hop fields


And then there was Merlin

Pairing: Eggsy x Reader

Requested: Yup!

Pronouns: She/Her

GIF: turonegerton

Song: ‘Raging’ by Kygo

Warnings: Swearing.

Reading time: 18 Min.

Notes: None

Summary: You’ve been working nights in the tech department of Kingsman and have a run in with Eggsy that could make things a little messy.


“You invent some kinda way to write code with your eyeballs?”

A wisp of hot breath tickled her ear. Y/N whipped her head sideways to meet it. Her face collided with the brim of Eggsy’s hat. “Oww,” She exclaimed. Her eyes squinted shut as she rubbed the bridge of her nose.

“Sorry love.” Eggsy stood behind her chair, leaning over her shoulder, his face next to hers. “You’ve been staring at that screen for 10 minutes. I wasn’t sure you were even awake.”

“I wasn’t,” Y/N muttered. She turned back to the computer, slouched down in her chair and yawned.

It had been almost two months since she started working nights in the tech department of Kingsman. She had met all the agents her first day but only ever saw Trinity, the night watch, which usually meant she could get in a good nap during her shifts.

“Don’t see you around here much.” Eggsy stood up.

“Yea, Uni keeps me pretty busy during the day,” She spoke with her eyes closed, arms folded across her chest. “But Merlin needs my help here so I find the- SHIT!” She sat up fast, eyes gaping. “What time is it?” She frantically checked the desktop for her phone and retrieved it from under a pile of papers and a half eaten banana. It was dead.

Keep reading


On Saturday August 24th 1867, Fanny Adams, 8 years old, Minnie Warner, 7 years old, and Elizabeth Adams, Fanny’s sister who was only 5, were walking up a lane towards Flood Meadow in Alton, England. They came across a solicitor’s clerk named Frederick Baker. He was 29 years old and looked to be quite respectable in a business suit and tie. He offered two of the girls some money so he could be alone with Fanny, and they took it and took off. Sadly, all though she tried, Fanny was unable to escape and Baker brutally murdered her in a hops field. Around 5 o'clock, when the two young girls returned home they informed a neighbour who told Fanny’s mother. Panic set in and she ran up towards Flood Meadow. On the way she came across Baker as he was coming down the lane. They questioned him but he told them he hadn’t seen her and again, due to his respectable appearance, Mrs. Adams let him go and continued the search for Fanny. Later that evening they found her body. She had been mutilated almost beyond recognition.

Baker was arrested at his offices on High Street and was led through a very angry mob to the police station. Although he claimed innocence there was immediately quite a bit of evidence against him. He had blood stains on his shirt and trousers and also two small blood-stained knives on his person when they arrested him. One of Baker’s drinking buddies also said that on the night of the murder, Baker said he was going to be leaving town that night, and he could find a job somewhere as a butcher. On August 28th they found his diary and in it they found a short but horrible entry: “24th August, Saturday - killed young girl. It was fine and hot.”

He was sent to trial and although he tried to claim insanity the jury found him guilty after only 15 minutes of deliberation. He was hanged on December 24th 1867. Fanny was buried in Alton Cemetery.

The phrase “sweet Fanny Adams” or “sweet F.A” (also known as sweet fuck all) was derived from this case. In 1869 British sailors had been given a a new type of tinned mutton, the macabre joke of the time was it may be the remains of Fanny Adams. So, Fanny Adams became a slang for mutton, then it became slang for anything worthless. Nowadays the phrase means “nothing at all”.

Pictured above: a picture of what is thought to be Fanny Adams, Alton England where the crime took place, a more detailed map that shows how close Flood Meadow is with High Street, an illustration of Baker, a clipping about his execution, Fanny’s headstone and lastly a picture of the two girls that were lucky to escape visiting Fanny’s grave.


In 1867, an 8-year-old girl named Fanny Adams was found by horrified villagers in the following pieces:

Her bloody head, stuck on a hop-pole with the eyes gouged out and one ear tore off.

Her chest, severed at the diaphragm, with the heart scooped out.

Her arms, deposited separately, with two copper pence pieces clutched in one hand.

One foot, dropped in a field of clover.

Her eyes, recovered from the nearby River Wey.

Her heart, lying on it’s own.

It is assumed the river had taken all other remains. The man responsible was solicitor’s clerk Frederick Baker. He used his tea-break on a Saturday in August to walk through the meadows near the hop-field, and finding Fanny Adams playing with two friends. He gave the two girls half pence to run races for him; then sent the other two home while he took Fanny to the hop-field. He then battered the child with a large stone, and then cut her apart with his pen-knife. After which he went and had some beer and returned to his office where he wrote in his diary: “Killed a young girl. It was fine and hot,” He was unable to explain bloodstains on his cuffs. He was hanged at Winchester.

Do You And Jay EVER Fight?
Request by anon: i loooooove your scenarios with jay oh god ;~; can i request a scenario where you have a fight and you run out of the house and jay freaks out and when he runs out to look for u, he finds u really drunk

 Sorry for the wait, the scenario deleted and I had to write it again! :( Hope you enjoy, it is rather long. Sorry if it’s boring :s

