#oliver no last name my beloved

[scootersscooter]

Oliver Mighty Med your strained relationship with goodness and deep seeded worry and concern about evil and not being seen as a worthy friend or hero in a time where that's all you want in order to avenge everyone you've ever held dear means the world TO ME

[boxoflives]

If we were villains

Just finished if we were villains and let me just say, oh my goddddd!!!! I literally almost burst into tears at the ending. The way the characters were portrayed was amazing and every single one of the journeys they went on as humans was so touching and approachable. I have no words to describe how this book made me feel.

[ollsonline]

dearest ollie,

do you think that mike wheeler gives off lydia dietz energy?(so sorry if i spelt her last name wrong)

love, cade 🫶🏽

YES, HE DOES !!!!

i’ve been thinking of a way to make a st/beetlejuice au work for ages, i just haven’t been able to figure out all the roles ajsjsjdkd

[pilot--light]

Look at my beautiful daughter

[singstaircase]

Come What May - LH, Social Media AU

Summary: Their relationship has always been an interesting one. Fifteen years together, break up before one of their lives' most significant events, gold medal, a ring– and the rest is, as they say, history.

okay so bear with me on this. In this universe, Motorsports is an Olympic sport and we can figure out how it would work later but for now– 1) road race is your normal race, 2) there's going to be an event called Time Trial, similar to cycling and 3) Team Pursuit is a team event.

This is my first time doing something like this, I hope you enjoy!

Shock Split?! British MotorSporting Power Couple Call It Quits After 15 Years Ahead of Olympics Showdown

In an unexpected twist that has left fans and insiders confused, Britain's beloved sporting duo, Lewis Hamilton and [Name], have reportedly ended their 15-year relationship just months before they are set to compete together in the upcoming Olympics.

The couple, known for their remarkable chemistry both on and off the field, have been a fixture in the British sports scene.

Sources close to the pair reveal that the split has been brewing for some time...(read more)

Press Conference [Update] Silverstone, 16 June

Due to unforseen circumstances, Lewis Hamilton and [Name] will do separate interviews at 19:20.

(Name)_GB

Liked by teamgb, georgerussell63 and 966,419 others

(Name_GB) First time in the Olympics!!! Hoping to make everyone proud.

View all comments

pattyVAX no mention of Lewis. It's so over.

sunsetseb65 Not even a single pic either, they usually have pictures together in every situation.

f1gossip

Liked by gridgossip and 11,892 others

f1gossip First 'public appearance' of (Name) and Lewis Hamilton outside of their work since the alleged break up at the first round match of Rafael Nadal.

Notably, both came separately and sat away from each other 👀.

View all comments

A exclusive clip from Paris 2024 Podcast 02.08.2024– Hosted by Cristina Lindemann

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

CL: So, we have to talk about the elephant in the room if you will.

N: The break up? (Laughs)

CL: Only if want to though!

N: No, don't worry about. (Clears throat) Yes, it's true, we ended our relationship at the beginning of June.

We thought about a lot of things– our future, career and thought this was the best decision for now.

We ended on a good note so please don't go harass Lewis. But, um that's what happened. Maybe it'll change in the future, who knows. (Laughs)

gridgossip

Liked by f1gossip and 2,741 others

gridgossip [Name] ditches ex-boyfriend and teammate to watch fellow brits Louise Brown and Oliver Bearman. Looking very happy while doing so.

View all comments

HollandTRasH Did you expect them to look angry or sad while watching her compatriots?

Kimipublicist Oh it's so over. It's never been more over.

bellaISdead are they even gonna do the final together or?

British Duo to Withdrawal Because of Relationship Drama?

....Our sources informed that they former couple, along with their team and TeamGB representatives held a 'crisis meeting' last night to discuss about the Team Pursuit Final and possible withdrawal from the event. (read more)

WATCH: (Name) confirms participation in the final amid withdrawal fear

British driver (Name) confirms plan to participate in Team Pursuit Final of the very first edition of Motorsports in Summer Olympic games.

They refused to comment on the alleged crisis meeting and the hand-shaking incident.

Olympic TV 2 hours ago

Team Pursuit Final | MotorSport (Open-wheel Track) | Olympic Games Paris 2024

(Name)’s hand doesn't leave Lewis’. It remains locked together, even at the podium as they wait for their medals.

They swing their hands together in excitement as the Dutch team receives their medals. Lewis can't help but smile at this, a glimmer of what they used to have still visible in his eyes.

“Ready?” Lewis asks as the announcer starts to announce them in French. (Name) turns to him and nods.

“–Great Britain!” (Name) and Lewis jump onto the podium together as the sounds of the excitement of the crowd fills the track.

Their locked hands remain a constant, even as they're waving at the excited crowd.

For the photo, Lewis, ever the showman, lifts (Name) into his arms. She lets out a surprised laugh, wrapping her arms around his neck for support.

Cameras flash, capturing the moment and for a fleeting instant, it feels like nothing changed.

The national anthem begins to play. As the familiar words fill the air, (Name) feels a lump form in her throat. The culmination of years of hard work and sacrifice, hit her all at once. Tears well up in her eyes, threatening to spill over.

Lewis notices immediately. He gently takes her hand, squeezing it reassuringly. He leans in close. "Hey, it's okay,” he says, his voice soft and warm, “We did it. We made it."

(Name) nods, biting her lip to keep from crying.

The anthem continues, and she found herself leaning into Lewis' comforting presence. Despite everything, they are still here for each other, just as they always been. And that's enough for now.

As the final notes of the anthem fade away, the camera moves from the flags to where (Name) and Lewis are standing; holding hands and basking in the glow of their victory.

🏎️ nighttimeday Follow

(Name) and Hamilton Win Olympic🥇

About their relationship

(Name): “That’s our personal lives you don’t need to know that”

Hamilton: “So this is top secret. Top secret.”

(Name): “We like it when you are confused!”

Hamilton: “Exactly. That’s how we feel powerful.”

🎥: IOC

#yeah they are definitely back together #paris olympics 2024 #motorsports

(5,198 notes)

(Name_GB)

Liked by lewishamilton, georgerussell63 and 2,971,123 others

(Name_GB) Thank you for this and more, partner 💕

View all 10,788 comments

lewishamilton ❤️

usergayce yep, they are back together

pattyVAX WE ARE SO BACK

f1gossip • 2 hours ago

lewishamilton & (Name_GB) • 15 minutes ago

This was inspired by Katerina Siniakova and Tomas Machac and whatever the hell happened between them.

[bloodreinasbathwater]

Xo Xo Gossip Girl

Pairing: Jack Hughes x Gossip Blogger! Reader

Part 1

a:n The way I find myself digging for the perfect chapter gif only to scroll for five minutes and save my favorites is so embarrassing. I'm gonna need his girlfriend to hand over that game card... anyway hope u like this chapter.

word count - 4k

Masterlist Link

GIF by wyattjohnston

...

HOCKEY HEARTBREAK: THE REAL REASON BEHIND THE HUGHES-DEGREGIO SPLIT

Posted by Y/N @ The Daily Whisper | 11:42 PM

Settle in, Whisper Warriors, because do I have some piping hot tea for you tonight.

You know those moments when the universe just hands you the story of the year? Well, last Saturday at Vibe, somewhere between my second cosmopolitan and watching Matt Rempe fail at dancing (yes, that's tea for another day), I quite literally bumped into none other than Serena DeGregio. And let me tell you, after a few shots of liquid courage, Hollywood's newest "it girl" was ready to spill everything about her recent split from hockey's favorite bad boy, Jack Hughes.

Now, we've all seen the headlines: "Hockey Heartthrob and Rising Star Call It Quits." But the real story? It's juicier than your mom's Thanksgiving turkey.

According to Serena, our beloved hockey star couldn't handle being the second name in the relationship. While she was booking Netflix specials and selling out concert venues, Jack was sidelined with a shoulder injury that kept him off the ice for three months. And apparently, watching your girlfriend's face on every billboard in Times Square does things to a man's ego.

"He's still stuck in that high school hockey star mentality," Serena told me, twirling the olive in her martini. "You know the type – peaked at eighteen, never had to grow up because everything came easy."

But here's where I have to play devil's advocate (and maybe it's because I've seen those ice-blue eyes up close at press events). Having covered Jack's career since his rookie year, there's more to him than Serena's bitter pill would have you swallow. This is the same guy who started a youth hockey program in underprivileged neighborhoods. The same player who spent his injury rehab volunteering at children's hospitals. And let's be real – anyone who's seen him handle a puck knows he definitely hasn't peaked.

Maybe it's the journalist in me, but something about this story feels... incomplete. There's always two sides to every breakup, isn't there?

Update coming soon... if I can track down Mr. Hughes for his side of the story 😉

...

Y/N stretched back in her purple velvet office chair, admiring her latest post on the screen. Her "lair," as she liked to call it, was her happy place – fairy lights twinkling across the ceiling, framed magazine covers featuring her biggest stories adorning the coral-painted walls, and her trusty mini-fridge humming softly in the corner, stocked with Diet Coke and chocolate-covered almonds.

The story was already gaining traction, comments pinging faster than she could read them. Her phone buzzed – Alyssa's face lighting up the screen. Y/N smiled, knowing her best friend had probably already devoured every word. As the head of corporate sponsorships at Manhattan's largest sports marketing firm, Alyssa always had the best insider information – and opinions to match.

"Y/N! Have you lost your mind?" Alyssa didn't even wait for a hello. "That post about Jack and Serena is everywhere! My entire office is buzzing about it. The PR team for the Rangers is having a field day."

"Good evening to you too, bestie." Y/N spun lazily in her chair, a satisfied smirk playing on her lips.

"Never mind pleasantries. I have information that's going to make your next post even bigger." Y/N could hear the smile in her voice. "You know that charity gala at The Plaza next weekend? The one my firm is coordinating with?"

Y/N threw her head back and groaned dramatically. The motion made her neck crack, and she absently rubbed it while whining, "Don't rub it in. I've been trying to get press credentials for weeks. Even my usual connections couldn't get me in."

"Well, guess who's not only attending but is being honored for his youth hockey program?"

Y/N shot forward so fast her chair rolled back and hit the wall, rattling her framed cover of Time Magazine. "Jack Hughes."

"Bingo. And since I'm basically running the whole event..." Alyssa paused for dramatic effect. "I happen to have an extra ticket with your name on it. Perks of being best friends with someone who has to make sure all the corporate sponsors play nice with their hockey darlings."

"Shut up!" Y/N leaped out of her chair, nearly tripping over her discarded shoes in excitement. She caught herself on the edge of her desk, sending a stack of press releases flying. "Alyssa Martinez, you beautiful genius! How did you swing that?"

"Let's just say I convinced the foundation board that having an influential blogger there would be good publicity for their youth programs." Alyssa's voice took on a more serious tone. "Though after this post, I might have some explaining to do. You better make this worth it."

Y/N's heart raced as she glanced at her blog post still glowing on the screen, her mind already spinning with possibilities. "Trust me, this is going to be the story of the year."

"I'm counting on it. My reputation is on the line here too, you know. These athletes might be my clients, but you're my best friend. Don't make me regret mixing the two."

"Have I ever let you down before?" Y/N was already opening her notes app, fingers flying across the keyboard.

"There's a first time for everything," Alyssa teased. "So, are you ready to get the other side of the story?"

...

One Week Later

Y/N stood before her full-length mirror, smoothing down the silk of her black dress. Beside her, Alyssa was applying a final coat of mascara, her own black dress a perfect complement with its off-shoulder design.

"Stop overthinking it," Alyssa said, catching Y/N's distant expression in the mirror. "I can literally see the gears turning in your head."

Y/N sighed, fiddling with her delicate silver necklace. The blog post about Jack and Serena had exploded over the past week, becoming her most viral story to date. But something about it had been nagging at her, keeping her up at night as she replayed Serena's words in her mind.

"It's just..." Y/N paused, carefully considering her words. "What if we got it wrong? What if Serena isn't the victim she's making herself out to be?"

Alyssa raised an eyebrow. "Since when do you second-guess a source?"

"Since something doesn't add up." Y/N moved to her vanity, pretending to touch up her subtle smoky eye while her thoughts raced. "I've been doing some digging. Every charity event, every hospital visit, every youth program – Jack Hughes doesn't publicize any of it. His team's PR doesn't even push it. What kind of attention-seeking bad boy does good deeds and keeps them quiet?"

"So you think Serena's lying?"

"I think..." Y/N turned to face her friend, determination settling over her features. "I think she's a scorned ex trying to control the narrative. And maybe... maybe I helped her do it."

Alyssa's lips curved into a knowing smile. "And this sudden crisis of conscience has nothing to do with those ice-blue eyes you mentioned in your post?"

"This isn't about that," Y/N protested, but she could feel the heat rising in her cheeks. "This is about the truth. The real story." She grabbed her clutch, checking one last time that her phone and recorder were inside. "Every good journalist knows there are two sides to every story. It's time I found out his."

"Well then," Alyssa linked their arms together, leading them toward the door. "Let's go get your story, Lois Lane."

As they stepped into the waiting car, Y/N's mind was already racing with possibilities. She'd built her career on exposing the truth, even when it wasn't pretty. But tonight felt different. Tonight, she wasn't just chasing a story – she was chasing redemption. And maybe, just maybe, she'd find out who the real Jack Hughes was in the process.

