#I might be American now and maybe i don’t have much of a connection but I want to know! | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

lethalchiralium · 2 years ago

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No More | [2] | Simon “Ghost” Riley x F!Reader

a/n: WOW. i did not expect that to blow up as hard as it did. thank you so much!! [this seriously might become a series. we’ll see.] [also, that means you’re getting a backstory. a very… need for speed backstory ;)] i really do think this is shitty but that’s all part of the plan baby!

warnings: cussing, alcohol, simon drinks to forget but he always remembers, non-sexual nudity, mentions of genocide, mentions of trauma, mentions of past careers, mentions of planes, mentions of crashing, mentions of american citizenship (you don’t have to be from there if you don’t want to be! i live there and i don’t want to be here! it’s just important from a certain aspect of your previous career.) simon is also a lot more lovey when he’s drunk.

summary: He’s convinced he should leave. He’s convinced himself that you are better off without him, better alone than being hurt by a shell of a man like him. He barely got a foot out of the door before he changed his mind.

part one here! | SERIES MASTERLIST

He had more bourbon in the past two months than he’s ever had in his entire life. The sickly sweet pull and the burn down his throat was a comforting pain as agony ripped through his heart. He sat alone in your shared apartment, a dim lamp being the only light in the entire space. He hadn’t gotten sick of the bourbon like he usually does, he couldn’t move it from the coffee table - he had sat forwards, arms resting on his knees and hands dug into his hair.

He was bone tired. He hadn’t slept in two days; it was a normal occurrence now that you had gone on that mission. He had to take leave so he didn’t rip Price’s throat out for not letting him go with you. The ache in his head still hadn’t gone away with the aspirin he took a few hours ago and the full bottle of his best bourbon down the hatch. The night wasn’t flying by like it did last night, he could hear the clock on the wall tick as he wallowed in his own misery.

Sometimes it took him weeks to bring up the scalpel and separate Ghost and Simon, divide the halves into quarters and dissect what actions could have been better performed to produce a better outcome - essentially, what he did to fuck up the one good thing he had going for him, and how he could fix it. He took your words to heart, and he was taking a very long time to stew over everything he could have done that would’ve have made him look like he didn’t trust you. Simon trusted you with every fiber of his being, he loved you more than that. He knew you were an amazing fighter, your fire to help those in need could never be extinguished.

He realized later rather than sooner that Ghost was why you didn’t trust him - Ghost was protecting the person Simon loves the most. And maybe, that included when you were home too. Keeping Simon locked away so he didn’t get hurt, so Simon didn’t get hurt by you.

If he had half a bottle less, he would’ve gone up to bed - but the room felt suffocating without you. He couldn’t lay in a bed that smelled like you if it became one of the last things he had of you in case you were killed, so he had cat napped on the couch for the past nine weeks. If he had a bottle less, he wouldn’t have thought about how his absence wouldn’t hurt you as much as Ghost does - if he had the £348 he spent on alcohol back, he wouldn’t have thought how this place felt like your home. Never his, he also categorized it underneath Ghost’s half - keeping his love at arms length so his self-destruction doesn’t hurt you.

He was drunk. Piss drunk, since he had never gave himself time to sleep off the bourbon. Ghost was cracked in the middle, and Simon was punching out holes in Ghost’s façade. Ghost never allowed Simon to feel, never allowed him to connect with anyone - a self-defense mechanism. But now? Ghost was almost gone, and he felt like himself now. And God, did it hurt.

How could he have done this? How could have pushed you away so far that your rope was dwindling by a thread, how could he have hurt the one thing that made him begin to unlock the cage around his freezing cold heart? He felt it in his chest, the raw burn and tug of desperation - he knew that he had to cut the thread.

He didn’t want to, he would give anything to not let you go - but Simon couldn’t let you keep getting damaged by his defense measures.

If he had no alcohol in his system, he wouldn’t have gotten up like he did. He wouldn’t have waltzed to the guest room, messily packed his duffle and brought it to the living room. He wouldn’t have grabbed a pen and an old pad of paper. And he definitely wouldn’t have written the note he was writing now.

He folded the note, lifting up the bottle of bourbon on the coffee table and setting it down on the table, putting the bottle on the corner to hold the note down. His hand grabbed his duffle and he stood and he made his way to the front door. He slipped on his boots, only caring enough to tuck the laces into his socks before Simon went to open the door. He took the time to turn around, gazing at the dim apartment that smelled like you, that held all of your important belongings. It was the place that cradled you when you were down, the place he kept falling for you, the place he would kneel to the kiss the ground you walked on.

This was the place he loved you.

Honestly, in the back of his mind, he knew his sober ass would walk home after a week.

Before he could open the door, the lock turned and the door burst open - he threw his duffle into the adjacent kitchen and was about to fight. That was before he saw you.

Dirt and blood caked on your face, your duffle hanging from your hand, your hoodie tattered and your neck bruised - and he watched as the tears raced down your face. He could barely even begin to speak when you flung your duffle inside and dove into his chest, arms wrapped around his chest so hard, he thought you would pop his lungs.

“Baby, baby, hey,” He cooed, his hand immediately held your head against his chest - he pulled you both out of the way so he could close the door and lock it, now he was immediately sobered up. Your sobs were loud now, your hands gripped onto the back of his shirt so hard he was convinced it would rip.

He tried to pull you away but you refused, begging, “Please, pl-please don’t let me go.”

“Where’s Cerby?” He spoke gently, keeping his hand on the back of your head, feeling dirt crusted into your scalp. You must have come straight here.

“With K-Keegs.” You mumbled, muffled by his thin t-shirt with a faded band logo on it. He sighed, sad that his dog wouldn’t be home for a few days but he let the feeling go. All he needed to focus on was you, and definitely not his foolish actions from literally three minutes prior.

He hummed then, his free hand moved to underneath your thigh - he pulled it up so you would get the hint, which you did. Your arms moved from around his chest to around his neck and you jumped into his arms, caging your legs around his large waist as best you could. Both of his hands held the back of your thighs, he glanced to the kitchen and made sure both of the duffles were there and unharmed. They were, so he turned around and walked down the hallway to the bedroom he hadn’t used in since the last time you were home. He pushed the door open, turning on the warm light before walking into the ensuite bathroom.

He flicked on the light before moving to sit on the side of the bathtub, it creaked under your combined weight - you were sat firmly on his lap and his hands went to your back and head, cradling you.

“I’m gonna start a bath for you, love.” He spoke, his voice wavering with uncertainty as your arms wrapped tighter around his masked neck.

“No, no, please, don’t let go.” The tumble of words from your mouth made his grip on you tighter. He couldn’t imagine what happened, he didn’t want to - he thanked God that he decided to drink that entire bottle of bourbon a couple of hours ago. His mind was muddled, he could barely get any thought out of what could’ve happened. All he wanted to do now was help you.

He kissed the top of your head through his mask, dismissing the feeling of cloth against his lips and he gently pulled your head back, he gazed into your red-rimmed eyes. He whispered your name like a prayer, as if you were an angel - which you were to him. Even covered head to toe in dirt, blood, and grime, he would still be able to see your halo through any darkness. “Let me help, love. Let me help you feel better, then I won’t let you go for as long as you want.”

“I can’t.” The voice he heard was almost unrecognizable, he had never heard you sound so small. “I can’t, I can’t.”

He sighed, moving forwards to press the skull to your forehead - something he did when he knew you needed it. You physically relaxed when he did it, your back bent into his hand as you pushed every single ounce of weight onto him. His fingertips pressed into your spine, dragging up and down it from above your shitty old hoodie. He stayed like that for a few minutes, letting you cry against his mask. He gave you a bit of time before he pulled up your hoodie, you obliged and let him pull it over your head. You were just in your dirty black sports bra, and now he got a good look at you.

He felt bile rise in his throat. Your entire chest was spray painted in black bruises, he got a good look at the dark purplish handprint on your neck. He looked back up at you, your head faced to the side as you cried, ashamed.

“Oh, my love,” His hand returned to the back of your head, cradling it as he gazed at you. “Are you hurt anywhere else?”

You quickly shook your head, tears removing most of the grime on your cheeks. Your arms were now at your side, fiddling with the hem of his athletic shorts while you let out a broken sigh. His hands moved to lift you off of his lap, one hand didn’t stop touching you while he pulled off your boots, tossing them to the side before tugging off your holed socks. He made a mental reminder to buy you new socks at the base shop while he placed a hand on your back, guiding you with him as he moved to turn the faucet on. He turned it all the way up then back a little, the temperature you liked. He plugged the drain and put his hand underneath the flow of water, waiting for it to turn almost hot - normally, he would’ve made it extremely hot, you had always said you thought it was like being boiled like a lobster. But, he didn’t want to agitate your injuries. His hand moved from your back and didn’t break skin contact when he took your hand, still looking away from you but he still held your hand gently.

“You’re warm.” You mumbled, moving his hand up to settle on your cheek.

“I know, love.” He answered, turning back to you. His hand slipped from your face and down your side to your belt loops, undoing the buttons and zipper then pulling down your pants. He took your hands as you stepped out of your pants, watched as you kicked them behind you and he observed new pink scars, healed but still fresh. Surrounding them were black bruises, identical to the ones on your chest. He heard your whimpers of pain when you stood back up, his hand ghosted your side as he gazed at it, seeing identical black bruises again. Even if he felt sober, he knew that the adrenaline from you showing up injured would wear off and he would become sloppy. He didn’t hurry, he took his time as he pulled down the boxers you stole from him and toss them away. His hands found the bottom of your sports bra, your wince made him pause and look at your face again.

Fat tears still rolled down your cheeks, silent sobs left you as you kept your eyes closed. Your hands stayed at your side until he murmured, “Raise your arms please.” You did as you were told, he tugged it off quickly but not as painlessly as he wanted. You let out a loud wheeze that echoed throughout the bathroom, he placed his hand on your side again, his presence close to you as he leaned down and shut off the water. “‘m gonna pick you up, love.”

“Okay.”

He did as he had said, gently swooping you into his arms and placing you in the warm water that reached up to your collarbone. Your eyes opened again when he retreated from the tub, your gaze watched as he pulled out a towel from the closet and began to rummage through it.

“I almost died.”

Simon visibly froze as you turned back, your gaze now staring at the light above the tub. He peered around the door, hand clutching a washcloth with a pain he couldn’t soberly place. “Do…Do you want to tell me?”

You didn’t respond. He brought all of the materials to the side of the tub, he gently pet your head.

Simon, drunk as hell, bathed you with care. He didn’t speak a word and neither did you, you stared at the wall the whole time except when he tried to wash your hair. You let him move you under the faucet, rinse your hair for five minutes because he couldn’t tell if the soap was gone yet, let him dry you with a towel and dress you in new clothes.

You could barely keep your eyes open when he carried you to bed, tucking you in before he did himself. He watched as you curled into a ball, facing him and keeping your eyes on the sheets, your hand drew circles beside your face. He turned off the lamp on the nightstand, drowning the room in darkness and settled back onto the bed, watching you with bated breath.

“Got trapped in a burning truck.” Your voice almost spooked him, his eyebrows furrowed. You just stared at the gray sheets. “RPG’d the ground in front of us and flipped it. Knocked Logan and Keegs out. Hesh got launched from the driver’s windshield. Had to drag them out and triage them in an abandoned warehouse while trying to fight off the enemy. Got captured for a week. Keegs saved me.” You sniffled a little, your hand reached for his - he instantly took it. He squeezed your hand. “Had bad flashbacks. It had been a while since I’ve got stuck under burning metal and tortured. S’why I was crying.”

“How’re the boys?”

“Watchin’ Cerby and all as stubborn as always. All fine.” You mumbled, pressing his rough skin to your chapped lips.

A deafening silence settled then, your thumb threaded over the back of his hand while he felt your breath graze it. He began to feel drowsy, the slow turn-table of dizziness was coming back from earlier and all he wanted to do was place his head in your neck and just breathe. He needed you like he needed oxygen, you touch him and he felt like it was the first breath he’s ever taken.

“Sleep, baby.” He murmured, sliding down from his sitting position, underneath the soft duvet. He moved closer to you, settling his head so that he laid face to face with you. He could barely make out your nose and cheeks in the dim moonlight, but he could see the glisten of your eyes as they gazed at his.

“I haven’t had a PTSD episode since I left the US Naval Aviation division.” The voice he heard sounded nothing like what you normally do - it was small. Broken. Damaged. An echo of you.

He furrowed his brows, he thought he knew everything about you. Both your dad and childhood best friend were pilots, but you never specified what kind - and apparently neglected to tell him that you were one too. “Why didn’t you tell me you were a pilot?”

You sniffled, squeezing his hand and ignored his question. “Got shot down over enemy territory. Crash landed and had to pry my legs from my jet as the fire burned.” The sensation of his hand being squeezed tighter made his dizzy mind think that you were angry - but in reality, the memory of burning metal against your hands made you feel scared. You wanted to pull him closer, to have him shield you from your memories. Yet you kept talking, even if you recognized the hurt twang in his voice. “Had to fend for myself in an abandoned city just over the border in Ukraine. Stayed in that town for three weeks ‘til Special Forces came and found me.” You pulled his arm to your chest, pressing his hand into your cheek. “S’where I met Price. Almost shot him too, thought he was an enemy.”

“Why didn’t you tell me about the flashbacks?” His voice was softer then, he pressed his warm palm down to your jaw. “I could’ve helped you, my love.”

“‘Cause it’s not important now.” You murmured, both of your hands cradled his. “Wasn’t even s’posed to stay with 141, meant to go back to Miramar. Meant to get back in the air.” You took a quiet breath. “I fell for you and everything I knew went up in smoke.”

His heart dropped to the floor. It thumped against it, still pumping blood but it hurt in his chest.

“If I hadn’t given it up, I wouldn’t have you.”

“I would give up anything for you.” He whispered. “Don’t give up anything for me, darling. You deserve everything you have.”

“That means I deserve you.”

“You don’t deserve me.” He immediately answered, his other hand went to settle on the duvet, tugging it up more. “You don’t deserve my problems, how fucked up I am.”

“I don’t care.”

“You should.” He settled his hand on your side, feeling you breathe underneath his fingertips. “I’ve hurt you, not on purpose but I still did it.” His thumb circled on the duvet, you barely felt it as his voice became quieter. “You really hurt me when you walked away.”

“I’m sorry.” Your voice wavered, he couldn’t bear to hear you start to cry again. He paused, hand coming from your hip to completely take off his mask - something he had never done in your presence before. He tossed the mask away onto the floor as he moved forwards, placing his lips against your moonlight dusted cheek.

“I deserved it.” He answered, settling back and pulling your hands into his chest. “Made me think for a while.”

“You’re drunk.” A statement he didn’t deny, he pulled your hands upwards to his collarbone.

“I am.”

“Because of me?”

“Because I hurt you.” He answered, now pulling your hands to settle on his cheeks. “I want you to feel that I trust you, because I do.” He began to move your hands upwards, his eyes fluttered closed as your fingertips traced his warm face, tracing his eyebrows and dancing over his eyelids.

“Simon, you don’t have to let me do this.” Your hands paused, his own grip settled on your wrists. “I want you to be sober, you’ll be mad at me tomorrow.”

He scoffed, moving his head to kiss one of your palms, keeping his eyes closed as he whispered, “I could never be mad at you. Frustrated or upset? Yes, but angry? No.” He gently rubbed your arms, hands moving to settle on your own cheeks. “I’ve decided that you need to really know how much I trust you. How much faith I have in you. How proud I am of you.”

“You hurt me for so long.” Your voice cracked so heavily, fingertips grazing his forehead and memorizing his nose, coming down to trace his lips you knew well.

“I want to fix it.” His lips kissed your palm again, eyes opening to gaze at your dimly lit face. “Give me a chance.”