-Admin Kitty

External image

“Seriously what’s up with that? Why can’t guys just admit when they’re wrong instead of starting an argument about it? You know?” Your best friend Janie ranted about her boyfriend in the cafe, waving her sandwich around wildly in her rage. “Not really…” You muttered.  “Do you and Jay, EVER fight?” Your other friend Min asked you. You blushed at the mention of your boyfriend’s name. “Should we?” You laughed. “No, it’s just kinda weird that’s all.” Min replied, picking up her coffee and taking a sip. It was true. You and Jay never really fought. I mean, everyone has disagreements but why should that mean you had to fight? Both you and your boyfriend were usually quite relaxed when you disagreed and you sorted it out pretty quickly, you never did anything more than bicker about little stupid things like what film to watch or whatever.  But lately, things were weird. You wouldn’t really call it a rough patch, but, something was going on with Jay. He’d been acting oddly with you for the last week. On the surface, things looked fine but everytime you were together it’s like his mind was somewhere else. He was looking at you but not properly concentrating, all the time. He’d be quiet sometimes, which really wasn’t like Jay. Jay was outgoing, Jay was goofy. Jay was only quiet when something was up. But that was just it…You had no idea what was up. On Saturday night, you decided to watch a film over at his place. Well, I guess it was both of yours  now. You weren’t sure quite when you had actually moved in with Jay, but every time you went around you left something there and you had just stopped bothering to take it back to your place. You had been watching the film for an hour now, and normally he would have talked to you but tonight he was deadly silent. He’d barely said two words since you’d got there. When it was time for you to go, it felt like he was actually in the room for the first time as he said “Hey, ______?” He said, just as you walked out of the door. You turned around. Your eyes locked for a little while as you looked at eachother in silence. He swallowed, and something flitted through his eyes, too quick for you to identify what it was properly. Something vulnerable. Like shyness or something. That scared you. Jay was normally so confident. “Do you love me?” He asked you, unblinking, unsmiling. “Aw, Jay. Of course I do, you know that.” You giggled, walking forward and kissing him lightly on the lips before pulling him into a hug. His arms hung by his side for a couple seconds than slowly circled your waist.  You pulled away, “Okay, I gotta go. I’ll call you when I’m finished up at work."  He nodded and watched as you left, not saying a word. On Sunday night, you got in from work at nine, throwing down your bag while calling out for your boyfriend. "Jay?” You shouted up the stairs. No reply.  You went in the kitchen to find him stood over the kitchen counter making coffee for himself. “Hey.” You breathed.  Usually, he would fling into his arms and twirl you around and kiss you. He was usually so happy to see you, so eager to tell you about his day. But, tonight, he barely looked up from his coffee cup when he said hello. It hurt. But you tried to brush it off. “I’ll go get changed then we’ll watch the film.” You kissed him lightly on the cheek then hurried to change into more comfortable clothing. When you got back, he hadn’t even moved from where you had left him. He was staring down at his coffee and you were about to ask if he was okay when he spoke. “Are you cheating on me?” He carried on staring down at the coffee cup for a while before looking up. You blinked, unmoving. You stared at him. What? This must be some sort of joke. You laughed once, “Are you joking?” He must be joking, you thought to yourself. Please be joking. You half expected him to crack a smile and say he was only kidding around, but his eyes never wavered and his face didn’t make any move to convince you it was just a joke. “You didn’t answer my question.” He said, barely a whisper. Then, things started to click into place. The way he’d been acting this last week, the way he barely touched you, the way he didn’t kiss you when you walked through the door, the way he was always thinking about something else. He had been thinking about this. “You shouldn’t even have to ask.” You said, your vision started to blur. Did he really not trust you, after all this time? “Liar."  That stung. You raised your shaky voice a little, "What?” “If you weren’t you would have just said."  "What? Why would you even think-” Tears flooded from your eyes, as you carried on in your shaky voice. “Well what else am I meant to think, _____?” He opened his arms and shouted at you, “It’s like we never even see each other anymore!"  "Is this why you’ve been acting so weird the past week?” You tried to steady your voice, “Why have you waited until now to-” “When, ____? When else is there to speak to you? You’re never home!” You’d never seen him this angry before, and it scared you. “That isn’t fair-” You started but he interrupted you, stepping towards you. “No. You know what’s not fair? The fact that when I was on tour I skyped you every single night and now that I’m here, I feel like we see each other even less because you’re always with your friends or your secret boyfriend or-” “Jay, my friends are important to me-” “And I’m not?!” He shouted down at you, “What about me, ____? I need you too!” “I know but-” “Is that where you were last night? At some guys house?"  "No, I was at work! You’re being ridiculous!” “Oh is that what you call him now? Work?” He said, bitterly. “I saw you with him a couple weeks ago when you said you were at work.” “It really isn’t what you think-” He stepped right up to you and looked you dead on in the eyes, “You know, the girl I fell in love with wasn’t such a goddamn bitch.” You stared at him for a second. He had never said that to you. Ever. You couldn’t even believe that it had come from his mouth. The mouth that kissed you. The mouth that sang you to sleep. The mouth that curled into a smile when ever it saw you. Your eyes dribbled with tears, pathetically.  Seeing how hurt you were, something changed in his eyes. His eyes flickered from anger into apology in a matter of seconds. “Baby, I-” He started, much more gentler this time. But you didn’t stick around to see what he said. You didn’t know where your feet were taking you, you just knew you had to get out of that house and away from him. You ran and ran, as a billion thoughts raced through your head. He had never shouted like that before…He had looked so…angry. You’d never seen him like that. And the way he’d looked at you. So disgusted. So hateful. Did he really hate you? You started to cry at the very thought, and you came across a field. You hopped over the crooked fence and sat down with the bottle of vodka you had bought from the shop. You didn’t drink much, infact, you really had never even been drunk before. But your friends said that drinking made you happier. So you drank, little by little as you continued on crying. Bitch. He had called you a bitch. You drank more, until a fuzzy warm feeling radiated your insides. And yet you still felt so upset. The rain started to pour down, but you didn’t notice the difference because your face was soaking wet. “Baby!” You heard a distressed voice shout. And then you heard it again. “_____? Where are you?” It was Jay’s voice - you’d know it anywhere. He found you, sat on the grass of the field, bottle of vodka in hand and tears down your face. You looked distraught.  When you caught sight of him, his eyes looked panicked and he was breathing heavily, you figured he’d ran here. He hadn’t even put on a coat as he’d left, just like you. He was wearing a wife beater and his muscles were drenched in rain, he must be freezing. “Oh my god, what are you doing out here? Baby?” He ran up and sat down next to you. You stared at him, “You called me a bitch.” Your voice cracked. “I didn’t mean it, I didn’t mean it…Baby…please talk to me.” His voice sounded frantic and he searched your eyes. After a minute of silence you spoke. “The boy you saw me with was my cousin’s boyfriend.” You barely whispered it, but his head snapped to you. “Then why didn’t you tell me?” He said, quieter. “I….My cousin, he’s gay. He didn’t want anyone to know. And, him and his boyfriend were having troubles, so I wanted to help out. So I’ve been meeting with him.” You explained, trying not to cry more. Understanding ran through his features and that was the last thing you saw before you blacked out. You woke up on the comfy material of your boyfriends sofa with his eyes staring into yours. “____! Oh my god are you okay? Oh my god…You scared the shit out of me!” He hurriedly said, knelt down at the side of the sofa.  You lifted your head up, but he pushed you back down gently, “No, don’t get up. I think the vodka knocked you out, you need to rest."  He looked so worried, "I’m so sorry, ____. I’m so freaking sorry….” He ran his fingers through his hair, and you realized he had tears in his eyes. Just a little bit. “It’s ok. It’s ok…” You said, reaching out to cup his cheek softly.  “No, it’s really not.” He said, looking up at you through his eyelashes. You smiled, embarrassed, “I’m sorry I called you selfish.” He shook his head, “No. I was being selfish. And I shouldn’t have jumped to conclusions…I’m so sorry.” You sat up and hugged him, “It’s okay. Just promise you won’t get jealous about me meeting my cousins boyfriend again.” You laughed.  He wound his arms around you and laughed quietly into your neck, kissing it lightly before saying, “I promise.” “I love you.” You whispered into his ear, kissing the hollow behind it. He put his forehead to yours and quickly pecked you on the lips. “I love you too, but right now, we really need to get you into bed.” He smiled at you, “Hold on.” He picked you up by the waist carefully, and you wound your legs around his hips as he carried you to the bedroom, “I never want to fight again.” You whispered.

anonymous asked:

What would go down if Sawamura, Miyuki, Sanada, Mei, and Ryosuke couldn't find their s/o after a game? After looking everywhere for them, they'd find their s/o, napping in the stands. Bonus: They fell asleep while doing something- sketching the players or writing out the rules they figured out, etc.

Hello, I am back from the void because it’s time to get off up my butt and do what I’m supposed to do.

Ryosuke: Sure he wasn’t too worried but that was just his exterior. Ryosuke coolly and calmly searched for his missing s/o and he could’ve sworn he saw them in the stands cheering. Tapping his toes, he waited and waited at their usually spot but when they never showed up, Ryosuke decided to just go get them himself. He knew to go to the stands right away and searched in the area he remembered them to be. That’s when a familiar bag sat alone and not too far from it, sat his s/o, snoozing away with an open sketchbook. Ryosuke scoffed when he saw the page and shook his s/o awake. “So, I’m a fox now, am I?” He gestured to the doodles and his s/o grabbed it as fast as they could. “Hey, Ryo!” A sheepish smiled plastered their face as Ryosuke offered a hand. “You saw that drawing.. huh?” They held their sketchbook close to their chest and turned red from his sudden remark. “In my defense, you.. you do look like a fox!” They gathered their things quickly and Ryosuke was enjoying every moment of his s/o being so flustered over their drawings.

Miyuki: With a sharp pain from a slap to the back, Miyuki laughed along with his victorious teammates as they roared with their cheers. On their way out of the stadium Miyuki had a feeling that something had been missing and that was the space beside him where his s/o would usually be. With a quick look of where he remembered his s/o to be, he squinted his eyes and saw the lonely stands. Turning around for another glimpse, he still wasn’t able to spot his s/o. Dismissing himself from the rest of the team, he made his way to the stands and climbed down the steps when he caught something in the corner of his eye. All snuggled up and comfortable, he saw his s/o lying there on the bench, clutching onto something so tightly. He sighed as he made his way to them and couldn’t help but chuckle at their sleeping form. Kneeling in front of their face, he smiled before he decided to back off just a little before yelling out his s/o’s name. “HEY!! _______!!!” With eyes wide and a startled expression, his s/o nearly fell over and landed on the cold hard ground. As soon as their composure was collected, they stared down at Miyuki who snickered away at his successful wake up plan. “Aren’t you going to congratulate me for winning this game?” He raised a brow as his s/o just continued to glare at him until the softened up and laughed. “Good game, captain.”