The Plaza Hotel beckoned in the distance, its lights twinkling against the Manhattan skyline like a beacon. Y/N took a deep breath, steeling herself for what was to come. Bad boy or misunderstood hero, she was going to find out the truth – even if it meant admitting she got it wrong the first time.

...

Jack's pov

Jack's knee wouldn't stop bouncing under the pristine white tablecloth, making the water in his parents' glasses ripple like tiny earthquakes. Luke, ever the annoying little brother, flicked his ear.

"Dude, you're making the whole table shake. What's got you so worked up?" Luke's grin was nothing short of devilish. "Could it be a certain viral blog post about your 'high school mentality'?"

Jack pinched the sensitive spot under Luke's bicep, earning a satisfying yelp. "Shut up, man. At least I didn't trip over my own skates at practice yesterday."

"Boys," Ellen Hughes' warning tone cut through their bickering. She smoothed her navy dress with one hand while giving them both the look – the one that had stopped many locker room fights in their youth. "You're at a charity gala, not the rink. Act like grown men, please?"

"Yes, Mom," they chorused in unison, sharing a quick grin that made their father Jim chuckle behind his menu.

Jack let out a heavy breath, tugging at his bow tie. It felt too tight, like everything else lately – the press, the expectations, the endless questions about Serena. His leg started bouncing again.

"That's it." He pushed back from the table, his chair scraping against the floor. "I need a drink."

"Water," his mother called after him. "You have a speech to give!"

Jack waved in acknowledgment, weaving through the sea of evening gowns and tuxedos. His shoulder twinged – phantom pain from the injury that had started this whole mess. Or maybe it was just his body's reaction to stress. The blog post had been everywhere this week, his phone blowing up with messages from teammates asking if he'd seen it.

He had. Multiple times. Each read made him want to throw his phone into the Hudson.

Reaching the bar, he slumped against the polished marble, pressing his forehead to the cool surface for just a moment. "Water, please," he groaned to the bartender. "Still, not sparkling."

"Trouble in paradise?"

The voice was unfamiliar, tinged with curiosity and something else he couldn't quite place. Jack lifted his head to find a woman in a black dress perched on the barstool next to him, stirring what looked like a cosmopolitan with delicate fingers. She wasn't looking at him directly, but he could see the hint of a smile playing at the corners of her mouth.

Before he could respond, a flash of red appeared in his peripheral vision, and he had to fight the urge to groan out loud.

"Jackie!" The voice was unmistakable – Rebekah Chen, Page Six's most persistent reporter. Her red dress matched her lipstick, both as bold as her personality. She latched onto his arm like a barnacle, fake nails digging into his jacket. "I've been trying to reach you all week!"

Jack threw his head back, closing his eyes as if that might make her disappear. "Not today, Rebekah," he muttered, feeling every muscle in his jaw tense. His hand curled around the water glass the bartender had just set down, knuckles white.

"Oh, come on!" She pressed closer, her voice dropping to what she probably thought was a seductive whisper. "Just a few questions. I can help you clear the air about that nasty blog post. Make that gossip guru eat her words." She batted her eyelashes. "All I need is a teensy exclusive about what really happened with Serena."

Jack's laugh was hollow as he extracted his arm from her grip. "Right, because that worked out so well the last time." He took a long drink of water, adam's apple bobbing as he tried to maintain his composure. "No comment, Rebekah. Same as yesterday, and the day before that, and—"

"But Jackie—"

"Not happening." Jack's voice was firm as steel. "There's nothing to say, Rebekah. Not to you, not to anyone."

Rebekah huffed, her red lips turning down into a pout. She opened her mouth to protest again, but something in Jack's expression must have finally gotten through. With a dramatic sigh and flip of her hair, she clicked away on her stilettos, no doubt in search of easier prey.

Jack's shoulders dropped as tension bled out of them. He turned back to the bar, catching the mystery woman in black watching him in the mirror behind the bottles. When their eyes met, she didn't look away.

"That happen often?" she asked, taking a slow sip of her cosmopolitan.

Jack let out a dry laugh, running a hand through his carefully styled hair. "More than I'd like. Apparently, 'no comment' is journalist-speak for 'try harder.'" He paused, studying her reflection. "Though you don't seem like the pushy type."

"Maybe I'm just better at playing the long game." The corner of her mouth quirked up, and she turned to face him properly. "Besides, the real story usually isn't found in ambushing someone at a bar."

"Exactly." He found himself leaning against the bar, angling toward her. There was something about her that made him want to keep talking. "Like this blog post that went viral this week. Everyone's got an opinion about who I am, what I did wrong, but—" He stopped himself, shaking his head. "Sorry, you probably haven't even seen it."

She hummed noncommittally, that almost-smile playing on her lips again. "I might have caught it. Though I tend to be more interested in the stories that don't make headlines."

"Like what?"

"Like why a professional hockey player spends his injury rehab teaching kids to skate in Harlem instead of lounging on some beach somewhere."

Jack blinked, caught off guard. He'd been careful about keeping that quiet. "How did you—"

"Just someone who pays attention," she said, gathering her clutch. "The real story isn't always the loudest one, is it?"

Before Jack could process what she meant, Luke's voice carried across the room. "Jack! Mom says get back here. Speech time!"

The woman in black slid off her barstool with practiced grace. "Sounds like you're needed elsewhere."

"Wait," Jack said, suddenly not wanting her to disappear into the crowd. "I didn't catch your name."

"Y/N," she offered, and for a moment, her smile was full and genuine. "Good luck with your speech, Jack.”

She moved past him, the subtle scent of her perfume lingering. Jack found himself watching her weave through the crowd, his mind replaying their conversation. There had been something different about her – the way she'd asked questions without really asking them, how she'd known about his volunteer work but hadn't tried to use it against him like Rebekah would have.

"Dude." Luke appeared at his elbow, poking him in the ribs. "Stop staring into space. Mom's going to kill us both if you're late for your own award."

"Yeah, yeah, I'm coming." Jack followed his brother back to their table, but his eyes kept scanning the crowd. He spotted her finally, sliding into a seat near the back beside another woman in black. As if sensing his gaze, she glanced up, raising her cosmopolitan in a small salute.

For the first time in weeks, Jack felt himself genuinely smile.

...

"...and with your continued support, we can make sure every kid who wants to play hockey has that chance, regardless of their circumstances. Thank you."

The ballroom erupted in applause. Jack's shoulders relaxed slightly – public speaking had never been his favorite part of the job, but at least this speech was about something that mattered.

Near the back of the room, Y/N leaned toward Alyssa. "We should go," she whispered, gathering her clutch. "We're not gonna get anything else tonight."

Alyssa nodded, already standing. "At least the champagne was good."

They slipped out as the crowd continued clapping, their heels clicking against the marble floors of The Plaza's ornate lobby. Y/N's mind was already spinning with how she'd write this up – not the puff piece everyone would expect, but something different. Something true.

"Y/N!"

The call echoed through the lobby, making her freeze mid-step. That voice – she'd just been listening to it give a speech about youth hockey programs and second chances.

She turned slowly, Alyssa's hand gripping her arm in surprise. Jack Hughes was jogging toward them, bow tie slightly askew, still slightly breathless from his speech. His hair was ruffled like he'd been running his hands through it, and there was a slight flush to his cheeks that hadn't been there at the bar.

"I—" he started, then seemed to realize he was still slightly out of breath. His hand came up to rest gently on her bare arm, the touch surprisingly warm. "Hey."

Y/N's eyebrows rose. "Hey yourself. Shouldn't you be back there accepting congratulations?"

He waved his free hand dismissively, though he didn't move the one on her arm. "They'll survive without me for a few minutes." His ice-blue eyes darted between her and Alyssa, a mix of nervousness and determination crossing his features. "You should come out with us. Both of you," he added quickly, offering Alyssa a genuine smile. "My teammates are headed to this bar just down the street. Nothing fancy, just... drinks. And conversation."

The way he said 'conversation' made Y/N's pulse quicken. There was weight behind it, meaning she couldn't quite decipher.

"I don't know," she started, but Alyssa cut her off.

"We'd love to," her supposed best friend said, ignoring Y/N's sharp look. "Lead the way, Hughes."

Jack's face broke into a grin that transformed his entire appearance. Gone was the serious hockey player from the podium, replaced by something younger, lighter. "Great! I just need to grab Luke and dodge my parents." He squeezed Y/N's arm gently before letting go. "Don't leave, okay? Five minutes, tops."

He was already backing away, that grin still in place. "Wait for me," he called out, just before turning.

Y/N waited until he was out of earshot before turning to Alyssa. "What are you doing?"

"Getting you the real story," Alyssa smirked, already typing on her phone. "Isn't that what you wanted?"

Y/N opened her mouth to argue, then closed it. She thought about Jack's smile, the warmth of his hand on her arm, the way he'd said 'conversation' like he was offering something more than just drinks and small talk.

"Five minutes," she conceded, trying not to smile at Alyssa's triumphant expression. "But if this backfires, I'm blaming you."

"Honey," Alyssa linked their arms, steering them toward the bar's entrance. "Something tells me this is going to be the best story you've ever written."

...

The bass thrummed through Y/N's bones as they approached the club, the line wrapping around the building like a snake. Jack stayed close to her side, his presence warm and solid as they bypassed the queue entirely.

"Mr. Hughes," the security guard nodded, unhooking the velvet rope without hesitation. "Welcome back."

Inside, bodies packed the dance floor, but Jack navigated them through the crowd with practiced ease. His hand ghosted over Y/N's lower back, guiding her through the maze of people until they reached a raised section cordoned off with another rope. Several men Y/N recognized from hockey highlights were sprawled across the plush booths, drinks already flowing.

"Look who finally made it!" Luke called out, now free of his bow tie and jacket. "We were starting to think Mom trapped you in conversation with the Vanderbilts again."

"Barely escaped," Jack laughed, helping Y/N up the small steps before following. "Everyone, this is Y/N and Alyssa."

The team welcomed them warmly, shuffling to make space. Y/N found herself wedged between Jack and the booth's arm, hyperaware of every point where their bodies touched. Her notebook felt like it was burning a hole in her clutch.

"I'm telling you," one of the players – Miller, according to his heated gesture at his teammate – was saying, "game seven, '94 Finals. Best hockey game ever played."

"You weren't even born yet!" Another player – Thompson – argued back. "2010 Olympics, Canada versus USA. That's peak hockey right there."

"You're both wrong," Luke interjected, leaning forward. "2018 World Juniors, outdoor game. Nothing beats playing in actual snow."

"That's because you scored the winning goal, you biased little shit," Jack laughed, his arm sliding naturally along the booth behind Y/N. The movement brought him closer, his cologne mixing with the lingering scent of his aftershave.

"What about you?" he asked, turning those blue eyes on her. "You follow hockey long?"

"My dad used to play," she found herself saying truthfully. "Nothing professional, just beer league, but he loved it. Taught me to skate before I could walk."

Something in Jack's expression softened. "Mine too. Well, him and my mom..." He shifted, angling toward her more fully. "It's different now though, isn't it? The pressure. Everyone watching, waiting for you to mess up. Luke and Quinn, they get it, but we're barely home at the same time anymore. Summer's all we got, really. And even then..." He trailed off, vulnerability flickering across his features in the dim light.

Y/N's chest tightened. This wasn't the cocky player from the tabloids or the bitter ex-boyfriend from Serena's story. This was just... Jack. Raw and real and trusting her with pieces of himself she had no right to.

"I need a drink," she blurted, already sliding out of the booth. "Excuse me."

She practically fled to the bar, gripping the edge of it when she reached it. "Whiskey sour," she managed when the bartender looked her way. "Strong."

"Oh my god, Y/N!"

She turned to find Rebekah Chen stumbling slightly, clearly several drinks in. Her red dress was slightly askew, her lipstick smudged at one corner.

"Is Jack here?!" Rebekah's voice pitched high with excitement.

"No," Y/N said firmly, accepting her drink from the bartender. "He's not."

"Ugh." Rebekah deflated, then perked up again almost instantly. "But oh my god, you'll never believe what Serena told me about him." She leaned in conspiratorially, alcohol heavy on her breath. "He's a total player. Like, major cheater. She said he was always sliding into girls' DMs when they were together, coming to places like this..." She gestured around the club. "Getting with random girls behind her back."

Y/N's eyes widened despite herself. The Jack she'd just left didn't seem capable of that kind of betrayal, but...

"Yeah!" Rebekah pressed on, encouraged by Y/N's reaction. "Serena has receipts too. Screenshots, dates, everything. She's just waiting for the right moment to release them." She swayed slightly. "Guess the golden boy isn't so golden after all, right?"

Y/N's drink suddenly felt heavy in her hand. Behind her, she could hear Jack's laugh carrying over the music, warm and genuine. She thought about how carefully he'd helped her through the crowd, how softly he'd spoken about his brothers.

How absolutely screwed she was if she was starting to believe in him.

...

Tag List <3

message me to be added!

[blossomingmoonlight]

⭑ Separate Worlds, Chapter One ⭑

Series Masterlist

Pairing: Michael Gavey x Popular!rich!reader

A/N: It took a while as I wanted to write some chapters ahead but the first part of my first longer fanfiction is here! Please give me feedback I need to know if it's any good :)

Summary: Living two completely separate lives you and Michael had never really crossed paths and you’ve never really looked at him before. But when your worlds collide, affections arise.