“I think this is most comfortable you’ve ever been to talk about things like this.” You remarked, hands stopping on his jaw, cradling it. “I want you to show me how much you trust me, but when you’re sober.”

He nodded in return, moving forwards to place a slow kiss on your lips. His hands moved to settle on the side of your head, pulling you forward just a little. When he broke the kiss, he placed another on the tip of your nose. “You’ll know how much I treasure you until the end of time.”

“Okay.”

“Just don’t leave me like that ever again.” His voice was low, one hand going to trace down your body. “Ever.”

You nodded as you moved closer to him, chest to chest. He removed his other hand from your cheek and slid his arm under his pillow.

“Sleep, love. We’ll talk tomorrow.”

_______________

comment for part 3! (part three here!!)

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tag list:

(i was not able to tag some - i apologize!)

@luhvbot @its-me-ya-boi-lisa @ladystarfishnut @chris3tom2pau1rdj @kat-nee @efsa-lks @angelsquid @marytvirgin @medivalpersephone @ramadiiiisme @blueoorchid @guiltyconfessions @abbiesxox @lockleywife @nicomactavish @nose235678 @lumpypoll @multi-fandomlovers-world @holyfeck @thriving-n-jiving @kgive @simonsdoll @crazyfandomist @ryunniez

#simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley call of duty #simon ghost riley x afab!reader #simon ghost riley x you #simon ghost riley cod #simon ghost riley x fem!reader #simon ghost riley x f!reader #simon ghost riley mw2 #simon riley call of duty #simon riley mw2 #simon riley x you #simon riley x reader #simon riley cod #simon riley x afab!reader #simon riley x f!reader #simon riley x fem!reader #lethal chiralium #lethalchiralium

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its-time-to-write · 1 year ago

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this is 100% self indulgent. no one asked for this except me and I have zero excuse for how it turned out. i have no defense, no witty rebuttal, no nothing. i wrote this because i wanted to, and at the very least i hope this inspires someone to write their borderline-self-insert fic and post it publicly.

this fic is set after season 3. enjoy😂

(oh now might also be a good time to mention how much I love Man City. bc it’s a lot.)

can’t hear my thoughts (i cannot hear my thoughts)

Calling Lake Como beautiful is like saying space is big. It’s true for sure, but it feels like an understatement. It’s June and the weather is absolutely gorgeous, perfect for the wedding you’re attending. It’s for two good friends of yours, and it’s going to be a party full of football royalty. You’re mostly excited to see friends who are WAGs from other teams who you’ve connected with over the past year and a half.

Oh, and you suppose it will be a nice vacation with Jamie, too.

You’re staying at a beautiful hotel that’s been open since 1910, and you swear you’ll never stay somewhere as beautiful again.

“Getting ideas for the house?” Jamie teases, and it sends a thrill down your spine with the way he refers to his house as your collective home.

You grin as he spins you around the Suite Greta. Everything is golden, from the drapes to the pillows to the sun catching on his face.

“No,” you reply, “but maybe for a vacation home?”

Jamie laughs as he catches you up in his arms. “I could see us here in the next off-season. Not sure we’d get out much,” he muses and you wrap your arms around him as tight as they can go.

You’re here for a full week but Isaac’s wedding is only one day. You and Jamie have plans to see everyone who’s in town, as well as have some time to yourself.

“Sasha wants to go out for dinner tonight,” you tell Jamie as he unpacks his suitcase.

“Girls only, or will Jack be there?”

“Let’s see,” you hum as you scan the group chat. “Isabel said she and Erling will be there, so looks like it’s a couple’s thing. That’ll be fun, right?” you ask with just a hint of anxiety. Jamie and Jack are friends, they’ve run in the same circles for years, but you’re not sure how he’s going to feel about being outnumbered two to one, City to Richmond, at dinner.

“As long as Rodri ain’t there, I’m fucking chuffed,” he says as he lays out his suit on the bed.

“Chuffed? Is that a thing you say now?” you ask, flat on your back on the bed.

“Yep,” he replies. “I’m posh now, babe. Sorry you Americans can’t do it as well as we Brits.”

“I have it on good authority that we do it very well,” you smirk. “But I don’t think that’s something you’ll get to experience tonight. I haven’t seen Sash or Isa in ages, so we’ll probably talk for a long time and then I’ll be tired when we get back to the room.”

Jamie groans. “You’re sadistic, woman. The shit you put me through.”

You smile and remind him, “You’re the one who picked me, remember?”

—

Jamie is technically the one who picked you. You had just moved from America to London, got a temp job at a Richmond FC, and the rest is history. You don’t work at Richmond anymore, haven’t for a while, as you’ve been able to start your own thing in between attending matches and events and whatever else Jamie’s invited to. Being Jamie’s girlfriend is a full-time job on its own, and he definitely spoils you beyond what you’re used to. He’s the one who bought your dress for the wedding and it freaked you out just a little bit until you called Sasha (an angel, by the way) who laughed and talked you off the ledge.

“Comes with the territory, babe. They’re just boys with more money than they know what to do with. Jack’d buy me the moon if he could figure out how. Enjoy it. It’s been a while since anyone’s seen Tartt this happy.”

So you do. You had been living together for almost a year now so you’d think that a dress wouldn’t push you over the edge, but there you go. You’re trying to be calmer about it. It’s better ever since you met Sasha and Isabel.

You had been stuck in a room while Jamie talked to his old manager, and they had noticed your deer-in-the-headlights expression. You’re right in the middle of the two, age-wise, and from similar enough backgrounds.

“Here’s my number. Come over to my flat tomorrow for brunch. We’ll get you settled, babes,” Sasha had said. You went and it had been amazing to finally make real friends, even if they were technically on the opposing team.

You’re excited to see them, excited for Isaac to finally get married, and excited to spend a full seven days with Jamie by your side. It’s going to be the best.

—

You enter the venue arm-in-arm with Jamie, practically dancing across the grass. The sun’s shining and there are all sorts of people you know and love. It feels a little surreal to be here.

Earlier, back in the room, you had slipped into your dress carefully to avoid getting makeup stains on the front. The skirt fell just at your knees and puffed out ever so slightly, with thick straps instead of regular sleeves so you could fully enjoy the warm weather.

“Do a spin,” he had said, voice full of glee. You’d acquiesced, twirling around to let the blue tile print billow out before he caught you, kissing your shoulder so as not to ruin your makeup.

Now, you’re holding onto him and trying not to wrinkle his linen suit when you hear someone shout your name.

“Sasha!” you screech, running toward her as best you can with your shoes on the grass. You squeeze each other into a tight hug, uncaring about about the state of her hot pink dress.

“Hey man,” Jack says to Jamie, who grins and shakes his hand. “You’d think they haven’t seen each other in fucking ages.”

“It’s been twelve hours,” you say. “And before that it’s been like two months. Anyway, don’t you two have some football to discuss or something? Or headbands? Or-”

“Really short socks,” Sasha helpfully supplies.

Jamie shakes his head. “Fuck off, Attwood.”

“Fuck you, Tartt,” she replies.

“Oi, you two wouldn’t even be friends if it weren’t for me. You could be a little nicer,” Jamie says.

“Oh is that Hughes?” Jack asks before either Sasha or Jamie can escalate. Their entire friendship is based off sniping one another and neither you nor Jack are particularly in the mood for it today.

Jamie turns to look. “Oh mint, looks like things are starting. You saved us seats?”

“Yeah, with Haaland and Isabel,” Sasha returns, linking her arm through yours. “C’mon, did you get yourself a parasol?”

—

It’s the most beautiful wedding you’ve ever been to. Stella looks stunning in her gown, Isaac stoically sobs his eyes out while Colin surreptitiously hands him a tissue. Even Roy seems to be having a good time, but then again Keeley once told you that he “really fucking loves weddings.” You hadn’t believed her, but his lips are in a straight line instead of a frown so maybe she was right.

There’s a group of City and Richmond players together, and it’s a little strange to see how friendly they are off the pitch. Dani is explaining something with lots of hand gestures to Phil while the rest of the group jokes around.

Sasha sneaked you and Isabel away to get drinks for yourselves and you were about to get away unnoticed when Erling caught Isabel’s arm and asked for a drink too, so now you’re ordering for your boyfriends as well as yourselves.

You don’t really care, there’s a part of you that’s reveling in the sheer joy of being young and hot. Sue you.

“Cosmo, please,” you say while the girls order drinks of their own. Sasha raises an eyebrow so you shrug and say, “Jamie likes what he likes.”

She rolls her eyes and scoffs “Tartt,” but it’s with the affection of an older sister so you elbow her and ask, “What did Jack want?”

She makes a face. “Heineken. He also likes what he fuckin’ likes.”

You wheeze out a laugh as Isabel comes to join you. She smiles as she sips from something lavender colored in a martini glass. She cuts an elegant figure in her yellow, billowy dress. You smooth your dress and open your mouth to say something when a voice calls your name. You look to see your ex walking up, hand-in-hand with his wife. You know, the one he left you for.

“Jake,” you say in surprise. God, you need your brain to form coherent thoughts right now. “What are you doing here?”

He grins, far too wide and goofy to be real. Not like Jamie, you think.

“Oh, you know, Emma’s loosely related to the bride on her dad’s side. She asked for an invite, so here we are. Who are you here for? Bride or groom?”

“Both, actually,” you reply automatically. Jake’s words are grating, not so much in content as they are in tone. He always had a way of saying things condescendingly, like everyone else was a stupid little kid.

“Oh,” he says in what you think is supposed to be surprise, “that’s funny. I didn’t know you knew anyone out here. You’ve been living in England all alone, right?”

Emma just hovers by Jake’s shoulder. She’s not contributing anything to this conversation except a snooty little smirk.

“No,” you say. “I’m not alone. This is Isabel, by the way.” You look around for Sasha, but she’s disappeared. Smart girl.

Isa doesn’t extend her hand. “Nice to meet you,” she says and Jake takes her at her word. He puffs up his chest a little bit as he asks, “Where are you from? You don’t sound British.”

“We’re from Norway,” a voice behind her says. “I’m Erling.”

Sasha has reappeared with Jack, Erling, and Jamie in tow. You mentally congratulate her with a well done, Sash as you feel Jamie’s arm loop around your waist.

He feels like a solid wall against your back, a glimmer in an otherwise garbage moment.

Jake takes stock of the three men who are looking at him with less-than friendly stares. You’re not sure what Sasha told them, but you’re absolutely positive Jamie recognizes Jake. You can practically feel the hairs on his arm bristling.

Jake finishes his assessment and deems it appropriate to talk. “So, how do you all know each other?”

Jamie scoffs and looks away, while Jack stares at Jake like he can’t believe what he’s hearing.

You wonder what it is with your affinity for J-names.

“We’re footballers,” Erling says before anyone can take more offense.

“Premier League footballers,” Jamie adds, as if it means anything to Jake.

Jake’s American, like you, and he’s never been much for sports anyway. He wouldn’t even recognize David Beckham if the man were standing under a poster of himself.

Jake says, “Right. Hey, weren’t you on one of those trashy dating shows?” and Jamie stiffens.

Sasha mutters, “Fuck’s sake,” under her breath as Erling and Isabel take pointed interest in something in the distance.

“No,” Jamie replies shortly. “The fuck were you talking to my girl?”

Jake looks to you in surprise. “Oh! You two are together? That’s… well, that’s… I guess I just didn’t expect her to be whoring around like that. But hey, move to another country and all morals go out the window, right?”

That’s the thing about Jake. He never speaks as if he’s actually trying to be offensive. He just says what’s on his mind. And you’re a little concerned that what’s on his mind is going to land Jamie (and quite possible Jack) in jail. Neither of them are especially known for backing down from a squabble. “Cut from the same cloth,” Pep was rumored to say.

“Fuck off, mate,” Jack interjects. “Just fuck off. Everyone here loves her, and you can’t talk about her like that.”

Your ex reevaluates the situation at hand and decides the best thing to do would be to take Emma’s hand and walk away.

“Strange that his wife does not speak,” Erling remarks.

You grimace. “You could’ve stopped at ‘strange.’ No idea what I ever saw in him.”

Jamie has a crushing grip on your waist so you wiggle a bit to get him to loosen up.

“Prick,” he mutters. “How the fuck did he even get here, anyway? He’s in fucking America.”

“His wife’s loosely related to Stella. They asked for an invite,” Isabel volunteers.

Jamie rolls his eyes. “Oi, if he tries to talk to you again, I’ll grab Roy and we’ll fucking kill him.”

“Yeah, ‘cause McAdoo’s never been above a little violence at a party,” Jack grins.

You return his smile and say, “Thanks, but I’m pretty sure his mother-in-law would kill you.”

Erling huffs out a laugh. “Never a dull moment in the Premier League, is there?”

Isabel grins and loops her arm through his. “I’m tired of all this,” she says. “Let’s go dancing. There’s a band and we don’t have to think about anything other than celebrating, yes?”

“God yes,” says Sasha.

Jamie still looks murderous, but you squeeze his hand once and whisper, “I’m fine, babe. It’s fine.”

He looks like he wants to argue, but he lets you pull him along to the dance floor with the group.

—

There are so many people that you don’t even catch a glimpse of Jake and Emma. You’re not sure what they’re up to, and fairly certain they don’t know anyone else here. You on the other hand, are living your best life as Jamie sings along to “Ain’t No Mountain.” He’s swinging your arms around as he sways in time to the music. You just let him lead you however he wants. The song ends and he presses his lips to your ear so you can hear him over the sheer volume of everyone talking. “D’you want a drink? I can go get you something.”

You nod and mouth my usual, please, so he salutes and begins weaving his way through the crowd. You watch him as long as you can before spinning back around with a smile.

A smile that quickly fades when you realize Emma is right in front of you.

She says, “Cute dress,” and for a moment, you believe she’s being sincere but then she follows it up with, “Did you borrow it from your grandma’s closet? I’ve seen people do that.”

Right, because grandmas are known for wearing dresses like this.

“What? No, Jamie got it for me,” you say.

“Oh cute, is it from Walmart? I think I saw something like it there last week.”

Emma is trying to draw blood. You suppose she’s taking her shot now as opposed to back then because she thinks there’s no one around to call her out. No one who knows her.

You say, “They don’t have Walmart here,” instead of “It’s Dolce & Gabbana,” because the second phrase would make you sound like a prick. There’s a part of you that wants to be a prick, though, wants to channel that part of Jamie that’s ruthless, vicious and cruel, messing with the opposition before he cuts them down.

The first time you saw it, it was hard to believe the Jamie on the pitch was the same Jamie who played with your hair while you cooked, or put a sticky note on his fridge titled “Babe,” detailing everything you’d ever said you liked.

Emma sees she’s not getting to you, so she changes tactics. “Must be hard being here without any friends,” she remarks. “All alone. And you’ve never been especially extraverted. Are those people the only ones here you know?”

God, Jamie, where are you?

You open your mouth to respond but are cut off by someone with a distinctly midwestern twang say, “I heard one of my favorite countrywomen was here.”

You turn to see Ted Lasso grinning at you in a black suit. It’s the same smile you remember, albeit his eyes are a little sharp. You’d bet anything he knows exactly what’s going on between you and Emma.

“Ted!” you smile as a rush of relief floods your system. You step into his arms for a hug as he says, “Hey, sweetheart. How’ve you been?”

“Oh, you know,” you say. “Kind of great, actually. I wondered if you were going to be here! Have you seen Jamie yet?”

Ted shakes his head. “Y’know, I haven’t. Why don’t we find him together?” He offers you an arm and you take it gratefully, choosing not to spare Emma a glance.

“She seems like a real bucket of laughs,” Ted remarks.

“You have no idea. That’s my ex’s wife.”

