#silent disco cost
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madaqueue · 12 days ago
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FOOL'S GOLD SINKS ALL THE SAME
aventurine never fails to cause a scene, in public or in private.
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pairing: aventurine x gn!reader
themes/content: reader has a history of sexual trauma (it is not described in graphic detail but it is very clearly alluded to. it is not romanticized or sexualized). smut. mentions of aventurine's past, oral + fingering + penetration (reader receiving), lots of ocean metaphors bc i'm normal abt it. 18+ MDNI (wk: 4.7k)
a/n: letting this blond man ruin my life
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“Bet on me.”
The words barely land in your ears as Aventurine snakes his way around the table. You can’t respond, can’t even look at him, without inviting catastrophe, and he knows: he makes it a challenge, of course, reflecting the glimmering lights almost more brightly than the gaudy disco ball twirling away overhead. In the corner of your vision, the black flash of armed guards weighs in your mind, and instead of straining your eyes to catch his, you let your attention fall aimlessly ahead.
Then, you do precisely as you were told: nothing (technically, the IPC’s orders were to “Observe and gather intel” which you know means “Don’t let Aventurine cause a scene.” Perhaps that’s why they’ve sent you on so many jobs together - they need him chained, and you’re an inexpensive stand-in leash. Being a collar doesn’t take much skill, after all).
The game continues, cards and chips moving hands, and Aventurine loses after a stupid play he’d never make, and pouts.
“What a shame,” he says to himself, resting his chin on a glove you know is more expensive than the ruby velvet lining the table. “Dye like this is hard to find,” he once told you. “It’s almost impossible to get anything this dark. Only fools pay for red, but that’s why gamblers love it: it’s cheap and flashy.”
When the next round begins, he taps his fingers along the table, a tell he’d never let slip, one subtle enough not to miss. With barely-controlled eyes darting from player to player, he feigns nervousness and shuffles his chips to the center.
“Guess I’m all in,” he chuckles, letting his smirk waver for half a second.
The fools around you think he’s bluffing; they think they’ve got him. People tend to let their guard down when they think they’ve won, when they can’t see that the finish line has been moved. More chips rattle onto the table - they’d be idiots to not get in on pulling one over on the well-loathed IPC.
Again, you hear ‘bet on me,’ and for some stupid reason, you follow, clearing the space in front of you with a hesitant push of your own wealth (well, the IPC’s, of course) into the ever-growing pile.
On the neighboring stool, a man leans over, letting his scruff tickle the shell of your ear. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you, sweetheart. Let that man lose his money, and when I win it back, I’ll spoil you.” He smells like cheap whiskey and cigarettes and you want to claw his throat out.
Across the table, one of the other gamblers lets out a shrill complaint of, “No coaching during the plays!” and the man beside you innocently raises his arms, not before winking at you, and you wonder if you were to kill him on this table how much the velvet would cost to replace.
Instead, you bat your eyelashes and lay your cards down. “Oh well, maybe I’ll win the next one,” you giggle, sending your chips toppling onto the others with one final shove.
The next moves happen rather quickly: Aventurine reveals his hand, people shout, the money is claimed from the table, and somebody grabs your arm. It’s only when cool cloth softly rubs your skin that you recognize the man dragging you towards the exit and let your muscles be pulled behind.
“Told you,” Aventurine whispers, his breath lighter than feathers.
He cashes out silently and guides you towards the elevators, this time with one palm placed on your lower back rather than wrapped around your wrist. Less possessive, you think - less likely to cause a scene.
The moment the elevator doors close, you turn to him.
“What the hell was that?”
“What?” He cocks his head to the side and lets that impish grin spread across his face, the one that’s nearly landed him with knuckles on his jaw in an attempt to wipe it off.
“You know that wasn’t what we were sent here to do.” You cross your arms, and he basks in the heat of your body, his wrists now fully snaked around your waist.
“Details, details,” he murmurs with a wave of his hand. “We got the information we needed. It’s not a crime to have a little fun afterwards.”
“It is a crime to disobey orders-”
Just as your annoyance begins to bubble over, the elevator chimes and opens directly into his suite. To break free from his grasp, your feet step forward and graciously carry you inside.
It takes a moment for your eyes to adjust, light bouncing off the white marble that lines every surface.
Of course Aventurine gets a penthouse for these missions. The IPC certainly has to keep up appearances, and with a man like him, anything else might as well fully blow his cover.
He lets you enter on your own, at least, as he waltzes behind you, with the saccharine smell of pride blooming from his skin.
“It’s nice, isn’t it,” he hums, and you want to smack that smug smile off his face.
Before you can, he tosses a cloth sack your way, the coins inside clanking with a sound you nearly don’t recognize.
“For you,” he says easily, leaning against the ever-opulent stone counter.
Something in the sound makes your head feel heavy, under pressure like you’re drowning. It’s familiar in a way you hate, in a way that you remember from the mattresses of shitty hotel rooms and men who smell like cigarettes and the way your tears look under the fluorescent lights of an unfamiliar bathroom.
You know what money like this means for them. And worse, you know what it means for you.
It’s just work, you told yourself the first time someone propositioned you to their room. A way to clear the debt, to push you a little closer to an ever-moving goal. It’s just a body, just a hole, just a few minutes. But it’s different when it’s Aventurine’s body, standing three feet away from yours, when the velvet smells like him and is still warm from his palm.
You don’t open it, you don’t want to. You can feel the metal sitting in your stomach, all too heavy. The act isn’t new, you suppose, but you never thought Aventurine would-
It doesn’t matter.
Now you see the point of his plan - involving you in it was sick, but the IPC must keep up appearances. It’s only fitting for them, you suppose.
So, you slowly make your way across the kitchen, sliding the pouch into your coat pocket. You don’t look at him, you can’t, not anymore. Standing mere inches before him, you lower yourself to your knees - they love the ceremony of it, they always do - and rest your hands along his waist. Practiced fingers begin unworking his belt - normally, at this point, you’d turn your gaze to the man above you, but you can’t.
It’s just work. It’s just work. It’s just work.
But something about this, something about it being him, makes your stomach turn, makes you want to vomit up the metal taste that sits in the back of your throat.
Too busy in your mind, you don’t notice the way Aventurine tenses, nor the panic in his hands as he wraps them around your wrists.
“What the fuck are you doing?” The words come out fast, blended into a single breath.
“I’m – I’m doing what you paid me for.”
Finally, you look at him, and see the sheer horror raging behind his eyes. The smooth mask of a practiced liar doesn’t chip easily, but if you listen close enough, you could hear its pieces falling to the cold tiles beneath your knees.
“No. No.” Pulling you from the ground, he doesn’t let go of your shoulders as you rise. “That’s – that’s not what I’m paying you for.”
“Oh.”
Desperately he searches for something in your face, some hint of the rage that burns beneath his skin, but he finds nothing, just glossed-over eyes and a practiced smile. It’s just work, after all - he of all people should know best.
For a moment, he nearly lets his questions get the better of him - What sick fuck is paying you? Is this a part of your contract? Who do I have to kill for making you think you’re nothing more than a body to be used like this? - but easily, he slips the silk mask back on (he wouldn’t want to frighten you with anger; he wouldn’t forgive himself).
“That money is for you. Just you.” Gloved hands smooth the wrinkles along your collar. “It’s the first installment for the debt you owe - in three months, you’ll be rid of the IPC,” (and me, he nearly says), “forever.”
“Aventurine,” you rasp - you aren’t sure why the words get stuck in your throat, now, after all this time. You aren’t sure why they taste so hot - maybe it’s the burning that lingers in your knees. “You can’t.”
“I can. And I did.” The flash of his smile nearly blinds you again. “You can thank me later, but for now, let’s celebrate-”
“No.”
Your eyes sting, and that pit in your chest is back, heavier, threatening to swallow you whole. It aches and makes your head spin and you want to spit it out, let it claw its way from your insides and take your blood and bones and viscera with it.
“The debt was mine to pay off.”
“Well, no offense, but you were doing a pretty terrible job of it,” he laughs, hesitantly. In all his calculated planning, in the hours and days and weeks and months he spent dreaming of this moment, he had a vision of how you’d react, how you’d smile and sigh and wrap your arms around him and kiss his cheek and how he’d get to hold you, pick you up like you weighed less than air, free from the chains that kept you down, beneath him.
“It doesn’t matter. It was mine.”
Boiling tears stream down your cheeks, leaving trails of steam in their wake, and you want to collapse into yourself, you want to let the pressure build up until you explode and take out this entire building, this entire planet for all you care.
“You can’t – you can’t just buy people, Aventurine,” you choke, the words landing in the room like smoke.
For the first time, his smile falters. “I wasn’t-”
The coin purse finds its way back into your hand, and then to the ground below his feet. He doesn’t reach out to grab you as you turn away.
You’re grateful that the bar is rather empty, aside from a lone stranger on one end with his head down and an empty bottle beside him, and a couple trying to consume one another in the corner. Most other patrons seem too engrossed in the thrill of throwing their lives away, you suppose; that’s the nature of a casino, the price of feeding its hunger. Empty chairs have become quite a comfort over the years, separating you from those who would grab too tightly, or beg for a kiss, just a kiss, or slide a pile of coins your way and wait for you by the elevators.
And yet, when he approaches from behind you, you don’t flinch (you’d know his steps anywhere, you think - they’re too evenly timed to belong to anyone else).
“Is this seat taken?” he grins, but makes no move to sit until you gesture him forward with a wave of your glass.
The two of you let the silence settle, even though Aventurine feels he may choke on it, even though he wants to speak and speak and speak until you forgive him and tell him it’s alright and tell him he’s not evil, he didn’t hurt you, he didn’t mean to. Instead, he silently orders two drinks and lets you sip yours slowly.
“I’m sorry,” you finally say. “I know you were trying to do something good.”
There are words sitting on the tip of his tongue begging to be let free, but he swallows and lets them burn his throat.
“I didn’t plan to work for the IPC this long. I didn’t plan for any of this, really.” You chuckle, a dry sound, and wash it down with the liquid in your cup. “But my debt just kept growing, and they kept saying they needed me - ‘just one more job,’ - but it’s never really just one more, is it?”
“No, it’s not,” and he lets himself laugh.
The casino’s sounds settle atop you, those of victory and highs and pride left to sit out for too long, until it starts to rot.
“The IPC bought my debt,” he says to the empty bottles behind the bar. “It was a long time ago, longer than you’ve been here, I’m sure. It was selfish of me to try and do the same to you.” (Nobody should be owned like that, he almost says. The mark on his neck aches and itches and pricks at his skin like hot iron. He ignores it.)
His empty glass sits on the table, its wet ring bleeding into the wood. A wiser man would have used a coaster, or perhaps, a poorer man, one who couldn’t afford to erase the marks he leaves behind.
“The money is still yours, of course. You don’t have to take it, but I have no use for it.” My debt is too grand to be counted and held in velvet, he thinks.
When your gaze meets his, his pupils dilate - one of the few tells he can’t control.
“Well then,” you hum, the ice clinking against the glass as it swirls in your hold, “I suppose I should use my new-found wealth.” Setting your cup upon the table, the condensation makes it slide towards his, and you grin, an unpracticed one, unpolished. Your cheeks pull back unevenly and you let the cracks in your lips show. “Can I buy you a drink?”
He laughs and you wonder if this is the same sound that plays from the slot machines lining the walls, if this is the bell that rings for victory, the one that makes people willing to throw their savings away for the chance to hear it just one more time.
“Well, I’d be a fool to say no.”
He’s lighter now that your forgiveness has settled on him, kissing his cheeks like a butterfly’s wings, in a way that tickles and doesn’t make him brush it off, a way that reminds him of spring and flowers, of his home and of you.
“Do you remember that job we worked on Belobog?”
“The one where I had to pretend to be married to you?” you laugh, nearly falling off the back of the barstool before Aventurine’s hand catches you in the dip of your back.
“It wasn’t that bad,” he whines, letting his lips turn upwards.
“I just never took you for someone so…comfortable in public.” There’s a glimmer of something sparkling behind your eyes, more than just the neon lights flashing overhead.
Leaning forward, he’s so close you can nearly smell him, wood and liquor, smoke and velvet. Rich in all the ways he ought to be, in all the ways he pretends he is.
“I was just selling our cover,” he purrs, and a part of you wonders if this is dangerous, to be letting him in like this, to tilt your head until the heat radiating from his skin gets trapped in the space between you.
“Yeah? I didn’t know you had orders to pull me onto your lap and kiss my neck every second we were around someone else. It was a bit much, don’t you think?”
“A little overkill never hurt anyone,” his eyes narrow and he wants to open his mouth and swallow you. “Besides, you certainly didn’t seem to mind.”
Your face grows warm, but you don’t back down, don’t turn away, not when you hold the winning hand. “I guess I just took you for someone more private, Aventurine.”
“Oh, you have no idea how I am in private.”
“No?” your glass lands heavily along the bar, and he straightens his back as you stand. “Then why don’t you come back to my room and show me?”
And he’s on his feet in the time it takes to blink.
Your room is smaller than his, of course; the two of you nearly fill the hallway, swelling until every inch of it is consumed by your bodies, leaving imprints of your flesh along the walls. It’s not opulent, it's not marble or pillars or gold, but it’s yours, and now, his.
He ushers you inside first, and the moment the door closes, you press into him.
You don’t speak, and neither does he; you don’t have to, not anymore. When your hands trail up his sides, the breath in his throat catches, a beginner’s tell, one he should have outgrown by now, one he knows better than to let slip. The lilting chuckle he lets out, too, tells you all too much.
When your lips meet his, it’s soft at first, all feathers and butterflies. Hesitant and nervous, but yearning.
In a moment, he lets the silk mask slip.
Then, he’s starving. Hands reach around you and grab and beg and hold, trying to tear off pieces of you so he’ll never have to leave this behind. Your teeth sink into his lower lip and he groans into your mouth and you’re grateful for the wood door as you lean every ounce of your weight against him.
