#isla & olivier

[mrofontaine]

FOR: @islahvnt WHEN: 23rd of February, 2024. WHERE: Barbican Centre - Pre-Auction.

Please don't let Thomas be here.

It was the same sickening thought he got every time he was at an event where the Rutherfords circulated, and seeing Isla didn't ease any of those tensions that were coiling in his muscles. His fists balled at his side, while his features remained passive, stoic. His feet were moving, checking over his shoulder to see his immediate surroundings until he reached her.

"Are we going to ignore each other all night?" He asked. Better to get straight to the point with someone like Isla. She wasn't exactly a sweet tooth kinda' woman. He'd learned that the hard way.

[mrofontaine]

"I get it, you don't need to sweat it..." he did, and he didn't. He missed her, that wasn't going to change any time soon, but he also knew the risk of these two being seen together: especially with everything that had transpired as of late. That feeling, though? It never went away, no matter how much he shunned it, or pushed it as far down as it'd go...it haunted him. Waking, asleep, somewhere in between. "Once I knew you were there, I wasn't really thinkin' about much else, anyway. Kinda' hard when everythings been left so..."

Open ended? Unaswered? In constant states of bullshit...

That need to talk to her hadn't faded, and so as he watched her stutter along, attempting to find the right way to say what they were both thinking? He got it. That wasn't malice advertised on his features, he found no need to jump down her throat. Instead, there was a silence encroaching on him. One that might've been new to those who knew him well. Even as she spoke, he made no effort to interupt. Instead, listening...missing the way she spoke, even if everything felt stilted, awkward.

"I'm glad you're okay." It felt like the right thing to say, and he meant it. But even Olivier was at a loss, on how to act, on what to say. Shoving his oversized hands into his pockets just so he didn't do something fucking stupid. Which he seemed to do in the space of women he...he wasn't going there. "You look great, really." the sad smile that graced his lips once would've beamed at getting to tell her that. Now, it felt bittersweet. Forbidden, even.

And then she mentioned that topic, the one that shouldn't have been broached. Visibly, his eyes closed, trying to level out the utter crack it rocketed through his demeanour. His people. Laurent, lay in a hospital...the sickening feeling his stomach only grew as he came back down to earth.

With a mother fucking crash.

"I..." did he even want to know? Would that make any of this better? Had she known about the Russian's, and their plans? Had Maksim filled her in? They stood on opposing sides, like snakes slithering over enemy lines. He wondered sometimes if she'd known he was French from the start...it would've made it easier to let her go. But he knew she hadn't, just as he didn't. And in some ill-fated luck, they'd been thrown into two very different lives.

He couldn't hate her for that. He disliked her choices, yes. But blame? No. He'd been in a position once where he'd had no choice but to take this life to support his family. He hoped not to be judged too harshly for the same thing. But in the same breath? It was the wrong side, run by a tyrant who'd brought more tyrants to the party....to eradicate who he thought to be the issue.

When in reality, all he'd done was shit in his own backyard.

"Did you know anything about it?" Said softly, unable to meet her gaze. "I..I need to know."

It's a feeling she knows well - almost didn't, as if the entire universe had been begging her not to send the message in the first place. The thoughts that went to war in her head over whether she should or not a battlement that might have almost held a candle to the two opposing sides they now stood on. The sliver of neon lights that spill into the alleyway they stand in, carving out a definitive line on the gravel between them, painting her features in a harrowing red glow. "That's fair," words that felt stuck in her throat. Thick, and unwilling. Whatever bravado Isla might have usually carried now diminished beneath the weight of words she refused to let free. And it ached. It ached, to have him only a few feet away from her and not know whether she's the only one who feels utterly alone if she can't reach out. "I don't really know why...-" The blonde started, finding a spot upon the brick wall beyond his shoulder to focus on, lest setting her gaze upon his pull free whatever lock began to bend and break with an overwhelming sense they were running out of time. "I guess I saw you inside and I just.. needed to talk to you." The toe of her boot scuffs against loose gravel, teeth crawling over her lesser lip as the vulnerability she rarely shared with anyone crept further and further up her spine. This wasn't about them - not really, but Isla couldn't help but feel as if it were entirely personal. Selfish as it might have been, she'd rather believe that the months following the after-party had fallen silent because of something she'd done - easier to swallow such a pill - than accepting the fact that this might be as far as they ever made it. "Oh, great.. -- I've been, yeah good... " On edge, constantly. The number of bar fights - even among the Rutherford soldiers, she'd lost count of. Anything to loosen the tightness in her spine and the ache in constantly whitened knuckles.

