#part 3 adelaide

[caffeinated-chaos-bean]

𓂀 𝕆𝕙 𝕕𝕒𝕣𝕝𝕚𝕟𝕘, 𝕚𝕗 𝕠𝕟𝕝𝕪 𝕪𝕠𝕦 𝕜𝕟𝕖𝕨 𝕛𝕦𝕤𝕥 𝕙𝕠𝕨 𝕞𝕦𝕔𝕙 𝕠𝕗 𝕒 𝕘𝕖𝕟𝕥𝕝𝕖𝕞𝕒𝕟 𝕙𝕖 𝕔𝕒𝕟 𝕥𝕣𝕦𝕝𝕪 𝕓𝕖! 𝕋𝕙𝕖𝕟 𝕡𝕖𝕣𝕙𝕒𝕡𝕤 𝕪𝕠𝕦 𝕔𝕠𝕦𝕝𝕕 𝕤𝕖𝕖 𝕛𝕦𝕤𝕥 𝕙𝕠𝕨 𝕞𝕚𝕤𝕦𝕟𝕕𝕖𝕣𝕤𝕥𝕠𝕠𝕕 𝕠𝕦𝕣 𝕃𝕠𝕣𝕕 𝕣𝕖𝕒𝕝𝕝𝕪 𝕚𝕤… 𓂀

[mazdaparts07]

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[doctorwillseeyou]

Adelaide Zoo pictures part 3

[javelinbk]

Happy 60th anniversary to... this...

The Beatles (minus Ringo) and Jimmie Nicol at their press conference in Adelaide, 12th June 1964 - part 1 (part 2, part 3)

[liahaslosthermind]

~ 𝑻𝒉𝒆 𝑺𝒉𝒂𝒅𝒐𝒘 𝒐𝒇 𝑩𝒆𝒕𝒓𝒂𝒚𝒂𝒍 ~

Past Rhysand x OC (Adelaide), Eventual Azriel x OC Part 3 of Betrayal Summary: With renewed purpose, Azriel heads to the library to see what he can get about resurrection spells. He also has to deal with a family intervention. Warnings: Suicidal thoughts and ideology, Hurt/No Comfort, Death of a loved one, Grief, Cheating, Betrayal.

Azriel raced to the library after giving Adelaide a goodbye kiss on the forehead, hoping it was the last time he would do so while she was dead.

He grabbed anything he could find on magic such as this, and scared the shit out of the priestesses in the process. He would usually take good care to show patience and nothing but kindness to them, but with the strong feelings of desperation, lack of care, and now suddenly, hope, he couldn't bring himself to hide his feelings.

Azriel started to walk back to her room when he stopped by his door.

Maybe he should shower? Change clothes?

These weren't things Azriel cared to do much anymore. He kept himself from smelling, and changed every time he did so. But that was out of necessity, and he did it as fast as he could. It was never to make himself feel better or because he cared enough to want to.

It was a weird feeling in his chest when he put on the warm clothes the house had given him. Happiness? Hope? Fear?

He didn't know what it was. He couldn't really call himself happy, only two hours ago he was planning on taking his life, but he felt he could soon be happy, he now had a future to look forward to.

A future in which his best friend was once again by his side.

In other new developments, when Azriel's stomach made enough noise for him to truly realize how much he was starving, he decided he did want a proper meal, not just the scraps he had been forced to eat by his family because he otherwise wouldn't have done so.

It was the middle of the night, a time that usually meant it was safe for him to leave her room without being disturbed. His shadows would alert him if anyone had been there, but since he had come to the decision to take his life, they hadn't been speaking to him, certainly upset at his choices.

But they also didn't leave his side. They had been a constant companion these past 6 months. At first, he begged and begged them to leave him alone and while they would keep their distance when asked, they were never father than a few feet away, tucked into the corner of the room.

The hardest moments, when his chest felt like it was caving in from grief, they became a shield from the outside world, covering him and giving him a safe space. He could feel them providing a heavy weight upon his skin, not as to crush him, but to keep him grounded.

He had appreciated it, thanking them when he remembered to. But now, he cursed them out when he walked into the dining room to see his entire family sat at the table, staring at him, surprising him.

6 months ago, something like this would never happen. The Spy Master never allowed anyone to sneak up on him, to surprise him.

But he didn't feel like the Spy Master anymore.

"Sit, boy." Amren commanded. Not unusual of her to do so, but there was more in her tone than just snappiness. Hurt? Despair? Two emotions he rarely saw from her.

He felt his shadows nudging him to the empty chair at the head of the table. Where she used to sit, Rhysand at the other end, Azriel usually by her right side.

But his usual seat was taken by Gwyn, one of the priestesses he had become almost friends with before... everything. He would train with them sometimes and he would usually go to her when getting books for himself or Adelaide.

Despite the shadows' nudging, he didn't move an inch.

"What is this?" He asked, a thousand thoughts running through his head. Everyone looked... somber. Desperate. Angry.

"Please, Azriel" Elaine managed to get out before sobs left her mouth. While whatever they had in the past had faded, they remained good friends, thats why he finally sat down at the table with his family for the first time in months.

"Gwyneth came to us after you went to the library. She said- she said there was something wrong with you." Rhysand said, grief heavy in his voice. A rare occurrence, when the High Lord couldn't mask his emotions.

"No more than usual." Azriel snapped back. This was a waste of time, and he had not forgiven Rhysand for his actions, no matter how much his brother groveled, no matter how much Azriel knew he was mourning, no matter how ashamed he was of what happened.

How could he? When at the end of the day, Feyre was the one holding his hand and comforting him, while Adelaide, sweet Addie, was lifeless in a cold marble box.

"Your family said as much to me, but it was different, Azriel. I hadn't seen you in a few months and while I know this is a difficult time, I couldn't recognize you. There was, there was something else." Gwyn spoke up.

"I went to check on you in her room, expecting to see you in the same chair, but you weren't there, just a note in your place.'" Nesta explained.

Bury me with her, thats all I ask, that was Azriel's final request, his final message to his family, after 500 years together.

Sobs came from somewhere but he couldn't tell who it was. The ringing in his ears, the blurry vision, the feeling of his stomach dropping, it was all too much for him. He should have gotten that note the moment he came back.

Cassian, who was to Azriel's left, was shaking as he tried to stop his emotions from taking over his body, spoke in a soft and pained voice, "Nesta came back to us, holding the note and looking as if she- as if she'd seen a ghost. When she read it out, to us, Rhys and I winnowed to her resting place. You weren't there, the only sign you had been was your blanket, drapped over her. We thought- we didn't know if-" Cassian couldn't finish his sentence as Rhysand interupted him, seething with anger and hurt.

"Haven't we lost enough? Why would you do this, Az? Are you truly that selfish?" He screamed. He only stopped and took a breath when Feyre put her hand on his arm, trying to offer a comforting touch. He now spoke with a more level headed tone. "Why not talk to us, talk to me? I know you are upset and hurt by my actions. Gods know I will never forgive myself for the rest of my days, but I lost the woman I had loved my whole life. We both lost her, I- all I wanted to do these past 6 months was grieve with the one other person who loved and knew her as much as I." Feyre retracted her hand, clearly jilted from Rhys mentioning his love for another woman. "You didn't lose anything. You immediately had a replacement lover! I lost everything, and I had to stay by her side as she died, watching you betray her in her final moments. You are calling me selfish for wanting to end my life, but you would have been in the same position had you not had your mate to eagerly take her place." He spit out the word mate in disgust. He had spent his whole life wishing for a mate, but seeing all the pain they seemed to cause, he now wished to never have one.

He had liked Feyre, initially. She hadn't been anything but kind to him, but she jumped at the chance to be Rhys' one and only, and the few weeks before Adelaide had died, Feyre had acted as if she had claim to the High Lord. As if a mating bond could undo centuries of love.

But Azriel guessed it could, seeing as she was now warming his bed.

"Azriel," Cassian spoke up, trying to stop him from saying what he was about to.

"No! Fuck this. You were replacing her as she was dying. Don't talk to me about how much you are mourning her. If you ever feel even a sliver of the misery I have felt for the past 6 months, it would kill you. And I hope it does."

"Azriel!" Feyre yelled, shocked at how he could speak this way to his oldest friend.

He turned to Feyre, finally addressing her for the first time in half a year, "I know you aren't, you are too self centered to, but I also hope you feel shame and disgust every second you spend with him. I hope it eats you alive and you grow to hate yourself because of it. I wish you nothing but a long and unhappy existence."

"How dare you speak to your High Lady like that." Rhysand screamed. In 500+ years, Azriel had heard him yell like that but never had it been directed at him.

The world simultaneously stopped turning for everyone in that room as it sunk in what he just said. What he just revealed. All Azriel could do was look at his family, seeing each of them not surprised at the information, but ashamed, and disgusted, and scared at what was to happen next. They all knew.

"What?" he said, with as much venom and hatred in his voice it was a shock the High Lord didn't fall dead because of it.

Rhysand was now pale, apologetic. He knew he had fucked up, and he had fucked up hard.

Swallowing his guilt and fear, Rhysand tried to calmly explain, more care in his voice than before: "A few months ago, Feyre and I accepted the bond. We then immediately married. It was a secret and intimate affair, no one else but the officiant and us two. I then declared her as my High Lady."

Silence, as they all awaited the Shadowsinger's response. He didn't move for several moments, but his shadows became thick and heavy, almost suffocating everyone in the room. The High Lord and the General had seen him do this, but that was when he was about to torture someone, as he was about to hurt someone who he hated.

