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tonydaddingham · 11 months ago

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so @theeminentlyimpractical and i were yodelling at each other in the DMs last night talking about general time-fuckery stuff in s2 and trying to riddle it all out, and i mentioned that i had noticed something that only now seems obvious from the s1 scriptbook (and im sure that someone pointed it out in 2019 but im wondering how relevant it still is):

everything is running late.

working backwards chronologically in s1, we have when newt arrives at jasmine cottage:

unfortunately the line isn't in the show, but in the interest of pooling all resources, the scriptbook says the following:

NEWT - I swerved to avoid Tibetans in the road. At least, I think I did. I've probably gone mad.

ANATHEMA - If you have, noone's going to notice. You're twenty minutes late.

we then know that crowley was late for arriving to collect the antichrist:

which the scriptbook doesn't elaborate on/give a timeframe, and may be extraneous to the previous and next example, but the antichrist is reportedly part of the Great Plan, so im including it for the moment.

but the kicker is agnes nutter, right?:

a precise and accurate prophetess who doesn't foresee that pulsifer would arrive late to execute her? how?

so when it came down to it, i started to wonder where something might have happened that has shunted the timeline along, between 10-20 minutes... maybe something in eden? but no - laure cracked it:

GOD - Archbishop James Ussher claimed that the Heaven and the Earth were created on Sunday the 21st of October, 4004 BC, at 9:00 a.m. This too was incorrect. By almost a quarter of an hour. It was created at 9:13 in the morning, which was correct.

now. all of the times don't match up completely, but the general sense is that the world may be running a little behind schedule, compared to what it should be - ie. the timeline that agnes predicted, and ussher/his team calculated.

we know that adam reset everything at the end of s1, but:

given that he's not omniscient, would he know that the world is 15 mins behind schedule (and therefore, when s2 starts, are we still running late)? probably not, so does he revert things back but keeps the world on the original clock, so to speak?

alternatively, did he reset the clock, and is the universe that we see in s2 actually on the correct time?

this might not mean much, if anything at all (see: it's just all for The Bit), in the grand scheme of things... but im now starting to wonder if it does. because what would have happened if everything had run on time? because maybe it's not so much thinking about individual events, and how they would have played out otherwise if the world had been on the 'correct' timeline all along, but maybe just the sheer possibility that there is an 'alternate reality' in which those 10-20 minutes meant things played out very differently?

ive talked about the chair (x), and ive talked about the sideburns (x), and ive talked about how crowley somehow seems to be existing at a different time to everything else around him (alternatively - whickber street itself is running in a different... reality? timeline?), as well as the random moments where time seems to disappear entirely/the clock swaps its hands around in ep6 (x). about crowley's comment about it being "too late", and how he seems to act slightly odd just before aziraphale tells him about the metatron's offer (x)... but is it all somehow interconnected? and connected to the 13-minute delay?

and if it is... what caused it? what might have delayed god by 13 minutes, or what might have gone wrong to cause the delay, that has then had a hypothetical knock-on effect, whether it be because adam did fix it, or didn't fix it?

#i ran out of steam to keep speculating but i will be adding to this #good omens #time-stop theory #ish i just dont have a better tag #s1 meta #s2 meta #s3 narrative spec

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miffy-junot · 28 days ago

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Conflict between Napoleon and Junot over republicanism

-From the book "La Generale Junot, Duchesse d'Abrantès, d'après ses lettres, ses papiers et son 'journal intime' inédits" by Joseph Turquan, a biography of Laure Junot featuring previously unpublished information given to the author by Georges Aubert, Junot's grandson.

The book is from 1901, and therefore is a little dated in some regards, but overall creates a good portrait of Laure and Jean-Andoche Junot.

General Junot was a republican, sincerely a republican. Despite all his joy at seeing Bonaparte, to whom he was fanatically attached, appointed Consul for life, he guessed that this was a path to monarchy and absolute power. If his political convictions were deeply affected, he was even more saddened when he saw that the man seemed to want to confiscate the Republic for his own benefit and, of all things, to do his own thing. Had this man, who until then had no equal in the world, showered him with benefits only to reduce him, as a convict of recognition, to becoming his accomplice in the attacks he carried out against freedom and against the Republic? Was the favor with which he showered the other generals only to ensure devoted praetorians who would take charge, when the time came, of marching the army against the country? So Junot was sad and dreamer. Dining in Saint-Cloud with the First Consul, he let some of his concerns show, which earned him a sharp rebuke from his general.

It was not the first time that he had to endure Bonaparte's bad mood. Often he had received harsh warnings either for a fault on duty or for thoughtlessness outside of duty. Lively as he was, inconsiderate most of the time, Junot had not had time to acquire a bit of that seriousness which his age did not entail much, his temperament even less; he had not known how, in the words of the Consul, “to age himself by ten years.”

[...]

[Junot] was deeply hurt. His wife, who saw him sombre and taciturn and who read him with an open heart, guessed that there had been something between him and Bonaparte. Junot admitted to her that in fact he was very angry about the measures which restricted public freedoms; he added that there was already a court, that one could not say a word of truth without displeasing…

Mme Junot understood that her husband had been displeased by his republican frankness and that he was painfully ulcerated by some words from the First Consul; she saw that the soul was affected and she knew from experience that the wound made by a loved one is poisoned and much longer to heal than any other. More than once already, she had had to console her husband for the sorrows he brought upon himself by provoking jokes in Bonaparte which bruised his heart; more than once she had to heal these wounds of the heart. With his hot temper which left no time for cold reason to intervene, Junot felt very keenly, and his poor young wife had, on certain days, to ask Bonaparte to himself put a balm on the wound that he had done.