"I heard about," your people... - "The shooting." Truthfully, she'd had a hard time giving a singular fuck when news had found her about the hit the French had taken, but the minute she'd had a moment to truly consider it; panic had settled within her chest at the thought of Olivier being anywhere near it. "I won't ask about them," she wasn't certain any curiosity could be deemed sincere, at least not beyond... "I'm glad you're okay."

[theundergroundlondon]

THE MATCHUPS: 04/04/25

Part One:

Giordana Rossi (IT) vs. Nevra Erdoğan (GB)

Isla Hunt (GB) vs. Jordana Velásquez (GB)

Emine Yalaz (TR) vs. Sofie Dekker (FR)

Elaina Halévy (FR) vs. Svetlana Vorshevsky (RU)

Gianna Palazzolo (IT) vs. Nadezhda Yuryeva (RU)

[intermission]

Part Two:

Roman Baranovsky (RU) vs. Yves de Metz (FR)

Benjamin Vox (GB) vs. Étienne Canet (FR)

Ayaz Ateş (GB) vs. David Pavoncello (IT)

Anatoly Veselov (RU) vs. Jean Palfroix (FR)

Óscar Romero (GB) vs. Vincenzo Vespucci (IT)

Olivier Fontaine (FR) vs. Varden Lefebvre (FR)

Giorgio Pecatti (IT) vs. Maksim Kurylenko (RU)

Aviv Kasyanenko (RU) vs. Oliver Parra (FR)

Kerem Doğulu (TR) vs. Konstantin Vorshevsky (RU)

[mobscene-london]

Your ‘Mistletoe’ nominations for 2024 are as follows:

Adriana Amaro & Aviv Kasyanenko

Amélie Castaignède & Ayaz Ateş 

Amélie Castaignède & Gideon Rutherford

Amélie Castaignède & Hasan Demir

Amélie Castaignède & Samar Sehgal 

Ayda Demir & Kerem Doğulu 

Ayda Demir & Olivier Fontaine

Carla Vespucci & Laurent St. Pierre 

Cassandra Acton & Félix Rodriguez 

Catalina Rojas & Ayaz Ateş 

Delphine St. Clair & Hasan Demir 

Elaina Halévy & Maksim Kurylenko

Eleanor Shipley & Gideon Rutherford

Eleanor Shipley & Konstantin Vorshevsky 

Emine Yalaz & Hasan Demir 

Giordana Rossi & David Pavoncello 

Giordana Rossi & Gideon Rutherford

Giordana Rossi & Varden Lefebvre

Giovanna Palazzolo & Vincenzo Vespucci 

Isla Hunt & Ayaz Ateş

Izabele Anasenko & Anatoly Veselov

Izabele Anasenko & Maksim Kurylenko

Jessica Reyes & Giorgio Pecatti 

Jessica Reyes & Viktoriya Kurylenko

Jordana Velásquez & Benjamin Vox

Kathleen Zhao & Roman Baranovsky 

Lara Rutherford & Giorgio Pecatti 

Leyla Yilmaz & Gideon Rutherford

Lisette Marseille & Konstantin Vorshevsky 

Lyudmila Korshunova & Hasan Demir 

Lyudmila Korshunova & Konstantin Vorshevsky

Maria Azenha & Francisco Vidal 

Melissa Lin & Ayaz Ateş 

Melissa Lin & Benjamin Vox

Melissa Lin & Félix Rodriguez

Melissa Lin & Gideon Rutherford

Melissa Lin & Vincenzo Vespucci 

Nadezhda Yuryeva & Jean Palfroix 

Nevra Erdoğan & Mikhail Vorshevsky 

Nora Berkeley & Aviv Kasyanenko 

Nora Berkeley & Damon Rutherford

Odile St. Pierre & Damon Rutherford 

Odile St. Pierre & Vincenzo Vespucci 

Olivia Coppola & Vincenzo Vespucci 

Ophélie Redgrave & Damon Rutherford

Ophélie Redgrave & Jean Palfroix 

Sofie Dekker & Étienne Canet 

Sofie Dekker & Svetlana Vorshevsky 

Valérie Dautremer & Varden Lefebvre 

Viktoriya Kurylenko & David Pavoncello 

Viktoriya Kurylenko & Kerem Doğulu

Yvonne Rutherford & Spencer Berkeley

[mobscene-awards]

RUNNERS UP:

Emine Yalaz | 12

Isla Hunt | 12

Olivier Fontaine | 12

[ophelie-redgrave]

FOR: @mrofontaine WHEN: 23rd of March, 2024 WHERE: Awards After Party

The awards had gone off without a hitch, all baring that fact that the French has been out voted for family of the year. "Fucking idiots" is all Ophélie could think, wondering which numbskulls had voted such a way.