Whatever Ted thought you were going to say, he certainly wasn’t prepared for that. He opens and closes his mouth a few times before settling on a short, “Well I’ll be danged.”

You laugh and stand on tiptoes to try to see Jamie. You don’t see him, but you catch a glimpse of an especially tall, blond head.

“This way,” you tell Ted. You brush past Phil who smiles at you, past Colin and Michael, and past someone you’re pretty sure is a Beckham.

You make your way to Erling and Isabel as they dance to the music in their own corner.

You frown. “Have you seen Jamie?” you shout.

Isabel shakes her head. “He was looking for you,” she calls back.

“Oh,” you say, “Ted, this is Isabel and-”

“Erling Haaland,” Ted says, hand outstretched. “Pleasure to meet you, son. Big fan of the way you play the game.”

You miss Erling’s response, startled by a hand on your shoulder. You turn to see Sam standing behind you.

“Sam!” you exclaim with a grin, “You look so handsome!”

Sam returns your grin and strikes a pose. “I’ve been sent on a very important mission. I am to retrieve you and bring you to Jamie and I am under no circumstances allowed to let a small rat man named Jake speak to you.”

You raise an eyebrow.

“Jamie’s words, not mine,” Sam clarifies. “Although I must admit, I have seen this rat man. I do not like him very much.”

“You and me both,” you agree. You wave to Isabel and pat Ted on the arm before following Sam.

He leads you away from the crowd of people to a stone path illuminated by small lights. This can’t be right, you think but Sam points down the path and says, “This is where I leave you.”

He turns to leave then changes his mind and spins back around. “It was lovely seeing you today, albeit for a short amount of time. I hope I will be seeing more of you while we are here. It is not often I meet someone who makes Jamie more tolerable.”

He speaks with a touch of humor and it’s just enough to dispel any apprehensions about what’s waiting for you in the dark.

You say, “Thanks Sam. Love ya,” which he returns before he disappears back to the main party.

You take a breath and head down the steps.

It’s dark, the light barely shining enough for each step, but as you get farther you see a shadowy figure sitting on a bench under a tree. You smile. You can tell exactly who it is by his silhouette.

Jamie stands as you get closer and pulls you into his arms.

“Thought we’d sneak away to make out a bit,” he says. “And maybe to you wouldn’t yell at me in front of all our friends.”

You groan. “What did you do? Please tell me it has nothing to do with Roy. Or Jack. Oh my god, did you two start convincing people you were separated at birth again? Because it’s really only funny one time.”

“Well…” Jamie hedges.

You pinch his back. It’s the only part of him you can reach at the moment. “Jamie Tartt, you’d better tell me what you did right now or so help me you are going to be sleeping on the couch for the rest of our lives.”

“Oi, don’t fucking do that!”

He reaches back to grab your hands and holds them flat on his chest. “We- Roy, Grealish, and me, might have gotten your prick ex kicked out.”

“You what?” you gasp.

Jamie starts speaking in a rush before you can say anything else. “Look, y’know how protective Grealish gets, especially because Sasha fucking loves you, and then Roy heard that your prick ex was here (not the twat ex) and he said it’s easier for him to get in and out of fights on account of him being a fucking manager but then Grealish said that it’s pretty much expected that fights happen so might as well and anyway, no one’s gonna fuckin’ snitch on any of us because (hate to break it to you babe), but you’re, like, everyone’s kid sister. They’d fucking kill for you so it’s possible that we channeled that into threatening to break all of his bones if he ever ended up in the same country as you again.”

You’re processing all of the things Jamie said plus the incredible speed at which he said them, so all you can manage is a single “Okay,” before he’s talking again.

“Ehm, it’s also slightly-fucking-possible that someone did break his foot.”

“What?” you all but shout.

“Coordinated effort between Isa and Haaland,” Jamie says. “Lad’s a fucking wall, don’t know if you’ve noticed.”

“Jesus, Jamie,” you groan. “I don’t know if I should kiss you or pinch you again.”

“You can do both,” he suggests.

You sigh. “I’m going to kiss you. Like, a lot. And I’m not going to worry about getting caught and after we’ve snogged like a pair of kids in high school- sorry, secondary school, then we’re going to eat a bunch more food and dance with our friends. And if you want to get sloshed, I promise I will only take funny videos for myself, and I will not send them to your mum this time.”

Jamie says, “Liar,” as he kisses the tip of your nose.

“Fine,” you concede, “I will most definitely send them to your mum. And Simon. We’re on a group chat.”

“Not even gonna fucking ask,” Jamie says as he threads a hand through your hair so he can get at a better angle to kiss you.

—

You wake up the next morning (ahem, afternoon) to Jamie’s foot in your face.

“Excuse me, sir,” you say.

He hiccups himself awake. “Yeah?” he rumbles. “What fucking time..?”

“Late, I assume,” you say.

He groans and flips himself around so your heads are on the same side of the bed. He wastes no time in tangling your limbs together.

“Oi, koala boy. Some of us have morning breath.”

“No y’don’t babe,” he mumbles.

You scratch his head and a shudder runs through his body. “I know,” you say, “my breath is perfect. I meant you. I just didn’t want to hurt your feelings.”

“Cruel woman,” he returns before lapsing into silence. The sun slips through the curtains, and you’re sure it’s going to be another gorgeous day

“Jamie,” you begin then stop.

He says, “Yeah, love?” while looking up at you with his gorgeous blue eyes and you take a moment to freeze this image in your head.

Jamie Tartt, in bed, hair tousled from sleep. Pillowy white duvet, golden freckled skin, warm body pressed to yours.

He kisses your shoulder, rousing you from your thoughts.

“Jamie,” you say again, “I wanted to say-”

“Don’t,” he interjects. “You’re not fucking allowed to say thank you for the bare fucking minimum.”

“But it’s not,” you reply, opting to skate over the fact that he apparently can read your mind. “Bare minimum is like, making sure I’m not alone with him, not getting your friends together to scare him off and break his foot.”

Jamie’s been kissing your skin wherever he can reach as you speak, so his words are interspersed with pecks. “Technically, the foot was an accident. Ask any one of our witnesses. And besides, they’re your friends too. You’re the one who got ‘em all to like ya despite the fact we’re mortal enemies on the pitch.”

“You’re the one who goes tanning with Jack,” you remind him.

“Lies told by the press,” Jamie grumbles. “This is my natural sexy glow.”

You say, “Okay little British boy,” as Jamie decides that his current position is not enough and he wants to lay on top of you.

He says something but his face is buried in the crook of your neck, so all you can feel is vibrations.

You ask, “Hm?” so he lifts his head.

“What if it were us next year?”

“Tanning or breaking feet?”

“Getting married.”

Jamie goes back to having his mouth on your neck as if the air weren’t just punched from your lungs.

You’re quiet long enough that he lifts his head again to ask, “Is that good quiet or bad quiet?”

“Good!” you hastily confirm. “Good, but, babe- you haven’t even asked me yet.”

He says, “I’m going to,” as if you should have known already.

“Okay,” you breathe, “can you give me like a little heads up or something so my nails are done?”

“Uh-huh,” he says, “At the end of the week. Been planning it. Ring’s in my bag, even asked Stella if she’d be pissed that it’s the same week she took on the most un-sexy last name in history. She said she don’t give a shit as long as it’s not at her actual wedding. So.”

“I love you,” you tell him. “Not just because of yesterday or right now. I just think you’re great.”

“I am great, babe,” he says like it’s obvious. “Picked you, didn’t I?”

You crack a smile. “Alright, that’s enough out of you. Do you want to get out of bed or go back to sleep?”

“Sleep,” he replies immediately.

“Thank God,” you groan, “I didn’t want to move. You’re like a weighted blanket.”

“It’s me sexy muscles,” Jamie says. You wiggle under him to get more comfortable.

“Uh huh,” you agree, but the words are hardly out of your mouth before you’re both back to sleep.

#jamie tartt x reader #jamie tartt fanfiction #jamie tartt imagine #jamie tartt x y/n #jamie tartt x you #jamie tartt #ted lasso

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jess-the-reckless · 4 months ago

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Hype time. I have an e-book free at the moment to get people in the mood for the one I’m currently working on, which is a sequel to this peculiar little baby of mine. Well, I say little, but it’s a 100k+ chonker, which is hefty for me. I usually aim for about 80k to get the thing done, but I was having so much fun with Ghosted that it ran long. It gave me the opportunity to tell some ghost stories, and I love, love, love telling ghost stories.

Writing Good Omens made me thirsty for more supernatural silliness, so I cooked this up to satisfy that need. It was also a reaction to a really, really bad book that will remain nameless, because while I loved its premise (romance about paranormal investigators hooking up) it sucked so lamentably that I felt the need to take the premise and do it my way. I think there’s still a line in Ghosted that references one of my objections, which is that the paranormal investigators all went to bed at 11pm. You don’t need to be an expert in the paranormal to know that this is not remotely how ghosts work. They work nights. They keep long, unsociable hours that leave investigators sitting up – usually bored out of their brains while waiting for something spooky to happen. Plenty of time on those tedious ghost vigils to have deep, probing conversations, and maybe contemplate sucking each other’s dicks.

The book starts out in the ghost-factory of a city that is New Orleans, but swiftly gets roadtrippy due to my desire to include the things about Supernatural that I liked. I make no apologies for my workaday exorcist Jason Kent being extremely Dean Winchester coded. He’s got the shitty father, the trunk full of esoteric weapons, the haunted sibling, and all of the attendant angst that goes along with that. I really loved the whole all-in-a-day’s work vibe of Supernatural, where you rattle from one crappy motel to another doing paranormal grunt work, although (full-disclosure) I dropped out somewhere in S6 because everything after the apocalypse felt like an anti-climax to me. The only episode I really remember from S6 was Weekend at Bobby’s, which was a masterpiece on a par with the one with the haunted lucky rabbit’s foot.

I did enjoy the angel, though, which is why he gets a shoutout in the name of the other lead – Ange. His name is French for angel, and short for Desanges – of the angels. It seemed an appropriately no-we’re-totally-Catholic-honest handle for a Haitian-American baby boy born on the second of October, the official Catholic feast day of the Guardian Angels. Although it doesn’t come up that much in Ghosted it did give me the opportunity to fold in some of that delicious voudou research I did for Code Noir, and close readers might spot a connecting thread there between Ange and Gabrielle from the latter book. I’m way too fascinated by syncretic religions, and the second book will dip into Ange’s palo inheritance on his Puerto Rican mother’s side.

But that’s to come. The big deal with Ange in Ghosted is that he’s my favourite kind of character to write – a fast-talking grifter whose head is permanently a-swivel for the next big opportunity. He’s Oda Mae Browning it up in an influencer’s haunted mansion in New Orleans when he meets Jason, who is there to exorcise a kitchen-centric ghost who is really shitting on the owner’s dreams of launching a cookbook. It’s lust at first sight on Ange’s part, but because Jason is a lonely weirdo who prefers anonymous sex at truck stops he ghosts Ange afterwards.

And that’s when Ange finds out he’s been ghosted in more ways than one. That exorcism in New Orleans? Yeah. It didn’t take. The ghost just…relocated, and now Ange really needs the services of an exorcist. I had an absurd amount of fun with this book. It’s stupid, spooky, and full of lots and lots of creepy little things that got my blood pumping as a storyteller, like the twin aunts who turned into Collyer Brothers-level hoarders in their New Orleans mansion, or the nuclear scientist obsessed with Glenn Miller. And then there’s Melissa, the most Californian ghost of all time, who started out as a plot point and a pair of rainbow sneakers, and then morphed into a character so fun that she’s absolutely coming back for the sequel. Same with cat-lady researcher Celine, who I plan to bring back for book three. And oh yes, there’s going to be a book three. No need to stop when you’re enjoying yourself, right?

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duckprintspress · 18 days ago

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Celebrate Native American Heritage Month with 7 Queer Books We Love

November is National Native American Heritage Month! We’re celebrating with books (as always, lol). We asked our rec list contibutors for their favorite queer books either by Native American authors or starring Native American characters. Most of these books (maybe all, I couldn’t confirm for all the authors) are both! Contributors to the list are Nina Waters, hullosweetpea, D.V. Morse, Shea Sullivan and an anonymous contributor.

Indiginerds edited by Alina Pete

First Nations culture is living, vibrant, and evolving…

…and generations of Indigenous kids have grown up with pop culture creeping inexorably into our lives. From gaming to social media, pirate radio to garage bands, Star Trek to D&D, and missed connections at the pow wow, Indigenous culture is so much more than how it’s usually portrayed. These comics are here to celebrate those stories!

Featuring an all-Indigenous creative team, INDIGINERDS is an exhilarating anthology collecting 11 stories about Indigenous people balancing traditional ways of knowing with modern pop culture.

Postcolonial Love Poem by Natalie Díaz

Postcolonial Love Poem is a thunderous river of a book, an anthem of desire against erasure. It demands that every body carried in its pages – bodies of language, land, suffering brothers, enemies and lovers – be touched and held. Here, the bodies of indigenous, Latinx, black and brown women are simultaneously the body politic and the body ecstatic, and portrayed with a glowing intimacy: the alphabet of a hand in the dark, the hips’ silvered percussion, a thigh’s red-gold geometry, the emerald tigers that leap in a throat. In claiming this autonomy of desire, language is pushed to its dark edges, the astonishing dune fields and forests where pleasure and love are both grief and joy, violence and sensuality.

Natalie Diaz defies the conditions from which she writes, a nation whose creation predicated the diminishment and ultimate erasure of bodies like hers and the people she loves. Her poetry questions what kind of future we might create, built from the choices we make now – how we might learn our own cures and ‘go where there is love’.

A Snake Falls to Earth by Darcie Little Badger

Nina is a Lipan girl in our world. She’s always felt there was something more out there. She still believes in the old stories.

Oli is a cottonmouth kid, from the land of spirits and monsters. Like all cottonmouths, he’s been cast from home. He’s found a new one on the banks of the bottomless lake.

Nina and Oli have no idea the other exists. But a catastrophic event on Earth, and a strange sickness that befalls Oli’s best friend, will drive their worlds together in ways they haven’t been in centuries.

And there are some who will kill to keep them apart.

Never Whistle at Night: An Indigenous Dark Fiction Anthology edited by Shane Hawk and Theodore C. Van Alst Jr.

Many Indigenous people believe that one should never whistle at night. This belief takes many forms: for instance, Native Hawaiians believe it summons the Hukai’po, the spirits of ancient warriors, and Native Mexicans say it calls Lechuza, a witch that can transform into an owl. But what all these legends hold in common is the certainty that whistling at night can cause evil spirits to appear–and even follow you home.These wholly original and shiver-inducing tales introduce readers to ghosts, curses, hauntings, monstrous creatures, complex family legacies, desperate deeds, and chilling acts of revenge. Introduced and contextualized by bestselling author Stephen Graham Jones, these stories are a celebration of Indigenous peoples’ survival and imagination, and a glorious reveling in all the things an ill-advised whistle might summon.

The Witch King (Witch King series) by H.E. Edgmon

Wyatt would give anything to forget where he came from–but a kingdom demands its king.

In Asalin, fae rule and witches like Wyatt Croft…don’t. Wyatt’s betrothal to his best friend, fae prince Emyr North, was supposed to change that. But when Wyatt lost control of his magic one devastating night, he fled to the human world.

Now a coldly distant Emyr has hunted him down. Despite transgender Wyatt’s newfound identity and troubling past, Emyr has no intention of dissolving their engagement. In fact, he claims they must marry now or risk losing the throne. Jaded, Wyatt strikes a deal with the enemy, hoping to escape Asalin forever. But as he gets to know Emyr, Wyatt realizes the boy he once loved may still exist. And as the witches face worsening conditions, he must decide once and for all what’s more important–his people or his freedom.