This time she didn't ask anything. But, as she was having lunch one morning with Madame Bonaparte, the First Consul arrived, took her aside and asked her, in rather cavalier terms, why he no longer saw his aide-de-camp. The young woman did not hide it from him. that Junot was sick, sick of the harsh words he had said to him and she made him feel, in a few words full of moderation and dignity, how much he had lacked tact in speaking to her husband.

That same evening, the First Consul came to visit his aide-de-camp, and everything was forgotten.

#junot monday #jean andoche junot #laure junot #napoleon #napoleon bonaparte #napoleonic era #napoleonic

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papurgaatika · 10 months ago

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Knead Me, Need You

Pairing: Massage Therapist! Joel Miller x F! Reader

Summary: you were overworked, overstressed, and long overdue to get a massage. You just didn’t realize that getting one would come with a very good-looking massage therapist or the thoughts that filled your mind every time he touched you Tags: no outbreak AU, massage therapist! Joel, no reader desc. Gentle Joel, dirty thoughts, Joel is a tease, the reader is pent up as HELL, mentions of fingering, no actual sex, LOTS of sexual tension, pet names (darlin’ and sweetheart are used), Appreciation for Joel's arms, 18+ Word count: 2.7k

A/N: I very desperately need to get a massage and woke up from a dream about it so there’s that!! Also a huge lovely shoutout and thank you to my wonderful beta readers (@joelsdagger @carlynkurin and my lovely Laur) who have saved me from making the weirdest grammar mistakes and also fuel me with comments such as “IM (S)CREAMING” yall are real ones xoxo

Remember that TLOU is created by a zionist so please look at the resources at the end of this fic and in my bio on ways to donate and educate yourself!! 🇵🇸

You hate your job. Okay, that wasn’t true. You don't hate your job, you just hate the commute. And sitting at your desk all day. And the fact that you always decide that heels look better with your outfits. So you didn't really hate your job, you loved being in charge, but your back was paying the price for it. Everyone in your life has heard you complain about your back hurting at least once. Some of your coworkers had found you with a stash of the stick-on heating patches in your desk and that led to the office pitching in to get you a certificate to one of the nicest spas in the area for your birthday.

You weren’t sure if you would use it, you barely had time to sit down and fully wash your face. How were you supposed to relax for a full hour and a half with some stranger touching you? The answer came to you one Saturday when you rolled out of bed and could barely stand because of a crick in your lower back. A groan falls from your lips before you throw yourself back onto your bed and grab your phone, making quick work of dialing the number on the back of the voucher. You let out a sigh of relief when the receptionist tells you they have availability later in the afternoon, and you tell her you’d take the appointment. You’re just about to hang up before her voice comes through your speaker again “Oh, and just to let you know, your therapist will be male, is that okay?”

You freeze for a second. On one hand, you didn’t love the idea of some random man touching you, especially considering it was a full-body massage. But on the other hand, you really didn't have a choice, your back was going to give out if you waited any longer. You mumbled out a quick “That’s fine, thank you!” before hanging up and making your way up to change your clothes. You decide to opt for something more casual, before grabbing your keys and wallet and heading out of the house.

This place was fancy. Like much fancier than you had expected and suddenly your outfit felt too casual and you missed your heels. You chewed on the inside of your cheek as you filled out the forms they gave you. No, you haven’t had a massage before, yes you wanted to focus specifically on your back, and you weren’t sure how much pressure you wanted. You hand the clipboard back to the receptionist with a smile and she lets you know that he’s just about finished with his last client and he’ll come back for you in just a few minutes. Your knee is bouncing of its own accord, nerves finally kicking in. You are about to be naked in front of a man who is then going to rub his hands into you. Taking a deep breath, you remind yourself that it’s his job. He does this all day, five days a week. You keep reminding yourself that it’s just a massage, you’ll be okay. You finally start to believe that, nerves dissipating and your heart settling back to its resting rate, and then you see him.

He’s all broad shoulders and a kind smile walking out to the main area, before turning in your direction, and your mind blanks for a minute to fully take in how attractive this man is. His arms were gorgeous and you couldn’t take your eyes off of them. His t-shirt was pulled tightly over his bicep, riding up just enough to let you see a peek of skin that was untouched from the Texas sun. His arms were thick, the muscles defined and prominent, veins standing out against the smooth skin. You were enraptured watching his arms move as he signed off on some papers and grabbed the clipboard with your forms on it. Images of his thick fingers in unspeakable positions flooded your mind; tugging at your hair while his other hand was on your hip, dragging over your lips and pushing them into your mouth, letting them curl into your aching cunt while he holds you down.

You were lost in your thoughts until his voice was saying your name and pulling you out of your depravity. You smile at him shyly and stand up to shake his hand “I’m Joel, and I'll be your masseuse for today, it’s a pleasure to meet you darlin’.” if you thought that he was attractive before, hearing that accent made you weak in the knees. The slow drawl of his words was smooth like honey and sent butterflies straight to your core. He takes the paperwork from the receptionist and gives it a quick scan before tutting at you lightly. “Overworkin’ yourself? Don’t worry, I'll take good care of you today.” You feel your face start to heat up as you follow him back through the halls into his room. You stepped inside to be met with a dim warm light, and soft music playing through a speaker.

“So is this your first time coming in for a massage?” he asks, half leaning against the door.

“Is it that obvious?” you half laugh, heat rising in the back of your neck. You bit the inside of your cheek, eyes locked on his. He laughed softly with a shake of his head and you think you might die on the spot. It’s so unfortunate that he’s so hot.

“No, darlin’ it said it on one of those forms they had you fill out, I just wanted to go over how it all works with you.” you nod and look up at the man, waiting for him to go on, “I know it said you wanted to focus on your back, do you mind goin’ a little bit into why?”

