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velvetthunder1999 · 4 years

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All the time on Earth

Part 25 - Drunk Holidays

Summary: George has to take care of your giddy, drunk little ass during Christmas break in the Burrow

Warning: None

Word count: 3K

George Weasley x Reader

Masterlist

“Come on, Ron!” you shouted excitedly as you stepped out of the taxi into the deep snow, following Harry and Ginny onto the icy road.

“This bloody thing!” said Ron angrily, struggling to pull his heavy trunk in the snow. You stopped and waited for him out of pity, but you just couldn’t wait to finally get into the house.

The last three and a half months were — let’s say, not the best times of your life. Fear, anxiety and suspense greeted you when you woke up and haunted you way past of falling asleep. Even though you and George, and even you and Fred exchanged letters every second day, assuring that everything was okay, news of more and more disappearings and deaths made you utterly scared and uneasy. Hannah Abbott’s mum was killed, Katie Bell had been attacked and the Dark Mark had been seen numerous times across the whole country.

Nevertheless, it was finally Christmas break. Something you had been looking forward to for a long time. It was here, and you were about to spend a few wonderful days at one of your favorite places, the Burrow.

Ginny had barely opened the front door to the house when a loud scream and an excited Mrs Weasley welcomed you into the kitchen.

“Oh, kids, finally… It’s so good to see you, come here, come here, all of you!”

She peppered you with hugs and kisses, not being able to restrain herself. While she was hugging Ron, you noticed a beautiful blonde figure at the kitchen table. You waved.

“Hey, Fleur.”

She smiled right back just when loud thumping was coming from the stairs. It sounded as though someone was running down on the staircase and indeed, a second later George and Fred emerged in the other side of the kitchen.

A huge grin appeared on your face as they made their way towards you, wearing the same wide joyous beam. Mrs Weasley was still nagging about how skinny Harry was, and they were completely claiming the small room between the kitchen table and the wall to themselves. Fred came to a halt and looked at her mother irritatedly, while George — barely able to contain himself — said in a tense voice:

“Mum, move! Er — please.”

“Oh, sorry dear, I…”

But you didn’t hear what she said for George was already holding you in his arms, lifting you up from the ground and rocking you from left to right, laughing. You were laughing just the same, squeezing him with your eyes closed until he put you down; then, you grabbed his cheeks and pulled him into a kiss, a kiss which ended in laughter, a laughter of pure joy after not seeing each other for so long. Then, when you pulled apart, another familiar face made your heart burst with happiness.

“I reckon it’s my turn now, isn’t it?” said Fred and hugged you just as tightly as his brother, while you held him as close as you could, and only letting go of him when your arms felt sore and tired. Even then, you beamed at the both of them, not even knowing which one to look at.

“Thanks, I am here as well,” said Ginny to her brothers in mock anger. You laughed again, grabbing both George’s and Fred’s hands.

“Let’s go up, I want to hear everything about you two!”

——

George was still smiling to himself hours later when he thought about the afternoon; it was hard to hide his smile from Fred as he replayed in his mind how you were laughing at his jokes and how you took his hand into your lap so naturally, so lovingly… He had missed you so much, so bad for three excrutiatingly long months. But you were finally here, safe in his arms.

Whatever he had written in his letters, he had been nervous, too. Oh, yes, of course. After what had happened to Katie, it had taken him twice the usual time just to fall asleep, not being able to think about anything else but what if… Had it been you who touched the necklace, he’d known he would have gone mad. Having you so far away from him in times like these made him having anxious fits all day long.

But not today. Today he wasn’t anxious. Today he could relax a bit. You were there, waiting for him back at the Burrow, and he couldn’t wait to kiss you again, to smell the scent of your hair again, to hear all your stories again, to listen to the sound of your voice when you laugh at —

“What’s so funny?” asked Fred as they were walking back in the snow. They had been to the village, letting Fred have a go at a girl they had met a few days ago.

George turned his head away slightly, trying to organize his expression.

“Nothing.”

“Mphf!” chuckled Fred. “No, I get it. Lover boy.”

George felt his ears turning red under the knitted hat.

“Shut up. You don’t have to have a go at me every time. Might pay you back one day.”

“Well, as things were going with sweet cheeks back there —”

George snorted.

“Don’t even dream about it. She was into me the whole time.”

“Only because she thought I was you, you see.”

“She went for the intelligent one,” smirked George.

“Come off it, had she gone for the handsome one —”

“Then it still would’ve been me.”

Fred snorted and George laughed as they got a glance at the Burrow. Being rather dark at this point, a few windows were lit by the light inside, and George couldn’t wait to sat down into a squashy chair and warm his cold hands by the fire.

“Bighead, are you?” said Fred as he opened the gate to the garden. “You wouldn’t be so cheeky if I told mum about the ring.”

George stopped in his tracks.

“You wouldn’t.”

Fred laughed, apparently enjoying himself.

“Just think about the fuss she’d make! All the weeping —”

“No, stop it, will you? Mum doesn’t need to know. So don’t go on talking about it.”

His voice was angrier than he had intented it to be. He headed for the door but Fred grabbed his arm, making him stop.

“I know, Georgie, I was just joking.”

“Well — don’t. And don’t call me Georgie, you git.”

“What a snappy retort.”

“If you don’t take me seriously —”

“I do!” said Fred hastily, still not letting George go. “So, tell me. But quickly, my toes are already numb.”

George looked at his brother then turned his head towards the house. He could hear laughter form inside.

“I have the ring, but I don’t want to ask her just yet.”

“You think she’d say no? Don’t be a prat, she’s —”

“I know, but it’s… not the right time,” he looked back at Fred. “I want her to finish school. I want us to have our own life before I ask her. But I have the ring cause it’s a nice reminder of what’s about to come. And if you tell mum I’ll end you.”

Fred grinned and started walking again towards the house.

“Don’t worry, Georgie, I keep your secret.”

“I sure hope so,” answered George and opened the door to the kitchen. Fred shrugged.

“Anyway, it still — What the bloody hell’s going on here?”

Hearing Fred’s shocked voice George jerked his head at once, excpecting trouble, but all he saw was Ginny, his mum and you around the kitchen table, having a fit of laughter.

“…and then he said,” giggled Mrs Weasley, clearly not aware that her sons were back. “That he never saw a witch anything like me before and that he’d like to —”

“MUM!” shouted Ginny, half embarrassed, half laughing. “I don’t want to hear that!”

You cried out in laughter, burying your face into your hands, your eyes watering. Mrs Weasley reached for her glass in front of her and emptied it within seconds. George’s gaze fell onto your glass which was also empty.

“What is going on?” he asked, looking around at the three of you. You were still wiping your eyes. “Are you drunk?”

“Bloody hell, look at this,” said Fred, snatching the empty bottle from the table. “They’ve drunk all of it! Mum! Where did you get this?”

“Freddie!” said Mrs Weasley, shushing you and Ginny while fighting a giggle. “Come, come here, we were just…”

“Mum,” said George louder. “Where did you find this bottle?”

“In the — in the — cupboard,” she started giggling again and you did, too.

“Above the sink?” asked Fred. “This was supposed to be for the eggnog tomorrow! One cup only! Ginny?”

“Oh, they — hush now! They found the bottle and wanted to taste it.”

“And they drank the whole bottle?” asked George, trying to talk over your continuos giggling. “Why didn’t you stop them?”

“I’m not their guardian! And I wanted to drink it, too, but it had a dreadful smell! They didn’t mind, tough.”

“Oooh, we’re in trouble!” you said, trying to whisper but unable to do so. Fred laughed.

“Yeah, Mum’s been talking about her and dad at Hogwarts, she’s sort of all right,” said Ginny, watching the pair of you. “But I think Y/N has just lost it.”

Every head turned towards you, as you were still having a fit of laughter. Mrs Weasley reached for the bottle but she just realized it had gone from the table.

“Oh — Thank you!” she reached for the bottle in Fred’s hand but he jerked it away.

“I can’t believe this!” a satisfied smile appeared on his lips. “Oh, mum, I cannot wait to tell you about this tomorrow.”

You whispered something into Mrs Weasley’s ear and you both started to giggle like mad. Then you looked at Fred and said:  “Fred — Fred you won’tbelievethis,” your words started to become incomprehensible. “You — you — hehe…” 

You didn’t finish but reached for your empty glass and raised it to your mouth. Then, when you saw that it was already empty, the saddest, most miserable expression appeared on your face. George burst out laughing.

“All right. Even though I am quite entertained, they need to go to bed.”

“No!” said Ginny. “I want to watch them, they’re funny.”

“They won’t be funny tomorrow,” said Fred. “They need to sleep it off.”

“Why?” asked Ginny. “They seem fine.”

George looked at the empty bottle.

“Well, let’s say this stuff is stronger than your usual butterbeer.”

“Why? What’s in it?”

George caught Fred’s eye and they decided without words that it’s better to keep the ingredients to themselves.

“Er — a lot of things.”

“Brilliant,” said Ginny, standing up from the table. “Maybe it’s better if I don’t even know.”

“Ginny!” you suddenly reached for her hand and squeezed it, pulling her close to you. With your eyes wide open you whispered, though everyone heard you clearly. “Ginny, you like Harry Potter. Ginny… The Harry Potter! He’s upstairs! Go up, Ginny, go and —”

Ginny laughed and carefully loosened your grip. Then she looked at George.

“Yes, maybe they need to sleep it off. See you tomorrow.”

Then she headed for the staircase but you didn’t watch her. Your eyes were fixed on George in great surprise, as though you just realized he was there, too. Mrs Weasley leaned closer to you and whispered something into your ear. You started giggling again.

“All right,” said Fred. “I reckon mum’s up to me.”

George nodded.

“She might fall asleep before dad comes home.”

He walked over to you. You jumped as he touched your elbow.

“No!” you said, fear in your eyes. “No, you’re makin’ us sleep, no! I don’t want to sleep, I —”

“Come here, love,” said George with a grunt, lifting you up from the table. He helped you standing up but had to grab you immediately as you were about to crash into the table. “Careful. Are you okay?”

“I don’t wanna sleep!” you mumbled, reaching for your glass, but George made it disappear with a flick of his wand. “Hey!”

“Sorry, love, but you need to sleep. Come — no, this way — that’s it.”

He put an arm around your waist, keeping your balance and you even managed to put one foot up the stairs, but then you stopped. In the kitchen George could see Fred guiding his mum to the bedroom.

“You’re a funny man, George,” you said suddenly with great certainty.

“Yeah? Why’s that?”

“Funny, funny man,” you mumbled. George laughed and took another step on the stairs.

“All right, let’s go.”

“Noo!” you mumbled, frowning.

“Come on, we’re almost there,” he lied, holding back his laugh at the sight of your disapproving face.

“No, I don’t wannasleep!” you said, struggling to form the words.

“Oh, no, why not?” asked George, taking another step with you. He figured if he keeps you talking, you won’t realize that he’s taking you upstairs.

“I need to tellyousomething.”

“I’m all ears.”

“Ahhh!” you said, chortling. “Did you know you’re so cute?”

George chuckled.

“Thanks, love. What do you want to tell me?”

“I just did! You don’t listentome!”

“Oh, okay, that was it, then?

“Mm…” you reached for his face, clearly to caress it, but you were not in charge of your actions at all and you poked him in the eye. George started blinking heavily, looking through his tears.

“All right, love,” he gently pulled your hand away from his face and you two finally made a turn on the staircase.

“Oh, Georgie,” you gave a really deep sigh. George couldn’t hide his smile anymore.

“What is it, love?”

“You are so nice! So, so nice! And you have a nice soul and everything!”

“Well, you have a really nice soul, too.”

“Oh, God, I’m so drunk.”

George laughed. You stopped walking and looked at him, frowning.

“Are you laughing at me?”

“Yes,” chuckled George. “Yes, I do.”

You furrowed your brows and pouted, then, a weird, surprised expression fell over your face. You smiled, letting out a giddy laugh.

“You’re so handsome.”

George felt his ears turning red just like every time you complimented him, but he was still beaming nevertheless. You took his face into your hands again - this time successfully missing his eye - and tilted your head.

“You know what I love the most?”

“What?” asked George, completely forgetting about his mission to take you upstairs. Your drunk smile somehow made him feel intoxicated, too.

“Your freckles,” you mumbled, still holding his face. “I love your freckles.”

It was one of those rare occasions when George had no idea what to say. Something told him that your statements were coming from a very genuine place.

“So pretty,” you sighed and continued your way upstairs. George followed. “I even liked them when you were younger. And you. You were so cute…”

“Mm, you liked me, didn’t you? Wait…” said George suddenly. “You liked me? I didn’t know about this!”

“Because I didn’t tell you, silly,” you mumbled and chuckled at the same time.

“Tell me more, please,” said George, totally in shock. You giggled.

“You know you have a nice smile, Georgie?”

“No, tell me about how you liked me…”

“I am! When I was sorted, you were smiling with Gryffindoor. And I thought you were really cute. And I know you by your smile and now when you smile at me I’m really happy. I wanna brush my teeth.”

You stopped as you reached the bathroom. George opened the door for you. You stood next to the sink, struggling to put toothpaste on your toothbrush. George helped. He watched you while you were hastily brushing your teeth, and when you finished he lead you to his room.