Using his wings to propel him forward, Azriel launched himself at his brother, intent on giving him a slow and painful death.

[embrosegraves]

ℙ𝕣𝕖-𝕤𝕖𝕒𝕤𝕠𝕟 𝔹𝕠𝕟𝕕𝕚𝕟𝕘

Oscar Piastri x Horner!Reader Where teams are announced, dinners are held and Oscar finds himself surrounded by people who are determined to help him on his way to greatness.

Warnings: As per, explicit language and grammatical errors. Adelaide Kane is used for one image depicting the reader.

Again, I plead that you ignore the dates on the tweets, the storyline is like 1-2 weeks behind present.

series masterlist | previous part | next part

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oscarpiastri dinner with the team (2nd 📸: yn.horner) tagged: gerihalliwellhorner, christianhorner, redbullracing

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gerihalliwellhorner It was a pleasure having you over ❤️ -> oscarpiastri The pleasure was mine, Mrs Horner -> gerihalliwellhorner Oh call me Geri, sweetheart! -> yn.horner or better yet! call her Mother Spice!!

fan1 his first team dinner 🥹🥹

fan2 forget abt dinner, oscar's outfit slayed 🔥 -> danielricciardo he called me an hour before dinner asking if the "fit was good enough" -> oscarpiastri It was a valid question and I was nervous! -> fan3 girl you won fan2

youtube.com/mattp1tommy Exclusive Interview with Oscar Piastri!

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yn.horner A lil bit of this, a lil bit of that (GP and I are the only ones who know how to cook 😭😭) tagged: danielricciardo, oscarpiastri, gplambiase, maxverstappen1

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maxverstappen1 Lies and slander, I know how to cook -> yn.horner you know how to make a sandwich at best -> danielricciardo she really came for your throat -> oscarpiastri you and I aren't any better danielricciardo -> danielricciardo why are you on her side??? -> yn.horner because he's actually using his brain

christianhorner All my adult-ish children in one place. Good. -> yn.horner now whyd you call us adult-ish?? 🤔 -> christianhorner You know why

fan1 they have matching hoodies- i'm not stable enough for this -> fan2 SAME 😭😭😭

fan3 what I wanna know is who was in that dogpile??? -> yn.horner On the bottom is gplambiase then its maxverstappen1 and danielricciardo -> fan4 where was oscarpiastri ?? -> oscarpiastri a safe distance away, i assure you

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imessage

I was originally gonna post this BEFORE the race but I completly forgot I was going to a music festival and I didn't end up getting home until 1 in the morning.

I woke up 30 minutes ago, quickly fixed some things with the texts and now I'm posting it. I still haven't watched the race, so I'm gonna go do that now and then I'll start planning for the next chapter

I hope you enjoyed!

likes replies and reblogs are always appreciated <3

[thesimline]

1300s WOMEN - PART 2

I've been having so much fun researching medieval fashion and hunting out period appropriate CC. As it was a societal expectation that wives and widows cover their hair in the 1300s, I've made sure to include plenty of head covering options, along with a bunch of accessories in the simple and modest style of this century. CC links under the cut.

You can find more of my historical content here:

1300s ✺ 1400s ✺ 1500s ✺ 1600s ✺ 1700s

1 - Ye Medieval Crown & Veil by ErinkAOK (TSR)

2 - Spike Crown by Historical Simslife

3 - Magda Hair by Melancholy Maiden | Ye Medieval Headacc by Bobur3 (TSR)

4 - Medieval Side Buns by Alin22 | Brocade Hairnets by Alin22

5 - Ye Medieval Joan Hairstyle Lace by Leah Lillith (TSR)

6 - Padme Picnic by Buzzard's Bits and Bobs

7 - Callin' Headband by Pralinesims (TSR)

8 - Harmony by Sehablas Simlish (TSR)

9 - Antonietta Set by Melancholy Maiden

10 - TSM Big Circle Hair by Simverses

11 - TSM Aristocratic Braid Circlet by Simverses

12 - Ye Medieval Adelaide Set by Shimydim (TSR)

13 - Casual Hijab #4 by BokchoiJo (TSR)

14 - Hijab Collection #8 by Marsmerizing Sims

15 - Huda Khimar by Nords (TSR)

16 - S2 Crispinette Headdress Full Veil by Simverses

17 - Hijab by Candy Sims | Lace Wedding Veil by Kiara Zurk

18 - Olenna Tyrell Hat by Bats From Westeros

19 - TSM Simple Veil by Simverses

20 - Ouima Headwrap by FKA

21 - WWI VAD Headwear by Waxes Nostalgic

22 - Ye Medieval Gold Chandelier Earrings by Glitterberryfly (TSR)

23 - Ye Medieval Onyx Earrings by Feyona (TSR)

24 - Ye Medieval Peridot Earrings by Glitterberryfly (TSR)

25 - Ye Medieval Gold Pearl Necklace by Glitterberryfly (TSR)

26 - Ye Medieval Necklace by Bobur3 (TSR)

27 - Aquamarine Set by Melon Sloth

28 - Jade Ring by Glitterberryfly (TSR)

29 - Simple Circle Engagement Ring by Glitterberry Sims

30 - Vintage Engagement Ring by Glitterberry Sims

With thanks to some amazing creators: @historicalsimslife @buzzardly28 @pralinesims @simverses @nords-sims @candysims4 @zurkdesign @batsfromwesteros @destinationboogie @waxesnostalgic @melonsloth

[world-of-wales]

HAPPY 9TH BIRTHDAY TO THE SWEETEST AND SASSIEST QUEEN, HRH PRINCESS CHARLOTTE ELIZABETH DIANA OF WALES (B. 2 MAY 2015) ♡

On 2 May 2015, Princess Charlotte was born to Catherine and William, then known as Duke and Duchess of Cambridge in St Mary's Hospital, London, at 8.34 BST weighing 8 pounds and 3 ounces. She was born during the reign of her paternal great-grandmother Elizabeth II is the second child and only daughter of Will & Cat. The little princess' name was announced on 4 May as Charlotte Elizabeth Diana. Charlotte is the feminine version of her paternal grandfather's name - Charles & also her aunt Pippa's middle name. Elizabeth honours her great-grandmother, Queen Elizabeth, and is also the middle name of her grandmother Carole and her mum Catherine. Diana is in honour of her late paternal grandmother, Princess Diana. Lottie was nine weeks old when she was christened by the archbishop of Canterbury, Justin Welby, on 5 July, at St Mary Magdalene Church in Sandringham. She wore the handmade replica of the Royal Christening Robe, and the Lily Font and water from the River Jordan were used during the baptism. Charlotte spent the first two years of her life at Anmer Hall in Norfolk, before relocating to Kensington Palace in 2017. She started at Willcocks Nursery School in 2018 and later joined her brother George at Thomas's School in Battersea in 2019. In 2022, Lottie and her family relocated to Adelaide Cottage in Windsor, after which she started at Lambrook School with her siblings. Born as a Princess of Cambridge, she became HRH Princess Charlotte of Wales after her grandfather conferred her parents with the titles of the Prince and Princess of Wales. Charlotte who is currently third in line to the throne, made history as the first British princess to outrank a brother in the line of succession. She made her official royal debut at the Trooping of Colour in 2016 and since then has accompanied her parents and brothers for engagements and events. Charlotte joined her parents on official tours to Canada, Germany, and Poland. Taking part in two royal weddings, Lottie has also been a part of her great-grandmother's Platinum Jubilee celebrations in 2022 and her grandfather's coronation in 2023. Charlotte is a nature pixie, and is a keen rugby and tennis player. She loves gymnastics & acrobatics and does amazing cartwheels & handstands. She adores dancing, especially Tap & Ballet and has a passion for theater, putting on shows for her family at home. Lottie loves Pizza and Olives (that's a queen, right there). She's an excellent footballer, which her father was sure to mention to the Lionesses, who she is a big fan of during a visit.

[thelov3lybookworm]

Mine? Epilogue

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9

Summary: her heart is so full.

•○●⛦●○•

Word Count: 975

A/n: we are done with this series... I CANT BELIEVE IT OMG WERE DONE WITH IT 😭

THANK YOU TO YOU ALL FOR COLLOWING THIS SERIES EVEN THOUGH IT TOOK ME MONTHS TO FINISH IT ASJHAJDHDF 😭 ILY ALL SO MUCH ILY ILYY

im so happy heheh 🥹

anyways, enjoy!🥹❣️

°•°•°•○🌑○•°•°•°

"Mommyyy."

Y/n sighed, bowing her head and rubbing her eyes, water dripping from her fingers. She had only just gotten into the bath and Adelaide already missed her?

"Yes my love?" she called out.

"Where are you?"

"In the bath, baby."

Adelaide’s response was only the soft pitter patter of her feet as she ran into the bathroom, the door unlocked because Y/n knew her little girl loved following her around and if she had locked the door, it would have resulted in a tiny tantrum.

"Mommy, where is daddy?"

Adelaide had returned from school half an hour earlier, the car ride back home filled with her babbling about everything that had happened that day. Y/n had no choice but to nod along like she understood it all, while half the stuff she could not even make sense of.

It made her wonder if she even knew english.

Y/n raised her brows at her five year old. She only just remembered that her daddy was not home?

"Baby, daddy had some work. He will be returning soon."

Adelaide pouted, leaning against the tub and swirling her finger through the milky water.

"I miss him."

Y/n nodded solemnly. "Do you want me to call him?"