Elatsoe (Elatsoe series) by Darcie Little Badger

Imagine an America very similar to our own. It’s got homework, best friends, and pistachio ice cream.

There are some differences. This America been shaped dramatically by the magic, monsters, knowledge, and legends of its peoples, those Indigenous and those not. Some of these forces are charmingly everyday, like the ability to make an orb of light appear or travel across the world through rings of fungi. But other forces are less charming and should never see the light of day.

Elatsoe lives in this slightly stranger America. She can raise the ghosts of dead animals, a skill passed down through generations of her Lipan Apache family. Her beloved cousin has just been murdered, in a town that wants no prying eyes. But she is going to do more than pry. The picture-perfect facade of Willowbee masks gruesome secrets, and she will rely on her wits, skills, and friends to tear off the mask and protect her family.

Black Sun (Between Earth and Sky series) by Rebecca Roanhorse

A god will return When the earth and sky converge Under the black sun

In the holy city of Tova, the winter solstice is usually a time for celebration and renewal, but this year it coincides with a solar eclipse, a rare celestial event proscribed by the Sun Priest as an unbalancing of the world.

Meanwhile, a ship launches from a distant city bound for Tova and set to arrive on the solstice. The captain of the ship, Xiala, is a disgraced Teek whose song can calm the waters around her as easily as it can warp a man’s mind. Her ship carries one passenger. Described as harmless, the passenger, Serapio, is a young man, blind, scarred, and cloaked in destiny. As Xiala well knows, when a man is described as harmless, he usually ends up being a villain.

What are your favorite queer books with Native American representation?

Want to chat your favorite reads with us? Join our Book Lover’s Discord server!

Update your Goodreads TBR with any of these books by visiting our queer Native American books shelf on Goodreads!Shop books with Native American rep using our rec list on our Bookshop.org affiliate page!

#duck prints press #native american heritage month #queer books #queer book recommendations #book recs #rec list #book recommendations #native american characters #native american authors

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teenwolfbywitchofhellridge · 20 days ago

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My little crush on Tyler Hoechlin

Alright, let’s talk about Tyler Hoechlin, my inexplicable (or maybe very explicable) crush, wrapped up in a mix of his roles, his genuine charm, and his whole vibe that just gets me—a Polish introvert who finds herself absolutely smitten by this effortlessly warm American actor.

Let’s start with the roles that first hooked me in. Obviously, Teen Wolf’s Derek Hale, that brooding, growling, protector-with-trust-issues, instantly stole my heart. I’m here for all that tortured, misunderstood energy, wrapped up in a leather jacket and a stare that could probably kill vampires, if it came to that. And then, fast-forward to Superman & Lois, and suddenly Tyler is this open, clumsy, adorkable Clark Kent who’s trying to keep his life together with a dimpled smile and big-hearted sincerity. Talk about a range! From intense alpha werewolf to the world’s sweetest superhero, he’s got both ends of the spectrum covered—and he nails them both, effortlessly.

But it’s not just those headline roles. No, the crush really deepened when I started to notice him in some of his lesser-known projects. Take Bigger, where he plays Joe Weider, a guy with this quiet resilience, building a fitness empire from the ground up. It’s a subtler performance, filled with understated glances and moments that could easily go overlooked if you’re not paying attention—but Tyler makes you pay attention. He brings this determined vulnerability to the character, making you believe that Joe really did have what it took to change the world, one dumbbell at a time. It’s not flashy, but that’s what makes it so good; he gets the art of holding back, of letting the quiet moments do the talking.

And speaking of talking, don’t even get me started on his interviews. Tyler’s one of those rare actors who doesn’t just go through the motions; he brings a thoughtfulness to his interviews that’s downright magnetic. He’s humble, insightful, and introspective, the kind of guy who makes you want to listen to his perspective on, well, everything. He’ll casually talk about how he’s drawn to roles with depth or explain why certain characters matter to him, and suddenly I’m nodding along like I’m in a mini philosophy class. He’s clearly someone who cares about what he does, and that sincerity shows in every role he takes.

And then, the cherry on top: how he is with his fans. Now, as a Polish introvert, I’ve always marveled at that American openness, that effortless way of connecting with people without a second thought. Tyler takes this openness to another level, especially when he’s meeting fans. He doesn’t just do the polite smile and nod; he’s actually present. You can see it in the way he takes his time with each person, his expression saying, “Hey, it’s totally okay if you’re a little starstruck—I get it.” It’s like he understands that fans might be a bit nervous, maybe even overwhelmed, and he doesn’t just brush it off; he embraces it. He’s calm, kind, grounded, making everyone feel seen, even those of us who’d rather be hiding under a table than meeting a celebrity.

I can’t quite explain why that resonates so much with me. Maybe it’s my introverted heart that’s secretly in awe of someone who can be that open and kind, or maybe it’s just him. Because while I’d be mentally preparing for hours to hold a decent conversation, he seems to connect with people from all walks of life in a heartbeat. There’s a sincerity there, a genuine warmth, and it makes me admire him not just as an actor but as a fellow human. So, yes, call it a crush or maybe a bit of a fascination, but I’ll happily admit that Tyler Hoechlin isn’t just a talented actor or a charismatic presence on screen. He’s someone who’s got this blend of thoughtfulness, authenticity, and warmth that somehow manages to charm even the quietest, most introverted corners of my Polish heart. There’s something comforting in knowing there are people out there like him—kind, grounded, and entirely okay with meeting fans in whatever emotional state they’re in. It’s rare, and it makes him more than just another celebrity. He feels, honestly, like a genuinely good human.

And hey, I’m not usually one to get sentimental (okay, maybe a little), but if we’re talking about life and last wishes here… well, it’s pretty clear. If I were dying and somehow had one final wish, some precious wish granted through one of those hospice programs for kids (and fine, I know I’m not a kid, but bear with me!), that wish would absolutely be dinner with Tyler Hoechlin. Just a simple meal, no glamor or glitz, where I could sit across from him, laugh, and maybe get to see up close if he’s really as down-to-earth as he seems.

A part of me thinks he’d make it unforgettable, not just for me but for anyone lucky enough to be there. And even if my introvert soul would be struggling to form coherent sentences, it’d still be perfect, just for the chance to see that kind smile in real life, even for a little while.

#teen wolf #tyler hoechlin #derek hale #clark kent #superman

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loversj0y · 1 year ago

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For your 200 follower event you should do Invisible String with Wil! Maybe inspired by him being on tour, and once you guys connect, you realize all the similarities/close calls you’ve had to each other?

invisible string

event masterlist

pairing: wilbur soot x gn! reader

tws: bars/references to drinking

notes: this might be tphe longest one bc it felt wrong making it Not long, i guess so i hope you enjoy :3

word count: 2.5k

taglist: @l0veb0mb1ng / @core-queen / @zooone / @lillylvjy / @melunnek

You hated heartbreak and the way it seemed to accompany you like an old friend. Several bad breakups led to the collective feeling of needing to leave, wanting to run, so you did. It wasn’t hard to find a university you could study abroad in and accommodations, especially with the proficiency in your courses meaning a scholarship wasn’t hard to find. Choosing a place to go was the hardest part; you knew you wanted to go to the UK, but you didn’t know where. Thankfully, there was a pretty simple solution: throwing a dart at a map. Leading you here: Brighton. The taxi drove you to your new apartment, and there was a rock song playing you’d wished to have gotten the name of before you got dropped off.

After a week of unpacking and settling in, you’d gotten notably bored. So you decided to look for a place to go, or something to do, and you stumbled across a pretty small club that seemed quite nice. You walked in, and at first it reminded you of the dive bars back in America, but a bit nicer. You went up to the bar and ordered quickly, trying to speak a bit quieter given the glaringly obvious American accent. It wasn’t enough to entirely hide it, though. Once you got your drink, a blond boy who’d been next to you at the bar spoke up, loudly.

“Are you American?”

You looked at him and nodded. He seemed a bit younger, but given that he was in here meant he was probably at least 18. “Yeah, I just moved here.”

He perked up, grinning, “Follow me!” He didn’t give you much a choice before grabbing your arm and dragging you over to his friends, “My name’s Tommy, by the way! My brother Wilbur loves America, so he’ll be excited to meet you, c’mon!”

You chuckled, allowing yourself to be dragged over by him. He brought you to a group of five people, two of whom were incredibly tall. All five of them were giving an incredulous look at Tommy, making you laugh a bit.

“Wilbur!” Tommy basically yelled as he pulled you over, “I found an American!”

You fought the urge to hide your face in your hands, instead taking a sip of your drink.

One of the taller guys, who you presumed was Wilbur, sputtered at Tommy, “Tommy! You can’t just drag someone over because they’re American, for fucks sake.”

“Yes, but you love America and you needed some cheering up, so ta-da!”

Wilbur just facepalmed, sighing and looking over at you now. He was an attractive guy, light brown curls and a tall frame, plus a good fashion sense if the Doc Martins were anything to go off of. “I am so sorry he abducted you. He is a child with no sense of manners.”

You chuckled softly, especially as Tommy gasped dramatically in response. “It’s alright,” you smiled softly, “Beats the alternative of sitting alone at the bar for an hour, so.” You shrugged.

Wilbur gave you a bit of a thoughtful look, but before he could speak up, the girl next to Tommy spoke.

“Well, it’s nice to meet you, even if he literally just dragged you over. I’m Molly, Tommy’s girlfriend.”

“It’s nice to meet you,” you smiled softly, before Tommy took charge once more.

“Yes, right! Introductions! I’m Tommy, obviously the coolest one here, Molly is my wonderful and only wife, Jack over there is an dick, don’t be friends with him, but that’s his girlfriend Ellie, she’s too cool for him. You spoke to Wilbur, my lame brother, already, and the only one taller than him is the very gorgeous Ranboo,” he explained.

Not a single person looked pleased with his explanation, but they also didn’t exactly look surprised by him.

“Right, well, nice to meet you guys. I’m Y/N.”

“So, you’re actually from America? Are you visiting?” Jack asked, a kind smile on his face.

“Yeah, uh, I just moved here actually. I just needed a change of pace, I guess, so I actually transferred to the university out here.”

He nodded, and you could feel the entire group’s eyes on you for a moment. It was a bit unsettling, but that was more just the nerves.

“Cool, fellow American,” the tallest one, Ranboo, spoke up. You looked up at him (he was really tall), and you smiled.

“Glad to know I’m not the only one out here. How’d you end up out here?”

“Uh… work, actually. It’s kind of a long story, but I had to move out here for my work stuff, so I did.” He shifted his eyes a bit as he spoke, and you just nodded, assuming he didn’t want to be pressed on the matter.

“Wilbur,” Tommy spoke, “tell them some cool America facts.”

“Tommy, they very likely know them better than me given that they actually lived there.” Wilbur chuckled softly.

I smiled softly at Wilbur, “I’d still like to hear them. Maybe I can tell you if you’re mistaken about any of them.”

He looked over and gave you a grin, and the conversations paired off. You and Wilbur discussed America and where you lived, and the fact that Americans need to stop building parking lots, which you agreed with.

After nearly an hour and a half, he disengaged, turning to Tommy, “I have to head out now, Toms. I’ll see you tomorrow though, yeah?”

Tommy nodded, then gave Wilbur a bit of an evil grin, turning to you, “Did Wilbur tell you he’s a big musician? He’s got to leave early because he’s got a gig tomorrow and has to do boring musician things.”

“Really?” You grinned softly, “That’s really fucking cool.”

“Yeah, well, Wilbur’s lame, but his band is cool. You should come to the gig!” Tommy exclaimed, and Wilbur’s cheeks dusted red, eyes widening at Tommy.

“I’d love to, but, only if it’s okay with you, I guess,” You looked up at Wilbur, raising your eyebrows.

He nodded a bit stiffly, “yeah, no, that’d be great. The more the merrier. I’ll see you both tomorrow then.” He waved, heading off quite quickly after.

“Is… he going to be mad at you for inviting me?” You chuckled, looking over at Tommy.

“Eh, he will be at first. I’ll probably wake up to an upset text, but it’s just because he gets nervous playing in front of people he wants to impress. Once he does fine after, he’ll text me all ‘Oh, Tommy, you’re so smart and right, thank you for inviting them since I was too much of a pussyhole to ask myself,’” he mocked Wilbur’s voice, and you laughed a bit. You blushed slightly at the implication that Wilbur wanted to impress you.

After a bit longer, the group dispersed, and you headed home. You actually ended up living pretty close to Tommy, who was about two blocks down from you. As you headed inside to your apartment, you smiled and got excited at the idea of going to the gig tomorrow and seeing Wilbur again. You fell asleep excited and wondering what type of music you’d hear from him and pleased with the people you’d happened to find.

You managed to get to the gig without too much trouble the next day, and you were shocked by the sheer amount of people waiting outside. Tommy had texted you about going to a back entrance, which thankfully wasn’t too hard to find. He was waiting by the door to help you in as well, and you felt immediately starstruck.

The place was pretty big, and Wilbur was already standing in the centre of the stage, practicing something on his guitar. The lights were hitting him perfectly, and he looked like an angel. You struggled to look away, until Tommy came up and basically draped himself against you.

“Stop simpin’ after Wilbur, c’monnnn, we’re heading backstage. He needs his little ‘rockstar-practice time’ or whatever.”

You flushed, turning away from Wilbur, “I’m not simping, I’m just in awe. This is really cool.”

“Yeah, yeah, well,” he walked further backstage with you following him, “you should’ve seen how long it took him to get used to it. Whole band did a bunch of fake shows to get used to performing.”

“Really? That’s smart, actually.”

Tommy just shrugged, taking you to room backstage where there was a much larger group of people than the night before. You recognized Molly and Jack, but the other three were complete strangers.

“Oh, Y/N, you came!” Molly grinned, waving. You waved back at her, nodding a bit.

“These lot are more of the band. They are much cooler than Wilbur, you’ll find. That’s Ash, Leandra, and Mark.”

You waved, saying a quick hello, before allowing yourself to become an observer of the conversation.

The show started not too long after, with you, Jack, Molly, and Tommy watching from the side stage. You quickly discovered that the band, Lovejoy, was incredibly popular, and their music was fantastic. And Wilbur.

Wilbur was something else on stage. He was fully in his element, lights covering him in halo glows. His voice was melodic, and it made you want to melt. From the side stage, you could see how he leaned against the mic, the passion in his voice, and the intensity he matched in each song. It was about halfway through the show though, that you felt you blood run cold.

The song you’d heard in the cab when you moved in. It was their song. And if that wasn’t just the biggest coincidence slapping you in the face than god knows what was. You didn’t know what to make of it, other than feeling incredibly overwhelmed by fate and the new friends you’d made.

By the end of the show, you felt strange. You felt incredibly uncertain about your place in the world most days, but for some reason, as you watched Wilbur approach you and the group, you felt like there was no where else you belonged.

“Hey,” he walked over with a grin, “You came! What did you think?”

He looked almost nervous as he asked, sweat still dripping from his forehead as you chuckled, “It was amazing! I actually recognized one as well!”

A startled look crossed his face for a moment, “You did? Which one?”

“The, ah, I didn’t catch the name of it originally, but I want to say it’s Call Me What You Like if the setlists are correct. It was playing in my cab when I was dropped off in Brighton.”

He grinned, “Really? It was on the radio?”

You nodded, “Yeah! I thought it was fantastic, but I didn’t have time to catch the name. At least now I don’t have to worry about forgetting it.”

“Oh, trust me, I wouldn’t let you,” he gave you a grin that shined brighter than any light on that stage, and you felt butterflies flood your stomach as you considered that maybe it was fate that brought you here.

Sometimes you didn’t consider the ways that time worked. In the span of one year, so much more had changed than you’d ever even considered. You moved to a new country, started a new school, made new friends. You cut your hair, changed your wardrobe, got a better music taste. You became much more social, started dating Wilbur, learned to feel more confident in yourself.