“I’m tired.”

You fell into his bed face first and George had to grab your legs and put them onto the matress for you to be able to lie down properly. You reached for his hand and pulled him to you so suddenly that he had to squat down next to the bed.

“Georgie, I wanna tell you something else as well.”

“Well, don’t hold back now,” he said, leaning over in a very uncomfortable position. His neck was already hurting but he couldn’t pull away; you were holding him in a firm grip.

“Georgie, do you know you were the first person who actually cared for what I had to say?”

George looked at you, startled. You were clearly reminiscing but your face was gloomy. George had no idea what to say to you.

“I see.”

“Yeah,” you nodded, your head on his pillow, your eyes closed. It was almost like you were talking in your sleep. “McLaggen always fancied me but I don’t think he had the slightest interest in me. And that guy… he ditched me.”

“What guy?” asked George with a sudden feel of discomfort. You had never told him this.

“My date at the Yule Ball,” you mumbled. “He didn’t even care… Why did he ask me, then? He left me there after ten minutes.”

“Oh… I remember that. But you had a great time after that, didn’t you?” he added hopefully.

“Yes,” you said with a deep sigh.

Then suddenly, you opened your eyes but you weren’t looking at George. You were staring at the wall, but it looked as though you didn’t even see it. You were clearly thinking about something else, and when you spoke your voice cracked.

“I was so lonely.”

George knew that this was the moment when his heart broke into a million pieces. He stared at you, unable to speak. He felt as though the words got stuck somewhere around his stomach, unable to burst out. And he suddenly felt scared; scared that your sadness was rooted deeper than he could imagine and this time he won’t be able to comfort you. But then your beautiful, tired eyes met his and you spoke again.

“I’m not lonely anymore.”

Had George had the ring with him in that moment, he knew he would have asked you right on the spot. But the ring was in his flat on Diagony Alley, buried deep in a drawer among a bunch of socks. Also, you were quite drunk. He was sure you wouldn’t remember anything by tomorrow.

“Will you stay?” you asked, whispering.

“Of course, witty,” he said as he lay down next to you in his bed. “Always.”

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tangledstarlight · 3 years

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julie’s ready for a year away from home, studying and trying to refind the magic in music. luke’s about to start on a summer tour around europe opening for a band. they meet one night, sparks fly and emotions run hight. now they’ve just got to try and see if they can maintain a long distance friendship.

DAYS GO BY AND SEASONS CHANGE (LETS TRY AGAIN NEXT WINTER)

trigger warnings!! alcohol and swearing and mentions of death (julies mum)

also on ao3 –– [ 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | extras 1 & 2 ]

summer

Summer had always been Julie’s favourite time of year.

Well at least it had been. Back when summer's meant spending time with Flynn and Carrie, making up dance routines and climbing trees and begging Victoria to take her to get ice cream from the shop near the pier.

Back before her mom got sick and hospital visits took over from dance routines and a funeral replaced visits to an ice cream shop.

It took her a long time to start liking summers again. To stop associating warm nights with hospital a/c and trips to the beach with a distraction technique while her mom got chemo. She can appreciate summers again now. It had just taken a long time.

But there’s still moments when it hits her. When she remembers all the long hours spent in hard hospital chairs and the terrible staticy tv’s in waiting rooms and the half finished songs tucked away in the back of her old favourite notebook.

(That she’s not touched in years but still brings along with her, just in case. In case of what, Julie doesn’t know, but it’s not stopped her from packing it on every trip and extended visit somewhere new. Just in case she wants to look at them. Just in case inspiration strikes. Just in case she suddenly decides she’s ready to finally finish the songs they started together. Just in case.)

Her favourite moments in summer had been when her mom would pack up their car, with fold up chairs and blankets and a cooler full of snacks, and drive them out of the city until all the bright lights faded away and the sounds of cars grew distant and they could see the sky.

Nothing but the sky and the moon and the stars.

They’d done it every year since Julie could remember, always at the end of summer before school started again, always just the two of them. It was their thing. To go watch the stars and eat all the sugary foods they could. Julie had learnt the stars like that, working her way through bags of gummy worms and sugar laces while her mom told her stories and made the world feel magical.

It’s been a long time since Julie had been out of the city and looked up at the stars with her mom. They’d not been able to make it that last year, and her dad offering to take her hadn't been the same. So it had been a long time since Julie had seen the stars so clear in the sky and remembered why she’d loved it all those years ago. Other than getting the chance to spend time with her mom, the stars made her feel like anything was possible.

There’s something about looking up at a night sky, full of hundreds of thousands of little pinpricks of light that fills you with wonderment and awe. It reminds you that in the grand scheme of things, they’re all pretty small. And that people throughout all of history have looked up at the same sky and seen the same stars and come up with their own stories for them all.

“I hate this, how are you so good at finding the constellations?” Flynn’s complaining brought Julie back down from her wondering and winding thoughts. Back to Cairngorms National Park and the crappy chairs they’d borrowed from the hostel they were staying in and the ‘who can name and find the most constellations’ game that Carrie had started.

“It’s a skill,” Carrie shrugged, trying to toss her hair over her shoulder as she did, but she didn’t want to take her hands out from under the blanket, it was a lot of shoulders jumping up and down and head swinging wildly in a circle. A far cry from the usual smooth movement it normally was.

Julie bit down on her lip to not laugh, Flynn didn’t have the same courtesy and outright cackled, but took sympathy all the same and helped move the stray locks away from Carrie’s face.

“Told you you should have bought gloves.” As if to prove her point Flynn wiggles her gloved fingers in her face and Carrie just frowns, pretends to lean forward to bite them.

“It’s summer. It’s meant to be warm,” she grumbles, and Julie secretly agrees. The three of them aren’t used to having to remember to take a jacket out with them in the middle of summer. But England always seems to run a little cold and the Scottish Highlands don't seem to know what the word ‘summer’ or 'warm' even means.

Especially not at 3 in the morning, but that’s more on them then the country.

Julie pulls her jacket a little tighter to her body as a breeze blows through their little clearing – the collar still smells faintly of Luke’s aftershave and mint, like it’s trying to cling to the last remnants of it’s rightful owner for her sake and it’s own, so she doesn’t forget who she wants to return it too one day – and tilts her head back to look at the stars. She can still hear Carrie and Flynn talking, bickering about gloves and a very clear, “You’re cheating! You’re looking them up on your phone!” from Flynn that makes her smile.

She’s twenty and with her two best friends about to start on an adventure through a mostly unknown country and she’s looking up at the same stars she’d once looked at with her mom, but everything else is different enough that it doesn’t hurt like she thought it would.

Sure she’s still a little sad, still wishes it was her mom sitting next to her, coming up with a wild story or an on-the-spot song about Cassiopeia. But she takes in a breath of air and feels her phone vibrate with a text notification where it’s tucked under her leg and smiles.

She’s always loved summer and despite all the bad memories she’s gained of the season over the last few years, she’s determined to enjoy this one.

“Tell me about the music thing.”

Julie blows out a breath at the question, her gaze fixed on the ocean in front of her as the waves crash against the shore, the sun just starting it’s rise into the world on the horizon. It’s 4:40am and the world is silent save for the waves and Luke on the other end of her phone. They’d picked this time because for him the sun was making its final push into the world and for her it was just starting. The closet they could get to watching it rise together with their hour time difference.

It did also mean Luke had been up for a whole hour longer than her, but he didn’t seem to mind. Julie was just happy she’d managed to find coffee in the small hotel’s kitchen before she’d left.

“How do you know there’s a music ‘thing’?” She asks and she knows she was avoiding it, talking about it, thinking about it, but Julie liked that Luke didn’t treat her any differently. That he didn’t know about how she’d once dreamt only of playing music and how now it was like a festering wound in her heart every time she looks at it.

“So I wasn’t like, preying or anything, but Bobby mentioned how you and Carrie and Flynn used to perform together all the time. But that you stopped. After your mom,” he doesn’t say the word, that one little word that still makes her feel sick. But it still hangs in the air between them.

Julie’s pretty sure if she said she didn’t want to talk about it then Luke would let the subject drop. That he’d talk to her about the sea and the sun and the tour and what weird information Reggie had learnt about wherever they were today. And a part of her wanted to do that. To avoid the conversation and having to try to explain all her messed up feelings to someone else. She had no reason to think Luke would understand anymore then her family had, and yet she found herself letting out a sigh and talking.

“My mom she– she introduced me to music, y’know? She used to be in this punk rock band, toured around the US, and made this amazing music that made you feel stuff. And then, even after she wasn’t in a band anymore and had met my dad and had me, music was still this like– it was this huge part of her life. Of my life,” Julie blinks back tears as she talks, her eyes still fixed on the horizon as if it will help. “She taught me to play piano. A little guitar too, but I’ve never been that good at it. But the piano, I fell in love with it. Everything about it. It used to be the one thing in the world that I knew would cheer me up. When I think about my childhood there’s always music in it somewhere. Playing in the background or mom making it or me trying to help her write it. She loved music, and it– it was more than that because it was like music loved her too, y’know?”

Julie pauses, to breathe, to collect her thoughts, to make sure she hasn’t scared Luke off with her rambling. But she can still hear him breathing on the other end of the line and the little ‘yeah’ he breathes out at her rhetorical question.

“She was there for every show I did, for every performance and recital, every time I had too many emotions and needed help to write them down. We did other stuff together too, but music was this thing that we did together that– that made anything feel possible. Is that stupid? That making music with my mom made the world feel magical?” She doesn’t really expect him to answer, it’s a weird question after all. But Luke has a way of surprising her every time.

“It’s not stupid. You spent so much time making something amazing with someone you love more than anything. I can’t really think of anything more magical than that.”

It knocks the breath out of her, the way he seems to get it after such a short time when even her dad still doesn’t really get it. Julie takes in a stuttering breath, unable to stop the tears that pool in her eyes this time with excessive blinking. So she lets them fall.

“Whenever I used to play or sing it always felt like I was doing what I was supposed to do. Like, sitting behind a piano was where I was meant to be, y’know? It was just one of those things I was so fucking sure about. Like that my dad would make pancakes on Saturdays and Sharpey wasn’t the villain of High School Musical and my tia would never learn to knock before coming in and that my mom would always be there. But then she–– she died. And it was like– fuck, I don’t even know. It was like nothing in life made sense anymore anyway, so why would music.” Julie bites her lip, blows out a shaky breath and wipes at her cheeks with her sleeve.

“I stopped playing for a– a long time, afterwards. I just...I couldn’t, y’know? And I know it worried everyone, me not being able to play. So I um I made myself sit at the piano and play something, anything really. Just to prove that I could. That I can.”

“So you made yourself play for everyone else and then last year you finally admitted that it wasn’t the same anymore?” Luke puts it so simply it almost makes her want to laugh.

“Pretty much, yeah,” she says, blowing out a breath. “It’s like, I don’t know how to play music the way I used to without my mom. Everything about music to me is so connected to her that when I play or sing it’s like something is missing and I don’t know how to fill it.”

“Maybe you don’t fill it then.”

“What?” Julie blinks, a small furrow between her brows as she tries to work out what he means.

“Music and your mom, they’re always gonna be linked together for you. There’s no way to undo that, even if you wanted to. And, honestly Julie, it sounds like you got back into music before you were ever ready to and not for yourself. Which, I– I mean, I get it. Everyone who cared about you was worried and you didn't want them to be. So you made yourself play again. But music shouldn't be something your force, it should just be, y'know, easy. And I’ve seen the way you used to play and– fuck, it’s–” Luke blows out a breath as he seems to struggle to find any words and Julie feels her frown deepen, just a little.

“You said making music with your mom felt like magic and that’s what it looked like too. That’s not something you can rush back into. It’s not a gap you can just fill in. It’s something you’ve got to look at and accept and use. When you’re ready to.”

It’s the last thing she expected him to say. Because honestly Julie has never thought about it that way, about how it wasn’t something to fill in or plaster over. That it was just a part of her that she’d have to live with, sand down the edges and put up hazard tape but maybe make into something new. One day.

A bit like how the grief she still feels about her mom is always with her, even though it’s easier to look at now, easier to think about. She’s learnt to live with it. No one’s ever said she should do the same thing with music.

“No one’s ever put it like that before.” No one else had ever seemed to understand that music for her felt a lot like magic either. Part of her knew it should scare her how much Luke seemed to understand her after so little time, but another part of her, a bigger part of her, was just relieved that someone got it. That she didn’t need to explain it again or pretend it was fine.

“Yeah well, music and pain is something I get. Not to the same extent but, yeah. I get it,” his voice trails off and Julie wonders what he’s thinking about. What memories his words have conjured early in the morning. She knows he’s got problems with his parents, that things are strained, she wonders if there’s story there he'll share with her one day.

The sun is peeking over the horizon now, a small semi-circle of orange light that makes her squint as she looks out, but it’s beautiful, watching the sun rise over the sea.

“When have you ever seen me play?” Julie blurts out, suddenly recalling Luke’s earlier words that had made her frown.