You sigh and press a hand into your lower back, “So I sit at work a lot, and granted my posture isn’t great, but I woke up this morning and it was worse than it had ever been” You tell him about your job, about being overworked, about your stupid half hour commute. He keeps his eyes locked on yours, only dropping to flick over your waist for a moment, and then back onto yours.

He lets you explain where exactly you were hurting before he glances at his watch and lets you know that you should get started sooner rather than later. “Just go ahead and get dressed down to your comfort level and then just lay down with your face in the cradle sweetheart. I’ll knock before coming back in and then we can get started.” You smile and give him a nod, taking a deep breath once the door shuts after him. You make haste to strip down and fold your clothes leaving them in a little pile on a shelf, leaving your panties on much too aware of the wetness that was pooling into them. You grab your phone and lay down on the table, scrolling through your email and replying to a few new ones from your coworkers, knowing fully well that they can barely get things done without you.

A knock on the door breaks you out of your thoughts and you let out a small noise of acknowledgment that you were ready, slightly hesitant. You watch as Joel opens the door and steps in, eyes immediately flicking to your phone. “Can’t have that out darlin’, this is your time to relax” he says gently, grabbing your phone and setting it down on the shelf next to your clothes. “I’m sure work can wait.'' He shoots you a wink and your face feels flushed. You let your face fall into the cradle, eyes shutting before you feel his hands grazing your body over the sheet slowly. He’s barely touching you, his touch is feather-light, so why do you feel like your body is on fire? His fingers make small circles on your scalp as his thumbs press gently into the base of your neck. Your eyelids flutter softly, the pressure he was applying immediately melting away your stress. His fingers work on your neck, not pressing too hard but not so soft that it wouldn’t help at all. You feel him work in the same place for a few minutes to get rid of a knot, likely from staring down at your phone or hunching over your computer all day, before he takes his hands away.

“Alright sweetheart I'm gonna move the sheet and start on your back, if that’s alright,” you nod into the face rest, letting out a deep breath when his hands hit your skin. You figured his hands would be as strong as the rest of him looks but he was surprisingly gentle and warm. The smell of roses and sandalwood fills your nose as his hands press softly between your shoulder blades. You let out a soft sigh when his fingers dig into your skin “That pressure alright darlin’?”

You manage to mumble out a weak “yes” and let your eyes fall shut again. You don't know why he’s doing this to you, why this man is making you all hot and bothered while he just does his job, but he is. His hands feel like heaven on your lower back, fingers creating circles to try and get a particularly nasty knot out right above your tailbone. A sound leaves your mouth, a little too close to a whimper for your liking and you feel the blood rush to your face but Joel doesn’t even mention it.

“You're real tense sweetheart, it’s a wonder you didn't have to come in before today” he mutters as his fingers work their way back up your spine. A trail of goosebumps follows after his touch as your back almost arches into his hands. Almost. You catch yourself at the last moment, sparing yourself from what would be the most embarrassing experience of your life and would also likely get you banned from the spa, which would truly be painful because lord, did Joel know how to use his hands on you. His fingers were soft yet somehow held just the right amount of strength in them to work your pain away, the way the heels of his palms would dig into your skin when he focused on a specific area, he was just too good at this and it was making you a little bit crazy.

Your eyes were still shut, your body more relaxed than it had ever been when you heard him tell you to flip over so he could work on your legs. In your half-asleep state, you seem to have forgotten that moving too fast will not only make your head spin but will also make the sheet covering you drop. You managed to catch it and pull it over your chest, eyes wide and staring at him. “Oh my god I'm so sorry-” you start but he cuts you off with a shake of his head before clearing his throat.

“‘s alright sweetheart” his eyes flick down to where you were clutching the sheet. Your breasts were spilling out of the top almost obscenely, a small sheen of sweat from the warmth of the table (and his hands) covering your skin. “Just lay back down, ‘m gonna work on those legs now.” He turns to grab the oil again, and you weren’t certain because of the dim lighting in the room, but you could have sworn there was a light blush dusting his cheeks. You lay down with your head in the rest, still clutching the sheet at your chest before he takes it out of your hands and brings it over your chest fully, leaving just your collarbone and neck exposed. He moves to a corner before picking up a bolster to put under your knees to prop them up slightly.

You let your eyes fall shut as you feel his hands skim your calf. You bite back a gasp when his hands, god his hands are huge, encompass your ankle and bring it up out of the sheet, bending it at your knee slightly. You wet your lips with your tongue and find your mouth drier than it had ever been as he moves your leg into a good position for him, your calf almost grazing his chest. You feel yourself clench around nothing and feel your panties dampen at the closeness of him. He lets your foot down, tucking the sheet under your hip so that it doesn't slip out from under you, and you can feel your heartbeat everywhere. His fingers were so strong yet so gentle on your calf, rubbing out the tightness in your legs. As his fingers made their way further up your leg you felt like you were on fire. His hands were pressing into the muscles, nails softly tracing against your inner thigh and it made you feel weak. You couldn’t get the image of those same fingers the ones that were trying to help you relax, rubbing circles over your clit or digging into your hips as he held you in place, out of your mind. It was filthy really, how pent-up you were. How depraved the thoughts you were having about this man, this stranger, were, but you couldn’t help the wetness pooling between your legs from growing. He presses into a specifically sore spot, dragging something between a yelp and moan from your lips. “I'm so sorry-” your words were quiet, barely audible over the light music he had playing in the room. “Don't worry about it sweetheart, just means I’m doing my job right” he was fucking with you. He had to know what he was doing to you. Had to know that while he was working on the muscles of your legs, you wanted those strong fingers inside of you, talking you through orgasm after orgasm with that sweet southern voice.

