese dip that he seems to enjoy.

Honestly, you don’t think you will be eating at all this game. Not because you don’t want to ruin your USA jersey that proudly shows of number 17 and Heath across your back but because this game has you anxious and really want your team to make it to the finals.

Harry told you it was just futbol but for you it was more than that. It is the sport you have played since you were six years old. The sport that made you strong and reminded you why friendship and teamwork is important. That communication is the key to success in everything you do. Overall, it shaped you to be the person you are today. Harry cried when you finished explaining what it meant to you and then agreed to watch it with you.

You were upset that you couldn’t go to France for this world cup. Harry saw how upset you got when friend’s of yours sent you videos and pictures because you couldn’t make the trip due to a work issue that finally got resolved last week. It bummed you out but what did make you cry is when your friends got their Jersey signed by Christen Press and Alex Morgan.

You claimed something was in your eye but Harry felt your pain. He promised to himself that he would go with you to the next one no matter where it was. Honestly, it led to some mind blowing sex. If you asked Harry.

11:55 am

“God Save the Queen” starts to play and you are staring in awe at the television. The stadium is packed in Lyon. You sing along quietly to “The Star-Spangled Banner”. You look at the starting line up and can’t help but smile at these twenty two women who are about to fight for a spot to the finals.

This will be a long 90 minutes.

1’

“HARRY!” you yell wanting him to come as it’s starting.

“I’m coming, love.” He says sitting next to you pulling you close.

“What were you doing up there?” You question not looking away from the screen in front of you.

“I had some phone calls to make.” He reassured you.

Rose Lavelle cut of a player and in she goes. She crosses and it’s blocked. You jump up from your spot and startle Harry.

“Wow, that was a close one.” Harry chuckles and rubs your arm gently calming you instantly.

“Good thing I don’t got any popcorn in my lap or it would have gone flying” Harry jokes and you can’t help but laugh.

There is not much talk from you anymore mostly listening to the commentators and what they think of this game.

“I have a question.” Harry begins. He’s sees that you won’t answers and keeps talking. “Why do they-“

“YES!!!” you scream. “Goal, you go Press!” You cut Harry off but that goal was beautiful. Rose Lavelle let the ball go allowing O’Hara to send a beautiful cross and Christen Press was there to header it into the back of the net.

You sit there looking at the replay and just stare at awe in that teamwork. This team needs to stay strong to make it through.

“Sorry, love. I didn’t mean to interrupt but it was bad timing.” You lean over to give him a kiss. Harry pouting not used to sharing your attention.

“I just wanted to know why the US has different captains.”

“Oh, they got co-captains. Morgan and Rapinoe lead the team but only have one on the actual field. Like in high school I was co-captain with Tiff and we passed it onto the next who had the potential and the growth we saw in ourselves.” Harry gives you a forehead kiss and thanks you quietly.

“Did you see that shot? Lavelle, needs to be kept tight or she will score. Fast and agile she needs to be marked good.”

18’

A long beautiful cross and and another one to center field. White gets a touch on it and in it goes.

You sit there shocked. That was a nice play but the US’s mistake was leaving them open. Harry waits for you to freak out and yell at the TV.

“Nice goal. This game is only going to get tougher.” You see that Harry is surprised at how calm you are.

“H, me yelling at a television does nothing.” He chuckles and you both continue to view the match.

“Oh hell no!” You yell. “Not a penalty. Don’t go there, England. You are better than that.”

25’

“Oh my Alex is down.” Harry is confused at how you see that.

Two players going for the ball and getting headed by a head rather than a ball can leave you hurting. She gets checked on and looks away.

“It’s her birthday, love.” Harry nods his head to Alex Morgan.

“Yeah, could be a good or bad day for her.” You tell him.

“I wouldn’t like to play on my birthday. Years later I’d remember that day forever if it was a bad time.”

You laugh at him. “At least the type of playing you do always leads to good memories.” You remind him.

30’

Horan has the ball. She sends a cross into the box and Alex Morgan is there to finish the job.

“GOAL!!!!” The television yells. “A very happy birthday for Alex Morgan.”

You sit there shocked. Not expecting that at all. Harry can’t help but get excited because he may not know who to root for but he can celebrate a nice goal.

“This is too much.” You look over at Harry tears in your eyes. “This will hurt if we lose.”

Harry feels for his love. He knows what it is like to be all in for a team but mostly a passion. This is your passion that you care for. “I’m here to support you, love.”

40’

Smack to the face. Bright arm up hits Morgan in the face.

“Hey, that’s a yellow.” Harry yells.

You snicker quietly but Harry nods proudly when he sees the yellow given to Bright.

Right after Horan and Scott are in a foul. It looks bad on both sides but England is given the kick.

“This game is getting dirty.” Harry agress and says he doesn’t like it as well.

45’

The whistle is blown and that is halftime. You sit back and breathe. You look over at Harry and smile at him.

“That is what I call intense.” Harry says to you.

You laugh but agree with him. You get up and stretch your hands over you head. Walking towards the restroom.

“H, this is break time. Use it. Don’t think I’m letting you get up second half.” You tell him with a smile.

“Can we do other fun stuff during this time?” He yells at you.

“Get me a drink and refill the chips you finished and we’ll see.”

Harry could not move any quicker.

45’

“Harry.” He doesn’t answer and keeps kissing your neck. You are enjoying this, but the game is on in like a minute.

“Harry!” You exclaim pulling his hair that makes him let out a loud moan. “The game started. Keep your hands to yourself.”

He pulls away and sits on the other side of the couch. “Fine, no kisses or cuddles for you.”

“H, it goes both ways. You know that.” Not looking away from the screen. Wincing out loud when you see what almost played out a goal against your team.

55’

You lean in closer seeing the Lavelle sprinting down the center of the field the ball at her feet. She never gets the chance to do much with three around her.

You sit back defeated.

You start getting a bit thirsty and reach for the Ginger Ale Harry brought for you when he moves it out of reach.

“No, drink for you.” He tells you. You sit back upset but decide not to fight him on it. “No chips neither. I got those.”

You look over at him and smile. He doesn’t like this smile.

“No dip for you, I made it.” Harry grows sad quickly.

“Can we talk this out?”

You dip a finger in the delicious cheese dip. You pop the finger in your mouth and pull it out slowly.

“I don’t think so.” You saw with a smirk and look away.

Harry sits there upset. What else is he supposed to do, he got himself in this mess.

65’

Lavelle is subbed out for Mewis. She did well but it gets tough being a target. Right after O’Hara is fouled outside the box. Heath is taking the shot. It does not lead to a goal but it was beautiful.

“Why is Heath your favorite?” Harry questions knowing it could make you happy talking about a player you like.

Before you can think to answer. England scores. You sit back not knowing what to do. You stare at the replay and see Scott give the small touch and White takes the lead and gets it past Naeher.

You and Harry sat in silence for the next minute when you hear the commenters say that it will be watched back by VAR because it could be offside.

You wait and wait when finally it is announced that White was offside. You don’t know what to do in this situation. You hate this but you also don’t want to celebrate a goal being taken away. VAR is new technology that is definitely changing the game.

“Do you want a cuddle?” Harry asks because he can feel the stress you feel from where he’s sitting. You nod quietly and he moves closer.

You lay your head on his chest and curl your legs close. “I always want cuddles.”

75’

This heatwave has not been kind to Europe. You’re thankful you don’t play but what a dream it would be to play on the USA team or at least meet them and tell them how awesome they are doing not only for the game but for women and fighting for equality.

Heath is out for Lloyd and you hope this hero can score. Grand applause for both but you are nervous for what the call may be prior to the subbing. It didn’t look like a penalty but it could be called as anything.

“Harry, hold me tighter.” You say.

“I got you, love. No matter what it is you’ll team will be fine.”

82’

A penalty is given and Sauerbrunn receives a yellow. You don’t like this one bit. This changes everything.

You sit there wrapped up in the safest arms on earth and watch what could be a game changer.

Houghton, England’s captain takes the shot but it is blocked. Naeher saves the US from a goal. USA celebrates quickly and is ready for the attack.

You let out a breath you were holding. Harry rubs his hand up and down your back. “All good, love.” He reminds you. “Let’s hope they stay strong.”

85’

England is getting a bit dirty but you think nothing of it. Bright and Morgan go for a ball and Bright hits her in the shin. A straight yellow, it seems show doesn’t remember the previous yellow before until she’s told and the England player gets the red.

Well shit, you think.

“Harry, Krieger is going in.” You tell him although he could see this. You were just excited to finally get her on the field. She is also one of your favorites. That worn out jersey in your closet it proof.

“She’s great, Jill Ellis doesn’t play her much anymore.”

Morgan is fouled again. You're not surprised many have said Alex Morgan is the one to watch with and without the ball. England is not taking any chances.

90’

Harry seems to hold onto you tighter waiting for the whistle to blow expect it doesn’t.

“Why are we still going?” Harry questions.

“Extra time for what was stopped during the game. Stoppage time and such.” You explain.

“Okay, we can do this.” He tells you.

“We” you tease.

“Yes, after all this stress it’s we.” You snuggle closer and place a kiss on his chest letting him know you like that.

Parris is a strong player but you are surprised at the fouls she is doing. The pressure is making her crack.

England has control of the ball but does not use it well. You don’t know what to do. Expect wait for time to stop.

Dunn gets head on ball and gets it out. Foul after foul USA and England both don’t stop fighting.

96’

With seconds left, you sit up but Harry doesn’t let you go. You are waiting for the sweet sound of the whistle to blow. Come on. Come on. Blow it already.

The referee blows the whistle loud and clear. You stand up quickly and run around the living room. Yelling a bunch of nonsense.

Harry sits at the couch looking at you with the biggest smile on his face. You’ve got too much energy and there is only one person who can help you properly to release it.

You stop cheering and lock eyes with Harry. In the next few seconds you are wrapped up in his arms. Kissing him with all the joy that is running through your veins.

Harry pulls away. His pink lips swollen but a large smile on his face. He runs his thumb down your cheek and lets out a dimpled smile when you kiss his thumb.

“Do you fancy a small holiday, love?” He asks.

“With you, anywhere in the world.” You promise him.