“You have no idea how bad I wanted you,” he sighs, and his breath melds with yours until you’re exhaling one another, until the only thing you can feel and hear and taste is him.
“I do.” Blown pupils meet yours, decorated with stars and constellations. “You’re easier to read than you think, Aventurine.”
“You just know me too well,” he smiles, and his lips are back on yours, hungry and gnawing.
With needy hands you drag him from the entryway and towards the bed, the only real piece of furniture inside, luckily.
There’s a practiced ease as you fall to your knees once again, and a gentleness to his hands as he lifts you where you stand.
“Allow me,” he hums.
Softly, he kneels before you, and he can’t bring himself to look away from the warmth radiating from your face. He’s a flower planted beneath you, watered with your smile and grown by your fingertips; you can step on him, if you’d like, or leave him here until his petals kiss your ankles and pluck him so he may stay in your heart.
He undoes your belt and he tugs your waistband down, too impatient to let gravity do the work. Your shirt’s buttons prove a similarly fluid task, despite the way your hands shake as you rush to undo his. Jewelry and accessories drop to the floor before they’re kicked away, lost to the depths of cloth and fur. Finally, he removes his gloves, tugging off each finger with polished teeth.
“Lay down for me, would you?” he asks in that sweet, silky voice, the one that tastes like wood and liquor, that you want to pour down your throat and swallow with heaving gulps.
The bedding is cotton and scratchy and you don’t even mind, not when he leans over you and you feel his skin on yours, soft and bare. It’s the first time he touches you, truly touches you, with his hands, no expensive velvet or obligation or orders in the way, just his flesh and desire.
You know how much his time is worth, the mental tally of credits summing in your mind with each passing second, and yet, his fingers trail patiently downward, resting at your ribs, your hips, your thighs; his lips follow, marking a path along your body, a map he can return to when he inevitably gets lost and must be found.
Settling between your legs, he inhales and fills his lungs with you, with the salt and sage that blooms from your pulse points. Expensive, but not gaudy - the IPC certainly knows how to maintain an appearance.
His tongue is quick and deft, and he nearly misses the way you tense. When he searches your face, he finds furrowed eyebrows and a frown that a more foolish man would pass off as pleasure.
“Are you okay?”
“Yeah,” you say. How do you respond to a question you’ve never been asked, one you’d never prepared for? “I think so, yes.”
“Do you want me to stop?”
“No!” The sound makes you flinch. “No, just…”
What more is there? It’s just work, you’d say; Use me, he’d say.
“Here.” Intertwining his fingers with yours, he lets his palm sink into the crater of your own. “Squeeze my hand if you want me to stop.”
You nod and smile, crooked and sweet, and he sends one back in return. Slowly, the haven of your thighs welcomes him once again.
He’s softer, now, as he savors you, the way your skin lands on his tongue, the way your hips shift into the mattress. When he presses a finger to your entrance, you gasp and nearly grip his hand, but he pauses, he lets you breathe and relax your knees and stomach. When he pushes further in, a moan falls from your lips and he thinks he’d bet his life savings, go in debt a thousand times over just to hear it again. He knows his luck is true when he adds a second finger and he’s graced with it once more.
“Aventurine,” you breathe, your muscles tensing as the heat in your core builds. You worry what your body will do when it finally overtakes you, when the flames kiss your skin half as kindly as him, so you dig your palms into his hair instead. It’s soft, impossibly so, as you knot it around your knuckles; he groans when your nails scratch along his scalp.
He lets you pull him in, swallowing every sound and touch you’ll grant him with an eager throat. You cry his name when you come undone, and he wonders what fate he owes a debt to for the chance to taste you, hear you, feel you like this.
When he finally leans away, the depths of his pupils have drowned the vibrant cyan and violet that normally kiss their shore, and his chest heaves like a man just saved from the sea. He’s damp like one, too, sweat-slicked hair clinging to his neck.
Light catches on his shoulders and he glows, rising above you as though gravity wouldn’t dare touch him. He kisses you again, and he passes along the ocean and salt and stone, a secret message a fool would miss, but one you can read: I crave you.
There’s no nervousness left as you guide his tip to your entrance, no fear or duty or chains, just his hips and devotion.
“Are you sure?”
Your palm interlinks with his once more, and you grin. “Of course.” The soft, warm skin of his neck finds its way between your teeth, letting it rest behind your canines, and he chuckles eagerly.
“You’re going to be the death of me, you know,” he sighs into you.
“What a wonderful way to die.”
Wrapping your legs around his waist, you pull him forward. Cool air blesses your spine as your back arches from the bed, more gentle than feathers or a butterfly’s wings, and you welcome him with ease.
He shudders when he bottoms out, cold in spite of the heat emanating from your skin, trapped in the single layer of atoms between your bodies.
A moment passes, then two. And you realize, in the still seconds, that he’s waiting, restraining. A hand held out, an invitation.
Tentatively, your hips circle his, and a golden whine flows from his lips. It drips from the corners and you lap at the fountain of his wealth.
He lets you guide him, then, lets you move and lead and make a show of what you want, what you like. There’s a rhythm he settles into, an angle, a single spot that makes you claw at his back and drink the air from his lungs. And he, an ever-grateful actor, is more than happy to perform.
There’s a control to it, though. A mask.
“Let go,” you whisper into his open mouth.
He chews the words but barely swallows. “What do you mean?”
Your eyelashes flutter open to find him staring down, blinded by the spotlight of your presence; he blinks to clear the flashing. “You’re holding back; let go.”
It’s a miracle you’ve never noticed until this moment, until you’re this close to him, but his grin is a bit uneven, too, the right side of his smile curving ever-so-slightly higher than the left. You wonder how hard he’s had to work to hide it; you wonder what it would take to see it again.
“If you insist.”
His lips crash into yours and you wonder if this is what drowning feels like, to have something in your lungs and your stomach and on your skin and dragging you into it; you wonder if the sea has ever felt this greedy.
Each swell of his pelvis is another wave, crests with no rhythm, an unpredictable high and low. Boats have been lost to less; perhaps they would have been saved if only they’d had his hands waiting to catch them. His, meanwhile, dig into your waist, holding you just under the surface.
Moans blend into each other, and he hits so deep inside you that a cough to dispel the water lodged inside would surely have his name in it, not that you’d ever want to; you want him in every part of you, seeping into the cracks and living there, forever. You inhale and inhale and inhale, until you can’t tell the difference between him and air, until he’s the thing keeping you alive.
The bed shakes, its cheap wood headboard bouncing against the chipping paint of your shitty hotel room, leaving behind damage that you’ll surely have to pay. But how lucky you are to be with a man who can afford to erase the marks he leaves behind.
“I-” he starts, but you already know what he’s about to say (he’s not that hard to read, after all - not when his entire body begins to shake, when his whines strain higher, when he lets his smile fall crooked).
“Don’t stop,” is all you have to say; not that he could, with the way your legs wrap around him; not that he would, with the way you bloom and writhe and swell beneath him.
When he comes undone, it’s accompanied by the most beautiful sound, the most beautiful flush of his cheeks and arch of his back.
And yet, all he hears is you as you hold him, as you follow him under and kiss him through the brine, as you clench around his length and let him twitch and shake and tremble.
It takes a moment for him to still inside you (the sea is never quiet right after a storm). When he does, his eyes search for yours immediately. When they don’t find a smile, he begins to panic - Did he hurt you? Are you scared? Will you hate him? - but in an instant, they crinkle at the corners.
“Well,” you say, breathless.
“Well?” he mirrors, trying to hide the water that still rests in his chest.
“I have to be honest with you,” you hum pensively, letting the practiced control slip back into your voice, letting him worry for half a moment before you continue, “I can now say with confidence, you are exactly the same in private.”
His face stalls for a moment, and then he laughs, and you’ve found a new currency, one you’d happily be indebted in for the rest of your life. “So I take it you’d want to do this again sometime? In spite of the overkill?”
Your grin widens at the corners, uneven and shining. “I’d be a fool not to.”
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muiitoloko · 9 months ago
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A Choice
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Summary: Turpin chose you and would always choose you.
Pairing: Judge Turpin × Fem! Reader
Warnings: Forced marriage, loss of virginity, mention of blood, childbirth.
Author's notes: Hey there, apologies for the delay—I got tangled up in a serious battle with writer's block over this story! Honestly, I'm not sure if the end result is a masterpiece or a hot mess, so your feedback is like gold to me. Big thanks to all you wonderful folks who enjoy my tales! Your comments and messages light up my day like a disco ball! 🎉 Keep 'em coming!
First, Second, Third, Fourth, Fifth, Sixth, Seventh, Eighth and Ninth part here.
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Turpin sighed irritably as he watched his coachman struggle to fix the broken wheel on the carriage. "Faster, you fool!" he barked, his patience wearing thin with each passing moment of inconvenience. He crossed his arms, casting a disdainful glance around the quaint village they were stranded in.
As he surveyed his surroundings, Turpin's eyes landed on you, carrying a basin of clothes while walking with two other girls. They appeared to be younger, maybe fifteen, while you looked to be around twenty. Turpin couldn't tear his gaze away from you, captivated by your beauty and the sweet smile that graced your lips as you passed by the two girls, who he later discovered were your little sisters.
Turpin's heart quickened at the sight of your smile, his eyes widening with a mixture of fascination and desire. For just a few seconds, your eyes met, and in that fleeting moment, Turpin felt a connection that he couldn't explain. But before he could dwell on it further, you became distracted by your sisters and hastened your pace towards the lake where you intended to wash clothes.
The sway of your hips as you walked away delighted Turpin, leaving him yearning for more. He couldn't shake the image of you from his mind, knowing deep down that you were meant to be his wife, his possession.
Ignoring the coachman's announcement that the carriage was fixed, Turpin dismissed the idea of continuing their journey to Liverpool. Instead, he ordered the coachman to find a hotel in the village, much to the younger man's confusion.
"I thought we were heading to Liverpool, sir," the coachman ventured, his voice hesitant in the face of Turpin's irritation.
Turpin glared at him, his tone icy with authority. "You will do as I say, without question," he snapped, his eyes flashing with barely concealed anger. "Find a hotel immediately."
The coachman, startled by Lord Turpin's sudden change of plans, glanced at him with confusion etched on his face. "But sir," he began tentatively, "I thought we were bound for Liverpool to find a suitable lady for you to marry."
Turpin's eyes narrowed dangerously as he turned to face the coachman, his expression darkening with suppressed rage. "Do not question my orders," he growled, his voice low and menacing. "We are no longer going to Liverpool. Find a hotel in this wretched village, and do it quickly."
The coachman, intimidated by Turpin's demeanor, nodded hastily and spurred the horses forward in search of accommodations. Turpin watched him go, his mind consumed with thoughts of you. He couldn't shake the image of your smile, nor the feeling of connection he had experienced when your eyes met.
Though he couldn't see you anymore, Turpin was determined to find you, no matter the cost. He clenched his fists, his resolve hardening as he made a silent vow to himself. If he had to search every corner of the earth, he would find you and make you his own.
As he stood there, lost in his thoughts, a beggar approached him, asking for alms. Turpin recoiled in disgust, pushing the man away with a look of contempt. He had no time for beggars or anyone else who dared to cross his path.
With a disdainful snort, Turpin adjusted his top hat on his head and strode purposefully in the direction the coachman had gone. He would have you, no matter the obstacles in his way. You were his destiny, his possession, and he would stop at nothing to claim you as his own.
Weeks later, Turpin finally found you in the humble village where you lived with your parents, who were practically bankrupt pig farmers. He wasted no time in introducing himself to your father, making his intentions clear: he wanted to marry you.
Standing tall and imposing in your family's modest home, Turpin refused to sit down, not wanting to soil his fine clothes with the smell of pigs that permeated the air. Your father exchanged a confused look with your mother, unsure of how to respond to this unexpected visitor.
"Do you know my daughter?" your father asked, his tone cautious as he studied Turpin's stern expression.
Turpin's lips curled into a cold smile as he replied, "I do not need to know her to want her. I require a wife to provide me with children, and she will do."
Your father's brows furrowed in disbelief at Turpin's audacity. "You can't just marry off our daughter to a man we don't even know," your mother protested, her voice tinged with concern for your well-being.
But before she could say more, Turpin reached into his coat pocket and produced a heavy bag of coins, throwing it onto the table with a loud thud. Coins spilled out onto the wooden surface, gleaming in the dim light of the room.
"There is plenty more where that came from," Turpin declared, his voice dripping with arrogance. "Consider it an advance payment for your daughter's hand in marriage."
Your father's eyes widened in shock at the sight of the money, his gaze flickering between Turpin and the bag of coins. It was a fortune, more than enough to lift your family out of their financial struggles and secure a comfortable future for you all.
Turpin eyed your parents expectantly, awaiting their response to his brazen offer. Your mother glanced at your father, uncertainty etched on her face as they silently deliberated their choices.
After a moment of tense silence, your father cleared his throat and straightened his posture, addressing Turpin with a mixture of apprehension and resignation. "We... we appreciate your offer, sir," he began, his voice wavering slightly. "It's just... this is all so sudden."
Turpin's expression remained impassive, his eyes cold and calculating as he regarded your father. "I assure you, mister" he interjected, his tone dripping with impatience, "this is a generous proposal. Your daughter will want for nothing as my wife. Think of the opportunities this marriage could provide for her."
Your father hesitated, torn between his desire to secure a better future for you and his concerns about the haste with which Turpin was pushing for the arrangement. He glanced at your mother, silently seeking her guidance in this pivotal moment.
Sensing their hesitation, Turpin reached into his coat pocket once more, producing a document sealed with his personal crest. "This is a marriage contract," he explained, his voice firm and commanding. "It outlines the terms of our union, including a monthly stipend for your family's support. I assure you, it is more than fair."