You close your eyes again, trying to stabilize your heart rate and keep it from pounding out of your chest “Alright sweetheart, I'm gonna wipe you off and then I’m sorry to say, but we are done for the session” You nod your head before feeling the warmth of a hot towel wipe against your legs, attempting to brush the idea of him wiping you up after pumping you full of his cum out of your mind. You take a few deep breaths before he turns the lights up slowly, letting you adjust to the change. “Alright, I'm gonna step out and grab you some water. I’ll meet you up by the front darlin’” You smile at him and say thank you before moving to change into your clothes, knees slightly wobbly from just thinking about him. Your panties are embarrassingly wet when you stand up, and you press your face into your hands trying to shake this out of your system.

You manage to step out of the room without having your knees give out, eyes still slightly blurry from being half asleep through the whole appointment, and walk back out to the reception. You blink a few times, adjusting to the much brighter lighting, and see Joel waiting for you with a cup of water. “Pleasure working on ya sweetheart, I hope I’ll see you again soon” You take the water and say your thank you to him before watching him walk back into the backroom, and oh my god was his butt always that cute?

You turn back to the receptionist with a smile, when she asks how the session went. “Good, yeah no everything was amazing” You bite on the inside of your cheek softly, the ghost of his fingers still on your skin. You get checked out, making sure to give him a hell of a tip and book another session with him in a few weeks. You take his card and twirl it around your fingers as you sit in your car. Joel Miller- Licensed Massage Therapist- Austin, TX. It was going to be a long hard few weeks without seeing him, but you had some ideas on how to keep yourself, and that dull ache in the pit of your stomach occupied, and every single one of them included thinking about Joel Miller and his fingers.

A/N: From the river to the sea, Palestine will be free READ: This account stands with Palestine unequivocally, and so— I require everyone who interacts to educate themselves, and support/donate. READ THESE; 1, HELP HERE, BOYCOTT. silence is complicity, do not scroll past this. DO NOT BUY THE REMASTER, TLOU2, TLOU1, OR ANY GAME FROM NAUGHTY DOG! neil druckmann (the creator) is a zionist. PLEASE READ THIS. AND REBLOG THIS. Thank you for reading, and free Palestine

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niallhoranhasthat1thing · 1 year ago

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I just finished watching All The Light We Cannot See and I need to rant cause I’m loosing my damn mind.

First off, they took the character names and minor plot points and created their own story with them so at that point just crest something else and if you cannot handle showing the nuance of Werner’s character then you are not the right person to adapt this.

This is going to be filled with spoilers so be warned now.

Werner is a German boy who lives in an orphanage with his younger sister and one day he stumbles upon a radio and falls in love with it. He fixes it and him and his sister Jutta start learning about science and what Germany is actually doing by listing to a French broadcast. Two boys in his orphanage join the Hitler youth and Werner scared for his and Juttas safety destroys the radio which leaves Jutta furious with him. But it’s already too late. His entire town knows how capable he is with a radio and the nazis come for him to put him in a school. Werner who is very much living in a fantasy world in his head believes he will go to this school and will learn and learn and learn and by the time his finishes the war will have been lost and he will never have to contribute to anything, he may even win a noble prize. Jutta still furious with him has this conversation with him

and that’s the last time she ever sees her brother. Werner leaves willingly and you as the reader understand why, you know that if he were to refuse but him and his sister would be killed. You understand it and you even justify it.

Once at the school he meets Frederick and you instantly don’t want to like any of those other boys because they’re not like Werner, he’s there without having a choice. But you learn that Frederick is there only because his father is a high ranked nazi and his mother is waiting for the Jew up above them to be taken away so they can get the top apartment and they made sure he got into the school despite not being able to pass the tests to get in. One night the boys at the school are sent outside in the cold winter to torture a prisoner with cold buckets of water. When it’s Werner’s turn, he does it despite not wanting to and you understand it. He doesn’t have a choice. He would be killed if he refused. Once it’s Fredericks turn he refuses to throw the water. He’s beat and beat and beat. Everyday he is beaten worse and worse until he gets brain damage. Frederick had a choice. He chose the possibility of dying over throwing away his morals. Werner didn’t do that. Because of that your views on Werner begin to change.

Werner ends up going into the field to find illegal radio broadcasts, and while he himself never kills anyone he is directly responsible for many deaths. He ends up being sent to Saint-Malo to find Marie-Laure and her uncle and tracks them down instantly and upon seeing her he decides he’s not going to turn them in. To speed this along Werner ends up saving her life during the siege and they spend a few hours together where in his head he creates this fantasy of them living happily ever after which is juxtaposed with Marie-Laure allowing this German boy to wear her uncles clothes but knowing damn well that he’s not going to be able to hide his German accent. They part ways with Marie-Laure not giving him a second thought because she only wants to go find her uncle. Werner ends up dying a few days later.

You then go over to Jutta who along with the other girls form the orphanage have been sent to Russia to help the war efforts and when Germany looses the Russians take it out on the German women. She learns of Werner’s death and it doesn’t phase her. You fast forward to the 70s and Jutta is a married math teacher with a son, who is so deeply embarrassed and ashamed of her brother. A German man shows up at her door once day with a bad of her brothers belongings and it takes her weeks to open it. Upon opening it she finds the very notebook she had sent Werner to remind him of who he was. She opens it and is reminded of her brother’s innocence and decides along with her son that she is going to go to France to find out what happened to Werner. Jutta eventually finds Marie-Laure and her first thought upon seeing her is that her brother hurt her. Through the conversation Jutta is finally able to mourn her brother and realizes that it’s a lot more than bad vs good. But Marie-Laure is still conflicted with her thoughts on the German boy who saved her life. He doesn’t fit on either sides of the war.

You then jump to 2014 where Marie-Laure finally comes to terms with her thoughts on Werner.

