#casual admin jobs sydney

[taasgirl]

physical

summary: as barcelona's newest physio, y/n's job becomes increasingly difficult through language barriers and awkward encounters; until the guide of a few players assist her in navigating Spanish life.

author's note: i am not a spainish speaker so please don't attack me because this is all translated.

NOT PROOF READ. Sorry if there are any mistakes lol

Why did I ever move here? Although Spain is gorgeous, I miss Sydney far too much. And to even consider applying for a job as physio for Barcelona, delusional. But here I am.

Notes in hand, I make my way through the main building, approaching a desk occupied by two women.

"Hola, en qué puedo ayudarte?" The blonde one says, skimming my casual attire. "Hola, hablo no espanol." The woman straightens her posture and repeats her question, but this time in English. "Hello ma'am, what can I help you with?"

A deep breath, and I begin speaking, "Hi, I'm here for the role as general physio - I'm Y/N L/N." Quickly, the woman begins typing into her computer, skimming blurbs of information until she finds what she needs. "Welcome to the club Y/N, please take a seat while I contact the head physio." I nod in response and take a seat facing towards the television.

After around five minutes, a man appears from the corridor. "Y/N, Que tal! Please follow me." I leave my seat and follow my new coworker, Beau Martine. "How are you finding Spain?" I pick up on a French accent, pleased to not be the only non-Spanish person. "Ah. it's definitely an adjustment for me." I pause before continuing. "I thought I'd pick up on the language a little easier but I guess that's something that'll improve while I'm here." Beau opens a door, allowing me in first.

"Take it from me, it does get easier." A smile quirked the man's face, instantly calming some of my worries.

We're in a small, but manageable room. "This is your office Y/N." I take a look around, it's nothing flashy, simply a desk with two chairs and a cabinet. "It definitely needs some decorating, but here you will be completing paperwork and doing general admin." He continues "Your programmes and duties will not be run in here, but further down the hall in the recovery room." Beau points to the door, signalling a further examination of the building.

Walking a few meters, we enter a large room. Already, there are two physios, a man and woman, massaging and rehabbing players. I smile at them before Beau introduces me. "Saludos, this is Y/N, our new physio." Before the two could introduce themselves, Beau speaks, "Maylin and Christos are our recovery coaches, both specialising in post surgery recovery." They smile at me, while still attentively helping their patients.

"Training begins soon, so we'll head out to the fields to supervise the boys."

Once we arrived at the ground, I could feel the eyes of a few players, obviously aware of my lack of Barcelona gear, confused by my presence. Now, more than anything, I am grateful that I don't need an introduction. I am so totally okay with just standing and observing.

While another coach directs the warm up, I evaluate the players, concluding how absolutely beautiful some of them are.

I would be lying if I said that I hadn't watched edits of the players before-hand. But to me, that was simply all research. Throughout the session, my gaze found it's way back to a certain player. A certain player whose aura mesmerised me. Pedri.

Sharp but smart moves were a constant by him, and I was in awe by his calmness on and off the ball.

With about twenty minutes left, a player fell to the ground with a high pitched yelp. Immediately engaging Beau and myself to his aide. Looking down, it was Ferran Torres. He clutched his knee in agony.

I put my hand on his knee, evaluating any type of inflammation. "Vamos Ferran, vamos a llevarte adentro" (Come on Ferran, let's bring you inside). Beau and I helped him up, ensuring no pressure was put onto his affected leg.

Making our way into the recovery room Beau says to me "He's all yours, work your magic Y/N." I smile appreciatively at him while we lay Ferran down. Soon enough it's just Ferran and I, and I can feel my heart beating erratically.

I've never been this nervous to evaluate an injury before, so why do I feel as if I'm about to vomit everywhere?

Ferran, now completely quiet looks up at me. "You new here?" I nod in response, praying that he won't speak to me in Spanish. "I'm Ferran." He holds his hand out for me to shake. "I'm Y/N." His smile fades when he remembers his pain.

While I assess his knee, he continues with conversation. "Are you American?" I look at him, slightly unamused. "Not at all. Australian born and raised." I touch his knee causing a groan. "I know this hurts, but you've hyper-extended your knee."

"Joder." His only response. As I search for ice, he breaks the silence again. "You know, a few of the guys out there were calling you pretty." I look at him, slightly blushing. "I think it was Balde who said he'd get injured just so he could talk to you." My eyebrows raise. For such serious athletes, they sure do have interesting perspectives.

"Well I guess I should be lucky to be in here with someone who is actually injured." Ferran looks towards me. "So if you're a graduate physio, how old are you?" Almost instinctively I reply, "Twenty. I did accreditations for university while I was still in high school, so I was able to graduate before my peers." Impressed, Ferran tilts his head. "Hm, you're similar to Pepi's age." The next sentenced he mumbled, although I could perfectly understand what he said. "Probably his type too." I look up, pretending not to hear his additional comment.

"Who's Pepi?" At that exact moment, two players had walked into the room. "Joder Ferran, what happened?" Alejandro had walked over to his friend and immediately diverted his walk when he saw me.

"Ella es igual de hermosa de cerca." (She's just as beautiful up close.) I smiled nervously, not understanding a single word. Ferran responded, making Pedri blush "Es el tipo de Pepi." (She's Pepi's type.)

I've never once envied people for speaking Spanish, more than I feel right now.

"Sorry for their interruption, they're just a little curious." Ferran had said, playfully pushing Pedri. "Ale, Pepi, this is Y/N she's the new physio." Suddenly Alejandro gripped his hammy.

"Fuck I think I tore it." Instinctively I rushed to him. I went to feel his leg before he and the rest of the boys began laughing. "Just kidding querida." I awkwardly laughed before placing ice on Ferran's leg.

Ferran, Pedri, and Alejandro continued to talked while I scribbled an outline of Ferran's recovery. It would involve consultation regularly, with physical therapy to assist his knee. Luckily he wouldn't need surgery, which meant he was my patient for the next few weeks.

Walking to Ferran, I explained his recovery process. He would be out for a few weeks and wouldn't be kicking a ball for at least another two. He attentively listened, and by the time I had outlined what we would do in our meetings, Pedri and Alejandro were lifting him up. I helped the boys out, while making my way to my office to write an article of review.

After writing a page or so, a loud knock came to my door. "Come in."

In walked the head coach, Xavi. "Please, have a seat." I signalled to the seat opposing my desk, allowing him to sit down.

"Lovely to meet you Y/N." He smiled at me. "I know this is your first day, but here we follow tight procedures in terms of injury reduction and recovery." I nodded, allowing him to continue. "To my understanding, Ferran has hyper-extended his knee. And according to him, you've already began a recovery plan." Wait, was I not meant to do that? Fuck I should've talked to Beau first.