The relationship probably was the most shocking of anything to happen. But it happened quickly, and it felt so right and so easy, as if your previous heartbreaks never occurred. You still had problems, mind you, however, there was something within you telling you it was fate constantly.

You thought about fate a lot when you thought about your relationship. The random effect of the universe tended to have a weird way of making you think about stuff like that. The statistical chances of choosing to move to Brighton by throwing a dart at a map, of hearing Wilbur’s song play in your cab. Then there were the numerous things you’d learned over time, small coincidences that pointed to a string of fate tying you together. Of the color of his first album being the color of your first prom dress. Of the time he visited America and ended up staying twenty minutes from where you lived. Of your first boyfriend sharing Wilbur’s middle name. Of all these tiny clues of parallel moments within your lives that you could only see now in retrospect.

The biggest thing within this string was the connection you felt to him that first night. It felt like that little string pulled you straight into that bar. When all of a sudden, all the stress and feelings you’d had about heartbreak and needing to run felt soothed, all past mistakes feeling fuzzy in comparison to something that was so right.

“Darling,” Wilbur chuckled softly, “What are you thinking so hard about?” He smiled, walking over to where you were already laying down, ready for bed.

“Do you ever think about fate?” You asked as he gently pressed a kiss to your forehead.

“Not often, I guess. Why?”

“I just think about us, and I just feel like there’s been a string connecting us, tying us together, and we just couldn’t see it.”

He smiled softly, slowly getting into bed next to you, “You think?”

“I don’t know for certain. But I know that there’s way too many coincidences to be normal. And that in one year, just by moving here… I don’t know it feels like I wasn’t living before being here, and even more now that I’m with you. I actually feel in charge of my life. Like time just changed everything for the better, and I have to at least believe that maybe it’s because fate brought us here.”

He wrapped an arm around your waist, pulling you into him, “Yeah. I’ve never quite thought about it like that. I like that idea though. I mean, the chances of us actually meeting were so slim. As much as I don’t love the concept of fate, I’ll love fate for this. Because if fate is what brought me to you, then I owe it so much.”

You smiled lovingly at him, leaning forward to kiss him gently, “I owe it so much too. That- that little thread of gold tying us together.”

He held you a bit tighter, turning off the lamp next to him, “You think it’d be gold?”

“Oh, absolutely.”

He chuckled, “Why is that?”

“Because it’s your last name. And the leaves were gold when I moved here in the fall. What about you?”

“Hm,” he hummed, “Gold could be fitting. But I think it’d be some sort of blue or purple, like the sunset we watched on our first proper date.”

“That’d be nice,” you smiled softly, “I’m just glad it was there, if it is real.”

“Me too, love,” he whispered, before pulling you into a slow and gentle kiss.

#mar's 200 follower event #mar writes #wilbur soot x reader #mcyt x reader #dsmp x reader #wilbur x reader #wilbur soot #wilbur soot x you #wilbur x y/n #wilbur #wilbur soot fluff #mcyt fanfiction

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swlyf-24 · 4 months ago

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The Exploding Star

Oscar had learnt astronomy just for Logan. He never cared for it, finding it boring to engulf yourself in the lights of the sky. But ever since Logan had told him that he loved astronomy, he had a desire to learn more to just connect with Logan about it. Logan had been Oscar’s North star, Polaris; Oscar’s way back home. Logan was Oscar’s home. Everywhere he went, Oscar sought out. Polaris was bright, shining brightly despite the dark that tries to dim its light. It reminded Oscar much of Logan; despite all the challenges on and off track, Logan seemed to get through it with that smile of his. His eyes would crinkle and his lips would curl into a toothy smile, and his American accent. The way words would sculpt themselves into those that fit Logan’s voice.

Ever since F1 started for the both of them, Oscar found it hard to cope. Difficult to maintain the relationships that he once had, to even have time to himself without burying himself into data and training. Fortunately, Lando was like a lifeline, pulling him from the isolating grip of F1. Oscar never felt so sequestered anymore, his days spent shouting and laughing through video calls with Lando and his friends. His once silent and kept-to-himself nature was gone, replaced by a personality that was all smiles. Some might even call him a cat.

Despite everything that had been going on in Oscar’s life, he had never felt like he was trapped in a dead end before. Not until this one race. He hadn’t scored the place that he wanted to, his expectations burning at him. How difficult was it to even make it to the podium? P4? Really? Oscar knew he could do better, he must. Anger stirred and boiled and popped in his blood, his anger controlling him like a pawn on a checkerboard. Of course, his day had gotten so much worse. He just wanted to take a walk around the paddock, to try and relieve his anger. But someone had been careless enough to bump into him. A scoff left his lips before he could even think of a response.

“Watch it.” Oscar lifted his head, ready to give the other person a piece of his mind. How dare-

Oh.

“Oscar.” The American accent weaved its way into Oscar’s heart once more, pulling at his heart like a guitar. It had been so long since Oscar last seen Logan. His hair had grown out, he was visibly thinner. Logan’s sunglasses did little to hide the tentative hope in his eyes. Oscar’s anger still boiled in his mind, wishing to attack like a predator just to have a sense of feeling normal again. “Oh,” he muttered out, pulling his lips into his mouth, teeth pulling the skin apart. “Logan.” Oscar offered, he nodded hoping to conceal his anger. He couldn’t mess this meeting up. But with every passing second of the silence, his anger grew again like a relentless wave.

A streak of disappointment painted Logan’s face before he schooled it into an unreadable one.

“How are you-”

“I have to go-”

Oscar didn’t want to lash out at Logan, he didn’t deserve any of it. It only broke his heart further, knowing that Logan wanted to reconnect again, to fill the drift that they had created. The sun seemed to shine brighter, reflecting off Logan’s sunglasses. “If you don’t mind..” Oscar shuffled his feet past Logan, trudging towards Mclaren. Maybe after they could talk once more, to contain the void that was created.

Polaris seemed to drift further.

You

Hey

Sorry for today, I had a meeting. You’d get it.

A meeting, yeah right. Oscar wanted to delete that last message. “You’d get it”? “You’d get it”?

You

Hey

Sorry for today, I had a meeting. You’d get it.

Seen 11:46

Fuck.

Logan

Oh yeah dude. No worries.

Oscar couldn’t mess up now. He had everything on the line.

How have you been

He could only hope Logan found peace in Williams, that his team was treating him well. Even through his challenges on track.

As well as I can in a WIlliams haha

You?

That could mean nothing and everything. Was Logan well? What about his relationship with Alex? Were they on good terms?

Great

Meeting Lando had been the best day since

Lando and his friends are great, they’re practically my everyday life now

Was it too far? Did Oscar hurt Logan just by talking about Lando? They hadn’t talked for what felt like years and all Oscar could talk about was his new friends.

Oh, really? I’ve never met them before

Tell me

Maybe it wasn't that bad of an idea. Oscar went on a rant of every person he met through Lando, their personalities matching one another bringing them endless adventures and jokes in their everyday life. Before he even knew it, he had talked Logan’s ear off for 1 hour and possibly more.

It’s late, I hope I didn’t bore you with all the stories

Thanks mate, night

The void, much like a terrorising fire, was doused, contained.

Yeah, no worries

Ever since that night, Oscar had found it more difficult to talk to Logan due to his busy schedule and his lack of communication skills. He couldn’t embarrass himself in front of Logan, what kind of new impression would that be to him? Oscar just hoped that they would have a chance again, not letting a fire of some sort burn them.

Logan

Happy birthday

¼ to 100!

Logan had remembered Oscar’s birthday and even went the extra mile to wish him at exactly midnight where a new day arrived. He would cry if he weren’t so drunk in that bar in Montreal.

Maybe Oscar should’ve replied, not getting wasted in a bar.

Logan

Im sorrru

Sorry

I thitjk i drank ttoo mkcuh

tqhaks for evryerhting

Your’e my best friend eveb id im nit yousr

yorue my south satr the octiatis

Everything went by in a blur. Oscar had broken into Logan’s hotel, in his bathroom. He tried making Logan vomit the pills and alcohol out of his system, but Logan only flopped around like a fish out of water. He wept for someone out of reach yet the body was in his hands.

If Oscar was Logan’s Octantis, then Logan is his Polaris. The North star to his South.

#oscar piastri #logan sargeant #formula 1 #octantis #polaris #stars #fiction #One wanted to unleash something that is uncontainable while the other wanted to contain something impossible #they just weren't meant to be #South and North are always directly opposite one another but they never can close the gap

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catholic-character-tournament · 1 year ago

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Round 1 - Side A

Propaganda below ⬇️

Abuelita Alma Madrigal Propaganda:

There's a church in the Encanto as well as a priest and given how strong her grip is and how much of a control freak she is, I would very much doubt she'd allow people to believe in other miracles than Pedro's if she wasn't, herself catholic. Also I mean south american turn of the century family they're probably catholic.

Listen at least Alma is!!! The candle!! The importance of the church!!! The vibes are just there!!!! The idea of being a savior by sacrificing yourself (or at least your personality/grief) for your people? That’s SO catholic coded PLEASE

Kurt Wagner/Nightcrawler Propaganda:

good lord where do i start. in the animated series he converts logan to catholisism and then fucks off basically thats the main thing he did there. i think one time they tried to make him a demon to explain how he looked but everyone hated that. he sold his soul one time to help his friends out after he died. he and logan have a weird little gay thing. he was a priest one time but he was made a priest by a fake bishop from a religion that hates mutants iirc so he just wasnt a priest. like 3 people have written him in a way i like and one of those is my friend just talking about how they view him.

wow marvel loves making catholic characters dress/look like demons

Kurt is a mutant who was born to mystique who looks a LOT like a devil (technically is half one but that cannon truth isn't real go back to bed), his mother dropped him off a cliff when he was born and he was picked up by a Romani group/circus (fuck old comics man) however he then narrowly escaped being sold to a freak show and found himself in a small German town. There he met a kind priest, who showed him God, and he quickly grew attached to the idea- However, it wasn't long before people began labeling him a demon and soon the whole town was against him with pitchforks and fire. Cornered and injured, Kurt thought this might be the end for him- maybe he would see heaven so long after finding it- but he was then saved by Charles Xavier who invited him to the X-Men. AND ITS BEEN SO MANY YEARS AND HE HAS BEEN THROUGH SO MUCH THERE. SO MUCH. SO GOD DAMN MUCH. BUT THE MOST AAAA THING TO ME CONCERNING HIS FAITH HE WHEN HE LITERALLY DIED AND WENT TO HEAVEN BUT THEN BECAUSE OF DRAMA WITH HIS FATHER HAD TO BRING HIS FRIENDS IN WITH HIM FROM THE BEYOND. THEN WITH ALOT OF TROUBLE THEY FOUGHT HIS FATHER AND THE ONLY WAY KURT SAW TO STOP HIM WAS IN A MOVE THAT STRIPPED THEM BOTH OF THEIR SOULS AND PUT THEM BACK ON EARTH. SO KURT CANONICALLY HAS NOW LOST HIS ABILITY FOR ETERNAL PEACE, LOST HIS VERY SOUL, TO SAVE PEOPLE- AND ALSO TOLD NO ONE NOT EVEN HIS GAY LOVER WOLVERINE.

Nightcrawler is a mutant vigilante who looks like a classical demon. He can't even go to church without people panicking and trying to exorcize him. Despite it all, he's so full of faith and hope and compassion, and he wants to believe the best of everyone. Also, he's bffs with an extremely angry Jewish sword lesbian. That has nothing to do with anything, but it's important to me that you all know that.

What if you were a devout christian and literally looked like the devil? He nearly became the pope, which was a plot by some supervillains that also involved faking a rapture? There is nothing like comics I swear to god.

A catholic who is half demon I don’t think I can better explain a struggle than that. But his character is so relatable to people who feel unwelcome with their congregation because of something that is a part of them but still feeling a connection to the faith. Kurt actively engaged in his faith and shares how his faith helps him through all the things he has faced in life and how he found a home with those of the church who leave the judging to God.

so they made kurt a priest briefly before deciding to retcon it, resulting in nightcrawler actually being part of a plan by villains to promote him to pope then reveal to the world that the pope is a demon. wild.

I have a side blog and a tattoo about him and i really really want him to win

Wisecracking devil-appearing devout Catholic with the Best superpower (teleportation)? HECK YES

German Catholic circus acrobat who looks like a demon & can teleport through a hellish alternate dimension with a puff of sulfur. Character of all time.

hes catholic and his dad is the devil. what could be funnier than that. also hes my silly little guy.

Nightcrawler is the world’s most fun catholic priest. I first was introduced to this kindhearted teleporting acrobat while he saved a boat full of stowaway refugees from inter dimensional pirates with swashbuckling gusto!

#encanto #alma madrigal #abuela madrigal #x men #kurt wagner #nightcrawler #marvel #cct polls #tumblr tournament #tumblr polls #tumblr bracket

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neufer · 1 month ago

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No one asked for this, but I wanted to go through my outsiders playlist and talk about my thought process behind each song. I love making playlists for characters and stories and think making the connections between them and the songs is very fun. If anything this is just for me to have my thoughts actually articulated and written down, but I figured someone else might enjoy it too.

Here is the playlist I’m talking about.

Okay so the first two songs are obviously from the movie and are there just to set the tone.

This next group of songs is all about being a greaser. Sort of wild and crazy because of the circumstances. Specific lyrics that demonstrate this: “I used to be such a sweet sweet thing ‘til they got a hold of me” (No More Mr. Nice Guy) and both choruses of Ain’t No Rest for the Wicked and Youth Gone Wild. The others songs are based mostly off of vibes, and I saw a post on here one time headcanoning some of the gang jamming out to Respect, and it’s like, yes give them their respect.

This group of songs is similar but it gets a little more deep and specific to certain characters. I really love Ethel Cain so I wanted to include American Teenager partly because of that. It might be a reach but I think “a long cold war with your kids at the front” is pretty outsiders coded, same with “it’s just not my year” and the whole second verse. The lines about being wasted and handling liquor remind me of Two-Bit, and the mention of Jesus reminds me of Ponyboy and Johnny. Patches by Clarence Carter is a new addition and it gives me Darry having to take over vibes. Point of Know Return for me is Ponyboy wanting to get out of Tulsa, kind of like, how long until he reaches the point where he can’t stand not to leave, until the point of no return? The lines “Your father, he said he needs you. Your mother, she said she loves you. Your brothers, they echo your words,” are also very Curtis bros coded. Standing Outside The Fire and The Poet are both very Ponyboy, specifically his passion and heightened sense of emotion and him being that way in the rough neighborhood he grew up in. I guess you could say those two songs also apply to Sodapop, and Standing Outside The Fire is also very greaser vs soc.

These two songs are about Cherry and Bob. Specifically about his drinking and other wild habits and how she knows they maybe aren’t the best for each other. “Them boys are out and they’re angry and they’re lookin’ for blood” in Oklahoma Smokeshow is also SO soc coded it’s crazy. I’m pretty sure I saw a post on here about that song relating to the outsiders so that kind of gave me the idea.

Class of 2013 is Johnny Cade, simple as that. I also think “you have so much to do and I have nothing ahead of me” in Your Best American Girl is kind of Johnny to Pony/the rest of the gang, but I also saw an edit to this song where it was Darry to Ponyboy, and that is so valid as well. And, if you’re a Darry/Paul truther, it’s also Darry to Paul (the rest of the song too, not just that one lyric). Now Runs in the Family is kind of hit or miss. Like the song in the musical, it talks about being doomed from the beginning, but I see it more as Ponyboy’s tendency to overthink and his breakdown at the end of the story. Also not being able to run from his family. There’s some more in the lyrics about the family kind of exploiting the person whose pov is the pov the song is from, and I don’t think that relates to the outsiders in any way.