Sawamura: He was shouting up a storm as he roamed the whole vicinity of the field hopping for his s/o’s ears to perk up. He repeated called for his s/o but to no avail. Sawamura began to get a little tempered and impatient as he shouted louder and louder but in the corner of his eye, he saw a figure in the stands as he walked down the steps. He instantly recognized it to be his s/o and ran as fast as he could, hollering their name. “______!!!!” He was ready to wake them when the little book in their hands caught his eyes. With his full attention on the scribbles, he was amazed to see some quick sketches and some noted off to the side. He then heard a grumble as his s/o groggily opened their eyes and saw Sawamura with their notes. “______!! You drew me and took notes about my pitches!!” They silently nodded as a yawn broke out and they spoke, “I’ve been looking into pitching and wanted to learn more about it. Especially about the pitches you threw.” Sawamura’s whole face lit up as he rubbed the back of his head and began to laugh, “R-really!? You’ve been watching me and my pitches this closely!? That’s amazing, ______!” The boy practically had flowers and sparkles shooting from him as a way to radiate his happiness.

Mei: He wouldn’t forget his s/o, not ever. To have his s/o forget about him was something else. When he realized that his s/o hadn’t come by to say their congrats, he wondered where they would even be. Darting his head back in forth, and totally looking like he was thrown off his groove, he searched for his s/o and to no luck was he able to even find them. When his teammates asked him what was bothering him he shrugged it off and went to go find them himself. “I’ll be back!” Was all he replied with as he walked to the stairs. When he found them, he pointed a finger in their direction and his loud voice boomed through the empty stands. “Oi!!! How dare you fall asleep during my game!!!” He was half joking and half serious as he marched on his way to wake the slumbering s/o, only to have them wake up and rub their eyes as if they did nothing wrong. “Oh, Mei.” They yawned, stretching their arms up. “What are you doing here, aren’t you supposed to be pitching?” “The game is over, we won.” He told them all to much in a boasting way. “Oh good.” They replied lazily, which to Mei, that was the wrong reaction. “Aren’t you going to say more than that!?” He waited for a response. “Oh, uh, Harada did good.” They teased him and he was ready to pull his hair out. “Just kidding! You did great today, Mei.” They stood up and opened up their arms to him. “No wonder you’re the ace.” They smiled and Mei accepted their invitation, pulling them into a tight hug. “Hehe, I already know that, ______!”

Sanada: A bit too occupied with players and congratulating, Sanada almost forgot he wanted to meet with his s/o after his match. It hadn’t occurred to him that it was due past the designated meeting time and not to mention Sanada had forgotten their rendezvous point. Jogging there quickly he expected to see them there already but they weren’t there. “Not again..” Sanada shook his head and made way to the only other place his s/o would be; sleeping in the stands. It happened quite a few times for him and he wasn’t surprised it happened again. Just as he expected, there on the bench laid his s/o catching some z’s. His first reaction was to just make a loud noise to wake him up but he knew better than to do that. Quietly he went over and got to their level, enjoying his view of them for that short time and then he shook them awake. “I really think you need more sleep, ______.” He smiled as their eyes slowly opened. “Sanada, hey.” They greeted him and he helped them get up. “Your game is over already?” “It’s been over. What made you so tired that you would fall asleep while watching us?” Sanada looked over to the notebook that was lying on top of his s/o’s backpack. “Homework.” They replied as Sanada examined the scribbles of his s/o. “Heh, you really like writing my name, huh?” He chuckled at the amount of times his name was written in the margins of the notebook. “H-hey! Don’t look at that!”


Field Mob - Sick Of Being Lonely

Wedding Jitters

Long one-shot. Angst. :o

Inspired by Mr Rochester from Jane Eyre.


“I AM proud of you, and I DO want you to be a success, but I can’t do this anymore!” Emily screams, clutching her hair in frustration.

Tom just stands there, tall and gangly, his blond curls bobbing as he shakes his head. “Well what am I supposed to do? I love you, Emily, and I want you.” He takes a step closer to her.“I want you.”

Tom’s career was taking off, and the young couple could not find a way through the maze of how to handle it. They’d muddled badly through the past six months, where Tom had been globe-trotting for a couple of films. He had booked another job overseas, and wanted her to come out there with him. For three months.

Things had been great until recently. Before the bigger film roles had come in, Tom had been working part-time in a book store whilst auditioning and taking on small London-based roles, while Emily had finished uni and had taken a job working for Vauxhall City Farm, spending the rest of her time either with Tom, or enjoying everything London had to offer. Their studio apartment was tiny, yet full of love.

And right now, full of something coming apart at the seams.

“I’m not just gonna follow you everywhere like a puppy! I have my own dreams! And I can’t stay here to wait around for you.” Emily searches Tom’s face for some kind of answer, for him to offer some kind of way to make this work.

“It’s just three months,” Tom snaps, wondering if she really loves him at all.

“And then what? Another three, then another three? I won’t be able to work. Then there’s stage tours, press junkets…? ”

“You don’t know that!”

“I know how good an actor you are, Tom.” Emily rubs her eyes with her fingertips, unwittingly smudging her make up.

Tom holds his hand out to her. “Baby, please…?”

It’s hard to resist him. But she’s so worked up.

“N..no, I don’t think I can do this. I love you but I deserve better. I deserve a man who’ll be there for me each night, while I pursue my own life and dreams. I can’t drop everything for you.”

“So that’s it.” Tom’s lips form a grim line. “You’re just going to throw away our love?”

She glares at him. “You’re forcing me to choose to either give up on my life to follow you around, or to walk away now and build something of my own? You’re forcing me to choose between my life versus making you the centre of the universe.” She notices her voice rising to a shout.

She’s so mad at him for making her choose. Why couldn’t he find an alternative that worked for both of them? Why couldn’t he reassure her that he’d find a way for them to make it work? Why did it have to be his way or the high way?

“Are you going to let me walk out of here, then?” She folds her arms, praying he will do something to stop her, to show her how much she means to him.

“It looks like you don’t want to be with me, so don’t let me stop you.”


Ten years later

Emily watches TV with her boyfriend, Paul. Paul is an accountant. They live in a nice suburb of London. She has a man who is constant for her, who loves her, who is solid and reliable. Her eyes aimless drift to a copy of the Metro on the coffee table. She starts browsing one-handedly while her boyfriend holds her other hand, still watching the telly. She feels sick in the pit of her stomach when her eyes see the headline - ‘Tom Hiddleston injured during stunt accident’. An explosion went wrong, and he was thrown against the ground injuring his leg and ribs during the fall. He suffered burns and temporary blindness. Emily’s instinct is to see him, however it’s been ten years since she saw him last…

“Everything alright, love?’ Paul asks, sensing her stillness. He peers over to look at the newspaper pages, trying to spot the source of her quiet. "Oh, yeah, terrible news isn’t it. Can’t believe they’re putting rail prices up again,”

She nods and quickly turns the page, trying not to imagine the state Tom must be in.


She had managed to be strict with herself and not check in on how Tom was doing. She assumed he must be alive and well as there had been no scary news on TV or on the front pages. She contented herself with that, and re-focused on her current relationship.

Although deep inside she felt guilty and cold for not allowing herself to think about Tom.

Later that year over a candlelit pasta her boyfriend proposed, and she said yes. This was all she wanted, wasn’t it? A stable man, a stable life, knowing someone would always be there for her.

Both families were overjoyed and excited by the news. Her mother in particular was finding it a brilliant excuse to have a go at playing Production Manager. This was to be Done Properly, and with a year to go before the happy day, she had plenty of time to assemble the best seating plan, the best flower arrangements, and the best venue.


<kiss> Can you keep a secret?