Your parents exchanged a wary glance, their resolve wavering in the face of Turpin's persuasive arguments and substantial offer. The idea of financial security for their family was tempting, even if it meant sacrificing their daughter's happiness in the process.
Finally, after what felt like an eternity of deliberation, your father nodded reluctantly, his voice resigned as he conceded to Turpin's proposal. "Very well, sir," he murmured, his tone defeated. "We... we accept your offer."
A triumphant smile spread across Turpin's lips as he extended his hand to seal the deal with a firm handshake. "Excellent," he declared, his voice oozing with satisfaction. "I assure you, Mr. [Your Last Name], you will not regret this decision."
As the agreement was finalized, your parents breathed a sigh of relief, their worries momentarily alleviated by the promise of financial stability. Turpin wasted no time in preparing for the wedding, eager to make you his bride and secure his hold over your future.
But as Turpin turned to leave your home, pretending not to notice you and your younger brothers peeking in and listening to the conversation, your father approached him, bringing you closer to Turpin with a gentle hand on your shoulder.
"May I present my daughter, sir," your father said, his voice tinged with pride and apprehension as he introduced you to your betrothed.
You felt a shiver run down your spine as Turpin's cold gaze fell upon you, his eyes assessing you with an unsettling intensity. You glanced up at him in fear, your heart pounding in your chest as you met his calculating gaze for the first time.
Turpin's smile sent a chill down your spine, his expression sinister and predatory as he appraised you with a mixture of desire and possessiveness. "Ah, yes," he murmured, his voice sending a shiver down your spine. "The future Mrs. Turpin. Delighted to make your acquaintance, my dear."
You couldn't bring yourself to respond, the fear gripping your heart rendering you speechless in the presence of this older, unfamiliar man. Turpin's gaze lingered on you, taking in every detail of your mud-stained dress and disheveled appearance.
But as he looked closer, Turpin couldn't help but notice the underlying beauty hidden beneath the grime and weariness of your circumstances. There was strength in your gaze, a resilience that intrigued him despite himself.
"You'll do nicely," Turpin said with a smirk, his tone laced with anticipation. "Yes, very nicely indeed."
You shrank back instinctively, the hairs on the back of your neck standing on end as Turpin's words sent a shiver of apprehension coursing through you. His smile widened at your reaction, relishing the power he held over you even before the wedding vows had been spoken.
With a final nod to your parents, Turpin turned and swept out of your home, leaving you and your family to contemplate the fate that awaited you as the future wife of Judge Turpin. As the door closed behind him, you couldn't shake the feeling of dread that settled in the pit of your stomach, knowing that your life was about to change in ways you could never have imagined.
Days later, Turpin sat waiting in the parlor of the bridal shop, his patience wearing thin as the minutes stretched on. He tapped his fingers impatiently on the armrest of the chair, his mind consumed with thoughts of you trying on wedding dresses with the help of your family.
Outside, the sun cast a warm glow over the bustling streets, but inside the shop, Turpin felt a chill settle over him. He glanced around the ornately decorated room, the opulent furnishings a stark contrast to the modest village where he had first laid eyes on you.
In the fitting room at the back of the bridal shop, you stood surrounded by your sisters, mother, and the stylist, while they fussed over you, adjusting the intricate lace and satin of the wedding dress. Your mother, brimming with pride, couldn't help but gossip to the stylist about your upcoming marriage to Lord Turpin, emphasizing his importance as a lord and judge.
"He's a man of great stature and wealth," she boasted, her voice filled with excitement. "Our daughter will be the envy of all the village!"
You winced inwardly at her words, feeling a sense of dread knotting in the pit of your stomach. The thought of marrying Lord Turpin filled you with apprehension and discomfort, his cold demeanor and imposing presence sending chills down your spine.
As the stylist continued to pin the dress, you couldn't help but voice your concerns to your family, pleading with them to reconsider the match. But your mother waved off your protests, insisting that marrying Lord Turpin was the best opportunity you could hope for.
"Think of the advantages, dear," she urged, her tone firm and unwavering. "He will provide for you and our family. You'll want for nothing as his wife."
You sighed in resignation, knowing that arguing further would be futile. With a heavy heart, you resigned yourself to your fate, silently praying for a way to escape the marriage that loomed over you like a dark cloud.
As the stylist put the finishing touches on the dress, your mother and sisters admired your reflection in the mirror, showering you with compliments about how beautiful you looked. Despite their well-meaning words, you couldn't shake the feeling of unease that gnawed at your insides.
"Mother, do you think I should show Lord Turpin the dress before the wedding?" you ventured, your voice tinged with uncertainty.
Your mother's eyes widened in horror at the suggestion, her hands flying to her chest in dismay. "Heavens no, child!" she exclaimed, her tone filled with alarm. "It's bad luck for the groom to see the bride's dress before the wedding. Lord Turpin might even call off the entire ceremony!"
Her words sparked an idea in your mind, a glimmer of hope amidst the despair. Perhaps there was a way to escape the marriage after all, if only you could convince Lord Turpin that it was in his best interest to do so.
A mischievous smile tugged at the corners of your lips as you formulated a plan. "Perhaps you're right, Mother," you replied with feigned innocence, your voice laced with deception. "It would be best to avoid any unnecessary risks. After all, we wouldn't want to upset Lord Turpin, would we?"
Your mother nodded vigorously in agreement, relieved that you saw reason. "Exactly, my dear," she chimed in, her voice tinged with relief. "It's for the best. We mustn't do anything to jeopardize this opportunity."
Before she could say anything else, you ran out, gathering your skirts and running to the front of the store where Turpin was. Ignoring the calls of your family behind you, you focused solely on the man seated before you, determined to carry out your plan.
Turpin looked up from his chair, his expression dazed as he took in your appearance. His eyes widened in surprise as he registered the sight of you in your wedding dress, a stunned silence falling over the parlor as he rose to his feet, his gaze never leaving you.
You couldn't help but feel a surge of satisfaction at Turpin's reaction, believing that your bold move had succeeded in thwarting the impending marriage.
"Lord Turpin," you said tentatively, breaking the silence between you, "do you... do you like the dress?"
Turpin's gaze lingered on your smile, his eyes tracing the delicate lace and satin of your gown. In that moment, he realized just how beautiful you looked, the white fabric clinging to your curves in all the right places, accentuating your natural grace and elegance.
A mischievous smile tugged at the corners of Turpin's lips as he met your gaze, his eyes alight with a newfound desire. Despite your expectations of his anger and frustration, Turpin's reaction was anything but what you had anticipated.
"Yes, my dear," Turpin replied, his voice low and husky with admiration. "I must admit, you look absolutely stunning."
You blinked in surprise at his response, the weight of his words sinking in as you processed his unexpected compliment. Was it possible that Turpin actually liked the dress? Could it be that your plan had backfired in the most unexpected way?
Turpin turned to the store owner, his tone authoritative as he addressed her. "We'll take this dress," he declared, his voice leaving no room for argument. "It's perfect."
You felt a knot form in the pit of your stomach as Turpin's words washed over you, the realization sinking in that your attempt to thwart the wedding had failed miserably. Despite your best efforts, Turpin was as determined as ever to go through with the marriage, leaving you feeling trapped and powerless once more.
Turpin's gaze lingered on you as the stylist suggested adding a veil to complete your bridal ensemble. He found himself nodding in agreement, his mind filled with visions of you walking down the aisle towards him, veiled in white, a picture of innocence and purity.
And as the stylist and your mother led you back to the dressing room to try on the veil, Turpin remained seated in the parlor, his eyes fixed on the door through which you had disappeared. He couldn't tear his gaze away from the image of you in your wedding dress, feeling a surge of desire coursing through him at the thought of claiming you as his own.
His thoughts wandered to the wedding night that lay ahead, the anticipation building in the pit of his stomach as he imagined what it would be like to possess you fully. The idea of having you beneath him, yielding to his every whim, sent a thrill of excitement coursing through him, igniting a fire of lust that burned hotter with each passing moment.
As he closed his eyes, Turpin allowed himself to imagine what it would be like to have you under him, to taste your sweet innocence and revel in the power he held over you. A wicked smile tugged at the corners of his lips as he entertained the idea of taking you by force, of claiming you as his own in the most primal sense of the word.
But before his fantasies could spiral any further, Turpin was brought back to reality by the sound of footsteps approaching. Opening his eyes, he found Lilian, your sister, standing before him, her expression unreadable as she regarded him with a mixture of curiosity and defiance.
Turpin narrowed his eyes at her, his tone dry and irritated as he questioned her presence. "What do you want, girl?" he snapped, his patience wearing thin in the face of her insolence.
Lilian met his gaze without flinching, her expression unyielding as she regarded him with a cool detachment that only served to fuel Turpin's annoyance. Without uttering a word, she turned on her heel and made her way towards the back of the store, leaving Turpin to seethe in silence.
As he watched her retreating figure, Turpin struggled to contain his anger, his fists clenched in frustration at the insolence of the girl who dared to defy him. In his mind, she was nothing more than a disobedient child in need of a firm reprimand, her parents failing in their duty to discipline her properly.
With a disdainful snort, Turpin composed himself, his thoughts turning to the task at hand. He had no time for petty distractions or insolent girls who dared to challenge his authority. His focus was solely on you, the object of his desires, and nothing would stand in the way of him claiming you as his own.
As he settled back into his chair, Turpin's mind raced with plans for the future, his determination hardened by the thought of possessing you completely. With a steely resolve, he vowed to return to London as soon as possible, eager to begin his new life with you by his side, no matter the cost.
Three days later, the wedding finally took place in the quaint village church, the air filled with a mix of anticipation and solemnity. Despite the small size of the church, the ceremony felt grand and significant, with Turpin's imposing presence casting a shadow over the proceedings.
As the vows were exchanged and rings placed on fingers, Turpin felt a sense of triumph wash over him, knowing that you were now bound to him by law and duty. He swore his allegiance to you before God, his voice firm and unwavering as he pledged to honor and cherish you for the rest of his days.
But as the ceremony drew to a close and the guests gathered for a modest celebration, Turpin couldn't shake the feeling of unease that settled in the pit of his stomach. Despite his best efforts to ignore it, the palpable sadness in your eyes did not escape his notice, leaving him feeling unsettled and agitated.
Turpin danced with you more out of formality than anything, his movements stiff and mechanical as he held you close, his mind elsewhere as he contemplated the night ahead. He could sense your reluctance, your palpable sadness casting a shadow over the joyous occasion, but he paid it little mind, consumed by his own desires and ambitions.
Excusing himself from the party, Turpin led you to the hotel where he was staying, his anticipation mounting with each passing moment. He looked forward to claiming you as his own, eager to fulfill his lustful desires and assert his dominance over you in the most intimate of ways.
But as the question of your virginity arose, Turpin's anger flared, his features contorting with rage at the revelation that you were not untouched. He demanded to know with whom you had lain before him, pressing you relentlessly until you admitted to a past indiscretion with a baker's son.
Turpin's fury knew no bounds, his sense of betrayal fueling his rage as he realized that you were not the pure and innocent bride he had envisioned. In his eyes, you had deceived him, tarnishing the sanctity of their union with your past indiscretions.
With a growl of anger, Turpin eliminated whatever kindness he had been planning to show you that night, his desire giving way to a primal need for dominance and control. He pushed you onto the bed with force, his hands rough as he lifted your dress and ripped your panties in his haste.
Ignoring your surprised cry, Turpin pulled down his own pants and thrust himself into you with brutal force, not bothering to prepare you for his length as he pounded into you with reckless abandon. The pain of his intrusion was overwhelming, your cries falling on deaf ears as Turpin reveled in the pleasure of claiming you as his own.
But as he lifted his head to gaze at the mirror on the other side of the hotel bedroom, Turpin's eyes met yours in the reflection, his expression twisted with a mixture of lust and cruelty. He watched as you gripped the bed sheets tightly, your tears staining the fabric as you cried out in agony.
"Look at yourself," Turpin snarled, his voice dripping with contempt as he continued to thrust into you with merciless abandon. "This is what you deserve, for deceiving me and defiling our marriage bed."
You whimpered in pain and humiliation, your body wracked with sobs as Turpin's assault continued unabated. With each thrust, he reminded you of your betrayal, his words like daggers plunging into your heart as he asserted his dominance over you with every brutal movement.
But Turpin stopped suddenly, his movements freezing as he felt something warm and wet trickling down his thighs. His eyes widened in shock as he looked down, his gaze falling upon the viscous, red liquid staining his skin and the sheets beneath him. Blood.
"What is this?" Turpin demanded, his voice laced with disbelief as he turned to you, his eyes searching yours for an explanation.
You lay beneath him, tears streaming down your cheeks as you sobbed uncontrollably, your body trembling with pain and fear. Turpin's heart clenched at the sight of your distress, his anger momentarily forgotten as he focused on comforting you in your moment of need.
"What happened?" Turpin asked softly, his voice gentle as he brushed the tears from your cheeks, his touch surprisingly tender despite his usual demeanor.
You hiccuped through your tears, struggling to find the words to explain yourself. "I-I lied," you choked out, your voice barely above a whisper as you confessed the truth. "I'm... I'm a virgin."
Turpin's eyes widened in shock at your admission, his mind reeling with the implications of your words. He had taken you at your word, never suspecting that you would deceive him in such a manner. The realization left him feeling betrayed and confused, unsure of how to proceed in the face of this revelation.
"Why would you lie to me?" Turpin asked, his voice tinged with hurt and confusion as he searched your face for answers.
You shook your head, unable to meet his gaze as you struggled to find the words to explain yourself. "I thought... I thought if I lied, you would... you would ask for a divorce," you admitted, your voice breaking with emotion. "I thought you would leave me alone."
Turpin's heart softened at your words, his anger giving way to a deep sense of remorse and guilt. Gently, Turpin withdrew from you, his eyes filled with concern as he inspected the damage he had caused. He watched as you winced in pain, your body trembling with each movement as you struggled to sit up.