Word count: 1.8k

Wednesday, October 12th 2006

The sound of rain hitting your thin single paned window woke you from your usual noon nap. Waking up with a groan, you checked your watch. A beautiful watch from Cartier, one you’ve always wanted. Another gift from your beloved father, who would rather send you gifts to apologise than actually say the words. He would once again miss your birthday, this year he would fly to Turkey, for a 'very important business trip'. 

You didn’t even care where the fucker would run away to this time, he’d do anything to get away from your mum, and from your family. Anytime you would meet someone and tell them your name they’d immediately perk up, your family was quite an old one and when the first cars were invented your ancestor was there, right with Benz himself. In current day your father ran the family company, manufacturing and transporting cars all over the world, and soon your brother would join him.

You never had much of a thing for cars, but luckily for you your older brother did. He wasn’t going to be there either though. He was accepted into Harvard, and was currently studying abroad in America. A loud knock fully awakened you and you rose from your bed, you were so tired you didn’t even change into comfier clothes, you just napped in your cute fall outfit of the day instead. 

Opening the door, Farleigh almost immediately bursted into your room. He seemed angry, but he usually was. You met him in your first year, of course upon hearing your name called on in a lecture, he partnered up with you after class. So your first project was with him, he was nice enough but sometimes he could be really annoying and above himself. 

You took a deep breath as Farleigh made himself comfortable in your bed, you did not have the energy to tell him to sit on the couch instead so you silently joined him, waiting for him to start his rant. “So? What happened?” You asked, since he was still moping on your bed in silence. “That fucking rat Oliver! He lends his bike to Felix ONCE and now they’re besties! He is literally a dirt poor cunt that has no personality or anything interesting about him!” 

Great so that’s what this was going to be. “Christ Far, what did he do?” You had to hold back a chuckle, you felt bad for him but when Farleigh was mad he made this really funny face. “Don’t fucking laugh! It’s not funny! You know how Felix and I were going to go to that new coffee place that just opened, and you and Eloise were going to join us after your maths class? Well fuck that apparently! Because Felix just messaged me that Oliver and him are doing an assignment together and he had to cancel!”

“Don’t get me wrong Far, that really sucks but if it’s for school I don’t really-” He cut you off before you could even explain yourself. “The fucking assignment is not until next monday! It’s wednesday for fucks sake!” You so did not have energy for this. “Okay Far, please calm down, if you do think that Oliver is doing it on purpose the last thing you want is to give him the satisfaction of pissing you off. Just stay calm about this and we’ll ask if Maisie is free this afternoon to join us.” 

Farleigh seemed to cool off and now instead looked a bit embarrassed. “Yeah, yeah you’re right. Sorry for barging in like this, didn’t mean to wake you. I’ll message Maisie then, grab a coffee with me? As an apology for waking you up?” You gave him a smile and nodded. “Let’s drink it in the library, it’ll be so cosy with the rain and I need to finish some homework really quick before maths today. Should I message Eloise if she wants in?”

“Yeah sounds good, put on your shoes and let's go!” Farleigh was all back to his normal energised self again and you did as he said. Eloise replied that she would join you later. You and Farleigh jogged to the library, him with your coffee’s and you trying to hold the umbrella over both of your heads. Both of you couldn’t help but giggle as Farleigh almost spilled the coffee at the entrance, while you shook off the umbrella. 

You both strolled in and walked over to a free table in the back, with a big beautiful window that showed the autumn weather outside. Farleigh slid over your iced coffee to you while he drank his hot cappuccino with way too much sugar. Farleigh grabbed his laptop to work on some essay he had due tonight and you grabbed your maths homework. After about thirty minutes of work, you both couldn’t help but talk about Eloise’s new boyfriend. 

A loud snort accidently left your lips when Farleigh imitated the poor boy's smile, which was all teeth and kind of creepy, when you flinched at the sight of a guy peering at the two of you behind a bookshelf. Farleigh’s brow furrowed and he turned to see what you were looking at behind him. Once he saw the guy he turned back to you and mouthed ‘what the fuck?’ which made you laugh again.

This seemed to be the final straw for the guy and he walked over. “Could the two of you shut up. You do realise that this is a library? People are trying to actually study.” The guy sneered. You looked at him with wide eyes, where had you seen him before? He didn’t seem like the guy to take literature…also not any of your other classes- oh… Maths. You definitely saw him there. 

You’ve never really looked at him before. He was quite handsome if you took away the classes, khaki pants, tucked in blouse and the keys hanging from his belt, not bad. Farleigh spoke up before you could apologise. “Aren't you the guy who screamed at Oliver during O week?” He looked at the guy with an expression you knew all too well, he was about to rip this guy a new one. And of course the poor guy’s face goes red as a tomato. 

You felt bad and gave Farleigh a look, anything to stop this awful moment. Luckily Farleigh gave it a rest and the guy opened his mouth to say something, but stopped himself. He walked away instead. “What the actual fuck was that.” You laughed, the whole interaction was absurd. “I have no idea- Oh, El just messaged me. She is… on her way and will be here soon.” Farleigh read as he scanned his eyes over his phone. 

“Good, but don’t make that face again in front of her. It’ll only start something between the two of you." Then your eyes noticed something, the guy from just now, sitting all alone, fervently writing down notes. Hm, kind of sad. Only five minutes later did Eloise stumble into the library, dripping wet, with her books under her coat. “Fuck me, that rain is just getting worse.” She said a little loudly as she dropped her books on the table. Earning a look from that guy from before.

“You don’t have an umbrella?” Farleigh chuckled. “No I don’t, who remembers to bring an umbrella to uni?” She scoffed. You raised your brows and smiled at Farleigh. He laughed and Eloise sat down, copying some of your already finished homework. “Hurry up, we only have ten minutes until maths start.” 

“Yeah yeah I’ll be quick. I can easily do this in five and then we be there ‘bout three minutes before, that’s plenty of time.” You rolled your eyes and watched as Eloise hurriedly scrabbled on the paper. When she was done, Farleigh went back to his dorm to watch a movie, while you and Eloise headed the other way to maths, laughing when she saw you open the umbrella for the two of you. 

Eloise always preferred to sit in the back, so that’s where you went. Felix and Oliver were already there. To be honest you didn’t know if you liked Oliver just yet, he hadn’t been around for long but you just got weird vibes from him. But if Felix liked you that’s all it takes to ‘get in’. You hadn’t realised when you were walking in front of Eloise that you would be seated right next to Felix. 

You didn’t mind him, but he had this sort of weird thing with girls. As if he needed to prove to himself that he could get anyone, except for you. You had no interest in him, you were more the type to have a friendship and deep connection with someone rather than hooking up. But that was exactly what Felix was, a quick fuck. You gave him an awkward smile when he grinned at you, and a small nod from Oliver. 

Time for small talk was impossible as your professor already cleared his throat, silencing the hall. But for some reason your eyes were scanning the room. That kind of looked like- oh, nope not him. He kind of looks similar- also not him, oh, there he is. All the way to the bottom left. You instantly recognised that nose, that jaw, his soft blonde hair and beautiful blue eyes- okay, that was a lot. You had no idea what overcame you but you would definitely be thinking about him later, when you were alone. And it was the daydreams of him that got you through the boring lecture.

Thursday, October 13th 2006

‘Saying what you gon’ do to me’ ‘But I ain’t seen nothing’ ‘Typical ain’t hardly the type I fall for’ ‘I like when the physical-’ You were so engrossed in the song coming from your headphones that you bumped into someone. Oh god- it was him. “Oh my god, I’m so sorry!” You said as you ripped your headphones out of your ears. “Whatever.” He mumbled, about to just step around you and move along into the building but you stopped him, grabbing his arm. Which made him turn around and look at you surprised. 

“I’m so sorry about yesterday, I wanted to apologise then, but Farleigh can be so rude.” You smiled. He didn’t respond but looked at your hand on his arm instead, which you then quickly let go. “Uhm, what’s your name?” His mouth was slightly opened as he stumbled out, “M-Michael Gavey.” He stuck out his hand and you shook it as you told him your name. “Nice to meet you Michael, and again so sorry about yesterday.” He only nodded and then walked away. You subconsciously smiled and put your headphones back in, heading to your next lecture of the day.

[cirtusmistress]

Hurricane

Authors Note: I wrote this about two years ago and posted it to AO3, and never cross-posted it to Tumblr. But given I want to get back into writing, I may as well start by posting what I got! So enjoy my first fic, two years late.

Ship ~ Brahms Heelshire x GN Reader

Tags ~ Comfort, Canon-Typical Violence, Reader is Competent, Storm prep, Brahms is Scared of Storms, Touch-Starved Brahms Heelshire, Reader Replaces Greta Evans, Minor Injuries, Doll Brahms Heelshire, One Shot, Gender-Neutral Pronouns

AO3 Crosspost

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“A storm? Like, a thunderstorm? Or is it worse?” You asked. You’d been working for the Heelshire’s for around two months now. And though they’d left you with very detailed instructions on how to care for their beloved son, they had never brought up things such as house care. Honestly, you hadn’t planned on staying this long. Not into Autumn.

“A full on hurricane.” Malcolm answered, setting the last of the grocery bags down. He continued, “The worst one we’ve had in years apparently. They’re predicting outages and downed trees. I can help you secure the windows and doors if you’d like?” He offered. A sweet gesture. An olive branch of friendship. But you knew better than to take it.

During your short time at the Heelshire estate, and caring for Brahms, you’d learned a great many things. The most crucial being that whenever someone stayed around too long and stole your attention away from the doll you cared for, there was hell to pay. In one instance you found the dining room in complete disarray after simply inviting Malcolm in for tea, during a rare social moment for you. The worst case was when a friend of yours stopped by. They were a globetrotter, and seeing as you already had residence found it simpler to just stay with you. A mistake. One night was enough to send Brahms into the worst tantrum you’d ever seen. Multiple rooms destroyed, a window had been broken, and he had stolen your friend's passport. Your friendship didn’t last long after that. After all, who was to believe that a doll could cause so much harm?

“Thank you, Malcolm, but I’ll be fine. I’ve dealt with a few storms in my life, I’ll manage.” You replied. Malcolm studied you for a moment. Likely trying to read you, sniff out any signs of dishonesty. But, there were none. Just that warm smile that could melt anyone's heart. He gave a sigh of defeat and nodded.

“If you say so. Just give me a call if you need anything. I’ll come check on you when the hurricane passes.” With that he gave you a wave and headed back to his truck. You muttered a soft thanks, finally returning to your chores.

Brahms sat in the kitchen where he’d been waiting. Like he was listening to your conversation. You’d grown used to this odd job of yours. Caring for a doll as if it were human. Though you’d always figured there was more to this situation then most believed. You’d heard of people using dolls to cope with loss, the concept wasn’t lost on you. But for a couple well into their later years? And there were just.. Too many small things. Even in the rules. Playing music loud, reading in a loud clear voice, leaving food in the freezer. Food which you knew was going missing.

But the biggest tell was an accident. It had been about a month into the job. You’d actually begun to believe Brahms was a child's spirit trapped in the doll. What with him moving around on his own, and leaving you little offerings, and once saying your goddamn name when he was upset. But then, just by accident as you were putting Brahms to bed, you hit your foot against the wall. It had hurt so badly you thought you’d broken a toe. But what stood out in your mind even now was the sound the wall made. It didn’t make the thud you knew from stubbing your toe time and time again in youth. The wall sounded hollow. There had been an echo. Now you knew some older houses had hollow walls. Normally the cavities between the two layers were used for insulation. But that echo.. That wasn’t a normal hollow wall.

After that you’d started paying closer attention to the house and Brahms as you went about your day. Watching and listening. Countless nights where you’d lay in bed and just listen. You’d hear shuffling, the rare footstep like someone had stumbled. Once you swore you heard breathing. You noticed how many rooms had large paintings or cabinets, your size or larger. For a while you thought you were going mad. There was no way in hell that an elderly couple had been keeping their son in the walls for twenty years. But then you learned of the Heelshire’s deaths. Suicides. So many things pointing to something you didn’t quite know how to feel about. On one hand, you were now basically the sole guardian of a doll who was actually a stand-in for the hypothetical twenty-eight year old man in the walls. On the other, Brahms was now completely alone after twenty years of isolation. Alone, save for you. Sweet, kind, loving you who treated a porcelain doll like a real boy. Who read to him every night and tucked him in with a kiss. You couldn’t just leave him. No matter what Brahms was.

“We’re in for a storm, Brahms. I guess that means we’re having a slumber party downstairs tonight.” You cortled, putting the last of the groceries away. You took note of how little perishables Malcolm had dropped off. Thinking ahead. You wouldn’t be able to cook for however long the power was gone, if it did go that was.

You turned back to the doll, scooping him up and taking him with you. You figured the downstairs office would be the safest place. The windows were relatively small and were less likely to break. It would do for your purposes. You sat Brahms in the corner and got to work moving the desk out of the way. You’d have to lay down blankets and things to sleep on. You doubted the old fashioned Heelshire’s were going to have something like an air mattress.