Yes! yes of course

<kiss> I’m going to marry you

<giggle> Tom…

<kiss> One night I’m going to kidnap you in my car, drive you to the beach, and have someone marry us under the stars


You’re serious, aren’t you?

Oh yes, love. One day, if you’ll have me


She wakes up with her heart pounding at the memory. Why oh why was wedding stuff bringing up images of Tom before her eyes every time she lay her head on the pillow?

She needed a break. She needed to get away from dress fittings and cake tastings and her mother. She needed to get away from London. She needed to be distracted.

Her budget was shot - everything was going towards the wedding - so no big flights to exotic places for her.

In the morning she’d come up with a plan. Somewhere in the UK. Somewhere quiet and rustic.

She turned on her side, looking at her fiancee’s back in the dark of the bedroom. He won’t miss me too much, will he?


The train ride was exhilarating. She could almost physically feel London draining away from her as the train thundered past the suburbs, out towards leafier towns, then further still out to the countryside.

She has the perfect excuse, and the perfect freebie place to stay. Her Aunt Mabel, a widow now in her seventies, lived with her cat in a small village in Dorset. She would unlikely be able to make the wedding (she HATED traveling long journeys) and so what better excuse to come by for a pre-wedding visit?

Chintz. Chintz everywhere. Doilies and pastel porcelain figurines. Mortimer the beige moulting cat sat quietly on the floor, his little paws tucked under his podgy belly.

Aunt Mabel was, of course, glad to see her. Emily had the glow of someone in love about her, although she had put on a little weight, although that’s what happens when you live with a man isn’t it…

Small talk finished, tea drank, and angel cake eaten, Aunt Mabel closed the discussion by settling back into her easy chair and reading her Mills and Boon book. Emily was glad. Although her Aunt wasn’t a great conversationalist, she would give her freedom to spend time to herself, and would not find it rude if Emily decided to gallivant off for a bit.

And so, Emily decided to potter around the village before supper. Despite wearing jeans, her Hunter wellies and a cagoule, she felt a bit conspicuous. The occasional person would smile at her or say “afternoon”. She noticed how much more friendly people were out here. And, often older.

The village itself was merely a collection of houses and three shops. She pottered around the general store, which sold groceries, sun hats, Dorset toffee and fishing nets amongst other things. She then carried on down the street towards the open fields, hopping over a wooden stile to walk through the grass.

Looking up at the expansive sky, she felt a sense of relief. Here, she had no expectations on her. There was no one to answer to, not really. Aunt Mabel may fuss a little over her but she would be left to her own devices. The wedding could take a back seat. No one else but her Aunt knew her here. No one could make demands of her time or mental energy.

Paul had taken the news of her weekend trip well. She thought of him, now at work, with an empty weekend before him. He had told her he would spend it watching football and ordering take away’s. He had seemed content enough. Emily wasn’t sure if he was trying to reassure her that he didn’t mind she was taking a break without him, or if he really didn’t care.

The odd thing was, Emily really didn’t mind that Paul wasn’t here with her. Not at all.

She happily drew in the crisp country air, and smiled to herself.


The home-cooked shepherds pie and apple crumble helped Emily sleep like a log. Custard always had some kind of sleep-inducing effect on her.

She slept soundly, and slowly stirred herself awake, grateful to come around naturally, rather than by the shrill beeps of an alarm clock, or Paul inadvertently disturbing her as he got up before her. She had nowhere she had to be, no one to see, no thoughts to think. It was bliss.

The people of Dorset know how to do breakfast Emily thought as she surveyed the spread laid out before her. She almost felt guilty that Aunt Mabel had spent time and effort preparing all of this for her, yet she seemed to be enjoying fussing over her niece, and Emily could tell she enjoyed spending time cooking. Scrambled eggs, baked beans, hash browns, sausages, mushrooms, toast… Emily would need to lie down to recover after this.

And the best thing was, she knew she could!


“Emily dear, could you give me a hand?”

Emily sat up on the guest bed to see her Aunt fumbling with a large package in her hands, while also trying to hold her walking stick. Emily rushed over to her.

“Of course, Aunt… did this come for you?” She takes the brown-paper wrapped parcel and looks it over. There’s no name or address on it.

“Oh no, no dear I want you to deliver it. He only lives a short walk away, you’ll find it easily.”

Emily frowns. “What is it, may I ask?”

“One of those large magnifying glasses. I couldn’t make head nor tail out of it, I’ll stick with my spectacles. He let me borrow it. I thought you might like to return it for me, give you something to do. I know how you city types get bored with the countryside after a while.”

“Oh Aunt,” Emily smiles softly, “not at all. I’m loving the peace here.”

Aunt Mabel starts to turn and head down the hallway. “It’s this house on the edge of the field. Looks like an old chapel. You can’t miss it.”


Having a little mission to carry out had put Emily back in city-mode, and with the package tucked under her arm, she purposefully strode towards the field. She vaguely remembered seeing a building in the distance from her jaunt yesterday, and wondered if it was the place her Aunt was talking about.

She stumbled across the fields, over small mole hills and wild moss patches, and as she began to get closer to the building, she could in fact see that yes, it was an old chapel, with dirtied limestone walls. Two trees stood proudly in front of it, casting shade over the front of the building.

She began to wonder what who she was about to meet. Perhaps another older person, judging by the magnifying glass.

Approaching the building she could hear the low woof of a dog barking, and soon an old black and grey mongrel came trotting out to investigate. Emily slowed her pace, trying to discern whether the dog was being territorial, or friendly.

The dog continued to bark, then slowed to a walk, sniffing the air. He then pawed at her jean-covered calf, and bumped his head against her knee.

“You adorable thing,” Emily cooed quietly, and pet the fur on his forehead. The bristles were thick and smooth.

She could make out the sound of a man’s voice, although the words were undescernable. She repositioned the package under her arm, and began to walk towards the chapel. The dog walked happily alongside her, his brown eyes looking up to her now and then.

“Captain, where are you?”

A tall man with a walking stick emerged between the two large trees. He was wearing black, and his long brown hair fanned down across his face.  She couldn’t be sure of his age, though from his slim build and voice he didn’t seem old.

The dog cast an eye at Emily, then trotted over to his owner.

“Hi there,” Emily called out, waving lightly.

The man stood stock still. Emily was worried she’d scared him.

“Who’s there?” The man reached his free hand out.

“It’s.. I.. I’m Emily, I’m Aunt Mabel’s neice, I’ve got a package for you.” Emily took a step closer, offering the parcel to him.

“Please go,” he said curtly.

“Don’t you want it?”

He kept his head down. “Tell your Aunt she can keep it. It is of no use to me.” He presses his walking stick down with a thud into the ground. The motion draws Emily’s attention and she looks at his hand on the handle. His long, elegant fingers are covered in dark purple marks. Despite the discoloration, there’s something familiar about his hand…

“Come on, Captain,” he said quietly to his dog.

Emily stood looking stunned as she watched him walk to his home.


Emily’s heart raced as she made her way back to Aunt Mabel’s. Her mind was whirring with thoughts. Those beautiful fingers were uncannily like Toms. She would recognise them anywhere. And as soon as that thought had taken root in her brain, other thoughts began to filter in. His voice - whilst defensive - also had a similar tone to Tom’s. He was about the same build.

But what was she thinking - this didn’t make any sense.

After finding out about Tom’s on-set accident, she had assumed he would have received the best medical attention and had gone back to being a successful movie star.

It was just her mind playing tricks on her.

She had hoped her countryside visit would have got some of this out of her system, but apparently Tom could haunt her anywhere.


Aunt Mabel was in the garden listening to Radio 4 while Mortimer dozed on her lap. Emily plonked herself on the sun lounger opposite.

“He didn’t want it,” she waves the package, and sets it on the patio floor by her side.

“Well heaven knows what I’m to do with it. Oh well, I suppose he doesn’t have any use for it, poor chap.”


“He’s blind, of course.”

Of course. Why hadn’t she realised?