“Oh uh–” the question seems to catch Luke off guard and he’s stuttering, a bit like the first time they’d met in the cafe when he’d ruined her jacket. Julie can practically see him, sitting on his bench overlooking the tourist traps of France, hand rubbing at the back of his neck as his cheeks slowly turned pink. “So I wasn’t like, internet stalking you or anything. But, well when Bobby mentioned that you used to perform and I uh looked some of them up? Carrie has a very organised facebook and youtube channel. There’s playlists.”

And this time Julie does laugh, loud and bright in the still morning because he’d see the jumpy and blurry iphone videos of them messing around for their parents and school and still thought it was magical when she played. If he hadn’t sounded so serious when he said it, Julie would think he was just trying to be nice.

“God those videos were terrible. We got Flynn’s mom to help us make costumes for some of them, I definitely remember us being convinced that pillowcases and duct tape would make the most killer look,” she shakes her head at the memory and it feels lighter, easier than it would have done an hour ago.

“You looked very cute in your pillowcase dress and duct tape headband, I’m honestly surprised it never took off. You could have been a trend setter,” Luke says and she can practically hear him holding back a laugh.

“Alright Mr I-think-jean-chains-are-cool, settle down.”

“Hey! You said my chain was very cool,” he whines, she can practically see his lower lip protruding in a pout.

“I was also very drunk at the time, I was probably just trying to be nice.”

“You know what? As soon as the sun is fully up for you I am so hanging up the phone dramatically,” Luke mutters and it makes her laugh again. How he’d made her go from spilling her emotional guts up to crying to laughing all within a few minutes she’ll never know.

But she wants to thank him for it anyway, for understanding and helping and calling her magical. She’s not quite sure how to fit that into a single thank you though.

“Hey Luke?” She says it softly, almost as if she’s scared of frightening him away.

“Yeah?” His voice is just as soft and it makes her smile.

“Thanks for watching the sunrise with me.”

“Anytime.”

When they had first planned out their summer road trip starting in Scotland with a side trip to Belfast and ending in London they’d imagined something a lot more glamorous. They’d planned out all the places they wanted to see and visit that weren’t on the usual tourist route, and Flynn had even bought a paper map so they could mark places off as they went. They’d definitely anticipated more sunnier days then they’d gotten. And the surprise detour into a rural Welsh village was still being argued over about whose fault it was.

(Julie firmly blamed Flynn, she was the one giving directions. Flynn blamed Carrie because she was the one driving. And Carrie blamed Julie because she was sitting in the back having a nap. Either way they’d ended up stuck in a field after following a dirt road and only got back on track when a farmer had laughed at them for what felt like an hour.)

But this was their last weekend before they went back to their respective schools and they were determined to make it the most memorable yet. Full of drinks and laughter and tourist photos and over priced food.

Carrie had spent hours on instagram, sitting cross legged on the weird little half sofa in their hotel room, looking through all the bars and clubs people frequented with the best drink prices and photo opportunities. Flynn and Julie had spent the same amount of time on instagram looking for the cutest places to eat and cheapest spots for shopping.

They’d all reconvened on the bed in their shared hotel room with their lists of places and made a plan. They had three days and were determined to do all the touristy things they could. They’d saved it all for London because that had made the most sense when they’d first made their plan. What was a trip to the UK without a photo of the London Eye or the weird clock thing?

“...and then we went to Camden Market which was really cool. There was this stall with these really cool photos that my dad would love, now I’ve just got to work out how I’m gonna keep them safe until I go home. And oh my god! This other stall had all these old tapes and records of some real old school classic bands, you’ve got to check it out when you’re back.” Julie glanced down at her phone where she’d propped it up against the door while she sat in front of the floor length mirror in the hotel, makeup and hair products scattered around her.

She can see half of Luke’s face and half of Reggie’s watching her from the screen, both of them listening to her ramble about her day like they care what she has to say. Like they’re truly interested in the prints she bought for her dad and the pins she’d found for Victoria.

“Ask her if it’s–” she can hear someone start on their end of the call, the voice growing muffled as Luke’s eyes look somewhere over the top of his phone. She thinks it’s Alex talking, but she can’t be sure.

“Alex asked if that’s the place with the people painted gold and the ones who juggled in the streets?” Luke relays the question, an eyebrow raised as he looks at her. And Julie knows, logically, that he’s not really looking at her, because there’s a screen and a few hundred miles between them, but it still feels like he’s staring right into her soul. Even with the one and half eyes that the screen lets her see.

“Um,” she swallows, bites the end of her eyeshadow brush as she looks away and tries to think, glad for the slightly staticy quality of their facetime call. “No, that’s the other place. Um – hang on, Flynn! What’s the name of the other place we went?”

Flynn’s head appears around the doorframe of the bathroom, hair already done, eyeshadow standing out against her skin – the blues and greens of her eyeshadow blending together so well it makes Julie want to ask her to do hers too – and a mascara wand in hand. She tilts her head to the side, lips pursed as she thinks about it before leaning over Julie’s head and pointing at her phone.

“He’s thinking about Covent Garden. It’s got that design your own ice cream place and looks way cleaner.” They both watch as someone's hand descends over the camera and someone shouts and the phone shakes and then Alex’s face is filling the screen, the snapback on his head doing nothing to stop his hair from falling into his eyes.

“They had a really cool cupcake store, did you go there?” Someone’s hand appears in the frame for a second, and they can hear muttering in the background but Alex just shifts slightly to the left of wherever he’s sat, completely ignoring who she can only assume is Luke and Reggie complaining.

“Mhm,” Julie nods, not even bothering to hide her grin at the annoyed ‘Alex’ she can hear one of them make in the background.

“Did you try the triple chocolate one?” Flynn asks, sitting herself down next to Julie on the floor and wordlessly plucking the brush from her hands and picking up the palette she had been using from the ground. She swears, it's like Flynn can read her mind sometimes.

“Yes! It was so good,” Bobby pushes himself into view, chin resting to Alex’s shoulder like he’s draped himself over the drummer's neck like a scarf. From the corner of her eye Julie watches as Alex tries to shrug him off only for Bobby to somehow wrap his arms around his neck, holding on tighter.

“Close your eyes,” Flynn says, brush poised in the air to work and Julie quickly does as instructed.

“I preferred the coconut lime one,” Julie comments and she can hear someone let out a gasp on the phone.

“Over chocolate? Oh man, I didn’t know you had such a bad taste in cakes Julie.”

She bites her lip to stop herself from laughing at Lukes words – who has clearly forced his way back into view of the phone because his voice is close and unmuffled and teasing.

“What are you going to do? Hand up the phone dramatically?” She wishes she could open her eyes, to see his face, see if he remembers saying that. But she doesn’t have to open them to know he remembers when she can hear him laughing, can hear the smile in his voice.

“I would if Alex would give me my phone back.”

“Don’t you dare hang up I want everyone’s opinions on which dress I should wear,” Carrie calls from the bathroom and Julie peeks open one eye to see her poke her head around the doorway to glare at them and the phone before vanishing again.

“Ooo fashion show! Lets go girls!”

Flynn stops tapping at her eyelid and Julie opens her other eye to look at her quickly before glancing down at her phone where half of Reggie’s face takes up the screen, the other three boys fighting in the background.

“Did someone say fashion show?” A new voice joins the chaos on the other end of the phone and Julie frowns a little until Willie’s face joins Reggie's, blocking out the other three and grinning at them. “Woah your eyeshadow looks wicked Julie!”

“All credit for that goes to Flynn,” she says, waving her hands at Flynn as she finally gets the chance to look in the mirror, taking in the magic Flynn has worked on her eyes. It’s all dark purples and hints of silver and specks of glitter and Julie honestly has no idea how she’s done it. She turns her head to give the other girl a wide smile, “Fuck, this is so pretty Flynn!”

“If my music career doesn’t take off I’m going to make a killer makeup artist,” she tosses her braids over one shoulder, eyes glancing up a little as she grins.

“Always good to have a back up career,” Bobby’s face appears between Reggie’s and Willie’s, his arms wrapping around their shoulders. “Mine is landscape gardening.”

There’s a beat of silence on both sides of the phone, even Luke and Alex in the background seem to have gone quiet at their friends' words. Julie opens her mouth, though she’s not sure what she’s going to say, and she can see a similar thing happening to Willie while Bobby is just smiling, either unaware at the confusion he’s caused or knows, and is just extremely pleased with himself.

They’re all saved from breaking the weird silence by Carrie coming out the bathroom, burgundy slip dress swishing above her knees and blonde hair curled down her back, she puts a hand on her hip and rolls her eyes at the phone.

“Robert. You still cut your chin every time you shave, shut up about being a landscape gardener,” after rolling her eyes again, Carrie straightens up a little, brushing down her dress and posing so they can all see, “Now, this is option one!”

Eventually, after Carrie has gone through three dresses – picking the first option, of course – and Flynn has shown off her dark blue halter neck jumpsuit and Julie has twirled in her black lace skater dress, they’ve all done a shot together in solidarity and reapplied lipstick and they’re getting ready to leave. Julie is cradling her phone in front of her face and it’s just Luke on the other end now.

“You look really nice, by the way. Beautiful in fact.” He rubs at the back of his neck, an almost shy smile on his lips as he looks at her.

She gives him a small smile in return, just a twitch of her lips really, even though her stomach feels like it’s exploded in butterflies. Julie knows she doesn’t need someone else's approval on how she looks, but hearing Luke call her beautiful doesn’t exactly hurt.

“Thanks,” she bites her lip, wanting to say something more, but not knowing what. Carrie calls her name from the hotel door, nodding her head to where Flynn is already waiting in the hallway. “I gotta go. Talk to you later?”

“Yeah, yeah. Have a good night. Let me know when you get back okay, okay?” He raises and eyebrow at her and Julie can’t help but let out a small laugh.

“I will.”

#julie and the phantoms #jatp #julie molina #luke patterson #juke #carrie wilson #flynn #alex mercer #reggie peters #willie #trevor wilson #jatp fic #i never know what to tag these thing fuck dfjsk #honestly this is mostly just an emotional rollarcoaster #it was down it was down and then it went up #kinda wanna do a girls road trip fic now tho #also. the top 3 ig posts should go at the start #but it didn't look right on tumblr #*

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punkscowardschampions · 3 years

Text

Mattie & Jay

Mattie: I am, as of about 54 seconds ago, freeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee

Mattie: Finally, although that Geography exam was MUCH easier than the 7 hour lock-in vibe we had for our Art project 😨😱

Mattie: The hand cramp might be permanent, I’ll never be able to hold a pen or a pencil again… What a shame 😏

Jay: The news I’ve been waiting for, I can’t hear about another bloody exam, Mats

Jay: not yet old enough to look back fondly, you know 😬

Jay: Can help you think of a more top drawer excuse not to get a summer job in publishing though

Mattie: but old enough it is but a distant memory 😆

Mattie: um yeah right, dad knows my summer plans do not involve a single book this year, not even the trashy beach read

Jay: Yeah, yeah, I’m in the winter of my life and you’re about to have the summer of yours 🤫

Jay: Not even a travel guide? Boooo 👎

Mattie: Winter is a little harsh

Mattie: but it’s the end of August, definitely

Mattie: you’re such a 🤓

Mattie: I already know where I’m going

Jay: Ouch x 2

Jay: but go ahead and tell me your plans then

Mattie: Noah loves it

Mattie: How many countries are you trying to tick off yourselves this summer?

Jay: He loves to spend a week in each, with 3-4 days as a rule of thumb per city but some are doable in 2, I’ll be able to budge him and keep you posted

Mattie: That sums you both up so well

Mattie: You know where to direct my postcards

Mattie: Well, I will *hopefully* be spending some time in Switzerland, if all goes well

Jay: Um… that’s a winter destination, we’re discussing summer here

Mattie: Who asked you to write the rulebook, Miss 🤔🤪

Mattie: Switzerland still very much exists in Summertime, it looks beautiful, actually

Mattie: But I do have a reason for going

Mattie: Reasons

Jay: I’m getting the feeling that those reasons aren’t summer glacier skiing in St Moritz and the melted mountain snow making the Rhine Falls a must visit

Jay: so, which boy has keys to his parents' holiday place and how long have you wanted this scenario to play out?

Mattie: Whilst those are all undoubtedly excellent reasons, definitely worthy of a best-selling beach read, so maybe you should pitch them to dad instead actually…

Mattie: You know our actual mum ended up having those twin girls, when I was like 3 and you were what, 9 or 10? Obviously you know but anyway

Mattie: And we’ve not had contact with them because it might make us super emo and dad and the grandparents didn’t really want us having contact with real mum because it’d be damaging, potentially

Mattie: Well, I’m finally gonna do it, schools over, I’m an adult now too

Mattie: And she isn’t Benny’s mum, they aren’t his sisters, so I don’t feel like I have to wait for him to age up to do this

Mattie: They board in Switzerland, assumedly they’ll be back for the Summer, they have a house here too but I’d like to go see them there, as that’s where they spend most of their time

Mattie: If they want to, grandma has to set it up but she will now I’ve said I want to

Jay: Mattie

Jay: slow down

Jay: When did you decide this?