"If you have a plan, I'd like to see it." I turned my computer to face him. He skimmed what I had written. "This is great. You should be proud." Unknown to him, I had written plenty of recovery plans for hyper-extended knees. This was second nature to me. "Do you mind forwarding it to me? Here I'll write my Email and number down so you can contact me."

Camp Nou. It was stunning. The crowd, the lights, the atmosphere. All of it. I sat on the bench, next to Beau and Maylin, watching the game closely, ready for any disturbances in play.

Ferran, still sidelined smiled at me occasionally, it was good to know that I had a friend. His recovery had been going well, however I hadn't allowed him to begin running yet, it would put too much of a strain on his body.

It was an incredible game, close between the two teams, however, Barca was victorious after the ninetieth minute. Xavi huddled staff and players into a circle, giving a quick talk before the players went to the showers.

"¡Qué juego! Jugaste de manera excepcional, estoy orgulloso de este equipo." (What a game, you played exceptionally, I'm proud of this team!) God I needed to brush up on my Spanish if I had any hopes of understanding anything here. I looked forward, locking eyes with Pedri.

His hair was wet with sweat, his cheeks an adorable shade of pink. We held eye contact through Xavi's short speech, and I couldn't help but blush at the attention. He was just so gorgeous. By the time Xavi had finished his speech everyone dispersed. Walking away, I felt a tap on my shoulder. Turning around, I realised it was Pedri.

"Hi." I shyly said. He smiled. God that smile was infectious. "Hey." We stood there for a few seconds until he began speaking. "A few of us are going out tonight to celebrate the win. I was wondering if you'd like to join us."

"Oh." I replied "I'm sorry but I'm going out tonight." It was true. I had agreed to go out for drinks with my barista. To me it was less of a date, and more of an attempt to make friends. "No problem. I'll see you around." He awkwardly walked away. I definitely just fucked up.

Once I had gotten home, I began getting ready for tonight. The barista, Elijah, was a fellow Australian, although he had been living in Spain for the past few years. I'd been going to the same cafe every morning since I landed in Barcelona, and once Elijah had picked up on my accent it was nothing but polite and short conversation about our hometowns.

Arriving at the bar, I found a seat right by the bartender. Now, I don't normally drink but today I wanted to let loose, I wanted to celebrate the success of my new job.

"I'll grab an old fashioned." The bartender nodded and began pouring my drink. Soon twenty minutes had passed and there had been no sign of Elijah. I pulled out my phone and began texting him, to no surprise there was no response.

As time passed, it became increasingly obvious that I had been stood up. After calling Elijah to no avail, I left the bar.

How shitty was that? To not even text and say that he couldn't make it... And especially considering that I am in a foreign country late at night. Classy.

Making my way through town, I noticed the flashing lights of a near by club. Similar to alcohol, I don't usually go clubbing, but with the amount that I've drunken tonight already, I deserve to at least check it out.

I get in easily and scope the crowd out. Lucky for me it's people mostly my age.

Walking up to the bar, I order a Margarita, swig the glass and walk onto the floor. The music was blasting a mix of Latin Pop and Old School Classics. Firstly my hips swayed, then my entire body. Soon enough I was dancing amongst plenty of people. All of which good looking.

After a solid ten minutes, I make my way out and successfully find an empty seat to relax for a few minutes. Fuck Elijah, this is already fifty times better then having a sophisticated chat over wine.

When I got back onto the floor, my shoulder was lightly tapped. I spun around. "Having fun?" My eyes focused on the figure in front of me. Then I realised who it was. Pedri.

Already tipsy, a shot of confidence sparked through me. "Oh my God! Pedri!" I hung my arms around his neck. "I'd much prefer to be out with you tonight." He looked down at me confused.

I began dancing while he stood their in shock "You're lucky you're a footballer because oh my you're a terrible dancer." I earned a chuckle as he placed his hands on my hips and began dancing with me.

"For a girl whose generally shy, I can't say that I'm surprised that alcohol loosens you up." I smack his shoulder. "Be polite! I'm pretty much your boss." He raised his eyebrows laughing to himself. "I don't think that's how it works Carino."

We continued to dance until we were interrupted by a loud voice and quickly removed our hands from each other's bodies.

"Y/N! My saviour!" For a split moment I sobered up and scolded Ferran. "You shouldn't be partying and dancing! You need to rest your knee otherwise you could end up more hurt."

"You crack me up, come on let's take a seat." I followed Ferran while Pedri followed me to the bar. We sat together, me between the two boys, and ordered our drinks.

"So, how was your little date tonight?" He nudged me. God I had forgotten that I told him about Eli.

"Uhh." I fiddled with my straw. "He was kinda a no show." Shocked, Ferran placed a sympathetic hand on my arm. "Trust me, baristas will never be someone's soulmate."

"Speaking from experience Fer?" Pedri chirped up. "Hmm something like that." Ferran responded.

"Hey Y/N, I want you to meet my girlfriend Sira, I think you two would make great friends." Ferran stood up to find his girlfriend, leaving Pedri and I alone.

Pedri looked at me and spoke. "Eres tan hermosa." I responded, rather annoyed with his choice to speak his native tongue. "Enough with everyone speaking Spanish here! Like okay I get it, you all have sexy accents and think it's romantic to converse with me in a language I don't understand. I'm getting lessons okay! It's just so hard to be here by myself." Soon enough tears began to stream down my face. I need to remember to stop drinking after my second glass.

Naturally, Pedri pulled me into a hug, allowing me to let all my frustrations out.

I didn't realise how upset I had become about my time here in Spain. Through the facade of cheap eats and my dream job, I forgot who I really was.

"I'm sorry for annoying you Carino. All I said was that you looked beautiful." I blushed, still not looking at him. "You see, I get nervous around pretty girls, and you happen to be the prettiest that I have ever seen." He knew exactly what to say to get my heart racing.

"I miss my home too. Especially my mother." At this I look up at him. He wipes the tears off my face with his thumb. "But I understand. You've come here all by yourself to work a new job without anyone supporting you. You're so strong." He smiled at me.

"I think we need to bring you home, I don't want you be late to work tomorrow." I sighed as he helped me out of my seat.

"Do you live nearby? I'm happy to walk you home." I accepted his offer.

Walking through the streets of Barcelona, Pedri made sure to explain his teammates and their personalities.

"Ale might just be the biggest flirt so don't mind him."

"Oh trust me, I can tell." I replied, still wandering through quiet lanes.

"And your best friend Ferran, he's a nutjob but such a good kid."

"Isn't he older than you?"

"Eh, to me he's a brother."