“How does Lyon, France sound?” He says with the biggest smirk on his face. “I have two tickets reserving us seats for the final.”

You stare at him in shock. Harry did what. You can’t believe he did this for you.

“Will you were a jersey for me?” That is the first thing out of your mouth.

“Why of course.” He says with a smirk. “Horan, on my back will make everyone go crazy.” You laugh at how cheesy he is.

Lyon here we come.

Thank you for reading. Hope you enjoyed reading it. Feedback is always welcomed and appreciated.

#harry styles #harry styles one shot #harry styles blurb #harry styles fluff #harry styles story #harry styles x you #harry styles imagine #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles x reader #fifa world cup

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daleisgreat · 4 years

Text

Hell Comes to Frogtown, Grunt: The Wrestling Movie, I Like to Hurt People

It has been a spell since I logged an ‘intentionally bad gifted movie’ entry. For newer readers here, my buddy Matt and I have a long tradition of gifting each other bad movies for Christmas and birthdays, and it least gives me something to rag on here about. Past entries here meeting this bad gift criteria consist of my coverage for Bounty Hunters, Hercules: Reborn and The Tooth Fairy 1 & 2. We have eased up on it this past year or two, but I still have a few sitting in the backlog box and will be covering a video today that is a three-for-one on a disc special titled ‘Wrestling Superstars Triple Feature’. Now we all may be familiar with WWE pushing wrestlers in its movie division going back 16 years, but wrestlers have been in bad straight-to-video films long before that and this disc features 1988’s Hell Comes to Frogtown (trailer), 1985’s I Like to Hurt People (trailer), and 1985’s Grunt: The Wrestling Movie (trailer). I originally watched Hell Comes to Frogtown with Matt on one of our ritual bad movie nights several years ago. It stars Roddy Piper as Sam Hell, fresh off his success in John Carpenter’s They Live. This is a cracked out post-apocalyptic movie where nuclear fallout radiation makes Hell one of the last few non-sterile males. The government discovers him and makes him a deal against his will to contract him to…..traverse the nuclear wastes and impregnate as many women as possible in order to restore the dwindling human population….seriously. The movie tries to not make Hell come off as a creepy serial rapist by having Piper deliver some meek attempts at sympathy and breaking prisoners out of a gang’s Road Warrior-esque facility. This is ridiculously bad, but in a 80s campy-fun sort of way so if you are into so-bad-they-are-good movies, especially two brew-skis in, then Hell Comes to Frogtown will not disappoint.

I Like to Hurt People is a unique beast. It barely comes off as a motion picture and feels more like something I would make if I was a young proactive filmmaker in my teens and decided to make a movie about wrestling and had no idea about assembling a cohesive plot whatsoever. That is essentially I Like to Hurt People which shows several condensed matches interspersed with backstage interviews, TV production staff losing it while trying to keep the wrestlers in check and fans being interviewed outside the ring who are all hyped up for a night at the wrasslin’ matches. I love the geriatric 80s rock soundtrack that plays nearly nonstop throughout the film that brought back fond memories of Miami Connection’s mesmerizing score. 80s NWA/Crockett fans will get a thrill with the nonstop cameos featuring stars like Terry Funk, Dusty Rhodes, The Sheik, Dick the Bruiser, Abdullah the Butcher and Andre the Giant. A controversial non-finish in the main event between Dick the Bruiser and The Sheik is followed up with an interview in the car with Sheik and his manager the Grand Wizard, where Wizard promises revenge in a cage match....and then I Like to Hurt People promptly ends. Again, this does not feel like a complete movie and is difficult to properly judge as a whole, but that aside it was fun to take in and get a dose of the fervor of southern mid-80s wrestling fandom that I Like to Hurt People encapsulates to a T.

While I Like to Hurt People feels like what my first wrestling movie would be like with barely any filmmaking under my belt, Grunt: The Wrestling Movie feels like what my third or fourth wrestling-adjacent film would be like if I got full of myself and would conjure up a silly Disaster Artist-esque plot over a weekend I thought would be a masterpiece, but instead was nonstop bonkers. There is a crazy 1979 flashback backstory in the opening minutes explaining why controversial wrestler ‘Mad Dog Joe’ was thought to have committed suicide after decapitating an opponent in a title defense. Fast forward six years later when the promotion’s management finally decide to vacate Joe’s title and hold a battle royal to crown a new champion. The film then follows a documentary crew who are obsessed that Joe is still alive and will return at the battle royal. Lots of shenanigans ensue as the documentary crew interviews multiple people who harass them and turn them away, with a standout scene transpiring at a hot-button, public access political talk show. Eventually everything culminates at the battle royal, but nothing can save this train wreck. Grunt: The Wrestling Movie takes itself way too seriously, and is not even campy-cheesy-bad, but instead the undesirable straight-up-bad. Avoid this one in the DVD bargain bin at all costs. As a whole, Wrestling Superstars Triple Feature is a semi-decent package, which is glowing praise when compared to this DVD’s cover art! Hell Comes to Frogtown is prime cheesy bad movie night material and I Like to Hurt People is something I would throw in to have on in the background with fellow wrestling fans. Grunt is a complete waste, but as the old adage goes, two out of three isn’t bad! Other Random Backlog Movie Blogs 3 12 Angry Men (1957) 12 Rounds 3: Lockdown 21 Jump Street The Accountant Angry Video Game Nerd: The Movie Atari: Game Over The Avengers: Age of Ultron The Avengers: Infinity War Batman: The Dark Knight Rises Batman: The Killing Joke Batman: Mask of the Phantasm Batman V Superman: Dawn of Justice Bounty Hunters Cabin in the Woods Captain America: Civil War Captain America: The First Avenger Captain America: The Winter Soldier Christmas Eve Clash of the Titans (1981) Clint Eastwood 11-pack Special The Condemned 2 Countdown Creed Deck the Halls Detroit Rock City Die Hard Dredd The Eliminators The Equalizer Dirty Work Faster Fast and Furious I-VIII Field of Dreams Fight Club The Fighter For Love of the Game Good Will Hunting Gravity Guardians of the Galaxy Guardians of the Galaxy Vol 2 Hercules: Reborn Hitman Indiana Jones 1-4 Ink The Interrogation Interstellar Jay and Silent Bob Reboot Jobs Joy Ride 1-3 Major League Man of Steel Man on the Moon Man vs Snake Marine 3-6 Merry Friggin Christmas Metallica: Some Kind of Monster Mortal Kombat National Treasure National Treasure: Book of Secrets Not for Resale Pulp Fiction The Replacements Reservoir Dogs Rocky I-VII Running Films Part 1 Running Films Part 2 San Andreas ScoobyDoo Wrestlemania Mystery The Secret Life of Walter Mitty Shoot em Up Slacker Skyscraper Small Town Santa Steve Jobs Source Code Star Trek I-XIII Sully Take Me Home Tonight TMNT The Tooth Fairy 1 & 2 UHF Veronica Mars Vision Quest The War Wild Wonder Woman The Wrestler (2008) X-Men: Apocalypse X-Men: Days of Future Past

#random movie #Wrestling #Rowdy Roddy Piper #dusty rhodes #Andre the Giant #dick the bruiser #abdullah the butcher #Terry Funk #hell comes to frogtown #Grunt the wrestling movie #I like to Hurt people

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eldritchsurveys · 5 years

Text

637.

Do you ever judge people based on if they believe in God or not? >> You know, it’s funny -- I’m more likely to make snap judgements about atheists than Christians. Don’t get me wrong, I’ve met my fair share of annoying proselytisers and hateful fundamentalists, have had “exorcisms” performed on me, the whole nine. I am definitely wary of Christianity as an institution, with good reason. But I’m really tired of the superiority complex that atheism seems to encourage (again, just like with Christians, not all atheists are like this -- but enough are). The fact that I dare to interpret my life and my reality in a non-materialist, often-arcane fashion immediately puts me at odds with a lot of atheists because their first thought about anything other than strict materialism is “only idiots believe that”, and I’m not going to let some other equally-in-the-dark human being treat me like an idiot because of something this personal (and this arbitrary!). Somehow, Christians telling me I’m going to hell because I listen to death metal or masturbate or whatever is less deeply irritating to me than that.

Do you ever brush your teeth in the shower? >> No. I can see why you would, though.

Has your printer ever stopped working at the last minute and you had a paper due the next day? What did you do? >> ---

Are you sometimes scared to express your opinions in fear of what others might think? >> It’s more like... I don’t feel like dealing with other people’s baggage, you know? Their inflexibility of mind, or baked-in prejudices, or superiority/inferiority complexes, or whatever. It’s really not worth it all the time. I could be putting my energy to better use than fielding off other people’s contempt. So I wouldn’t say my reticence is fear-based as much as it’s... boredom-based. lmao

Do you have a girl that is strictly a friend that isn’t related to you that you can go to? >> Yawn.

Have you ever painted your nails on only one hand, forgetting about the other one or getting side-tracked? >> No.

Have you ever tried sucrets? >> I don’t think so.

Would you date someone that smokes? >> I don’t date, but in general being a smoker isn’t something that puts me off a person. Being rude about smoking and not accepting that not everyone wants to breathe in their secondhand cancer air would, though. And if you smoke cigars, no thanks. Cigarette smoke is bad enough but cigar smoke is twice as bad.

What about drinks? >> Again, it’s not the act of drinking that puts me off a person, it’s to what extent their drinking affects their life and the lives of those around them.

Have you ever gone to one of those parties where everyone is falling around drunk everywhere? >> I don’t think so. I mean, maybe one or two people depending on their tolerance? But not the whole damn party.

Are you “the good guy”, or “the bad guy”, or somewhere in between? >> Yes.

Do you ever erase the numbers off of surveys just because they annoy you? >> No, the reason numbers tend to disappear off surveys when I take them is because when I paste the survey into this text box, tumblr automatically formats it like a numbered list, and when I unformat it the numbers go with it.

Person you like shows up at your house: you … >> ---

Last person you talked on the phone with? >> ---

Do you think you will have the same best friend a year from now? >> ---

Do you have siblings over the age of twenty-one? >> No.