Mattie: I’ve been thinking about it seriously since I was about 16

Mattie: but then they would’ve been 13 and I don’t think anyone needs any more potential angst and drama at that age, it wouldn’t have been fair

Mattie: You can’t say you’ve never thought about it, surely?

Jay: What did dad say when you told him?

Mattie: He didn’t say I couldn’t, or shouldn’t

Mattie: Obviously he had plenty of words of warning about her

Mattie: and I respect his experience, of course

Jay: but you’re going to do it anyway

Mattie: It’s different

Mattie: I’m not going to be in a relationship with her, or ask her to raise any children

Mattie: I just want to meet her

Jay: Meeting her is inviting her to have a relationship with you, why would you want to open that door? It’s closed for a reason

Mattie: Because I want to know her, who she is

Mattie: even if it’s bad, she’s still half of me, us

Mattie: And if she was that keen to form a relationship with us, she would’ve tried long before now and we’d know about it

Mattie: That’s evidently off the table

Jay: Off the table when she didn’t want it, but when you show up wanting it, that’s her way in, that’s who she is

Mattie: It’s been a long time

Mattie: Like my whole life and I’ll be 19 soon

Mattie: She’s clearly got her own life that she’s happy with, she’s still with the twins dad

Mattie: I’m not saying you have to come if you don’t want to

Jay: People don’t change that much

Jay: she’s happy, they’re bound to be miserable

Mattie: All the more reason to meet them

Mattie: but we don’t know that, Grandma would’ve told me if they were, I think

Mattie: and done something about that, more to the point

Mattie: And Dad changed, people can, I don’t think that blanket statement is fair

Jay: No, she tried to change him and couldn’t, he met Ava and was allowed to be himself

Jay: Grandma has kept us away from them as agreed, if she really thought you should meet, she’d have done something about that

Mattie: She didn’t want us to be jealous, as kids

Mattie: and that makes sense

Mattie: but I’m not now and I’m not trying to steal their life or anything like that

Mattie: I know she did a lot wrong, to dad, to us and in general but that doesn’t change the fact I want to do this

Jay: It doesn’t make sense to me that you’d want to do this

Mattie: I know you feel differently

Mattie: and I get it, for you

Mattie: It’s just weird to me that they’re out there and I’ve basically never met her, never mind the twins

Mattie: Why wouldn’t I do that, if I have the chance to

Jay: Them maybe, but she doesn’t need to be involved if Grandma is helping you

Mattie: I have no idea if she will want to see me

Mattie: but I want to know that I reached out to her too

Jay: Like you said, if she wanted to, she could’ve

Jay: I don’t want you getting hurt

Mattie: I know you don’t

Mattie: and I do appreciate the concern, no sarcasm intended

Jay: Yeah, none detected

Mattie: I’ll be fine, I promise

Mattie: I have no expectations so I can’t be let down

Jay: If you had 0 you wouldn’t be reaching out, you’ve been thinking about this for years, of course there’s some expectation there

Jay: be careful

Mattie: I just want to know what they’re like, whatever that entails

Mattie: Obviously if she/they refuse to see me, that’ll be disappointing

Mattie: but I don’t think Grandma would’ve offered if there was no chance they’d also be into it

Mattie: Assumedly, they’ve discussed this possibility too

Mattie: I’m always careful, it’s my middle name 😋

Jay: Your middle name is unsuspecting or unjaded, something like that

Mattie: A prefix, how classy 💅

Mattie: What’s yours?

Jay: Take the un away and boom, there’s mine

Mattie: Oh, slightly unoriginal when it came to me then

Mattie: could’ve been like Jay ‘this baby is definitely yours’ Pemberton-Howard

Jay: That’s what happens, originality goes out of the window in favour of cutesy matching

Jay: and there’s no need for my middle name to do the work my actual already did

Mattie: Benny is lucky there’s been no 2nd child in his case

Mattie: I’ll just be here languishing in the forgotten middle 🥺

Mattie: At least Jay is a decent name, compared to her usual naming style, a win there

Jay: Yours is fine too, since Tilly never stuck

Mattie: Not on paper though

Mattie: Let’s just pretend your official name is Jacinta or something too 😆

Jay: Let’s not

Mattie: Alright spoilsport

Mattie: Keep your cool name 😎

Mattie: They can call me Mathilde, so Swiss

Jay: She owes me that much at least, for everything you don’t remember

Mattie: You can tell me about it

Mattie: when you feel like it

Jay: I’d be a proper spoilsport doing it now

Mattie: Of course not

Mattie: I told you I’m not going into this with 🤩

Jay: You’re doing this to find out for yourself what she’s like

Mattie: Partially

Mattie: Doesn’t mean you can’t talk about your experience with her too

Jay: It means there’s no point talking about it, you won’t be talked out of anything and I definitely won’t feel any benefit

Mattie: Fair enough

Mattie: So tell me what you guys have been up to

Mattie: Now I can think about anything that isn’t my exams

Jay: You mean well, but I remember her like a kid, I hate her and I am afraid of her like a kid, it’d sound crazy

Jay: maybe unreliable should be my middle name

Mattie: That makes sense, you have nothing else to go on

Mattie: and the potential risk of finding out what she’s like now outweighs any potential reward for you

Mattie: I do understand, it’s just different for me, that’s all

Mattie: It doesn’t mean either of us is wrong

Jay: I’m so glad it’s different for you, seriously

Mattie: I won’t say I’m so sorry for you

Mattie: because that sounds the opposite of how I want it too

Mattie: but you know

Jay: Yeah, don’t ever say that 😏

Mattie: anyway, you’ve turned out alright

Mattie: mostly 😉

Jay: Oh thanks

Jay: I’ve just been working btw, no news to rival yours

Mattie: Ahh, the joys of being old

Jay: Less cheek if you want to get to my age

Mattie: Sorry but sound like less of a grandma 😅

Mattie: You can redeem your cool and youthful points by helping me pick what to wear to the leaving party tonight

Jay: Surprised you want my help, but sure 😎

Mattie: It’s not my usual crowd that’s throwing it

Mattie: but like the entire year is invited, so I can’t not go

Mattie: I’ll need a little help to match the vibe, I think

Jay: Okay so expensive but not attention-seeking

Mattie: Definitely

Mattie: There’ll be enough people looking for attention without me even making that attempt, no thank you

Jay: What do you have rn that’s vintage or looks classic?

Mattie: [selection from your own wardrobe and Ava’s]

Mattie: 😬😬😬 idk how I’m going to decide in time

Jay: You should decide on the last one and keep your hair and make up lowkey, but the one before that if you’re thinking of a statement eye or lip

Mattie: A statement lip is not lasting the celebrations

Mattie: and I mean 🥂 not 💋 before you start

Jay: 💋 proof works for 🥂 too

Mattie: you have a point 🤔

Mattie: Ugh, I need food before I can concentrate

Jay: Before you go…

Jay: whenever you talk to the twins, ask them if they want to meet both of us

Mattie: Of course if they want to meet me they want to meet you too, dummy

Jay: It’s not a no from me, is what I meant though

Mattie: Okay, I will let them know

Mattie: I’m sure they will, why wouldn’t they

Jay: If she’s lied about us and Grandma hasn’t been allowed to say anything, they could think all kinds of things

Mattie: If they’re anything like me they’ll wanna find out for themselves

Mattie: besides, you were a little kid, I was a literal infant, what kind of shady bitches could we have really been, wouldn’t add up

Jay: We don’t know anything about what they’re like yet

Mattie: Come on though

Mattie: Who says no thanks to surprise cool older sisters

Jay: Venus

Mattie: Oosh, fair point

Mattie: I was mostly joking anyway, time will tell, they’ll be who they are and we’ll see if they want to know us too

Jay: Yeah, it’s out of our control

Mattie: and that’s okay

Mattie: breathe 😌

Jay: I’m fine, I’ve done this before

Mattie: True

Mattie: It’s a bit different this time though

Jay: Easier because we’re all older and I’m not getting a 3rd dad as well

Mattie: No luck on a different mum, I’m afraid

Mattie: We look a bit alike and that has to come from somewhere

Mattie: But seriously, don’t you think being younger was easier?

Mattie: like you can’t fully wrap your head around any of it so you just roll with it

Mattie: maybe that’s totally wrong

Mattie: it didn’t happen to me so I don’t know

Jay: I already had Ava and Rio when I needed one

Jay: being a little kid made it overwhelming and scary

Mattie: I’m sorry I couldn’t do much but cry and be annoying in various other ways a toddler is

Jay: How much you cried around her used to be my favourite thing about you, don’t apologise

Mattie: Well, it was my pleasure 😅

Mattie: and 🤞 I’ve gone up a bit in your estimations since for more than just 😭

Jay: Maybe a little bit, I suppose

Mattie: Charming 😏

Mattie: I’m feeling a tantrum coming on now anyway

Mattie: Couldn’t eat before that exam and now I’m hangry 😡😡🤬

Jay: I remember you saying you needed a 🍼

Jay: we can talk later, when you’re too hungover from the leavers party to call me an old dork or whatever else, that’s fine

Mattie: Attack when I’m weak 😲 rude, smart but rude

Mattie: I’ll try not to buttdial you past your bedtime, grandma 🤙✌️🤟

Jay: Noah’ll appreciate it, undoubtedly

Mattie: If that was an attempt to throw him under the bus as the old nerdy one

Mattie: Both can be true

Mattie: match made in heaven

Jay: Bye, Mattie

Mattie: Love you 💗💗

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worryinglyinnocent · 4 years

Text

Fic: Dead Man Walking (5/?)

It’s been 84 years! Enjoy nonetheless.

Summary: Prime Ministers don’t normally wake up in morgues after they’ve been murdered, but that’s exactly what Robert Sutherland has just done. Right in front of Lacey’s nose. With limited resources and not knowing who to trust, Sutherland and Lacey must work together to get to the bottom of the attempted assassination.

Based loosely on this dream I had.

Rated: T, eventually E.

Note: This is meant to be ‘darkly humorous and amusing mystery’ rather than ‘gripping political thriller’…

[One] [Two] [Three] [Four] [AO3]

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Dead Man Walking

Five

Lacey was alone in the living room with Sutherland. Mrs de Ville had vanished off somewhere and Carrie was outside talking to Ursula about the best way to get into Chequers without being questioned, trying to convince the taxi driver that everything was perfectly above board, honest.

Before, when it had just been her and Sutherland in the morgue, it hadn’t been anywhere near as awkward as it was now. Before, there had been much more urgency, and Sutherland had been a lot groggier from having just died and come back to life, and Lacey had had a lot more to focus on than the fact she was alone with the Prime Minister.

Now that she didn’t have to worry about someone coming along and finding them and she didn’t have to worry about keeping him safe from a bunch of civil servants who were probably the ones to kill him in the first place, things were much more awkward. For some reason, she kept replaying the moment she’d run into the morgue in her mind, and she could barely string more than two thoughts together before something in her brain would helpfully remind her that she’d seen the Prime Minister naked and that he did have a rather nice arse.

To be honest, the rest of him wasn’t too bad either. He’d look better if he weren’t quite so stressed, but Lacey had always had a bit of a soft spot for silver foxes. She might not agree with his party line, but that didn’t mean that she couldn’t find the man himself objectively attractive.

The silence in the living room stretched on, and Lacey wondered what she ought to say to fill it, rather than just sitting here staring at the man until someone came to rescue them from this void.

Thankfully, Sutherland spoke first.

“Thank you,” he said. “I don’t think that I really had the chance to express my gratitude back when we were in the hospital before, everything was a bit…”

“Frantic?” Lacey suggested.

“Yes.” Sutherland sighed. “I do really appreciate all your help. I think that there are quite a few people in your position who would have been quite happy to leave me to my fate. Or finish the job, you know.”

Lacey snorted. “Oh, believe me, I’ve been tempted over the last couple of years, and you and I are still going to have a discussion about student loan forgiveness at some point. But, ultimately, I’m a decent human being and I like to believe that you are too. And, you know, murder is bad, even if it does happen to people you don’t like.” She paused. “Well, it’s not that I don’t like you.” Good grief, why was she trying to justify herself? She’d saved the man’s life and snuck him out of the hospital; she didn’t need to be friends with him so why was she trying to ingratiate herself? “More that I don’t like your policies and the way your party thinks.”

“Fair enough.” Sutherland drained his coffee and made a face. “You’re right, maybe this experience has served to put me off coffee a bit.”

Lacey laughed. “I told you so. You know, when I was growing up, I always thought that politics was the most boring thing ever and I couldn’t believe that anyone would want to be Prime Minister. Now it’s got a lot more exciting. Although, that said, I still can’t believe that anyone would want to be Prime Minister when the rate of assassination just went up by a hundred per cent.”

“It would only have gone up by a hundred per cent if they had actually succeeded,” Sutherland pointed out.

“According to everyone who isn’t us, they did succeed.” Lacey shrugged. “Face it, you’re in a dangerous line of work. Not as dangerous as being the American president though. We’ve still got a while to go before we catch them up in terms of assassinated premiers.”

She paused, thinking deeply into her long-perceived notions of politics and politicians. Since she had one here, the top dog no less, she might as well get a few things off her chest. “Why did you want to become Prime Minister anyway?”