There was no hiding the fact that the after party was her favourite part of the night. It no longer mattered how much everyone drank, or how off their face they truly was.

She had already downed a few shots and glasses of campaign, her persona was clearly far from sober. Yet she was functional.

Olivier had caught her attention, whilst a majority of the guest where enjoying themselves. He sat at on of the tables, looking miserable and as if he was drowning his sorrows.

She rolled her eyes, drink in hand she made her way over. She learnt next to him, leaning over onto the table.

"You're at an after party, with plenty of drinks and anything you else desire. Yet, you're sat here looking miserable as sin. I saw you with Isla earlier, pleeeeaasseee don't tell you're still sulking after her?"

[artlimited]

Isla San Nikolas by Denis Olivier https://www.artlimited.net/denisolivier/art/photography-isla-san-nikolas-nature-landscape-waterscape-lake-river/en/14503

[plusdigital]

Huelga de Pascua

Ni la llegada de la borrasca Olivier precipitó este lunes de compasión (y confusión) un acuerdo que evite la huelga en el sector del turismo (alojamiento y ocio) de Canarias el Jueves y el Viernes Santo. Está a un paso de consumarse.

Los nubarrones auguran una tormenta de proporciones bíblicas. Representantes de la Asociación Hotelera y Extrahotelera de la provincia de Santa Cruz de Tenerife (Ashotel) y de la Asociación de Empresarios de Restauración y Ocio (Aero) se reunieron ayer con SBC, FSOC, IC, UGT y USO, y con CC.OO., después, en un reiterado intento de reconducir la situación. El propósito de las patronales era el de abrir el melón del convenio colectivo a fin de abordar las reivindicaciones de los trabajadores, pero la otra parte no se conforma con la pepitas y quiere como aval un compromiso sobre los motivos de los dos preavisos y, hábilmente, un incremento salarial extraordinario que sirva para recuperar el poder adquisitivo menguado: "Las empresas alcanzaron cifras récord de facturación y beneficios en 2023 y 2024, con unos ingresos de 24.000 millones de euros el año pasado y previsiones positivas para el conjunto de 2025". Los interlocutores fían el aleluya de la Pascua de Resurrección a los huevos sorpresa. Las posiciones siguen "muy alejadas" y las posturas inducen al contorsionismo dialéctico. Una flexibilidad horaria que favorezca la conciliación familiar y laboral figura en el catálogo de demandas para mejorar la vida de los empleados. Sin embargo, el diálogo se presume agarrotado. La "negativa" a revisar los emolumentos "resulta inaceptable", se queja por enésima vez Manuel Fitas, de Sindicalista de Base. Por un calentón de última hora, se largaron sin firmar el acta. "Hemos expresado que esto no va de una negociación del convenio", transmite Carlos Castillo (Comisiones Obreras). "Hemos puesto una propuesta sobre la mesa y permanecemos a la espera. No hemos visto a las patronales muy receptivas". El tiempo apremia. Con todo, persisten en sortear las diferencias con el ánimo de rentabilizar la apuesta. Cada cual a su manera y, a más tardar, en la medianoche del miércoles 16. “El Consejo de Dirección nos ha concedido la capacidad de negociar el convenio y en ese marco nos movemos", declaró Juan Pablo González, gerente de Ashotel. En las islas occidentales hay un elemento complementario: "La votación y el fallo en el pleito de antigüedad, previsto para el 29 de abril". Por si no suena la flauta, retumban los tambores. Ya se han solicitado los permisos de concentraciones y manifestaciones. Se han programado piquetes informativos en los hoteles y procesiones en zonas turísticas del sur de Gran Canaria y de Tenerife. 

(En Diario de Avisos)

[motorsportverso]

Novidades do WRC 2025

A principal novidade será o fim do sistema hibrido ne regulamento rally 1 , por muita pressão dos construtores por conta do custo muito alto em manutenção.   

A Hankook será a nova fornecedora de pneus substituindo a Pirelli que estava desde 2023.

Calendario as novidades será adição do rally das Islas Canarias , o rally do Paraguay e a final na Arabia Saudita , que seria muito interessante a participação do piloto local recém coroado campeão do Dakar Rally , Yazeed All Raghi  com Toyota.  E a volta do rally da Estonia no lugar da Latvia.