“That’s… that’s sad.” Emily blurts.

“Keeps himself to himself, that one.”

Emily starts playing with the cuff of her jumper.

“I think it’s those terrible scars he has. Would you like some tea?”


Emily fidgeted on the sun lounger. She couldn’t stop pondering about the man she had met. Perhaps the quiet life of the countryside was getting to her, and her mind was trying to find things to do. She needed to stop pondering.

She knew Aunt Mabel had a bike somewhere, and dug about past gardening paraphernalia to pull out the somewhat rusty push bike.

Armed with some basic instructions on how to get to the next village from her Aunt (“just follow the main road til you get there”), Emily enjoyed the ride. The road was pretty empty, and she could ride as fast as she wanted. She felt about twelve years old again, and grinned as the wind flowed through her hair.

The village was a little bigger than her Aunt’s. It had a pub, a post office, a chemist’s, a bank, a hotel and restaurant, and Emily was a little glad to be somewhere with a bit more buzz. Emphasis on the word 'bit’.

She bought an ice cream from the newsagents, and sat on a small wooden bench outside, happy to watch the villagers come and go. Many had dogs, and many were pensioners. Flower baskets hung from the lampposts. She felt serene.

Soon, the itch to cycle returned, so she got up and began wheeling the bike along the pavement, planning to start cycling again once away from the main 'high street’, when a dog run close to the front wheel and she quickly pulled the bike back, worried she may have hurt it.

“I’m so sorry,” she mumbled, and realised the dog was Captain. She quickly looked up to see his owner.

The same cheekbones, the same jaw line, and the same blue eyes - although cloudy, still expressive. Dark patches and scars covered the left side of his face, yet it was Tom.

“I…,” Emily began, and could only watch as he swiftly walked away, head bowed, his stick clicking against the pavement, Captain at his heels.

Her heart clenched, and all she wanted to do was cycle as fast as she could away.


The clear sky may as well have been full of rain clouds. Emily’s eyes were hazy, filled with tears, as she rode back to her Aunt’s. This version of Tom haunted her. He was wearing black again, as if in mourning, and kept his head down, as if hiding from the world. Some part of her wanted to hold him and kiss him, as if that would reignite her old Tom.

She was finding it hard to breath.

She wanted to talk to him. She wanted to know what had happened. She wanted to know if he was okay. And she knew she shouldn’t. She had a fiancee, for God’s sake!

As she reached her Aunt’s house she stopped before entering. She needed to pull herself together. She bade time by fiddling with the bike’s gears and brakes, trying to even out her breathing.

When she entered the house, Aunt Mabel was in the kitchen at the back of the house. Emily called out to greet her and tell her she was going to freshen up.

Instead, she crumbled on the guest bed and sobbed.

She cried for what she had lost when she had left Tom all those years ago, and she cried for what time had done to him.

When she closed her eyes, all she could see were Toms.


“You’re quiet tonight, dear.”

Emily gazed blankly at the TV screen. She was grateful that her Aunt had put Gardener’s World on so they weren’t in complete silence while they ate. Images of plants and soil and butterflies could not distract her from him.

“You’re thinking about him, aren’t you?”

Emily practically choked on her pasta. Could she read her mind?

“I can tell when a girl is missing her man. You should call Paul. I’m sure he’s thinking of you.”

Emily smiles politely and nods. Maybe he is. Or maybe not.


“It’s a lovely night,” Emily tries to sound casual as she hovers in the living room doorway. “I was thinking of going star gazing in the field.”

Her Aunt sets her book down on the coffee table. “You go on, dear. It’s knocking on for my bedtime and I’m no good at staring up at the sky for long.”

Emily smiles. “Okay, Aunt. If I don’t see you when I get in, sleep well.”

“Take a torch.”


Emily’s hands were sweaty as she crossed the field. What was she doing.

All evening she had played various reactions and scenarios in her head as to what might happen.

He might be angry to see her. She didn’t want to upset him.

He might tell her to simply go away. She might not get any answers, or anything out of him.

And how would she react? She’d done enough crying for one day, and didn’t want to sob all over him.

She started to hum tunelessly to herself. Whenever she felt scared, she would hum or sing involuntarily. It just happened. Tom had used to sing to her too, to soothe her. One night they had awoken to loud banging noises inside their building. Scared it may be burglars, Tom went to check, singing as he went. It turned out to be their heating system breaking down noisily.

She’d never heard Paul sing, she mused.

She saw the chapel ahead. She hoped Captain would be around to alert Tom to her presence. She didn’t want to scare him.

And indeed, Captain came out, barking once, softly. Emily felt a little reassured by him, and let him walk with her closer to the house.

She noticed the front door gaping open, amber light flooding out, and then his dark silhouette framed by the doorway.

“Captain?” Tom called.

“Tom, it’s me. Emily.” She responded, and his silhouette stayed still. Silent.

“I’m.. I’m sorry, I just… I needed to see you.”

She gets to the doorway, and watches Tom gaze stiffly ahead of him. Captain trots up to the threshold and snakes past Tom’s long legs into the house.

“Well now you’ve seen me,” Tom replies drily, and begins to turn to go back inside.

“Please! Wait, I don’t want to bother you…,” Emily plants a foot on the threshold, and notices Tom’s fingers gripping the door-frame tightly at his side.

“You already have bothered me.”

Emily looks up and sees no humour or gentleness on his face. Just coldness. This is not the man she knew.

“I have made it quite clear that I do not want you here, please go.”

“Why? What have I done wrong? Please, Tom, let me in.”

He rolls his eyes and steps back. “As you wish.”


The small chapel has been knocked through to create an open-plan living space. Emily recognises some of Tom’s belongings he and there, bringing back familiar feelings of happier times, yet right now she feels glum as she watches Tom heavily slump into an armchair, staring straight ahead of him.

“Come to pity the blind man?” He sneers.

 Emily storms over to him.

“Why do you say that? I’ve come here not to pity you, I’ve come because… I care about you.”

He laughs to himself. “You have no reason to. Why are you here?”

She crouches down in front of him. His eyes flicker around her, and she would almost feel empathy for him if he wasn’t being so difficult.

Frustrated, Emily can’t help as the words tumble out of her.

“I’m here because I needed a break from my life, I needed a break from my overbearing mother who won’t shut up about my wedding and I came to gather my thoughts and I thought I’d get some peace here but instead I found you and now I feel sick.”

Tom looks towards her.

“I didn’t mean to bump into you. I just did. And now I have, I… are you okay?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?” he says darkly.

“You’re… you’re not the Tom I knew…”

“DON’T,” he roars, his fingers digging deeply into the arm rests of his chair. “Don’t you pity me. I don’t need anything from you. I don’t need you to care.”

Emily stands up and stamps her foot. “Thomas, why are you so frustrating? I’m trying to be nice. You want me to go? You want me to not care? Fine. FINE. I’ll go. Have it your way. Again. I’ll walk out on you AGAIN. See how much I really pity you then…,”

She shrieks as Tom stands and clasps her shoulders in his large palms, as he kisses her with an open mouth to stop her words. Her fists punch his biceps, yet she can’t help but relent as his tongue coaxes hers, and fingers plunge into her hair. His scent envelopes her, and its as if her body has disappeared. All she can feel and smell and taste is him.

And it is bliss.

He pulls away, giving her one last chaste small kiss on the lips.

“What the hell, Tom?” She whispers. How can he be such a dick one minute, then suddenly kiss her like that?

She feels the pads of his fingers gently smooth over her eyelids. “Open your eyes.”

She opens her eyes, and studies his beautiful face, merely a breath away from hers.

“What do you see?”

She swallows. “You. I see you, Tom.”

“Do you not see broken eyes that cannot look into your soul? Do you not see a disfigured face that terrifies?”

She raises a hand to stroke his cheek, along the lines of scarring. It really is not so bad.

“Tom,” she begins, “you are handsome…”

“Do not jest with me,” he pulls away. “I should disgust you.”