This is where it starts to get serious. Obviously we have two songs from the musical. They, and another one that comes later, are in my opinion the ones that sum up the themes of the outsiders perfectly, so I wanted to include them. Fly To The Angels is about Johnny’s death and the other characters having to let him go, specifically “heaven awaits your heart and flowers bloom in your name.” Mama I’m Coming Home is about Dally’s death. I’ve been thinking of it as Dally’s pov, and while it may not work perfectly, I think it still works. Specifically, “times have changed and times are strange, here I come but I ain’t the same.” I also really like “lost and found and turned around by the fire in your eyes” but I don’t really know who that would be about from Dally’s pov. Maybe Johnny?

These next four songs are all Ponyboy mourning Johnny and Dally and longing for them to still be alive. Tuesday’s Gone is a bonus because it talks about a train and the phrase “gone with the wind.” I saw an edit of the three of them to Crab, so that’s where I got the idea for that. There’s nothing in particular about Comin’ Home, just a vibe. Copperline is all about a sense of nostalgia for a place/time you can’t go back to and if that’s not perfect idk what is. The line that does it for me the most is “I tried to go back as if I could, all spec house and plywood. Tore up and tore up good, down on copperline.”

Then these last three songs are obviously the epitome of Johnny’s message about staying gold. Stevie Wonder’s Stay Gold from the movie is a little less optimistic than the one from the musical, but I think it still fits well here at the end. Fooling Yourself (The Angry Young Man) is actually very similar to Stay Gold from the musical in that it’s about having a better outlook (“you’re the one they can’t beat and you know it”, “just take your best shot and don’t blow it”). Obviously it applies to Ponyboy but I also think it could apply to Darry as well. And then of course Stay Gold from the musical. It’s tied with Throwing in the Towel as my favorite from the soundtrack so I would have included it no matter what, but what else would I have ended on? To me, Stay Gold perfectly encapsulates one of the main messages of the whole story. It’s the biggest message that I’ve taken from my recently renewed interest in the outsiders, so it only made sense to end with it.

If you made it this far or skimmed this far, thank you! I hope you enjoyed reading and hearing my thoughts.

#Spotify #the outsiders #the outsiders broadway #ponyboy curtis #darry curtis #sodapop curtis #johnny cade #dally winston #two bit mathews #steve randle #cherry valance #bob sheldon #the outsiders playlist #throwing in the towel #little brother #stay gold #stay gold ponyboy #se hinton #song analysis

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billdenbrough · 1 month ago

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my uncle killed himself last night.

technically, he’s my mum’s cousin, but we’re pasifika, which means he’s my uncle. he’s one of her best friends in the whole world. she’s closer to him than she is to her actual brother.

when he told me the news, my dad gave a tiny biography. a refresher course, if you will. to some, this would indicate, i imagine, a great distance. a lack of familiarity. the thing you have to know, then, is my mother has one hundred and eight first cousins. multiple of them (who are also related to each other) have the same name.

but i’m sitting in a mall, looking at my google doc, thinking to myself, how am i going to connect a to b, and then i get a text, and i am staring at my phone for ten minutes. there is something weird and staticky and tight and panicky in my chest, but mostly everything is numb. i do not own a weighted blanket, but i imagine sometimes it might be like this. a grounding pressure coating everything. or maybe vaseline is closer to what i mean, keeping things in, keeping things out.

i call my dad. i take a list of errands. nothing to do with my uncle, or my mother, or grief, or death. they are the tasks my dad needs done, the things he was going to do today but now is not, because my mother’s heart is broken and he can’t leave her alone. so maybe they are to do with grief, kind of.

i drive through the city, and it sucks, because of course it does, but also it’s a saturday, and it’s a long weekend, and there are sales, and i am driving to the biggest mall in my area. and i get there, and i don’t really know where to go or what to do, so i try to nap in the back of my car. i lock all the doors, bunch up several of my jackets lying around, and set a timer for half an hour. after three minutes, it’s too hot, so i climb back up, figure out how to unlock the whole car, make my way to the front, turn it on, and put the back two windows down, just an inch or two. inches aren’t my favourite measurement—imprecise, unpractical, american—but it is what it is. i lay back down, and i try sleep, and i get maybe ten minutes of semi-aware rest before the noises outside stress me out too much, and then i spend the rest of the timer curled on my side, staring at my phone battery go down. my dad calls me back eventually, and gives me a direction. the first half of the great impersonator is my company for this, until my battery level stresses me out even more than the vaseline works, and i switch off bluetooth completely.

it starts raining at some point, and there is a wind tunnel, and my feet are sore because i’m not wearing my orthotics, which i am not wearing because they were making my feet ache. catch-22. i keep doing errands, and eventually, the lane i take when driving from one of the stores to a different mall leads me all the way to the house of someone i used to know, a boy who dated someone in my family for years and years and years. this is not great. i do not love this. i have spent the better part of a year adjusting to his absence, see, and reckoning with the big hurts people can deal people in ways that are small, in the greater scheme of things.

and i’m driving past his parents’ house, thinking about the last time i was there, and it’s probably less upsetting than it would be on a good day, but it is still a bad thing on a day that just managed to already be worse. and then i start thinking about my uncle, and my dad’s refresher bio, and how it did not include the fact that this man taught me how to weave, even though he did. he showed me how to weave hammocks and nets and helped me into a dinghy when i was ten and trying to bridge the gap of the ocean from the ladder to the boat and my mother loved him and relied on him and his smile is etched into my brain and now he is dead.

i finally get hungry. i woke up at 5am, my body causing me problems even after being up past midnight revisiting old stories and universes and ideas, and i’ve had one thing to eat around 9:30, and then everything has been too funny in my stomach to contend with the idea of eating. and then, suddenly, i am finally hungry, so much that it hurts. and i get food for my mother, who has not been eating all day, too full with grief, and i get food for myself, and some extra for my dad, and i drive through the rain and behind bad drivers and with songs i don’t know playing, until i get to the kitchen where my mother is, and i drop all my bags, and i hold her for a full minute while she shakes against me.

dad went for a walk, she says, and i give her the food, and i tell her i got the broth separate from the noodles so she can heat and eat it later if she isn’t ready now, and she says she will eat it.

and she is eating. and i am eating. and there she is. and here i am. and she says she wants to go back home. she wants to go this week, but she doesn’t know who can take care of the cat, because i will be in another city for three days and dad will be away for two. and she says how my uncle was such a big part of the reason she was so looking forward to going back home with all of us this christmas. they had so many big plans. and her voice shakes. and she says my aunt, her sister, is taking it badly, and i am not surprised, and then she says that my aunt is the one who found him, that it was in her house, and now i am surprised. now i am shaking too.

my dad comes home. she doesn’t bring up wanting to go back. maybe she is waiting. i wash my new sheets. the rugby game is starting in one room, and we all slowly migrate there, and we sit in separate chairs, and we watch, by which i mean we have devices in front of us that we sometimes look away from to observe the game. i’m still staring at that same google doc from this morning.

every so often, when i look up, i don’t watch the game. i watch my mother, and i watch how her face crumples, so many times that i cannot count. her whole mouth turns down, and her face shakes, and her eyes are so, so sad, and she is across the room from me, and all i can do is watch. she does not cry. she does not speak. but her face crumples, over and over.

my dad goes to shower. she goes to shower. i end up on a wikipedia deep dive of something even more horrible, even sadder, and close my laptop screen. i go to shower, because i almost had a breakdown over something that isn’t even a thing to have a reaction to on twitter, and i need to do something to douse the rising anxiety beneath my skin. so i go to shower, and i open tumblr, and i start typing. i don’t really know why i’m saying all this. i guess i’m still trying to douse the rising thing in my chest. the vaseline is wearing thin, and i don’t know if it’s all better out or in.

i guess it’s just a lot. and i don’t know where to put it down. and today is the first day. and we will do it all again tomorrow, and my mother will still be staring at the ceiling, and i will be watching her, and my dad will go for walks in the rain, and nobody will have anything big enough to say to make it better. i don’t know if anyone has told my sister.

#suicide tw #death tw #grief /#sorry i don’t know why i’m . i just needed it out. i guess #vent /#i’m just fucking sad i think.

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spaceorphan18 · 11 months ago

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My Season 3 Diatribe

for @wowbright who gave me a platform that I really didn't need but took anyway. ;)

The thing about Glee was that it started with a woman being fake pregnant for thirteen episodes and then ended the season with a baby being born while Bohemian Rhapsody blared in the background. It was weird and crazy and insane and just edgy enough that it was being talked about but not too niche that it couldn't find an audience. It also hit in the sweet spot of the Obama years when, as a nation, we could get on board with being a little different and a little crazy.

Ryan Murphy is both a genius and insane at the same time. I'm not really fond of him, and I think his tendency for going big sometimes obscures the nuances of really good storytelling. But he knows how to make a loud statement. And Glee was that loud statement.

And then it got big. Too big. It got more money, an awards, and the national stage, and then all eyes were on it. And Ryan Murphy got tired because that's also Ryan Murphy - being distracted by American Horror Story where he could be abstract in the way his brain really wanted to go. And so, new writers were brought in, but having all eyes on it meant you had to dial it back, and the new writers didn't jive the same way, nor could they really juggle all of the new network notes, ballooning cast, mandates of the Glee project and responsibility for now having to be a 'role model' for all the new outsiders who were hanging on.

The show was once about being an awkward kid in the 80s. And then it was forced into becoming a mouthpiece for the changing times of the 2010s.

And that... doesn't work.

The funniest thing is way back when... after I had stopped watching the show for a while, Season 3 is what brought me back. I did think, for a moment in time, that I liked it better than Seasons 1 or 2. I can't exactly tell you why. But The First Time is when I fell in love, and maybe you feel connected to something when you fall in love with it that you can't really discribe.

And I hated Season 4. and I was listening to a podcast of the day (Those of you who remember Lima Heights Adjacent?) and the group of people were talking about how, with all of its faults, Season 4 was at least NOT Season 3. And I was confused because at the time - I much preferred Season 3. Because my favorite couple was at least a couple back then -- because the cast was people I liked. Because the episodes were easy to digest and the structure of it, while being bland and predictable, fit into a nice, uniform way of storytelling.

And then time moved on, and I left my twenties, and digested the entire story (the second half, with all of its faults, does not get the recognition it deserves -- despite it falling apart at all times) and got a lot better at critical analysis and media analysis and being open to the ideas of others and just... shake my head.

When you look at the whole, Season 3 isn't AS bad as I make it seem sometimes. There's a good chunk of it, right in the middle, that is... more watchable than what's at the beginning and end.

There is, however, a laundry list of reasons why it's not good -- from questionable story telling choices to dulling the edge of a more biting comedy to just not being able to service all the characters it has in a satisfactory way. They botched Santana's story, which had been set up nicely in season 2. They threw in guest stars and special episodes to throw off that they didn't really know what to do with the story other than praise Rachel Berry and get those kids winning nationals and graduated. They took Kurt and completely neutered him in a way that went against everything they had built him up to be in the first two seasons. And so on and so on and so on.

But I suppose most egregiously -- they played it safe and it was no longer interesting.

I don't fully understand why people love it so much. But I will say - part of the reason might be why I liked it at the time. There's a huge influx of newer fans always coming to the show. And like Klaine, Brittana (which has a following unlike it ever did when it aired) remains together and having the most screen time in Season 3. All the original characters are around, and the story structure, if nothing else, is secure and sound and plays out exactly as its supposed to. Rachel Berry gets the crown, Will gets the teacher of the year, and they all win nationals - hell, even Sue gets a baby. Cue the music and roll credits.

To each their own.

Season 4 comes next with its awkward new characters and its break ups and its wild ups and downs. And then season 5 with its grief and queer in a way that's not accessible but fuck it who cares and season 6 that just wants to go back to the beginning and end it all like the weird creation it was when it started. And as complicated as all of that is -- it's not as digestible as Season 3. I like the afterwards better. But I understand that some people won't. It has, after all, taken me years to get to this level of appreciation.

Who knows how people are going to look at it in ten, fifteen, fifty years. I'm sure, as streaming shows continue to go on and on and on and nothing dies any more, it'll take on different tones and different meanings.

Maybe this time around - those people just need that comfort.

I can't tell you.

But it won't ever be my favorite. And that's fine. As always, ymmv.

#that's how s.o. sees it #feeling reflective tonight #if you want specifics hit me up #though i'm sure most of you have been around long enough to know and understand #maybe you just had to live through it #or maybe you just need to be in a different place #or maybe none of it was good to begin with #glee history i suppose #as i sit in my rocking chair on my porch and talk about yesteryere

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cecekeating · 5 months ago

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My 614 Jordayla Analysis and Commentary

Hey guys! Back after the hiatus with a pretty good episode. I personally loved this episode and it actually exceeded my very low expectations. I am beginning to understand that in order to enjoy All American episodes, it is best to keep all your theories/expectations aside and watch each episode with little to no expectations. If your expectation gets met, hurray. Celebrate, tweet about it if you can and after celebrating begin to prepare to lower your expectations for the next episode. So far, this has worked for me.

So we got to see Jordayla in their married era! I am so pumped about this and not gonna lie, I was nervous because I wasn’t sure on what to expect. These two episodes, while created to close out Spencer’s arc, will also serve as a teaser on what season 7 might look like. I was nervous about the direction the writing will take when it comes to Jordayla as a married couple but so far, I am impressed.

The Jordayla dynamic still felt the same but also felt different in this episode. Now I am gonna pause here and talk about the Jordayla chemistry. I can’t be the only one that has noticed how the chemistry of Jordayla shifts to match the current stage of their relationship. In season 4b, the chemistry of Jordayla as friends was different to the chemistry of Jordayla in season 5a when they were still in the honeymoon, puppy love stage. The chemistry shifted again in season 5b after the death of Billy. This period matured Jordayla’s connection and if you recall, they said I love you to each other for the first time during this period. The chemistry shift happened again this season in 6a. You can tell if you watch their scenes again that they were in the engagement/stepping off of the engagement bliss phase until episode 606. By 608, Jordayla’s chemistry shifted again and the connection matured deeper. They were still so cute but you could tell they have also grown. Season 6b Jordayla was a mature Jordayla- still goofy and light but also pretty mature especially on Jordan’s end. Now in this episode we see the chemistry shift to an actual married couple chemistry and it actually feels like they have been married for over a year!! You can also see maturity too. It doesn’t feel forced at all. Personally, their dynamic has always given married couple vibes; it can be why married Jordayla lands so well for me but in other episodes, I could still tell that they were dating/engaged. This time, all I see is Mr and Mrs Baker! In most shows, once the ships get married, there is normally a wear off of the momentum for me. With Jordayla however, they still feel fresh, like there is more to explore with them and see as they grow as a married couple.

Whatever the hell NK in conjunction with MikeGreta laced Jordayla with, I don’t know but damn it's good!!! Married Jordayla is such a SERVE and I for one, am here for it.

This episode also shed a bit more light on how their dynamics would likely be going forward. The vibe is still light and rom com to me. I was anticipating the writing, maybe adding some extra tidbits because you know, this is All American but no, they have still stuck to the established Jordayla dynamic. You can see Jordan and Layla are truly the same person and both are overthinkers too! I don’t know why some Jordaylas are surprised about Layla being an overthinker. Have you forgotten how she spiraled in 412 when she jumped into the conclusion that JP was dying? That woman is Jordan Baker 2.0, she is just more subtle with her chaos.

I did feel Layla had a lighter, somewhat goofy vibe to her and Jordan was a bit more serious. Sort of showing us that they have rubbed off on each other. I actually expected this for a couple that has been married for over a year. You can also see how they care for each other so much- Layla, being worried about his health and checking if he has a fever. But also how annoyed they can get with each other - I was cracking up at Layla saying that she would kill Jordan for the entertainment choice at the party and a few minutes later suggesting that they should have actually gotten the strippers instead of the magicians.