Adelaide’s eyes lit up. "Yes momma! Please."

Y/n wiped her hand on a nearby towel and picked up her phone to dial up her husband’s number.

"Hello?"

Y/n had the call on speaker phone, so before she could respond, Adelaide did.

"Daddy! Where are you?"

Y/n could hear the smile in Grayson’s voice. "I’m just parking the car sweetheart. Come greet me?"

Adelaide only giggled and ran off, leaving the bathroom door open. Y/n sighed again, shaking her head.

Adelaide was a daddy’s girl through and through. And he was just as smitten by her as she was him.

Y/n would never want it any other way.

"You there, love?"

Y/n blinked, turning her attention to her phone. "Yes."

He paused for a moment. "I forgot what I was supposed to say." he exhaled a frustrated breath, prompting Y/n to giggle.

From the other end, Y/n heard Adelaide’s voice squeaking and squealing and smiled, deciding to end the call. Her husband would soon be coming to say hi anyway.

My husband.

Despite being married for four years already, the thought made her blush every time.

The two had gotten married almost a year after he had proposed. It took the two almost twelve months to convince Liam and her father that Grayson actually loved Y/n. Y/n’s mother, despite being disappointed in Grayson, had forgiven him quickly.

Maybe she saw the way Grayson looked at Y/n, or maybe it was her mother’s heart that only wanted happiness for her daughter. Whatever it was, she had accepted the two’s engagement within the first month. It was the men of the house who still held a grudge.

Y/n’s father and brother would constantly poke at Grayson, at times borderline bully the poor man. But Gray did not budge on his decision to marry her, even knowing that there was a chance that her family would never accept him and always hold animosity towards his very existence.

And that very determination of his to stay with Y/n swayed her father and brother, and while they still weren’t too friendly with him still, things were constantly getting better.

"Mommy’s in there." Y/n heard just a moment before Grayson appeared in the doorway, Adelaide in his arms.

His brows rose the tiniest fraction when he realised Y/n was in the tub. "Well, hello mama. How are you?"

Y/n shook her head, suppressing her smile at the way he shot her a suggestive smirk. "Good."

Adelaide squirmed in Grayson’s arm before he could say anything else, attention already drifting.

"Daddy, I drew you in school today. Let me show you."

She was gone then, leaving Y/n with her husband, who’s lips spread in a flirtier smirk.

He walked closer to her, leaning in while eyeing her shoulders. Y/n could already see the gears in his head turning, already thinking of ways to persuade Y/n to let him join. He began leaning in when she splashed some water on him, making him jerk away.

"Y/n! What was that for?"

She giggled, leaning back in the tub, shaking away the few tendrils of hair that had escaped her bun. "Just felt like it."

He scowled at her, then before Y/n knew what was happening, he began tickling her.

Well, I didn’t think about the consequences.

"Gray- Grayson stoop."

He finally relented after a long moment of making Y/n laugh hysterically, her stomach squeezing.

If anyone who had known Grayson five years ago saw him now, so happy and warm, they would not believe it. But Adelaide had somehow, without even knowing, healed her father. He was happier now, he did not hide his emotions behind a mask, he smiled at everyone he talked to.

"That’s what you get for being mean to me."

She just smiled at him, her heart so full, and grabbed the collar of his shirt, not caring that she left behind prints of her hand, and tugged him close.

He let her do so without a complaint, smile on his lips when she finally kissed him.

"Daddy!"

Y/n pulled away, laughing lightly. "Go, daddy, your princess has summoned you."

He chuckled back, standing straight, but seemed to change his mind as he pecked her lips once more. "I’m yours."

Random confessions of love had become a habit of his now.

Kissing her forehead once he jogged out of the bathroom, shutting the door behind him. Leaving her to smile to herself like a giddy teenager.

Mine.

He’s mine.

°•°•°•○🌑○•°•°•°

Mine taglist: @aaronwarnerobsessedmylove @blocked-zombieartist @lillycore @lanterns-and-daydreams

@bubybubsters @berryzxx @riddlesb1tch @thena101

@imaseabear @book-nerd-emi @cassie6392

The Inheritance Games Taglist: @dahliawarner @thena101 @yucanbmylxdy @sheisntyou @kitkatlover015

[royaltysimblr]

Ophelia of Lausanne, Queen of Windenburg (1620-1673) - Part 3 - Life at Court

Following the couple’s marriage, Ophelia and James occupied Hertford Castle while maintaining apartments at Windslar Palace and Verdun Palace. While James and Ophelia remained devoted to one another and had a loving relationship, Ophelia felt isolated in court. After the conclusion of their wedding celebrations, Ophelia found the courtiers cold and hostile. Ophelia found solace in her Magnolian ladies-in-waiting whom she conversed with in her native language. Ophelia never fully assimilated into Windenburgian Society, and never learned to speak Simlish properly. Ophelia and her husband spoke Magnolian with one another, often in public, causing people to be suspicious of the couple. Many accused Ophelia of being a Jacoban spy who plotted with Jacoban insurrectionists.

Ophelia largely stayed in the company of her Magnolian household for the first two years of marriage. James was forced to dismiss them when rumors spread that Ophelia’s lady-in-waiting, Madame Villiers, was spying on the royal couple for the King of Magnolia. Ophelia was allowed to keep two of her ladies-in-waiting, Angelique de Rohan and Helene de Penthièvre. However, in 1635, Helene was accused of poisoning Adelaide of Schwerin and was later executed. James did nothing to stop this, infuriating Ophelia for a few months.

Over the next few years, Ophelia would develop a new household and close circle of friends including Lady Pauline Charleston and Cecelia Bentwick, Countess of Harren. Ophelia would develop life-long friendships with Pauline and Cecelia, who would remain her constant companions at court. Francine Withers, Duchess of Norwich was appointed her mistress of the robes, with her sisters, Lady Georgiana Burley and Lady Henrietta Burley serving as Ladies of the Bedchamber. Ophelia’s favorite at court, Vincent Williams-Bulwick, 2nd Earl of Winthrop, was appointed her chamberlain. James appointed his close friend, Sir Thomas Grenoble as his wife’s treasurer to control her finances. Ophelia’s constant overspending throughout the first years of marriage made her unpopular. Her expensive and grand wardrobe along with her large household led to her going into debt as early as 1637. 

With the news of Ophelia’s first pregnancy in 1636, she was gifted Courland Palace by her father-in-law, King Charles. Ophelia and her husband often traveled to Courland Palace during the summertime. Ophelia cultivated a series of residences that included Verdun Palace, Hertford Castle, Glencraig Castle, and Barley House. Ophelia had her residences refurbished and renovated, much to the dismay of her frugal husband. Ophelia collected a large number of pets including 12 dogs, 5 cats, and many exotic pets such as peacocks, parrots, and zebras. 

Ophelia had a warm relationship with her father-in-law, King Charles II, who often showered the couple with gifts. Meanwhile, Ophelia had a strained relationship with her mother-in-law, Matilda Carlton, and her grandmother-in-law, Adelaide of Schwerin. Matilda, a staunch Peteran, found Ophelia’s devout Jacobanism repulsive. While, Adelaide’s dislike of Ophelia came down to family disputes, as the Duchy of Schwerin was ransacked by Magnolia in 1605. Although Matilda and Adelaide detested one another, they worked together to ostracize Ophelia. Matilda and Adelaide would openly snub Ophelia by ignoring her at court and not inviting her to their entertainments. 

Ophelia’s open practice of her Jacoban faith was largely unpopular with the court and the public. Pamphlets were constantly dispersed slandering Ophelia and her faith, claiming she was a Jacoban spy. Ophelia’s sympathy toward Jacobans didn’t help her position at court either. In 1636, when the court was traveling to Dunkeld Palace, Ophelia had the court stop at the town of Aylesbury to pray for the persecuted Jacobans who were murdered by a Peteran mob. This greatly annoyed the court who had no sympathy for the murdered Jacobans.

[caffeinated-chaos-bean]

A little sneak peak of what I've been working on. So far, this is the progress made over the course of 4 days~

Today I finally got down Addie's stand. Her name is Deep Sea, and yes she is based on Shinkai Shoujo (aka Deep Sea Girl).

Original, official artwork was used and frankensteined in order to get the art style as accurate as possible. The upper body for Deep Sea is actually from Spice Girl, while the front and back display for Adelaide is a mix between Jolyne, Foo Fighters, and Gwess. The hair for all three references were traced over from her mmd model so that they would be accurate as all heck.

Bonus Fun fact: While he won't admit it, Dio is afraid of her stand because he is afraid of being stuck back at the bottom of the sea.

[mazdaparts07]

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[junedenim]

2009

beneath the boardwalk, part 7 (series masterlist)

secret door

warnings: a tad angsty, a tad fluffy, a tad smutty, a sweet tooth, etc.

word count: 10.5k

Alex and I shared his childhood bed. I spent Christmas and New Year's with my family in Bath, but I made the trip up to Sheffield on the 4th of January for Alex's birthday on the 6th. It was a rather unremarkable birthday but it remains one of the coziest. Alex and I thought about going out to drink but his mum made him a cake. After we ate the cake, we were too tired so we played a game of Cluedo with his parents and went to bed.

After this birthday, I realized I enjoyed Alex's birthday more than my own. My birthdays have had the long tradition of ending in dramatics or sadness or just plain boring. The simplicity of Alex's birthdays has always brought me comfort, maybe because he doesn't want a party. He doesn't want to do anything. He just wants to relax and play Cluedo.