She slaps him, and he hangs his head.

“You know what? You do disgust me. It disgusts me to think that you would believe I would judge you in that way. I thought you knew me better than that.”

She gives him one last glance, then turns to head towards the door.

Tom stays still as Captain quietly pads over to the door, watching as Emily shuts the door behind her.


Tears spill from the corner of Tom’s eyes as he lies in the dark, Captain curled up at the foot of the bed, snoring softly.

Since the accident, he had crafted a well-constructed life for himself. Here, no one had any expectations of who he should be, or what he should do.

He spent his days listening to audio books, playing instruments, cooking, and sometimes even sculpting. He got by. He was safe here. There were no busy roads to contend with, and he felt relatively independent.

Then Emily had arrived, and somehow pierced through his sham of a life.

He knew that he could do so much more. He could still act, he could still have friends, he could probably still live in London if he wanted to.

He didn’t need to live so small.

But it was easier to live small than to be brave.

It was easier to be bitter than to hope.


Why did he kiss me?

Emily groans as the question plays over and over in her head. She can’t sleep. She looks at the little golden clock on the bedside table.

It offers her no answer.


He kissed her because he wanted to say sorry. He kissed her because he wanted her to see through his exterior and know that he was still her Tom underneath it all. He kissed her to show her how sad he was, that he actually did need her, despite his words. He kissed her for all the years he hadn’t been with her. He kissed her to take back letting her go. He kissed her to show her he loved her.

He loved her.

Tom shifted onto his side, burying his face into the pillow.


Emily poked at the edge of her pancake with the tip of her spoon. It would ordinarily be delicious, and yet this morning her Aunt’s cooking was almost unbearable.

“How was it last night?”

Emily almost groaned, recalling what had happened.

“Spot any constellations? Your Uncle used to be quite the stargazer.”

“Oh, it was.. yeah, lovely,” Emily shrugged, feigning a smile for Aunt Mabel. She had barely noticed the stars as she’d charged across the fields, feeling hurt. She hadn’t felt that deeply since… since Tom had broken up with her.

“Got any plans for your last day in the country? I know a lovely farm not too far from here, they do the best cream teas.”

“I don’t think I could manage that straight after pancakes,” Emily nods. “Maybe later.”


She hummed along to the music on her ipod, while watching the bees float over the lavender in Aunt Mabel’s garden. The sky above was blue, and she let herself close her eyes as she settled into the sun lounger.

Tom had made it clear that he did not want to reconnect with her. That was okay. He was a jerk. She was heading back to London tonight, where her regular, logical life would be. Her mother would fuss about the wedding, out of care. Her fiancee would reliably be at her side every evening to watch TV with. She would get the tube to work and not have to worry about running into ghosts from her past.

She felt a tap on her knee, and opened her eyes. Aunt Mabel hovered over her, squinting. Emily pulled an earphone out.

“There’s someone at the door, would you mind getting it? It’ll take you half the time…”

Emily pondered if it was the postman, and didn’t know what to do when she opened the door and found Tom on the doorstep, Captain at his side. The dog looked up at her with a dopey expression, his tongue hanging out of his mouth at the side.

“Oh,Tom?” Emily frowns, and crosses her arms.

He flusters a little.

“I’m.. I’m not here to fight, promise.” He raises a hand in appeasement.

“Okay…?” She leans against the door frame.

“I.. I know you don’t want to see me, and I couldn’t blame you after what I said last night.”

Emily snorts.

“Please… will you go with me, to my home, to talk?”

“You have given me absolutely no good reason to,” Emily snaps.

Captain frowns, his brown eyes flitting from Tom to her.

Tom swallows. “I’m… I’m so sorry.” His voice is almost inaudible, and Emily softens a little as he starts to turn away.

“Wait,” she sighs. She’ll be on a train home in a few hours. She can probably bear to hear him out before she goes.

Tom wavers, his face moving to try and sense her. But she had disappeared.

After letting her Aunt know she’ll be gone for a little while, Emily returns to the doorstep, and shoves her hands in her jacket pockets. “Lead the way.”


The ten minute walk down the lane and through the field was quiet. So many different things were coming up for her, as she walked next to Tom. Part of her did not know how to 'be’ around this version of Tom. Would he snap at her again? He walked with less confidence than he used to, his head slightly bowed, weary. She knew he had changed hugely - his personality, his energy, even his soul. She almost wanted to turn and run, yet she couldn’t. She could see that he was hugely frustrated, and that it had taken him some bravery to have sought her out today.

She watched Tom fumble with the door keys, and she followed him inside. Using his stick, he walked over to the kitchen area.

“Would you like tea?” he called back to her over his shoulder.

Emily hugged her arms around herself. She wanted this to be quick.

“Um, thanks, but I can’t stay too long. I’m heading back home soon.”

“Home?” he asks quietly, turning to face her. His cloudy blue eyes look for her. She almost steps towards him to touch his shoulder, to show him she’s there, but stops herself.

“Yeah, London, you know…,”


She rocks on her heels, hoping Tom will say something. It’s silent save for Captain’s claws scraping gently across the wooden floor nearby.

“And your fiancee,” Tom smiles, looking down. “I’m sure… I’m sure he wants you home too.”

Emily nods mutely.

“How long have you been together?”

She sighs. “Three and a half years. Engaged for six months.”

She notices his fingers tighten on the top of his walking stick.

“That’s… that’s good…,” he swallows. “…That you’re, you’re happy.”


“Aren’t you?” Tom cocks his head a little, trying to make out any movement from her.

Emily looks away, trying not to cry. The sweeter, kinder Tom she remembers is starting to appear before her, and it hurts.

“Emily?” he whispers.

“I…um, yeah. I just, I think the pressure of the wedding has been getting to me.” She clears her throat. “Anyway, what did you want to talk to me about?”

Tom leans against the kitchen counter. “I wanted to tell you that I do know you better. I know that you see me beyond this.” He waves his hand over his face. “That you could never be… disgusted. Although my behaviour last night… I am truly ugly indeed.”

She bites back saying anything, in case it stops his honesty.

“I’m scared,” he swallows.

She hesitates to go to him, although her arms are itching to wrap around him.

“I don’t like being like this,” he tucks a piece of hair behind his ear as he mumbles.

“What happened? After the accident, I mean. Why did you move here?”


Tom didn’t have another chair for her, so they sat on the edge of his bed as he filled in all the gaps of the past years.

He told her of how he had given up, and had wanted to get away from the demands of his career. There had been many champions of his who wanted to help him ease back into acting despite his physical changes, yet he had simply had enough. Deep down, he didn’t believe anyone would want to hire an actor who’d need hours in make-up to cover his scars, or assistance with navigating sets.

His temporary blindness had turned into something more permanent.

Whilst he had had support professionally, and from his family as best they could, he yearned to have someone at his side who could remind him that despite what had happened to him, he was still Tom.

He didn’t say it out loud, but he had yearned for Emily in particular.

And the yearning had turned into frustration, and a deeper feeling of loneliness. He sold his London flat and fled.

As he spoke, Emily felt a pang of guilt for her previous assumptions. All these years, she had imagined him living a far better life than she.

“And… was there ever any… anyone else?” She hoped he would say that there had been a soul mate, or dalliances, or sex buddies. If he had been living alone here, then she hoped before the accident that he had had some fun.

“No,” he smiles, and stretches his leg out in front of him. “You know me.”

She raises an eyebrow.

“Only ever you.”

She gazes mutely at her palms resting in her lap.

“I’m sorry I slapped you.”

His long fingers gingerly stroke across her thigh, looking for her hand. Their fingers interlink.

“I deserved it,” he mumbles. “I’m sorry for treating you so abominably. You were right. It wasn’t me.”

Emily sighs.

“I want to be me again.”

She turns to look at him. His large glassy blue eyes gaze numbly down at the floor in front of him, worry lines etched into his forehead.

She wraps an arm around his shoulders.