You spent a good hour doing basic storm prep. Dragging some old blankets and comforters out of wardrobes and laying them down on the floor. Filling up buckets and the tubs with water. Getting crossword puzzles and cards. By the time that was all done, it had begun to rain outside. The calm before the storm you supposed. The last thing on your storm checklist was lanterns. This was an old house, you were certain that the Heelshire’s would have oil lamps somewhere. Naturally the first place you wanted to check was the attic.. But you knew better. After all, if your theory was right you didn’t want to scare the poor man by invading his space. So you settled on checking the cellar first.

Only issue was, you really couldn’t bring Brahms. You knew he was never meant to be alone but taking a fragile doll into a dark cellar was too risky. He’d have to stay upstairs. You were hoping he wouldn’t be too upset.

“Brahms, I’m headed to the cellar. I’ll be quick, I promise.” You hummed. With that, you headed down alone. You had been right, it was dark and musty and damp. You started to wonder if there was mold down here. You flicked on the old dingy light which surprisingly still worked. You began digging through the clutter. Old things like furniture, clothes never worn since the sixties, even some art pieces. It was like a time capsule. You didn’t have time to walk through history though, you needed to find anything that could give light without the use of electricity. Lower and lower you went through the piles, until finally you found something. A pair of old oil lamps and a small can of oil to go with it. You muttered a soft thanks, pulling them out from beneath wicker chairs. But what was behind them gave you pause.

The bricks were singed. Dark burn marks that showed age. Your eyes followed the marks. The furniture in here had covered them, but now they were exposed after your rummaging. They flowed over the bricks going upwards. They almost looked beautiful. But that beauty hid a tragedy that plagued this home. You knew why they’d been hidden with so much clutter.

Your thoughts were interrupted when something crashed behind you, making you scream and jump. When you turned you saw one of the mirrored vanities stored away had been smashed. The mirror shards now littered the floor. And on the steps sat the Brahms doll, staring you down. It took you a moment to catch your breath, realizing your error. Brahms didn’t want you uncovering his painful memories. And he’d made sure you knew that. Gathering yourself, you pushed the lamps aside and began to put all that you’d moved back into its place. Covering those painful memories back up, letting them remain hidden and forgotten. Once finished you picked the lamps and the can up and approached Brahms. Kneeling to his height you gave an apologetic smile.

“I’m sorry Brahms,” you spoke with such a genuine tone of sincerity, “I shouldn’t have snooped around. But look! I found the lamps we’ll need!” You held up the lamps, jostling them a little so they clinked together. Of course the doll remained frozen. But just faintly, almost missable under the sound of rain pouring down, you heard panting. Like someone coming down from a rage.

“I’ll clean up the shards, then we’ll head back upstairs, okay?” You’d started speaking to Brahms out loud more after you’d learned about the walls. Feeding your own delusions some would say. You held your word, starting to pick up the larger shards and resting them on top of the vanity. The smaller ones you just brushed away with some loose fabric you found. You didn’t really plan on coming back down here anyways, not after that outburst.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You always found time moves slower when there was a storm. The day seemed to drag on as the storm became worse and worse. The wind had picked up and those raindrops just kept getting larger. It was loud, even on the bottom floor. You had settled on just simple sandwiches for dinner, making sure to put a ‘spare’ in the freezer. And after that you’d just settled in to do a crossword. It was.. Probably the first time in weeks where you felt safe. There was something about the dim lighting and blankets that just felt right. Secure. Warm. Brahms sat under the covers and you’d even given him a crossword book of his own. Slightly cruel, knowing he couldn’t move with you there with him. But at least you’d been talking to him. Funny, you always struggled talking with real people. But this doll turned you into a chatterbox. Maybe it was the simple fact no one was attempting to speak over you. Like someone was actually listening.

Your tranquility was disrupted by a large gust of wind, followed by a crash that made the manor shake. And what sounded like a scream. It had come from upstairs. Something inside you just knew. That crash was in the attic. You were running upstairs before you even had time to think. Up the stairs, and finding the attic ladder down. You were unsure if it had come undone itself or if someone had moved it. That didn’t matter as you climbed up. It was your first time in the attic but you didn’t get a chance to explore. A branch had flown off a tree and crashed through the wall, opening it up to the elements. You could only act, no time for clear thoughts. You grabbed a nearby blanket and started to desperately try to cover the hole, but another gale blew you back. There was nothing you could do to patch it right now, not unless you wanted to risk injury or worse, death.

Your rattled mind returned to the scream you had heard. Or at least you thought you had heard. Looking around you didn’t see a body but there was a bed up here. A tv, a sink.. Someone was living here. You didn’t have time to celebrate your theory being proven. Where was Brahms? Your eyes flitted around, finally landing back on the ladder. Somehow you had missed the very clear bloody handprint on it during your panic. But if Brahms was bleeding.. Oh God, how badly was he injured? Quickly you descended the steps, trying to find any sign of him. You were too panicked to even fear this man who was hiding from you for so long. All you knew somewhere in this house he was hurt and bleeding.

“Brahms?” You called, starting to check every room. Could he have climbed back into the walls? Fearing you discovering him? You checked everything on the top floor and worked down, calling his name in a more desperate tone with each exclamation. But finally you found him. Turning the corner back into the downstairs study. There he sat, in place of the doll. It wasn’t what you expected to see. The mask was shocking at first glance. You were momentarily stun locked. He was bigger than you anticipated, even sitting down. Finally you snapped out of it when he looked at you, and held out his bleeding hand. It had a sizable gash across the palm.

“It hurts,” He spoke in a child-like voice. The voice you’d heard months ago. His head drooped a touch as he spoke, “Can you fix it?” He asked. Finally, after another beat, you nodded. Your mouth felt dry. Too dry to speak. In the kitchen you found the first aid, and took it back with you. He hadn’t moved from his place on the makeshift bed. You knelt beside him, and carefully took his hand in yours. Up close you could see the burn scars that ran along his entire right side. Suddenly his outburst in the cellar made much more sense.. Carefully you applied some rubbing alcohol to the cut. That made Brahms whimper and pull his hand back. The look in his eyes behind that mask was murderous.

“I’m sorry, Brahms, but I have to.. To clean it.” You choke out. Your mouth is still far too dry. You hold your hand out for his again, giving him those warm eyes again. He would trust you wouldn’t he? After all, you had been the one to care for him all this time. He looked at your hand, then back to your face. For a moment Brahms almost seemed entranced by your eyes before conceding and resting his hand back in yours.

“Good boy..” You said, starting to clean the wound. He made a noise akin to that of a moan at your praise. You supposed you were the first person to touch him or give him praise in years. He was likely touch starved. Once the cut was clean, you grabbed the bandages and began to wrap his hand. He kept watching you. His breath was heavy behind that mask.

Finally you were done, and you let his hand go. Brahms examined your work, how carefully you’d wrapped him, and the cute little bow you’d tied it off with. As he studied his hand, you studied him. Despite the childish voice he put on, he was very much an adult. You could see his beard poking out from beneath the porcelain. He was actually rather handsome, you’d admit. The rain picked up again, and the lights began flickering. Brahms jumped and quickly moved closer to you. Before you knew it his head was hiding in your lap. Apparently he was afraid of the storm. Made sense, it had attacked him after all. Carefully you began to stroke his hair in an attempt to soothe him.

“We’ll be okay. Just a little wind and rain, that’s all. Maybe we can play cards? Or I can tell you a story?” You offered. Just trying to find anything to distract him from the weather outside damaging his home. Slowly he nodded, not lifting his head from your waist. Actually his grip seemed to grow tighter. You could feel him inhaling a little too deeply, and his hands started to squeeze your thighs as he held tight. You felt bad thinking how unsurprised that made you. But he had lived in the walls for twenty years.. And you were likely the first person he’d had stick around.

You settled back on to the makeshift mattress, Brahms never letting you go. He shuffled up a bit, so his face was resting against your chest. You kept stroking his hair, picking your brain for a story to tell. Something romantic as you had a wild feeling that was right up his alley. You recounted the story of Pride and Prejudice, not skipping any details of the classic story. Brahms seemed all too enthralled by the tale. He even began to kick his feet in the air when you recounted the climax between Elizabeth and the beloved Mr.Darcy. Just before you could finish though, the lights finally gave out. Brahms tensed up against you and again hugged you tight against him. You let out a wheeze. You needed to get the lamps but he seemed content just smothering you until the lights came back themselves. Finally you managed to sit up as he continued to cling like a baby koala.

“Brahms, sweetheart, I need to light the lamps.” You manage to get out. But that seems to make his grip tighter. He shakes his head, face pulling your shirt back and forth.

“No. No lamps. I don’t want any fire in the house.” He whimpered. Your heart broke a little. That night seemed to have never left Brahms.. You stroked his back soothingly before trailing your hands to cup his cheeks.

“Brahms, we need light. It’ll be okay, I can work an oil lamp-” You were cut off as Brahms slammed you back down against the floor. Even with the cushioning it knocked the air from your lungs. Your hands fell from his face beside yourself as his own gripped your shoulders.

“No fire in the house. Never again.” His voice was no longer that high falsetto. Instead it was deep, aggressive. He sounded his age. You gasped for air, before nodding. Tears had pricked your eyes. You felt a twinge of guilt as you questioned whether or not he’d hurt you.

Finally you found your voice again, “Okay Brahms. No lamps, I promise. Do you want another story?” You asked in a feeble attempt to calm him back down. Lucky for you it seemed to work. Brahms grip on your shoulders loosened, and he returned his head to your chest. He nodded and urged you on to tell your story.

A shaky sigh escaped you. You thanked your lucky stars that you could calm him so easily. As you began telling another story, the rain and wind outside crashed into the manor. You knew Brahms would never harm you. Not you. Not his caretaker. But you began to wonder. How long would this storm last? Suddenly, in the dark, the room no longer felt secure.

[katerinaaqu]

The Death of Odysseus

So...I decided to chop myself some onions today! This idea was in my head quite some time! I am planning a Part 2 of this but I believe this can also stand on its own! As the title says...

Telemachus was marching across the hall slowly and steadily while supporting the body of his old father. Surely the celebrations for the harvest were going very well and people were having fun but the new King of the Cephallinians had to excuse himself to escort his father to his chambers, for he had apparently drunk more than what he should have and needed his rest. He didn’t mind that little break. Telemachus was never fond of huge crowds anyways and he liked some quiet and solitude. Ever since his father finally came back home after his redemption trip he often spent more time with him than with the servants! He had so much catch up to do with him and so much to talk about and learn from him! As the years passed and Telemachus finally grew old and experienced enough to become king at his own accord, Odysseus gave the throne to him, just like his father before him had also done, and he promised to support him. For Odysseus himself, his life seemed to have been completed with happiness. After his son got married and he brought to this world his beloved grandson, Perseptolis, whom he named after the family tradition himself, his happiness was completed. He had nothing more to expect. He felt his heart was filled with happiness and calmness after a lifetime of worries, torture and ordeals! His son had grown, he was doing a marvelous job as a king, and his grandson was strong and healthy, growing every day! What else could he ask for! Odysseus was already 79 years old, just a few hours away of his 80th birthday. Age was taking over his body pretty fast, especially given the ordeals he had gone through; his bones were often complaining, his arms and fingers often suffered from stiffness and pain, especially when the nights were humid and cold but Odysseus welcomed that pain with happiness. He had grown old when so many others wouldn’t even dream of and he was generally healthy; he still had all of his teeth and most of his hair and his wits were sharp as always, not deteriorating by age. He would praise Athena every day of his life for this. Somehow he would hate to become an imbecile with age, or so he used to say, he would hate to become a burden to his son especially given the sorrows he had given him unintentionally all these years back. Telemachus chuckled as he fixed his staggering father onto his body better.

“Now, now, father!” he said playfully, “I swear to gods, the older you get the more like a child you act!”

Odysseus chuckled.

“Well, my son, I am now old man, I have no responsibilities anymore other than catering to my family’s garden and play with your son and dear grandson of mine; gods bless him! I believe I earned myself the privilege to act so!”

Telemachus rolled his eyes.

“Even so, you shouldn’t have drunk so much! In your age you should watch your health better!”

Odysseus once again chuckled and made a dismissive move with his hand.

“Oh well…” he said nonchalant, “Wine is one of the few pleasures I have left in this miserable world at my age, my son!”

“Oh, father!” Telemachus scoffed, “Come on now!”

“Either way!” Odysseus shrugged, “This year’s brew was just too good to resist! And you did very good job selecting it and choosing the perfect time for the sea water to be mixed in it! You made it hard to resist!”

“Father! You’re unbelievable!”

“Part of my charm, I’m sure!”