Will tomorrow be better than today? >> I mean, today’s going to be pretty good. I’m going to play video games for hours to make up for the fact that I couldn’t all weekend.

What do you hear right now? >> Nothing.

What was the last thing to go into your mouth? >> Water, I think.

Do you usually tell people when you’re mad at them? >> I operate under the assumption that most people won’t care whether I’m upset with them or not, so I don’t bother informing them. That might be a maladaptive way of thinking, but so far I haven’t had much cause to question the notion, either.

Honestly, how is your heart lately? >> Beating.

Do you miss anyone? >> No.

Are you waiting for a phone call? >> No.

If an ex said they hated you, what would you say? >> I wouldn’t say anything. That’s their business, not mine.

What would you do if you found out your most recent ex was in a relationship? >> Hope that that person doesn’t go through what I went through. And if they do, hope that they have the presence of mind to leave sooner rather than later.

What do you think when someone kisses you on your forehead? >> First of all, who is doing that...

What do you usually do right when you wake up? >> Look at my phone to see what time it is.

Are you looking forward to anything? >> Yeah, playing WoW.

How late did you stay up last night? >> I got home at around a quarter past eleven, so I think I got to sleep shortly after midnight.

Do you truly hate anyone? >> No.

Would you ever get a tattoo? >> Of course.

In the past forty-eight hours, have you hung out with a girl? >> I hung out with a lot of people on Sunday.

Were you happy when you woke up today? >> Yes, very happy to be back in my warm comfortable bed and not in that janky loud motel.

If someone liked you, would you want them to tell you? >> I mean, it’s not going to change anything on my end, but I wouldn’t act weird about it if someone told me.

Would you rather go back a week or go forward? >> ---

Would you ever smile at a stranger? >> I’ve done so.

Who was the last person to text you? >> Sparrow.

What are you doing today? >> Playing video games, vegging out. Just enjoying being home.

Truthfully, is there someone you used to date that you miss? >> Not right now.

Have you ever gotten burnt by a cigarette? >> Yeah, on purpose.

Have you ever been so bored that you started drooling on yourself? >> What...

Do you brush your teeth right away when you wake up? >> Not right away, but soon enough after.

Do you have someone of the opposite sex you can tell everything to? >> ---

Want to get smashed tonight? >> Nah, I’m good.

What time are you getting up tomorrow? >> I don’t know, whatever time I wake up.

Are you happy with the choices you’ve made? >> Like, throughout my entire life? Some were fine, some were mistakes, some don’t even register in my memory anymore.

Think back to last June; were you single? >> No.

Have you ever made someone laugh when they were crying? >> Probably. That’s my only method of consolation -- distraction.

Describe how you feel right now. >> Neutral.

Would you date someone three years older than you? >> ---

Do you prefer to shower at night or in the morning? >> In the morning.

Do you think more about the past, present, or future? >> The present.

Are you okay with the life you live? >> Sure.

Could you handle living with the last person you texted? >> I do live with the last person I texted.

Was the last book you read for fun, or was it for some type of assignment? >> Everything I read is purely for my own interest/delight.

Have you accomplished any goals you set for yourself this year so far? >> The only “goal” I ever set is that Goodreads reading challenge, lmao. But even that’s just for fun -- if I don’t read 50 books in a year, it’s not like I consider myself a failure or something. Quantity doesn’t even mean anything. It’s just something to keep track of, I guess. (Also, when I do those end-of-year book surveys, it’s easier to just go look at my challenge because then I can see at a glance what books I read that year.)

If you could go forward in time and see your life 5 years from now, what would you hope to see? >> ---

Are there still movie rental stores where you live or have they all gone out of business? >> There’s one down the road from me, like a 10-minute walk. Family Video just refuses to go down without a fight, I guess. They jumped on the CBD bandwagon really fast, too -- revenue is revenue, I guess, lmao.

What was the last thing to annoy you or make you upset? >> When I realised I’d left my laptop and phone chargers in the motel room. *facepalm* Thank god for Amazon one-day shipping.

Do you think you would be a good match for your celebrity crush/es assuming you have one? Why? If you don’t have one, who was the last person you saw that you found attractive? >> There were a lot of attractive people at Elle’s wedding.

When looking for something to watch on TV do you tend to pick shows you know you like, or try new shows that look interesting even though you’ve never heard of them before? >> Either. Just depends on what I’m in the mood for.

Have you ever been ditched by someone only to find them out and about with someone else? >> No.

How old were you when you had your wisdom teeth removed? >> ---

What is the last song you sang out loud? >> I don’t remember.

Where was the last job application you filled out sent to? >> ---

Have you ever been fired from a job? >> No.

What do people tell you your voice sounds like? >> I don’t recall the last time anyone commented on my voice at all.

What financial class are you? >> Poverty class.

What poster is hanging closest to you? >> It’s not a poster, it’s an art print. It’s called “Heimdall” and that’s basically what it is, I guess. But very, very intricate and multilayered. One of those “stare at it for five hours and still see new things” kind of artwork.

What time did you go to bed last night? >> Sometime after midnight.

Do you watch any reality shows? >> Not regularly.

Are you more comfortable with men or women? >> ---

Do you think you’re fat? >> Sometimes I do. It’s all just societal bullshit, though, because I’m technically not fat (and it really shouldn’t even be a big deal if I was).

Have you ever borrowed money from someone and never repaid them? >> Probably.

Do you have a pet cat? >> Yeah.

What is worse: physical or emotional pain? >> I’m not going to rank one as “worse” than the other. Pain is pain.

If you had to get up at 6 AM tomorrow morning, would it be painful? >> Probably. It’s not my normal getting-up time.

How is your hair? >> Fine.

Who was the last person who called you? >> ---

How long does it take you to fall asleep at night? >> Not long, because I don’t go to bed until I feel good and sleepy.

How many people have you had strong feelings for in the year of 2012? >> You know what I had strong feelings for in 2012? Drugs.

What are you doing for your next birthday? >> I have no idea. Probably going to Chicago like usual, although the idea of going to Canada is still on the table if we can get passports by that time.

Would you go on a date with someone right now if they asked? >> Not unless it was explicitly understood that I am aromantic and this is a platonic outing.

Do you believe that if you want something bad enough, you’ll get it? >> Sometimes that narrative is fun to entertain.

Last movie you watched? >> The Nightingale.

Who were you with? >> Nobody.

Who came over last? >> ---

Have you ever wanted to be a ballet dancer? >> No.

Does your family keep tons of leftovers in the fridge? >> I do not.

Favourite FRIENDS character? That is, if you like it. >> ---

Skullcandy headphones, yay or nay? >> Yeah, I like them.

Are you thinking of getting another piercing? Where? >> No.

Do you love when people remember little things about you? >> Sure, it means people actually paid attention to me and cared enough to remember, which goes against some of my less helpful self-talk.

Do you ‘bless’ strangers when they sneeze? >> No.

How many phones have you gone through? >> Too many.

Have you always lived in the house you currently reside in? >> No.

Do you think your future will be a good one? >> ---

#surveys #survey #random survey

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blueboxesandtrafficcones · 5 years

Text

Queen of Hearts - Chapter 6

Thirty-year-old Rose Tyler’s matchmaking business is doing very well indeed, bringing her clients such as celebrities, athletes, and the now-happily-married son of the mayor. All of which brings her to her newest client - one whose royal rank is a far cry above her own title as Queen of Hearts.

Ian, King of Gallifrey, calls off his wedding four weeks before the happy day as he realizes he can’t spend another minute of his life with his betrothed. The catch - he must take a wife before his Coronation, only a month away. In desperation, his sister and aunt conspire to find him is happy ever after - and it’s going to take a master matchmaker to do it.

Based on the Hallmark Movie ‘Royal Matchmaker’. Chapters will be posted every Sunday.

As always, beta’d by the wonderful @stupidsatsuma! @doctorroseprompts

Masterlist | AO3

—

Wednesday, April 3rd (continued)

“Right, where are we?” Rose asked brusquely, barreling through the doors into their suite. Mel stood at the corkboard, and she waved for her to follow as she continued into her bedroom to dress for dinner.

“How was the dedication?” Mel trailed after her, perching on the bench at the foot of Rose’s bed while she dug through her closet.

Rose started at the back where her nicer dresses were hidden, examining each one as she talked. “Nice. Not terribly well attended, I was surprised. It seemed the King spoke off the cuff. He was very good, engaging, certainly not stuffy or boring. He certainly seemed comfortable, though that could always be an act. What have you found?”

“Well, based on our basic background parameters I’ve identified fifty-two potential matches,” her friend said, speaking up so Rose could hear her over the screech of sliding hangers. “D’you have anything blue? You wore red last night.”

“Fifty-two?”

“Those are of the ‘proper’ pedigree. Some level of nobility, age range, and single to my knowledge.”

Rose sighed, stepping back with her hands on her hips, equally frustrated with the job and her wardrobe. “Right. Well, it’s a start. Widen the field to non-nobility but still upper-class – heiresses, humanitarians, but posh. Amal Clooney, not a gap-year Greenpeace volunteer.” A hint of blue peeked out from the other end of her closet, where she found a gauzy blouse in a royal shade and a black pencil skirt. “What do you think of this?”

She held the outfit up to herself, turning to show Mel, who studied her carefully.

“That’ll work!”

Saturday, April 6th

After their bumpy start, the next two days flew by. As Sarah Jane had promised, Rose spent effectively all day every day with the King, seeing him in action and getting a sense of what was required from the Queen. He slowly loosened up, telling unprompted stories every so often and making her laugh.

Between himself and Sarah Jane she was getting a clear picture of both what the role would require, and the type of woman needed to fill it.

Mel worked tirelessly from their suite, researching potential candidates and lining up tentative interviews. She managed the proprietary software they’d developed together, taking Rose’s instinct and insight and turning it into quantifiable data to rank the candidates as they narrowed the list.

The first Saturday they were there dawned bright and early, Sarah Jane finding them already at work with steaming mugs of coffee at eight in the morning.

“My goodness,” she said, making Rose and Mel’s heads snap up, “you’ve certainly been busy.”

“Sarah Jane!” Rose leapt to her feet and hurried to her, nearly tripping on a number of loose pages but managing not to fall. “Hi! Did you need something?”