 Hyundai

A marca Sul Coreana vai estar com o atual campeão Thierry Neuvile que vai usar o numero #1 , e o Ott Tanak e o Adrian Fourmoux  vindo da M-Sport Ford  , a Hyundai que em 2025 pode ser o ultimo ano da equipe de fabrica no WRC , já que em 2026 a Hyundai entra no Fia WEC com a marca Genesis e deixou o futuro em incerto.  Valé lembrar tem a possibilidade da etapa da Paraguay de ter o piloto local Fabrizio Zaldivar com um quarto I20 N Rally 1 .

Toyota

A Toyota , manteve os pilotos Elfyn Evans, Takamoto Katsuta , Kallen Rovanpera , que volta a fazer a temporada completa , Sebastien Ogier  fara algumas etapas temporada , a novidade será o Sami Pajeri que vai estar com um 5o carro  em temporada completa.

Ford

A Ford em parceria com a M-Sport estará com dois carros em temporada completa com Gregoire Munster e o Irlandes Josh McErlean vindo do FIA ERC .

Entradas privadas com rally 1

De Ford Puma rally 1 como entradas privadas teremos o piloto da Latvia Martin Seks fazendo as etapas da Suecia , Portugal, Estonia, Finlandia , Sardenha e Grecia e se for possível por questões financeiras a etapa da Arabia Saudita , e o Grego  Jordan Serderidis fazendo no momento confirmadas as participações das etapas da Suecia e a de casa na Grecia.

De Toyota Yaris rally 1 com entrada confirmada somente o Italiano Lorenzo Bertelli na Suécia

WRC 2

Toyota

Olivier Solberg substitui Sami Pajeri como de desenvolvimento da marca Japonesa

O piloto Paraguayo Diego Dominguez Jr , o atual campeão do WRC 3 , que teve participação no rally safari Kenya ano passado no WRC 2 , estará no WRC 2 em 2025 com Toyota GR Yaris Rally 2 , da equipe Teo Martin Motorsport.

Citroen

A Citroen inscreveu em parceria com a PH-Sport dois carros com Yohan Rossel e Leo Rossel

A Iron Lynx e Iron Dames em parceria com a Sarrazin Motorsports estarão com 2 modelos C3 Rally 2 no WRC 2 Challenger.

[uniquetyphoonmiracle]

Coño..me entero por BUNBURY [=1er grupo APOCALIPSIS y que ha vivido los INCEN_DIOS de LOS ANGELES donde vive tras abandonar el PUERTO de SANTA MARIA donde tenia una casa llamada HELL_VILLE o como titulo su cd de 2008 añadiendo DE_LUXE=grupo de XOEL LOPEZ con el que empezó grabando en VIRGIN Records ..y donde es el grupo ME_LOCOS con cuyo cantante GONZALO ALCINA grabo VIRGINIA MAESTRO la cancion GLORIA de su cd VERTIGO Y TRANQUILIDAD asi como fue telonera de XOEL LOPEZ en el patio del PADRE NUESTRO del MONASTERIO de SANTA MARIA de LAS CUEVAS en calle AME_RICO VESPUCIO de ISLA DE LA CARTUJA en SEVILLA y patio del Padre NUESTRO donde esta la pintada MONEY HAVING SEX con dibujo del cigarrillo post_coital de JESSICA DIAMOND] que ha muerto DAVID LYNCH del que he estado hablando ultimamente tras ver AGUAS PROFUNDAS o su ultima pelicula tras 20 años de la Anterior o INFIEL [que protagonizo Olivier MARTINEZ justo antes de empezar a salir con KYLIE MINOGUE y donde la mujer de Richard Gere en esa pelicula le es INFIEL matando a él] protagonizada por Ben AFFLECK [que tiene tatuado un enorme AVE FENIX en toda la ESPALDA y que renace de sus CENIZAS o como han quedado muchas CASAS en LOS ANGELES aunque la suya se ha SALVADO tras refugiarse en la casa de su 1era mujer o JENNYFER GARNER que ha perdido a un Amigo por refugiarse en una IGLESIA] y ANA DE ARMAS [que le es INFIEL por lo que AFFLECK mata a sus AMANTES].. aunque antes hable de él porque su primera película ZORRAS la hizo CHERIE CURRIE de The RUNAWAYS a la que vi junto a NAT SIMONS [=cantante de mi barrio y cuyo nombre artistico es como se llama un judio multimillonario amigo de Bill GATES con el que ha ido a alguna cumbre climática y además es sobrina del cantante de LOS IMPOSIBLES que se lanzaron con un EP con LA CHICA IMPOSIBLE, EL SEÑOR ILUMINO MI CORAZON y SOMOS UNOS ANIMALES] tras aplazar su concierto en el FESTIVAL de VITORIA de junio 2023 por unas HORAS debido a una FUERTE TORMENTA que me pillo en calla FUNDADORA DE SIERVAS DE JESUS donde compré a un CHINO un PARAGUAS DE CAMUFLAJE [que por cierto..sonó la ALARMA al salir] que llevaba camiseta con APOCALYPSE APOCALYPSE APOLYPSE APOCALYPSE como le fotografie.