Telemachus couldn’t help himself chuckle softly as he led his father to his bed chamber, to his beloved olive bed. Initially Odysseus had given that as a wedding chamber to his son and his daughter-in-law but for the past few months Odysseus had made this request if he could live his last days in that room where he gave life to this family, where he used to share with his mother his nights and early mornings. Odysseus was devastated when Penelope died. He mourned her for weeks. However Telemachus saw also how calmly he took it. They both grew old and finally enjoyed their lives. That last tribute of Odysseus closing her eyes seemed simply to close that circle. Odysseus mourned but he didn’t despair. He greeted her death like an old friend and thanked all gods that it found his wife healthy and happy and that she died peacefully in her sleep. Penelope had also requested that she were to be transferred to her old bed a little before she died; this was where she had left her last breath. Therefore, after Odysseus made the same request, Telemachus feared his father had sensed his own death coming, thus making him even more careful and worried of him. His father was dismissive of it, of course, and in a way he was right; he wouldn’t be around forever, but to Telemachus the news of losing his father were too sad, too scary to comprehend even if it was the most normal thing in the world. Either way he now led his father to his bed, slowly and steadily and assisted him to it. Odysseus sighed in relief as he was placed upon the mattress and assisted out of his sandals by his son. His son often did this; he attended to him himself, not asking the servants to do things like this. It was as if he was trying to make up the lost time. He breathed deeply again as the bed sheets were paced above his body as well as a blanket his wife had loomed for him; his favorite. It pictured an intricate pattern of olive branches, moly flowers and waves circling a ship that roamed close to a mountain-like island. The ship had three figures standing on them embracing. Penelope had spent months on this blanket and she had given to him as a gift a few years before when he was complaining for the pains in his body from the cold. His father could hardly part with it lately. He even jokingly (or perhaps not so much) said that he wanted this blanket to be his funeral shroud, covering the sheet.

“Is it comfortable?” Telemachus asked

“Yes, thank you…” Odysseus whispered

His hand slowly touched Telemachus’s cheek, feeling the black, curly, bushy beard covering it along with his warm flesh. He smiled affectionately with moist, onyx-black eyes, perceiving those blue eyes of his wife’s to him. Yes, Telemachus was their pride and joy. He took the best out of both of them! He had his strength, his resilience and he had taken his mother’s eyes, her kindness…her wisdom… Yes, Odysseus was proud of what they had done. This pride was exceeding any of the labors he performed in any war; any praise he ever received in his life seemed insignificant before this result he had before him…

“You go back to the celebrations, my son…” he whispered affectionately, “Go back and have fun…don’t spend the rest of the night here with your old father… I will be fine…”

Telemachus scoffed softly, feeling strangely emotional. For some reason his own eyes felt almost watery.

“You silly old man!” he whispered cupping his father’s hand on his cheek with his own, “Anyways, are you sure you are okay? I can ring for someone to come and attend to you”

“Positive…” Odysseus whispered, “I am fine. I will just sleep. I am really tired”

Telemachus shook his head defeated.

“Fine, but please do not hesitate to call if you need anything”

He stood up to leave.

“Telemachus”

Odysseus’s hand holding his wrist made him stop. He turned to look at the old, white-haired figure of his father’s.

“Thank you…” the tormented king whispered, “…For everything…”

Telemachus half-chuckled, again not sure why he was so emotional all of the sudden. Perhaps he too had more to drink than he should have and it affected him.

“What?” he asked, “That sounded almost like a goodbye…”

Odysseus smiled. His smile was calm and his eyes were glistering in the moonlight.

“What an idea!” he whispered, “There is much life left in these old bones! I buried many much younger than me! I have plenty of years ahead of me!”

Telemachus chuckled.

“Rest well, old man” he whispered and kissed his father’s brow

Odysseus could only nod as he watched his pride and joy, his son who grew strong and healthy, leave the wedding chamber where he was born into, with his crimson cape waving behind him. He smiled as he was alone in the moonlit room…his eyes shedding two tears.

He knew it was a lie.

It was the last, white lie Odysseus of Ithaca was to say…his last goodbye to this world and he wanted to see them off all smiling and celebrating. He didn’t want his last memory to be of his son crying or closing his eyes. This was the last task he had to do himself; alone. He didn’t have much time left and he knew it…and yet he felt calm. He had fulfilled his purpose. There was nothing else for him… He was happy.

*

He was breathing heavily. His large chest (not as muscular as it used to be) was moving up and down with each breath. He looked up at the canopy of olive branches and smiled. His eyes then moved to the side, to the window that had a clear view of the sea… His eyes filled with tears but these tears wouldn’t shed.

“Death will find you at ripe old age…peacefully…away from the sea…or by its salt huh…?” he whispered chanting the words of Tiresias

Death was something he considered so many times in his life; both with aversion and fear as well as with wishful thinking. Now he felt calm. He could hardly understand how he had survived so long; how he lived longer than many other men of his time; longer than his beloved Penelope… Now he knew it was his time drawing near… There in his favorite bed, under his olive tree…looking at the sea that gave him so much happiness so much adventure and so much torment… He felt calm. He closed his eyes for one second lifting away the tears that had filled his eyes.

“Odysseus…”

The unworldly and yet somehow familiar voice brought him back to reality. He opened his eyes to see that tall figure he never thought he would see again in his life; one of the few people that he wished to have met again and never did. His tall, square figure shone with incredible warm light, dressed up in a fine armor incorporating intricate patterns of feathers instead of plates. His magnificent plumed helmet brought up his dark eyes and the beard that adorned his cheeks and chin. He had a sword to his hip just like he could remember. His skin shone like golden, his long, brown curly hair neatly falling down his back under the helmet. He smiled without wanting to at that rigid figure before him.

“Diomedes!” he whispered

Diomedes smiled.

“It is I, Odysseus…indeed…”

Odysseus chuckled in delight.

“Wow…” he whispered, “I heard you bastard turned into a god by rumors but, on my word, I never expected to see it with my eyes… Gods you look the same as I remember…you haven’t changed!”

“Nothing and everything has changed…” Diomedes said in his deep, soothing voice

A god then! Odysseus didn’t know if he had to feel proud or a bit envious of him! However after years and years he spent on earth and learnt humility in the most painful ways, his envy was reduced to minimum. Diomedes deserved it, if half the stories that reached his ears about him were true. Besides who would want to live forever like this? He had people waited for him somewhere else too…

“So…” Odysseus whispered, “If you are here…that means…I am dying…right?”

“Yes…” Diomedes whispered.

That was definitely Diomedes he remembered. He never beat about the bushes and always came straight to the point.

“And you came to take me…”

“I asked Lord Hermes for the honor…yes.” Diomedes replied, “I was assigned with this task.”

“I see…”

“Are you afraid…?”

“No” the answer was simple; direct, “I have lived a long life…I have seen my son grow, I held my grandson in my hands…I nourished him too, to become a young man, I held my wife as she breathed my name one last time… I have nothing else to live for. My time would come… Death does no longer scare me. Death is not unknown to me…”

“Do you have any regrets?”

Yet another direct question. He breathed in and out once, looking upwards in thought.

“I would be a liar if I said I had none…” he finally confessed, “Many good men found death by my hand…many wicked too… I did many things I am proud of and many others I would always carry with me… The lives that fell under my command; both friends and foes alike are always present at my conscious”

“The war of Troy…”

“The war of Troy” Odysseus agreed, “Ten years we fought. Ten years we bled. Ten years we killed…and killed we did!”

“You and I especially”

“Quite so.” Odysseus agreed. “They called you ‘Lord of War Cry’; they called me ‘Sacker of Cities’… The titles would haunt us for the rest of our lives…”

“We bore them all our lives”

“Yes…we did…” he consequently scoffed, “And look at us now! You a god…and I an old man in my deathbed…who would have thought!”

“Do you want to linger a bit further…?”

Odysseus looked around once more.

“No” he replied, “I have lived everything any mortal could live. I am tired, Diomedes. Please take me now…I have nothing else to expect…”

Diomedes smiled one of his known, half-smiles. Child-soldier to the end; a man born and raised in war.

“I am to accompany you to your journey for a little while”

Odysseus smiled again.

“The journey to the Underworld is not unknown to me…I have not many surprises to expect… But I appreciate it…”

Diomedes extended his hand to him.

“It is time…” he whispered, “Time to go…”

“Yes…” Odysseus whispered, “I have one last request…”

“And what is that…?”

“Can I see my homeland one last time as I go…? Please…do not deny me this last thing…”

Diomedes smiled.

“Of course…”

Odysseus cried. He felt the last tears run down his wrinkled cheeks.

“Thank you…”

He took the hand of his old friend and closed his eyes. Once more, the much-enduring Odysseus accepted his fate… The last thing he saw before his eyelids blocked his mortal flesh eyes was the canopy of his olive bed and a tiny glimpse of the starry sky beyond…

***

My oh my what have I done indeed!!!! And be warned I was writing this while listening to this amazing piece of music from anime Tasogare Otome x Amnesia! I never manage to go through without tearing up with that one! TT-TT

So according to the prophecy of Tiresias Odysseus would die of ripe old age peacefully but ironically the translation from the phrase "εξ αλός" can be both translated "by its salt" or "away/out of its salt" so either his death would come "by the sea" or "away from the sea".

Somehow I tried once again to combine them! XD as you know me I cannot help myself. So Odysseus dies "away from the sea" in his bed at night but "by its salt" for he drank wine mixed with sea water before his death. There you go!

The age was picked so that Telemachus would be in his 40s when this happens. In a way he is at the same age as Odysseus was when he was at the final wars of Troy.

Yeah I imagined Telemachus being almost a copy of his father too apart from some more height and the eyes of Penelope (which were chosen randomly to be blue)

Tlemachus's wife is not named because the two prominient theories is either he gets married to the daughter of Nestor's or to Nausicaa. I sometimes tend to lean towards the second one solely because I find it interesting but I leave it to your imagination.

Perseptolis being named by Odysseus was part of an idea discussed with @ditoob before how the grandfather or grandmother leaves the name to the grandchildren after Autolycus names Odysseus.

And Diomedes is here!!! Imagine if these two never met so many years and meet when Odysseus dies!!! The idea was too much stuck in my head to ignore! So yes lo and behold my idea of a small dialog between them.

I hope you like it!

[apoemaday]

The Fourth Sign of the Zodiac

by Mary Oliver

1. Why should I have been surprised? Hunters walk the forest without a sound. The hunter, strapped to his rifle, the fox on his feet of silk, the serpent on his empire of muscles— all move in a stillness, hungry, careful, intent. Just as the cancer entered the forest of my body, without a sound.

2. The question is, what will it be like after the last day? Will I float into the sky or will I fray within the earth or a river— remembering nothing? How desperate I would be if I couldn’t remember the sun rising, if I couldn’t remember trees, rivers; if I couldn’t even remember, beloved, your beloved name.

3. I know, you never intended to be in this world. But you’re in it all the same.

so why not get started immediately.

I mean, belonging to it. There is so much to admire, to weep over.

And to write music or poems about.

Bless the feet that take you to and fro. Bless the eyes and the listening ears. Bless the tongue, the marvel of taste. Bless touching.

You could live a hundred years, it’s happened. Or not. I am speaking from the fortunate platform of many years, none of which, I think, I ever wasted. Do you need a prod? Do you need a little darkness to get you going? Let me be urgent as a knife, then, and remind you of Keats, so single of purpose and thinking, for a while, he had a lifetime.

4. Late yesterday afternoon, in the heat, all the fragile blue flowers in bloom in the shrubs in the yard next door had tumbled from the shrubs and lay wrinkled and fading in the grass. But this morning the shrubs were full of the blue flowers again. There wasn’t a single one on the grass. How, I wondered, did they roll back up to the branches, that fiercely wanting, as we all do, just a little more of life?

[kcrossvine-art]

Heya folks n friends! Today on our LotR cooking series, we're going to be making something inspired by Mrs. Maggot, wife of Farmer Maggot. Originally we were going to do a cream of mushroom soup, but the idea of adding meat as a cheeky lil joke on their last names was too good to pass up. In my mind meat goes better with thin soups than creamy ones.

And thus Mrs. Maggots Meat 'N Mush Stew was born.

(As always you can find the cooking instructions and full ingredient list under the break-)

MY NAMES CROSS NOW LETS COOK LIKE ANIMALS

SO, “what goes in to Mrs. Maggots Meat 'N Mush Stew?” YOU MIGHT ASKFor the stew portion itself we're going to be using a hearty base, aiming for a layering of flavors. If you feel comfortable making a roux, feel free to do so, but I did not due to energy levels and thus the flour in this recipe is only used for searing the meat before its added to the pot.

Cubed beef

Flour

Peanut oil

Beef stock

Dried porcini mushrooms

Carrots, chopped

Onion, diced

Garlic, crushed

Scallion, chopped

Bay leaf

Salt and pepper

Ground red pepper

Cumin

Zatarins gumbo file

For the other mushrooms, were going to cook them separate and throw them in at the end (but they'll have friends to keep them company!!).

Cremini mushrooms, sliced

Half an onion

Carrots

Garlic

Salt and pepper

Thyme

Olive oil

This took about 4 hours in total. If you have a slow cooker itd probably be easier to use that, but as is isn't too bad either. I mostly worked on commission stuff in the kitchen in-between stirring. "The best food is the one you don't have to make, the second best food is the one you don't have to think while making."

AND, “what does Mrs. Maggots Meat 'N Mush Stew taste like?” YOU MIGHT ASK

HOT HOT HOT

Tastes like walking from the cold into the cramped but cozy bar your friend works at

Meat was so tender and juicy, melts in your mouth. Makes you cry

It wanst actually carmelization but the onions had a hint of tasting caramelized

Mushrooms- a strong umami flavor with a bit of smokeyness

Once you get that Perfect level of gumbo file, it just makes every other element stick out more

Like an energy booster for the ingredients

A spotlight on the bay leaf, and oils, and spices

. If you don't want to use beef, feel free to use vegetable stock instead and replace the cubes with strips of king oyster mushrooms. Exclude the flour but still cook them in the pan. . this isnt officially part of the recipe since im not sure itd be 'on theme', but feel free to start your rice cooker around the 3 hour mark so you can have some hot rice ready for serving as filler.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

When I was looking through food and food mentions in LotR, Mrs.Maggot just stook out to me. 'Queen amongst farmers wives' is both really sweet and a fuckin killer description. What a legend. I wanted to do something based on her and our two options were either beer, bacon or raw mushrooms. Beer while very appealing is also not something you can whip up in a day, while raw mushrooms have a chance of killing my beloved readers. I don't want to talk about me and bacons sordid past.