Sutherland sighed. “Because I thought that I could change the country and make people’s lives better. It’s only once you get into government that you realise just how hard that is. Power is always limited, and so it should be – think what would happen if there were no restraints in place.”

Lacey nodded. “Power corrupts and absolute power corrupts absolutely.”

“Exactly. It’s something that you’re all too aware of when you get to be in my position.”

“Ever been tempted?”

“What?”

“Ever been tempted to use your power for evil? I mean, come on, we’re slap bang in the middle of an excellent villain origin story here. Poisoned and left for dead by the people you trusted…”

Sutherland scoffed. “I wouldn’t trust Sir Albert as far as I could throw him.”

“You’re ruining my narrative here!” Lacey sighed. “Why do I bother? I should have left you in the morgue.”

She didn’t mean it, and the worst thing was that she knew Sutherland knew she didn’t mean it as well. He gave a little chuckle, but it came out more tired than anything, turning into a yawn that he tried and failed to mask.

It served to remind Lacey of how late it was – well, how early now, given that it was long past midnight – and that she too was running on empty. She wondered how long this limbo was going to last. She had done her part, so to speak, delivering the Prime Minister into safe hands, and yet here she was still, for some reason unwilling to go home and consider her job done.

She tried to justify it to herself by saying that Carrie couldn’t possibly allow her to go home now and possibly ruin the secret of Sutherland’s survival, but she knew deep down that she still felt the same sense of responsibility towards him that had driven her to get him out of the hospital in the first place. It was the same acute sense of justice that had fuelled her in her current career path – the need to see victims vindicated and the perpetrators of the crimes against them punished.

“I have to say, although I’ve not met many forensic scientists in my time, you’re not at all how I imagined one would be,” Sutherland said presently, startling Lacey out of her train of thought. Spooky that he should mention it just as she was pondering it herself.

“Well, it’s not all the glamour of CSI,” she said. “Not that CSI is all that glamorous most of the time. Most of it’s sitting in laboratories looking through microscopes. And not all forensic scientists are nerds in lab coats like procedurals would have you believe. Some of us ride mopeds and rescue politicians in our spare time.”

She leaned back in her chair, running a hand through her hair and wishing it were possible for her to teleport out of the situation, get a few hours’ sleep in her own bed, then blink back in as if nothing had happened and continue the conversation. She didn’t want to leave Sutherland and Carrie to fend for themselves against whatever internal workings had brought them to this, but at the same time, she wasn’t really sure what she, Ursula and Mrs de Ville could do to help them.

She was saved from any further awkwardness by the entry of the lattermost into the room again.

“I’ve made up the spare beds,” she said, completely matter of fact. “I for one have been completely exhausted by this ordeal and if my errant daughter doesn’t come back in here soon I shall go to bed without saying goodnight or getting the latest in the plan off her.” She paused. “Although, that said, if Ursula wants to stay over as well, then people will have to start bunking up.”

Her gaze travelled from Sutherland to Lacey and back again, giving a sage nod before she disappeared out of the room.

Lacey leapt out of her seat, following the older woman out, not for any reason other than to get away from Sutherland’s physical presence whilst she also had the mental image of bunking up with him. She should not be finding the Prime Minister, of all people, this attractive. She definitely should not be thinking about sleeping with him. She absolutely should not be thinking about sleeping with him when he’d been functionally dead just a few hours ago. The poor man would need rest and recuperation, not riding into the mattress.

Although, given his current levels of stress, perhaps riding him into the mattress would provide the relaxation that he needed.

She stepped out into the driveway, where Carrie and Ursula were still very confidential beside the taxi. Carrie noticed her.

“Are you leaving us, darling?” she asked. “I was going to ask if you wanted to participate in the great expedition.”

Lacey shook her head. “No, no. I’m still here. I’m in this deep already, I might as well stick it out to the end.”

Ursula nodded. “That’s the principle I’m working on too. Anyway, we’re off to Chequers and praying we don’t get killed. Are you coming?”

“No, I don’t think so. Someone’s got to stay here and keep an eye on Sutherland. We don’t want anyone coming and finishing the job, and no offence to your mum, but I think she might need back up.”

“No offence taken. I’d best let her know that we’re going. Actually, can you do that, darling? If I tell her then she’ll want to come too, and whilst I just about managed to keep her reigned in at the hospital, I don’t trust her in the vicinity of government buildings. Wish us luck! We’re going to need it!” She flung herself into the back of the taxi and waved out of the window.

“We’re going to need more than luck,” Ursula muttered as she got into the driver’s seat. “We’re going to need a bloody miracle.”

The taxi backed out of the driveway just as the sun was beginning to come up, and Lacey felt the events of the day beginning to weigh heavy on her shoulders. All she really wanted now was a nap, but she had thrown her lot in with Carrie and Sutherland for better or worse.

Just as she was turning to go back inside and ponder her next steps, her phone buzzed with the arrival of another message. It was from her father again, and she remembered that she had never responded to his first frantic question of if she had stolen the Prime Minister.

Where are you? Is everything all right?

Lacey felt a sharp pang of guilt that her dad was so worried about her. Although she didn’t want to tell him the full extent of what was going on, she knew that she had to let him know that she was safe. Before she could reply, another message arrived.

Is you-know-who alive?

She snorted, immediately reminded of Harry Potter, and typed out a quick response. She loved the fact that he was using a strange little kind of code, but then again, she wouldn’t put it past the government to be tapping their phones whilst all this upheaval was going on and the Civil Service were desperately trying to find the Prime Minister’s corpse.

Yes, y-k-w is alive. I am safe and well and hiding out with him. Being taken care of by an old lady with a taste for gin and cigarette holders. I’ll tell you everything tomorrow. Well. Later today.

She paused before sending and added: I’ll call you at midday.

Hopefully by then, she’d have more of a plan, and if something did go terribly wrong and she ended up imprisoned in a basement at Chequers, or, in a terrible worst case scenario, in a morgue herself, then her dad would know to send out a search party if she didn’t check in.

His response came a moment later.

Stay safe, Lace. Keep y-k-w safe too.

She smiled and stepped back into the house, closing the door on the world outside and hoping that whatever Carrie and Ursula got up to at Chequers, they would be both successful and quick about it, so that her life could continue back on the nice and boring course that it had been taking before.

Lacey already knew, however, that it would likely never be quite the same again.

#rumbelle fic #Sutheracey #anyelle #anyem #Lacey French #Robert Sutherland #Cruella de Vil #Fic: Dead Man Walking

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kheta · 5 years

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Dragon saves Ace and Rogue for reasons

My Disgraceful Little Shit

Another one of my trashed-fics that I cnba finishing even tho I really liked it. Mentions of genocide and execution, but nothing explicit. Head canon heavy.

Looking at the man he’d raised, as loosely perhaps as the word raised could be used, Garp felt affection laced with fear course through him. His little shit was leaving, without attempting to say goodbye either.

Or, how one conversation changed everything.

Monkey. D’s are many things, including but not limited to: exponentially talented, ambitious, stubborn to a fault, craving for adventure and kind-hearted. Some lesser known fact about them however, are their innate inability to display affection subtly, their uncanny ability to be in the middle of all troubles, their selfish tendencies and unfortunately the consequences of being adventure craving, kind-hearted idiots. Their too big hearts caused conflict with their wanderlust, especially when their displays of affection often proved too brash, too intense for people to handle. These traits had sculpted Garp in many ways, lead him onto a path he never regretted, but in his rare wistful moments when he was more Marine than he was Monkey.D, he’d look back and wonder if the things he had given up were worth the adventures he’d lived through.

He’d loved his wife, would have given the whole adventure scene up if she had asked, reluctant as he’d been. But she had never asked and selfish as he could be, he had ignored the growing instabilities their love caused. Just as he had craved adventures, she had loathed being stuck in one place. It was no surprise then, when she’d left their son in the hands of a friend they’d made back on his home island.

Dragon had been raised well, his heart wide, his brain ever-curious and his will to live strong. Garp considers it a shame that him and his mother couldn’t take credit for that. Dragon’s independence meant he often took responsibility for himself, even the first fourteen years when him and his wife had shuffled their schedules so Dragon was never without at least one of his parents, Dragon proved to be independent and asocial.

Though he loved his parents, he hadn’t needed them in a long time.

(When Garp had met his wife again, him a certified hero, her an extravagant traveller, he hadn’t asked her. Hadn’t wondered loudly if their love could have survived. They had kissed softly before she answered the question he didn’t ask, desperate and loving, but so changed from the courses of their life. Him more scarred than before, her as beautiful as the day he’d last seen her three years before, lips gentle and caressing. Her answer was a whisper in his ear, head cocked in his shoulder while his arms were loosely wrapped around her waist. She hadn’t asked him to give up adventure, because she’d never stay anyway. They could love each other, but it would never be enough when adventure were concepts engraved in their very beings, and he a Marine and her, an outlaw.)

“Seventeen years and I don’t even get a bye, you little shit,” his voice booms boisterous as ever.

Said little shit snorts, but turns to face his father, cloak covering the shitty tattoos Garp had loudly disapproved of, though his son cared little.

“I’ll see you again,” he replies after a while.

Chuckling, Garp moves forward and punches Dragon. It’s a punch that would heavily bruise a regular guy, but instead only leaves his son tense. Neither his mother nor his father pulled their punches with him, not since he was a child anyway.

“Have you gone and told your mother about your stupid plans?” Garp questions needlessly.

After all, Dragon saw him at least once every six months and he’d pieced together the little shits ideas himself. His mother wouldn’t have a single clue about the independent shit storm their son was planning, though she’d sure as hell be proud. Perhaps sad that he wasn’t a pirate, like he was sad that he wasn’t a marine, but proud they’d both be.

Dragon just looks at him.

Shrugging carelessly Garp sits on the roof, weary from the day’s events and looks up.

“Are you sure about this? As soon as you make a move against the World Government, I won’t be able to help you. The second you start this, it’s just you and your own resources.”

Empty words, nothing could sway Dragon at this point. Maybe a year or two ago, but frankly Garp was never one to control his son’s life. If the shit didn’t want to be a marine, then for all he could drag him kicking and screaming, he’d still be a damn useless, if not powerful marine.

If he wanted to overthrow a few countries, then Garp could only watch.

“I’ve planned for months, I know what will happen.”

He turns to face the direction of their home, body unreadable, voice stoic. It’s a funny image, because Garp can only see the child he’d raised with an indignant scowl, a love for meat and the open body language of a child.

Laughing Garp tugs at the cloak until his son falls next to him, then slings an arm around his broad shoulder. Dragon grunts in surprise, disgruntled. He’d miss this little shit, rebellious attitude and all.

“My little shit will become a disgraceful little shit very soon, so indulge this old man why don’t you.”

Next to him Dragon scowls, looking at his father unimpressed, but makes no move to leave.

Garp’s grip tightens to a painful level across the shoulder, he was a selfish old-man who never wanted to let go. He’d let go of so much today.

His wife.

His pride.

His rival.

Now, his son.

“Is it true, does he have a child?” Dragon asks, because tact and subtlety were useless against his father half the time.

Garp shrugs, careful not to answer. They both know who Dragon’s asking about though.

“I think– If I had a son, or a daughter… I think, I’d have done what you and mum did… I’d never be able to raise them, especially not after today.”

It’s a quiet admission, some of Garp wonders if he’s going to be stuck with another kid today. The thought irks him, his stupid shit better not have knocked his lovely girlfriend up just before becoming a wanted man!

“Ouch! What the hell old man!”

Garp glared.

“If you tell me I’ve had secret grandchild and you’re dumping ‘em with me, I’ll kill you! I’ll kill you ten times! Who do you think you are, you’re only seventeen! Moreover who are you calling old m-”

His growls are thrown off by a hearty laugh.

“Whatever, I’m just saying for future reference.”

Quieting the two just look at each other.

Then, because Garp’s a sentimental old fool, he blabs loudly and it might not be the case, but if he could save a life he would. Especially if it’s his grandsons.

“They’re beginning a cull in a few weeks,” his voice is dark, while Dragon tenses, “, anyone due to have a child in the next eleven months are suspected, even more so if they have no husband. The cull, it starts first in the South, because Roger was there the longest. Then West, I’m trying to convince them that East is fine…. It’s not working out too well, some of the upper echelon are arguing that his home is the only place where he’d hide his own child. They’ve met some resistance with the North though, the Vinsmoke’s caught wind and aren’t too thrilled, Judge and Sora were due to marry soon. Not like they have much choice, but the underworlds certainly been safer than it is right now.

“It’s– Few people know about it, they don’t want the government pinned for the mass genocide of an entire generation but that’s what it is. Sengoku’s tried to reason with Kong, he got a three month suspension posing as vacation. Tsuru’s gone off on an actual vacation, I don’t know why but I think she’s trying to stop this from the outside. Or prevent a whole fucking genocide….They’re even having the balls to call it a necessary evil–– There’s no way I can stop this, if they think for a second the baby might be Roger’s, they’ll stop at nothing. I’ve tried to reason but, they’re being fools.”

Disgust taints his voice. It’s classified info, but Garp’s always bent and snapped the rules to his pleasing.