We began to approach my apartment. "This'll be me." I indicated towards the building. "Would you like me to walk you in?" I shook my head, not wanting to keep him out here any longer.

He grabbed my hand as we held eye contact. "Maybe we could do this again. I really enjoyed hanging out with you tonight. Even if it was a short amount of time." I smiled agreeingly.

Then it got quiet, we were both obvious to what should happen, so I leaned in. Immediately he took a step back.

Holy fuck he had just rejected me? Sweet talk all night and now he wouldn't even kiss me??

He looked down at me. "I'll see you tomorrow." I smiled awkwardly and took a step back.

God Spanish men weren't for the fainthearted.

"Are you okay Y/N." Looking up from my clipboard, Ferran was in my eyesight. "Yup, just slightly hungover."

"I heard a certain someone followed you home." He smirked while lying down on my physio bed. "Ha ha very funny." I sarcastically responded.

I began to unwrap the tape on his knee, making sure to not pull too aggressively. "I never got to introduce you to my girlfriend. Here let me find a photo to show you."

"Not now Ferran. Just let me do this." I snapped at him.

It had been two and a bit weeks since he originally injured his knee, and in my eyes, he was ready to begin training with the squad again, however with restrictions to ensure his safety.

"What's wrong doc?" He asked me, genuinely concerned.

"I'm just a little on edge." Continuing, "I don't know, I think I pissed Pedri off." Ferran laughed. "Yeah trust me you didn't." Sighing, I began to feel around Fer's knee. "You're all good to train." His face lit up. "Seriously!?" He was ecstatic. "You'll be doing a strict 15 minutes training to 5 minutes rest tempo. And no tackles yet. I'll talk to Xavi."

Ferran rose and gave me a huge kiss on my cheek. "Thank you, thank you, thank you!" I smiled at him, happy for him to be returning.

Once he left, I headed into my office, writing an integration plan for Ferran, to give to Xavi. My door was wide open, and in walked Gavi.

I hadn't really spoken to him much before so I was slightly confused as to why he was in my office. "Hey sorry to interrupt, but we're going out to the fields so..." I stood from my chair. "Right, yeah thank you."

As soon as I had gotten to the ground my eyes found Pedri, luckily, he hadn't noticed me yet.

"Hey Y/N, is Ferran ready yet?" Xavi approached me. I gave him the plan and explained to him what I explained to Ferran. Pleased, Xavi took my paper and walked back to his squad.

Throughout the session I made my way to players, taping a few shoulders and ankles, massaging a few calves. Watching Ferran get back on the grass was a happy moment. Although he'd only been out for a few weeks, his comeback proved my competence as a physio. people now trusted me.

I noticed Pedri limping after an awkward tackle with Raphina, however he insisted to his coach that he was fine to play on. I however, noticed that he was in discomfort so I watched his movement.

By the end of training, Pedri was visibly in pain. Truthfully, I didn't want to face him so I avoided him and Beau in an attempt to not be assigned to him. But Ferran had other plans.

"Yo, Y/N. Can you check Pepi's ankle?" Awesome. I made my way to the boys. Pedri leaned slightly on Ferran's frame. "Come on let's get you inside."

Pedri seemed okay to walk in with minimal assistance, and soon it was only him and I in the recovery room. "Take a seat I'll get you sorted." He sat up on the bed as I helped him remove his boots.

"Please don't let this be awkward." I looked up at him after his words. "Strictly professional." I felt his ankle and evaluated the bruising. "It's not good is it?" He asked looking at me defeated. "I'm not sure as of right now but I think I need to bring in the doctor."

"What do you think it is?" He asked my naively.

"I can't indicatively say but I think its a tendon tear." I could see him cringe at my answer. "But I haven't done any tests so I can't say for sure."

"I'm gonna go find the doctor." Suddenly he grabbed my wrist. "Wait, I need to speak to you." The emotion on his face indicating that he really needed me to stay with him. I didn't respond, instead sitting down on the edge of the bed.

"I wasn't lying when I said that I'd wanted to go out with you again." He looked at me sympathetically. "And I didn't kiss you not because I didn't want to. I wanted it to be at the right moment." I look around the room. The silence is killing me. "Now I know that I'll be injured for a little while but would you like to come around to my house tonight? There'll be a few of the guys over and I'm cooking." He smiled. That smile.

I couldn't say no to him but I wanted to keep him on his toes. "I'll let you know by the end of the day." Smiling cheekily he held onto my hands. "But first I do need to bring the doctor in, so hang tight."

By the time I had come back in, Ferran and Gavi were next to Pedri. Dr Nicholson evaluated Pedri's ankle as a torn ligament and sent him off for a few X-Rays. "Soooo anything happen?" Ferran asked me playfully. "No Ferran, now I need to get back to work and so do you. Get to the gym."

By the time I was packing up my files a shadow appeared in my doorframe. "Decided yet?" His smirk tugging at his lips, instantly causing me to do the same. "Good afternoon to you too." He walked forward to me, closing the door behind although not without some difficulties as a result of his crutches.

"You look pretty pathetic with those things. I don't know how you're going to be cooking." He took a seat in my spare chair as I continued filling. "Eh, I might get some help from one of my friends." God he was so flirty I genuinely couldn't keep up with this man.

"Now I would offer to pick you up, but unfortunately I'm in a bit of a predicament right now. Should I send someone to pick you up or would you like my address?" I could not stop smiling. "Send me someone."

I pulled out my phone. "What's your number? I'll send you my address." After we exchanged numbers Pedri stood by the door. "I'll see you later then Carino."

Okay so Pedri didn't exactly discuss with me what the dress code was. I knew that it would be his teammates and their girlfriends I seriously didn't know what to pick. Something casual? Something Classy? Barca merch??? I decided to play it safe and be comfortable.

I slipped on sweatpants and a white top and called it a day. Pedri had told me that I'd be getting picked up at 6:00 so I headed down to the street by outside my complex. I wasn't quite too sure on how the driver would know to collect me, but as soon as a reached for my phone a car pulled in front of me. I didn't recognise who it was, "Y/N?". I nodded and proceeded into the back of the car.

The drive was supposed to be thirty minutes, but a large pause of traffic delayed time. By the time I had gotten to his house it was 6:50. There were already three cars parked in the driveway and suddenly I felt an indescribable wave of nervousness.

So do I walk up to his door and knock on it? Or do I message him or do I try and get in. I stress too much.

Once at the door I knocked. It was loud enough to be heard from the story above, and soon enough the door was answered. An enthusiastic Ferran picked me off my feet, I made eye contact with Pedri.

"Sira ven rápido, ella está aquí!." (Sira come quick, she's here) While he ran to find Sira I met Pedri's gaze. "You look beautiful tonight, Carino." In an attempt to divert my blush, I focused on his ankle. "How are you holding up, does it feel okay?" Smiling, he replied, "You worry too much Y/N come in."