And so as praise to this funky farmer women, may you add this stew to your collection of potpie, lasagna, and roast recipes.

Did i mention i started my first grease fire when making this? Yeah. Don't cover any empty greased pan even if your intent is to keep water from splashing into it.

Anyway, this recipe is a solid 10/10 (with 1 being food that makes one physically sick and 10 being food that gives one a lust for life again.) The partner has already made me pledge to cook it again hehehe

🐁 ORIGINAL RESIPPY TEXT BELOW 🐁

Ingredients:

2 lbs cubed beef

A little bit of flour to 'tumble' the meat in, in a bowl

Peanut oil to sear the beef, as needed

3 kilograms beef stock

28g dried porcini mushrooms

4 carrots, chopped

1 white onion, diced

4 cloves garlic, crushed

1 scallion branch, chopped

Salt and pepper to taste

Ground red pepper to taste

Cumin to taste

3 bay leafs

A pinch of Zatarins gumbo file

Ingredients… . . TWO:

1 lb cremini mushrooms

Half of a white onion, diced

1 carrot, chopped

2 cloves garlic, crushed

Salt, pepper, and thyme to taste

Olive oil as needed to pan-fry

Method:

Put the porcini mushrooms into a bowl, add enough warm water to cover. Give them roughly 20 minutes, or until softened and the waters turned color.

Cut the carrots, onion, and garlic.

Get a large pot with a lid, pour in your stock (or water and bouillon cubes). Pour in the porcinis and the mushroom water. Turn the burner to medium-high.

Add your bay leaves, carrots, onion, and garlic to the pot. Add extra salt if you'd like.

Tenderize and cut your beef into roughly 1 inch cubes.

In a small bowl, pour a handful of flour along with pepper, cumin, and ground red pepper. Mix until combined.

Lightly toss each cube of beef in the mixture, get a little coverage on each side.

Heat a frying pan to medium heat and add peanut oil. If using an electric stovetop it will take time to heat up.

Add some of your beef cubes to the pan, don't overcrowd it. Flip to check sides are a light brown with dark brown edges, its good for some pink/red to poke through.

Add beef cubes to the pot when done, careful of splashing.

Keep doing this in batches until all beef cubes are added. 

 Once the pot has reached a simmer, turn the heat down a few notches and cover.

Set a timer for 4 hours. Taste test every so often. Aim to stir the pot every 10-15 minutes.

(You can do steps 14-21 immediately or optionally wait a bit)

 Rinse and dry your cremini mushrooms.

Slice them vertically. Cut the carrots, onion, and garlic.

In a frying pan on medium-low heat, add olive oil, carrots, and onion. Keep the vegetables moving! When they start to change texture, add your cremini mushrooms.

Bring the pan up to medium heat. 

Once your mushrooms have cooked off the liquid inside, theyll start turning a deeper brown. Add the garlic. Keep! the! vegetables! Moving!

If the pan gets overcrowded, take some out and set it aside in a bowl. Smaller batches.

This process took roughly 15 minutes, but youll know its done once everything has a nice sear on it and the garlic is brown but not burnt. Add salt, pepper, and thyme to taste.

Set everything aside in a bowl.

Once the 4 hours are up the meat should be cooked all the way through and tender enough to pull apart. Strain the bay leaves out. Cut and add scallions. Add the bowl with cremini mushrooms.

Add a pinch of gumbo file to start, stir and taste test.

[lou-struck]

Prize Winner

Wakatoshi Ushijima x reader

Flufftober Day 8: Pumpkin Contest

W.C: 1.4k

~At your insistence, Wakatoshi takes his prized pumpkin and enters it into the city’s annual largest pumpkin contest.

Damp yellow leaves stick to the sides of your boots as they crunch along the gravel path leading into the large and extremely well-maintained backyard of Wakatoshi Ushijima. Although your boyfriend is one of the nation's top athletes, he still takes the time to diligently tend to his ginormous garden. In the height of the summer, his backyard was overflowing with green abundance, and he enjoyed spoiling you with harvest baskets and farm-to-table dinners regularly. 

But now, as the weather turns colder, his beloved plants are yielding that last of their fruits and vegetables, and their vines begin to wither, making the space look rather dreary. You find the 6'3 wing spiker underneath one of his impressive plant trellises, plucking the little red and orange fruits from the fading vines. He has a small, content smile on his face as he places them into the wooden harvest basket you bought for him at the farmers market not too long ago.

"Oh Y/n, you're early," he says, noticing your presence. Despite his reserved words, you can tell by the joyful light in his olive-colored eyes that he is overjoyed to see you. 

"I am," you say with a smile, "I thought you could use an extra hand in the garden before it rains tomorrow."

"Well, thank you, I appreciate the extra hand." He gently presses a kiss to your chilled forehead and looks around the thinning garden in thought, not wanting to stick you with some sort of terrible task. "I suppose if you would like to you could plant some garlic in this bed I have cleared out."

You nod, thankful for the task, "I'd love to." Curiously, you try to peer into his basket with little luck, "What do you have there?"

He frowns and shows you the basket, "The last of the tomatoes. It's strange that only a month ago, I was struggling to keep up with picking them all, and now this is all that is left out here."

"That is crazy; what are you gonna do with them?" you ask; despite his disappointment, there is still a decent amount of tomatoes in his basket. 

"I was thinking of making us some soup for dinner," he says thoughtfully, "would that be something that you would like?"

The idea of some garden-to-table tomato soup makes your mouth water, and you find yourself agreeing with him. You start to walk over to the empty planter box when something large and bright orange catches your eye. 

With his garden mostly clear, you realize that you had never checked the back corner of the lot, where there are large green vines still growing strong from the ground. And sitting atop the lives is the largest single pumpkin you have ever seen.

It looks like something straight out of a magazine cover, and you have to reach out and touch the cold, dewy, surface just to confirm that it is, in fact, real and not some oversized Halloween decoration.

"I see you found my pumpkin patch," Wakatoshi says, coming up behind you. "I really tried to grow some, but this one here was the only one that grew because it took up all the space."

"It's amazing," you murmur, your eyes never leaving the large fruit. "I've never seen one so big. Have you ever thought of entering it in one of those Big Pumpkin Contests?"

He shakes his head, "It has never crossed my mind, if I am being honest."

"Would you?"

~

It's contest day, and after loading up the pumpkin that Tendo affectionately named the Big Orange over Facetime last night into the back of his truck, you have arrived at the square for the city's harvest festival. People flood the square dressed in warm-toned flannels, looking like they just popped out of a Hallmark movie. 

"Do you really think one of my pumpkins could win a contest like this? Wakatoshi asks, staring down at the application you had just filled out for him earlier today and thrust into his hand. 

You nod. You may not know much about pumpkins, but you do know your boyfriend; he cares deeply about his plants, and he works hard. He has a natural tendency for greatness that you wish others could see applies to more than just volleyball.

Not to mention, the winner of the contest would win a trip for two to a spa resort in the mountains and that would make for a pretty sick getaway.

You watch as your sweater-clad boyfriend grabs one of the faded blue wheelbarrows set aside for the contest. His cheeks are a bit pink from the cold, but he looks genuinely happy to be there. He easily slides the orange monstrosity onto the metal cart with his near-inhuman strength, and you stare at him in wonder. Without so much as a grunt, he begins to push the wheelbarrow into the square. 

"Where do you think we take it?" you ask, struggling to keep up with his long strides. He notices it and slows down a bit, despite having to carry such a heavy load with him.

"I'm not sure," he says, "but I think I know who to ask." He walks over to a man with short light grey hair tipped with black, wearing a bright orange lanyard. 

The vaguely familiar man notices your approach and politely smiles up at your boyfriend. 

How is it that you can hardly keep up with him even w

You run into someone who looks vaguely familiar, but you don't know who they are. "Ushijima, what brings you here today?"

"Kita, Hello," he says, gesturing to you and the wheelbarrow he is pushing.  "My partner and I wish to enter our pumpkin into the contest today."

He nods, "I see, that is an impressive pumpkin. The two of you must've put a lot of hard work into growing it. Sign ups are over by the yellow tent. Good luck in the contest."

He walks away, and you look at your boyfriend. "He seemed nice; where do you know him from."

"Volleyball," he says after a moment. "I believe he was captain for Inarizaki in my third year."

"I see," you check the time on your phone. "We better get signed up; the contest will be starting soon." He nods and follows behind you as you lead your way through the crowd to the tent. 

A kind-looking older woman runs the tent, greets you with a smile, takes your completed paperwork, and explains that the pumpkins will not just be judged on size but weight as well. After which she instructs you to pin a number to your wheelbarrow and leave it next to her tent so the committee can pick it up for unbiased judging. 

After abandoning Big Orange at the booth, the two of you enjoy the festival, and although the contest doesn't seem to cross his mind, you can't help but wonder how the pumpkin will score.

~

"What do you mean we got last place?" you ask in disbelief, looking down at the rows of pumpkins. Big Orange sits at the very beginning of the line, meaning that out of all the entries, it was the smallest.

"I believe it means that all the other pumpkins were both larger and heavier than ours," he says, taking your last statement a bit too literally. His unintentional sense of humor makes you feel much better about the whole thing, and you find yourself laughing. 

"Aren't you at least a little disappointed?" you ask him teasingly. 

"Why would I be disappointed?" he answers. "Pumpkins can't train or intentionally build muscle; they can only grow depending on their genetics and how diligently they are nurtured."

His answer is logical, but you can't help but feel there is more to it than that. There is no way someone as naturally competitive as Wakatoshi Ushijima would just give up after one defeat. 

"That being said," he continues, looking at you as passion and intensity light their usual fire in his normally steady gaze. "I do not wish to lose this competition again, so I would like to ask the other farmers what they did to produce such superior fruits." He starts to walk down the line of pumpkins only to stop and realize that you are still standing in front of not-so-big orange. And hold out his hand.

God, you love him.

You rush to take it as a smug smirk tug at your lips as you realize you may have just created a monster.

Tagging: @pixelcafe-network @ambiguouslady42

[mxrcusflint]

some old flintwood wip

i know where home is flintwood my beloved

Marcus had spent the better part of the past six years making up for the brunt of his father’s sins, and then the added weight of his own. It was a thankless job. It didn’t matter that he’d never cast an Unforgivable, or that he’d kept his head down — people still cut a wide berth around him, and he preferred it that way. If he barely said ten sentences a day, if he retreated back to his flat after every day, ate a dinner hastily cobbled together, and spent the night with his knuckles wrapped, then it was for the best.

He’d cut everything off with Wood a year before the brunt of the war, before the worst of his moral failings. It was hard, at the end of it all, not to look at Wood and detest his goodness, his rising star, the naive innocence of an unburdened bloodline. At twenty-one, Wood had been summoned to first string and the pitch had fallen in love. Scotland had made it a known bet that they’d be knocking on Wood’s window for the regional team once the World Cup came back around. It was on the eve of that dinner meeting that Marcus had called everything off. He’d justified it — they’d been contentious bed mates at most, sparring rivals at best, meeting with no particular cadence to fall into bed together. 

Marcus was smart enough to know that whatever similarities they had, the core shade of their beings was different. 

And so. The war. 

He had nightmares often — of blue-black woods, of snaps and running so hard his chest hurt. There was a small subset of people Marcus had ever held in high esteem, and they’d splintered, one by one. Bole, Higgs, Warrington, Derrick, Urqhart: Snatcher, casualty, marked, killed in action, marked. It had become a horribly easy list to recite. Slytherins of their age didn’t make it out often.

The Flint name had long fallen from grace, that much was clear. His father, his older brother — two marked wizards who’d died in the war. Marcus couldn’t hold space for that. He had a business to run, and that was all he could think about without losing it. 

If it weren’t for Montague, he’d have never come to a Puddlemere game. They were the last two strongholds of their old team, and he’d conceded because he’d seen the empty space over Montague’s shoulder where Cassius should’ve been, and after that he’d been unable to say no.

He hadn’t thought all of it through, to be frank. He couldn’t pay attention to anything else; not the roar of the crowd, nor the referee’s contentious calls — Wood was glowing, brilliant in front of the hoops. Marcus couldn’t tell what was worse: the deep, deep jealousy for the first stringers, or the ache of watching Oliver at his best. 

The quaffle finally flew from a Ballycastle player’s hand to get past Wood’s outstretched fingers. 

“Good contenders for the cup, yeah?”

Marcus merely nodded at Montague’s statement, too occupied with how the familiar stubborn, frustrating tilt to Wood’s mouth made him claustrophobic.

Wood had gotten better since the last time Marcus had seen him play — a scrimmage between Puddlemere and Falmouth that still surfaced in his memory no matter how much he steeled himself against it.