I was also here for Asher being a hardcore Jordayla stan this episode. That man was determined to continue his interrupted best man speech this episode. I love how Asher said Jordayla are the same person and as long as they have each other, they are going to be fine.

Asher told no lies because this is a core Jordayla dynamic that has been established in the writing. They belong to each other and they are all each other needs. This is why difficult moments bond them. It is why anytime they have angst, it makes them much closer and it takes them one step forward. We saw this after their first fight, after the death of Billy and when Layla went through it with her mental health battle and recovery. In all these tough moments, Jordayla has only grown closer and chosen to love each other deeply. I see this continue to be their dynamic going forward.

So we officially begin married Jordayla diaries with Jordan making Layla breakfast. Jordan taking care of Layla in this manner has been my head canon for a married Jordayla since season 5a. It is totally on brand for Jordan to cook for his wife and I am so glad Micah and Carrie were on beat! Now let’s talk about this housing situation. I was very surprised when I found out they still live at the beach house. I would have loved an explanation from the writing as to what happened to the place they found originally in 612. Was it initially rented and they are now in the beach house temporarily now that they want to buy a home? Or is the place they found in 612 the same place they have been trying to buy for 15 months? I just needed something to tie 612 to this episode.

Anyway, Layla announces that they are actually close to buying their own home. You can see how unsure they are about owning a home, indicating there is still something about the house. Jordan then switches the topic to him getting a job by the time they move into the house.

#jordayla #jordan baker #layla keating

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lenafromthenordiccoven · 2 years ago

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This Is Only Temporary - Part 2 of 3

(moodboard made by me, Top Gun Maverick screencaps by hd-screencaps, the rest is unsplash.com)

Pairing: Robert “Bob” Floyd x afab!reader x Jake “Hangman” Seresin

Rating: M – MDNI 18+

Word count: 4046

Warnings: Bob and Hangman being menaces, and so is reader (oops), little bit of fluff on top of MORE shameless flirting, beginnings of polyamory, Hangman being a flirty dick who wants what he thinks he can’t have; I’m neither US Navy nor American, so reader isn’t either – meaning there might be a little, uh, criticism here and there (also, we all know aviators are cocky af, right?), not beta-read but I did try to proofread a bit

Summary: After months of irregular phone and video calls, and constant e-mailing back and forth, you finally get to visit your boyfriend, Bob, in California. What you didn’t count on, was the fact that the guest room in his new house was temporarily occupied by one of his colleagues. The same cocky aviator, who can’t help but hit on you when you first meet – and even after he knows, you’re taken.

Read on ao3

Part 1 – Part 2 – Part 3

Taglist: @formulapierre (If you wanna be added to the taglist, just lemme know)

A/N: Part 2, here we gooooo. :D A little shorter than I thought it would be, and Jake turned out a little differently than I had expected, but I decided to just go with the flow. Songs for this chapter would be Whattaman by Salt-N-Pepa and Nowhere to Run by Lola Colette.

“I swear to God, if Beth and Rip don’t get their happy ending, the producers and I will need to have a word.” You grumbled at the episode of Yellowstone playing on TV, wrapped in a warm cocoon of Bob’s arms and a thin blanket on the couch in the living room. Your legs had intertwined with his and you rose and fell with his every breath while lying directly on top of him. You’d propped your head up one of your hands to see the TV better.

Bob’s chuckle rumbled through you and lured a smile onto your own lips. “I’m sure, they’ll be fine, darlin’.” His breath fanned across your ear and the side of your head – and you knew, he wasn’t really watching the show as much as he was your reactions to it. You’d started to watch Yellowstone together last year – well, together and still apart, just connected by a (video) call on your phones while you each watched on your own devices. Bob had suggested the show since he knew, you liked cowboys. (Not least because you loved Bob’s family and the farm where he grew up in Montana.) And it was set in Montana, so that was a plus.

“I had no idea, you were into cowboys, sweetheart,” Hangman’s voice suddenly said from the door arch led into the kitchen with its open counter that looked out over the living room.

You lifted your head from your hand on Bob’s chest to glare at Hangman over the back of the grey couch. The words died on your lips though as you laid eyes on him. He was wearing dark grey sweatpants that were hugging his hips just right (and maybe sitting a little too low). He’d forgone a shirt and his perfectly styled, golden blond hair was still tousled from sleep, sticking up into different directions. You couldn’t help the rush of heat flashing through your body and to your core as you let your eyes roam over his body. God damn it, he was hot. You knew, Bob was still watching for your reaction as his arms tightened around your waist. Besides, you were an open book to your boyfriend by now. You’d known each other for too long not to. “W-well …” You cleared your throat. “Depends on the cowboy, Hangnail.”

You turned your attention back to the TV, putting your head back down on Bob’s chest. You assumed Hangman had gone into the kitchen. But you didn’t get to watch a lot of it in peace when you heard footsteps approaching the couch. You shifted in Bob’s arms, turning over onto your back to be able to look at him without breaking your poor neck.

Your breath hitched in your throat when you saw Hangman leaning slightly over the back of the couch and staring down at you. You’d expected to see his thousand-watt-smile plastered onto his face, but his expression was somber. It reminded you a little of the way Bob looked when he wanted to apologize for something. But you couldn’t wrap your head around why Hangman would look at you like that.

“Listen, Y/N… And, I guess, this goes for Bob, too. I’m sorry about yesterday.” He brought up his right hand to scratch the back of his head sheepishly. “I didn’t know you two were a thing.”

“That wouldn’t have stopped you anyway. And it didn’t,” Bob replied before you could say something. But he said what you had been thinking as well. You hadn’t pegged Hangman as the kind of man that would be stopped by the knowledge of his desired conquest’s relationship status. Neither would you have thought him to be the kind of man to apologize for flirting with you.

Hangman sighed. “You’re right. And I … I just wanna say, I’m sorry, alright?”

“Don’t be,” you piped up. Suddenly reminded of your conversation last night with Bob before you’d both drifted off to sleep. “I actually don’t mind. Neither does Bob. And I do hope, you enjoyed last night’s show.”

“Oh, he did,” Bob teased behind you. One of his hands slid down your waist, over your hip to squeeze your thigh lightly. You could hear the smile in his voice, and you couldn’t help but smirk, when you saw the way Hangman’s face fell a little and his ears and cheeks turned red.

He squeezed his eyes shut and pinched the bridge of his nose between two fingers. “I’d like to apologize for that, too,” he said with a groan.

You pushed yourself up until your face was only a couple inches away from Hangman’s. You narrowed your eyes for a moment. “Didn’t peg you to be the type to apologize, Jake. If anything, from what Robby told me, you’re more of a … How’d Salt-N-Pepa put it? A ‘Wham! Bam! Thank you, ma’am!’ type of guy.”

“Y/N…” Bob’s voice held an unspoken warning. But not for you to not push Jake, rather in the “Please watch your mouth, before you say something, we might both regret”-type of way.

You looked down at him over your shoulder and shot him a wink, before squeezing his hand on your thigh reassuringly. You weren’t going to cause friction between him and his friend. You just wanted to tease a little. You turned your attention back to Hangman. You lifted your hand from Bob’s and put Hangman’s chin between your index finger and thumb. Carefully pushing your face even closer to his until your lips almost brushed his. “And yet, you’re here this morning. After you watched Robby and I fuck.” Bob’s hand on your thigh squeezed again, but this time, there was no warning accompanying it. If anything, his hand trailed a little higher, back to your hip, innocently brushing over your clothed core. The touch sent a jolt of electricity through you. A reminder of last night and a promise of more to come. “Why? Did no lady want to take you home with her last night? Or were you curious to know what the two of us would sound and look like?”

You leaned back a bit, your lips curving upwards in a smile as you watched Jake’s chest, neck and face flushing an even deeper red underneath the golden-brown tan. His pupils dilated, transforming the emerald-green eyes of his to a darker shade. You could see the hunger in them. And the yearning. You wondered if he was lying to himself and the rest of the world. That he didn’t like to be this egotistical gigolo with a toothpick, but rather that he was playing this role others had assigned to him. Why, you weren’t sure. To protect himself? Or to prove that he was worthy of his job and others’ attention? Whatever it was, you couldn’t deny that you were curious to know what lay underneath all the bravado and charm.

He swallowed, cleared his throat and averted his eyes. Then he took a step back from the couch. “Right, we should probably get ready for dogfight football.” His voice was hoarse, low. You loved watching him this flustered. Loved it with Bob, too. But Bob had grown used to your special brand of teasing. You still got under his skin, but he fought back, too, from time to time. (Not that he really needed to. Let’s face it, one look from Bob and you could turn into a puddle at his feet.) Jake, though, provided a bit of a challenge.

Behind you, Bob sat up, intentionally pressing his chest to your back. He pressed a quick kiss behind your ear, then gently slapped your thigh. “He’s right, darlin’. We have to go.”

“Fine. But we’re not done talking about this, alright?”

The rest of the Dagger Squad were already assembled at the beach behind the Hard Deck, together with the bartender from yesterday (whom Bob introduced as Penny), his instructor for the last detachment and a dark-haired woman, who introduced herself as Phoenix.

“So, I should probably thank you for getting him back to me in one piece,” you said with a slight lovesick smile in Bob’s direction, who was currently talking to Fanboy.

Phoenix lightly clapped you on the back with her hand. “Nah, I wouldn’t have made it back without him either. We protect each other up there.”

“Suppose you have to, otherwise …” Your voice trailed off as you watched Jake – now back to his usual cocksure self and with the charm turned back up to a hundred – take off his shirt. He shot a wink in your direction before putting his sunglasses back on. You heard Phoenix say something, but the words didn’t quite register.

Bob walking over and wrapping you up in his arms saved you from an undignified response, though. “You two good?”

You nodded, as did Phoenix. You tried to ignore her change in behavior after Jake had winked at you, but you saw the light crease forming between her brows. Before she could say something though, Maverick called all the aviators onto the field – that wasn’t much more than an unoccupied part of the beach.

Bob was about to join them, but he turned back to you. “Do you want to join in?” His arm around your waist pulled you further against his body. You tried not to let the feeling of his body – although still fully clothed in a tattered yellow T-shirt and swim trunks – distract you too much.

You glanced at the group of the other aviators, who were now calling out for Bob to join them. Then you shook your head, directing your attention back to Bob. “You go ahead and have fun. I’ll stake out the beach and maybe go for a swim.”

“Alright. Love you,” he whispered and quickly kissed you. Nothing too salacious that would warrant the hollering and jeering coming from his friends, but it left you leaning up to try and chase his lips when he pulled away. He smirked down at you, licked his lips as he let go of you and walked over to his friends. Not before turning his head and winking at you the same way Jake had.

You blew him a kiss in response and rolled your eyes when he pretended to catch it. Your brain returned to the thought that you couldn’t quite believe he was really in front of you. Not just a figment of your imagination. God, how you’d missed him. And you were sure, none of his friends would have guessed that your presence alone would bring out a side of Bob that was more smug, secure in the knowledge that you loved him and were with him again.

“You’re not joining us, Y/N?” Jake called out, twirling the football in his hands. Some of the aviators – you thought, you heard Rooster and Payback – accompanied his question with several shouts of “Yeah, come on.”

You shook your head. “I don’t know a thing about American football. Apart from the fact that, if it lived up to its name, you wouldn’t be running around with the ball wedged under your arm. Should’ve named it American handball.” Your reply got a couple of “ooohs” and “She got you there, man”s from the others.

“Oh well, you enjoy the show then, sweetheart.” Jake grinned and you snorted at the callback to your earlier conversation in Bob’s living room. You weren’t quite sure if the heat that blossomed in your veins was the result of seeing Jake shirtless again – and clearly peacocking for your benefit – or if it was the heat of the California sun beating down at you.

You decided to join Penny in the shade of a parasol and watched the first two matches intently. You didn’t understand any of the rules, but Penny tried to explain them to you as best as she could. Not that it really mattered. You were barely paying to attention, too focused on watching Bob and Jake – on opposite teams. You bit your lip when Bob decided to take off his shirt after all, shocking his friends in return.

“You bring out a different side of him,” Penny suddenly said next to you, watching just as you were.

You turned your head, an eyebrow raised in question. “What?”

“Bob.” She nodded towards your boyfriend, who was just now running from Jake with the ball under his arm. Your eyes stayed trained on him, even as Jake caught him and tackled him to the ground. “I’ve never seen him this confident. Usually, he just hangs back, like he’s saving his strength or something. But with you, he even takes his shirt off.” She chuckled.

You blushed at the implications. “I don’t know. He’s almost smug when it’s just the two of us. But his shyness and consideration are part of his charm.” You smiled at her, then got up from your seat on the beach towel. “I think, I’m gonna go for a swim.”

You shimmied out of your jeans shorts and Bob’s shirt that you had taken hostage the last time he’d visited you in the UK, purposefully trying to ignore the whistling from the aviators. Until you recognized one of them to be Bob’s and your head snapped up and over to look in his direction. His hand lingered in front of his chin, and you blushed at the wide grin spreading on his face when your eyes locked – and at the reminder that you sported some distinctly shaped bruises on your upper thighs.

“That’s exactly what I mean,” said Penny with a smile of her own. You shook your head and chuckled, then went to where the waves crashed onto the beach.

While you dove into the water, you didn’t notice the way Phoenix took Bob aside for a moment. Nor would you have heard their conversation.

“What’s going on between Bagman and your girl?” she asked without any preamble. Bob froze, his eyes still locked on your head bobbing in the water as you swam not too far away from shore.

“I have no clue what you’re talkin’ about.”

Phoenix groaned, forcing Bob to look at her with a hand on his shoulder. “Don’t lie to me, man. You must be blind not to see the way they’re flirting with each other. Especially Bagman. He’s got it down bad for your girlfriend. And you’re fine with that?”

Bob shrugged. Of course, the ease with which you retorted Jake’s flirtations stung a little. But it wasn’t like you reacted any more than if it were Bob doing the flirting. If anything, he could see clearly through your own mask of bravado around Jake, trying to hide the insecurities he knew so much about by now. And he’d be lying if he didn’t like the idea of you and Jake maybe acting on your mutual attraction. You and Bob had talked about it late last night, entangled in each other’s arms and on the brink of sleep. In fact, Bob had been the one to bring it up. The idea of seeing if Jake would work as a third person in your relationship. The flirting and teasing went on easy enough between you. Bob just wasn’t sure, if Jake would be willing to open up as much as he would need to, if he even wanted to join the two of you in this relationship.

“Hello? Earth to Bob. You there?”

He turned his attention back to Phoenix. “Yeah, yeah, ‘m here. Actually, I don’t mind. It’s just harmless fun. Y/N would never cheat on me, I trust her on that front. Besides, it would depend on your definition of cheating anyway.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

Bob didn’t reply immediately, instead heeding Maverick’s call to return to the game. He fell into a jog back to the group but turned around to throw back at Phoenix: “Monogamy isn’t the only way to live in a relationship, ‘nix.”

The sun was way past its zenith when Dagger Squad called it quits on the football front. While the majority of the group agreed to just stay at the Hard Deck, you admitted to Bob that you were positively starving right now and if you could find a place to eat.

“Burger’s okay?” Bob asked, gently pulling your body closer, until yours was flush against his. You nodded, unable to hide the way your eyes flickered to his lips for a second. Distracted by the way he was licking them, unintentionally reminding you of the way his tongue felt between your legs. You cleared your throat and took a step backwards. Otherwise, you couldn’t guarantee, you wouldn’t have dragged him behind the dumpsters right now.

“I’ll just tell Phoenix, we won’t be joining them, okay?” Bob leaned down, kissing you quickly, before waiting for your response.