"It's going to be okay," Turpin murmured, his voice soothing as he helped you lie back on the bed, his hands gentle as he removed the wedding dress that had become stained with blood. "It's just... your hymen. That's why there's blood."
You continued to cry, the pain and humiliation of the situation weighing heavily on your shoulders. But Turpin remained by your side, offering what comfort he could as he wiped away the tears from your cheeks, his touch surprisingly gentle despite his usual rough demeanor.
"It's not your fault," Turpin assured you, his voice filled with sincerity as he looked into your eyes. "I should have been more careful. I should have been more gentle."
You nodded weakly, grateful for his words of comfort in your moment of need. Despite everything that had happened, you couldn't help but feel a glimmer of hope that perhaps Turpin wasn't as heartless as he seemed.
As Turpin helped you clean yourself up, his hands lingering on your skin with a tenderness that surprised you, you couldn't help but feel a sense of warmth and gratitude towards him. Despite his faults and shortcomings, he had shown you a side of himself that you hadn't expected, a side that made you dare to hope for a better future together.
As Turpin leaned in to kiss you softly on the forehead, you felt a spark of affection ignite within you, a flicker of hope amidst the darkness that threatened to consume you. In that moment, you realized that perhaps there was more to your marriage than meets the eye, that maybe, just maybe, there was a chance for redemption and forgiveness in the arms of the man who had once seemed so distant and cold.
And as you lay together in the dimly lit hotel room, the weight of the world lifted from your shoulders, you allowed yourself to believe that maybe, just maybe, there was hope for happiness after all.
Turpin began to undress, shedding his suit and shoes with practiced ease. You couldn't help but feel a sense of unease creeping over you. Despite his assurances of gentleness, the memory of his earlier brutality lingered in the forefront of your mind, leaving you hesitant and apprehensive about what was to come.
"Wait Lord Turpin," you whispered, your voice barely above a breath as you reached out to stop him, your hands trembling with fear and uncertainty. "Please, be gentle."
Turpin paused, his gaze meeting yours with a mixture of understanding and remorse. In that moment, you saw a flicker of humanity in his eyes, a glimpse of the man beneath the mask of cruelty and dominance.
"Call me Richard," he said softly, his voice barely above a whisper as he reached out to cup your cheek in his hand. "That's my name. And I promise, I'll be gentle this time."
You hesitated, unsure whether to trust his words or his intentions. But as Turpin – no, Richard – leaned in to kiss you softly on the lips, you felt a sense of warmth and comfort wash over you, a glimmer of hope amidst the darkness that threatened to consume you.
"Okay, Richard," you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper as you surrendered to his touch, allowing him to guide you with a tenderness that surprised you. "I trust you."
With a gentle touch, Richard positioned himself between your legs, his gaze meeting yours with a mixture of desire and restraint. He leaned in to kiss you softly on the lips, his touch tentative yet filled with longing as he explored your mouth with his tongue.
As his hands roamed over your body, you couldn't help but shiver with anticipation, the heat of his touch sending waves of pleasure coursing through you. With each caress, each kiss, Richard drew you closer to him, his desire palpable in the air between you.
But as he positioned himself to enter you, you couldn't suppress the instinctual urge to protect yourself, to close your legs and push him away. With a whimper of fear, you pressed your hands against his chest, your heart pounding in your chest as you pleaded with him to be gentle.
"Please," you whispered, your voice trembling with emotion as you looked up at him with pleading eyes. "Be gentle with me, Richard. I'm scared."
Richard's expression softened at your words, his gaze filled with compassion and understanding as he brushed the hair back from your face, his touch gentle and reassuring. "I will," he promised, his voice low and husky with desire. "I'll be gentle, I swear."
With a tender kiss, Richard guided himself into you slowly, his movements gentle and deliberate as he eased himself inside. You gasped at the sensation, the feeling of fullness overwhelming yet strangely exhilarating as you surrendered to the pleasure of his touch.
As Richard began to move, his thrusts now slow and steady, you felt yourself relax in his arms, the tension melting away as you gave yourself over to the pleasure of the moment. With each movement, each thrust, Richard brought you closer to the edge of ecstasy, his touch igniting a fire within you that burned brighter with each passing moment.
Turpin watched you writhe beneath him in pleasure. A sense of satisfaction washed over him, replacing the earlier feelings of anger and frustration. Seeing the pleasure on your face was a beautiful sight, one that left him breathless with desire. He had never cared much about pleasuring women, especially prostitutes, but pleasuring you made his ego swell with pride.
The anger he had felt when he thought you had been with another man melted away as he realized that he was your first, your one and only. The thought filled him with a sense of possessiveness and pride, knowing that he was the one who had taken your innocence. And the way you sang his name between moans,
"Richard!" Turpin woke up abruptly from his dream upon hearing the desperate tone of your voice. He took a moment to get his bearings, still groggy from sleep as he realized he was dreaming, or rather remembering old memories. But he could still hear you saying his name, and Turpin turned, looking at you as you looked in fear.
"Are you alright?" Turpin asked, his voice laced with concern as he reached out to touch your arm.
Before you could respond, Turpin felt the damp sheets beneath him. "You're wetting the bed, girl," Turpin chided, his voice tinged with irritation as he glanced at the damp sheets beneath you. But before he could finish his sentence, you interrupted him with a desperate cry, your voice trembling with fear as you announced that your water had broken. Turpin froze in disbelief, his mind reeling with the implications of your words. Your water breaking meant only one thing: the baby was coming.
For a moment, Turpin's eyes widened in shock, his mind struggling to comprehend the gravity of the situation. But as the urgency of the moment sank in, he sprang into action, his instincts taking over as he shouted for the servants to bring the doctor and midwife immediately.
"Quickly!" Turpin barked, his voice commanding as he directed the panicked servants to fetch the necessary help. "We haven't a moment to lose. The baby is coming!"
The servants, alarmed by their master's urgent tone, appeared in a flurry of activity, rushing to obey his orders without question. Turpin watched with a sense of satisfaction as they scurried about, knowing that his authority would ensure that everything would be done swiftly and efficiently.
Turning his attention back to you, Turpin moved to your side, his hands gentle as he helped you get more comfortable on the bed. He arranged the pillows and sheets with care, tenderly making you as comfortable as possible as you writhed and moaned in pain.
"You're doing well, my dear," Turpin murmured, his voice filled with encouragement as he watched you with concern. "Just hold on a little longer. Help is on the way."
But as he reached out to touch your hand, you looked at him with frustration, your voice filled with urgency as you pleaded with him to bring the doctor.
"Turpin, stop fussing and fetch the doctor!" you snapped, your tone sharp with irritation as you struggled to cope with the pain. "I need help, and I need it now!"
Turpin was stunned by your outburst, the sharpness of your words cutting through his usual facade of authority and control. He had never heard you speak to him in such a manner before, and for a moment, he was at a loss for words.
But as he looked into your eyes, filled with pain and fear, Turpin's resolve hardened, his determination to help you in your moment of need outweighing any sense of wounded pride. With a nod of understanding, he turned and hurried from the room, determined to fetch the doctor without delay.
As Turpin disappeared from sight, you were left alone with your thoughts, the pain of labor washing over you in waves as you struggled to cope with the intensity of the moment. But despite the fear and uncertainty that filled your mind, you couldn't help but feel a sense of gratitude towards Turpin for his efforts to help you.
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Turpin stood outside the bedroom, his anxiety mounting with each agonizing scream that echoed through the house. The midwife had unceremoniously ordered him out of the room, insisting that he wait outside with the servants. The urge to defy her, to burst back into the room and demand to be by your side, was nearly overwhelming. But Turpin knew he had to obey, no matter how much it grated against his every instinct.
As he paced the hallway, his mind raced with worry for you. He could hear your cries of pain, each one piercing his heart like a knife. Turpin clenched his fists, feeling powerless in the face of your suffering. When one of the servants attempted to offer him words of reassurance, he snapped at them, his frustration boiling over.
"Silence!" Turpin growled, his voice low and menacing. "I have no need for your empty platitudes. Just pray that she survives."
Realizing his lapse in composure, Turpin forced himself to regain control, settling into a chair with a rigid posture. He couldn't afford to show weakness in front of his servants, even as his heart threatened to break with each passing moment.
The screams seemed to go on forever, each one a painful reminder of the fragile line between life and death. Turpin had never considered the possibility of losing you, but now it loomed over him like a specter, haunting his every thought.
Finally, the door creaked open, and the doctor emerged, his expression grave. Turpin stood, his heart pounding in his chest as he awaited the news.
"How is she?" Turpin demanded, his voice trembling with a mixture of fear and desperation.
The doctor hesitated, his gaze shifting uneasily. "The birth... it's complicated," he admitted reluctantly.
Turpin felt his stomach drop, a cold dread settling over him like a shroud. The doctor's words hung in the air, the unspoken question lingering between them. When the doctor suggested that perhaps Turpin had to choose between saving you or the baby, Turpin froze at this impossible decision, his mind racing with conflicting emotions.
The doctor, realizing Turpin's distress, tried to convince him that saving the baby would be the most sensible choice. After all, Turpin needed an heir, and the choice seemed obvious. Turpin knew it too, but he couldn't bear the thought of a life without you in it. Despite the societal pressures and expectations weighing heavily on his shoulders, Turpin's love for you outweighed any practical considerations.
"I choose her," Turpin declared firmly, his voice leaving no room for argument. "Save her at all costs."
The doctor was shocked by Turpin's decision, his eyebrows furrowing in disbelief. He attempted to persuade Turpin to reconsider, to prioritize the baby's life over yours. But Turpin remained resolute, his gaze unwavering as he stared down the doctor.
"I will do everything in my power to save them both," the doctor assured Turpin, his tone tinged with frustration. "But if it comes to that, I will prioritize her survival."
Turpin nodded, his jaw set in determination. He knew the risks, understood the consequences of his choice, but he refused to waver. As the doctor disappeared back into the room, Turpin refused to stay outside, his concern for you overwhelming any sense of propriety or social decorum.
Inside the room, the midwife and maids were taken aback by Turpin's sudden appearance, the old midwife attempting to shoo him away. But Turpin ignored her, his eyes fixed on you as you writhed in pain, your wrists tied as you strained to push the baby out.
Turpin froze, not knowing what to do. He felt a surge of conflicting emotions coursing through him, his mind torn between the fear of losing you and the guilt of his past transgressions. Unable to face the reality of the situation, he turned away and went to the window, looking out into the darkness of the night.
You noticed the movement and called out for him, your voice strained with pain and desperation. But Turpin couldn't bear to look at you, couldn't bring himself to stay by your side knowing that you could die. He clenched his fists tightly, his gaze fixed on the distant horizon as he struggled to compose himself.
Thankfully, you stopped calling for him, your cries of pain mingling with the instructions from the midwife as you pushed with all your strength. Turpin lost track of time as he stood there, lost in his own thoughts, until he was jolted out of his daze by a new sound—a baby's cry.
Turning, Turpin saw the midwife holding a blood-stained bundle in her arms, a look of relief on her face. She carried the newborn baby to the basin, where she began to wash away the blood, revealing the tiny features of a newborn child. Turpin's heart skipped a beat as he realized the implications of what had just happened.
The maids released your wrists, and Turpin rushed to your side, his hands trembling with emotion as he reached out to touch your sweat-drenched forehead. Relief washed over him as he saw you breathing heavily, the color returning to your cheeks.
"You did it," Turpin whispered, his voice choked with emotion. "You're going to be okay."
As he looked into your eyes, Turpin felt a wave of gratitude and love wash over him, overpowering any lingering doubts or fears. The doctor approached him then, a smile on his face as he congratulated Turpin on the birth of his son.
"You have a healthy baby boy, sir," the doctor announced, his voice filled with warmth. "Congratulations."
Turpin was stunned by the sight of the newborn baby in the midwife's arms, his mind reeling with a mixture of disbelief and overwhelming emotion. A baby, a boy—the realization hit him like a thunderbolt, leaving him momentarily speechless. He exchanged a glance with you, his heart swelling with pride and love as he saw the exhaustion and joy written on your face.
Approaching the midwife with determined strides, Turpin reached out to take his son from her arms, eager to hold the precious bundle in his own hands. But his movement was halted by the short, old woman who stubbornly blocked his path, insisting that you, the mother, should hold the baby first.
Turpin's frustration flared once again at the old woman's interference, his impulse to strangle her momentarily overwhelming him. But as he caught sight of you cradling the baby, a soft smile playing on your lips, his anger dissolved into a flood of tenderness and admiration.
You looked weak, yet still so beautiful, your eyes shining with love and exhaustion as you gazed down at the tiny life in your arms. Turpin felt a lump form in his throat as he watched the intimate moment between mother and child, a surge of gratitude washing over him for the miracle of your survival.
Turning to the doctor, who stood nearby with a smile of congratulations, Turpin was brought back to the present moment by the question of his son's name. He glanced back at you, his eyes softening with affection as he silently conveyed his trust in you to make the choice.
"It's up to her," Turpin declared, his voice filled with pride as he nodded towards you. "She shall choose our son's name."
You looked at Turpin in surprise, knowing how firm he had been in his decision regarding the name. But his encouraging smile reassured you, reminding you of the love and trust that had brought you through this ordeal together.
With a smile of determination, you turned your attention back to the baby, your heart overflowing with love as you whispered the name that had been in your heart.
"William Bartholomew Turpin," you announced, your voice filled with conviction as you met Turpin's gaze. "Our son's name shall be William."
Turpin's heart swelled with pride and joy at your choice, his eyes shining with unshed tears as he reached out to touch your hand. In that moment, surrounded by the warmth and love of his growing family, Turpin felt a sense of peace and contentment unlike anything he had ever known.
"Welcome to the world, William," Turpin whispered, his voice filled with emotion as he leaned down to place a gentle kiss on your forehead. "You are loved more than you could ever know."