I walked into his home and oh my was it gorgeous. The ceilings were raised and huge windows adorned the frame. I can't believe he lives here.

"Everyone's just in the living room." As we walked in, I recognised Ferran, Gavi, Fermin, and the girl cuddled up with Ferran.

"Ayyyy she finally came!" Gavi said, raising his glass in the air. I took a seat on the couch facing the fireplace, and as soon as I had sat down, it felt as if I had found my place.

Pedri was in and out of the kitchen, cooking on an injured ankle while attempting to keep conversation. Bless his heart.

I had spoken to Sira a lot, and we had much in common. By 7:30 Pedri had called us to the dining room.

We sat down, a seat empty next to me (assuming it was Pedri's). He brought out the dishes and to say I was impressed was an understatement. Truthfully, I didn't recognise most of the dishes but by the looks of astonishment on Fermin and Gavi's face I knew it was impressive.

"Es una locura ver lo que te hace una chica bonita!" (It's crazy to see what a pretty girl does to you.) Gavi said aloud, cracking everyone up.

Pedri took his seat next to mine and whispered in my ear, "He said that beautiful girls make me do crazy things." My cheeks reddened, he remembered.

The meal was delicious, conversation was flowing effortlessly, you could tell that they all loved each other. Suddenly the chatter was drowned out as I felt Pedri's hand land on my thigh. I looked at him but he was still engaged in conversation with Ferran.

As we finished up, Pedri was banned from cleaning anything (specifically by me, doctors orders.) "Okay fine I'll take a seat, but I need the physio to check out my ankle so you're on your own guys." They all groaned in unison that I was allowed to rest.

He laid upright on the couch, signalling for me to place myself between his legs. Without a second thought, we were cuddling together, talking about our lives.

I found myself telling him about my home, and how much he'd enjoy it if he went.

He was playing with my hair and giving me scalp massages when someone walked in.

"Hey Pedri, we're gonna head home now. Would you like us to drop you off Y/N?" Ferran called out, the only one able to see what we were doing. Immediately I called out, "I'm all good, I'll grab a cab." Ferran smiled at us and the rest all called out their goodbyes.

"You're a great cook Pedro." His body jolted, shocked at what I had said. "I like how you say my name." He was so cheesy.

"Is that the only thing you like about me?" I reply in a sassy but playful tone. He knows that I'm trying to gage how much he likes me. "No, I also like how good you are at your job." I pretend to be mad, "Well with enough years of uni, anyone could be as good as I am." Standing up, I leaned slightly over his face.

"You're so beautiful that it hurts." Curious at what he said, I pry him for more. "I can't look at you, let alone in the eyes without my heart racing. You do something to me and can't tell what it is." He is going to be the death of men.

Before I had time to react, he kissed me, passionately. He held my chin in one hand, while both of mine reached for the spot behind his ear.

It was ecstatic, electric, nothing I had ever felt before. But then it ended.

"Wow." The only word that fell from his lips before we started laughing. By this point I was already on top of him, so I flattened myself on him as we held each other, shocked by our actions.

"I've been wanting to do that for a while." I say to him. He looked at me with a shy smile. "What do you man Carino?" Embarrassed, I told him about my 'research' that I had done prior to accepting the job at Barcelona.

He laughed at me but found it 'cute'.

After some conversation, I found myself getting sleepier. I could barely keep my eyes open. I rationalised with myself, just a quick power nap then I'll head home.

By the time I had woken up I was tucked under white linen, puzzled by where I was. Soon enough I realised what had happened. I searched for my phone to find it charging by my bedside. 7:42. Shit I was gonna be late.

I jumped out of bed and ran downstairs. I needed to get home. As I made my way down I found Pedri by the kitchen counter cooking up some eggs. "Morning Carino." He smiled sweetly at me.

"Can you call an Uber? I'm going to be late for work." Still smiling, he pointed towards the counter. "Sira brought over some clothes. I've also got a few Barca tracksuits if you wanted to wear that instead."

I looked at him puzzled, he still hadn't answered my question. "Gavi is gonna pick us up, I think he'll be here by 8 so you better start getting ready." Jokingly, I replied "You trust him to drive?" while picking up the clothes left by Sira and Pedri.

I was ready by 8, declining the eggs Pedri had cooked. I tried my best to look presentable with the minimal amount of beauty products left for me. I decided to wear the jumper from Pedri as it was an exact replica of my own one from the club, but opted for leggings that Sira had left for me.

By the time we had arrived to the training grounds it was 8:30. I was running late. Bursting in, I made my way to my office, writing up the plan I was supposed to make for Pedri.

It had been three months since Pedri had played minutes in La Liga. When Xavi waved for him to come on with twenty minutes left in the game, my stomach turned. I was so incredibly proud of him, but I was so fucking nervous. Since he was post-surgery he had no longer been my 'patient'. We rarely spent time together at work due to a clash of schedules, and barely went out. Only a few people knew of our situation and to not put either of our jobs in jeopardy we hadn't really defined our relationship, agreeing however, to be exclusive.

Although not officially dating, I knew how I felt about him.

Smiling back at me, Pedri changed from his warm-up gear into his match shirt, walking to Xavi who whispered instructions to him.

His entry to the field was applauded by a wave of celebration from the crowd. We were all so happy for him, although maybe not the away fans.

Tonight was decisive in the title race, Barca sat at 48 with Madrid on 50, a win would put Barcelona first. The game was tied 2-2, both goals from Lewa.

As we were approaching the final minutes of added time, Barca was building up from the back. Intelligent bounce passes gave them enough space to exploit, especially for Pedri. Frenkie raced down the flank of the field, cutting inside as he reached the box, carefully delivering a rolling ball. To Pedri.

The goal came so fast that everyone leapt out of their seats. We had got the points, and it was all thanks to Pedri. My Pedri.

Routine to his celebration, Pedri lifted his hands to make glasses, and while he ran back to the half for kick off, he blew me a kiss.

Undoubtedly the squad currently on the bench and the coaches spun around to see who his actions were for - my blushing cheeks probably didn't help.

When the whistle blew to signal full time, we all ran onto the field in celebration. Although it was a team that we were predicted to defeat, the number of injuries and tightness of the game really pushed the boys.

Making my way to the ground I went to find anyone to hug, I truly didn't matter who it was. But then I was suddenly lifted from behind.

"Carino!" Knowing who it was, I felt much more comfortable. As he put me down, he immediately picked me back up, wrapping my legs around his waist.

He pulled me in for a kiss which was cheered by Ferran.