“They’re probably going to get beaten out by Tutshill,” Montague continued, voice filled with longing, “But their chaser line is looking strong.”

Montague could no longer play, not after war injuries and a trip down a Vanishing cabinet, but he was an avid enough watcher that they traded observations and statistics over a meal on occasion. Marcus kept an arms-distance between himself and most people who’d known him, but it was hard to say no to Graham, not when he still struggled with recalling memories, things that Marcus knew he should’ve remembered cold.

(Winning the Quidditch cup, being made Prefect, the odd crushing disappointment that plagued them all when Warrington hadn’t been selected for the Triwizard’s cup.)

Puddlemere won in a landslide, which they needed. They were trailing Tutshill and Ballycastle by 100 points and the season was drawing to a close. Marcus allowed himself a moment to appreciate the sight of Wood in the middle of a dogpile of happy Puddlemere players, before excusing himself from Montague. There was no point in lingering in the stands, and both men knew that they would see each other at some point anyways — pureblood circles ran small nowadays. No point in causing public concern over gatherings when it was easier to lay low.

The impulse to dive into the inner labyrinth of the pitch grounds was one that Marcus didn’t try hard to fight. He rarely got energy like this where he lived. The sheer amount of adrenaline was enough to make anyone dizzy. Post-matches were a gaggle of players, of staff and press junkets, and he was one of many, many bodies weaving in and out. He allowed himself to drink in the bustle, the hum of excitement from Puddlemere supporters, and it was a nice contrast to the quiet of the shop.  

It was, in hindsight, an idiotic idea, because —

“Flint?”

It was a voice that plagued him in his sleep, one he’d held onto during the deepest, darkest winter months during the war. Marcus would know it anywhere. He had never wanted to hear it again. 

Wood had the trained reflexes of a professional Keeper, and so his hand was already on Marcus’ shoulder by the time he’d made up his mind to walk away. There was nothing else to do but turn around and face the man. 

“Good game,” Marcus said, and he shut his mouth before anything else could escape. There was likely nothing coherent he had to say, because this was the closest he’d been to Wood in three years, and he’d never been able to rid himself of this weak spot. 

“Thanks,” Wood said in a carefully neutral tone, “I never expected to see you at a Puddlemere game.” 

It wasn’t a direct attack, but Wood’s eyes were cool, appraising. Even when they weren’t strangers, Marcus made it a point not to attend, albeit for different reasons. 

“Montague wanted to,” Marcus replied. He didn’t elaborate; Wood didn’t need to know that for some odd reason, Warrington had had a soft spot for the middling team. 

“I see,” Wood said, though his tone of voice indicated that he didn’t, not really. “Well. What did you think?”

Marcus shrugged and made a non-commital noise. 

Wood stared at him for a beat, before scoffing. “Man of few words still, huh?”

“I’ll be heading out then,” Marcus said, though it came out more harshly than he’d wanted it to, on account of his words getting stuck in his throat. 

“Sure,” Wood said, and he released his hold on Marcus’ shoulder. Marcus took the opportunity to hightail out of the stadium, and though he managed to apparate back to his flat without splinching himself, he didn’t manage to shake off the phantom touch of Oliver’s hand for the rest of the night.

[myloveforhergoeson]

ash's september 2024 reading round up

find all the books and fics i read (or didn't read...) this month under the cut with a link to the synopsis and my reviews/ratings attached :)

this is just for fun! i'm not a professional, i just like to read <3

booklist:

Summer Reading by Jenn McKinlay(18+!)

• review: this was a solid read. nothing incredible, but definitely better than some of the other crap i've read this year lol. i enjoyed the dynamic between the fmc - a dyslexic chef named sam - and the mmc - a librarian named ben - and the interesting relationship between someone who hates to read and someone who's life revolves around books. honestly i was really interested to see how this played out between the two of them, but like one week into them fooling around he begins to read a book aloud to her and the conflict is magically solved. sam just loves audiobooks now and i wish the author had done more with that. both sam and ben have goals they're striving to reach and i love that ben is able to see his through to the end, but the reader is kind of left wondering about sam's and i would have loved for that threat to have been tied up, but overall this was a cute read. my only real issue with this story was the quality of writing. there were some parts that were super cringe and were clearly written by a millennial emulating the 'how do you do fellow kids' meme that i could've gone without... anyway. i really enjoyed the relationship exploration between sam and her budding teenager brother. after not being in each others lives for a bit, i thought their bonding over the summer was adorable :) would've loved to read a book just about them tbh. neither of the main characters were the kinds of characters to write home about, but overall i did enjoy the progression of their relationship. just kind of a middle-ground novel.

• rating: 3/5 seasons of the bear that taught me all i know about cooking

fic list:

assorted works of @ceruleanmusings <3

look around your world, pretty baby

Blood Diamond; Year Four

i could always write literal essays on your work i swear to god but these two works this month really got to me as per usual. the first mickames one shot for james canon bday was so freaking adorable. i had literal butterflies in my stomach like i was there on the date with them... despite the urgency of the time crunch, which you did exellent in making it seem like it was somehow slow and fast at the same time, god i read this like three times over. mickey and james are just my favorite ;-;!! and blood diamond always hitting in the feels of course... this one in particular really got to me though. the combination of brooke's annoyance with james the last few chapters really came to a head here at the hair salon. he's just a kiddo!! let him play in peace!! and then her figuring out a way to potentially exploit his singing talent... i'll wring her neck i swear. as always tysm for sharing and tagging me in your works 😭 i could read them forever and ever and ever <3

2. assorted works of @partiallypearl/ @praetoravila <3

it's nowhere close to closing time

all over again

be my weekend lover (but don't be my friend)

can i have this dance?

lolive kissssss

you got me paralyzed

you know all my deep dish

this is such a STACKED LINE UP AUGH!! from the beginning with it's nowhere close to closing time... kogan... save me.... i love the first chapter introduction to both the characters and the setting. it's been so exciting theorizing how the story will play out from here and i can't wait to read more!! and of course... all over again with olive my beloved... i just can't get enough of logan and olive and their fucked up little relationship. jo's party chapter literally had me shitting my pants ngl and you already know im thinking of lolive on a daily basis. they're my roman empire i stg... the other three lolive on shots had me by the neck too - from the conversation with kendall 👀 to the quinceañera chapter to their KISS augh im too obsessed for my own good... and saylors introduction one shot!!! ahh!!!! you always have such interesting and well-rounded ocs i'm so jealous!!! i can't wait to learn more about saylor and their relationship with both kendall and lucy :)) macie's story too... she and katie are so adorable. i love the dynamic you've set up between the two of them as they both navigate hollywood!! obsessed as always. im up in your dms literally every single day gushing and i wouldn't have it any other way!!!!!!! <3

3. assorted works of @selangkir <3

mrs. knight one shot

girl time rush (anniversary reread🙏)

iconic work as ALWAYS!!!!!! i truly think your character interptetations of btr/side characters/ocs are so unique and bring such a fresh perspective to the story! the mrs. knight one shot, on top of being hilarious, began to expand on her pretty one dimensional characterization in such a short story and it blew me away. unmatched creativity!! lord knows she needed the j anyway if im being COMPLETELY honest. and i cannot believe gtr turned one year old this month what the fuck!! what the actual fuck!! i swear i've read all three chapters about a bazillion times. ty for being so accepting of roxy and using her as a vessel to tell your story too <3 i'd be lying if i said i wasn't so inspired by sabrina carpenter rn i already have another chapter draft of my own cooking in the google docs..... <33

4. assorted works of @inkameswetrust <3

the windowsill pt. 4

the windowsill pt. 5

oh LORD such incredible updates to this sweet story. these chapters always pack such a punch! i expect nothing less from kames fan #1... im obsessed with the continued relationship between katie and kendall in pt 4. btrtv lacks so heavy on their sibling-ness so i always love seeing it expanded on in fic! and JAMES AND KENDALL GOING OFFICIAL AOAJFOBOBGA i had knots in my stomach! you've also so clearly set up stakes and kendall's future fears it's so genuine and just real it hits so hard. pt 5 with brooke had me almost throwing my phone at the wall if im being honest. the way she spoke to kendall was bonechilling and i'm nervous yet excited for their future together <3 never stop kamesing the world needs it so so sos sooo bad !!!

5. assorted works of @naquey / @ithinkyouhealedmyheart

ghostwriter chapter 1

ghostwriter chapter 2

hi <3 welcome to the reading round up! i love your story sm i'm so grateful to be here for the very beginning of kenonnie and their sweet relationship. ronnie is such a cool character! there is so much depth and dimension to them and i love that every single chapter we learn something new about her!! from her relationship with addy and callie (who i also ADORE and can't wait to learn more about) to his struggles with his father's health... god... the amount of thought you put in is clear and i'm just astounded! the second chapter was also super cool too; i love how you took existing characters and tweaked their relationship so we could learn more about how you view the two of them. i'd never thought to write something with just kelly and rebecca - it's so inventive, just like the (spoliers lol) other chapters you've published since <3 tysm for sharing your writing with us, i'm so excited to see ronnie's journey progress!!!

[remembrancer-of-heresy]

The Bloody Trio (Headcanons about main characters)

AU Reverse Therapy

Author's Note: In this post I decided to tell how I came up with the characters and some facts about them.

Tag List: @kit-williams, @druidwolf21, @pluvio-tea

Character: Malina

*collage pictures: 1, 2, 3, 4

Age: was kidnapped saved when she was 23

Height: 5,74 (175)

Description: dark brown eyes, dark shoulder length brown hair with bangs, olive skin.

Distinguishing features: none.

References: I love the Yellowjackets series and Lottie Matthews is my favorite character. This is exactly how I imagined Malina. One day I just rewatched one episode and thought that Malina definetly has the same Bambi eyes. + the actress also starred in Mad Max (an amazing series of films). It is not surprising that this is the image that appeared in my head.

Name: name Malina is a female name of Greek origin meaning "raspberry". By the way in some slavic names a word "malina" literally can be translated as a "raspberry". But this name is also a short version of a hebew name Magdalena (which means “tower”, “soothing” and also “raspberry”). I chose this name because Luka thought it sounded sweet and innocent. The girl is loved by the Space Marines, but it's a very dark, obsessive and unhealthy love. They gave her the name as if she were a pet. The heroine has a real name, but it was not mentioned because the girl had to get used to her new home. And for that, she had to become Malina.

Facts about character:

The girl grew up on the agri-world of Astarte in the Segmentum Obscurus sector. The planet was home to about 300,000 people. Most agri-worlds are polluted places, the sky is orange, and people are forced to work in gas masks. But most does not mean all. On Astarte, the sky is blue, and the atmosphere is not polluted. The planet's main export is fruits and berries.

During the Thirteenth Black Crusade, the Maelstrom merged with the Great Rift and the Red Corsairs have now been sighted further from their home than ever before (from Lexicanum). It was for this reason that the Red Corsairs attacked Astarte.

In fact, her uncle did not find a copy of the book about the Sister of Battle and the Imperial soldier. He was the one who wrote it for his beloved niece. It was the original, there were no copies. He always had heretical thoughts, so it is not surprising why he joined the Chaosites. He believes that his entire family perished under the rubble of the building.

Malina wears rather simple clothes, although made of good quality fabric (the space marines bring her new clothes from looting). Long skirts, shirts, and sometimes dresses of a simple cut, but with cute patterns (she doesn't know that sparkles are literally gold). And of course, she constantly throws a shawl over her shoulders. Malina generally likes to bury herself in a blanket up to her head or hide in Luka's or Virgil's shoulder.

Even after she has finally come to terms with her situation, she still reads religious books. Luke and Virgil very rarely, but still sometimes allow Saint Ignatius to come "to visit" so that Malina can pray with him. This lasts for 15 minutes at most, but that is enough for the girl. However, now she cannot say for sure whether she really believes in God-Emperor or prays because it calms her down like lullabies in childhood.

As her uncle used to say, the girl is very resourceful. She has a rather mediocre education. But considering that many inhabitants of the Imperium do not have it, she stands out significantly. She can read and likes it (especially fairy tales and romance novels). Malina has a sense of humor. And the fact that she jokes with a serious, and sometimes innocent, face makes it even funnier and cute (at least in the eyes of Luka and Virgil).

Malina loves Luka and Virgil. She forced herself to become attached to them, receiving a bit of tenderness from the Space Marines. Besides, it was better than being outside the quarters. She began to behave more freely with them, jokes and sometimes climbs up to the men for hugs. But even so, Malina is still afraid of them, because she understands that they are kind only to her. And other mortals suffer from meeting them.

Character: Luka The Angel

*Collage pictures: 1, 2, 3, 4

Age: around 30-35

Height: 6,98 (213)

Description: blue eyes, beeline honey hair, pale skin, snub nose.

Distinguishing features: has a one scar on the left eyebrow and freckles on the cheeks and nose.

Wears standard Lamenters armour, with the symbol of Chaos Undivided painted on his belt and the symbol of the Red Corsairs on his right shoulder pad.

References: I think Luka's appearance and personality appeared in my head thanks to the art of Natalia Kikicheva. Blood Angel (in the centre), and two lamenters. And I'm also sure that I was also impressed by Varial by @kit-williams and Theo by @pluvio-tea. And Luka's image was slightly influenced by such a character as Raleigh Becket from Pacific Rim.