Jutta and Marie-Laure’s feelings on Werner are also the readers feelings on him. The show completely stripped those feelings away. Werner in the show is a perfect human being and everyone forgives him within minutes of meeting him. Marie-Laure even kisses him and then fears for his life and wants to sneak him out of the city and meet up later so that they can spend their lives together.

Werner is such a complex character who you are so desperately rooting for while also feeling completely torn on him. The show is not willing to crest that conversation and beats you over the head with how good of a person Werner is, they rip Juttas character apart in order to make Werner more likable.

I don’t understand how this was made the way it was, I’m honestly still in shock. I had to laugh multiple times through out watching. I knew this show was in trouble as soon as I seen it was only 4 episodes. I hope one day this book gets a second chance and is made by people who understand the material.

#all the light we cannot see

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mischievouslittlecreature · 6 months ago

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You Will Never Walk Alone

Call out in the middle of the night For when else would I hear you? Fall out in the cold starlight I can save you if you do

You will never walk alone You can always reach me You will never ever walk alone

-Call Me Little Sunshine by Ghost

Main Masterlist • Series Masterlist

Thank you for viewing! Please consider leaving a comment, reblog, or like. I always appreciate feedback and love getting the opportunity to interact with you and hear your thoughts!

#lucy winters #lucy winters x tommy shelby #my ocs #my moodboards #tommy shelby #tommy shelby x oc #peaky blinders #ghost #call me little sunshine #laur creates

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rootedinrevisions · 2 months ago

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Never Left Me: Part 2

SUMMARY: Lauren finds comfort in Jonathan’s unwavering support as they prepare to face one of the hardest days of her life: her mother’s funeral. However, when she unexpectedly comes face-to-face with Tyler, who she left behind eight years ago, old memories and emotions begin to stir. At the funeral and later at the luncheon, tension brews as Lauren grapples with the unresolved past, and a brief, awkward conversation with Tyler only complicates her feelings. With Jonathan by her side, she’s forced to confront the growing pull of a life she thought she had left behind.

WARNINGS: Death of a parent. Grief.

WORD COUNT: 2.3k

If you would like to be added to any of my Tag Lists please feel free to comment, send an ask, or send a DM and I'll be happy to get you added! (I currently have one for Glen Powell & His Characters, One for Bradley/Rooster now, and then a third for WWE/Wrestling. I also can create one for Bucky & other MCU characters if there's interest for more of those characters!)

The following afternoon Lauren stood in front of the small dresser in her childhood bedroom, her hands trembling as she tried to fasten the clasp on her necklace. She had on a simple black dress, her hair pulled back into a low bun. The soft glow of the evening sun filtered through the curtains, casting a warm hue on the room, but there was a coldness in her chest that made it hard to breathe. Her reflection in the mirror stared back at her, pale and anxious, a far cry from the carefree girl who once spent hours in this room dreaming of the future.

Across the room, Jonathan was getting dressed, his focus on buttoning his shirt. The white fabric against his skin, his movements precise and efficient, as always. He had just finished buttoning the cuffs when he looked up and noticed Lauren’s hands shaking as she fumbled with the necklace. Without a word, he stopped what he was doing and crossed the room, his shirt still half undone.

He reached her in a few long strides, gently taking her hands in his.

“Hey,” he said softly, his voice steady and warm. “Let me help.”

Lauren swallowed hard, nodding as she released the necklace. Jonathan carefully took it from her, fastening the clasp behind her neck with ease. His fingers brushed her skin, sending a wave of comfort through her that she desperately needed.

But the moment the necklace was secure, the weight of the evening ahead seemed to press down on her all over again. The visitation, the countless people, the constant reminders that her mother was gone–it was overwhelming. Her heart raced, and she felt the familiar prickle of tears behind her eyes.

Jonathan, sensing her distress, wrapped his arms around her from behind, pulling her close against his chest. He rested his chin on her shoulder, holding her gently, but firmly enough that she felt anchored.

“Hey,” he whispered, his voice low and soothing. “It’s okay. I’m right here. I’ll be with you the whole night, right by your side.”

Lauren closed her eyes, leaning into him as she let herself breathe in his calming presence. His warmth and the steady rise and fall of his chest helped ground her. She could feel his heart beating against her back, a steady rhythm that contrasted with the chaotic swirl of emotions inside her.

“I don’t know if I can do this,” she whispered, her voice shaky.

“You can,” Jonathan replied softly. “You’re stronger than you think. And you don’t have to do it alone. I’m here. Your dad and sister are here. We’re all here for you.”

He shifted slightly, turning her in his arms so they were facing each other. His gray eyes were filled with quiet concern as they searched hers. He reached up and gently brushed a tear from her cheek with his thumb before cupping her face in his hands.

“I love you, Laur,” he said, his voice steady but tender. “We’ll get through this together.”

Lauren managed a small smile, her chest still tight but the unbearable weight easing just a little. She nodded, leaning her forehead against his. “I love you too.”

Jonathan kissed her forehead softly before pulling her into another hug. “Whenever you need me tonight, just look for me. I’ll be there, okay?”

She nodded again, finding some comfort in his words, even if the sadness still lingered. She knew the night ahead would be one of the hardest of her life, but at least she wasn’t facing it alone. Jonathan’s arms around her were a reminder of that.

With a deep breath, she pulled away, brushing the tears from her eyes. “Okay,” she whispered. “I’m ready.”

Jonathan smiled softly, his shirt still half-open as he looked at her, admiration in his eyes. Then, with a playful smirk, he added, “Now, I should probably finish getting dressed.”

Lauren’s eyes drifted to his chest, exposed where the top few buttons of his shirt were undone. She reached out and placed her hand on his chest, her fingers gently resting against his warm skin.

“I don’t know,” she said with a teasing smile, “I kind of like this look.”