"Is it the right time to ask you to be my girlfriend?" I looked down at him and nodded. He again attacked my face with kisses, and when he finally put me down, Ferran, Gavi, Fermin, and Sira pulled us all in for a group hug.

I had found my family.

"So Pedri, firstly, congratulations on the return to football. It is understood that your process of recovery was tiring and long."

"Ah yes, although I am so grateful to have the club and my beautiful girlfriend supporting me through it all."

"Now, I know you may be focused on the goal and the win, but currently everyone is freaking out over your girlfriend."

He laughed, "Yes Y/N."

"The people want to know, how did you meet?"

"You all didn't see me blowing a kiss to the bench?" The journalist laughed. "Well it definitely wasn't to Gavi." Again causing a laugh.

"But in all seriousness Y/N is a physio here at Barca. She was the sole reason as to why I was able to perform today. Without her, I'd have no motivation, and would definitely not be ready to play a match."

"She has made my days so much better. Every session I spend in recovery and training with the team, is for her. I want to make her as proud as she makes me."

I think I'm starting to like Spain.

Thank you for reading!!! Please give me suggestions on any footballer and trope so feel free to request!!

#football #football fanfic #football imagine #pedri #pedri gonzalez #pedri fic #pedri fan fic #fc barcelona #ferran torres #pablo gavi #fermin lopez #pedri x reader #pedri imagine #pedri x y/n #pedri x you

[ultimatestudyabroad]

This Sucks

Note – I wrote this in November and December, when I was at a particularly low point in my job searching despair (there have been several, including now). I didn’t publish it at the time because I felt it wouldn’t be good to have this in the public domain while I was still looking for a job, but since coronavirus has paused all job searches and it seems I will never again have gainful employment, I figure, what the hell? Maybe it will be cathartic to get my frustration out into the universe.

My happiness from a year ago feels like a dream. Facebook reminds me that a year ago I was on a mini-holiday in Port Douglas with friends, marking essays for the class I was teaching in between snorkeling sessions and gin and tonics. My day-to-day life was luxuriously full of reading and writing; my weekends full of concerts and shows, trips to the beach, and dinners with friends. And though my financial subsistence was meagre, I had regular income and I had established a budget that allowed me to live without worrying about money all that often. And above all, I felt like the best, happiest version of myself. This was a life I had intentionally built for myself through meticulous planning and more than a bit of luck. It was everything I had ever hoped it would be.

That luck has run out. From the beginning, I knew that my life in Australia was but temporary and, if you read this blog regularly, you know that I was very concerned with whether, upon return to the U.S., I’d be able to build a better life there than I had had before Australia. Certainly not as happy as I was in Sydney, but hopefully happier than before I left. Instead, I have no life. Four-and-a-half months since I’ve returned to the U.S. (now 11 months) and a full nine months since my first administrative job application was submitted (now 15), I still have no job and no immediate job prospects. Applications are out, sure, but the hiring process in higher ed usually takes months (and now it is non-existent because of coronavirus). The money I so carefully saved throughout my time in Sydney for this period of transition is gone. I’m still relying on the kindness of friends and family to house me and Hibby. I have no job, I have no steady income, I have no home, I have no future, and I have absolutely no idea when (or if) it will ever end.

Now, before people start thinking to themselves, “the academic job market is brutal” or “it took me years to get an academic job,” I want to be clear that I am not searching for an academic job. I made an attempt at the academic job market in the (northern hemisphere) fall of 2018, applying for about 15 postdocs, short-term though multi-year teaching gigs, and tenure-track positions. My expectations were low, so I was not really surprised when absolutely nothing came of these.

So, when February 2019 rolled around and the thesis due date drew near, I turned my attention to what had been my realistic plan all along: re-enter my former career in higher ed administration. Given my decade-plus experience in the field and wealth of contacts, I didn’t think this would be too terribly difficult. I knew that job searches in higher ed take forever and I had saved accordingly. I also knew that mid-level jobs (in between entry-level and assistant vice provost level) are harder to come by, but I was/am willing to be flexible geographically. (For crying out loud, I applied to two jobs at the University of Wisconsin! I would freeze my ass off there!) But, I never in my wildest dreams imagined it would possibly take this long.

It’s not that I’m directionless, a young professional trying to find her niche; I know exactly what my field is. It’s not that I’m being too choosy; I’ve applied for 60 admin jobs. It’s not that I’m choosing inappropriate jobs for my experience; I’ve had phone interviews for over a third of the jobs I’ve applied for. I’ve been a finalist for two jobs (neither one of which I got, obviously). My application materials are good. I’ve been to this rodeo a number of times before; I know how to do this. Still nothing…

I have friends who try to offer explanations and, while I know and appreciate that they’re trying to be supportive, their explanations don’t help because they, much like the process itself, are nonsensical and contradictory. I’ve been told, “it’s all in who you know.” Well, again, I fucking know everyone at Duke and, after nine applications there, I’ve only had two phone interviews! I’ve been told, “you have to leave Duke and come back to work your way up.” Silly me, I thought moving to the other side of the planet for 3.5 years was leaving Duke. I’ve been told that my PhD is holding me back, never mind the fact that many of the jobs I’ve applied for are PhD-preferred or -required. And never mind the fact that a big part of the reason I decided to do the PhD in the first place (even though I had my eyes wide open about the state of the academic job market) was because I was told again and again that I would need a PhD to advance much past my former position. In fact, my former position was PhD-preferred. I was the only one on the team without a PhD and I had to endure all sorts of snide comments about “non-intellectuals” (to be clear, not from my colleagues but from higher administrators and faculty). Since I wanted to do the PhD anyway, just for myself, I decided to go for it. Not having the PhD held me back, but apparently having it also holds me back?

Well, you see, one helpful explanation goes, I chose to do an academic PhD, in a discipline as opposed to an EdD or PhD in higher ed. What the fuck? First, I sat on several hiring committees in my last job in which people with higher ed degrees were sneered at. Secondly, I chose a discipline because that’s the subject that interested me enough to devote three years of my life to it. I love working with undergraduates, but I don’t want to study the little bastards! Oh, but don’t you see, since you have an academic PhD, hiring managers will assume you’re not serious about the role and will leave as soon as you get an academic job. FFFUUUUUUCCKKK MMMMEEEEE! That’s not going to happen! There aren’t any academic jobs!

As much as I want to dismiss this no-win point of view on the PhD, I know that, at least at times, it’s completely true. People in administration seem completely oblivious to the casualization crisis in academia. This blows my mind, since we all work in the same damn industry. Even so, I’m prepared for the “why did you do a PhD” question and have my polished (and completely honest!) answer prepared. And that was the verbal answer I gave to one particularly annoying iteration of that question, but my mental response was quite a bit different. The question was posed along the lines of, “I see you just got a PhD. I want to make sure you understand that this is not a teaching job.” The polished answer came out of my mouth while the snarky, bitchy, fed-up Mel voice in the back of my mind responded, “Yes, I know that. Because 1. I can fucking read. 2. I wrote a whole cover letter which demonstrated I knew exactly what the job is. And 3. There are no teaching jobs!”