Name: The name Luka is thought to mean “bringer of light” or “man of light”. The name Luka is derived from the Latin word “lux”, which means “light”. The same name had Luke the Evangelist. Malina sees Luka as her savior while her planet is being torn apart by heretics. He was supposed to be a beacon of hope for humanity as the Lamenter, but he ended up being a traitor.

Facts about character:

Luka had a loving family and always wanted to be a hero. He was one of the most promising Lamenters. Just 2 years after becoming a Space Marine, his first mission became his last as a Loyalist. On one of the death worlds, his small squad was abandoned by the Lamenters as they were considered dead. Due to the extreme conditions, Luka literally ate his comrades. Some of them were still alive.

Luckily for him, the Red Corsairs were passing by. Bacchus didn't even have to persuade Luka, as he said he would go with them when they met (the worst part is that he was smiling at the time, finishing off his brother's head). At first, he lived with three other Space Marines, but later ate them. Bacchus considered them trash, so he didn't care much about it. After that, Luka was handed over to Vergil, who was supposed to be the Lamenter's mentor.

Luka considers Virgil his best friend. He is much easier to talk to and he doesn't even want to eat him. The Lamenter is obviously one of Bacchus' favorites due to his obedience and incredible combat skills (and he was only a neophyte recently). Therefore, he is forgiven for a lot. In particular, because of his character. Even Eurydice can't stay angry with him for long.

One of the few Space Marines who did not change his armor. He only added a couple of insignia to distinguish him from a loyalist. However, it is warriors like him who are the best strategy for boarding. Since the Imperials who see loyalist traitors are immediately confused.

Luka suffers from cannibalistic desires. Lamenters do not suffer from the Black Rage as much as other sons of Sanguinius. However, after the death world, Luka constantly suffers from bloodlust. But it is because of this that his "failure" (if this is not an Imperial myth) disappeared and he became more successful. After he met Malina, he began to suffer from Blood Thirst even more and ate more and more mortals (he also started to eat children which makes him really sad). But thanks to such a sacrifice to the Chaos Gods, he will never be able to harm the girl and she will live with him forever.

Luka sacrifices and performs rituals to the Chaos Gods like all Red Corsairs out of necessity. He does not despise Chaos Undivided, he simply does not care.

Before, Luka was much kinder for a heretic. He constantly saved children and dragged them to the ship. Although his previous neighbors eventually abused the children, which upset him very much (that is why he eventually ate them). And also after the reverse therapy, he began to "court" girls. Or rather, kidnap them. But all his attempts turned into failures. 5 girls died by "accident" (fucked to death, drank too much blood, another space marine killed), but he tortured 3 himself because they behaved badly.

After he found Malina, he did not care about all the mortal girls. He is literally obsessed with her and worships her, which has never happened with any other mortal. Because of this, he has become even more deadly and effective on the battlefield. Now Luka himself leads the warriors to boarding and commands the squad. Luka is extremely emotional and behaves almost like a child. He can be very nice to some people. But at the same time, he is also cruel to others. Luka is unstable and extremely dangerous chaosite. And this is coupled with his angelic appearance.

NSFW Facts:

Luka always wants to see Malina's face. To watch her face twist, her eyes water. To see how she finally starts to quietly make sounds from unprecedented sensations. Not seeing her face is taboo. And he also likes her small breasts. He thinks they look charming.

That's why most often, when it comes to bed, it's the missionary position. Or she sits on his lap, resting on his chest. He just adores how she clings to him. As if he is the only person who will protect her. As if HE is her God-Emperor.

He gets an erection EVERY time Malina calls him "Angel". This is Luka's favorite nickname. But he also loves to hear Malina praise him. That he saved her, how noble and handsome he is. How she gently touches his shoulders, cheekbones and cheeks. Looks into his eyes.

And if this happens during sex, it is harder for Luka to restrain himself. The Lamenter would also like to say something to her, but he is too delighted and obsessed with her at such moments. Therefore, he only moans and growls like an animal. His pupils dilate, and drool flows from his mouth. And the whole process is really rough. The girl is always terribly scared and Luka later has to apologize to her for a long time and wipe away her tears.

But after sex, he hugs her and kisses her entire face, saying how lucky he is. How wonderful and gentle she is. How he will take care of her. Always. That he will kill for her. He is ready to drown everything in blood just to get her a beautiful dress or feed her with berries in chocolate. And yes, if he said so, then he would do it.

Character: Virgil

*collage pictures: 1, 2, 3, 4

Age: more than 650 years

Height: 7,44 (227)

Description: red eyes, bald, grey almost white skin, white eyebrows, shark-like claw teeth, long black tongue.

Distinguishing features: Has several scars on the face. The largest ones locates along the nose. And the second one on the lip to the cheek on the left side of the face.

Has a armor of Red Corsars with the sign of Flesh Tearer on the left shoulder pad. On the belt is a cut piece of human's skin. Has a three stakes with skulls behind the back.

Reference: I think Virgil's appearance came to me spontaneously. I just imagined a typical Chaos Space Marine. But when it comes to his personality or history, I remember this meme. And I think I was also partly inspired by Immortan Joe (more from Furiosa, not Fury Road). If I had thought up Malina and Luka a long time ago, then Virgil’s character and personality were finally formed while I was writing him.

Name: The character was named after the Roman poet Virgil. Or to be more precise, in his image of the guide from Dante's Divine Comedy. Only this Virgil does not embody the human mind. And he is not just a guide in Hell and Purgatory, he literally lives there. And no, in Warhammer our flesh tearer and Chapter Master of the Blood Angels did not meet.

Facts about character:

Virgil had been fighting for the Imperium for quite some time. He was a rank-and-file Flesh Tearer, no different from his brothers. Virgil was not a sociable person, always hiding in the shadows. And in truth, he defended the Imperium as if he was following a manual. He was born an orphan and decided to become a Flesh Tearer in order to become a warrior. He only cared about war.

He did not consider the Black Rage a curse of Sanguinius. More like a gift. Moreover, he suspected that the Red Thirst was a manifestation of Chaos. Virgil always had contempt for mortals. So it is not surprising that at some point he decided to join the heretics. It was a conscious decision after 150 years of service to the Imperium. In his opinion, Chaos could give him more strength and power. And then he met the Red Corsairs.

If Virgil did not stand out in the ranks of the Flesh Tearers, then after serving under the hands of Bacchus, he quickly rose through the ranks. He enjoys power, although he does not seek to take Bacchus's place. He is much happier with his current position.

Although when he was given Luka to look after, he was not at all happy about it. But in the end he got used to the puppy, even finding him funny. But he can't call him a friend, because he never had any friends. For Virgil, Luca will always be a puppy that needs to be looked after, even if he became his leader in an alternate universe. In addition, it was thanks to him that Virgil got Malina.

The Flesh Tearer did not stand on ceremony with girls, simply raping them, and sometimes killing them during the process. But Malina calms him down and Virgil unexpectedly for himself became very attached to her (although, unlike Luka, at the very beginning he saw her as just a pretty face). Now he really does care about her in a genuine way, which is still new to him.

Virgil is constantly angry and almost always irritated. Although, unlike many Space Marines, he behaves more calmly. Therefore, it is very important for him to relax. Because of this, he often uses drugs and constantly goes to apotecary Baphomet for a new injection. Since he no longer tries to control the Blood Thirst, he can now drink blood whenever he wants.

NSFW Facts:

Virgil wants his partners quietly during sex the most. But suddenly, after Malina appeared, he realized that he liked the way she slept.The way her eyelashes flutter, the way her whole face relaxes. The way her lips open just a little. They are so wet with saliva. She is so relaxed. And if he also gets her drunk or uses the right drug (but only a safe one), then her body is more like jelly.

He loves to please her. Virgil thought that the Gods of Chaos gave him such a long tongue to better feel blood and the taste of drugs. Maybe, but now he uses it to devour her pussy. And he is very skilled at it. And if Malina is on her period that day, he can do this for 2-3 rounds. And considering that he forbids Luka to lick Malina, he practically works for two.

He is very slow and careful. Virgil does not want Malina to wake up. And sometimes that is exactly what he wants. After all, Malina is a good girl, she will be quiet. She will try not to make sounds and will even try to fall asleep again. And if she cries quietly, Virgil will get even more excited and will start licking her tears. Because of them, he wants to take care of her.

After Virgil finishes, he looks at the girl for a long time. And is silent. And this process lasts quite a long time, which makes Malina feel uncomfortable. Because it looks very creepy. After that, Virgil lies down on his bed. Very rarely, he kisses the girl on the forehead goodbye.

[ishanijasmin]

fashioning the self: a journey through wardrobe + identity

it’s a sunday afternoon in what i would safely call the early middle of summer. i shove a coat and a suit into a reusable grocery bag, and shuttle it through a heaving euston station. i have twenty minutes to wait for my train because its delayed, so i beeline to oliver bonas to see what’s happening in fashion today (it’s the same thing that’s been happening every time i visited my parents for the past three months. i don’t think i have once successfully bought something at oliver bonas, not for lack of wanting to, but i guess for lack of being able to justify spending £70 on a cardigan. there’s a watermelon-shaped wallet on sale that has me like, surely you wouldn’t be so crass as to make a palestine emoji-themed wallet, but you can never tell with capitalism.) this morning i checked my facebook for the first time in a month and realised my profile picture is from my wedding, which was nearly two years ago. and that led to me going through my profile pictures and cringing at my teenage self, but not changing it because summoning the emotional energy to go through my photos and potentially upload something would be saying that i still care about facebook and i don’t know if i want to do myself like that.

i don’t know if it’s the dopamine window shopping trip, the woman next to me whose sparkly outfit i compliment, the hate scroll, the empty seat at the euston station piano that i half-contemplate filling, or the fact that i feel increasingly unable to represent myself the way i want to in my own body and closet that has me thinking about fashion today. in reality, i’m always half-thinking about it. it’s been something that governed me since i found myself part of the myfitnesspal generation aged 14.

i think sartorial representation is difficult for most folks - the idea that you’ll stumble upon the right combination of clothes and makeup and nail styling and hair and weight and muscle tone and race and gender and ability and you’ll be covetable and interesting and beloved, but like, in an easy and consumable way that raises no queries, and preferably in a way that can be completed in an afternoon. the makeover is a sexy, sexy idea, right? the makeover gives the impression that you can be done. nay, the movie itself gives the impression that you can be done, by the sheer requirement for it to have an ending. i used to feel like my wardrobe could be finished, and around the age of 27 i concluded that it can’t, because i am never finished; the thought of it is nerve wracking and exciting and numbing in equal measure. to never be finished is beautiful, but to still have things to accumulate (and thereby, to shed) is kind of sickening. 

the phases i’ve been going through have brought me to where i am, which is kind of loud but also uncertain. i’m wearing silk sweatpants my tailor and friend, kelsang, made for me on commission. these are my latest and greatest attempt to merge my style and my heritage - a mashed up inside joke nod to me spending a quarter of my life in the gym with material i could literally never wear there. and they look good, but i don’t know if they look good on me. last year i opted to get myself a name necklace, inspired by sex and the city’s carrie - but i couldn’t bear to get one in english, so i got one in hindi despite the fact i deliberately skipped learning the alphabet in learning the language. where i am right now has me feeling phony - it really highlights the in-betweenness of my existence, in a way that normcore or only wearing black didn’t really tap into because the only wrong way to go monochrome is not to do it. it also has me feeling boring. i don’t know how to put things together anymore, i don’t feel like i have the right shoes for my outfits, and it feels like i’m leaving the house in a turtleneck and jeans 70% of the time.

this isn’t helped by the suit in my tesco bag being a peacock blue tailored commission from around 3 years ago, that’s seen me through a bunch of stage shows and some particularly extravagant days out. me retiring it to my parents’ house means accepting that this isn’t me right now - i’m not the person wearing a turquoise iridescent suit out and about, just maybe to a wedding once every 3 years. i don’t know who that makes me now. the pieces we abandon, temporarily or forever, the ones that we acquired that don’t fit who we are now or the person we thought we could become—these are all goodbyes, not just to the apparel, but to the person that was or could have been.

yesterday i went to a party dressed as shania twain from man! i feel like a woman, and i put on eye makeup for the first time since my wedding and felt uncomfortable with myself, caricaturesque, because more so than ever, i don’t really feel like a woman. yes, i am growing into my body in a lot of ways, getting stronger slowly, but i found myself on the tube wanting to say, ‘don’t worry! i don’t do this all the time.’ do what—wear poorly applied eyeliner? it’s london and literally no one cares how well your makeup is applied because you can bet they’ve know someone who can do a full face on the central line and compared to that incredible subset of people, we are all bronze medalists in the femme olympics.

all this discomfort and, and every one of us just a ball of neurons in a flesh vehicle. i am ever moving and changing, whatever that looks and feels like: all black or in wild technicolour, long hair or short or shorn or shaven, suit or sari or sundress or sweatpants, showing up. showing up and calling my dad to tell him i’m late and i love him, always steadily coming to terms with my imperfections. leaving my clothes in the liminal storage space of my parents’ garage because i myself stand perpetually in the liminal space between my parents’ house and my own, between who they made me and who i am making myself. to be done is be perfect is to be finished, and when i am finished i will be dust, and there’s some sort of deep relief somewhere in knowing that.