When we went to bed that night, we were practically stacked on top of each other. He offered to sleep on the floor because, although we had done the twin bed shuffle before, it never equalled the best sleep. I denied him and said I would. He denied me so I laid half my body on top of him to not fall off the bed.

I combed his hair back. It had grown out in the desert but was softer than ever. His mum made him get a trim, which tamed up the hair, making it fall perfectly as opposed to his faux sideburn days. "How's 23 feel?"

He shrugged and reached a hand up to push my curtain-like hair behind my ear. My hair was getting long too, which I was thankful for because I didn't want to resemble Alex too much. I had grown my fringe out in the desert. My hair looked shaggier than ever but I kind of liked the roughness of it. Maybe that was the part that resembled Alex's hair. "No different than 22," he said.

"I guess we've passed all the fun ages," I sighed. "We're truly adults now."

Alex smiled softly. "That feels weird. I know we've done all these adult things, but actually being referred to as one is still weird."

"I can always account for you being older than me. That's all that matters."

He shook his head, amused by me. "Those 3 months mean a lot to you."

"Yeah, they must have been the worst 3 months of your life."

"Why?"

"'Cause you were living in a world without me."

He kissed me and then said, "That would truly be." A kiss to the cheek. "Hell." A kiss to the neck. "On." A kiss to the right collarbone. "Earth." A kiss to the right breast.

*

In the latter half of January, the band went on a small Australian & New Zealandian tour. I went because what else would I do? The majority of the tour was for the Big Day Out Festival which was hosted in Sydney, Melbourne, Gold Coast, Adelaide, Perth, and Auckland.

Their first show back in Wellington came with the debut of some Humbug songs, which I had already known of through recording and rehearsals. But seeing "Pretty Visitors" live for the first time ever was life-changing, even if Alex did stand awkwardly with his hands in his jacket's pockets. Like Pinocchio came to life, still not adapted to his new body.

I used the label-comped airfare travel to explore rather than attend most of their concerts. The dates were compacted close together so I was the only one out of our crew that got to defrost from the British winter in the Australian sun.

In February, the band was due to return to California to finish the album. Late one night in Perth, Alex asked me, "Are you coming back?"

It had been a deflected point like most things. Pushed off until someone or something made the decision for me. I didn't know what to do. I didn't want to go back to London alone. I didn't want to be in California alone. Ultimately, the business card from Opal stuck in my wallet tipped the scale.

"I think I want to finish it out," I told him.

Excitement flashed in his eyes but he stayed still. "Are you sure? I'll be back before you know it. Everything will be fast. You won't even miss me."

I tugged at him. "Of course, I'll miss you. And you'll be off on tour soon and I like the idea of going with you but you know I can't do a whole tour with you. I have to be independent."

The greatest accomplishment in my life might be Alex's pride in me. I don't know how I earned his belief in me. It was there right from the moment we met and it never dissipated, even when we broke up. His smile flashed with pride then, small, but always proud in the stances I made for myself.

"I know," he said. "And I love being with you but I like hearing what you get up to when I'm away. And it'll be more flexible this time since you're out of school."

"And, maybe, I could get some work out in LA. Just freelance or something. I feel like I just gave up last time and didn't bother with a job. You know, me and complaining."

"Shush, you're opinionated. It's how I like my women."

"Women?"

He corrected, "Woman."

I chuckled and slotted my head on his shoulder. "I think maybe I'll get in touch with Opal. Maybe one day write for the LA Times. Would that make me a traitor?"

"No," he laughed, "just maybe a red coat." The skin near his eyes crinkled up, pleased with his joke. I prayed to make those wrinkles become permanent, for him to live in a lifetime of laughter, specifically from my jokes but I do get a special funny feeling when he's laughing at his own humor. It's like he's patting himself on the back, something he does physically do.

There was a question of giving in too much to Alex. I was chasing a boyfriend through the world, which was okay because I was traveling and exploring too and I wanted to be with him but I always worried about my association with him—clinging too tightly, representing an image of somebody who lived off of him. At times (and eventually), it consumed me.

*

In our rented LA home there was a bay window, which didn't look out on much other than the road and the opposing house. While Alex was at the studio, I sat there and wrote. By that point, I had compiled my essays in a file I called "LA Times." My intention wasn't to submit the works to the LA Times—I had yet to hear back from Opal on any openings—but it was simply something in the works—a digital diary of those past few Californian months.

I had begun submitting work and didn't hear back. I thought of getting a part-time job or babysitting gig, but it felt like a waste of my degree, and Alex had plenty of funds to go around.

Opal and I went out for drinks and it was the first time I went out in LA, independent from Alex. It was fast fun. Opal talked in excessive sweetness but was snarky in response to any disparity toward her.

She seemed so worldly but had never lived anywhere outside of LA. She wasn't any form of a writer but she worked with writers all day and asked if she could look at my work. I was shyly reluctant but she tugged it out of me. Some small 500-word piece I liked.

She gushed about it (and still does) insisting on me giving her more of my writing. I slowly trickled more pieces to her before she accumulated enough to give to her friend, Jackson Ferrera.

Opal began coming over to our house. If Alex was out late, we'd have dinner together. We drink together most Friday nights. We smoked a joint together once and she laughed so much she peed herself.

Opal and Alex had an interesting relationship. Opal paid compliments to his appearance like she did with everyone but it never verged on sexual or romantic. She was an observer like all of us, but she didn't write about it.

She'd also mock him as most girls do together behind their boyfriend's back. All remaining affectionate and loving. The kind of way I talked about Stacey. She was my pestering little sister who was also my youthful partner-in-crime.

"I love your hair, hon!" She said once to Al after he returned home to us watching Glee on the couch.

"Oh." He patted down the sides of his hair as if he forgot it was on his head. "I guess."

He left the room and Opal turned to me and said, "That man can not take a compliment."

I laughed and shrugged. "I've tried my best. I think he thinks you're lying to him."

"Why?!" Opal's mouth lay agape. "I'm not a liar."

I stared at her speculatively. "Everyone's a liar."

"I'm not." She placed her hand on her chest, insisting to me, "My mom told me to never lie."

I don't know if Opal has ever lied, not expansively. Not even little white lies. If you asked her how her day was, she'd tell you honestly. Maybe she fibbed and told half-truths, but she'd never fake compliment you.

She was judgy. On the other side of her kindness was someone who would honestly tell you that you look ugly in that dress. Her job seemed like her destiny, paid to have an opinion because she wasn't designed for fake niceties. I appreciated and needed the quality. It was a confidence boost and a humbling force.

*

For my birthday, Alex took me to Big Sur. We flew up to San Jose and Alex drove us down to our lodge where I fell asleep and woke up 23.

In the early morning, we walked along Pfeiffer Beach where the water was too cold and dangerous to swim in and the wind blew so hard it blinded us. We abandoned the beach, had lunch, and walked Point Lobos, which felt like we'd walked into a dream. The water waved its blues and the wind waved through the trees just right to create the perfect breeze.

"You know," I said, "this is the first trip we've ever been on. Just you and me."

Alex bowed his head and said, "Suppose that's my fault. At least we've done Wicklow."

"I know, but it doesn't really count. We probably wouldn't have gone if we weren't in Dublin." We both walked with our hands in our pockets and it was easy to think of all those talks we'd had before with our hands stuffed into our jeans pockets.

Alex smiled, his eyes covered with sunglasses, and his hair framing his face. "I'm making up for it now. Best I can." He placed one of his hands on the small of my back; a reassuring touch. Alex often felt insufficient and I wasn't the best at combating that doubt. I know he's carried guilt for self-claimed selfishness. If we were both older I wouldn't have tolerated this in the manner I did at that age. I never cared that he wanted things because he wanted me to be a part of them. However, there was always a sense that Alex had to "make up" for what he had done. I don't know if that hurt me or pleased me.

When we finished the trail we had to go back to our lodge because Alex had slipped down a hill and cut a hole into his jeans. Believe me, very funny, I wish I had it to submit to Funniest Home Videos but alas...

Alex drove for the majority of the trip. I wasn't very good at driving in America. It confused my brain. I reached over, brushing a chunk of his hair behind his ear like he had done for me countless times. "You think you're going to keep it long?"

He shrugged. "I don't know. Do you think I should?"

"If you like it," I permitted.

He glanced over and gave me a look. "Does that mean you don't like it?"

I hummed. I had never really thought about it. "No. I like it," I decided. "It makes you look older. I think if you had the same cut as college you'd still look like you were 17."

"You don't think I've aged at all?"

"It's hard to tell. I've never been away long enough to notice a difference. What about me? Do I look older?" I batted my eyelashes.

He chuckled at my brazen show. "You look 23 to me."

*

I got a call from Jackson Ferrera a week after my birthday. I didn't know who he was and almost didn't answer the call when it rang at 10:30 AM, still in bed. Alex had left an hour or two earlier, kissing my forehead and unintentionally waking me up. We mumbled, "Bye, baby" to one another before he left and I drifted back to sleep.

I was in the shower when Alex returned home. It was somewhere around 5 PM and a Wednesday and I hadn't left the house once. I was in the middle of washing my hair when I heard the bathroom door open and my worries about this becoming a scene from Psycho dissipated when Alex said, "Hey, honey." Isn't it cute? We call each other honey now. It originated from Opal. We imitated her calling everyone "honey" with one another until we actually just ended up calling each other "honey" all the time.