Definitivamente creo que 13 años después del falso APOCALIPSIS de 2012 viene el de de VERDAD..que DIOS OS PILLE CONFESADOS jaja..

P.D. saludos a CORONADO mi guía por YUCATAN donde me enseño donde cayeron supuestamente meteoritos que acabaron con los DINOSAURIOS

[mrofontaine]

FOR: @islahvnt WHEN: PRE-PLOT DROP. MINUTES BEFORE VIDEO RELEASE. WHERE: Outside a damn closet. Berkeley Estate.

He shouldn't have been looking for her.

Olivier had told himself only five minutes before he returned back to his date before he let her go altogether. He'd successfully dodged Thomas all night, even if their eyes had connected once across the room; familiar dread cooling his firey stomach.

Still, he found himself leaning against a wall, watching when he caught sight of her walking: he wasn't sure if Isla had seen him, hand snaking out to grab her upper arm.

"Over here," his head gesturing away from a crowd.

[islahvnt]

Secretly you love this, do you even wanna' go free? Let me in the ring, I'll show you what that big word means

mentions: Yvonne, Ayaz, Vidal, Henry and Olivier tw: gore, violence, murder

The lights had never bothered her. If anything, they made it all the easier to slip in and out of the crowd of people that ventured into the open mouth of the Venue, and more specifically the Rutherfords. A cesspool of the cities most oblivious mingling without a thought about the demons they congregated with. If Hell offered an everglade of euphoria for the worst creatures the city held; the Venue would be the welcoming party. The leather skirt she wore clung tight to a lithe form. A snake among them, sidling up alongside the unsuspecting offering a glimpse of sweat and honey beneath the white lace of her crop top; leaving little to the imagination as she lured them beyond the lobby of a Rutherford hellscape and beyond. Without question, she teed up dealers with those willing to pay, and poured every elixir known to man that might otherwise inebriate those only looking for a night they’ll never remember.

Gather information; carve out a safe place for lips eager to spill all. She was little more than a pretty face to them; harmless. Good for a fuck, just a taste; all while she wove the design of their own demise between manicured fingertips.

As easily as she managed, there was no doubting the dire need to lash out that had simmered away since her initial release. Bound and muzzled by her mentors, Isla listened to Henry and Vidal because she wanted to. And subconsciously, in a grab for their approval. Their respect. It’s one of the few things she’s deigned to desire since the cold night two of the Rutherford's enforcers arrived at her fathers store to deliver the consequence of a failed payment. It was a fire that never dimmed, and one that Isla would prove was catching, even if it killed her. Even if she was just a pretty face.

A hand, as silken as the smoothes porcelain surface found its way beneath her skirt, squeezing the curve of her behind with a certain fervor that made her teeth grit. Pause. Her features soften as she glances across her shoulder at him, the glint of mischief in the sparkle of her eye that only becomes all the brighter as her manicured brow peaks “Where you going, baby?” She reads his lips over the reverberating thrum of drum and bass that called the club home. The blonde turns, instantly pressing her body into his, just to speak into the shell of his ear as she lifts the expensive bottle she was taking to a booth of loyalists. “To do my job. Someone around here has to make sure you’re all having a good night,” there’s something sickly sweet to the curvature of her voice, a flicker of venom that nobody ever saw coming. Yvonne Rutherford. The name had swelled an unspeakable cloud above them that they were entirely unaware of. A passing mention that perhaps nobody else would have thought to pick up, and yet Isla had. Perhaps the awful accent, or the pompous way in which they dressed, as loud as their voices - begging everyone close enough to believe they were something worth watching made them believe that there was too much to see, for anyone to truly be listening. Maybe they knew that their worth truly only extended to their looks; and not every moronic fucking thought that came to the front of their barely mature mind. She never missed a beat though. “How are you meant to make sure we’re having fun if you’re not here with us?” It doesn’t really land with her, though the fact that he and his friends are quickly jabbing each other with elbows makes it clear to her the kind of people they were. “You’re too pretty to be working like this..” he grinned and pulled her closer, pressing a finger beneath her chin to lift her gaze, “- I’d take care of you.” She could have gagged, openly, feeling her skin crawl in the same way that it always did. 