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goddessactuality · 5 months ago
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I love you 70s I love you cars as big as boats I love you Detroit and Cleveland I love you yellow and brown I love you Brady Bunch I love you Shelley Duvall suburban dream girl I love you disco I love you groovy I Love you the way john denver sings I love you giorgio moroder i love you donna summer i love you i feel love i love you great uncles i love you silent generation i love you meadows i love you prairies i love you oregon trail i love you nellie oleson i love you calico print wallpaper i love you dry ass thistles i love you sunsets i love you golden hour i love you 1976 i love you sleazy steakhouse family restaurants i love you buffets i love you riverboats i love you giant industrial steel structures i love you oil fields and refineries i love you fall i love you rivers i love you steel mills i hate you 90s i hate you court rooms i hate you judges i hate you pr*da i hate you matt damon i hate you brad pitt i hate you silicon valley i hate you govermnents i hate you pomo i hate you classism i hate you stock market i hate you cop dramas i hate you 80s i hate you zoot suits i hate you yuppies i hate you afraid of the dark ass color palates i hate you corporate blandification i hate you gray walls i hate you cost cutting i hate you disavowal of responsibility to nature community society the earth and each other i love you neuschwanstein i love you sans souci i lvoe you versailles i love you biltmore i love you 1890s i love you belle epoque art nouveau rococo and baroque
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aarghhaaaarrrghhh · 10 months ago
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A Summer in a Pioneer's Neckerchief/Лето в пионерском галстуке - Chapter Six
Chapter Six - Conversations about the Personal and the Indecent
The carousels by the children’s dorms had become the unspoken meeting place. Yurka went there after lunch, or dropped by when he had an hour free, or in the evenings before the disco, and after a little time had passed, Volodya also appeared there. Yurka liked to sit on the carousels, rocking back and forth, looking off into the emptiness in front of him and think about anything. He liked it when Volodya sat beside him and also looked silently into space. Sitting like that, together, while watching the kids and listening for their shouts, there was something at the same time essential, unusual, simple and natural in it. Yurka felt comfortable, like when with his grandma at the playground in his childhood.
But more than anything else, he like the last few evenings, when, after rehearsals, having given the fifth troop over to Lena’s hands, for her to spend time with them until lights out, Volodya and Yurka would make up horror stories for the kids. Once they even missed the time for lights out, when they were meant to go tell these very horror stories.
The first week at camp had come to an end announced Mitka’s voice over the morning radio broadcast, as though the pioneers did not know that themselves. Yurka remembered that day very well. They were sitting on the carousel and Volodya asked him, indicating on his face:
“Where did you get that scar?”
Silence reigned on the playground; it was quiet hour for the whole camp. Yurka, as usual, ran away from it, to which the responsible counsellor merely reminded him should dive into the bushes should he see anyone on the path leading to the dorms. The thing was that sometimes, some counsellors checked that children were not left alone. But there was nothing for which to fault Volodya, he and Lena had switched so that she was on duty during quiet hours, while it was him during discos. It was thus at that moment.
Yurka instinctively touched his chin and felt around with the pads of his fingers for the old scar beneath his lower lip.
“It was some hooligans who harassed me. There were three of them, and, as it happened, only one of me! So, uh…” he faltered. Yurka had told everyone this version the story of how he had gotten his scar. In it, he was a courageous little boy, who, at the cost of his own broken, bloody lip, fought the bullies off the street. But for some reason, he wanted to tell Volodya the truth. “You know, in reality, I took a tumble off a swing when I was eleven. I was swinging really high, I wanted to show off in front of the girls who lived nearby, they were walking nearby at the time, I let go and… To sum up, I did a wonderful somersault, flew off the swings, scraped my nose two metres through the dirt and smashed face-first into the sandbox. I split my lip so badly that it took fifteen minutes to stop the bleeding. My dad even had to give me stitches! So, there you go.”
Yurka was sure that Volodya would think him a fool and a braggart, and laugh at him, but he simply smiled kindly:
“So, you have a memory of a brief, free flight. A Karlsson.”[1]
Yurka could not hold his smile back: This Volodya is rather strange on the whole, too kind and understanding. Even Yurka himself would have taken some kind of schadenfreude from the situation, but Volodya did not.
“We have a Karlsson, Sanya, while I’m–”
“Gagarin?”
“Chkalov,[2] at most. I didn’t fly that far, after all,” replied Yurka and looked searchingly at the counsellor. “Well? Now that I’ve shared my secret with you, share yours!”
Volodya bent his eyebrow in surprise and nodded:
“Alright, ask.”
“Why did you really join the counsellors? It’s clear that you don’t particularly like looking after children.”
“Hm…” while he thought about his answer, Volodya absent-mindedly poked at the bridge of his nose, adjusting his glasses. He sighed and blurted out, as though learnt by heart, the sentence, “It’s a good way of gaining useful experience and – Yura, don’t argue – getting a character reference for the Party.”
Yurka snorted. A week ago, at the first line-up, he would have believed that the ideal Volodya – his whole self a proper Komsomolets – would need nothing but his good name, but now…
“Twenty-five – that’s a reference![3] And if you’re telling the truth, surely that can’t be all? Just a good reputation?”
Volodya faltered and sorted his glasses out again, despite that they were already in the right place.
“Well… not quite. To be honest, I’ve always been very shy, it’s difficult enough for me to get along with people, to communicate, to make friends. But with children… My mum works as a preschool teacher, she recommended me to become a counsellor. She said that if I want to learn to find a common language with people, it’s best to start with children – they don’t have inhibitions.” He fell silent again, and Yurka thought that if he went to adjust his glasses again, then he would have to slap his hand. You’re actually more useful. I mean, you’re better at finding common ground with them.”
Yurka proudly squared his shoulders, but immediately lowered them:
“It’s our shared service,” he said. “I also don’t like playing around with the really small ones, that’s to say, I don’t know how. But to help you, well… Anyway, remember! Yesterday after dinner, I stomped over to the troop and saw Olezhka. He was sitting on the square all alone, crying, I approached him and asked what was going on. It turns out that all this time, the kids have been teasing him for his lisp, and now that he has almost the main role, the teasing has become… he says he can’t cope with it. The poor wretch is already embarrassed and then on top of that he hears from the other kids stuff like ‘How on earth do you mean to perform when you lisp so badly!’”
“Is that a direct quote? Who from?”
“I don’t know who. I only understand every other word from Olezhka and then he was sobbing as well, I couldn’t make out half of it. To the point, Volod, I’ve thought about it, and it’s true, he really does pronounce all these words badly, like ‘partisans’, ‘battle’[4] and so on…”
“A lisper in the main role…” repeated Volodya moodily. “Of course, it’s not the main role, there’s just a lot of lines… But he asked for it himself and I thought, on the contrary, that it would give him self-confidence. We need to come up with something, but we can’t take the role away from him, Olezhka would get so upset, so we should try, uh… Got any ideas?”
“I do, that’s what I wanted to talk about! What about, before he learns all the words, we rewrite his script so that words with the letter ‘r’ are as few as possible?”
And they began their rewrite, swapping words with ‘r’ for synonyms. The work was not much, but it turned out to be so complicated for them that over just one day they had not got very far at all, and they understood that they would need more time. Then, Volodya asked Yurka whether he would not mind if he tried to get him out of quiet hours, but on one condition – that during these times, Yurka would not move even one step away from Volodya.
Yurka was so delighted that he jumped up on the carousel:
“Of course! Of course I want to!”
Not only would he no longer spend two hours wandering around the place, not knowing what to entertain himself with, but this time would be just him and Volodya, privately! Why would he even ask – the answer was obvious. But his joy was quickly extinguished as he recalled Olga Leonidovna’s stern voice and her reprimands: “A child must always be occupied with something, and a counsellor must always know where and what he’s doing.” But his counsellor was Ira, not Volodya. Yurka wilted. Giving the blockhead Yurka leave to get out of quiet hour? As if! It was completely impossible, why would Volodya tease him with it?
“We don’t have much script to go through,” Volodya was thinking aloud the whole while, “but it is very complex and responsible, an important role on the whole. There’s no time at all for an imaginative reworking, we need to hand it in to him as quickly as possible! Think about it yourself, how many hours do we need? Six to eight as a guess, but where to take them from? Not from rehearsal times, nor from my work time with the fifth troop either.”
“Yes but a script is a script. Even if they give the go-ahead on the rewrite, giving me leave to go is another story entirely,” Yurka soured completely.
“I shall reveal what to you is probably a secret, but in our camp, there are children who are let free during quiet hour. An incredible business. In my camp no-one was ever let free, but, clearly, times are changing. The, you were given to me not as an actor, but as a helper, and here, help really is needed now. They can’t bar you from competitions, communal work or the disco, they also can’t stop you from writing during rehearsal – I need you.”
“I feel like, all the same, it won’t work out.”
“I’ll have a little chat with the older counsellor, and ask Lena to support me; she works with me, she sees and knows everything,” Volodya, of course, noticed the shift in his mood and patted him cheerfully on the shoulder. “It can’t hurt to try. We’ll see what kind of diplomat I am.”
By the next morning, at the staff meeting, Volodya asked Olga Leonidovna for permission to take Yurka out of quiet hour. But getting it turned out to be oh so complicated.
Later in the day, as he walked towards the playground after lights out, Volodya, accustomed to speaking quietly beneath the windows of the fifth troop, almost shouted:
“Picture it, Yur, for a half hour this question was discussed by the whole staff of counsellors, I just barely persuaded them. Olga Leonidovna did not agree right away, but it was actually clear that she wasn’t particularly against it – when she’s against something, thunder rolls across a clear sky – but she asked for an opinion from the elder counsellor, and from the rest as a formality. They nodded, they also agreed, and it’s not surprising – is it not all the same to them, who helps me rewrite the script” At that point, Irina jumped in with some rubbish about how, on the contrary, public speaking will benefit Olezhka, supposedly it will prompt him to try harder with the speech therapist, she says! I almost fell out my chair – it’s rubbish and rubbish is dangerous for Olezhka! And she very well may actually think that and go on worrying about it, but it’s not like that. She’s throwing a spanner in the works!”
Up until then, Volodya had not been able to make peace with her. He had tried to apologise several times, but Ira, would put an end to the conversation without letting him say his piece. Volodya was confused and more than once confessed sadly to Yurka that this discord with Ira upset him greatly. But at the meeting, no matter what Irina might have said, Olga Leonidovna turned out to be more sympathetic to Olezhka’s problem and gave Volodya permission.
“For real?! I can officially stay up?!” Yurka could not believe it.
They sat at the playground as normal. Yurka kicked along the ground in joy and spun the carousel. The dandelion blossoms had been gliding along the ground up to then, only rarely raising higher than the knee and floating into his nose. Now, disturbed by the wind, they rushed about the air in a mad swarm.
The same time, as though a team, the guys kicked off and stopped. The blossom caught in Yurka’s throat, he fell into a coughing fit and, blinded by the tears welling up, blinked stupidly and began to take a look around and was awestruck by the beauty of the place. It was as though he had seen it for the first time. On the ground, dandelions circled about like broken white umbrellas and lazily settled on the grass. Umbrellas on the ground, and in the sky there also floated umbrellas - not far from the camp was an aerodrome. White aeroplanes flew over Lastochka every day and from them sprung paratroopers, opening their parachutes and descending, as they learnt to land. To watch that was unreally beautiful. And how had Yurka not noticed it earlier?
Having looked around, he understood that everything in this place was beautiful and Volodya was very beautiful. Especially today, now, when he told him this wonderful news and suddenly, gleeful, ruffled and ruddy, bgean to laugh so contagiously that Yurka also began to giggle. He had never seen Volodya so happy. Yurka, most likely, had never himself been so unaccountably happy – they had given him permission to leave quiet hour and that meant that now they could be together for as long as they pleased. And from that time, every free minute, they spent on the script rewrite – it needed to be finished quickly and given to Olezhka to learn.
But something always got in their way. Almost the whole day fell through because of that Yulya from the fifth troop, who desperately wanted to go back to her parents. It was a shame about the time, but Yurka tried to treat her problem with understanding. After all, he himself very much disliked camp on his first season. Yurka truly did not know what he was doing there and why he had been sent there; he thought that he was being punished, and he too had blubbered as he changed his opinion on the camp to the diametric opposite only at the end of the season. But Volodya’s Yulya was struck by such hysteria that it took both counsellors, the pedagogue Olga Leonidovna and a nurse to calm her down. By the evening, Volodya was worn out so badly that Yurka let him go to sleep rather than have their sit-around.
The second lost day was Parents’ Day. It was doubly offensive that it passed by so quickly a confusingly. After all, to tell the truth, Yurka looked forward to it no less than all the other kids. It was like as soon as his mum gave him a hug, the troop concert had already begun. No sooner had they gone walking around the camp than it was lunchtime. No sooner had they played that game where you run through a tunnel formed from two rows of people joining their hands over an aisle than they were being fed again. No sooner had his mum, in a team along with the other mums, got into a Chinese skipping rope competition – adults against girls, than it was time to say goodbye.
It seemed to everybody, adults and children alike, that they hardly managed to exchange two words with their relatives, and Yurka was no exception; he only discussed the theatre. He wanted to share his happiness that he had got to know this wonderful guy Volodya and forged such a strong friendship that he did not now know how he could get through a day without him. His mum would, most likely, be glad at such news – finally her son was coming to his senses and getting along, not with some little punk, but with a proper Komsomolets. But Yurka kept his mouth shut, abashed, not knowing how to properly convey his feelings, or in general how to characterise them.
But what else to talk to his mum about? How the food was filling, but not very tasty? As though she did not know herself what it was like at camp.
Before taking a seat on the bus, his mum gave Yurka a peck on the cheek and cautiously asked:
“Have you made friends with any of the girls yet? I’ve not been acquainted with any of them…”
“There’s Ksyusha, I asked her to danse,” replied Yurka, awkwardly pointing at Zmeyevskaya. He began to feel very uncomfortable. His mum had never spoken with him about girls before.