"Hey," I called out over the shower. Alex discarded his clothes and joined me in the shower. We had started doing that more often too. We didn't often have sex in the shower either. I mean, it did happen, but we decided to shower together more in a chaste quality. Alex has the ability to wash your hair in the same way it feels at a salon. It's complete bliss. "How was your day?"

He was my little dog with his long hair getting wet in the shower and sticking to his face. He let the water run over it completely before pushing it back and out of his face. "Good. Fine," he answered. "I feel like I've been hunched over all day." He pecked my lips, a domestic greeting.

I reached down for my conditioner and told him, "I'll rub your back before bed." We might as well be the old married couple with aching backs and a stay-at-home woman willing to soothe them. I don't like to view us as old-fashioned. We were unconventional. British desert Californians, who were a musician and a pretend writer.

Alex took the bottle out of my hand, taking the conditioner into his hands, acting his role of hair masseuse. "You're my savior. I'd have a humpback if it weren't for you."

I shrugged as I turned for him to rub the product in my hair. "I like taking care of you. Shall I have dinner on the table too?"

He scoffed, "God, no. I'd be dead of food poisoning if you did that."

I laughed because I wasn't offended by not having any cooking skills. Alex understood that and has never forced a change on that. "You can't blame me. My parents don't know how to cook either."

"Your parents don't know how to do a lot of things you can do. Excuses, excuses." He clicked his tongue and I giggled as he squeezed one of my butt cheeks. "What did you get up to while I was gone?"

I sighed, turning back around to face him, a big smile plastered on my face. "Okay, well, don't freak out because I don't know anything yet."

Alex immediately grabbed my hands, nearing a panic. "What?"

I pushed his hands down. "Calm down," I instructed. "It's not that big of a deal." He relaxed and awaited an answer. "So, I got this call from someone Opal knows. A guy named Jackson Ferrera—"

"Oh, god, Janie, you're leaving me, aren't you?" Alex joked, turning his head away in dramatics, pushing me away, unable to bear the sight of me. "I always knew it."

I slapped his arms away. "Will you shut up? Listen." He looked at me normally and nodded his head. "Opal gave him some of my writing and he's this literary agent and he wants to talk about maybe him representing me—"

I was interrupted by Alex's excitement. "Are you serious? Like a book or something?"

I was reluctant to say anything, not wanting to get his hopes up, my hopes up like speaking it aloud would cancel out any possibilities. "I don't know yet. I haven't even met the guy yet."

"But you're going to?" Alex clutched my waist, his grip filled with giddiness.

I nodded, trying to fight this big smile. "This Friday at noon. And I don't know what it would be yet. He could just recommend me for some stupid literary agent job."

Alex quickly shook his head. "No way, Janie. You're going to make a book."

"I'm not going to make a book," I insisted.

But he fought back, confident as always, "You're going to make a book."

"Don't jinx anything. He might just help me submit some of my pieces to some higher-up magazines. Who knows, by the end of the year, I could be in the New Yorker?"

He scoffed, "You're better than the New Yorker. They'll be begging for your work."

I bumped into him. "Don't say that. I'd love to write for the New Yorker. I'd be happy writing for Playboy at this point."

Alex wiggled his eyebrows. "They do have some really good articles."

I pinched his side and told him to shut it. He wrapped me up in a hug and a dramatic rain—well, shower—kiss. Everything felt like it was landing in place and California did really seem to be a place where dreams came true and all that nonsense that I'll make fun of for the rest of this book but for this one moment, I'll believe to be true. Then, Alex got shampoo in his eye.

"Ow! Fuck, fuck, fuck." He clutched his left eye and doubled over. The water and shampoo suds still pouring down his face.

I grabbed his shoulder and asked if he was okay. He insisted on being fine but his hand remained on his eye and he grinded his teeth down before I managed to pull him out of the shower without tripping.

I sat him on the toilet seat, dripping wet, and shampoo still a mess in his hair. "Let me see," I said, drying his face off.

He waved me off. "No, no, I'm fine." His hand remained on his eye with a refusal to remove it.

"Al," I said and tugged at his wrist. He dropped his hand and slowly opened his eye, bloodshot and pink. "Oh, Jesus."

"What? Did it fall out?" He joked.

I snorted a laugh and began searching for eye drops. "It's dried up, that's all."

Then came the struggle of actually getting the eye drops into Alex's eye because he refused to keep his eye open. He kept muttering, "Ow, ow, ow" as each eye drop flooded his eyeball.

Later that night, after I fell asleep in front of American Idol, Alex must have moved me to our bedroom or I slept-walked there. Alex said I did that a few times. When I woke, the red digital clock on my bedside read 2:32 AM. I dug my face into the pillow, pissed I had woken up in the middle of the night. I turned my head and came to the realization Alex was missing if he was ever in bed, to begin with.

I padded across our cold wooden floors barefoot in the dark before I saw the back patio light on and the faint shadow of Alex. I stepped one foot out and saw him, notebook in lap, cigarette in hand, gazing out onto the dark backyard, deep in thought.

"You shouldn't be smoking with your eye," I said hoarsely.

His head tilted back to look at me and he had a soft smirk on his face. "I'll live. Just needed something to relax."

"Take an edible then."

He vibrated off laughter and tapped the ash off his cigarette. "I'll find a different excuse."

I kept one foot outside and one inside, asking, "Do you want some company?"

He shook his head, insisting, "No, no. You sleep."

I was hesitant to move. "You sure?"

Alex nodded. "Yeah, yeah. Just finishing up some writing. I'll be in soon."

"Okay."

I returned to bed and fell asleep before Alex came back but when I woke up in the late morning he was asleep beside me. I wondered what Alex wrote. The beginning verses to "Stuck on the Puzzle" or if he never picked up his pen to begin with? Maybe I read too much into it but Alex never had qualms about me keeping him company while he wrote and our late-night smokes were ritualistic at that point. I believed he thought about something else. Me. Something too personal to share.

With both of us, those secrets that we kept from one another were exclusively worries. I can't help but think Alex knew what was eventually to come from my contact with Jackson. I can't help but think he worried. He always worried, suffering in silence. I screamed about everything and he sat with it, let it stir and brew for days, months, years. It was a habit of our 20s. But Alex always seemed to know, a habitual psychic and I was the palm in his hand.

*

It didn't end up being a book, not at first, but we did a trial period in which I submitted to Jackson who began shopping my pieces around to publishers. I was terrified and didn't tell anyone other than Alex and Opal for fear it would fall through and fail. Jackson felt confident and I supposed that helped, although I couldn't comprehend a world where I wrote a book, even though, for years, I had already written books in my notebook.

I tried not to think about it much. We were coming up on Alex going back on tour again and the question of whether to stay in LA rose, which was really just whether I would. I didn't like the thought of being in LA without Alex. I found the city rather unappealing but I didn't know where I'd return to. London was an option but I don't know how at home I would've felt there. It's cheesy to say Alex is my home because he's a person and I found that statement to be rather exaggerated. In those days, I just felt more comfortable wherever he was, maybe because I was so aimless myself, but I knew that I finally found a direction to go in.

One of my pieces did end up in The Village Voice. Alex paid to have a print copy sent, and he framed it. It embarrassed me so much that I stuffed it into drawers when we had guests over.

One night, we went to a party on some random Monday and sat on the uncomfortable fancy chairs, drinking cocktails. Alex had an Old Fashioned, I had a Cosmopolitan. It was an affair with some elegance, though I can't remember what it was actually for. We both vowed not to get drunk because we couldn't be hungover on a Tuesday.

I had my hand on Alex's knee and he had his arm around the back of my chair. I think the dinner they served was chicken but I don't remember. It wasn't very good either way.

"Do you think I should get my Master's?" I asked Alex.

He sipped his drink with his left hand and lightly tapped my shoulder with his right. "Why would you do that?"

I shrugged and picked up my Cosmo, trying to be Carrie Bradshaw in hopes it would get me a job as luxurious as hers. Or maybe just the clothes and the apartment. "Something to do. I like the idea of going to school here."

Alex's brows furrowed as he looked over at me. "But you hated school."

"That's not true."

He chuckled. "J, you complained about it all the time."

Maybe I did. I don't remember. It's like when people have babies and they forget how hard labour was so their bodies trick them into having more kids. "I liked the structure of it. Plus, a Master's would allow a more flexible schedule and you'll be away on tour soon so it'd be something to do."

Alex shook his head. "I don't think you'd like it."

I frowned. "Maybe I would."

"I mean..." Alex searched for what to say. "I just think you're getting somewhere with your writing and you're running away from it."

I rested my head on my hand. "Maybe."

Alex reached out and pushed my hair out of my face. "Whatever you do you'll be great at. Just do what you love, okay?"

His smirk put me on edge and I raised my eyebrow. "What? Like you?"

"Huh?" His face looked puzzled, worried that he had offended me somehow.

"I love you so you want me to do you?"

He threw his head back in laughter. "Get your mind out of the gutter, Janie."

*

The whole Master's idea felt foolish. So, I decided to do it, except it was March and way past the time for applications. In the meantime, I tried to figure out what I would do while Alex was away. I felt I should have wanted to leave Los Angeles after all my bitching and moaning, but something drew me to stay. There was a new friend in Opal but I didn't have any job prospects through her or Jackson. Freelance could fit but I didn't want it to fit. The idea of me writing a book burrowed more inwardly to my mind as Jackson stopped mentioning book deals and directed me more toward staff writing jobs to get my name out there.