I feel frustrated even when talking to people who support me. The frustration brought on by hiring managers is exponentially worse. If you follow me on Twitter, you’ve seen a number of frustrated tweets about the lack of follow up after interviews. Of that one-third of the jobs I’ve applied for in which I’ve had phone interviews, only THREE hiring managers have done me the courtesy of emailing me to let me know I was not advancing to an in-person interview. One school didn’t send me my generic rejection email until eight months after my phone interview. Two places I had phone interviews (both in 2019) still haven’t contacted me at all. Now, reader, don’t give me any bullshit about the number of applications received for the average job or how busy everyone is. I’m not complaining about the mass rejection email from HR I get for jobs I don’t get an interview for. I’m talking about a hiring committee doing 6-7 phone interviews and inviting three of those people to campus for an in-person interview while never bothering to send 3-4 emails to the other interviewees! It does not take much time to send 3-4 identical emails that say, “Thank you for speaking with us last week about the position. Unfortunately, you were not selected for an in-person interview, but we wish you the best of luck in your search.” See? I just did it! That took like 30 seconds! By November, I was over this shit. Two weeks after a phone interview, I sent a polite email asking for a status update. Which was completely ignored! On what planet is that acceptable?

Here’s another little lesson in human decency for hiring managers: don’t call people’s references unless you plan to offer them the job. Because when someone’s references are contacted, they assume they’re about to get a job offer. Those two jobs I was a finalist for? They were at the same school and they contacted my references twice. Same people, 1.5 months apart! If you feel so compelled to call references on multiple people, be transparent. Send an email to the candidates saying , “FYI - we’re checking references on both of our finalists.” (And btw, where are you getting all this time to make all these phone calls, anyway? I thought you didn’t have time to send 3-4 emails to the rejected phone interview candidates!)

Piled on top of my frustration, despair, rapidly eroding self-esteem, and bank account anxiety is guilt. Guilt over being annoyed with my friends who are incapable of cheering me up in the face of a hopeless situation. Guilt over assuring undergrads in my temp advising job that they will be able to find jobs after they graduate (I know it’s my job to calm them down, but seriously, how hypocritical can I possibly be?!). Guilt over that panel on non-academic jobs I organized at the 2018 AHA. The one where I told everyone that administration jobs are rewarding and realistic. Ha! If I, with all my experience, can’t find a job, can a newly minted PhD in his/her mid-late 20s who went straight from undergrad to grad school really expect to find one? Without being dismissed as only wanting an academic job? I apologize to all the folks at that panel. Your post-grad rep (unwittingly) lied to you!

I am obviously in a very dark place right now. That’s not to say I regret doing my PhD. Not at all. Not for a moment. This was the best three years of my life. I’m proud of the research I did. I am an infinitely better person than I was four years ago. But someone just needs to give me a fucking job.

[ubongeh]

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[shalegas34]

bizarre love triangle chapter 5

“It happens,” Macquarie said with a shrug. “You take risks, sometimes you lose. No risk, no return.”

Jamie Sykes had called after the news with an earbashing, but Macquarie reminded him the portfolio was designed to offer an 18% return on average. At least a couple of the 30% companies were expected to become redundant.

Sundance had folded from poor management, not a falling oil price. The equity issue had been a last-ditch attempt to save 3000 SA jobs in the Bight oilfields, but creditors had gone ahead and forced the administration. ‘Involuntary voluntary administration,’ the press was calling it.

Macquarie was up to his eyeballs in work trying to salvage something for the fund investors from the wreckage. His options were worthless now the stock had been suspended from trade, though he argued against that for all he was worth. Despite all of this, he still took time out to talk to me about the EOFY investor presentation.

“I need you to make Northstar sound good,” he urged me. “Everyone’s spooked. We didn’t even sign Sundance a month ago. I can’t let these people run.”

“I’m not sure I can do this,” I said.

“Yes, you can,” Macquarie replied. “I believe in you. Talk to Rowan, see what she can give you. Morgan Stanley was paid to sell that stock. Talk to Jule, she’s got records of clients. Find out what their interests are, and pander!”

I was sweating. I answered the phones. I couldn’t hold this kind of weight.

“It’s administrative,” Macquarie urged. “I just need you to collate information. Please.” I’d never seen his eyes so void of life. “I was up until 4 last night, video conference with the management in Texas.” He rubbed his forehead, which was starting to wrinkle.

“Things are getting a bit tough, Aurizon,” he said, meeting my eye. “The ’37 crisis hit the Sydney property market harder than anything. We couldn’t get a cent over five hundred for the house.”

My jaw dropped. Macquarie had lived in a million-dollar suburb.

“Barely enough left for a down-payment here. Sydney’s job is covering most of the mortgage. I’m not going to lie – the fund is struggling; nobody wants to touch equity right now. If we lose Jamie Sykes, I have to move the kids into a rental.”

Macquarie was crumbling before my eyes. I wanted to reach out and give him a hug.

“Come on. Let’s walk to the train station,” he said one night the next week. I was still floundering, trying to wade through the impossible quantity of information I’d been sent by Rowan, half of which made no sense with my proletarian vocabulary. I’d only just finished googling what a tranche was by this stage, and Macquarie needed a convincing presentation by the end of the month.

“This presentation is nothing more than a sale,” he said to me, as we took the lift down from the 9th floor. We were squashed together in one corner; I hadn’t seen anybody go home before eight in days. I was feeling hot, but it was probably just the cramped space. I tried not to look at Macquarie in case he misconstrued my blushing for romantic feelings. He smelled really good though, god why.

“It’s just a sale,” he said again. “That’s your goal. You only have to think about how you’re going to get there. It’s like a journey where you’re planning out truck stops.” I suddenly thought of Princess Monster Truck, who was recovering well in hospital. “Use your imagination. You’re rich and you want to get richer. What do you want to hear?”

I realised Macquarie was waiting for an answer.

“Uh…” I looked him in the face. Those eyebrows I used to love. “High returns?” I managed to rasp out, aware of all the highly educated bankers surrounding us and listening in.

“That’s definitely part of it,” Macquarie said. “And don’t be afraid to spit it out; you’d be surprised at how much you know. People want high returns, solid risk management, and legal assurance, and social responsibility is a bonus. Those are your truck stops. Put something together, then make it sound good, because the numbers only do half the job. You can make Northstar sound like a gold chest or a scam using the same numbers.”