Gather information. Fuck that. 

White teeth scour her lesser lip, and doe hues flicked between them, and back to the bar. Beneath her heels, the sticky substance seeks to glue her to the spot and the tang of desire rears its ugly head as she sets the bottle on the table and offers a dazzling smile, “How about you take care of this for now..” The blonde drawls out, the briefest touch of fingertips across his leg, just a taste, “And then you take care of me later.” Hues linger just long enough for it to sink in, beneath his foolish demure of importance, “Both of you… take care of me later.” It’s all she says, plucking the phone from the table in front of him, to dial her own number before she tucks it safely into the pocket on the inside of his suit jacket. “I’ll call you when I finish,” —----------------

There are options. There are always options. But Isla had never been one to weigh them up equally. And the taste of being the only one to know only served to fill her drunk with the spark of desire that she felt beneath her bones once again. Proving herself was one thing, though she’d hoped that the things she wanted didn’t make her seem desperate to impress. Simply put, Isla Hunt knew what she was good at. And chaos tangled itself so tightly around her fingertips, it was impossible to ignore. “I’ll be out in five x.”

The club had emptied out and the lingering echo of all that went on within the four walls continued to ricochet as each lights dimmed out, as each of those she worked with said goodnight and left. The early hours always gave Isla the time she needed to herself - it suited her to be the last to leave, very few others were willing to deal with what could be waiting beyond the doors. But this time, Isla knew. The back door closes behind her, a heavy steel door upon rusting hinges and she perches upon the landing just long enough to light a cigarette. The cherry tip in the dark an ominous glow when one considered the horrors that lurked in the dark. Luckily, tonight, she intended to be that horror. The car pulls up. The darkened SUV worth more than everything she owns, and she cursed it to hell as her heels click against the steps and the doors of the vehicle swing open to reveal the two french soldiers. Unassuming, and stupid. They jeer. One waves a clear bag of white powder and the blonde feels a sting of disappointment at the notion of it. Inebriated, she didn’t hate.. But if they were high, it certainly took an ounce of fun out of it. The irony wasn’t entirely lost on her. The barely gone cigarette is crushed beneath the toe of her shoe as she slows to a stop, pressing a shoulder into the car and it’s clear enough that they’ve only got one thing on their mind. The press of damp lips meet her shoulder as the taller of the two draws an arm around her waist - the giggle that she elicits is hollow, but they don’t know that. Somewhere in the mess of powder, lips, teeth and the bottle of vodka she’d palmed off to them earlier, the cool leather of the backseat settles against her skin. It’s a wonder the two can barely see, though she supposes they’re built like bulls and couldn’t think for a second that they’d made a single wrong move in their attempt to run a very, very stupid play by the eyes and ears of the Rutherford organization. A rough hand curls in against the inside of her thigh, and she buries fingertips into the mess of blonde hair upon what she thinks might be the younger of the two before she speaks. A heavy breath, one among many to fog the windows just that little bit more. 

“Hey.. hey,” there’s velvet in the husk of her voice, as she thinks about how many times she’ll have to scrub her skin raw, and yet she continues, reaching for the bottle with one hand as she shifts just enough for the brute with blue eyes to draw her into his lap, the cramped backseat nothing that he clearly hasn’t maneuvered before. She draws the bottle to her lips, careful enough that the clear liquid slips through the gap without her ever really touching the rim of the bottle. Isla leans in, a hand pressed to his chest as she looks between the two. The tilt of her head portraying the same beautiful woman she’d become accustomed to being seen as, “How do you know Yvonne Rutherford’s address?”

Silence.

Something in her eyes changes. A flicker in the warmth of the fire burning. Once one of muted desire, turned to a raging inferno as realization dawned on them.

“It’ll be easy. She’s like an outlier of the family.. Nobody is paying her any fucking attention right now and I’ve been staking the place for weeks now.” “You’re insane.” Pause. “Wait till the boy’s find out we kidnapped and put Yvonne Rutherford six fucking feet under.”

The bottle she held already cracked; a detail she’d noted hours before and intended to get rid of before conversation had crept in like a little voice in her head, met the back of the center console with a deft shatter of glass, and everything within the confines of the car exploded. Isla’s hand still curled around the neck of the bottle as she drove the jagged edge into his gut, once... twice.... in the same breath that a hand curls around her neck and drags her to the other side of the backseat.