But I felt that LA had wrapped its warmth around me and suffocated me long enough to want to stay. I liked America and I liked the city, but I also had a visa to worry about. I was over on a tourist Visa and since all work I had done was freelance, I was paid as if I was located in England still. I could fly back and stay for another 180 days or I could get a work visa, which meant getting a job.

That's when Condé Nast appeared. Jackson had unofficially become my unpaid job seeker, doing it solely for me as a favour. I suspected he felt bad for not achieving a book deal and decided to help me out. The Condé Nast position was for a product writer and reviewer. The issue was I had no history with a full-time writing job, but either Jackson had connections or they felt pity for me, too, so I got the job.

So, it wasn't LA, it would be New York.

Alex loved the idea and boasted about it to everyone, kissing my cheek after each statement, and squeezing me to his side. As for New York, he simply said, "It's your turn."

He would be away on tour anyway, so it didn't matter much other than that he would crash at whatever housing I picked in New York. We flew to New York in June. I had never been to New York in the summer. I had never been with Alex in New York.

Usually on our excursions, I dragged Alex around the town and up the hills. In New York, Alex dragged me to the Strand, Chelsea Hotel, the Mudd Club, the Transit Museum, and, most importantly, the turtle pond in Central Park.

Beside the box turtles and red-eared sliders, Alex and I rested against a rock as they padded their way shoreside. He wore a baby blue shirt and picked at his jeans, his mannerisms the same as when I spotted him across the room. "Do you remember when you used to have writing on your jeans?"

He looked up at me, smiling, pushing his hair behind his ears, pounds of fluff. "Yeah."

"What was written on them?" Those blurs of red markings and my wish to know those depths of his soul as if what he was really thinking was written on the knees of his jeans.

He shrugged and almost shamefully said, "Just song lyrics. Strokes and stuff."

"You wrote on them?"

"Yeah."

"I always figured that your mates had written on them. My Converses used to be covered in Joanie's handwriting and hearts." I hadn't thought of her for a long time. Nothing in America reminded me of Wakefield and so Joanie never came to mind.

Alex broke me out of my thoughts, asking, "Can I write on your trainers?"

I raised my eyebrows. "On my new shoes? Can I write on your jeans?"

"Sure." He pulled a pen from his pocket and handed it to me. His quickness made me hesitate but I pulled the pen from his fingers and thought of what to write. I could've drawn a penis but I wasn't that cruel. The black pen was faint against the dark blue denim but I repeated my sketching until the letter was clear enough. I wrote my name because I couldn't think of anything else. What's more beautiful than a person's name? Gross.

Alex seemed to like it, a grin upturning on his face, and an eyebrow raised against me. "Why don't you draw a heart around it?"

I rolled my eyes. "Do you want me to put an arrow through it too?"

He laughed but said, "Sure." I didn't add the heart or arrow. It would be too cheesy and ruin my beautiful cursive name. I returned the pen to him and he tapped his hand over the writing. "With me every step of the way."

I giggled, both embarrassed and charmed. "You gonna get it tattooed?"

I joked but he took it shockingly seriously. "Do you want me to?"

I bolded my eyes and tilted my head. "Stop," I chastised him. "I'm not trying to brand you. I won't even let you write on my shoes and you're willing to get me permanently on your body?"

"Those are nice shoes," he countered.

"You've got a nice body," I argued.

"It'll add to it."

Whether it was sweetness or idiocy, it did feel like love. I raised my legs and plopped my feet in his lap. "Alright. Write away on them then." They were just trainers anyway and his name in a heart with an arrow through it was worth much more.

Afterwards, we toured an apartment. Previous apartments we had toured had been far above my expected salary. Alex had this need to contribute to the apartment's rent despite not getting a break from touring until late October. I had a need to pay rent for myself. I never lived on my own and I felt this apartment should be my apartment, even though Alex's stuff would be there. 

Alex understood all of this, although still pushed to contribute some to the rent and, well, I'm never one to deny financial assistance so we made a deal that he would pay me for storing his stuff while he was gone and I would pay for the rest. This all meant those apartments next to Central Park were out of the question. So, we headed downtown, Petula Clark style. 

"You know, this area is called SoHo too?" I asked him as we walked down Thompson Street. He shook his head and I explained, "It's because it's south of Houston Street. So. Ho."

He chuckled and nodded. "It'll be like a little piece of home with you."

It turned out to be. I found a place on Prince Street for a reasonable amount. 1 bed. 1 bath. Windows that drenched the floors in sunlight, a big closet, and—the thing I was most excited for—a bathtub.

On our first night there, Alex and I attempted to do the romantic having-a-bath-together thing. I purchased a bubble bath solution from Target and Alex got a bottle of wine from Wine and Spirits. We felt very American in both stores. 

"I can't remember the last time I took a bath," Alex said as he sank into the warm oasis.

"They used to just spray you down with a hose, right?" I joked as I sipped on my wine.

Alex cupped his hand in the water and sent a splash my way. "Hey! You got water on the floor. And in my wine." I frowned at the bubbles resting on the surface of the wine.

"I'll get you another glass," he said as he stood.

I reached out and grabbed his leg. "Don't leave."

At my request, he sank back into the water. "Here. You can have mine." He stuck out his half-full glass. I leaned forward and kissed the back of the hand that was holding it. My version of thank you as I took the glass from his hand. 

He stretched his legs out and we kept poking each other until I took Alex's feet into my lap. I lightly rubbed on the left one, his big toe sticking out above the water. I felt sinking in myself and refused to look at him. I was becoming too soft. "I'm gonna miss you."

Alex sighed. I knew he hurt more than me. I missed him and we loved each other the same but I knew he had to deal with two kinds of pain. His and mine. We had to deal with missing each other and he had to deal with the guilt. I always told him it was ridiculous to feel guilty because I never held any resentment toward him for going away. But I guess we never properly addressed all that ugly stuff from the past, only in fights, and we never concluded properly, just in exhaustion.

But I think we both knew that communication would be the difference this time. The band was more established. I was more established. I think I would have hated being alone in our LA house without Alex but something about New York, feeling it was mine, made me feel a little freer.

"I'm sorry," he said.

I shook my head. "Don't apologize. I'm proud of you."

"Proud of you too." I looked up to see the big smile on his face. You know, it heals anything.

I slide deeper into the tub, the water covering my neck. I was bare-skinned and my insides were beginning to feel the same. "I'm nervous."

"We'll be fine," he assured.

I shook my head. "I know. I'm nervous for me. Being alone and the new job."

His hand found my leg in the water, stroking it. "You'll make friends in no time and you're a whiz."

"But what if I hate it?" I sounded wobbly like I was about to tip off the edge.

Alex, the calm force dragging me through life, said, "Then, on to the next thing."

I held a smile to him. One he returned. "My mother would say I'm being picky."

"Your mother who drinks for a living?"

I held offence when Alex spoke of my mother. The things he said were true but my whole life I’ll feel the need to protect her. At that age, I still felt destined to unknowingly become her. In that way, Alex was insulting future me. "Hey! She does other things. Probably."

Alex laughed and pulled his feet from me, curling his legs. "Alright. I'm cramping here." He rose from the tub, swishing the water around, peeking at the edges.

I gasped. "Even if the foot rub I gave you?"

We moved out of LA pretty quickly but yet again transporting all your belongings from one side of the country to another was a pain. We enlisted the help of friends but in New York, we were on our own for the most part, other than some hired movers. We weren't getting that couch up the stairs.

The band did a few festivals in Europe in July before returning for a New York show at the beginning of August. I was only a few weeks into my job and it was the fulfillment and structure I needed, although I wasn't doing much writing. I was fine with working my way up, setting an achievement, and moving forward. It was a mostly new idea for me.

After their concert, we did the ritual of bar hopping. I invited my new friend, Tasha, and her boyfriend to join us, however, her boyfriend ditched her after the show, which led her to get very drunk and weepy and therefore pulled me away from any time of catching up with the group. Although, they seemed very consumed by the drama.

"I don't mean to put this all on you," she cried to me. "But he said he was gonna buy me a drink tonight and I—" she was taking away into sobs.

"I'll buy you a drink," Matt offered.

"Really?" It was in fact her fifth drink. She had quickly consumed the first 2 from the rounds and pulled the other 2 from me. "I really liked him, you know. I love him, I think."

"We know, sweetie." I felt bad for her but all the crying was becoming quite tiresome, especially with a girl you had only known 2 weeks in the setting of an office space.

She sat up straight, wiping away that wetness on her face when Matt arrived back with a drink. For the time being, she calmed her waterworks with a gulp of liquor. "You wouldn't do this to Jane, would you Alex? Why can't I find a guy like that?"

I chuckled, "Alex ditches me all the time."

To the side of me, Alex's head snapped to me. "What?" His face was etched with a furrowed brow and a frown.

I turned to him wide-eyed and confused. "What?"

"I don't ditch you."

My mouth created a slight opening in bafflement. "Yeah, you do. Or did." I turned back to Tasha. "Either way, they're all assholes, you just have to find the asshole that fights you."

"Ha. Asshole." Jamie laughed.

While Jamie found humour in the situation and Tasha found slight comfort, Alex found offense. "You think I'm an asshole?"

I turned back to him. "Yeah. Don't you think I'm a bitch?"

His eyes were wide at the word like we were kids taught to put coins in the swear job. His response was quick. "No."

I tried my best to give it to him in an explanation that would placate him. "Okay. Well, I get on your nerves or whatever. Either way, you just have to find the guy that fits you. Now, I think we should get you a cab." Tasha nodded with a sniffle. 