Glancing around the room anxiously, she tried to see it from the other woman’s perspective. It certainly looked less than impressive, piles upon piles of paper spread over nearly the entire floor, though both she and Mel knew exactly what everything was.

To Sarah Jane, it probably looked like pure chaos.

“Quite the opposite,” the woman smiled. “You’ve both been working incredibly hard, the Princess and I are both very impressed. On that note, we have our annual spring festival occurring in town this weekend.”

“I didn’t know,” Rose’s eyes widened, heart plummeting. Despite a relatively peaceful and argumentative-free two and a half days she was constantly on guard, waiting for the King’s whim to change and send her packing. Her mind raced, trying to remember if the event had been mentioned; was she supposed to go? Was he waiting for her?

But the woman’s eyes were kind, and she was smiling. “I wouldn’t have expected you to, seeing as I never mentioned it.”

“I… don’t understand?”

“I’m giving you the day off,” Sarah Jane laughed. “I think it would be beneficial for you to go to the festival, truly get a feel for the people without the King or any of the palace staff, just be visitors. Have fun. Play games, try the food, enjoy yourselves, take a break.”

“That sounds lovely,” Mel spoke before Rose could, hurrying around to them and pinching Rose’s side viciously, presumably so she’d stay quiet. “Thank you so much! How should we get there?”

“Bill will drive you in,” their host explained. “And, here – consider it a little bonus.” She handed Rose an envelope, a quick rifle through showing several twenty Euro notes.

“Thank you,” Rose repeated, smiling, at war inside. One part wanted to stay and work, determined not to let anything keep her from success, while the other, larger part (buoyed by Mel’s enthusiasm for the idea) wanted to cut loose and take a few hours off. “I’m sure it’s wonderful.”

“I’m taking Luke tomorrow,” Sarah Jane confided, “and His Majesty will be judging a few competitions later in the week, but today’s the first day when everything’s freshest. Oh, it’s beautiful, and I hope you enjoy!”

Clutching the envelope to her chest, Rose fervently promised herself that they would.

We deserve this.

Sarah Jane and Bill’s enthusiastic descriptions didn’t do the festival jealous – it was spectacular.

Sticking together, Rose and Mel went from vendor to vendor, oohing and aahing over the locally- and hand-made items, everything from knitted sweaters and scarves and hats to jams and jellies and wines.

“This is heaven,” Mel sighed, picking through a bag of trail mix for the local berries. “This whole country. It’s so beautiful here, and everyone’s so friendly. Even though this is the capital, it feels just like a cozy English village. Can you imagine living here?”

“It’s incredible,” Rose agreed through a mouthful of popcorn. “Look how happy everyone is.” Not just happy; friendly. They had already met dozens of locals, all pleased as punch to have visitors and a chance to gush about their homeland.

The main rows of booths lined the street, one on either side, and though they hadn’t ventured from that path yet, Rose knew a second set of booths were set up on the sidewalks behind the main aisles.

A hand-made sign proclaiming Baked Goods This Way! pointed down one of the breaks between booths, and Rose’s sweet tooth insisted she follow it, Mel hot on her heels. They came out behind the row of tents to see the second, less crowded aisle of booths. Fewer vendors were set up here along the sidewalk, their foot traffic suffering for it.

Most of the buildings were the typically quaint old-fashioned storefronts, two stories with the shop on the ground floor and flats above it. Nearly every one showed signs of recent activity, indicating that they were open in general, and specifically for the festival.

An elegant old building that had clearly seen better days loomed over the rest of the street, a folding table set up right in front of the door with hand-decorated signs. Judging by its architecture, it had once been some sort of theater. Three preteen girls and a woman in her fifties stood behind the table, and the girls all lit up when Rose and Mel stopped in front of them.

“Hello!” the tallest one chirped, “Welcome to the City of Arcadia Children’s Center Bake Sale. We are selling baked goods to raise money to fix the roof after all the snow this winter. Would you like to buy something sweet?”

Rose’s heart melted at the practiced but heartfelt recitation, and judging by Mel’s aww next to her, she agreed. “I most certainly would!” Glancing down at the table she carefully eyed the various treats, which ranged from cupcakes and cookies to candies, everything homemade. “This all looks so lovely, did you bake all this?”

The girl shook her head, giggling. “Just those cupcakes,” she pointed to a tray, “and some of the signs.”

Rose and Mel plucked up a cupcake each, Rose’s chocolate with chocolate icing and edible ball-bearings, while Mel’s was, of course, carrot cake, with an adorable iced carrot on top.

“Would you like some hot cocoa as well?” the preteen/sales shark asked innocently, and both women nodded.

“I certainly would, it’s still a bit nippy out!” Mel gave an exaggerated shiver, making the girls giggle. “Although, you don’t have any carrot juice, do you?” Rose elbowed her sharply. “I mean, do you attend the…”

“City of Arcadia Children’s Center,” all three girls chorused.

“Yes,” the leader continued, standing tall. “Since we were babies. It’s running low on funds, though, so we want to help."

The woman behind the table nodded, far more serious than her charges. “We’re all but free of charge, so anyone can send their children, only without donations we can hardly operate. An expensive childminding service opened last year, and many of the wealthier families hire from there. It’s good for the young women who get the work, but we’ve been struggling ever since.”

Rose didn’t even have to look at Mel to know she would agree with what she was about to do, and pulled the envelope of their money from Sarah Jane out and thrust it towards the woman without hesitation. “I don’t think it’s much, but I hope it helps.”

“Oh, thank you!” the woman gushed, not even looking in the envelope before coming around the table and hugging Mel and Rose. “You’re angels, truly! I suspect you’re from out of town, but please, feel free to come visit on Tuesday if you’re still here. I can give you a tour, and you can see how much this will help us. Really, I insist, just walk right in and ask for ‘Polly’, that’s me. My husband Ben and I run the Center, he does most of the handiwork about the place. Oh, thank you!” Polly squeezed them again, drawing laughs from both women and giggles from the girls.

“Best of luck,” Rose said warmly, “it was lovely to meet you.”

They moved on, heading back towards the main thoroughfare again, though Rose couldn’t help but glance over her shoulder.

An idea was brewing.

Ian resettled the hat on his head before adjusting his sunglasses, doing his best to remain incognito. He would officially be attending the Festival later in the week, but ever since he was old enough to sneak out of the palace he’d stolen down on the first day every year, never missing it if he was in the country.

The last thing he wanted, though, was to be recognized. Whenever possible he went out in disguise, to sit in a pub or take in a performance or game. He liked to be amongst Gallifreyans, be part of the crowd, see it from their eyes. He’d figured out very early on that life looked much different from the crowds versus the royal dais.

He preferred the crowd.

Eating directly from the baggie of cookies he’d bought at Polly’s table with a wink and discreet check, he wandered the stalls looking for inspiration for Donna’s forthcoming birthday. The ‘official’ gift was already set, organized well in advance, but he always tried to do something personal as well, usually finding something at the Festival for her. She valued Gallifreyan-made as much as he did, believed in supporting their people and the creative arts.

I could get her another case of that wine she liked… he mused, before grimacing. Wine felt so… impersonal a gift to him, so fleeting. He always strove for something tangible but practical, something she could use. What do you get the person who has everything?

He stopped at a stall with handknit scarves on display, and a surreptitious glance at the list on his mobile showed it had been at least five years since the last scarf he’d bought her. With another adjustment to his hat he began flicking through the options, immediately dismissing almost all of them as not being Donna.

A scarf in emerald on the rack behind the one he was looking at caught his eye, but when he tried to take it down, he found resistance.

“Oi, I’m looking at that one,” an irritated voice sounded from the other side, and after a moment he placed it with a heavy sigh. Of course she’s here, he rolled his eyes. If she blows my cover she’s fired. That was a lie though – he’d thought that a dozen times since so far, and except for that first night, he’d never so much as vaguely hinted at the idea to her.

He continued to gently tug on the garment, partially to annoy her, and she came around the corner eyes blazing. “Hey! I had that first, and common court-e-sy… What?” Rose trailed off, tilting her head, brow furrowed, tongue peeking out of the corner of mouth in concentration as she stared at him.

“Shh,” he muttered, “I don’t want to be recognized.”

“You look fairly suspicious in all black and hiding your features,” she pointed out automatically, before flushing and letting go of the scarf. “Sorry.”

Ian shook his head, casting furtive eyes around to be sure they were unobserved. “It’s all right.”

“What are you doing here?” she whispered, voice dropping even lower to add, “Sir?”

“Shopping for my sister’s birthday,” he replied in kind. “You?”

“Souvenir for my Mum,” matchmaker girl shrugged, shoving her hands into her pockets. “I’ll find another one, though.”

He wavered; the polite thing to do would be to let her have it, but it was perfect for Donna. “You can-”

“No,” she shook her head, cutting him off, eyes going wide. “Sorry. That’s perfect for her, to go with her hair. Really. Besides, Mum would probably prefer this one,” she gestured to one on the same rack as the teal, identical except in fluorescent pink. Ian fought back a shiver of disgust.

“Thank you,” he smiled, tipping his head down and lowering his sunglasses enough to meet her eye.

They stared awkwardly at each other for a long moment, before Ian nodded decisively. “I’m just going to pay,” he gestured towards the stall’s vendor, but she stopped him from turning.

“Wait! I just… why are you sneaking around buying a present? Couldn’t you send someone to do it?”

“No,” Ian said automatically, before stopping to consider the question. “I mean yes, I could. But then it’s not from me. I prefer to pick something out for her myself – I’ve always done it.”

Rose smiled after a moment. “That’s really nice,” she said wistfully.

He shrugged, uncomfortable with the praise. “Thank you.” After a moment he turned away, and this time she didn’t stop him.

Paying for the scarf in cash and accepting his bag with a nod of thanks, he wandered off to enjoy the rest of the festival, but in the back of his mind, for some inexplicable reason he couldn’t stop thinking about her smile.

Ian Reginald, what is wrong with you?

#bbatcfic #doctorroseprompts #ficandchips #Doctor Who #12xRose #12th Doctor #Rose Tyler #AU #Queen of Hearts #royalty AU

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veridium · 6 years

Text

do I wanna know (pt. one)

THE PARTY HAS JUST BEGUN.