Towards the evening, it was now him who was burnt out. Yurka, of course, did not go to sleep, but he had neither the desire nor the energy to pore over the script. He and Volodya simply sat on the carousel and rambled on together about everything and nothing.
However, over the course of the time spent together, they had managed to truly befriend one another and sometimes even shared private things. But often they did not ramble and instead laid out the notebook and some paper across a knee, bent over them and began a brainstorm. At least, they tried to begin one.
“So… ‘war’, ‘war’…” Volodya thoughtfully gnawed at his pen, enunciating each sound and almost savouring the ‘r’, “’war-r-r…”
“’Battle’, ‘conflict’,”[5] Yura gave out a couple of synonyms and yawned monstrously.
They sat around for a long time that day. The sun beat down particularly hard; Volodya hid himself in the shade of the bird-cherries growing next to the carousel and would not even stick out his – as Yurka was convinced from time to time – good-looking nose. Yurka himself kept his favourite imported red cap on the whole day. His forehead got sweaty, the strap pressed uncomfortably into the back of his neck, but Yurka stubbornly persisted through the discomfort, afraid that he would sunburnt even in the shade.
Despite the heat, the work went well: in that quiet hour they got more done than in the previous two days put together. But there was a lot left. Yurka was tired, his neck and arms were numb – he had been sitting for half an hour almost without moving. But he did not regret it: this work felt more important for him than some horror stories. Cracking his neck, he stood up from the carousel and began to walk around it, stretching his aching back.
“Yes, ‘battle’, that’s good,” muttered Volodya without taking his gaze away from his notebook. “’With the aggressor’…”
“A battle with the aggressor, with the Nazis, with the adversary… Sounds a bit strange.”
“And they all have an ‘r’ or an ‘s’ sound,” agreed Volodya.
“The occupation!”[6] it dawned upon Yurka. He paused and pointed his finger dramatically upward.
“Precisely!” Volodya looked up from the papers, glasses sparkling, and smiled. “Ah… no, wait. An adjacent sentence has ‘the occupation’, we can’t take it from there.”
“Why not? Come on, let me have a look.” Yura flopped into a seat next to him and snatched up the notebook.
Volodya moved closer to him and tried to take a look at the pages. He reached out with his pen, meaning to use it to point at the text, but Yurka, not thinking, kicked off and the carousel began to rotate. Volodya lost his balance and fell onto Yurka so hard that the hard brim of his red cap painfully jabbed Volodya in the forehead.
The pages slowly fell to the ground and scattered apart on the light breeze. His gaze following them, the counsellor looked down at his feet and blushed.
“Oh,” he whispered. Just as he cast his gaze downwards, Volodya understood that for almost a minute he had been holding Yurka by the knee and he sharply withdrew his hand.
“S-sorry.” Yurka also began to feel uncomfortable for some reason. He coughed, embarrassed, and casually turned the cap backwards.
“How strangely you wear it.” This remark, as well as the airy tone put on by Volodya, sounded silly.
“I don’t wear it like that. Well, that is, I am wearing it like that, but it’s hot today and now I had to, so that you… well so that you don’t bump… well…” he completely faltered and then abruptly changed the subject: “And what, you don’t like it?”
“Not at all, it looks good on you. Your fringe is sticking out so funnily. It’s a cool hat, really! And those jeans you have are cool too, and the polo shirt. I remember, you were dressed amazingly for the disco… that you didn’t go to.”
“Oh yeah, it’s all imported.” Yurka was so proud of himself – he never doubted that his clothes weren’t outstanding.
“Where are you getting this wealth from?”
“I have relatives who live in the GDR, where they bring them from. But this hat here isn’t German, by the way, it’s American.”
“Awesome!” exclaimed Volodya.
Flattered and pleased with himself, Yura started to tell him in detail about the origins of his favourite imported things. True, his jeans were not technically American, but rather Indian, but he was not going to specify that.
“You know, it’s not just the clothes that are rad over there in Germany.”
“Yeah, I know, the technology and the cars as well. Somewhere in a magazine I saw such a cool motorbike!” Volodya’s eyes widened.
“In a magazine… Yeah, they have magazines there like there’ll never be in the USSR.”
“Oh, be for real! I tell him about a motorbike and he’s going on about magazines. We’re not very alike.”
“You just haven’t seen them and don’t know what you’re talking about. They’re so-o-o great!” Yurka conspiratorially raised and lowered his eyebrows.
“What then, huh?”
“I won’t say.”
“Yura! What’s with the preschool antics? Say it.”
“Ok, alright, I’ll say, but it’s a secret, alright?”
“Komsomolets’s honour.”
Yurka narrowed his eyes at him:
“Cross your heart and hope to die?”
“Cross my heart and hope to die.”
“In spring, my uncle came to stay with us and brought some stuff: clothes, naturally, make-up for my mum, something for my dad and magazines. Well, normal magazines, only they were in German, with clothes and household stuff. So it went. In the evening, I was sent off to sleep, while they stayed in the kitchen. Mum left soon after, and my uncle stayed together with my father. My room, as it happens, is close to the kitchen, you can hear conversations there very well… And by that point they were, ah, hammered, and they began to talk really loudly, so that I could make out every word. I just lay there, listening. It turned out that my uncle also brought my dad some magazines, just, ahem… of another kind. And then, when I was home alone, I found these magazines.”
“What was written in them? Something anti-Soviet? In that case, it’s dangerous to keep magazines like that at home.”
“Not at all! I don’t yet know German well enough to read fluently. Besides, there wasn’t any text, just pictures. Photographs.” Yurka leaned in so close to Volodya that his lips almost touched his ear and his voice dropped to a whisper. “Of women!”
“A-a-ah… Um… Well yea, I know that such magazines exist…” Volodya withdrew an arm’s length away from Yurka, but Yurka practically nestled up to him and spoke hoarsely right into his ear:
“They were with men… You know, with men! They were–”
“Yur, don’t, I understand,” Volodya moved away again.
“Just picture it!” pronounced Yurka in a rapturous whisper.
“I can picture it. Can we change the topic? This isn’t appropriate for pioneer camp.”
“Surely it interests you?” Yurka was thrown into confusion.
“I’d be lying if I said it was of no interest at all, but… it’s not for nothing that it’s banned, it’s very, very indecent!” Volodya stood up and walked a couple of steps away.
“Listen, there was something I didn’t understand there, Volod.” Yurka became animated again. “I saw something unusual… Hey, you’re older and must know. I just want to know whether that stuff there really was photographed or whether it’s, I don’t know, some kind of drawing–”
“Yur,” Volodya darted up to him and whispered in his ear, “it’s called ‘pornography’. You’re at camp, I’m a counsellor, and the counsellor has told you that you must not look at that stuff, it’s a depravity!”
“So you don’t look at it and I don’t look at it, I just wanted to tell you what was there. Explain, is it just not right, or impossible, or is it maybe not real?”
“For crying out loud, Yura!”
“Hey, Volod… are you my friend or what?”
“Your friend, of course,” Volodya blushed and turned away.
“Then tell me… There’s how it normally is – that’s all clear.” Yurka began to ramble anxiously. “But a few of the photographs there showed him– with her– not there, but– you know, in that place– you know, what you sit on!”
“A chair?” Volodya might have been joking but his face was not merely serious, but angry.
“Quit it! I just want to know, is that possible to do or not?”
“’Quit it’?” Volodya venomously mimicked him. “Yura, you’ve crossed the line. That’s all, we’re changing the topic! Another word and I’ll leave and Olezhka will have to ‘entew into waw with the aggwethor’, and I’ll tell him it’s all because of you!”
The conversation was cut off by a klaxon, signifying that quiet hour had ended.
“You need to go anyway…” mumbled Yurka resentfully.
***
At the afternoon snack, as he half-listened to the excited gossiping about the upcoming game of capture the flag, Yurka was focussed on just one thing – regretting how he had asked Volodya about that. Volodya would not even look in his direction and if his gaze fell by chance on Yurka’s corner of the canteen, the counsellor’s facial expression alternated from serious to repulsed. Or was Yurka imagining it? Everything seemed to be something imaginary to him – for example, that he and Volodya had become real, truly close friends. But now, his reaction, the ice in his normally warm voice proved that between them might be whatever they pleased, only not friendship. A strange sorrow gripped Yurka. They did not even seem to be fighting. So they had an argument, what nonsense. It was nonsense, but now Yurka felt hurt and ashamed.
Sad and lost in thought, he headed to rehearsal, stoking the cinders of his shame along the way: It’s my fault. What an idiot I was! Asking a Komsomolets those kinds of questions. And not just any Komsomolets, but one as sheltered as him. And what for? It would have been better to ask the kids from the street. Maybe they would have laughed too, but they would also have found it interesting! Even if Yurka had spoken about that, in the first place, it was a very personal topic, which meant he had shared something personal with Volodya, or, more accurately, tried to share. What did he, Konev, a regular blockhead who hung out with any old hooligans, have to do with an elite like Volodya? And now he pushed him away and shamed him, and then, just to make sure, hit him with that look. He was not aiming for it but struck upon it; Yurka trembled.
He recollected all this and stopped halfway: Why did I ask him about that in particular? What for? So that he’d roll his eyes or so that he’d explain? And he even says he’s my friend! Uh-huh, as if! A liar, he is, not a friend! Friends don’t like that!
In the open area by the stage, it was busy as always. Girls from the second troop were drawing some kind of map on the asphalt with chalk, while the big-eared Alyoshka Matveyev hung around them, giving them some advice and slipping them chalks.
“What’s that you’re making?” Yurka hailed him.
“What do you mean? We’re preparing for capture the flag. Look, we’re drawing a map for the main headquarters. Olka had this great idea – in the main headquarters will be our intelligence operation, and we’ll mark on the map what we find out about where each troop is.”
“The disco is tonight; the map will get rubbed out under everyone’s feet.”
“It’s nothing, tomorrow we’ll just go over it in outline. It’s faster doing it like that than starting from nothing,” rambled Alyoshka. “Don’t you want to join our intelligence gatherers?”
“No, I don’t.”
As soon as Yurka turned away and took a couple of steps towards the theatre, Alyoshka suddenly appeared behind him and grabbed his shoulder.
“Konev, give it a think.”
“Alyosh, no-one in the main headquarters will take me, I’ll be with my own people. Now let me– go, mind your own business…”
“Why wouldn’t they take you? They’ll take you, if you ask. Aks them, Yur! You have such long legs, you run so fast…”
Alyoshka obstinately minced along behind him, intending to either trip him up or grab him by the elbow. Out of breath, stamping and wheezing, he was in general trying to draw attention to himself by any means possible.
“Alyosha, you’re too much!” groaned Yurka. “Alright, I’ll think about it.”
“Yeah? And what else?”
“Give me some chalk.”
“Here,” Alyoshka offered him the box and Yurka took one.
“Thank you. I won’t go. I’ll be with my own people.”
“Then why the chalk?”
“I don’t have much calcium in my system, I’m going to eat it. Oh, they’re calling you, do you hear?”
“Yeah? Who? Oh, Olya. Well, I’ll be off, and you’ll give it some more thought.”
Could he have been mistaken to refuse the intelligence gatherers? If he were running around the field the next day, he might find a way of staying with Volodka. After all, he would be nervous that some plump little Sashka would slip into a ditch and break his arms, legs, and the ditch itself. Of course, the second counsellor would not leave Volodya alone, but it was perfectly accurate that he would also need Yurka, perfectly accurate, perfectly!
I don’t need him! protested Yurka’s pride. You run around fussing like Alyoshka, and it’s all the same to him. I didn’t try with those stupid horror stories and with the theatre for myself, and he just grouses and lectures. That does it! I’m not going anywhere any more. Not a-ny-where! Rehearsal least of all. He shouldn’t have glared like that, let him deal with his own stupid play himself, I’m not going anywhere! and he did not go. He turned around on the porch and stomped back through the dancefloor to the tennis courts, where according to the timetable, the first troop was getting ready to play.
There were all of two courts, plus tables for table-tennis. The first troop, headed by Ira Petrovna, was present in almost its full capacity – apart from Masha and the PUK girls. Some were playing badminton, some were rooting for them and some were simply hanging out in the chain-link box of the court. Yurka loved to lean back on the fence, rocking about the wire rhombi and watch the others play. But that day he did not plan to cheer others on, he was planning to beat everyone and take out his anger on the shuttlecocks.
Having spotted him from far off, Vanka and Mikha waved in synchronisation, inviting him to join their team. Yurka was a top player, while those two could neither play nor fight back properly; only those who liked losing joined their team. Yurka was not one of them, but he did not ask the other kids if he could join them, he silent grabbed a racquet and served. The shuttlecock flew over to his opponents and struck Ira Petrovna on the forehead.
“Sorry!” cried out Yurka.
Expecting Ira Petrovna to start having a go at him, he cautiously made another, ‘clean’ serve, but the counsellor cheerfully winked and turned away.
After that scene in Volodya’s room, Ira had been avoiding Yurka, and when they happened to be doing something together, she became quieter than water and lower than grass. Yurka, naturally, was not going to tell anybody about what he had seen, but, judging by her angelic behaviour, Ira thought that he was capable of chicanery and blackmail.
Yurka sulked to himself, Who does she take me for? but he gave no audible hint of this. Ultimately, this state of affairs suited him: the counsellor had stopped baselessly making him out to be a culprit and a scapegoat, and in all, a fragile and awkward peace, but peace all the same, had been established between Yurka and Ira Petrovna. The same could not be said for her relationship with Volodya.
No sooner had Yurka remembered that that into his imagination burst and blossomed in all its colour that repulsive scene at the theatre – Ira’s white face, shaking hands, tears of rage in her eyes and Volodya glaring angrily opposite. Oh, Ira Petrovna won’t forgive him, not something like that… sympathised Yurka and spat right there with annoyance – again he was thinking about Volodya!