If Dragon happened to be able to save some children, then there’s no way it could be traced to Garp anyway.

Only three marines in the world knew of his son. They had never met him, never seen photos of him, only knew his name and how he described him, an energetic tyke named Monkey. D Dragon, who regularly bought his father birthday presents. Who was strong but stupid and had no connection to whatever other Dragon his soon to be disowned son would become. They didn’t even know his age and Garp’s thankful that his big fat mouth didn’t disclose any vital information about his son.

Thankful he had seventeen years with this stupid little shit, because heavens know his parents had less time with him before he up and left.

“I love you,” he whispers solemnly.

Most people would think he’d blubber, but when he gave up on changing people, it was a cold thing. Frosting his bones into silence.

There was no changing Dragon. He was a D. Moreover, he was a Monkey D. They never really changed, just grew.

“I love you too,” he gets up back turned and Garp hears the words before they even leave his mouth.

They finish the sentence in unison, “But sometimes love isn’t enough…”

Grinning, Garp heaves a sigh and clenches his fist. Monkey D’s didn’t say I love you, it was usually an action for them. A punch to remind them to come home. A push, to let you know there’s nothing wrong with moving forward or looking back. After this, there’d be no home to come back to and no punch to remind the other of what he had to live for, only words and memories.

“Would there ever had been a chance of you staying?… If I had stayed?”

Gosh he sounds like a sap, but the regret lingers and it’s not just his son he’s asking. It’s his wife. His friends and his brother, his father. People that never could understand a D, for all they loved them. Everyone he’s had to give up to keep being Garp The Hero.

“Probably...But I would’ve hated it, just like you. I’d have stayed and hated and grown bitter, because I’d felt caged.”

But you would have stayed, the selfish, selfish parts of him screams.

He lets Dragon disappear then, a show of shave that Garp hardly remembers teaching and with his son gone, Garp cries into his large calloused fingers. His too big heart was hurt so much today, it needed a few minutes for the hurt to heal. But Dragon leaving had reminded him he needed to go as well, before Sengoku caught him and forced him into postponing his visit to Rogue for too long. Garp pushes his heartache to the side, wipes his tears and searches for the most discreet dingy he could find.

He’d lost his wife and failed his son, he wouldn’t let another wife and son be failed because of him.

(And maybe in another world Garp would have sensed his son’s haki, but the pain of finally letting his wife go would be too much and he’d never get the closure of saying goodbye to his little shit. In another world Sengoku would find him and trap him into active duty. This is a world where Garp hides his heart behind his uniform and his promises would be kept, but tucked behind due date after due date, and when he finds Rogue it would be too late. But that tale, is one that’s already been told.)

And then:

Rogue lives, Ace is marginally happier growing up and I honestly don’t know where it was gonna go after that. I’m pretty sure I had plans of Ace meeting Koala and Sanji early on, maybe even Robin bc I feel like Rogue would 100% hunt down this child wanted by the world, bc fuck that was nearly her son but like. Idk how it was gonna go, just that somehow canon Strawhats and canon 2nd division commander Ace we’re still going to be relevant aspects of the story.

#oh well trash fic now #trashed this story #trash fic #one piece #portgas d rouge #portgas d. ace #monkey d. garp #monkey d. dragon #one piece au #one piece fanfiction

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scratchybeardsweetmouth · 5 years

Text

Iain Glen on His Twisty ‘Mrs. Wilson’ Character and the End of ‘Game of Thrones’

By Christina Radish April 7, 2019 Image via PBS Entire Q&A Portion (x):

MRS WILSON Collider: I had heard a bit about [Mrs Wilson’s] story prior to seeing this project, but it’s so fascinating and compelling to learn about the details of it all. IAIN GLEN: “I’m very grateful for how well the whole thing has turned out. I feel for Ruth, and I’m so pleased for her. It was an extraordinary journey that she went on with this. She knew she had this incredibly complicated history in her family, with this one figure, in particular, which had been a part of her childhood. And then, she became an actor and the pressure gently built to manifest the story for a drama. And then, she had to put the right people together, find a fantastic writer, and find the right production to realize it. So, for it to have been come out and have done as well as it has, it’s an amazing journey to go on. It’s very easy to look at this and say, “This is extraordinary, what happened.” It’s a very different thing to find the right writer to actually structure it and make the story follow revelation after revelation, to come out satisfyingly, and for us to retain sympathy, throughout. I think that it’s a very compelling story, psychologically, and that’s what I’m most pleased about. It’s based in the truth, so it’s very, very riveting, which is what you look and hope for in drama.” Did you know, from the beginning, that this was a true story and that it was her family’s story? “I did, yeah. They asked me to do it, and then Ruth and I met in Belfast. All I had done was read three scripts, which had been sent to me, while she’d lived with this project, for years and years and years. But we actually had a very similar take on it, and that was quite reassuring for both of us, in a funny way.” Did you ever have a moment where it just seemed bizarre and surreal that you were playing your co-star’s actual grandfather while she was playing her own grandmother? “I had a little moment, yes, I did. It doesn’t seem like a significant moment, but Ruth’s mum and dad came, and they played little extra roles within the drama in one scene. I was in the make-up caravan, getting into being Alec Wilson, and Ruth was beside me, getting into being Alison Wilson, and then her mum and dad came in and went, “Hello, how are you?” She sat in there and asked me how it was all going and said, “I’m very pleased that you’re playing the role.” It was just a bizarre, strange mix of reality and drama going on, where sometimes you can feel incredibly silly dressing up in funny clothes and pretending to be people. All I can say is that Ruth and her family always made it feel that they were really happy with what I was up to, and to just to keep doing what I was doing.” You were playing a real guy, but you couldn’t talk to him because he’s not with us anymore, and it seems that nobody really fully knew who he was or why he did what he did. How did you approach finding him? “What you’re actually asking is, what was the motivator? What was it that made you do the things that you did? We know what he did. We know that he got involved with different women, and that he married them and had children with them. We also know that he was of the Secret Service, and that he was a very successful novelist. So, I had all of the facts, and then I had scenes that showed those things. You have to be a little bit careful, as an actor, to not want to rationalize it so much that you have a total clarity of the subtext that’s going on. All you can do is play each scene for what it is. You just play each moment for what it is, and you let it add up to what it adds up to. In his lifetime, all of his various wives had no idea, whatsoever, that he had these other scenarios going on.So, in any given moment, during the course of their realities, there were no signals saying, “Something weird is going on here,” or that he had another life that he was not telling anyone about. Otherwise, it makes them all quite stupid people. He was very able to be in the present and inhabit the moment that he was inhabiting. That’s what he had to do. His life was endangered, if his cover was blown, so that made him a very successful operative. Without shirking it, I didn’t try to rationalize. I didn’t try to find the answers because, if Ruth’s family, who had studied him and tried to understand, hadn’t quite worked out, it felt silly of me to try.” It’s so interesting because he obviously loved each of these families, and they all really loved him. “They really did.” If he was some kind of a monster, they wouldn’t have had the feelings that they had for him. “That’s right. And the wives wouldn’t have fallen in love with him, wanted to marry him, and wanted to have children with him. It’s a funny mix. When I think about it, my head just explodes. I think, “Jesus Christ, that would be too complicated!” It’s hard enough with one wife and the three children that I have. But people are wired differently. The context of the war years and how that affected people is really important. People did different things, when life was not so taken for granted and you lived in a very endangered situation, all the time, especially when you were living in a city that was getting bombed, on a nightly basis. Perhaps you have a desire to live life or generate life in those moments, I don’t know. There was no doubt that, to some degree, he was a fantasist, but it all got a bit gray around the edges. It’s definitely wrong. You shouldn’t marry somebody when you’re already married. There’s no doubt that’s wrong, and that’s not a good thing. That should probably not happen. And you definitely shouldn’t do it a third and fourth time. But all I had to do was make him somebody where you could understand why they fell in love with him. He was charismatic and exotic, and he was a man in uniform who wrote novels and was successful. I just tried to play that person, rather than having a judgment eye about him.” Did you read any of his novels? “I did, yeah. That was probably my only real significant research. I had the diary and the memoirs that had been written by Alison, and he wrote about 20 books, but I didn’t read them all. His famous ones were these Wallace mysteries, so I read those. In a way, the main character of the Wallace mysteries was a projection of himself, so that was quite revealing. He was the person that he would like to have been perceived as being, particularly from those that employed him, and then turned on him. It’s lovely when you can read the words written from the mind of the person that you’re playing. It just puts you as close as you’re gonna get.” By the time that you got to the last day of playing this character, do you feel like you had a different appreciation for who he was? “Yeah. I always really liked him, and I didn’t judge him. I think he gave a great deal. I know it’s fucked up. I don’t underestimate the wrong that he did. I really don’t. But he did give a great deal for his country, sacrificed his life, and tore himself apart to fight the cause for his country, and he tore himself domestically apart, as well. For whatever reason, he was treated poorly, in the end, and that gave me great sympathy for the man. If anything, I felt more sympathetic towards him, at the end of playing him, than when I started.” GAME OF THRONES You were working on Game of Thrones when this came up. What’s it been like for you, as an actor, to be a part of a show that is one of the biggest, most popular, most epic shows, ever, and you’re one of the last men standing, of the original cast? “It’s been fantastic. I know. I did a head count, and there’s only between 12 or 15, who were in the pilot and every single season. There are not too many of us, which is good, and even less who were a part of every season, through this season. Some people have disappeared, and then reemerged. It’s been great. It’s been a really joyous journey. It’s now perceived as a massive, global hit, but I remember the days when we thought, ‘What the hell are we doing?!’ We were half-way through the first season thinking, ‘Are we just making a pile of poo?’ We had no idea, really. You need an objective response. And then, over the seasons, the belief and faith in it grew, and our faith in ourselves grew. It was probably half-way through Season 3 or 4 that we thought, ‘We’re actually onto something here.’ It’s been an amazing journey to go on. And Dan [Weiss] and David [Benioff] are very, very lovely, cool showrunners, who made us all feel very valued and special. As an actor, every job that you do, you give it your best shot, but you have no idea how it’s gonna get received. So, when you end up with something that is received incredibly well, is universally critically approved of, and is a massive commercial hit, then you better friggin’ enjoy it because it doesn’t get any better. The fact that it’s not just for a film that’s there and gone, but for a drama that’s kept coming back for almost a decade, it’s been a very special time, for us all. I’d say that it doesn’t matter what generation – whether it’s the young ones who came to it and made their name, or the people who’ve been around more, like myself – all of us individually look at each other and think, ‘We don’t fuckin’ believe it. This is crazy!’ That sensation of feeling that we really lucked out is a nice thing because none of us go, ‘Yeah, we deserve this.’ It’s just amazing that it’s turned out as successful as it has, and that it’s transformed how people perceive us. I could whine about, ‘Why don’t people remember me when I did this at the Royal Shakespeare Company?,’ but it’s okay. I don’t have a problem with that. I’m always really delightfully surprised when someone mentions a theater piece that they’ve seen me do because probably .001% of the people who watch Thrones went to see any theater show that I ever did. I always feel lucky, and it’s been nothing but a good thing.” Do you feel like this final season justifies the longer episode lengths? “I absolutely do. Could you have created two more episodes and have had them all the same length? Sure. But there are monumental waves to the different movements that happen during this last season, and it makes sense to me that they’re feature-length. The way people receive it has changed, as well. When you start something, you want to grab people’s attention and keep them, but then you get to a point where you’ve got people’s attention. You can allow yourself longer movement within the course of an episode, to get from your beginning to your end, in each wave of the changing drama. The whole production has real faith in itself, so it feels right to me.” Were you given scripts for the whole season, or were you just given your pieces? “No, we always got the scripts. That was true, from the word go. The only thing that was usual about it, this time, was that we all gathered together to read the entire season, before we began. That was very emotional and amazing. We were all around this massive table, with all of the various directors for the season. It was a very special time. If they’re to be believed, some people said that they were reading it for the first time, and didn’t know where the story was going. Kit Harrington always said that, and I think I believe him. I don’t know. We’d only had a few days to look at it, but it was Dan and David’s way of saying, “Here we go, we’re all in this together. This is the story that we’re telling.” It’s such a big production, and we all go off in various directions, so it was nice to gather everyone in one place, to begin with. We’ve kept people waiting, and I thank people for their patience, but I hope it’ll make sense, when people see it, that it took a bit of time to get it right.”

#iain glen #iain glen interview #interview #collider #mrs wilson #got

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tmorriscode · 6 years

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Yours, Charlie

(Charlie Weasley, Hufflepuff!MC, pre-relationship)

I base all these imagines on my own MC, an actual human disaster/apprentice curse breaker who will eventually leave curse breaking to become an adventure archaeologist. Yay, continuity! You can read the other imagines here.

—

People graduate with good intentions to stay in touch. They go their separate ways. They change. Life happens. They grow apart.

Then one day, they meet up and discover that these friends who were once as comfortable to be with as your favorite pair of old boots, are simply different people.

This is not what happens to you.

—

“Dear (Y/N),

Thanks for inviting me to see Greece with you, but I’m not going to be able to visit.