After I stuck Tasha in a cab, I stayed outside to have a cigarette. I had a weird feeling in my stomach that I wasn't sure if it was from the alcohol or something emotional. I had a rash on my left leg that I labelled as being from stress but I wasn't sure what it was stress from. I felt a pressure on my chest and the perfect solution was a cigarette.

It wasn't a smoke signal for Alex to join me although I should have thought that considering our history and the perfect view from our table out the window to the street. He came out halfway through the ash and walked with hair in his face and hands in his pockets.

When he stepped in front of me, I reached out and brushed his hair out of his face and wondered if he felt this way—this feeling of caring, uncovering someone for your gaze—every time he did it for me. I tucked it behind his ear and peeked the small smile underneath that shaggy head. It tickled me, exposing a silent laugh from my lips. 

"You really think I'm an asshole?" He asked. His tone was playful but I knew he was worried I considered him to be one of them. That breed of man who brushed women off after they got their goods as if he hadn't loved and cared for me since the moment we met.

I held my palm over his cheek, holding my hand over his fire, rubbing the lobe of his ear. I just wanted to hold him forever and I felt like crying at the thought I couldn't. I don't know where the sudden emotion came from but I suppose by this point it isn't shocking to find myself crying, especially after 3 drinks outside a bar. I couldn't speak so I shook my head and kept the overwhelming pathos at bay by the rhythmic stroking of his ear. 

"I missed you," he said.

I cut any further words he had off with a shake of my head, a dismissiveness I needed. "I don't want to talk about missing each other anymore." The gates fell and I dropped my arm away from his shoulder, picking at my nails as my voice quivered. "All I talk about is missing you."

"Jane."

Exasperated with myself, I shook my head and looked away not to cry. "I just want to enjoy the night." I looked at him, listening attentively, eyes trained on me. "I don't want to think about you leaving tomorrow night and I'm fine, trust me, but I feel this ache all the time and I don't want to feel this ache while you're here and I don't want to talk about this ache because I know it's mutual so let's stop talking about it and pretend that this is just any other night in our lives and we're in Sheffield, grabbing a pint with our mates or something." 

I laughed wetly. He reached out to me and brushed my hair behind my ear and it made everything feel alright. "This feels pretty Sheffield, doesn't it?"

"What?"

He shrugged and took out his pack of cigarettes, plucking one, and placing it in between his lips. "Light me up, Janie, would ya?"

A smile tugged my lips and I dug into my purse one-handed for my lighter. He leaned forward, the end of it so close to me I could take a bite of it. I lit the flame between us and then to his cigarette. He took a puff before stepping back to exhale, his eyes stuck with mine. 

"I love you. I feel like we don't say that enough," I told him. He stood away from me but I felt so close to him like we had wrapped ourselves up in a fort of blankets, not standing in the humid August streets. 

"You don't have to say it for me to know it. Hasn't that always been our MO?" In wordless whispers and those longing stares, we had always spoken with some underlying language that didn't even make perfect sense to us, it was just there. 

"Yeah. Still, I want to remind you."

He chuckled and stepped closer, hooking his arm around my neck, and pulled me beneath his chin with a long gaze down at me. "I love you too, Janie. And all the rest."

"The rest?" I questioned.

His Adam's apple bopped and he looked up at the sky for a moment as if God was giving him the all-clear. His eyes reintroduced themselves to me. "There's this weight of love inside me that I'll never be able to express to you. It's just there, a consuming being that flares up whenever you're near me or I think about you. It's this constant. I've had it since I thought your name was Jeanie and I still don't know how to talk about it or what to call it—all this unexpressed love."

"It seems like you did." I tried not to sob. I thought of Tasha, likely crying in a cab, and I know I've always been a fortunate girl and I've been called lucky since birth, but I never felt like I truly won anything other than meaningless games until I was brought to Alex. I thought of all those missteps I could have taken to have never met Alex about how many things had to go a certain way for me to be at that first gig. How—I guess—I have to thank Matt, although that part is reluctant for me to say (a fear it will go to his head). But I kept it all inside and didn't tell Alex this because I think this is part of that weight of love I still can't fully express. "Are you sure it's not a tumor?"

He laughed at me and kissed the top of my head. My cigarette had been scuffed out against his jeans so we shared the rest of his before Alex suggested, "I think we should head home." I had never confessed how romantic I thought the idea of going home with Alex was to me but I have a feeling he just knew because he always just knows.

He took me by the hand and took me back inside the bar where we said goodbye to our party of people and I smacked a kiss on the cheek to each of them. They've always felt like brothers-in-law to me but I found as we grew older and closer, they were my friends too.

We headed back to our apartment, taking the A train. Alex held my purse for me and we sat in a sweaty, non-air-conditioned subway car, and it felt as though we were in London on the tube, praying for a gust of wind to come in through the little window and provide momentary relief. 

It was too hot to touch each other's skin so we held a small space between us and knocked knees with one another. Alex sat hunched over, his hands sitting on the top knee of his crossed legs. I leaned back against the plastic orange chair. The train was mostly empty but we filled its quietness with laughter. Halfway through the ride, that sentimental fuzzy part of me took a picture of him. I still owned a flip phone for the sole purpose of having a slideout keyboard, not known for having a good camera, and the photo was mostly unrecognizable to anybody but me, which might be why I liked it so much. 

I’d take these photos often and flip through them occasionally when I was waiting for the subway. I printed some out and pinned them on the walls because I didn’t want to buy picture frames. I folded one up and put it in my wallet because I always loved that Alex had a photo of me in his wallet—a tiny crushed-up photo of my graduation portrait, ugly, but he had pride for it and me).

Without Alex, the apartment had succumbed to my mess. There were clothes tossed in the corner of the bedroom, the desk was covered in papers, books, and more clothes, and the kitchen was dealing with a major dishes problem.

The hour was late but we were both determined to soak up as much time with one another as possible. We undressed from the day and dressed for bed, but sat on the edge of our bed over the covers, talking, talking, talking. Two frogs croaking at one another from across the pond. All we needed was Charlton Brook and we'd be our old selves again. 

"I never thought I'd like work. I'm not in love with this job but I come home and my feet ache and I love it. I like feeling I worked for something," I told him. "I think I need firm direction in my life otherwise I turn into a mess."

Alex looked pleased but all-knowing. He knew all these parts of me before I did. "You were raised without it so you crave it in other aspects." He leaned back on the bed, putting his arms behind his head, so casual in every sense of the word.

"Who needs a therapist when I have you?" I asked. He laughed but I was serious (both good and bad). He's an observer, he just knows these things from one look at you. He reads you completely and then acts like it's nothing. I feel I know Alex well, better than anyone, but not like he knows me. I've always felt there was a piece of Alex that was off-limits to everyone, even himself sometimes. There's a corner of him I will never reach. For him, my thoughts have always been a nude model on full stark display.

Alex turned onto his side and reached a hand over to me, clasping it with a tight squeeze. "You happy?" It was a quick check-in, the reassurance he needed that he wouldn't leave me totally screwed up and alone. Alex often had the feeling of needing to "rescue me," which was partially true but he took too much on sometimes, bearing the weight of both our emotional states, an overwhelming thing that put so much consequence on the question he asked like I wasn't just answering for me, I was also answering for him.

I squeezed back to ease his anxieties. "Yeah. You?" He stayed silent and looked around the room once, startling my heart. He tugged on my arm once as a smirk spread on his face. "What?" 

He tugged again, this time harder. I stared at him quizzically until he pulled once again, yanking me down to lay on top of him. He communicated with his lips, both silent minus gasps. He turned us, hovering over me, flat on my back. We got under the covers.

*

The following night we stayed in and ordered a pizza before having sex on the couch. After, I laid on Alex's chest, our nude bodies up against each other and I do apologize to anybody who sat on the couch after, I swear it wasn't that dirty. His hands were solid on my back, studying the lower curve of my spine, hitting a spot that made me stretch like a cat after a nap.

I sighed as the tension released from my back and laid back down on his sternum. "We're awfully vanilla," I said.

Alex snorted this big ugly snort of laughter that I find so cute like a baby learning how to breathe. "What, like chains and whips?"

I laughed and raised my head up, my chin pressed on his skin, staring up at his tucked head, awkwardly propped up on the armrest. "No. Georgia just told me this story about doing it on the roof of her building."

An amused Alex asked, "You want to head up on our roof now?"

He motioned sitting up but I pushed him back down. "We have an exposed roof. I'm not getting the cops called on us."

"Where's the fun in that if there isn't a little risk of indecent exposure?" He joked.

I giggled and thought of making a joke about getting visas revoked for public nudity, instead, I told him, "We're hiding tonight. Besides, I don't need all that for sex to be fun with you."

He bucked his hips up against mine. "'Cause I'm so good in bed?" He raised an eyebrow and wore a taunting smirk that made me want to slap and kiss him. How infuriating to be so intoxicated by him.

"'Cause you love me," I teased, tapping his nose. I slobbered a kiss on his cheek, which made him groan in disgust like it was his mother doing it in front of all his friends. "And you're going to take me to get ice cream because I'm thinking about vanilla ice cream now."

"From Morgenstern's?" He asked me, even though he knew the answer.

I sat up from him, noting his eyes on my exposed breasts (sometimes, it's nice to know a man is still a boy), and hummed, "Yes, sir." Morgenstern's sat two blocks up on Houston and in the past few months, I had developed an addiction to their bourbon vanilla ice cream and considered it my special treat after a day of work. Alex was partial to salted chocolate, which I always thought was a good balance with mine, especially since he'd let me steal scoops off his cone and mix it with my cup of ice cream.