Volodya was everywhere, even where he could not be. At that moment he was definitely occupied with the actors in the theatre, but it seemed to Yurka as though he caught a glimpse of his figure over in those bushes.
Ira continued. Yurka waved his racquet around, not to return the shuttlecock, but as though chopping the sunbeams up into pieces. The beams remained safe and sound, but Yurka, sweaty and dishevelled, satisfactorily killed the midges.
Their team kept score. For almost the whole game, Vanka and Mikha stood on the spot, while Yurka jumped around like a madman, and before sending the shuttlecock off on its game-winning volley – perhaps into Ira Petrovna’s forehead again – he turned and once again saw Volodya amongst the bushes.
This time it really was him. Pensive, with a timid smile upon his lips, Volodya drew up to the cage around the court, but, stopping a meter away from the entrance, did not decide to go in. Instead, stepping up behind Yurka, he stopped by the wire mesh and put his fingers in between the metal rhombi.
“Yur, why didn’t you come?” he asked quietly, but Yurka caught it.
Without looking, he sent the shuttlecock back and pressed up close to the cage and looked Volodya in the eye with a challenge.
“It’s not like I have a role anyway, what would I do there?”
“What do you mean, what would you do?” Volodya looked at him sadly, but, after shaking his head, gathered himself and explained in his accustomed ‘counsellor’ tone, “Olga Leonidovna gave an order – whether you have a role or not, you have to come to each rehearsal. You help me and I put in a good report for you.”
“Go and give a report, what does that have to do with me?”
“Do you want to go home already? They’ll kick you out in the blink of an eye, you know.”
“Kick me out for what? I’m playing with my troop and, by the way, with my counsellor. Ira Petrovna’s got my back.”
 Whilst waiting for a response that didn’t come, Yurka tapped on the toe of his tennis shoe with his racquet, looked off to the sides and stomped over to the bench to take a glass of boiled water. Volodya headed after him.
“You’re upset with me,” he guessed and lowered his gaze guiltily.
“As if!” snorted Yurka. “I’m not upset. I just understand that with you I can talk about far from anything.”
“That’s not true! Say what you want!”
“Uh-huh, of course,” Yurka turned around and started to drink his water.
“Oh, what’s with you? I… you know what, Yur?” Volodya pensively laid a palm against the wire, which quietly rattled. “I’ve also seen those kinds of magazines.”
“Oh yeah? Where did you get them?” Yurka turned back around and stared unconvincedly at him.
“I study at MGIMO,[7] there’s guys there whose parents are diplomats, sometimes they manage to get a hold of–”
“Where?!” Yurka practically shouted. “AT MGIMO?!”
“Yes. Only, I’m begging you: not a word about the magazine to anybody! Yura, this is very serious. If even the single stupidest rumour about such a thing comes out, I’ll be booted out.”
“Come off it, there’s no way!”
“There very much is a way. A classmate who was carrying that magazine around with him fell victim to it. He was expelled within a month.”
“But if it’s so easy to get kicked out, how did you get in? Are you a cheater, huh?”
“As if! You think you couldn’t do it yourself?”
“It’s not something on my mind, breaking in there is almost impossible: the competition is large, and it’s enough pain as it is having to be ‘ideological’. There’s the approvals you need to gather: from the Komsomol council at school, from the Komsomol district committee, from the district committee for the Party, you need to go to all the interviews…”
Volodya nodded as he listened, while Yurka continued to enumerate, ticking off on his fingers, how much he would need to do, where he would need to be a member, how many times and in which ways he would need to participate, where he would need to go. He suddenly stopped short – who, besides Volodya, could get in there?”
“Well… To be honest, I only got in by the skin of my teeth,” he smiled modestly, once Yurka deigned to finish. “The medical board turned me down, get this, because of my sight. I argued with them – the military commissariat accepted me, I’m good enough for the army, but here you won’t take me on to study? Really, the story is quite long and uninteresting.”
“And how is it – studying there, is it hard?”
“I wouldn’t say it’s easy, the main thing is that it’s interesting. Almost every day I drop by the guys in the dorm, they organise such fun gatherings.”
“Do you all drink tea?” Yurka recalled Volodya’s outrage and frowned.
“There’s everything at these gatherings,” replied Volodya, whispering.
“Including depravity?” Yurka squinted.
“How dare you, we’re Komsomoltsy!” Volodya gave a stern look but immediately smiled, “Okay, alright, I’m joking. There’s everything: Préférence,[8] girls, port wine, uncensored literature.”
“Hang on, port? You have alcohol as well?” Yurka whispered now too. “Where do you get it? When my neighbour got married, they couldn’t even get a bottle of vodka for the wedding, they drank spirits that my dad stole from work.”
“It’s me that calls it port,” Volodya began to explain. “My coursemate brings it. He lives in a village in the oblast and they distil an outstanding moonshine there. For some, the taste reminds them of cognac, for me, it’s port. This prohibition can’t end soon enough. It’s scary for Mishka, he’s putting everything on the line.”
During this dialogue, Yurka’s offense disappeared. He forgot about it so quickly that it was as though neither it, nor the discord, nor even the cause of their arguing had never happened. It was like they, candid as always, were now talking about the same things as always, and at the same behaved and looked as they usually did: Yurka was unkempt and enraptured, Volodya was tidy and a bit haughty. There was only one difference: the fence, almost as tall as the sky, drawn up between them.
“Shall we go to the rehearsal, Yur? Afterwards, I’ll tell you anything you want,” suggested Volodya. His face lit up and the furrows in his forehead smoothened out. “Just let Irina know you’re going with me.”
Yurka nodded. He ran over to Ira, excused himself while giving the side-eye to the gym instructor hanging around nearby, placed his racquet on the bench and exited the court.
“Does this mean you abandoned everyone there to come look for me?” he inquired when they turned off from the main plaza towards the dance floor.
“I left Masha in charge of the main stuff. She’s of course great, but she won’t be able to do the rehearsal, and we need to work really hard today. There won’t be any activities tomorrow.”
“Right. It’s capture the flag tomorrow,” Yurka was upset. After all, that meant that today, because of the preparations for the game, they would not get to be together, just the two of them: after rehearsals, Yurka would be occupied with sewing his shoulder strap[9] and in the evening, an inspection of the first troop’s formation and songs was planned. The next day, all the staff and children of the camp would be wholly and entirely swallowed up from early morning until well into the night by the vast game. Nevertheless, Yurka was mistaken not to go be an intelligence gatherer in the headquarters.
[1] Karlsson-on-the-Roof, a children’s book character invented by Astrid Lindgren, the author of the Pippi Longstocking books, who has a propeller on his back that lets him fly.
[2] Valery Chkalov, 2.2.1904–15.12.1938, a famous pilot, somewhat similar to Amelia Earhart, whose most famous feat was a non-stop, 63-hour and 5475-mile long flight from Moscow to Vancouver via the North Pole in 1937. He died in a plane crash the next year.
[3] I believe this is a reference to grades; in the Soviet Union and Russia, students are graded by numbers rather than letters, with 5 being the best and 1 being the worst – I would need to check how many subjects a student Volodya’s age would be expected to have grades in, but I imagine a sum score of 25 is equivalent to straight-As. That said, I’m also not sure that all of a student’s grades get “summed up” in this way, but if he’s not talking about grades, then I have no idea.
[4] In Russian, bor’ba
[5] In the original Russian, Volodya is reflecting on the word bor’ba ‘struggle, conflict, combat’ and Yura suggests boj ‘fighting’ or bitva ‘battle’
[6] This time, the word in contention is vrag ‘enemy’, for which Yurka suggests nedrug ‘foe’, neprijatel’ ‘adversary’ and finally, zakhvatchik ‘invader’
[7] Moskovskij Gosudarstvennyj Institut Meždunarodnyj Otnošenij ‘Moscow State Institute of International Relations’, the most prestigious university in Russia for studying politics.
[8] An apparently very complicated card game popular in Russia
[9] Capture the flag was a more intense game at pioneer camp, called Zarnitsa ‘Heat lightning’, where everyone would wear two shoulder straps, which represented a kind of health bar for each player.
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aturnoftheearth · 1 year ago
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You said you didn’t want to know so feel free to ignore me, but:
creation cons that charge hundreds of dollars for photo ops are still happening for sure. and will probably continue.
I went to my first (and probably last) one in March and my thoughts are thus:
the people keeping these cons going are women in their 40’s or older who have parasocial attachments to the actors and money to burn. They are PASSIONATE about this. Some even go to multiple cons a year. They know a lot of the regular con staff by name.
The die hards are like WAY into the other actors too so it’s not *just* j&j worship. Mark Sheppard was the belle of the ball at my con. The winchesters cast was there and everyone I talked to fawned over them and were very very supportive of the show.
there is a culture around creation cons that is very much uhhhh. it’s own thing.
I had a ton of fun talking to these people out in the smoker’s circle - I even made a genuine new friend and so for that alone I have no regrets.
HOWEVER I wish there were more free activities. Like. It could be so easy to set up a viewing room to watch selected eps of the show or a silent disco or have more space for gaming and relaxing. like almost EVERYTHING cost money and was focused around the actors. I had the most fun at karaoke which was the only free event.
I refused to pay to meet the main cast but I did get a pic with Kim Rhodes. It was alright! But I probably wouldn’t do it again.
oh so same old same old i gotcha
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mr-sanshravz · 1 day ago
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Lights for parties in Bangalore
When it comes to hosting a memorable party in Bangalore, one of the key elements that can make or break your event is the lighting. Lighting isn’t just about illuminating the space; it sets the tone, creates the right mood, and enhances the overall ambiance of the occasion. Whether you’re planning a birthday bash, a wedding reception, or a corporate gathering, choosing the right Lights for parties in Bangalore can elevate your event to an unforgettable experience.
In this blog, we’ll explore how the right lighting can transform your party, the various types of lighting options available, and why hiring the best event management company in Bangalore is crucial for achieving that perfect vibe.
The Importance of Lighting in Parties
Lighting plays a pivotal role in setting the atmosphere for any event. It’s the silent storyteller that enhances emotions, highlights key areas, and ensures your guests feel comfortable and engaged. For parties in Bangalore, a city known for its vibrant nightlife and diverse events, the right lighting can make your celebration stand out.
Here’s why lighting is crucial:
Creates a Memorable Experience: Lights for parties in Bangalore can help create visually striking effects that leave a lasting impression on your guests.
Enhances Decor: Proper lighting complements the decor, making colors pop and designs more appealing.
Directs Attention: Spotlights and focused lighting can draw attention to important areas like the stage, dance floor, or dining area.
Sets the Mood: From romantic to high-energy, lighting can be tailored to suit the vibe of your party.
Types of Lighting for Parties in Bangalore
Bangalore offers a plethora of options when it comes to party lighting. Depending on the theme and scale of your event, you can choose from a variety of lighting styles to suit your needs.
1. LED Lights
LED lights are energy-efficient, versatile, and perfect for creating colorful and dynamic effects. They are widely used for all kinds of parties in Bangalore, from weddings to corporate events.
2. Fairy Lights
Fairy lights add a touch of magic and whimsy, making them ideal for outdoor parties, intimate gatherings, and festive celebrations.
3. Spotlights
Spotlights are great for highlighting specific areas such as stages, dining tables, or photo booths. They’re a must-have for formal events.
4. String Lights
String lights are perfect for adding charm and warmth to garden parties, rooftops, and casual get-togethers.
5. Neon Lights
Neon lights bring a funky and trendy vibe to parties. They’re especially popular for bachelor/bachelorette parties and themed events.
6. Disco Lights
No dance party is complete without disco lights. These lights add energy and vibrancy to the dance floor, encouraging everyone to let loose.
Why Hire the Best Event Management Company in Bangalore?
Planning and executing a party requires a lot of effort and attention to detail, especially when it comes to lighting. While you can attempt to manage it yourself, hiring the best event management company in Bangalore ensures a seamless and stress-free experience.
Here’s how an event management company can make a difference:
1. Expertise and Creativity
Professionals have the expertise to suggest the best lights for parties in Bangalore that align with your theme and budget. They bring creative ideas to the table, ensuring your event stands out.
2. Access to Quality Equipment
The best event management company in Bangalore has access to high-quality lighting equipment that might not be readily available for individual hire.
3. Technical Know-How
From setting up to troubleshooting, event managers handle all the technical aspects of lighting, so you can focus on enjoying your party.
4. Customization
They tailor the lighting to suit your event’s specific needs, ensuring a unique and personalized experience.
5. Cost-Effectiveness
While hiring professionals might seem like an added expense, it often proves to be cost-effective in the long run. You’ll save time, avoid costly mistakes, and ensure a high-quality outcome.
How to Choose the Right Lights for Your Party
Selecting the right lights for parties in Bangalore depends on several factors. Here’s a quick guide to help you make the best choice:
Theme and Venue: Consider the theme of your party and the characteristics of your venue. For instance, fairy lights work well for outdoor settings, while LED and disco lights are ideal for indoor dance parties.
Guest List: The size and demographics of your guest list can influence your lighting choices. For a kids’ party, opt for fun and colorful lighting; for a corporate event, go for elegant and subtle options.
Event Timing: Evening and nighttime events require more dramatic lighting effects compared to daytime parties.
Budget: Define your budget beforehand and consult the best event management company in Bangalore to get the best value for your money.
Top Party Lighting Trends in Bangalore
Bangalore’s party scene is constantly evolving, and so are lighting trends. Here are some popular trends that can take your event to the next level:
Projection Mapping: Create stunning visuals on walls, floors, and ceilings using projection mapping technology.
Chandeliers with a Twist: Modern chandeliers with LED or neon elements are making waves in Bangalore’s party circuit.
RGB Lighting: RGB (Red, Green, Blue) lights offer endless color options and are perfect for creating dynamic, multi-colored effects.