Okay, as a reward to myself for working on commissions today I jotted the first part of @bitchesofostwick‘s and my modern AU. this is a two parter!

On this episode: the night of the house party arrives, and ellinor has convinced olivia to come along without telling her what the destination is. things go about as great as you’d expect them to be on olivia’s end. thank goodness for whiskey.

part 1 // part 2 // part 3 // part 4 // part 5

Olivia could rewrite the book on walking long distances in heels. If she could, a whole chapter would be dedicated autobiographically to how much practice she’s gotten following Ellinor around on her misguided adventures. To be sure, she knows Ellinor could write an equally bulky tell-all, which has helped her keep her mouth shut when she feels the urge to complain. But tonight, that urge is especially aggravated.

“Ellinor, this is at least five blocks from our spot. Unless you’re wanting us to get tacos at that corner shop again, I…” she’s nose-deep on her insta, checking likes on her selfies she took getting ready for the Friday night of debauchery she thought they had in store. The debauchery they usually undergo every Friday night. Somehow, though, this week doesn’t seem to be as advertised.

She’s following two steps behind Ellinor, who surprisingly is dressed to kill -- by more glamorous means, of course. A black lace bralette, matching lace fringe denim shorts, and a trademark over-sized flannel with a sassy saying painted crassly on the back. Hair braided up and tousled with intention. Extra dedication despite their plans being their usual ones.

“Uh, tacos? Yeah. I was wanting some,” Ellinor seems more nervously attentive to their travels. It’s just a little after sundown, and the street lamps have come on. Maybe that’s why. They are dressed rather...immodestly.

“Tacos.” Olivia sighs as they come to a corner. “Because five times in a week isn’t enough. Wait,” she looks up and sees the sign. Callahan street. Hold on...is that house party noise? Not just any house party noise, the concert of multiple ones foreboding in the distance.

“Why are we cutting through Greek row?” she asks, cradling her arms across her chest for the sake of warmth and shielding her tits which are, like her and her friend into parts unknown, out.

Ellinor shrugs, rubbing the back of her neck. She’s doing it weird, like she picked it up somewhere as an acting cool mannerism. “Oh I just wanted...well, we aren’t going to Greek row. I promise.”

“I didn’t ask that. I asked why we’re cutting through.”

“I thought it’d be fun.”

“Fun? Cutting through Greek Row? The last time you thought that was fun I was plucking boa feathers out of my underwear with one hand and keeping a water cup to your mouth with the other in between vom episodes. What gives?” she holds her hands out to her sides and glares. Ellinor’s look of innocence is tempting -- for an amateur.

“Oh, just come on,” she shakes her head and takes hold of Olivia’s arm. “It’s just to stop by somewhere. A friend. It’s a block down. Not Greek row.”

She’s speaking in incomplete sentences. Never a good sign.

Against her gut feeling she goes along. The line of Greek houses lit up and rumbling with bass music is a relief to pass by. Though, the block they do traverse it not nearly far enough to her liking. It’s a small house, kind of old and withering Victorian style. Typical College town house, knock-knock-knocking on heaven’s door.

“What...in the world…” Olivia grinds her heel to a stop on the curb outside, yanking Ellinor with her. “Where are we?”

There’s music coming from the house. Lower volume but...wait, is that pop rock? Oh God, what is this?

Ellinor grinds her teeth and thinks on her feet. Getting Olivia to the house was easier said than done -- something she expected -- but not entirely without its aggravating bumps. She rolls her head back and shrugs, trying to pass off as unaffected and at ease despite her internal monologue being sheer panic and expletives.

“It’s a friend’s house. From class. Come on, it’ll just be for a few minutes. I left a jacket.”

“You left a jacket? Ellinor, I have all your jackets. I stole them all.”

“Olivia Berenice Sinclair!” Ellinor slaps her hands against the sides of her thighs. Her bare thighs. God, she shaved for this.

Olivia groans and rolls her eyes. “Fine! But now I want tacos after this.”

The walk up the stoop and the noises of voices and laughter gets louder. Ellinor knocks on the door like a Cop, with three harsh bangs. Muffled talking, and then the door swings open. It’s...wait, is that Rylen? That guy who plays on almost every intramural but seems to hate everyone while doing it? He has that same undercut, gelled slightly at the top.

Wait. He plays soccer, doesn’t he. That’s where she knows him: the field, when her and Ellinor are on the grass watching...oh. Olivia goes sheet white and shuts up, leaving Ellinor to handle the finesse.

“Hey!” she plays it cool -- almost -- and puts on her best smug face. “Uh, just stopping by.”

Rylen stifles a laugh of disbelief. He’s holding a cup of something brown like beer. Ugh, beer.

“Wait...Ellinor? Shit, you actually came.” He turns and eyes Olivia up and down. “Is this the girl Cass--YUGH!” he’s cut off by being punched in the kidney, and falls forward. Cullen appears, pushing him out of the way and trying to make it look polite. Olivia wants to tell herself to perish as all the heat in her body goes to her face.

“Ellinor!” Cullen greets. “Hey! You came! Come on in. Olivia, nice to see you again!” he must have had a drink already.

Olivia raises her brows. Oh hell no. No way. No chance in sweet, ashy hellfire is she--

“Yep, we will!” Ellinor drags her inside.

“Ellinor you didn’t…” she mumbles when they’re arm-in-arm. But it’s too late. She’s thrown in with her soon-to-be ex-best friend into the living room full of jocks and jock sympathizers. And she’s wearing a black, long and slim blazer with nothing underneath and black sheer tights. Black pumps to match. Meanwhile, everyone seems to have followed an unspoken team uniform of jeans, t-shirts, sweatshirts, and Axe body spray.

“Ellinoorrrr…” she mutters, hiding behind her.

“Hey, hey, Olivia,” Ellinor spins around and grabs her by the shoulder. “It’s just a party, right? You’re good at parties!”

Olivia’s eyes flicker between Ellinor and Cullen’s cringing faces. It all begins to click tragically: why she didn’t seem so unhopeful when they debriefed after her meet up with him. Why she seemed so cool and optimistic about Cassandra, yet didn’t badger her to reply to Cassandra’s texts or phone calls. She had a plan.

“I swear. If you…” she holds her breath, “...Cullen, you didn’t…”

Cullen’s eyes go wide, and he puts his hands in his back pockets. “Uh…I mean, I invited Ellinor, and like, I know she’s been wanting to cheer you up since…”

Ellinor glares at him in a visceral kind of way. That confirms the guilt more than any confession of words could have.

“Agh! Don’t cover for her, Cullen!” Olivia inhales and tucks her chin, “I’m going to go promptly get hit by an oncoming bus--” she tries to slip out the door that was still ajar, but Ellinor once again strong-arms her.

“Olivia! Don’t!” she pleads, pulling her back. “Just hang out. I...I wanted to be here, that’s why we came. Not...I mean, we don’t even know if she is here...” Ellinor stops mid-argument and suppresses...wait, is that blush?

Cullen, clearly not going along with the memo, speaks up. “Oh she is in th--I mean...uhm, yeah. What she said.”

“Oh. Fantastic!” Olivia spits back. “Cullen, where in this....establishment, might I find something harder than PBR?”

Cullen chuckles but clears his throat. Awkward. “Uh, in the kitchen, I think. Top cupboard.”

“Great. Ellinor, happy canoodling, I’m going to go find something to set on fire.” Now it makes sense: the outfit, Ellinor’s ask for opinions on her makeup, her smelling nice. She never cares that much for their typical weekend trouble.

Olivia walks out towards the biggest door which will hopefully lead to the kitchen. If there is a kitchen in the house and not just a room with a hot plate plugged in. When she finds it, it takes her elbowing passed the groups of tall men and some women towards the cupboards while they all squirm out of her way. Some give her the up-and-down evaluation while holding their red solo cups. Others giggle presumably at how out of place she is. She even gets a wolf whistle, as a cherry on top of the experience. Out in the yard there’s keg-stands going on or something -- or else why would there be two guys ass-up surrounded by others laughing at them and chanting? Ugh, and people thought she was the idle heathen.

Eventually she shuffles through every cupboard until she finds the one -- and the whiskey, of course, is on the top shelf. Still not tall enough with heels, she sighs and prepares herself for further mortification. Climbing onto the counter on her knees, she grabs the half-empty bottle and rolls onto her ass, uncorking it with her teeth. Another wolf whistle comes, this time from the yard through the screen door. She could give a fuck.

She takes a hefty swig, and leaves a print of black lipstick on the rim. She perches herself there and no one has the guts to bother her. Time passes, how much she isn’t sure -- her anxiety is making every second feel like an hour. Finally Ellinor reappears, looking disappointed but not surprised as she elbows a guy in the shoulder and scowls at another one for trying to get in her way. The place is packed -- how many soccer teams did the school have?

“Dude,” Ellinor grumbles, taking the bottle from her. “You have to grow up.”

“I don’t have to do shit. But what I will do is fight you in the yard, one on one, no earrings or heels.”

“Olivia!” Ellinor pinches her in her thigh. “Don’t hog the whiskey again. I need it just as much as you.”

“Is that supposed to make me feel better?”

Before Ellinor can respond, a group of people come in through the open screen door. One of them, Cassandra, of course, turns and locks eyes instantly with the one all-black spot in the room. Olivia is ready to jump out of her body and fly away like a monkey from the Wizard of Oz.

“Shit,” she breathes, and takes back the whiskey bottle. “Ellinor, whaaat the fuucck….” .

“Just talk to her. Say hi! So she doesn’t think you’re planning a hex on her or something!” Ellinor leans back against the counter and folds her arms.

Olivia takes another swig and hands it off to her. “I need to get out of here.” She shoves the bottle back to Ellinor and hops off the counter. Before Cassandra has the chance to cut through to her she runs back into the sea of heads and shoulders, down the hallway. Part of her wonders if she should have brought the whiskey with her, not for her own sake but because Ellinor is a lightweight and will be 2 shots away from becoming her own tell-all book. But she can’t be helped now.