Getting kitted out for the job has taken more of my first paychecks than I anticipated. (I know I complained about needing a new wand in my last letter, but I also needed fire-proof clothing, and a better broom. My old Cleansweep just wouldn’t cut it. I’m thinking of getting their newer model. )

I’m going to try pulling in extra shifts on my off days for a while so I can afford everything.

The Weird Sisters at the Acropolis sounds like it would have been brilliant. Maybe think of me when you stand under the stars listening to Do the Hippogriff.

If you ever find yourself in Romania, look me up.

Yours,

Charlie

You put the letter aside and stare out the window of the flat you share with nine other apprentice curse breakers. (It’s not so bad. Most of you sleep in magically-expanded luggage. It feels rather more like a dormitory than a flat).

You can certainly understand having to squeeze every galleon until it shouts for mercy.

But you really wanted to see Charlie.

You’re making loads of friends, and there is talk that you might get to head up your own exploration of a cursed tomb.

But outside of sporadic letters, you’ve barely heard anything of your old Hogwarts crew.

Of course Bill, your honorary big brother, had been in the habit of writing you letters already. Mostly filled with curse-breaking advice he learned in Egypt.

Rowan tells you that Barnaby is happy in his new job with the Ministry’s Beasts division. (Barnaby never was much for writing. Or even literacy). They partnered him and Lizard up. So at best, they confuse the illegal beast smugglers into giving up.

As for Rowan, your first and best friend, she’s working on rare and unusual wood acquisition for Ollivander. (And enjoying the obscure minutiae). It’s not teaching at Hogwarts, but Dumbledore had been kind when he suggested that she get some life experience and perhaps specialize in a field of study before applying for a teaching position.

Speaking of the ministry, Tonks made it into the aurors and Tulip is doing something she can’t talk about in the unspeakables department.

Ben is an apprentice healer with St. Mungos, and Penny is working with the hospital’s potions department.

No one has heard from Talbot since the leaving ceremony. You wouldn’t be surprised if he decided to live as a bird somewhere. Despite your best efforts to friend that boy, he always did fly solo.

Andre has been the most successful of your lot. He is on the reserve team for Pride of Portree. They’ve a rather deep bench, so he may not get to play this year. But he’s drawn some notice in the fashion world by wearing his own designs to various Quiddich functions. He writes that Madame Malkin even discussed the possibility of carrying his designs in her shop.

Jacob is home, letting Mum drive him mental while he studies to take his NEWTS.

It feels like you’re all drifting apart.

Charlie has been the most faithful to answer your letters. Out of all your friends, his letters are the ones you find yourself rereading. He’s the one you find yourself thinking of most.

On one hand, you could invite your new curse breaker friends along to the concert. They’d probably all end up going. You’d stay out too late, drink too much. In the morning someone would do an embarrassed sneak from a magical trunk that was not theirs, hoping the others didn’t notice, while the rest of you pretended not to see.

Get up, break some curses, bring back ancient treasure, take siesta, get up, party half the night and fall in bed exhausted. Then repeat.

It sounds glamorous when you write to Tonks about it. But it’s actually become extremely monotonous. And there’s an edge of loneliness about the whole thing. For all that your roommates talk big about being out on their own for the first time, a lot of the boasting sounds like it’s covering up for homesickness.

Picking apart the tangle of your emotions, you realize that was the real reason you wanted to see Charlie so bad. You miss his quiet, stable presence. You’d never realized until he lived an entire country away, exactly how much you needed that grounding force in your life.

Right. You decide that the mountain would just have to go to Muhammad.

So you pick up your biro and write.

—

Dear Charlie,

Don’t worry about the concert. In all honesty, I probably shouldn’t spend my paycheck on tickets, anyway.

I’m not really bringing in much treasure yet. I volunteered to go through a cache in an old monastery up in Thessaloniki. There are some interesting books there, but not much else. I think the goblins were hoping for gold votive items.

They let me keep the books. I’m meeting with the Library of Alexandria’s acquisitions wizard, who may buy the ones I don’t want.

I do have a three-day weekend coming up, and I don’t really want my co-workers to drag me out to another taverna “to toast Dyonisis” one more time. We’re supposed to stay sharp to avoid curses, but most of them are doing this job while hung over. I’m a little afraid that one of them might not come back one day.

If your offer stands, and I wouldn’t be in the way, I’d like to visit. I think I could make the apparition in three jumps. So I wouldn’t need to spend anything on portkey or flue (and you know I’ve never had a broom).

I don’t expect you to entertain me. I’d probably just spend the whole time reading.

Yours,

(Y/N)

Charlie puts the letter down, and rests his chin in his hand. Your letter leaves him with a warm feeling inside.

He looks around the tent he’s been assigned with a sigh. It’s not much.

You’ve written that you’re sharing a flat with a number of apprentice curse breakers. That you’ve set up a bedroom/study inside a haversack with an extension on it. So you’re no stranger to Spartan living.

He grins to himself. Given your posting, you probably know more about the Spartans and the way they lived than he does.

He knows that he can’t set aside time to spend with you, even if he’d like to. (And he would like to. Just— there’s a new clutch of hatchlings. And they’re brilliant!)

Now you, here, would be a distraction from the work he needs (wants) to do.

But he offered. And deep down, he knows he’d feel lighter just knowing you were in the same space, even if you were ships that pass in the night.

Even for stolen moments as he rushes to work earlier than he has to. (“Weasley!” Godwin, His supervisor shouted at him this morning, “If you fall off your broom because you didn’t get enough sleep, I’m going to personally hex you!”) or comes back and collapses face-first into his bed.

With a sigh, he grabs a fresh parchment and composes his letter.

—

Dear (Y/N)

If you want a place to retreat to, I have an open tent.

I won’t be around much, sorry to say. We just hatched our first successful clutch of Romanian Longhorns In nearly three years. I’ve been put in charge of the dawn to 3 P.M. shift in the nursery.

Also, I smell like regurgitated chicken guts and brandy most days. I’m mostly used to it, but I’m told the smell lingers.

Just warning you.

Yours,

Charlie

—

When you appear at the apparition point, no one is there to greet you. You look about for a moment with a heavy heart, wondering if maybe Charlie forgot. Then you shrug the hurt and disappointment away. He did say he was consumed with the dragons. Getting upset at him for being dragon-obsessed after all this time would be pointless. You may as well ask water not to be wet.

You’ll just have to find your own way.

You’ve taken three steps when an Olive-skinned woman with black eyes bustles up to you. She exudes confidence and competence in a way that reminds you of McGonagall.

“Are you here for the reserve?” She asks. Her accent sounds like she might be from around Bristol.

“Um. . . Yes?” You wonder why Charlie never mentioned that he was sending someone.

“Good! Follow me.”

You hitch up your haversack and fall in line behind her.

“I’m Godwin. You can call me Ma’am for now. If you’re still here next week, you can call me by my name. We’ll have a tent for you by the end of the day, but we’re short-handed for now. Everyone wants to play with the new hatchies and no one wants to shovel the dung.” She sounds exasperated.

With a start, you realize that Godwin thinks that you’re a hopeful dragonologist. You consider correcting her - but then again, she did say they needed help.

Lending a helping hand has always been your weakness. Anything from the hospital wing to the Three Broomsticks. If you were asked, you’d roll up your sleeves.

If Charlie was unable to even meet you, then perhaps the least you could do is lighten his and his co-workers load.

—

Charlie looks at the position of the sun, then swears. You were supposed to apparate in about an hour ago. He takes off for the apparition point at a run. When he gets there, an annoyed wizard sits, surrounded by bags.

“Have you seen a witch?” Charlie holds his hand up to indicate your height. “She’d have been carrying a haversack, and possibly wearing a sweater with an initial on it?”

“Are you having me on?” The wizard snaps. “I’m supposed to start work today. But no one met me.” He has a nasally whine that sets Charlie’s teeth on edge.

Charlie scratches his neck. He has a sinking feeling that he knows where you went.

—

You’ve scooped most of the composted dung pile into fertilizer bags when Charlie turns up with Godwin. He seems unsurprised to see you in your Wellies and dungarees. Godwin frowns at you like you’ve personally offended her.

“Hi Charlie!” You wave cheerfully at him. “It doesn't matter if you smell like chicken guts now. I think I might smell worse.”

Charlie rolls his eyes. “It figures I’d find you here.”

“Why did you let me think you were a new hire?” Godwin berates you.

You lean on your shovel. “You seem like you needed the help. And I don’t mind the work.”

She throws her hands in the air. “You must have been a Hufflepuff.”

Charlie laughs at that. A deep, hearty sound that you’ve sorely missed. “Come on, (Y/N), let’s get you cleaned up, and you can come meet the hatchlings.”

—

Dear Charlie,

Thanks for inviting me up for a visit. I enjoyed getting to meet your co-workers and seeing the reserve.

Guess who got to explore the ruins on Mount Parnassus? That’s right! Yours truly. We located a chest of coins paid to the Oracle of Delphi in exchange for her prophecy.

Did you know that to make a prophecy, the oracle first sat on a tripod over a chasm, breathing in fumes until she was high as a kite? And that those fumes were said to come from the decomposing remains of an ancient dragon that Apollo slew? (So much about divination class makes sense now.)

I’m sending you a scroll that has Homer’s account of the battle between Apollo and the dragon. It was part of my share of the treasure. (I seem to have trouble choosing sensible treasure like gold, when there are books that no one but me wants).

Of course, it’s written in Greek, so you probably can’t read it. But maybe your dragon reserve would like it for their library.

At any rate, I’m due for another long weekend next month. If you’d like some company, I’d love to visit again.

Yours,

(Y/N)

#charlie weasley #hphmmc #hphm #hogwarts mystery imagine #hogwarts mystery fanfic #hogwarts mystery headcanon #hogwarts mystery #jacob’s sibling

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everlarkbirthdaygifts · 6 years

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Happy Birthday, vmariainez!

Today, we wish a very Happy Birthday to @vmariainez! We hope you’re having a wonderful birthday, and celebrating in style. To kick the party up a notch, @ally147writes has written a story just for you!

AN: Happy birthday, @vmariainez! I opted to go with your prompt; Katniss learning she’s secretly royal. Unbeta’d, and kind of unfinished since 1) I think there’s a million places to take this particular prompt that I can’t cover in a single birthday drabble, and, 2) I’ve got uni work I need to get back to immediately, but I hope you enjoy it anyway :)

When the first letter comes, Katniss assumes it’s just a weird scam. Sure, the seal in the corner for the tiny, far-off nation of Panem looks official (to her untrained eye, at least), and the thick paper far nicer than average, run-of-the-mill printer paper. But the sheer insanity of the words has her snorting in her morning coffee and throwing the page in the smouldering remains of Peeta’s tiny brick oven fire.

When the second letter comes a week later, her temper flares. Do the scammers think she’s an idiot? An easy target? Why not go after someone like old Effie Trinket in the apartment downstairs? She’d fall for something like this hook, line, and sinker.

His Royal Highness has deceased… next in line… future Queen… please contact immediately…

Royalty. Christ, pick a better one. She might have been able to believe outstanding debt, or that a Nigerian prince desperately needs her help.

Assholes.

When the third, fourth, and fifth letters arrive, her rage reaches a pitch she’s never known before. Not even Peeta’s gentle touches and soft-spoken words can calm her.

She paces the length of their small kitchen, five steps up and down, while Peeta leans back against their narrow sliver of bench space and reads the most recent missive with a mild frown. Schemes like this must be illegal, and the way they’re pelting her with letters like they’re Harry Potter’s Hogwarts invitations has got to be harassment. Which government department would you even report this sort of thing to, anyway?

“They’re, uh… persistent,” Peeta says at last.

Katniss halts in place and rolls her eyes. Is that all he’s got to say? “They’re liars.”

Peeta shrugs. “Maybe. But even liars would get tired by now.” He sets the letter down on the bench and crosses his arms over his broad chest. “Do you think there could be even a shred of truth in what they’re saying?”

Katniss shakes her head. “Why would I think that? There’s no… there’s no possible way. It’s a shitty hoax, Peeta. Nothing more.”

He drums his fingers against the bench. “You know, I’ve researched Panem,” he says. “Just recent news and stuff. Their king did pass away last week.”

“So? They’ve done their research. They’re competent scammers.”

“The royal family’s name is Stratford, the same as your mother’s maiden name,” he presses. “And the photo of the king and queen they had on the website… they looked an awful lot like your mother.” His gaze shifts to the floor while his finger traces the edges of the seal in the letters’ corner, the silhouette of a bird mid-flight, an arrow grasped in its beak. “How much do you actually know about your mother’s life before she came to the States?”

Katniss opens her mouth to reply, but the more she considers the question, the less she thinks she has an answer. Her mother met her father, emigrated, married, had two kids, did the whole Happily Ever After thing until it all came crumbling down. That was that. That was all Katniss needed to know.

Wasn’t it?

“Is it really impossible?” Peeta goes on, taking advantage of her silence. “You’ve told me before she came from Panem, that she was shunned by her family for marrying your father. I know how crazy it sounds, believe me, but could she have been royalty?”

Katniss shakes her head. If her mother had been royalty — God, she’s about ready to laugh at the thought — then where the hell had her family been when she died? When her husband and youngest daughter died? Shouldn’t they have intervened then?