We headed out of the building and began ambling towards Flinders Street station. I naturally wanted to walk faster than Macquarie, but I made a conscious effort to slow myself down. That was comfortable.

“You know, I was trying to explain to Sydney the other day, what it's like working with you," Macquarie said suddenly. "They didn't get it."

"Oh. It's been a while, I guess," I offered.

"Nah. They think you're fully straight and narrow... Uh, books-wise, I mean," he added quickly, considering my appearance. "But you're actually a wild card. You could do some really good shit around here."

I wasn't sure what to make of his assessment, not that I'd never been called a wild card before. It was just usually used as an insult.

"Just take some ownership of the project. I'm okay with that. It's not like I have time not to be."

We swiped our myki cards and split up at the top of the escalators. Macquarie headed for the Glen Waverley line, and I watched him disappear into the train, where he looked weirdly vulnerable without his spacious office flanking him. Times might've been hard, but that wasn't a bad direction to be heading in. I wasn't far out of the city, so I just jumped on whatever was leaving next. Frankston, maybe. I didn't even check.

---

We walked to the train together the next two nights too. I had really started labouring on this presentation when the phones were quiet. The structure was hardly a handout, but I tested it a few times on Leila until she could follow what I was trying to say. Macquarie had told me to keep it accessible to "plebs", which I assumed meant non-bankers.

My conversations with him became increasingly circular, but I stopped caring. Work became my excuse to talk with Macquarie, and I spent my days strangely passionate about interest rate hedges, and other things which had nothing to do with my life or my little side project.

"I took Travis to see Princess Monster Truck the other day," Macquarie said on Thursday night. "The nurse remembered me so she let me in. Travis loves cats." He started laughing like that was somehow an entertaining interest. "I thought of him when you yelled at me about Princess."

"You should come round and see the other one," I offered, then immediately regretted it. I realised I didn't want to see Macquarie with his family.

"We still have to catch up," Macquarie agreed. "Our schedules are crazy though. Sydney does weekend shifts, and I get to coach Travis through his debating tournament." The word "coach" was accompanied by an exaggerated wink.

"He always throws it if I'm not there. I just point at people to keep him on track, you know? Otherwise he rambles on and goes over time. It's not even cheating, but they keep threatening to lifetime ban me. Travis would throw a fit."

The corners of Macquarie's mouth lifted lazily.

"It's always the smart ones."

My face burned, but I couldn't deny the quality of that roast. I was crisping up. "Please, I won't have any skin left at this rate."

Although I bantered on the outside, I was really growing to appreciate how Macquarie had let my ridiculous breakdown, of which I was duly embarrassed, slide right off his back. No hard feelings, and he never dished me out an ounce of pity. Maybe he didn't care enough to treat me differently, but I hoped not, because I could really use a friend like that.

The week after that, after I'd knocked my presentation out on her, Leila invited me to an admin staff cocktail/quiz night on Friday.

"Come on, it'll be good. We have a banker table," she said, giggling.

"Oh yeah, who's going?" I asked casually, taking the bait.

"Jule, Macquarie, Kirk... Porter said she might."

"Macquarie..." I said, smirking as I thought of Travis's sacrifice.

"You are way too excited about him," Leila said, turning to Jo so they could laugh at me together.

"Ha," I said, rolling my eyes. So what if I wanted to hang out with him? Macquarie had been in Adelaide for a few days, going through preparations for the Northstar offer, and the office was kinda lonely. Neither Macquarie, Rowan, nor Sally was responding to anything by that point, so I figured things were heating up over there.

Meanwhile, the most action I'd seen was snatching up a pack of Bottlemen tickets that morning. I still wasn't sure how many kids there were, so I went 6 just to be safe. I could always sell one on downstairs if I'd fucked up.

Macquarie called in the evening, sounding like death warmed up. "Everything's almost ready over here," he said. "I want to get us a visit to the mine, to give you a bit of perspective, but I also need to meet with the manager." He took a deep breath. "Sally has been... well, weird. I mean, she was always keen on Northstar, but she's putting words in the directors' mouths now. About the expansion timeline."

He left it at that.

"Is there anything I can help you with?" I asked.

"Thanks Aurizon, but I've got this," he said. "I'll let you know when your stuff's organised."

Ouch, I'd needed that. I didn't remember when I'd started thinking of myself as someone important round here.

"No problem," I replied.

We left it at that.

---

The week dragged on slowly. I wasn't going to lie, I was holding out to see Macquarie again, which was ridiculous. I tried to focus on my work. It wasn't like I had nothing to do; with new deals in the pipeline, I was getting proper business calls at a dozen an hour, pinged over from Macquarie's direct line as he bummed around in Adelaide.

Friday afternoon, I left work early to help Leila and the others set up the cocktail night venue.

The bankers arrived at 6.30, Macquarie fresh off the plane.

"Hey Aurizon," Jule said brightly, like we were best of friends all of a sudden. "How's it going?"

"Good thanks. You?" I said, sneaking a glance at the weirdly reticent Macquarie. He glanced sideways back at me and smirked.

"There was that email I never got back to you about, I'm sorry..." Jule began, before launching into what she'd prepared. She walked me through our five biggest investors and gave me some tips on their values. Jamie Sykes liked to think he was playing it safe, while Victoria Super needed real assurance. Amanda Ling could be impressed with environmental innovation, but the Tate brothers preferred reckless profits.

"We're heading out for pres," Macquarie seized his chance when Jule stopped for a breather. "But I'll introduce you first. This is Aurizon, of course. Aurizon, this is Kirk from prudentials and Porter Cleeson, head of debt."

"Nice to meet you," I said.

"I've organised the Northstar site visit for us," Macquarie said. I pretended I didn't hear Porter scoff in response, and did my best to explain to her and Kirk what was I was doing.

"Ah, it's good to get Aurizon riled up sometimes," Macquarie said, with a wink to me.

"It's going to be a long night," I sniped in return, and everybody laughed.

"We'll be back before 7," Macquarie said, as the bankers filed out to hit the bigger bar upstairs.

The quiz night was a riot from the start, even though I spent most of the time on Jo's table staring at Macquarie's back. My teammates got smashed but I didn't feel like drinking.

Turned out, it was a good thing I kept my wits about me. We were placing a respectable sixth out of 14 teams when Sally Zhou turned up in a stunning cocktail dress, and sat herself down without asking at Leila's table.