Alex went out in jeans, a T-shirt, and his Doctor Martens. I went out in sweatpants, a camisole, and my flip-flops. It was 11:40 and only 2 blocks away! 

I was charged up and kissed him behind his ear as he paid for the ice cream. We must have been foul to look at with our hair unbrushed and a careless woman hanging off her good-looking man. I often had little care about how I looked at night in New York. Everyone in New York, one way or another, was loathsome to watch at night so I had no problem with the idea the cashier might have hated us for coming in right before closing, dangling around as we waited. Besides, Alex left a tip.

My hands clawed around Alex's shoulders and I bounced on the balls of my feet as they scooped our ice cream. We ate our ice cream on the small bench they had outside the parlour. Alex ended up with smears of chocolate on the corners of his lips. It was pleasurable to see him so untidy, it would make you laugh and kiss his lips, transferring some of the residue onto you like lipstick.

Alex chased me up the stairs of our apartment building with the menace of pinching my ass to coerce squeals out of me. We caused a ruckus, loud off of our sugar high, but, at the very least, not stumbling drunk up the stairs like some of my other neighbors. Alex caught me at the apartment door. I had no escape, he had the keys. He cornered me and gave a hard pinch working his way up from my butt to my stomach where I was ticklish.

"Mercy! Mercy!" I surrendered. He called off his attack, ready to head inside for some explicitness. 

He put the key in, turned it, and then it snapped. He held the bow, the shaft lodged in the lock. "Fuck," he cursed.

Panic set in as Alex fiddled with the doorknob with no luck. "Fuck. Are we locked out?" I asked.

He picked at the lock, muttering, "Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck..." 

It soon became clear that we were stuck. It was nearing 1 AM, I desperately had to pee, and Alex had to leave in 6 hours. "Can we kick the door in?"

"Are you suggesting either of us is strong enough to break the deadbolt?" Alex stood up straight, tossing his head back in exhaustion.

I shrugged. "I don't know. You're pretty fit." He was proper chuffed by this, a slight puff in his chest. "I could try."

"With your flip-flops?" They were the cheap kind. I bought them at 5 Below. "If we break the door the whole building can walk in."

Not knowing the number of any emergency locksmiths, I called 911 and waited at the bottom two steps of the staircase facing the front door. "I guess this is what I get for eating too much ice cream," I quipped.

"No such thing," Alex excused. 

Shrouded in quietness and a reputation of lacking patience, I laid my head on Alex's shoulder and would have fallen asleep if my bladder wasn't prepared to burst. Alex tapped a beat on the denim-covered knee and we didn't talk, just stayed close, two beings huddled together for survival and companionship.

Firefighters came and had no luck removing the broken key so they busted into the apartment. We couldn't lock it but we could at least close it. I rushed in for the bathroom. I laid down on our bed and waited for Alex while he used the bathroom. I fell asleep before he returned.

In the morning, Alex nudged me awake. He was fully dressed and by the light stumbling in through the window, I knew what it meant. "I fell asleep. Why'd you let me?"

"Figured if you fell asleep while I was in the bathroom you were pretty tired." Over the covers, flip flops kicked off the edge of the bed, in the two minutes he was away.

"'Kay." I was still fiddling out of sleep when Alex tapped my arm, an insisting action to make me stay in bed. "Let me walk you out."

"No, stay in bed, it's fine." He kneeled beside the bed, forcing my hand.

"You sure?"

He nodded. "I'll see you in a little. Yeah?" He kept it short. It was the easier way.

I rubbed my eye, knowing I wouldn't be going back to sleep as much as Alex hoped I would. "Yeah. I'll try to get off sometime in September."

"Don't feel pressured. I'll see you in Philly, right?" That would be over a month away, 30th of September.

I nodded because it was easier than speaking. "Call me when you get to Boston."

He donned an assuring smile, leaned down, and kissed me. He left and I made myself a cup of coffee and drank it and sat with silence.

*

On a Wednesday, after a day of work, I took the train down to Philadelphia. I had never been before and part of me wanted to enjoy all the tourist things about it but I had limited time between 30th Street Station and heading to the Electric Factory. 

However, I made a pit stop along the way, getting off the subway, and meeting Alex at the Reading Terminal Market for a late lunch/early dinner. It wasn't the Art Museum or Independence Hall but it allowed a cultural indulgence of the city. 

Alex wore a jean jacket and didn't look like a man about to front a sold-out show. We bumped shoulders with passersby as we made our way through the narrow passageways. Alex got a cheesesteak, which I found disgusting. I ate a soft pretzel and assorted candy from a Pennsylvania Dutch candy shoppe.

We managed to find a table wedged between dad with his two kids and a group of high schoolers. Safe to say, we had trouble hearing each other over the chaos but we communicated through shared observations, reacting with a stare at one another as the father began to yell at his son or a laugh at the high schoolers mocking one of their teachers.

We hadn't really spoken until we left the building, stepping out into the beginnings of a crisp autumn evening. Alex bought me ice cream from Bassetts (as if I needed more sugar) and gave the change to a group of busking drummers by the door. 

I grabbed Alex's attention at a stoplight as I dragged out, "So..." 

He chuckled at my solicitation, dragging out his own, "So..."

The light turned green and we stayed in step with one another. I initiated the conversation but I had no follow-up for my So-ing. Sometimes, I just wanted to look at him but walking and staring is a difficult practice. "One of my pieces is going to be in this magazine n+1. Something I wrote back in LA, Jackson submitted forever ago."

"Is it going to be printed?" He asked.

"Yeah, but I think you can read it online."

Quickly, he shook his head. "I want the physical thing."

I laughed. "Always one for physical media, Al." It was clear with the record collection I was storing in a small New York apartment. You had transferred this habit onto me as I went out to purchase the New York Times from a street kiosk instead of reading it online.

"It'll be easier. I can read it on a plane, on the bus, on the toilet."

I hit his shoulder light-heartedly. "Alright, I'll get you the print."

*

At the end of October, Alex returned from Tokyo for a small tour break. We fell into a cycle similar to that of our London days. I went to work, Alex stayed home. We went out to dinner sometimes, and we occasionally went out for drinks with my work friends, but more often, we just stayed home. It was a cocoon and I think we both preferred to stay still with one another after distant months apart.

I drank coffee in bed one morning, a Saturday or Sunday with no rush for any obligations, fine with retiring to a day in our shoebox. We were both still in our pajamas. Alex sat on the edge of the bed, facing me, strumming his guitar. I was on my laptop, scrolling through someone's blog, but mostly watching him.

These unguarded moments with his head slumped over his guitar. His hair covered his face almost completely, only able to distinguish his nose from the rest of him. The ends of his hair held these perfect curls that I envied. He's been perceived to be a cool, uncaring person but I've found Alex, especially during these early years, held such a concern about coming off a certain way, whether considered cold or cool. A long-held hatred for unwanted watching, even from me.

His muscles had suspended into relaxation finally. I found he acquired this rest most often with a guitar. He held a light strum, sometimes humming along, sometimes writing a note in his little notebook.

I thought I was catching an unaware Alex working away, much like our first year of knowing each other. Then, he looked up and said, "If you're going to stare at me, you might as well help me." He tossed me his notebook with dashes and scratches that to the untrained eye looked like a chicken scratch of nothing.

I read it and this time I could feel him watching me. I poured over the words as he had done with his writing and when I finished I said, "I feel so inadequate next to you."

"Shut up," he insisted, both through his support of me and his own insecurity.

"It's a beautiful song." I handed the notebook back to him. "A very beautiful love song." I crossed my arms, smiling at him.

"Well, you know."

"Yeah." Because I always did. This loving, hideous, unspoken language of ours.

 "Good inspiration. You gave me the title." Alex took months of crafting before giving something exposure, like formulating a fine wine. 

"Well, you wrote the rest of it," I reasoned. "Is it for the new album?"

He shrugged and examined his own work. "I don't think so. Maybe just for you and me."

*

a/n: this is pretty much for goblinontour. the next parts will come much sooner, we're approaching the thick of it... oh, and if you see any mistakes, no you didn’t.

[javelinbk]

The Beatles (minus Ringo) and Jimmie Nicol at their press conference in Adelaide, 12th June 1964 - part 2 (part 1, part 3)

Adding the video this time for George’s laugh…

[doctorwhoisadhd]

you wanna hear something fucked up

[ID: image 1: adelaide brooke from the waters of mars, a 60yo woman. image 2: steven carter from torchwood s3: children of earth, a 10yo boy. image 3: part of a big finish audio cover, cropped to just show matteusz, april, and ram, who are all 17yos. /end ID]

these characters were all born in 1999

[mousemannation]

tennisblr question time!!!!!!!!

okay so this one has to be in two parts so make sure u vote in both polls!!!!! also clarifications under the cut as always :3

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thesis: how much do you think djokovic still believes he will win a 25th slam and how much do you think that has changed since the beginning of the year?

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this is the scale im using!

also, reiterating that this poll is asking how you think djokovic felt going into the 2024 season. It feels relevant to mention that 2023 was an incredible season for him in which he won 7 titles (Adelaide, Australian Open, French Open, Cincinnati, US Open, Paris, ATP Finals), although he did have quite a few upsets after being denied entry into the US for the Sunshine Double; and having a disappointing run up to Roland Garros. He ended the year as number 1.

Check reblogs for second part!