She pummels her way down the narrow hall and then up the stairs, where she finds a bathroom that isn’t being used to make out or use any questionable substances. She promptly slams the door and locks it, but the lock is hanging on by a thread. Of course.

Once again she’s in a bathroom, and once again she’s at a loss for her flight response.

Taking a breath, she sits on the sink counter and takes out her phone. With one text she sends an SOS to her friend, Theia.

--Ellinor got us into a bogus party. Need pick up ASAP. Too many heteros.

A lie. But, when in doubt, you can always rely on your other queer friends to fish you out of the land of the straights. A half minute passes and she gets a response:

--Sure thing. Gotta sober up a bit, but Josie and I will be there soon. Drop your location.

Olivia exhales with relief and does as she’s asked. Closing her phone screen and leaning against the big mirror behind her, her thoughts spin faster than a washing machine. Ellinor knew better than to do this to her. This is the worst case scenario for a Friday night, or any night for that matter. Cassandra texted and called the day after their coffee outing, but stopped after that. She could have been done, in the clear, moving on. But no, they had to do this. Cullen and Ellinor may yet prove perfect for each other if they could conspire so easily without actually dating.

A knock on the door. Olivia’s heart stills.

“Olivia,” a voice says. “Olivia, are you in there?”

A shiver goes up her spine. It’s not Ellinor. Or Cullen. Cullen would have been better than the voice she hears.

“No!” she says, then slaps her forehead. Dumbass, who says no if they aren’t really there?!

“Olivia, it’s me, Cassandra.”

Olivia huffs. As if it was some mystery.

Olivia closes her eyes and tries to think of a happy song to sing. But Cassandra keeps pressing. “Look, I was just wondering if you were okay. You chugged enough whiskey to take down a truck. I thought maybe you got sick?”

“I’m not sick. I’m fine, just go.”

“Oh. Okay. Well,” there’s a slight grumpiness in her tone, “if you say s--”

A voice, farther away and masculine, interrupts her. Something like “dude, come on, just try” or something. Olivia slides off the counter and decides to go full-frontal. She opens the door and sees Cassandra looking towards the hallway, but the figure that was with her is gone. She’s all alone, and looking like a fish out of water -- a fish who is pissed off about being out of that water.

“Hey,” Olivia grumbles, sliding her phone into her breast-pocket.

“H-hey. You...you came out.”

She makes a face. “I did. A couple years ago, in fact. It was a whole thing...Mom cried, Dad bought a boat. Grandma ordered an Bible for me. Good times...anyway, take care!” She shoulders past her as best she can, walking out into the hall that is surprisingly desolate.

“Olivia, wait!”

She stops and turns to the side, her heel digging into the cheap, ugly-colored carpet. “Yes?”

“...Is that...is that it, then? You’re just gonna ghost me, for no good reason?”

“I’m not ghosting you,” Olivia shakes her head, a hand going to her hip, “I just have been busy.”

“Busy thinking I’m trying to convert you.”

“Busy...with midterms.’

“Midterms are three weeks out. Nice try. What’s going on with you? You were...you’re acting like a completely different person.”

She sighs and rolls her eyes again. Oh, the ‘different person’ complaint. “I’m not different. I have a lot on my plate and am a complex...human being. Yeah. I...I have a lot to...prepare for...and th--”

“Cut the shit,” Cassandra folds her arms and steps forward. She’s dressed in a white cotton shirt with a grey sports bra underneath, and dark wash jeans. It’s tucked in the front. Clean and fresh, and hair is washed and styled loosely. It was as casual as she seemed to be capable of.

“Me?! What shit?” Olivia plays unaffected.

“You think I am just some insane, elitist Jesus freak, don’t you?” Cassandra’s eyes narrow. “That I was only friendly with you to get you to drink the...what is the word you used...kool aid?”

“I said Kombucha too. But, kool aid...sounds right.” she looks off to the side, her foot beginning to jerk up and down nervously.

“Right. Is that why you’re avoiding me?”

“Well...isn’t that what you’re after?”

“I asked the first question.”

“I asked the better one.”

“Oh, come on!” Cassandra’s voice raises a bit, but it mostly just deepens. It’s hot. Fuck it all.

Olivia cracks. “No you come on! You know what everyone says about you. You’re straight-laced and serious and you...you iron your underwear. Why else would you be hanging out with me but to pull that stuff. Unless...hah! Unless! Damn, now I get it!” Olivia nods her head and puts her hands on her hips. “You! You are feeling a taste for the wild side, aren’t you? Think I’m your ticket to the wrong side of the tracks for the girl next door or something. Is that what this all is? You wanting to walk on the...the sinful side, huh?”

Cassandra watches her in her dramatics, still and unphased. She doesn’t even blink, but her lids droop with impatience. “Did you get hot boxed downstairs, or are you more of a lightweight than you admit?”

“I’m not a lightweight! If anything, it’s Ell--oh...oh fuck!” Olivia checks her phone and sees only one message:

--Dude, this whiskey is so gooooooooood. I’m so happy. Cullen thinks I’m cool.

“Oh, shit,” she says again, texting her back:

--I texted Theia. Be ready or findeable in 10 minutes.

She looks up and sees Cassandra glaring at her, but not without that charming glimmer in her eye. It’s off-setting.

“What?” Olivia says tough, putting her phone away. “You finally give into your belief that you’re better than me?”

“Not in the slightest. You think you have it all figured out, right?”

“I don’t just think, I--”

Cassandra comes closer, until she is less than a foot away. She gathers her own hands behind her back like she’s standing at attention during an ROTC demonstration, chest out, shoulders confident. Olivia narrows her gaze, maintaining eye contact for the sake of self-preservation.

“If you do, then I have a bet for you. Come to the Church tomorrow at 4. If all I want is to indoctrinate you, then you’ll know for sure, win, and I owe you an apology. You can do your walk out then. If I’m not lying, then you owe me an apology.”

Olivia pouted. “...oh really? Me, in Church? You sure about that? What if I come dressed like...like this?”

“Wear whatever you want. Come wearing less than this for all I care. If that’s...possible.”

Olivia blushes and looks away again, her lips scrunching tighter onto one side.

“What, are you scared? Have you met your match?” Cassandra prods, a slight upturn on the corner of her mouth.

Olivia scowls. “I don’t fall for that reverse psychology shit.”

“Oh? Psychology or none, that’s my offer. Take it or leave it.”

Her phone vibrates. She sneaks it out and looks down at it. Ellinor again:

--OLIVIAA I F UCKED UP WE AVE TO GET OUT OF HRE. PANIC. TACOS. I WANT TACOS. OLIVIIAAAAAAA!

Well when it wasn’t her turn to mess up, it was her best friend’s. Maybe that is why they were so close. Olivia bites her lip and looks back at Cassandra, who is unwavering in her closeness. The whiskey is hitting, because she is starting to wonder how good it’d be if she just cut with the semantics and went straight to the making out.

“I’ll think on it. I have busy weekends. I grade papers and...ride on the backs of bikes with men twice my age.”

“I bet you do.” Her breath smells like spice. Rum, maybe?

She pauses, blinks, and steps back. “Right. Yeah. Well, I gotta go. My friend is picking us up. We have other social engagements this evening that are awaiting our attendance.”

“How gracious of you to remember us little jocks prostrating at the tips of your heels.”

Oh, you son of a--

“Thank you. We try.”

She turns and makes for the stairs as fast as her heels can stomp, but not before she hears the fateful words:

“Goodnight, Olivia.”

She shudders, but soaks it up just enough to climb down the steps and be free of her. For now. Cutting through the crowds that have only seemed to grow larger, Ellinor is nowhere to be found. Olivia chides herself for being a shitty best friend while she tries her best to make headway through the groups of burly bros and a few girls hanging onto their boyfriends for dear life.

“Ellinor! Ellinor!” she calls out, but finds Cullen first, looking just as pressed. He’s looking sorry, kind of tipsy, but mostly sorry. “Cullen, what’s going on? Where’s Ellinor?”

“I don’t know, I was hoping...h-hoping you did--”

“Cullen, Jesus, are you drunk?!” she yells through the overwhelming noise of music and conversations around them.

“No! No, shit, not as bad as Rylen. I’m...I’m fine. Don’t worry about me, just worry about Ellinor. I don’t think she wants me to be the one to find her. Hey, have her text me when you do...or do it yourself, since, well, you seem to know how to get into her phone more than she does.”

Olivia notices the slight sadness in his eyes -- defeat, if anything -- as he says the last part. She frowns and pats him on the shoulder. “Don’t worry, uh...bro. It’ll be fine. I gotchu. Drink some water, okay?” The whiskey really is hitting her, because her only-child ass is starting to sound like a concerned baby sister.

She leaves him behind and thinks fast. Where would Ellinor go when she needs a temporary escape? She wouldn’t go to the bathroom like Olivia. She’d want no walls, no doors. She’d want outside, maybe? Not in the yard, though. Clutching her bag to her, she continues searching, and hoping Ellinor had a less yikes-worthy start to her evening than she has.

Though, the twist in her stomach tells her it’s been the contrary.

#modern au #adventures of ellinor and olivia #ellinor trevelyan #other people's ocs #olivia sinclair #modern!olivia #bitchesofostwick #friendship fic!#modern thedas au

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moonbeambucky · 6 years

Text

The Price of Gold (Part 17)

Pairing: Lance Tucker x Reader Word Count: 4654 Warnings: angst, mention of cancer, mention of real life gymnastics sex abuse scandal

Summary: As a sports journalist you’ve traveled the world interviewing famous athletes. You’ve loved your job up until you find out your next article is on the last person in the world you ever wanted to talk to, Lance Tucker.

A/N: This was probably the hardest chapter I had to write but I love it so much and I hope you do too! This doesn’t follow The Bronze canon though some film details are mixed with real world events. Written for @green-eyeddragonfanfiction Dragon’s 3k Follower Creative Content Challenge. My prompt was “I can’t be in love with you!” gif source (x)

PART 16 | THE PRICE OF GOLD MASTERLIST

On the grand opening day for Tucker Gymnastics Lance looked like absolute shit. He spent the night in the ER again with his mother and Nadia, all for the doctors to tell him the same thing as before, his mother was dying.