#special tag 4 #i had to write all this shit down before it escaped my memory :P #sally and northstar are made up of course but that's about it #in other news my mind always goes blank and comes back to Jule and Porter when i'm naming minor characters #Rowan is a new one because I found out someone in my BV group's first name is Rowan and i thought that was cool #Travis is really the only name I thought out (yeah it is a port reference. if you know jason's son's name you'' understand lol)

[kingdomofbretonxrpg]

Congratulations, Steph! We are delighted to welcome Lachlan Clarke to serenade all those in Breton. Please complete our after acceptance checklist. We are looking forward to seeing you develop him! Please send in his blog within 48 hours.

Out of Character

Alias: Steph

Preferred Pronouns: She/Her

Age: 31 years fossilized

Timezone: EST (US)

Anything else? School is going to be virtual until 2021, but I’m back to work now, I’ll mostly be active on weekends.

Character

Name: Lachlan Gabriel Clarke

Birthdate and Age: 39 and 9 Feb

Preferred Pronouns: He/Him

Faceclaim: Tom Hiddleston

House Affiliation: Anjou

Profession: Composer, conductor, and musician | If it’s okay with the admins, I would like his music and career to mirror Dario Marianelli

Claim: Unclaimed

Children: None

Designation: Dominant

Sexuality: Pansexual

What is their symbol?: Lachlan has a sword tattoo on his left (dominant) arm that goes from his elbow down to his wrist. If this is covered then he will wear a vintage silver sword pin when in formal wear or a simple silver chain necklace with a sword on it when dressed casually. Typically he rolls up his sleeves except when conducting an event, so you really won’t see him wearing the pin or necklace unless he’s at an event or the weather is miserable.

Kinks: d/s, praise, orgasm control/teasing, temperature/sensation play, begging (consensual), impact/rough play, marking, thigh riding, cockwaming, unprotected sex (probably more but I’ll have to get a feel for him)

Anti-kinks: urine/blood/scat/vomit play, feet, degradation, caregiver/little, age play, most roleplaying, most anal play (probably more but I’ll have to get a feel for him)

Biography:

Lachlan should have had a seamlessly beautiful life in Perth close to his family, filled with music and never ending laughter. Honestly, that’s all he’d ever thought he’d want or would have: a happy, quiet life. Hamish and Erin met at a band competition between their two universities, fell in love, entered into a strong claim, and after years of trying to start a family, gave up any hope they’d have children. Years later when they had Lachlan, they both took sabbaticals from their jobs to teach him and watch him grow. They loved their careers in history and music and how it opened the world to them, but nothing ever seemed to feel as wildly curious as their little boy.

When Lachlan turned eight they moved across the globe to Perth, Australia where they returned to their respective careers as teachers of history and literature and placed Lachlan in a private school. While his parents thought that this would be a chance to push past most other children scholastically it was actually where he fell in love with music. Though he kept active, always playing a sport, he just found more pleasure in performing. Lachlan’s experiences with being bullied for loving the arts would have broken most kids down but it only made him more outgoing. All the kid seemed to care about was enlightening people to the colorful world of art and music, and the richness behind it. Maybe he was too like his parents, quick to correct others, create new things, and reinterpret the world around him. If he was odd, though, he certainly embraced it. Lachlan wanted people to know that he was just a happy, nice, open minded person. Throughout his time in school the bullying subsided, and come his senior year Lachlan had become one of the most popular and beloved students.

Carrying that positive outgoing charm with him to university seemed to make the four years blow by and when he finished at twenty one he’d realized that though he’d gotten a degree in education with a minor in music history he wasn’t sure where the next step in his life was going to take him. Staying in Perth with his family, Lachlan began teaching music out of a small shop in town. Saving his money and thinking about what he wanted to do he met a beautiful young submissive who was a self-taught opera singer. She’d never had the opportunity to learn to read music or fine tune her love of singing because she’d attended a low income public school that provided the bare bones in the way of the arts. Though he’d never taught opera he took her on because she’d completely enamored him and Lachlan was never one to back down from a challenge. After just two years he’d started to place her into competitions and she blew everyone out of the water. His training and her success propelled him forward in his love of being a music instructor but also led him to travel the world. All the while, Lachlan had been writing his own music, something he’d sporadically done while learning various instruments and a skill he’d honed in university, but now that he’d found a muse, he’d taken to filling all of his alone time scribbling away.

Over a short amount of time being both Annika’s coach and dominant, they lived in Rome, Sydney, and Paris together. The more time he spent with her the more he felt like there couldn’t be a more perfect person in the world for him. Annika knew exactly how to please him, loved the spotlight, and would do anything to get ahead. She was a doting submissive, but he would soon learn that her interests were about where he could take her career rather than her desire for him. While his parents swore that he was more in love with her than she was with him, he still felt an inexplicable bond and entered a claim with her against their wishes. It was the first time that there was ever a wedge between Lachlan and his parents, but it was this wedge that got him truly out of their nest at the age of twenty-three and encouraged him to realize his own dreams. Annika’s career had launched into something so spectacular that he no longer needed to travel with her. Using some of his money he started up a small private tutelage center in Melbourne and took on five students who wanted to become professionals in various different elements of the arts.

Unfortunately, things didn’t stay peaceful in the Clarke home. On Christmas Day the happy couple had traveled over to Perth to spend the holiday with Lachlan’s family when Lachlan’s world would be rattled with scandal. Annika asked him to travel ahead, a show allegedly holding her up in Sydney and he didn’t think to question it. Then his phone began to blow up with alerts of the singer caught with an actor. While his parents were clearly displeased with the situation and could have said ‘I told you so’ they surprised him with advice and kindness. Find your own path, move on and learn to listen to those that love you. So, in the time of separation, he packed away the past for a new chapter, pouring the sadness and negativity into compositions and letting his usual optimism and charm find its way out again.

Lachlan’s career as a composer took off only a few years after his relationship with Annika, but he hadn’t made it his focus. After selling the house and rehabilitating, Lachlan took to moving around. He wrote in places that inspired him, offered tutoring, and even guest lectured, performed, and conducted around the world. As he published his music to which he was then offered more opportunities to teach, orchestras to conduct, and even a few films to write, the young musician found that his new chapter felt like it needed some roots. With his parents retired and older, doing their own traveling, Perth felt like a step back to a past he’d rather think of as a fond memory. However, Breton felt like it could be more.

Breton was that place he’d hardly remembered, having left at just eight. What he knew about House Anjou was truly from his parents. Deciding to relocate, he bought an estate but took his time to remodel and furnish the place before making the trip over. It delighted his parents, who promised to come visit the new home on holidays, and wished their only child well as he set out to begin another new journey. With few career goals left now that he has an Academy Award and a Golden Globe, Lachlan is finding himself open to the possibility of finding love again. Until then, he’s spending his time in the usual pattern of private lessons, composing, participating in charity concerts as a guest conductor, and even periodically busking when bored.

#bretonaccepted #Lachlan Clarke #Tom Hiddleston