“You are you, already, in there, somewhere. Buried under some crap.”

He chuckles.

“Just let him come out.”

“I’ll try,” he whispers, and closes his eyes.



“Why did you kiss me?”

“Because I love you.”

Her heart beat loudly in her chest, and her breath began to quicken.

“Still.” He exhales loudly, his eyes still closed.

“I can’t stop.”


“I’m sorry,” he opens his eyes, and takes back his hand from hers.

“Wait,” she squeezes his shoulder, making sure he doesn’t turn away from her. “Stop doing this. Last night you kissed me, then you pulled away. Now you tell me you love me, and you’re pulling away. Don’t I get a chance to respond?”

He looks down. “Sorry.”

“And stop apologising,” she groans, before kissing him gently on the lips. She curls her fingers through his hair, eliciting a deep moan from him.

“I’m so sorry,” he breathes into her mouth.

“Stop it,” she whispers back.

“For everything.”

“Ssh, Tom.” <kiss>

“I should never have let you go.”

She growls, not wanting to think back to their break-up.

“I’m so sorry.”

She tastes his salty tears as they trickle down his face, onto her lips, and soon he is burying his face in the crook of her neck, sobbing as he comes undone.


She looks over to the suited man opposite her in the half-empty train carriage, reading the Evening Standard. It’s late evening, and all is as it should be in London.

A few late night revelers, billboards advertising shows and books and movies, buskers, tourists… So much life and colour.

And yet Emily feels emotionally numb.

She left her heart in Dorset.


“Why did you let me go?” she couldn’t help but ask, as his sobs had subsided. “I didn’t want to, not really.”

He sighs deeply, and hangs his head.

“I didn’t think I could give you everything you needed. You were right. You needed a life of your own, and I selfishly was getting in the way.”

“We might have been able to make it work, somehow…”

“I don’t know,” Tom scratches the side of his face. “I was too young to know what the word 'compromise’ means.”

Emily pokes his ribs. “Stubborn git.”

He chuckles. “I was, wasn’t I.” He turns his face towards her, blue eyes hazy as his hands rise to feel her face. “You were in my heart the whole time. I carried you with me through the years.”

He swallows, stroking her eyebrow with his fingertips softly. “You kept me company on long days and sleepless nights. I couldn’t let you go.”


She found Paul splayed out on the sofa, a KFC bucket on the coffee table, cricket highlights on the telly.

“Hello, gorgeous,” he smiles, and motions for her to lie with him.

He pecks her on the top of her head and rubs her arm, then absent-mindedly asks her about her weekend trip, his eyes focused on the cricket results.

She tries not to cry. She lies with him, waiting until bedtime comes, when she can think clearly in the dark of the night.

Just as Tom has to dismantle the small world he’d created, so now must she with hers.


She couldn’t decide how best to go about this.

Did she tell Paul that she no longer wanted to marry him? She could hardly postpone it - that would just be stringing him along. But what reason would she give? He was a decent enough guy, after all. He hadn’t cheated on her, hadn’t treated her badly, she had no sound reason to give. And she could not tell him about Tom. It just seemed cruel.

And her mother…

As she brushed her teeth that morning, she pondered if taking the coward’s way out would be the easiest option - just run. Leave a note and run.

But no, she wouldn’t be able to live with herself with so many loose ends.

And so this week she would have to face the music.

She checked her reflection in the mirror.

Like a lamb to the slaughter.


Her mother had scolded her. Her father matter-of-factly began making cancellations. And dear Paul had been dumbfounded. Not bereft, as such, just shocked. The same night as breaking the news to him, she checked herself into a hotel, where she stayed for the rest of the week, before pegging it back to Dorset once the weekend arrived.

She had found a more resolved Tom, a Tom who wanted to return to London and build his life again.

And she had found a Tom who would hold her as she cried over the pain of ending a long-term relationship, along with facing disappointment from her mother. Even though she had chosen Tom, unquestionably, she still needed to mourn the ending of something that had taken up the last few years of her life. And Tom did not bat an eyelid as she sat sadly in his arms.

Drained and exhausted, he helped her under the covers of his bed and lay with her. She softly traced her fingers along his left cheek, grazing over his scars. Wordlessly, she leant in to kiss his skin there, over and over. He curled his arms around her in response. “I won’t let you go again.”


One month later…

Captain sniffed and snuffled along the banks of the canal, as if looking for a lost toy. Emily was wary he might fall into the water, yet Tom seemed perfectly at ease as he sat beside her on the bench, his arm linked with hers..

His hair recently cut shorter exposed his face to the world, and Emily proudly gazed at him. In fact, she would sneakily look at him whenever she could. If he knew what she was doing, he would have thought her besotted.

Which she was.

Taking very few belongings, Tom (and Captain) had joined her in London. The smell of the underground, and the dense sounds of the city streets were becoming more reassuring as he adapted again to where he once lived. There were also plenty of parks and squares for Captain to amble about it, who had taken to the city rather well for an old dog.

Still a little self-conscious, Tom chose to wear RayBan’s in public, which Emily thought made him look like a rock star.

“What are you thinking about, handsome?” she whispers in his ear, and he nudges her shoulder with his, pressing the side of his body next to hers.

“About the noises you would make if I pushed my tongue inside of you.”

Emily’s jaw drops. “Tom!” She bats him on the arm, and he grins devilishly at her.

She smiles, emotion welling inside of her.

Tom’s back.

About Time

When we arrived, I had every intention of reading the book that’s currently placed in my lap in order to try and learn useful information for the next pack meeting; however, I love lacrosse just as much as they do so I enjoy watching them play—even if it’s only practice. That’s what I keep telling myself anyway. It has nothing to do with the fact that I’ve had a bit of crush on Brett for the last month or so. It has nothing to do with the fact that he’s so cute yet very hot, even in loose practice shorts and a loose light gray long-sleeve. The shirt is loose everywhere but his broad shoulders, which I can’t tear my eyes off of. His bangs are stuck to his forehead because of the little bit of sweat that’s forming there.

The sight in front of me is just too distracting. My best friend is incredibly attractive, and I can’t help but find him adorable and sweet too. Brett sneaks another glance at me while I’m staring at him. I quickly look at the book in my lap, hoping he didn’t notice. I read another paragraph and highlight something I deem important. I don’t quite understand what I just read. I scratch the back of neck and ruffle my shoulder length chestnut hair with a confused look on my face as I stare at the words. Fighting the urge to gaze back at Brett is difficult. Why do I have to like my best friend so much more than a friend?

Keep reading

with the frc season solidly behind us boys and girls get ready for a story

i was a defense coordinator at new england district championships because i trusted my students to figure themselves out (NEVER. AGAIN.) and everyone told me it was going to be a hard job and i was like “whatevs bruh i work in a customer service booth it cannot be that hard”

and you know what? it wasn’t.  most teams were totally  pleasant to me and wonderful and understanding that i had to randomize their defenses when they didn’t get to my station by the end of the match two matches before them.

but one incident stuck out to me so much i feel the need to bring it up because it raised serious concerns about the way teams treat volunteers

before the first finals match, the alliance moving on from the last semifinal match failed to appear at my station in the allotted time provided by the field supervisor

NOTE: yes i understand that when a team is coming off the field and changing bumpers and whatnot it can be really hard to send someone over to the station to make a difficult strategy call. i too am a graduate of this program i know what that is like

i thought that the field supervisor should have given them more time, and advocated for that.  he wanted me to randomize after thirty seconds.  i stalled for a solid extra minute, after which I was receiving a dirty enough look that I knew better than to give them any more time

less than thirty seconds after i randomized, printed, and the field supervisor walked away one of the teams from the randomized alliance came running up to submit defenses.  i apologized and explained that they had been randomized.  they were furious, and rightly so, but i found their anger directed at me, not at the person who had made the call and, more importantly, could actually have reversed it still.  i was the object of their ire for several long minutes, telling them constantly that the field supervisor could change the decision but that i was physically unable to access the match information.  they continued to complain.

anyone who was at dcmp knows what happened next.  semifinal matches were adjusted, then replayed.  bumpers were switched back and forth.  right before the finals started once again, i found the team once again at my station with daggers coming from their eyes.