Jonathan chuckled, his hands resting on her hips as he leaned down to brush his lips against hers. “As tempting as it is to stay here with you,” he said softly, “we probably shouldn’t be late.”

Lauren laughed softly, the sound almost surprising herself. For a brief moment, the weight of everything felt a little lighter. She nodded, reluctantly letting go of his shirt. “You’re right.”

Jonathan grinned, leaning in to kiss her once more before pulling back and buttoning the rest of his shirt.

With one last smile, they both turned to finish getting ready. Despite the heavy emotions surrounding the evening, that small playful moment between them gave Lauren just a little more strength to face what was coming.

* * * *

The small church was packed with neighbors, friends, and family who had come to pay their respects. Lauren stood beside her father and sister, while Jonathan stayed close to her, his presence a steady source of support.

As each person approached, Lauren exchanged words of comfort and gratitude, though her heart felt heavy beneath the weight of her grief. Madison, already fragile, pulled Lauren into countless hugs throughout the evening, clinging to her like a lifeline.

Lauren had just finished a brief exchange with Mrs. Anderson, the elderly woman who’d lived down the road her entire life when she turned to greet the next person in line.

Her breath caught in her throat. Tyler Owens. He was not the boy she remembered. His eyes were the same—still warm, still familiar—but everything else about him had changed. His once unruly hair was now shorter and neater, and the smooth, clean-shaven face she had known had given way to a layer of scruff that added a rugged edge to his features. He wasn’t the tall, lanky teen from her memories, either; the man standing before her now was broad-shouldered, his muscles filling out his dark blue dress shirt..

“Tyler," she breathed before she even realized she had spoken.

"Lauren," he responded, his voice soft but full of depth.

Before she could stop herself, she stepped toward him, and Tyler wrapped his arms around her in a familiar, yet different, embrace. He held her a moment too long, long enough for Lauren to notice, long enough for the heat of it to seep into her skin.

As he pulled back, he offered a quiet, "I’m sorry about your mom."

Before the moment could stretch any further, Lauren’s father turned and clapped Tyler on the shoulder, greeting him like the family friend he had always been. Tyler gave Lauren one last glance before stepping aside to talk with her father, his presence lingering like a shadow even after he’d walked away.

Jonathan’s arm snaked around her waist, drawing her in close. He pressed a gentle kiss to her temple, his voice low and steady. "You didn’t mention you knew The Tornado Wrangler."

Lauren swallowed hard, nodding as she kept her eyes forward. "He’s... a family friend."

Jonathan said nothing more, but Lauren could feel the weight of his curiosity. She leaned into his touch, hoping the warmth of his embrace could somehow settle the sudden storm stirring in her chest.

* * * *

The next morning, the small church was bathed in soft light. Sunlight streamed in through the stained glass windows, casting hues of blue, red, and gold across the pews. Friends, family, and familiar faces from Lauren's childhood filled the space, all gathered to say their final goodbyes. The air was thick with the scent of flowers, a bittersweet contrast to the solemnity of the moment.

Lauren sat in the front row, her hands clasped tightly in her lap, her body tense between Madison and Jonathan. The preacher’s words washed over her, but she barely registered them. Her mind drifted, unable to focus on anything for too long. Grief clung to her like a second skin, but there was something else—something stirring inside her that had been dormant for years.

Her gaze wandered across the sea of faces, old neighbors, and friends, many of whom she hadn’t seen since she was a teenager. She caught sight of Tyler sitting a few rows back. His eyes were already on her. For a brief moment, their gazes locked, and a familiar warmth flickered in her chest, unsettling her.

Tyler looked just as he had the night before, but seeing him now, in the morning light, surrounded by her past, made the memories of their time together feel even closer. There was something about being back here, in Arkansas, in the place she’d tried so hard to leave behind. She had thought that part of her life was buried, but now, it was stirring, like old embers catching flame.

She quickly looked away, her heart pounding louder than the preacher’s words. Jonathan shifted beside her, his thumb gently rubbing the back of her hand. She glanced at him, offering a faint smile, but it felt hollow.

He was her present, her future. But here, in this church, surrounded by her past, Lauren couldn’t shake the feeling that a part of her was slipping, that maybe she was losing herself to the memories she had spent so long trying to forget.

She closed her eyes and took a slow, deep breath, trying to focus. But even as the preacher continued, even as the service went on, Tyler lingered in her thoughts, unsettling everything she had built over the last eight years.

* * * *

The reception hall was filled with the soft hum of conversation, the clinking of silverware against plates, and the scent of home-cooked food. Tables were lined with casseroles, pies, and platters—meals that neighbors had brought in honor of Lauren’s mother. People gathered in small clusters, sharing fond memories and offering condolences, but Lauren found it hard to stay present in any of the conversations. It all felt surreal, like she was drifting through it, only half there.

As she nodded absentmindedly through a story her Great Aunt was telling, her gaze wandered across the room. That’s when she saw him—Tyler—standing by a window, his broad frame silhouetted against the afternoon light. He was staring out the window, lost in his own thoughts, looking almost as out of place as she felt. Without fully thinking it through, she excused herself from the conversation and made her way across the room.

Tyler noticed her approach and straightened, turning to face her. His expression softened, but there was still a tension in the air between them.

"It’s good to see you, Lauren," he said, his voice low, carrying a weight of unspoken things.

"Yeah, you too," she replied, though the words felt awkward, like they didn’t quite fit. She shifted on her feet, unsure of how to bridge the gap that had grown between them.

Tyler rubbed the back of his neck and glanced toward the window before looking back at her. "You haven’t been around here much," he said, a hint of a smile playing on his lips, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. "What’s it been…about seven, eight years since you left? If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were avoiding me."