Lance cupped Dorothy’s hands in his own, watching her hooked up to machines again. This wouldn’t have happened if you didn’t call. Why didn’t you listen to him? Nadia said she received a phone call that made her really confused. There was screaming from the other end of the line and it was upsetting Dorothy but all she kept repeating was “Y/N.” She became so upset she started to panic, her mind couldn’t handle whatever was happening and Nadia couldn’t calm her down. Her blood pressure was through the roof and so she went to the hospital.

He contemplated everything, wondering if you were playing games with him from the start. Maybe he deserved it. Lance knew he fucked up in the past but he was young and stupid. He was also madly in love with you and every day he tried to explain, to apologize. Even if you didn’t forgive him he just wanted to see your face one last time to know it was really over. Instead you ignored him and the open wound that was his heart hurt more and more until it was infected. He partied to forget you, he became the asshole that would have driven you away if you even attempted to contact him. He convinced himself that he didn’t need anyone but it was a lie. He always needed you.

But now Lance doesn’t know what to think because you hurt his mother. He ignored your calls and texts, turning his phone off because he couldn’t stand to look at your face each time the photo of you cuddling together on his couch popped up. Once he thought you were beautiful but now he only sees a monster. How could you do this to him?

Lance left the hospital to run home quickly, disgusted that he stood in the same shower you shared only twenty-four hours ago. He changed and sped over to the center, hoping the bags under his eyes weren’t too deep, hoping he could claim he was up all night preparing for this day.

He was in a daze as the day went by. He should have been happy, this was his dream; his center was USAG accredited, there was an overwhelming sign up from excited children and their parents but Lance wanted to scream. He was too exhausted to deal with everything, wanting to go home and sleep for the next month instead of being there. Looking around all he saw were memories of you and he hated it. You turned his dream into a nightmare.

By the end of the following week Lance was exhausted after visiting his mom after a long day at the center. She had been back home for a few days, with new medication to ease her discomforts. She refused treatment knowing there was no point to it; she’d rather not face the side effects again especially after the cancer had spread.

Lance plopped on the couch slinging his arm over his tired eyes, even the soft glow of the flickering TV was too bright for him. His head was pounding and he wanted to sleep. The sound of his phone going off disturbed the small moment of peace he found. Now that the center was open his phone was always going off with notifications, emails regarding new students and scheduling, Twitter replies, and continued texts that go unreturned from women he didn’t care to involve himself with.

Lance instinctively opened the inbox for the email created for the center to find there was nothing new there, it was his personal email that had a new message and his stomach twisted into knots when he saw it was from you.

Sitting up now he stared at his phone, debating if he should even open your message. You never read any of the apology notes he left for you so he thought about doing the same but something pulled at his heart and he decided to click the box, bracing himself for whatever words were on the opposite side.

Dear Lance,

I want to apologize for many things but the most importantly for the phone call your mom received. An ambitious former coworker searched for her number and used my name to try to gain information. This shouldn’t have happened and I take full responsibility for everything. I love your mother very dearly and I would never jeopardize her health or privacy, ever.

I’m also sorry for accusing you of something that didn’t happen. I felt like my trust was broken, like I was that vulnerable teenager again who didn’t want an explanation. I ran away then just like I ran away now and I’m sorry. It’s a bad habit of mine that I’ve come to realize since my trip to Spring Hill.

Speaking of, it comes as no surprise to us both that I was reluctant to go on that trip but I’m very happy that I did. Despite how things ended I want you to know that I’m truly happy we resolved our issues from the past. I’m really sorry it took so long.

Writing has always helped clear my head. When thoughts are swirling around my mind like a hurricane it’s comforting to get them out in this way. Since I’ve been back in New York I’ve taken the time to write down all of my thoughts about our experience together. Even though you aren’t approving the article I wanted you to read it, keep it for yourself and know just how much you’ve always meant to me.

I wish you the very best success with your gymnastics center and your life. You deserve great things Lance Tucker, you always have.

-Y/N

A lump was caught in Lance’s throat with tears burning his eyes as he reread your email. He felt horrible, saying those things to you when you were innocent. He knew you would never hurt his mom and now he hated himself for yelling at you.

Lance went into the kitchen to grab something to drink, leaning over the cool countertop of the island and opening the PDF attachment within the email.

IN DEPTH with Lance Tucker By Y/N Y/L/N

Sacrifice. Sacrifice is a word that’s tossed around the sports industry a lot with the focus on the athlete and the things they’ve sacrificed to get to where they are today. Sacrifices are never easy. Most athletes have strict diet and workout regimens to adhere to, others have sacrificed their time, losing hours that could be spent with friends and family in favor of practicing, training or performing halfway across the world. When you’ve achieved your goal of becoming that athlete it makes the sacrifices a little easier. They were part of the journey to the top but what about the sacrifices put you on the path in the first place?

Lance Tucker was a household name when he made it to the top by winning a Silver Medal in the 2004 Rome Olympics and the Gold in 2008 Beijing Olympics for the US Men’s Gymnastics Team, but the name you should know is Dorothy Tucker. If it wasn’t for the sacrifices of Dorothy, Lance’s mother, Lance would not have become the athlete we know today.

For the first time in my sports journalism career I haven’t had to do research on the person I would be going to interview. In 1991 I moved to Spring Hill, Florida and the first friend I ever made was the boy across the street, Lance Tucker. He and his mother Dorothy welcomed my family to the neighborhood and we all became very close.

Lance’s father Mitch was an intimidating man, loud and gruff, angry at the world for the cards he had been dealt. He was the type of man that dreamed of a better life but let his own insecurities hold him back. He settled in for a blue collar job, living every day with regrets that were pacified when he reached the bottom of the bottle.

Mitch insisted on being the sole provider for the Tucker family, something I learned later on that Dorothy heavily protested but after various screaming matches she ended up settling into her role as housewife. He worked long hours so Dorothy and Lance had become accustomed to being alone together. Dorothy sat through episodes of Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles with her son excitedly jumping off the couch to reenact the fight scenes. She laughed as Lance’s little body spun around from the force of the punches he threw to the air as he pretended to fight The Foot Clan but he showed grace when he mimicked the turtles, doing cartwheels and somersaults around the living room.

On trips to the park Lance would climb the monkey bars and Dorothy noticed his agility, seeing him demonstrate more coordination and balance than his peers. She scanned through her VHS tape of the 1988 Olympics for the gymnastics portion she swears she recorded. Upon finding it, Dorothy asked Lance watch it with her and this was the day his life changed. The four year old was mesmerized with the sport and was especially excited to see a young man with his namesake, now retired Olympian Lance Ringnald, practically flying in the air as he swung over and under, flipping his body around the high bar. From that day forward Lance wanted to become a gymnast too.

Mitch was against the idea from the start but Dorothy fought for her son, sacrificing her sanity as Mitch continually yelled; his booming voice shaking the foundation of their home, all because of some old fashioned ideas about what it means to be a man.

Mitch Tucker grew up idolizing Mickey Mantle, an extraordinary baseball player whose life outside of the field was equally as exhilarating, indulging in the Manhattan nightlife offerings of endless booze and women. In Mitch’s mind Mantle was a real man he could look up to and while he never played any professional sports he certainly tried to emulate the lifestyle of his hero.

When his young son took an interest in gymnastics it was safe to say that Mitch panicked, worrying that it would make Lance soft and feminine. It was close minded thinking ingrained in him from a long line of other close minded thinkers.

Fighting with Dorothy over Lance’s hobby became a natural part of their relationship and while he didn’t appreciate her standing up to him in some twisted sense of pride he liked the devotion she had towards Lance.

Reluctantly, Mitch began to take Lance to competitions and despite his son’s talent, earning top scores and gold medals from an early age he would consistently demean Lance and his achievements, telling him he should quit and join a real sport instead.

When Lance was ten his parents separated. Mitch’s drinking and infidelity (something both Lance and I were unaware of as children) had reached an all time high but it was the way he spoke about Lance that angered Dorothy the most; Mitch was disappointed in him.

On the surface Lance was an award winning, talented gymnast who was dedicated to his training. He balanced schoolwork and house chores and still made time to see his friends. He was a smart and kind young man and he adored his mother. When you put everything together you can easily see what Mitch was disappointed in, Lance was nothing like him.

I won’t say that Dorothy sacrificed her marriage because she always deserved someone who treated her with love and respect, nevertheless with divorce on the horizon Dorothy was in need of a job. She worked hard, as a letter carrier during the week and got a second job on some nights and the weekend in a dentist’s office to ensure she could pay for Lance’s increased gymnastics training and it paid off in his achievements. Lance continued to compete and the walls of his room were decorated in medals and trophies from various competitions.

There’s a natural sense of pride in winning especially when you’ve worked as hard as Lance Tucker did. In middle school he began training exclusively with Coach Jaclyn Burrows who occupied most of his time after school and on weekends. Despite his exhaustion Lance never failed to hand in his homework and even if his body was sore and achy he never once complained. Although there was the time during my twelfth birthday party where he came very close.

It was held at a roller skating rink and Lance begged Coach Burrows to come in a few hours earlier in order to get out in time so he didn’t miss all of my party. When I saw Lance had arrived I skated over to him, jumping with excitement as he laced up his skates but the minute Lance got onto the floor his overworked legs were like jelly and they gave out on him. I helped him up as he gripped on to me and I skated us both to the benches. He apologized, asking if I would be upset if he didn’t skate. Of course I would never ask him to do that but had I said yes I know Lance would have forced himself to do it, gripping the rail against the wall for support with a smile on his face just so I would be happy.

Lance laid on the bench, resting his head on his mother’s leg as he watched me skate by, eventually closing his tired eyes and falling asleep because he was exhausted. Dorothy woke him up in time for cake although Lance couldn’t have any. He had an upcoming competition and he restricted himself, sticking to a regimented diet of lean meats and vegetables. For a thirteen year old that is sacrifice! Lance stared at the forbidden dessert decorated with flickering candles as he and I posed for a picture, smiling widely as we hugged.