“Yep. Would you … mind if we asked Jake to come with us? Given what we talked about last night and this morning, I just … kinda wanna try to get a minute to see if this would actually work. I mean, we haven’t even suggested it to him yet, so, I just thought –” Bob silenced your rambling by pressing his index finger against your lips, then he moved his hand to brush his knuckles against your cheek.

He was smiling his lopsided smile when he replied: “You know, I don’t mind. Do you want to ask him or should I?”

“I’ll go. You tell Phoenix.” You leaned up on tiptoes to press a quick kiss of your own against his lips, your hands resting on his chest that was once again covered up by his Navy T-shirt.

“’kay. Meet at the car?” he asked, and you nodded, before trotting off towards where Jake stood with Javy.

“Well, would you look at that. The princess graces us with her presence.” Jake grinned at you and you rolled your eyes at the new nickname. Really? Princess? You could deal with sweetheart, but princess was a step too far. Even if he’d said it with a light sarcastic undertone. “What can we do for you?”

Since he didn’t look like he would further comment on the sudden appearance of princess in his vocabulary, you didn’t mention it and instead chose to get right to it. “Robby and I were just wondering if you wanted to come with us, we’re gonna get burgers for dinner. And seeing as you’re still staying at Bob’s place and we came here with one car, it just might be easier if you –”

“Sure.”

You hadn’t even finished before Jake had agreed. In fact, he’d been so quick to say yes, you were stunned into silence for a few moments. You blinked at him. “Okay, then. We’re meeting Bob at the car.”

“Lead the way, darlin’.” Jake tilted his head a little downwards. Not that he wasn’t always looking down at you – he was as tall as Bob, after all. Bob just … didn’t always feel as tall. He made himself small sometimes, which you understood. Sometimes it was just easier to try and be invisible instead of standing out like Jake apparently always did.

You quickly said goodbye to Javy and then walked around the bar towards the car, where Bob was already waiting for you, leaning against the hood, his hands in the pockets of his swim trunks. He pushed himself off the car when he saw you approach.

“So, where do you wanna go? Leroy’s?” Jake suggested when you’d reached Bob.

“Sounds good.” Bob answered for both of you. After all, this was your first time in California and in Fightertown. You had no idea what was good here – just knew that you were really hungry, and you’d probably die in the next five minutes if they didn’t get a move on.

You’d spent the drive from the Hard Deck to Leroy’s – full name actually being “Leroy’s Fantastical Burger Shack” – talking about the football game. Or rather, Bob and Jake were talking about it. You just listened and tried to wrap your head around the rules. While you were studying the menu and ultimately decided on a veggie burger, you noticed the look Bob shot you over the menus. He seemed to silently ask you if everything was okay, since you hadn’t said much over the last couple of minutes.

Even Jake seemed to notice. He put his menu down and looked at you from across the table, a twinkle in those green eyes. “So, how’d you enjoy your first Californian beach day?”

You smiled, warmth spreading throughout your chest at the two of them caring enough for you to pull you into the conversation. Even though Bob recognized the signs that you were exhausted and that’s why you’d fallen silent, not because you didn’t want to participate or felt left out. “It was … good. Been a while since I got to swim in the ocean. I just think, I might have gotten too much sunlight. I’m exhausted.”

“And here I thought, that might have something to do with what you two got up to last night,” Jake replied, the corners of his mouth twitching. You couldn’t help the smile growing into a grin on your face. So, this is where he wanted to steer the conversation? Fine. Two could play that game. Or more than two people, for that matter.

“That reminds me, we never finished our talk from this morning.” Before you could continue, the waitress came to take your orders. And you couldn’t fault her for batting her eyelashes at Jake. To your surprise, he let her down gently. You’d expected Jake to take her up on her flirting, maybe disappear into the bathroom for a bit before returning to you. After all, Bob had said, he was a nice guy if you got to him better – but that Jake was also still a bit of a womanizer. Scratch that, he was a big ass womanizer. But Jake didn’t leave. Instead, his eyes kept flitting between you and Bob. That small gesture alone sent heat blossoming through your chest down into your stomach. Maybe Bob had been right in suggesting Jake as a third person in your relationship.

“Right, where were we?” Bob tried to steer the conversation back to the topic at hand before you’d been interrupted by the waitress.

“The talk we had this morning,” you replied. You blinked, looked out through the window onto the relatively busy street outside. Gathering your strength before you said what you wanted to next: “Robby and I have a suggestion to make, Jake. This is only temporary, but it’s a suggestion nevertheless.”

“Whatever you say, sweetheart. I’m curious what comes next.” Jake leaned forward, bracing his chin in his hands, with his elbows on the table. You looked at Bob, who nodded encouragingly and took your hand over the table, lightly squeezing it.

“It could be more though, if you want,” Bob helped you along.

You saw Jake’s mega-watt smile flicker; he furrowed his brows.

“I don’t know how familiar you are with the concept of polyamory. But that doesn’t really matter right now anyway. Uh …”

“Are you two asking me to join you for a threesome?” Jake now raised one of his eyebrows. While you could see the glimmer of desire – and was that hope, too? – in his eyes, his face remained serious. He leaned back a bit, as if he was suddenly wary of you. Maybe even scared that this was all an elaborate prank to get him back for watching you last night.

“And … more, if we all want and it goes well,” Bob replied. You nodded in agreement.

“We’re not joking, Jake. You were right, I do like what I see. And I actually enjoy flirting with you. I just want you to know, this would require communication. Honest communication. I don’t expect you to rattle down your whole life’s story in front of us. Just … Be honest,” you explained. When you were done, you saw Jake take a deep breath. And that look of yearning from this morning was back on his face. “Okay,” he said after a couple of seconds passed. “What would you like to know?”

#robert bob floyd x afab!reader #robert bob floyd x reader #robert bob floyd x reader x jake hangman seresin #robert 'bob' floyd x reader x jake 'hangman' seresin #jake 'hangman' seresin x reader #jake seresin x reader #top gun: maverick fanfiction #jake hangman seresin x afab!reader #sophie writes

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jeannereames · 1 year ago

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Why is it that certain sensationalist trivias, still get peddled by professional historians as absolute truths? Like the Caranus debacle. PG's Alexander of Macedon, despite being an excellent account, still mentions the Caranus + Europa double alleged BBQfication. Even though, the timeline&Caranus' unicorn name, reek of myth? Or Stateira getting long distance impregnated by Darius (though Green suggests in fine print that Alexander raped her). What makes a historical tale more or less credible?

First, I’d caution that we look at when some of these books and articles were written. While the more recent version of Green’s Alexander of Macedon (U. Cal, Berkeley) is 1991, it’s a reprint of his much earlier Thames-and-Hudson bio from 1974, sans pictures. (Also, Green—who’s still alive and kicking!—is 97 this year, so that contextualizes his age.) A general critique of Peter for a while now (as far back as From Alexander to Actium) is that he’s not on top of the more recent publications in the field, which causes some of his conclusions to be dated. Many older scholars can be guilty of that. I can’t even keep up with everything coming out on Alexander and/or Philip and/or Macedonia each year, especially as more and more are in languages I don’t read, such as Italian or Spanish. Even my German is shaky.

OTOH, the proliferation of academic publications in various languages is great, as it signals a healthy field. OTOH, it’s problematic, as most people just don’t read multiple languages, and what languages might have been fashionable back in grad school has shifted since. Additionally, Americans are at a real disadvantage due to our very poor education system here when it comes to learning languages (Spanish aside)—unless one is wealthy enough to attend private schools. And that’s a topic for a different post about elite education in Classics, and the language barrier.

But the upshot is that, while older scholars often gain real breadth of knowledge that allows connections and conclusions younger scholars just can’t make yet, it can become harder to keep up with everything coming out, on top of teaching and service requirements at universities. I’d love to have more time to read the latest—but I can’t and get all my student papers graded, attend all the meetings I have to go to, prep new classes, learn online platforms, etc., etc.

One reason we try to protect pre-tenure faculty from undue service IS so they can write/publish (and do the reading required). Post-tenure, All That Other Stuff starts demanding our time. Way back in grad school, Gene Borza told me, “You will never have read so widely and know as much about a particular slice of the field than you do right now.” I thought he was joking. I know a lot more now than I knew then, to be sure—but feel perpetually behind on recent research.

Anyway, I mention the publication date because history is an ever-developing field. We can talk about Alexander studies as a series of “waves,” if you will. The initial wave viewed Alexander very positively, starting with Droysen (late 1800s), through Tarn, Burns, Milns, Robinson, some others, down into the 1960s and early ‘70s. Hammond was kinda the last of them, who published well into the ‘90s, also arguably Hamilton (although I see him as less forgiving). But this was the Great Man approach. Sources were taken mostly at face value, including Greek views of the Macedonians, with a distinct taste for colonialist narratives such as Plutarch (the Greek “civilizing” of the Barbarian East, etc.). Hammond, however, was among those who seriously questioned Greek views of Macedonians…even while he accepted other things uncritically.

So, in short, these are not absolutely separate buckets. Just general trends.

The next wave brought the Skeptics, engendered by Badian, Schachermeyer, Fredericksmeyer, Green, etc. It still had a fair bit of unconscious colonialist (and misogynistic) taint but began to do much more rigorous source criticism. Maybe ol’ Alexander wasn’t so great, after all. I think of Ian Worthington as still in that vein—Hammond’s flip side. Ha. (Which is funny as Ian edited Nick’s festschrift [a collection of papers in honor of a person]. But Hammond was a legend in his lifetime. Regardless of whether one agrees with everything he wrote, his impact on Macedonian history simply can’t be overestimated. I don’t think anybody, ever again, will [or can] have that sort of influence, given how the field has grown.)

Anyway, around the same time, Macedonian studies (and Philip) were opening as a field in their own right, thanks to Edson and Dell—and Hammond—followed by Borza, Errington, Ellis, Cawkwell, Walbank (Hellenistic), and Greeks like Hatzopoulos and Palagia, then Greenwalt, Anson, Adams, Heckel, Carney, Baynham, Atkinson, etc.

(I’m leaving out names, I’m sure, as I’m doing this on the fly without my library at hand, so apologies.)

Anyway, these things dovetailed to give us some new perspectives, including an attempt to detangle Macedonia from S. Greece, and to spot the misogyny behind texts (thank you, Carney and MacCurdy, et al.), and generally to think further about matters of culture and textual context.

I was a grad student at the back end of that wave, btw.

The “new”(-ish) wave(s?) have been to further contextualize our sources, not just to separate Greek from Macedonian, or to seek the sources behind our extant biographies, but to better recognize the Roman (imperial) overlay. It’s not that earlier historians didn’t know our existing sources were Roman era, but that the focus had been on trying to determine the sources behind our surviving sources: e.g., Kallisthenes, Kleitarchos, Ptolemy, Aristobulos, etc. Lionel Pearson’s The Lost Historians of Alexander the Great was the classic text of that type. What Pearson (and others) did less was talk about contemporary (Roman) influences on our surviving authors.

This new wave includes scholars like Asirvatham, Müller, Ogden, Bowden, Spencer, Pownall, Howe, Finn, etc., etc. There’s also good work being done on military stuff, following Heckel. They’re very much into the textual evidence. Also Carney still, and Baynham. So these are new trends in Alexander historiography.

A feature of this third/fourth wave has been to pick apart some heretofore accepted stories—such as, say, proskynesis. Or the story of Statiera mentioned in the Ask. You’ll see that new take in the forthcoming Netflix docudrama. Alexander isn’t so hands-off. Although I don’t think it was rape so much as Realpolitik, once it became clear Darius had abandoned his family to their fate. And maybe not even Alexander’s idea. 😉

We saw such questioning even in the second/early third wave. Take Karanos. That’s been questioned by Borza, Carney, Greenwalt, et al. BUT Greenwalt has really interesting things to say about the evolving genealogy of the Argead house across time, with morphing forefathers, depending on who the king was. So we get Perdikkas under Alexandros I and Perdikkas “II,” then an Archelaos under Archelaos (Euripides’ lost play), and finally, Karanos under Philip II (or post-Philip). Jonathan Hall in (et al.) Hellenicities talks about the creation of these falsified genealogies in ancient Greece as a means to build and (re-)affirm bonds for political, military, and trade purposes. These things don’t stay the same across time.

The upshot remains that it’s important to check the publication date for any particular book or article, and be sure it’s the original publication, too. Again, the 1991 Univ. of Cal, Berkeley edition of Alexander of Macedon = the 1974 Thames and Hudson’s book of the same title. (If you Google it, you’ll find the “originally published” date, btw.) In short, he wrote it before most people had begun to question the finer points of Kleopatra-Eurydike’s murder by Olympias. OR before so much doubt had been thrown on Justin as a source. (Just wait for the chapter by Carney in the work I’m currently editing. She’s going to trash and burn OH, so much of Trogus/Justin. I’ll give no more spoilers, but yeah. It’s a long, but very good chapter on historiography.)

So publishing date is one thing to look at.

The other is WHO did the writing.

There’s always been a small cottage industry in publishing on Alexander, but quite a few bios have come out recently by people who aren’t Macedonian specialists, or even (sometimes) trained Greek historians (Everitt, I’m looking at you).* Even Goldsworthy’s dual bio, which formed the basis of the recent History Channel episode, was written by a Romanist, albeit he’s known for his military topics. Paul Cartledge, who also wrote a popular bio on ATG, is a specialist on Sparta. Some scholars are one-foot-in, like Carol Thomas, who did Alexander and His World (2006). She knows more about Macedonia due to personal contacts, but her area of serious scholarship is the Dark Age/Early Archaic Age (= Early Iron Age).

So, yes, it’s really important to ask, Who wrote the book/article I’m reading? How deep are they into scholarship on ancient Macedonia/Alexander/Philip II, etc.

The latest bios of Alexander by actual Alexander specialists are Sabine Müller’s Alexander Der Grosse: Eroberungen - Politik – Rezeption (2019), Franca Landucci’s Alessandro Magno (2019), Hugh Bowden’s Alexander the Great, a very short introduction (2014), Edward Anson’s Alexander the Great: Themes and Issues (2013), Lindsay Adams Alexander the Great: Legacy of a Conqueror (2005), and Ian Worthington’s Alexander the Great: Man and God (2004) and the later By the Spear, which includes Phil, too (2016). (Ed Anson also did Philip II, Father of Alexander the Great: Themes and Issues, 2020.) I've probably missed one, so apologize in advance. Again...library is in my office.

If you want to read a biography of Alexander, read a couple of those.

I’ve thought more seriously of late about writing my own biography, intended for non-specialists (e.g., without footnotes but with “for further reading”). Many of these by my colleagues have been textbooks, like Lindsay’s and Ed’s. I’d be more inclined to write it for the interested non-specialist. But I’d have to find a publisher, and I wouldn’t even seriously consider it until this Hephaistion & Krateros book is done.

Also, I might have a hard time selling “yet another” biography on Alexander, especially if it’s not dripping with drama and/or cherished myth and/or doesn’t try to paint Alexander as either a god or a monster.

Or maybe THAT could be the selling point. “This is the biography by a specialist that brings the interested reader up to date on the latest scholarship regarding Alexander, Philip, and Argead Macedonia, but does it in layman’s language, and isn’t a college textbook.”

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*You may wonder why publishers buy books from historians who aren’t Macedonian specialists? Well, sometimes they want that. Carol wrote hers precisely because she’s not a specialist, but had contacts who were, and therefore was thought to be better at breaking it all down for students. Other publishers want the sensationalist stuff, or a “new angle” (which is rarely actually new).

#Alexander the Great #historiography of Alexander the Great #historiography of ancient Macedonia #ancient Macedonia #sensationalism in popular biographies on Alexander the Great #Classics #asks #tagamemnon #ancient Greece

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