The comment caught Lauren off guard, and she opened her mouth to respond but hesitated. She could feel the weight of the past pressing down on her, threatening to spill out, but before she could say anything, she felt a presence beside her.

"Hey, there you are," Jonathan’s voice broke the tension as he approached with Madison by his side. He slid an arm around Lauren’s waist, pulling her into his side with a comforting squeeze.

Madison, still looking pale and worn from the day's events, offered Tyler a small smile. "Good to see you, Tyler. How’ve you been?"

Tyler’s eyes flicked between Jonathan, Madison, and Lauren, a shadow of something unreadable crossing his face before he cleared his throat.

"Been good, just... busy," he replied, his voice a little tighter than before.

He glanced at Lauren one last time before turning his attention back to Madison, offering a quick but polite nod.

Jonathan didn’t seem to notice the lingering tension as he extended his hand to Tyler. "We didn’t get a chance to talk much last night. Jonathan, by the way. Lauren’s fiancé."

Tyler hesitated for a split second before shaking Jonathan’s hand. "Tyler," he said, his grip firm but brief.

After Tyler introduced himself and shook Jonathan’s hand, Jonathan’s curiosity lingered. "So, how do you two know each other?" he asked, his tone light but with an underlying interest as he looked between Tyler and Lauren.

Lauren and Tyler shared a quick glance, both unsure of how to respond to the seemingly innocent question. There was a pause, the kind that carried a weight of things unsaid, and neither seemed eager to break it.

Madison, oblivious to the tension, chimed in with a smile. "Oh, Tyler’s family and ours go way back. Lauren and Tyler were best friends growing up. They did everything together!" She laughed softly at the memories, clearly not sensing the awkwardness in the air.

Jonathan, however, did. He didn’t miss the way Tyler’s eyes seemed to linger on Lauren, or the way she subtly avoided looking directly at him. There was something unspoken between them, something more than just an old friendship. Jonathan could feel it, even if it wasn’t entirely clear what it was. He said nothing in the moment but made a mental note to revisit the topic later.

For now, he wrapped his arm a little tighter around Lauren’s waist, keeping her close as the conversation shifted.

#Tyler Owens #Tyler Owens Fic #Tyler Owens Fanfic #Tyler Owens Fanfiction #Tyler Owens Series

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inklore · 1 year ago

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another poster i forgot to post oops

#sometimes i'm bored and create things ok #and then let them get lost in my folders #mia goth #ti west #x movie #x 2022 #ʚ laurs art ɞ

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new-sandrafilter · 1 year ago

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Cartier - Celebrating the magic of "Wonka" through a one-of-a-kind creation for Timothée Chalamet

On the red carpet of the highly-anticipated Wonka premiere, Timothée Chalamet debuted another feat of creativity: a precious Cartier necklace. This creation was imagined for him following an encounter with Marie-Laure Cérède, the Maison’s Creative Director of Jewelry and Watchmaking.

Inspired by the film, the design studios and Parisian ateliers worked together to create this exceptional one-off piece.

#timmy #timothee chalamet #wonka 2023 #wonka movie #cartier

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lamemaster · 1 year ago

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Maedhros with a Singer S/O

Request: I was wondering if you could write a headcanon/fic for Maedhros with a singer female elf s/o. 💖

Pairing: Maedhros x Reader

Genre: Romance and ANGST

AN: went a little overboard

"Are you, perhaps, Prince Makalaure?" Your first words to Maitimo were uttered at the doorstep of their house in Valinor. He was young back then, a brother to only two others.

You stood there as Makalaure's tutor, a name his mother had mentioned. "Uh, no, I am Nelyafinwe. Laure is inside; please come in," he invited you inside.

"Forgive me, Prince Nelyafinwe," you smiled sheepishly. "I am supposed to instruct Prince Makalaure in music. Could you please call him?"

And so it began, as your fate entangled with Maedhros'.

Months later~

"Are your parents not here to learn more about Prince Kanafinwe's performance?" Your words were plain but they cut Nelyafinwe deeply. They wounded his Finwean pride. How could you ever look at him with pity in your eyes?

He could see the judgment. You pitied him and his brother. You saw them as neglected elflings, perhaps nothing more. "My parents love us very much, but they are masters of their craft. As their sons, Kano and I understand that." Nelyafinwe looked at a tiny Kano sitting by a giant harp, playing it with a small smile.

But he had also seen the excited look in his brother's eyes when he took the stage. Kano had scanned the crowd for any signs of Feanor or Nerndanel, but his eyes had found only Maitimo, his brother, who had rushed here after his own classes at the palace.

"It was important for Kanafinwe today," you did not back down. You had wanted your student to get his recognition today. "He prepared for this very diligently." You paused; your heart ached as you noticed the subtle disappointment in your student's eyes. "I would like to talk to your parents and maybe discuss this…"

Nelyafinwe's heart stopped. You would talk to the crown prince of the Noldor for your student? Why did you care so much? And his parents…they were too absorbed in their own worlds. Would they ever listen to you?

His Atar would not like you. And his Amme was always too tired. What if they fought because of you? No, he couldn't let that happen. Kano and Tyelko got scared so easily. He couldn't let them see that again. He couldn't let you witness this.

"You, a mere tutor, want to talk to our parents? Do you even know who they are? Masters of their craft, their lives are different from yours. Kanafinwe is their son, and he understands his responsibilities." Nelyafinwe allowed his voice to carry the edge of rudeness. "Our parents create art greater than you can ever fathom. It is born out of their souls." Maybe that would scare you off.

But it didn't. Instead, you blinked at him, unfazed. "Forgive me, I do not possess mastery of music as your parents do for their craft. I do not pour my soul into my creations because somehow, to me, creation is not about taking a part of me and the world around and putting it into my art. Instead, it's about the joy of doing it. Creations should lend peace of mind. They should imitate the world around us, not take us away from it."