Her head connects with the window, tinnitus rupturing within her head as everything spins and she searches in the dark for clarity. It doesn’t matter where it is. All she knows is anger - anger and pure hatred. The air in her lungs rushing out as a fist buries itself somewhere in the pit of her stomach. Like hell - the blonde knew who she was, what she was; and among the monsters that reigned above her, Isla Hunt wasn’t one to be underestimated. She’d lost the bottle, and it rolled away beneath one of the chairs; but she didn’t need it. The shard she now gripped as she doubled over cut deeply into the palm of her hand, her own blood the same sacrifice she’d make over and over for the Rutherfords after they picked her up and gave her something to wield. They’d lost enough. Stars splinter her vision, and she feels the skin at her brow split, blood slipping to stain usually piercing eyes with a certain horror that she’d fight to see through. Instinctively, her hand flies up to protect her face and instead collides with a target she hadn’t been aiming for. Glass slices through flesh and she knows it’s a scar he’ll either wear for the rest of his life, or one that will never get a chance to heal. His scream ripples through the air and she knows it pierces the night beyond the cars cabin. “You fucking bitch, my eye..” His eye indeed. It hangs limp from his socket and the gnarly open wound a crevice of flesh and blood that she knows belongs to her now. Isla heaves a breath as he slows, perhaps conceding some kind of defeat. The other, slumped in his seat growing paler by the minute hadn’t served an ounce of fight since she carved open his gut. 

She feels a moment of relief slither into the tension in her back, but disappointment soon follows. All that bravado for fuck all. The blonde spits, a mix of blood and saliva and wipes at her mouth, crimson highlighting the white of her teeth even more than usual. “Fucking pigs.” It’s muttered beneath her breath, stained blonde hair catching against the drivers side headrest as she leans back to catch another breath; a mistake that she deeply regrets as she her side lights up, white hot with pain and the sound of a bullet fires off.  It’s deafening and whatever ringing she might have heard in her ears before hand was nothing compared to this. The hole the bullet had carved through the roof of the car only inches from the side of her head; a near miss. Unlike the shard of glass now broken off just beneath her ribs. The blonde gasps and finds she can’t draw a big enough breath, and where defeat might have come swiftly, it only surged her anger to boil over. “And here I was, considering leaving you alive to play messenger boy.” But with one heavy swing, the already bloodied glass buried itself in his neck. The blonde slumps back in his seat, and she watches quietly, as he drowns in his own blood and meets whatever devil hell sent for him. “The Rutherford’s send their fucking regards.”

—------------------ It’s with great effort that Isla pulls herself over the center console and into the front seat. She digs through the glove box, quick to snatch up the phone that definitely doesn’t belong to her - knocking an array of photographs to the floor in the process, only to dial her own number long enough to find her purse. Tucked away beneath the passenger seat, blood smears the leather, dark until it dries and becomes a piece of the upholstery, and true to the women’s ability to multitask, she flips over the photographs as she digs it free.

“I need your help. Venue. x.” 

She texts, hues flickering over each snapshot of Yvonne coming and going from her home in London. She doesn’t care what the time is; Isla knows Ayaz will be there.

And while she waits, she flips the vanity mirror down, drawing the edge of a shaky pinky finger around the edge of her lip, her opposing thumb pressing down on the trigger of her lighter, watching as it caught light in the dark of her resurgence. She would always be more than just a pretty face, but a pretty face didn’t hurt.

[poetic-smoking]

milyen év is van?

szerintem csinálok első körben egy mit olvastam az idén listát, be fogtok sz*rni.