But there was an older, stately-looking couple at the funeral. Standing off to the side, frowning but not crying, their hands plunged into the pockets of fur-lined coats that both looked to cost more than Katniss’ yearly salary. They disappeared without a word as soon as the ceremony was over. Katniss assumed they were the sort of people involved with the church who randomly rocked up to every funeral.

And if they weren’t?

Katniss’ heartbeat echoes in her ears like a frantic drumbeat. “Could you bring up a picture of the king and queen?” she asks weakly.

Peeta darts off down the hall, beckoning for her to follow. His tablet sits on the arm of their lounge, and the news article he was talking about must have been the last page he visited, because it’s still there when he presses the home button, and so is a photo of the royal couple that has Katniss gasping.

“That was them,” she whispers. The room is spinning around her. Peeta grips her arm and keeps her upright. “They were there, at Mum’s funeral. Those assholes just stood there and watched me bury her like they were watching a disappointing polo match. They didn’t say or do anything! Holy shit, Peeta.”

“I guess shunning someone is pretty serious business when you’re royal,” he jokes without humour. He swallows, rubs at the back of his neck. “And you had no idea of what she was? She never dropped any hints? Nothing?”

“Nothing,” she confirms. “I mean, she was always a little… I don’t know. I guess proper would be the right word? My dad called her princess, but God, I just thought it was a nickname.”

She leans her head against Peeta’s shoulder and lets him wrap his arm around her. He drops a kiss to the top of her head and whispers there, “So, what do you think we should do?”

“Maybe we should call this Plutarch guy? See what he has to say?” She stares at the name, signed with a flourish, at the bottom of the page until the letters blur. She’s lightheaded; does this make her a princess, too? No, she corrects herself as another wave of nausea crashes over her. The letter says she’s a Queen. That there is a throne and an entire country waiting for her. The more she considers the title in her mind, the more the mere idea of that sort of responsibility, that sort of publicity, makes her want to vomit.

“Might be worth a try.” Peeta shrugs. “If nothing else, it’ll probably get the letters off your back.”

“If it’s not a giant scam.”

“Yeah.” But Peeta looks just as unconvinced, just as uncomfortable as she feels. “If it’s not a giant scam.” He kisses her again, and all she wants is to melt into him, let him comfort her the way only he’s ever been able to. “Want me to get the phone?”

“No. I —” She cuts herself off with a huff, stands straighter and squares her shoulders. “I should get it. If I’m really a… queen or whatever, I should make decisions, right?”

Peeta lets out a laugh. “And if I’m going to be your prince consort, I should probably get used to falling into line.”

She darts out of his hold and makes a slow beeline for the kitchen. His warmth comes up against her back as she lifts the phone out of its cradle and keys in the numbers. With every press of the buttons, dread rises higher in her throat like bile. Each little beep carries her closer to a life she’s got no conception of, no idea if it’s something she could ever want. But either way, she thinks as the dial tone rings, she’s going to find out.

#everlark #everlark fanfiction #everlarkbirthdaydrabbles #everlarkbirthdaygifts #fan fic #by ally147writes

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perfectlyrose · 6 years

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the slings and arrows of fate (3/?)

a remix of pull your little arrows out by @lesbidar

Summary: Sometimes the soulmate system doesn’t work out the way it’s supposed to. That doesn’t mean you can’t fall in love and be happy though.

Pairing: Clara/Rose

Word Count: 1990 || Rating: K+

AO3 || tumblr

Rose lasted less than a week before deciding to go see Clara again. She texted her mum on Thursday that she would pick Tony up from school. She fussed over her outfit and her hair for a few minutes longer than normal and then headed out the door.

She walked into the school with two coffees in hand a few minutes after dismissal and leaned against the doorway of Clara’s classroom, watching as the teacher helped her brother with something. Tony saw her first.

“Rose!” he yelled before taking off across the room at a run to attach himself to her legs in a fierce hug. “You never pick me up.”

“Well, I thought we could have some bonding time, yeah? If you promise not to tell mum, we can have ice cream before dinner and everything.”

Tony grinned and held out a pinky, just like she’d taught him. Rose set down one of the coffees and crouched down. She solemnly linked her pinky with his to seal the promise.

“Can we go now?”

“Looks like you still need to get your things together, little monkey. And I want to talk to Ms. Oswald for a minute.”

He nodded and then headed back over to put things in his backpack. Rose stood back up and reclaimed the coffees. When she caught Clara’s gaze, she was smiling at Rose.

“If one of those is for me, you’re officially my favorite person today,” Clara said.

“Lucky for me, one of them is,” Rose said. “I didn’t know what you drink so I have a vanilla latte and a mocha. Figured one of them would be acceptable.”

“Vanilla for me,” Clara said.

“Perfect, I was hoping I’d get to drink this mocha.” Rose handed Clara the to-go cup of coffee. “Figured you could use caffeine after dealing with rascals like this one all day.”

Rose ruffled Tony’s hair.

Clara laughed. “You’re right about that. Tony’s always great though.”

“You save all your mischief for home, then?” Rose asked, nudging her brother.

He shot her another grin, the twinkle in his eye saying it all.

Clara couldn’t help but smile at the easy way the siblings interacted despite the large age gap.

“Were you the same way?” Clara asked curiously.

“Oh, I was all over trouble,” Rose said. “Wasn’t a particularly good student or any of that. Managed to get the school choir to go on strike once. The administration wasn’t pleased with that stunt to say the least.”

Clara laughed. “Sounds like Tony has a lot to live up to.”

Rose’s answering smile was all sparkling mirth. “I’m sure he’ll more than live up to the Tyler reputation for mischief. Just be glad you have him in class before he grows into it.”

Clara raised an eyebrow. “Oh, I think I could handle a bit of Tyler mischief.”

Her brain caught up with her mouth a second too late and she realized she was actually halfway flirting with Rose Tyler. Clara’s heart started pounding and her mouth went dry. She hadn’t flirted with anyone since Danny.

She took a gulp of her coffee to try and hide her panic.

Rose laughed. “I’m sure you could.”

She paused for a moment and Clara wished her heart would slow down so she could stop acting like an idiot for just a short time. She could overanalyze all of this later. In private.

“I just wanted to say thanks for coming to the party last weekend,” Rose said. “I had more fun than I normally do at those things with you there.”

“My pleasure,” Clara said. “Don’t have a whole lot of opportunities to get all decked out. It was fun.”

Rose smiled, a small quiet thing this time. “Well, we should get going so we can get ice cream before my mum gets suspicious. I’ll see you later.”

Clara bid the Tyler siblings goodbye and watched until they were out of her classroom. Once she could no longer hear Tony chattering away she collapsed into her chair and put her head down on her desk.

What the hell was she thinking, flirting with Rose like that? She hadn’t meant to but Rose hadn’t seemed to mind either.

It had been over two years. Close to three, now.

Clara bit her lip and sat up. She drummed her fingers against the lid of the coffee Rose had brought her.

The woman made Clara smile, made her laugh. She rather thought Danny would want her to find some happiness even though he was gone. He’d always loved seeing her smile.

Clara couldn’t remember if she’d caught a glimpse of Rose’s wrists, if she had a soulmate or not. Regardless of that, she could definitely strike up a friendship with her. If some flirting happened to be included in that friendship, Clara thought she could very well be happy with that.

Just because the universe had taken away her soulmate didn’t mean she couldn’t carve out a different kind of happiness with someone else and it was damn well time that she at least started living a little again.

With that decision made, she felt lighter, like some of the weight she’d been carrying on her shoulders had been lifted. Clara picked up her coffee and took another sip before starting her end of the day work.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Rose picked up Tony the next Thursday too. And the one after that. She brought Clara coffee each time, making a game out of it. She always had whatever coffee Clara had picked last week and something new to see what she’d pick.

So far it had always been the vanilla latte.

Rose greeted Tony and Clara and felt her stomach flutter at the smile the teacher gave her. She barely resisted pressing her fingers against the words on her hip that seemed to pulse with life whenever she was in Clara’s presence.

“So,” Rose said as she handed over the vanilla latte, “would you like to get coffee sometime outside of your classroom sometime? I’ve already revealed that my weekends are less than exciting and getting out of my flat would be nice.”

Clara’s fingers brushed against Rose’s and Rose felt sparks run up her arm.

“I’d like that. My weekends are also pretty boring, like I said before.” She took a sip of coffee. “Why don’t you give me your number and we can see if sometime this weekend works.”

“Perfect.”

When Rose escorted Tony out of the classroom, she had a smile on her face and something that felt a little like hope blooming in the center of her chest. She’d left her phone number, scrawled on a piece of paper that had been lying about, in Clara’s hand.

She really hoped that the teacher would text her.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Clara loitered just outside the door of the coffee shop she was meeting Rose at. She was fifteen minutes early and she couldn’t decide if she should go inside and order her coffee or wait outside.

She tugged on her dress and resituated the strap of her bag. She waited another minute and then dug her phone back out so she could text Rose.

She was halfway through typing the message when someone tapped her on the shoulder.

Clara whipped her head up to look and was greeted with a big smile from none other than the person she was waiting for.

“Glad I’m not the only early one,” Rose said. “Ready to go in?”

“Of course,” Clara said, putting her phone back in her bag.

Rose laughed when Clara still ordered a vanilla latte and then insisted on paying for both of them.

(“Heiress, remember?” she said with a wink to Clara as she swiped her card.)

Once they had their drinks, they found an empty table and sat down.

“So…” Clara started, fidgeting with the cup of coffee now. “I guess I never asked before, but what do you do? You don’t seem the type to just sit around on your arse because you’re rich.”

“I’d go crazy within a week,” Rose said. “Do you know what Torchwood is?”

“Big security and research firm backed by the government. Deals with all the weird extraterrestrial stuff that happens,” Clara rattled off. “You work there?”

“Yeah. I want to be a field agent but my dad runs it so I only get to work in an advisory capacity but I enjoy it.”

“Your dad runs Torchwood and Vitex?”

“Yeah. Mostly Vitex is run by other people now, but he’s still nominally in charge since he created it. Torchwood is really where his attention is.”

“I really should have googled you or your family at some point,” Clara said. She really didn’t know much about the Tylers but she felt like she should.

Rose winced. “Just don’t judge me if you do. I did some stupid things when there was paparazzi around to document it.”

“They follow you around?”

“Not anymore. They’ve decided I’m boring now which is a relief.”

“Well, I’m glad no one was around taking photos when I was busy being young and stupid,” Clara declared. “That must’ve been miserable.”

“It was. Especially when they decided to try and get some shots of my wrists because there was some stupid rumor about me getting ready to flee the country with my criminal soulmate,” Rose said with a roll of her eyes.

Clara was appalled. “What the hell?”

“Tabloids are the worst. Had to take go to court because I decked a photographer in the face when he grabbed me and tried to push my sleeves up so his partner could get the picture.”

“Oh my god, I hope you broke his nose at the very least.”

Rose’s grin was a bit wicked and Clara couldn’t look away. “Oh, I did.”

“I’m guessing they didn’t get the photo they were looking for.”

“Nah. Don’t even know how that rumor got started, honestly.”

Clara took a sip of her drink and tried to seem like she wasn’t interested in the answer to her next question. “So, no criminal soulmate for you?”

Rose rolled up her sleeves and showed her blank wrists to her. “Maybe in the future,” she said. “I’m hoping they’re at least a competent criminal.”

Clara sent the conversation spinning in a different direction but she couldn’t help replaying the look in Rose’s eyes when she’d talked about her unknown soulmate. It was something like pain, something like loneliness. She thought back to when she’d first met Rose and how she thought she’d been lonely then, too.

Clara wondered if the loneliness was different when you just didn’t know your soulmate as opposed to what she felt after losing her soulmate.

She was also very appreciative that Rose didn’t pry into Clara’s own fading soulmark even when the topic of soulmates was on the table. Not many people were that considerate.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Rose and Clara parted ways after about an hour, promising to get together again soon.

Rose’s mind was whirling. She hadn’t exactly lied to Clara but she had led the other woman to believe that she hadn’t gotten her soulmark yet. She should have just told Clara that she had one of the unrequited marks without saying who it was.

Should have. Should have. Should have.

Too late now, though.

Rose pushed down the guilt and focused instead on how wonderful it was to spend time with Clara without a crowd of people or a little brother around. She was witty and clever and nice and even if the writing on her hip wasn’t there, Rose knew she’d be smitten.

As it stood, she was dangerously close to falling head over heels in love with Clara and she didn’t think she was going to be able to stop it from happening.

She was going to try her hardest to be the friend Clara deserved though, more-than-platonic feelings be damned. Hopefully what Clara didn’t know wouldn’t hurt her.

#lesbidar #dw femslash #clara x rose #impossible wolf #the slings and arrows of fate #i wrote this #one day i'll write a chapter for this that breaks 2k words lol #but look! an update! i wrote words!!#the femslash collection

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secretcswriter · 6 years

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Going Home for Christmas

Summary: When Killian Jones’ best friend Emma Nolan asked him to come home with her for Christmas acting as her fiancé, he never could have guessed what it would mean.

Find all Chapters Here