“can we reselect defenses?” they fired at me

“i don’t know about that yet,” i answered, rapidly refreshing the page

“well could you FIND OUT?”

i picked up the radio.  “beth to any fta”

“go ahead,” an unidenitified fta responded

“are they resubmitting defenses for finals match 1?”

“no, they don’t have to.  we have them already.” i relayed this information 

“ok yeah but CAN WE? YOU randomized them last time”

“beth to any fta”


“CAN they?”

“no.  we already have them.” i relayed this information again, only to recieve several more minutes of verbal abuse.

YES, the call was wrong, as my ref friend has told to me on several occasions. but it was NOT my call and the team in question refused to listen.  they had ample time to hop over to the field and have the call reversed, but chose instead to spend that time yelling at me, a person who was powerless to help them beyond what i already done (i.e., effectively tripling the amount of time they had to make it to my station)

beyond that, even if it had been my call, slinging verbal abuse at volunteers does not endear you to anyone.  i’m positive that this made a negative impact on teams in hearing range.  this was the least FIRST-like behavior I have witnessed in some time and i am saddened to say that it happened in new england, a region in which i take a lot of pride.

volunteers are there to help run the event.  NOT to be your personal punching bag when you’re angry about having to replay matches.  if it were not for volunteers, frc would disappear or registration would go up sharply.  hate paying $5,000 for two district events? imagine how much you would hate paying for them if first had to pay minimum wage or higher to ftas, refs, pit admin, robot inspectors, crowd control, queuers, ambassadors, judges, the committee, and more.  

tl;dr: i volunteered and a team was rude to me for no reason (literally hurt their cause).  keep registration affordable.  be nice to volunteers.

exo-h evolution chains 09/12

Phase One: Windblown. He spends so much time in the air, his hair is always a mess.

Phase Two: I’m Just Going to Take it Off Anyway. He doesn’t have time to put on his uniform properly when he’s hopping from field to class several times a day! Sometimes he doesn’t even bother taking off his goggles.

Phase Three: Oh No He’s Hot. At some point he became roguishly handsome. Good exercise, lots of sun, and a genuine smile (that you only see when he’s in the air) will do that to you!

Imagine: Imagine kissing Liam, Imagine Liam using your heartbeat as his anchor and Imagine Liam being in love with you.

Author: Anon

Warnings: Fluff, little bit of language, nothing too bad

Enjoy Lovelies:)

Sometimes I can tell when I’m asleep. It’s not too hard either. I know I’m asleep when there are no supernatural creatures trying to kill me. There’s no sacrifices or a hit list. That’s how I know I’m asleep. And sleep, when I can get it, does not last long. I let out a groan as my phone rings. I glance at the clock, 4:36. I snatch my phone up and answer the call.
“You better have a damn good reason to be calling me at 4:30 in the morning.” I threaten.
“Sorry sleeping beauty.” Stiles sarcastically snaps.
“You have 10 seconds to get my attention before I hang up and go back to sleep.” I growl.

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getupshaketherust  asked:

I'm not sure if you're accepting prompts, but uh Eponine and Enjolras are forced to share an apartment which is obviously bumpy at first, but turns out to be something else entirely

AN: My dear, I am so sorry it took me forever and a year to get to this prompt. I hope you enjoy. 

First part of a planned two-parter. Typos my own. 

Force Majeure

force majeure: n. (1) unforeseeable circumstances that prevent someone from completing a contract (2) irresistible compulsion or greater force.

i. If wishes were horses, beggars would ride

Enjolras blinked, slowly at first and then quickly. Marius’ lips were moving. Words were coming out of his mouth. He heard them. Wrapped his mind around them. Digested them. Not that it really mattered. His conclusion was always the same.

“That is absolutely, without question, the most ridiculous thing I have ever heard.”

Marius winced before sucking in his breath between his teeth, which made Enjolras clench his fist. “It’s not ridiculous. It just…sort of…happened.”

“You’re moving in with a girl you met last week because it’s ‘true love.’” Enjolras sneered as he made air quotes. “What am I supposed to do about this apartment Marius? Hmm??” 

“See, what I, uh, was thinking was her roommate could just move in here…take my spot and I would move there…” Marius laughed nervously. “A roommate swap. If you get what I mean.”

Enjolras pictured happy fuzzy bunnies hopping around in a field. In his head, he could hear Combeferre’s soothing words telling him to breathe deeply and count to five. This was just another one of Marius’ flights of romantic fancy. Like the time when they were thirteen and he had broken into a girl’s backyard to serenade her and the two of them had gotten chased by the neighborhood Rottweiler. Or the time in high school where Marius had foolishly challenged the star rugby player for the right to ask Jeanne D’Arcy to a night out at the movies. 

His breath left his lips, hushed and quiet like the hiss of a snake. Marius, he reminded himself, was always getting himself into ridiculous situations. It’ll blow over in a week. Two at the most. A tight smile on his face, he calmly brushed a stray curl out of his eyes. 

“And who,” he said quietly, “is her roommate?”

“Ha…about that…” Marius shrugged sheepishly. “Do you remember Eponine?“ 

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It's On; Liam Dunbar

Request- “hi!!! can u do an imagine on Liam teaching the reader how to play lacrosse, but she already know how to and is really good cause Scotts her older brother, and she let him teach her cause she thought it was cute !!! thank you :))”
Warnings- None
Words- 541
When your boyfriend Liam
said he wanted to teach you how to play lacrosse how could you refuse? It seemed to go right over his head that you’re his Alpha’s little sister meaning, Scott already forced you to learn.
Your phone buzzed so you go over and pick it up.
“Be there in 5 minutes. Make sure you’re wearing work out clothes!” The text from Liam read.
You go over to your full length mirror and take in your appearance. You’re wearing black and white nike tennis shoes, black nike leggings and a plain white nike t-shirt. Your hair was in a ponytail with a black headband securing your baby strands back.
You hear a honk come from downstairs and you know that Liam is here. You grab your phone, water bottle, and Scott’s lacrosse stick. You go out to Liam’s car and head off for the field.
You guys get to the field and
hop out. Liam grabs his stick and a few lacrosse balls. Once you guys have everything set up Liam demonstrates how to hold a stick.
“Liam it’s not rocket science” You say laughing at him as he analyzes your form.
“I know I know” He says picking up a ball in the pocket of his stick. He cradles the ball a few times then shoots the ball into the net. The ball goes flying into the net and he looks over at you with a cocky grin.
He spends the next 20 minutes showing you how to cradle and how to get into position to shoot the ball.
“Okay I think you’ve got it” He says and gives you a nod.
You bend and get a ball into your pocket too and cradle the ball a few times. You shoot at the net and take the shot. The ball goes into the net. You turn to look at Liam and his jaw is dropped wide open.
“H-How did you….just” He stutters out and you laugh.
“Babe I think you forgot that my brother, your alpha, is also the captain of the lacrosse team.” You say and he looks at you incredulously.
“Why did you agree to let me teach you then?” He asks
“I thought it would be cute. You got so excited so I figured why not” You say and he blushes slightly. You walk over and plant a kiss on his cheek before leaning up to his ear.
“Now I can beat your butt in lacrosse” You say and look at him with a grin.
“It’s on.” He replies with a grin of his own.
You guys set up and throw the ball up. You jump up and grab the ball and head off down the field with Liam hot on your heels.
You quickly shoot and make a goal. You turn around and give Liam a cocky smirk.
“I was going easy. It’s so on” He says and you two walk back over to set up again.
You two continue having a little scrimmage for the next two hours or so.
“I told you I’d win” You say throwing your arms up victoriously.
“I’m the real winner” He says pulling you into his sweaty side and pressing a kiss to your forehead.