Louise O'Neill - Te kerested a bajt 10/10

Stephanie Garber - Finale 10/5

R. F. Kuang – Bábel 10/3

Lisa Jewell – A megmaradt lakók 10/4

Isla Madden – Mills – Drága Ava! 10/5

R. F. Kuang – A lnágoló isten 10/10

Ava Reid – A tündérkirály rejtélye 10/6

Caroline Kepnes – Te szeretsz engem 10/8

Katherine Arden – A boszorkány éjszakája 10/10

Penelope Douglas – Punk 57 10/10

Holly Black – How the King of Elfhame learn to hate stories 10/9

Rainbow Rowell – Csak így tovább 10/4

H. D. Carlton – Haunting Adeline 10/5

Alison Cochrun – The charm offensive 10/10

Marie Aubert – Igazából nem ilyen vagyok 10/7

Samantha Shannon – Csontszüret 10/5

Pierce Brown – Vörös lázadás 10/10

Megan Abbott – Majd megismersz 10/10

Deveny Perry- Indigo Ridge 10/2

Gordon Reece – megtorlás 10/4

James Patterson – J. D. Barker – A madártollas gyilkosságok 10/5

Alexis Schaitkin – Saint X 10/8

Pierce Brown – Arany háború 10/10

Taylor Jenkins Reid- Evelyn Hugo hét férje 10/7

Olivie Blake – The Atlas six 10/9

Charlotte Rixon – Aki elmenekült 10/6

Krista & Becca Ritchie – Addicted to you 10/8

Rachel Hawkins – Árnyékfeleség 10/4

Hannah Grace – Wildfire 10/6

Colleen Hoover – Emlékek róla 10/5

Tarryn Fisher – A feleségek 10/6

Ella Fields – Hozzáférés megtagadva 10/10

Alice Hoffman – A tizenharmadik boszorkány 10/10

Taylor Jenkis Reid – Szikrázó Malibu 10/7

Pierce Brown – Hajnalcsillag 10/10

H. D. Carlton – Does it hurt? 10/1

Sarah Pinborough – Halott vagy 10/5

Karin Slaughter – Az elfeledett lány 10/7

Holly Bourne – Normális vagyok? 10/6

Ella Fields – Pretty Venom 10/10

Roddy Doyle – Méregzsák 10/10

L. M. Chilton – Jobbra húzva 10/4

Elle Kennedy – The Deal 10/7

Emma Noyes – Ne mondj le róla 10/8

Ella Fields – Bittersweet Always 10/10

Pierce Brown – A káosz évei 10/10

Elle Kennedy – The Chase 10/9

Elle Kennedy – The Mistake 10/9

Sasha Laurens – Youngblood 10/9

Riley Sager – Három lány 10/7

[mobscene-london]

THE EVENT IS NOW STARTING. Please postpone all non-event related threads until I post an admin note to tell you it's okay to resume them again.

A refresh of the current pairs and their tent assignments is as follows:

Nevra & Hasan – Tent type: Poor.

Vincenzo & Emine – Tent type: Poor.

Ayaz & David – Tent type: Rich.

Ayda & Olivier – Tent type: Poor.

Odile & Giorgio – Tent type: Poor.

Izabele & Sveta & Valérie – Tent type: Poor.

Amélie & Isla – Tent type: Poor.

Maksim & Nora – Tent type: Poor.

Damon & Delphine – Tent type: Poor.

Roman & Benjamin – Tent type: Rich.

Jean & Ophélie – Tent type: Poor.

Nadezhda & Varden – Tent type: Rich.

Lara & Samar – Tent type: Poor. 

Konstantin & Étienne & Lisette – Tent type: Poor.

Aviv & Cassandra – Tent type: Rich.

Catalina & Kerem – Type Type: Rich.

Maria & Lyudmila – Tent type: Poor.

Félix & Carla & Jessica – Tent type: Poor.

Gideon & Melissa – Tent type: Rich.

Yvonne & Giordana – Tent type: Poor.

Spencer & Eleanor – Tent type: Poor.

Misha & Yves – Tent Type: Rich.

Adriana & Gianna  – Tent Type: Rich.

Jordana & Elaina – Tent Type: Rich.

Olivia & Vika – Tent Type: Rich.

[mobscene-awards]

THE LOST CAUSE:

Berat Yalaz

Lyudmila Korshunova

Yvonne Rutherford

Maksim Kurylenko

Runner(s) Up: Amélie Castaignède, Anatoly Veselov, Isla Hunt, Kerem Dogulu, Melissa Lin, Olivier Fontaine.

[ophelie-redgrave]

Mobstarter For: @islahvnt Where: A London Bar.

The campout had not been as bad as she originally anticipated, it also proved to her she really good do most things if she set her mind to it. Of course a bit of powder courage always helped too. It was Ophélie Redgrave after all.

She wouldn't lie though, it was nice to sleep in the comfort of her own home and bed again. Not having to work for the taste of alcohol was also an added bonus.

The cold breeze of December was making itself known in London, though it was not going to stop from Ophélie from having a good night out.

Originally she was meant to meet up with another Socialite, it was meant to be though and the plans had fallen through at the last moment - due to her friend needing to fly out for a business trip.

It never bothered her, she was more than happy to drink and party alone or with others. As long as the party was good, that is all that bothered her.

She the presence of someone take a seat next to her, she could hardly blame them, the bar of choose was packed. It didn't take Ophélie long to notice it was Isla, someone she had known through Olivier, not that she had actually ever taken the time to get to know her herself.

"Isla, Fancy running into you here. So, what's your poison for tonight then."? she asked, an offering for a drink as sipped upon her own.