By the time Lance was in his first year of high school he was completely overworked. He was training to compete for the Junior Olympic National Championships while trying to balance the heavy workload of his classes. He hardly had time to do anything, trying to read books for English class on the bus to Coach Burrow’s gymnastics center, training until it was dark, rushing through dinner and staying up late to start his homework. He was burning out easily and Dorothy hadn’t truly seen the effects until she received a call from the Principal’s office. Lance was sleep deprived and his body was too sore to move, so when the Physical Education teacher yelled at him for “being lazy” and not participating Lance snapped at the man, yelling and crying out of frustration (a terribly embarrassing scene for Lance in front of his classmates).

Dorothy wanted Lance to complete high school but she understood there was no way he could do it with the amount of training he required, so she pulled him out in favor of hiring someone to homeschool him. It was another expense she really couldn’t afford but she made sacrifices, dropping the expensive cable TV and only buying new clothes for Lance when he absolutely needed them. Unfortunately the boy was growing into a man whose body was growing as well, becoming taller and stronger but Dorothy never complained. She mended her own wardrobe as needed so Lance could get new clothes, it was a privilege for her to sacrifice things in favor of her son.

Lance homeschooled for a few hours six days a week and he trained for seven, dedicating as much time as he could. Nationals were an important step in his Olympic journey and my family and I were there to support him. Lance was neck and neck with Michael McNamara, each of them rotating between first and second place after each event. It wasn’t until Lance completed his routine on the high bar, expertly performing moves I still don’t know the names for that sent him to the top.

He twisted around the bar, varying his grip and changing direction. I watched with amazement at the way he skillfully controlled his body around the steel frame. Finally he swung around the bar gaining enough momentum to spring upwards, his body rotating a few times before he stuck a strong landing, reaching his arms up with achievement. The perfect execution of his routine earned him the Gold Medal with Dorothy running up to him, tears of joy streaking down her face as they celebrated a big win. Lance and I lost touch before he the 2004 Olympics but I watched as he took home the Silver medal. I was proud of him though Dorothy was the true celebrant that day; this was the culmination of the sacrifices she made.

A lot can happen in four years. In the four years between the Olympics Lance had turned from a boy on the brink of adulthood to a man at twenty-one, standing taller, stronger and more determined than ever. He pushed himself to train harder, wanting another shot at the gold.

Lance moved to Houston, Texas to train full time with Kevin Mazeika of the Houston Gymnastics Academy. Mazeika who has served on the National Team Coaching staff since 1988 spoke about Lance before Beijing stating “I’ve never met anyone as focused as Lance Tucker. He eats, sleeps and breathes gymnastics. He wants to be the best and I’ll tell ya [sic] with the way he’s training he just might be.”

Lance put himself through a grueling diet to ensure his body was at its peak physical condition. He pushed himself to the limit as he worked on his routines. He became a machine, training until ever imperfection was eradicated. He needed to be perfect.

Lance was obsessed, needing to win the gold to feel validation from the unnecessary demands he put on himself. He only visited home during the holidays and quickly returned to Houston to train. As Lance bent forward to receive his gold medal he was a changed man. He reached the top of the mountain and instead of being thankful for the journey and the sacrifices made he was boasting. To commemorate his win Lance got his infamous ribbon tattoo, an impulsive decision he looks back on today and regrets.

Lance was at the top of his career after his Olympic win, becoming the youngest National Team Coordinator in US Gymnastics history, purposely taking a position with the women’s team because his self-admitted ego would not allow him to train the men’s team and become overshadowed by anyone.

Lance had a successful career living in Los Angeles when he wasn’t travelling for USA Gymnastics and then his world came to a complete halt when the scandals broke.

Psychologists have argued about the various reasons why we like scandals. They’re a form of entertainment, a real life soap opera that plays out before our eyes, they give us distraction from our own lives, sometimes making us feel good if we can compare ourselves to the persons involved and think we’re better than them because of this.

In the early 1990’s sports scandals became surprisingly common beginning with the attack on Nancy Kerrigan followed by the O.J. Simpson murder trial. The scandals were ubiquitous between the endless cycle of news programs and media coverage.

On the day of the Simpson verdict everyone was waiting with bated breath, with workplaces standing still, listening to the radio to hear whether the former football player was deemed guilty or innocent. The actual verdict was irrelevant since the story was so sensationalized it had become detached from the facts. Instead of being concerned about the horrific murder of Nicole Brown-Simpson and Ron Goldman, the country was in hysterics over Johnnie Cochran’s infamous glove line. It seems like people will always enjoy the entertainment that scandals bring as long as they aren’t affected by them personally.

When Lance Tucker was at the center of various scandals his life was forever changed. A student accused him of fathering her child, another accused him of rape, and while every accusation was proven to be untrue Lance was let go by USA Gymnastics, a direct result of the case with former National Team Doctor Larry Nassar. USAG was under fire for not protecting the athletes as their employees who worked in and around Nassar at the Karolyi Ranch failed to report or tried to cover up the incidences.

Lance believed he was wrongfully let go as he was innocent and began to prepare an appeal until he received devastating news about his mother. Dorothy had cancer and with that knowledge Lance shed the hard exterior he created, his arrogance cracking on the ground like shattered glass.

Lance returned to Spring Hill, taking up permanent residence to be closer to Dorothy and assist her with treatment. Lance sacrificed his career, having neither the time nor desire to make an appeal to USA Gymnastics, staying in the shadows instead to care for his mother, the woman who sacrificed so much during her life for him.

Eventually Lance needed a source of income as the money he previously earned through endorsements was dwindling quickly thanks to the expensive healthcare system. He refinanced his home to start a business, Tucker Gymnastics in the heart of his hometown.

While Dorothy battled cancer Lance found the strength to fight as well, finally appealing the committee’s decision with a motion to be reinstated. Lance’s decision to do so was not for himself but for his mother, wanting to make up for his past behavior when fame and arrogance became more important in his life. He sought to bring honor back to the Tucker name so that Dorothy would know how appreciative Lance was for all the sacrifices she made for him, though Dorothy didn’t need any of that. She loves her son wholeheartedly and she would do it all over again to ensure his happiness, knowing his love in return is all she ever needed.

Tucker Gymnastics is in its infancy but under the care and direction of Lance Tucker I have no doubt the gymnastics center will flourish. Lance has lived a lifetime of ups and downs both personal and professional. He’s an excellent teacher and coach, and future gymnasts will have an opportunity to learn great things from him.

However the greatest gift Lance can give to his future students is the knowledge of firsthand experience. Lance wants them to learn about the path to the top of the mountain and the sacrifices they will make along the way. He wants to provide guidance for when they’re at the top and how to safely get back down and avoid the mistakes he’s made.

The price of gold is high and Lance Tucker wants to ensure his students know the sacrifice it takes to pay it.◼️

Lance had been crying as he read the article, wiping his tears on his sleeve. He was overcome with emotion as you fondly recalled your memories of his childhood, painted his life honestly and above all unexpectedly praising his mother in a way no one else had done before.

It was beautiful. He sniffled, ripping a paper towel off the roll and blowing his nose with it. His heart ached as it beat against his chest wondering how he ever could have questioned you in regards to the phone call. His throat became dry so he quickly finished his sports drink, wiping the tears from his face once more.

Lance didn’t know what to do with himself now. He felt terrible and wanted to apologize. He wanted to speak with you, to fly to New York and hold you in his arms again. To tell you how much you meant to him, to tell you that he loves you.

He ruined things between you though. He was embarrassed with himself, he yelled at you for the first time in his life and he hated it. He yelled at you like his father yelled at his mother, raising his voice loud enough to talk over you, shouting from the pit of his stomach. He was cruel, just like his father, the comparison disgusts him. He didn’t deserve you.

Lance took a shower to clear his mind and after tossing and turning for hours he finally grabbed his phone from the nightstand, opening your message and briefly replying “Print it.”

The beeping of your alarm awoke you from the peaceful sleep you finally managed to fall into. The moment your eyes opened you went to your phone. You hated how eager you were to see if Lance responded but you had to. Seeing his reply made your heart race but as you read his message it stopped entirely.

Lance’s short reply brought tears to your eyes. At least Susan will be happy he’s going forward with the article but there was no mention of your apology even though you explained the truth. Maybe he still thinks you’re lying or maybe he doesn’t care. The fact that his response was all business made you painfully aware of the fact that whatever you and Lance had in the past is where it should have stayed.

Months passed and you were now in the middle of a new assignment that had you packed in a stadium in Nashville, Tennessee, with thousands of people celebrating as others criticized a controversial call made by the referee. It was a decision that led to the Pittsburgh Penguins winning the Stanley Cup finals. Though he is captain, Sidney Crosby is as soft spoken as they come. He exudes a calm demeanor one wouldn’t expect when you think of hockey players, especially not a back-to-back championship winner.

The Penguins were celebrating their win tonight and though Sidney was happy for his team he was looking forward to going home to Nova Scotia to spend time with his family. He’s a fairly private person, not feeling the need to be on social media. His Foundation serves as his online presence but only to promote the work it does supporting children. Though his Olympic wins are something he regards with fondness, his true pride was opening a hockey school in his hometown of Halifax.

There was so much of Sidney that reminded you of Lance and you couldn’t help but think about him. He was always on your mind and though you wanted to reach out in the past in the hopes of reconciling again you didn’t. Lance didn’t want you.

Adjacent to the arena was the hotel everyone was staying in, celebrating their win with a spread of food and champagne. Nashville was famous for its delicious barbecue but right now your mind and taste buds were being blown away by hot chicken. Your nose was running, your fingers were coated with a delicious glaze that you sucked into your mouth. Still, you needed a napkin.

You stood up in search for more, because the singular one you initially took was not enough, passing loud and slightly tipsy players who were enjoying their win. Feeling your phone vibrate in your pocket you rushed to clean your hands, answering your mom’s call just in time.

It was hard to hear so you told her to hang on as you squeezed past a group of very large hockey players. You found yourself in a less noisy hallway and finally greeted her properly.

“Hi mom, what’s up?” you shouted, sticking your finger in your other ear to block out the background noise.

Your mother exhaled a heavy breath into the phone, her voice shaking with sorrow as she said, “Dorothy Tucker passed away.”

PART 18

#dragon’s3k3c #lance tucker x reader #lance tucker fanfiction #lance tucker x you #lance tucker fanfic

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