"Maybe that's why you are just a tutor, not a master," Nelyafinwe's words were sharp, but they served to hide his own shame. A shame you did not cast upon him, but one he had draped himself in. "Come, Kano, I am sure we can find you another tutor who might be more suitable," Nelyafinwe called for his brother, who looked at him with teary eyes. His nose and cheeks were flushed from his efforts to hold back his tears. His lips trembled, but he persevered, fighting the sobs.

Kano looked at you, pleadingly. You bent down to his level and kissed his forehead. "Why are you so morose? You did so well today, dear," you consoled your student. It seemed as if this entire interaction with Nelyafinwe had terrified him.

You stood back up. "I am sorry to have offended you, my prince," you bowed to him without a trace of resentment in your voice. "I just want the best for my student." You looked down at Kanafinwe, who still held your gown in his tiny fists. "And I am certain that Kanafinwe will soon surpass me," you smiled at him. "I will live to see my dearest student become greater than any."

"You will always be better than me!" Kanafinwe hugged your legs and buried himself in your gown, allowing his tears to flow freely. "I don't want another tutor, Nelyo, please…let her be my tutor, please." You supported your young student and picked him up in your arms, wiping his tears away.

Even decades later, as the entire Valinor praised Kanafinwe for his talent, your student still called you the best, now your brother-in-law. Somehow, your fate was set to stay with Nelyafinwe, who once detested you. You didn't know when the love came, but it arrived, and neither of you could resist.

Your romance started later in the years, first as a friendship, then grew only deeper with your shared affection for Kano, who had now grown too big for both of you to baby.

Nelyo tried to get Tyelko to learn from you, but it was a failed venture when he had to drag his younger brother to you for the second month. That was the sign that the eldest Feanorian had to find another reason to meet with you. It led to a hurried confession next to a sulking Tyelko, one of the liveliest confessions in Valinor's history, especially when you both had to physically carry an uncontrollable Tyelko back home.

Your marriage to Nelyafinwe was beautiful and peaceful. You followed him to Formenos, to Tirion, and to the shores of Alqualonde. In your marriage, you only knew how to follow him. Even when your husband didn't have the courage to face you with his bloodied face, you cradled his face, wiped his tears, and sang him the song of peace. The wavering of your own voice didn't matter. Your screaming morals were shunned. You comforted Maitimo.

You would have followed him on the ships if it weren't for a tiny Idril clutching your gown. Your youngest student needed people around her, and her mother, Elenwe, needed help. So you stayed behind, watching him leave in the bloodied boats. You kissed him goodbye with a promise of a quick reunion.

And you waited to follow him. With Idril in your lap, you sang to her all the songs your husband loved. You could feel him still in your bond. But the ship never returned to get you. All that came was the whisper of smoke. They were gone. You couldn't fathom such an act of betrayal by Maitimo, even with your resentment.

Next to Turgon's host, you sought to find your beloved on the nether shores. Your anger did not vanish, it lived in your heart. You wanted to meet him and ask him about his abandonment of you.

But you never got the chance. You felt your heart stop in the freezing depths of Helcaraxe. Your body was dragged down by all the weight you had been carrying in your bags. The darkness pulled you closer to an unknown end. But you could see him now. His hair flowed effortlessly in the water, his eyes glimmered even in the dark, and he smiled at you. He was calling you. You reached your hand to him. 'Maitimo,' you called out to him.

"What do you mean she is not here?" Is she reborn?"" Maedhros' spirit trembled. The Halls of Mandos had always seemed like a distant beacon of hope the only reunion that he had imagined for him and you, but now they had become a void, a cold emptiness as if the Valar had forsaken them even in their death.

The Maia looked at him with eyes full of pity. "Your wife did not make it to Mandos' Halls. Her soul has been trapped in the depths of Helcaraxe." The words cut through his spirit like shards of ice, and he felt as if he was being consumed by a relentless storm.

He longed for a glimpse of you, for a touch, a word, something to reassure him that you were still there. He had been longing for ages. "Why can I not feel her? Our bond...it's not broken? Why did no one bring her back?" Maedhros demanded, his voice filled with a mix of desperation and anger

The Maia's voice was solemn. "Her fea did not depart her hroa. It is unaware of its death. The freezing depths of Helcaraxe prevent her body from decaying. Without even a sign of rot, the soul cannot leave. To the fea, the hroa is undamaged and, thus, still capable of holding it. Maybe there is another reason we do not know, but this is the best we can tell you."

For so long, you were trapped in those lifeless waters, alone and cold. Maedhros felt an overwhelming sense of guilt, as if he had failed to protect you, to keep you by his side. "Let me go. I will bring her back," he offered without hesitation, his voice unwavering. "My healing, my past, my present, my future, the laws of the Valar can all wait. I need to go to her. Please, let me go!"

But the Maia's response was crushing. "You cannot," they said, their tone unyielding. "No quendi can leave Valinor anymore. Your wife is doomed, like the rest. No one can force her to return."

"She did not do anything wrong!" Maedhros' voice rose with desperation, and he knelt in anguish, his spirit trembling. Tears may have eluded him, but his soul wept. "Please, bring her back. Let me go to her. She didn't harm anyone. She just wanted to be with me." Yet only silence met his pleas, and it echoed in the emptiness of Mandos.

In the depths of water surrounding you, you finally had him to yourself. You could sing for hours and Maitimo would still look at you lovingly. Urging you to sing in the solitude.

Your heart was at peace. Next to Maitimo, the world faded into oblivion.

#the silmarillion #tolkien elves #silmarillion x reader #noldor elves #maedhros #angst #asks #maedhros x reader #aaaaaaaaaaaaah #makalaure #maglor

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