Interactive Lighting: Lights that change color or intensity based on sound or motion are a big hit for dance parties and concerts.
Tips for Maximizing the Impact of Lights
To make the most of your lights for parties in Bangalore, keep these tips in mind:
Plan Ahead: Work with your event manager to finalize the lighting setup well in advance.
Test the Setup: Always do a trial run to ensure everything is functioning as expected.
Layer the Lighting: Combine different types of lights to add depth and dimension to your venue.
Use Dimmers: Dimmers allow you to adjust the intensity of the lights based on the mood and timing of the event.
Conclusion
Lighting is an essential component of any successful party, and Bangalore offers endless opportunities to experiment and innovate with your lighting setup. By choosing the right lights for parties in Bangalore and partnering with the best event management company in Bangalore, you can transform your celebration into a dazzling spectacle that your guests will talk about for years to come.
Whether it’s a grand wedding, a lively birthday party, or a sophisticated corporate event, let lighting take center stage and elevate your event to new heights. So, the next time you plan a party in Bangalore, remember that the perfect lighting isn’t just a detail — it’s the highlight of your event!
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newsstoryoftheweekblog · 11 months ago
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23/2/24 - cathedrals host silent discos
'At the heart of the controversy is how the eye-watering cost of running and maintaining cathedrals is met. In England, 39 out of 42 Anglican cathedrals are Grade I-listed, and three – Durham, Canterbury and Westminster Abbey – are also world heritage sites.
None get government funding, and the Church of England contributes a fraction of costs. The vast majority of income has to be raised from grants, donations, events and in some cases entrance fees.' (Sherwood, 2024).
REFERENCE
Sherwood, H. (2024) 'Celebration or desecration? England’s cathedrals open doors to silent discos', Guardian 19 February [Online]. Available at: https://www.theguardian.com/world/2024/feb/19/england-cathedrals-open-doors-to-silent-discos (Accessed 23 February 2024).
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qupritsuvwix · 11 months ago
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timomaraus · 11 months ago
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February 9, 2024
CNN This tool will change the way you use the toilet (Editor's Note: Ah, CNN, getting to the bottom of the most important stories.)
CNN It's not just Taylor Swift: Record number of private jet flight expected for this year's Super Bowl (Editor's Note: It's reported that the average price for tickets on thge secondary market is $9,400. Suites are going to for $800,000 to $2 million. You'd better have a private jet if you're going to Super Bowl. You need it for collateral on your tickets.)
CNN Ford says it has a 'Skunk Works' team trying to make lower-cost EVs (Editor's Note: This could bring a whole new meaning to 'new car smell.')
CNN Canterbury Cathedral is hosting silent discos. Not everyone is happy (Editor's Note: Hmmm. Bad dancing to no music. It's surprising that anyone is happy.)
CNN It's suffering from overtourism. Now it's getting its own airport (Editor's Note: Well, that should help.)
CNN Eight years, 700,000 matches and 51 pounds of glue. The emotional rollercoaster of building the world's tallest matchstick Eiffel Tower (Editor's Note: Turns out you can move on from merely sniffing glue to doing something of note.)
Washington Post Putin, in rambling interview, barely lets Tucker Carlson get a word in (Editor's Note: I suppose we have to give the Russian leader credit for one good deed.)
Washington Post How can I avoid chatty trainers and instructors? (Editor's Note: The solution for this one is simple: stop working out!)
Washington Post Meet the people who love Spirit Airlines (Editor's Note: Yes…both of them.)
NY Times How 2 Irish Businessmen Almost Took Nigeria for $11 Billion (Editor's Note: Wow, two guys almost pulled off that whole Nigerian email scam. Amazing.)
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k12academics · 1 year ago
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The Party Headphones Scholarship offers a single $1000 award to cover educational costs such as tuition, books, computers, room and board, or any related expenses. There are no GPA requirements or application forms needed.
This scholarship program is available to both undergraduate and graduate students enrolled in accredited colleges and universities in the United States, as well as high school seniors who will be starting their college education.
Scholarship Name: Party Headphones $1000 Scholarship Program
Deadline date: April 15, 2024 11:59 PM EST
Scholarship Value: $1000
Available scholarship slots: 1
Criteria of who can apply:
Must be a legal resident of the United States or hold a valid student visa Must be currently enrolled in or accepted to a full-time undergraduate or graduate program in an accredited U.S. college or university Must be 18 years or older How to apply:
For a chance to win the scholarship, write a 500-word essay answering the questions:
How sustainable are Silent Discos The evolution of Music Festivals and Parties How Silent Discos differ from traditional Night Clubs The Economic Impact of Silent Disco Events on Local Communities Essays must be sent to [email protected] as an attached Word document with your full name, address, phone number, school name, and date of birth. Use the subject line: Party Headphones $1000 Scholarship Program | (Your Name).
How to win:
Submit your response in accordance with the provided guidelines. The top essay will be selected by our team, and the chosen winner will receive a notification via email on April 19, 2024. The recipient is required to acknowledge within 7 days; otherwise, an alternative winner will be chosen.
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letsmakethenaughtylistt · 1 year ago
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The person suggesting the Temple Bar has clearly not been there and definitely doesn't live here, it's a tourist trap that increases the cost of pints depending on the time of day, go to a real local pub instead!
i went to the cobblestone and a few local joints. i know temple bar is a tourist trap, however it was fun to go out and party with the college kids for a night. i went to a not so silent disco and had the time of my life
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whatsonmedia · 2 years ago
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Best Offers Of This Week!
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Uncover incredible savings and unforgettable experiences with WhatsOn! Enjoy a week of excitement and unbeatable deals on various activities, from delicious culinary indulgences to wellness-focused offerings. Click now to access irresistible offers and create lasting memories. Don't miss out on the best deals in town – start enjoying today with WhatsOn! Pho & Bun offers four dishes, a drink, and tax for £25.95. Take a culinary trip to Southeast Asia without leaving London Pho & Bun offers authentic Vietnamese street food in the heart of Soho. Their four-course meal is the perfect way to experience the flavors of Southeast Asia, with dishes like fresh summer rolls with ginger beef, sticky honey chicken wings, and crispy tofu bao burgers. And because they're located just minutes away from the West End, you can enjoy your meal before or after a show. Highlight - Authentic Vietnamese Street food in the heart of London - Four-course meal with your choice of starter, main course, dessert, and drink - Prices starting at £25.95 - Located just minutes away from the West End - Warm and inviting atmosphere - Friendly and knowledgeable staff - Fresh, high-quality ingredients - Traditional Vietnamese recipes Silent Sounds: On the Thames Boat Party is discounted by 25% - When: Saturdays from March 18 to November 18, 2023 and Saturday December 16, 2023. - Where: Tower Millenium Pier, London. - Time: Varies by date, see dropdown for times. - Price: £26. The boat party departs from Tower Millenium Pier and sails along the Thames, passing by some of London's most iconic landmarks, such as Tower Bridge, The Shard, The O2, and Greenwich. You'll enjoy a 4-hour boat party with silent disco headphones, which allow you to choose between three different channels of music. So, you can always find the perfect beat to dance to. It's a great way to see some of London's most iconic landmarks, and it's also a lot of fun to sing your heart out without worrying about anyone hearing you. The boat party is open to people of all ages, so it's a great way to enjoy a night out with friends or family. Highlight - When: Saturdays from March 18 to November 18, 2023 and Saturday December 16, 2023. - Where: Tower Millenium Pier, London. - Time: Varies by date, see dropdown for times. - Price: £26. Tickets for A Strange Loop at the Barbican start at £15 The musical that took Broadway by storm is coming to London The Strange Loop is the winner of every 'Best Musical' award on Broadway, and it's coming to London for a limited 12-week run. This groundbreaking show follows Usher, a black, gay writer writing a musical about a black, gay writer. It's a hilarious, thought-provoking, and deeply personal exploration of identity, race, and sexuality. When & Where Tickets start from just £15, and the show is running at the Barbican from July 3 to August 12. So what are you waiting for? Book your tickets today and experience The Strange Loop for yourself! Highlight - The show is full of original songs that have been praised for their humor, emotion, and intelligence. - The cast is a diverse group of actors who bring the characters to life with passion and energy. - The show has been praised for its groundbreaking exploration of identity and sexuality, and it's sure to leave a lasting impression on audiences. Two sports rehabilitation sessions and a consultation cost £27. The consultation will allow the sports rehabilitation specialist to assess your injury and develop a treatment plan that is tailored to your individual needs. The treatments themselves will help to reduce pain, improve range of motion, and strengthen the affected area. Highlight - An initial consultation with a sports rehabilitation specialist - Two 30-minute sports rehabilitation treatments - State-of-the-art facilities This offer is perfect for anyone who is looking to: - Fix aches and pains - Prevent injuries - Improve their athletic performance This offer is valid for new customers only. Please present your voucher on arrival. Read the full article
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chrancecriber · 2 years ago
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1.FM - Chillout Lounge Radio (January 14, 2023)
23:54 The Thrillseekers - Dreaming Of You (Tranquilo's Ambient Mix) 23:49 Sunsea - Light The Fire 23:44 Caia - Heavy Weather 23:41 Tout Est Bleu - Ame Strong 23:36 The Temper Trap - Fools 23:31 The Dining Rooms - Existentisalism 23:28 Jjos - Closer To You 23:23 Zero 7 - Polaris 23:16 Royspop - Summer Nights (Luxury Deluxe Del Mar Mix) 23:10 4tunes - In The Middle 23:03 Future Loop Foundation - Monikas Summer 22:57 Alex Cortiz - Ibiza Trumpet Thing 22:54 Michael Hummer - Coffee 22:49 Sofa Sweeper - The Sad Side Of The Street (Mellow Guitar Mix) 22:42 Bong & Eddie M - Rain From The Suite 902 (Original) 22:35 Ten Madison - The Dust 22:29 Blank & Jones With Jason Caesar - Hideaway 22:24 Arrojas - Didascalias 22:19 Dj Pippi - A Touch 22:13 Nimino - The Back Of Your Hands (Ft. Ashe) 22:06 Inputjunkie - Progression 22:04 George Michael - Free 21:57 Motorcycle - As The Rush Comes 21:53 Sine - New Paths 21:47 Sven Andersson Iii - Journey To Your Soul (Cosmic Cycle Buddha Lounge Bar Mix) 21:40 Space Manoeuvres - The Seventh Planet (Leama & Moor Mix) 21:34 Frontera - A Baia 21:29 Alex Cortiz - Glamourgirl 21:23 Bebel Gilberto - Aganjú (John Beltran Mix) 21:17 Kiss Audio - The Voice Of Freedom (Spiritual Version) 21:10 Chicane - Offshore 21:02 Kosta Rodriguez - Blue Grass 20:54 Joey Fehrenbach - Grandfather 20:44 Visit Venus - Zoom 20:43 Moby - Everything Is Wrong 20:38 Lux - Sunset Disco 20:34 Mystique - Essences (Rico Van Basten Chill Mix) 20:31 Nouvelle Vague - Blue Monday 20:25 Way Out West - Intensify 20:20 Solid Gold - Save A Prayer (Nick Tatler & Phil Blohm Instrumental) 20:16 Atalanta - Autumn Sky 20:10 Sofa Sweeper - Voice Of Core 20:06 Chillwave - Massage Del Mar (Beach Cafe Mix) 20:01 Melibea - Lamento 19:55 Fluff - Silent Life 19:50 Forerunners - Lifecycle (Forerunners Offshore Ambient Mix) 19:44 Gary B - Set Me Free 19:41 Dr. Meaker - Need Love 19:36 Lea Perry - Like An Angel - Touch My Lounge Soul 19:32 Mario & Vidis Feat. Jazzu - I'll Be Gone (Extended Original) 19:25 Boot Cut Rockers Feat. Mica Wanner - Sunflowers 19:18 Hirudo - Spy From Cairo (Classic Instrumental Mix) 19:12 Rapid Eye - Circa-forever 19:04 Detson Engeneering - Wonderland 18:59 Miyagi - Kyoto Garden 18:54 Steen Thottrup Feat. Annette Berg - Heading For The Sunrise 18:48 Andrey Denisov - Night Highway 18:42 Chilloutlounge - Track 9 18:36 The Psychoflowers - Bodytalk (Sex On The Beach Mix) 18:30 Noise Boyz - Daydreams Of The Sparrow 18:22 More Than Ever People - Levita 18:19 Wharmton Rise - Extra Solar Part6 18:15 Chilling Crew - Frozen Time 18:09 Lounge Aura - Something (Geronimo Chillout Mix) 18:04 Leama - Melodica 17:55 Tactful - No Fear 17:51 Mandalay - Beautiful 17:49 En'deavour - Across The Island (Interlude) 17:44 Jjos - Lonely (Feat. María La Caria) Manu López-saxo (Lounge Mix) 17:41 Nightmares On Wax - Jorge 17:36 Atb - Remember That Day 17:31 Bomb The Bass - Winter In July 17:25 Kenneth Bager - Fragment Four - Love Wan't Leave Me Alone (Version Idjut) 17:20 Naoki Kenji - My Destiny (The Sushi Club Remix) 17:17 Costes - Seven Dub - Chateau Rouge 17:12 Gxr And Kathie Talbot - 5 A.m. 17:07 Marc C. Griso - Sex, The First Time 17:01 Penelope - Wings 16:55 Rollercone - Daydreaming 16:50 Re:locate Vs. Robert Nickson & Neev Kennedy - Not Made To Break (Chill Out Mix) 16:43 Pablo Bolivar - Midnight Frogs (Fosky Remix) 16:38 Monique Bon - La Musique 16:33 Costes - New Phunk Theory - La Neblina Del Verano 16:28 Off Shore - Cafe Del Mar (Balearic Chill Remix) 16:25 Gelka Feat. Phoenix Pearle - Flying On Clouds 16:21 Emapea - Laka 16:17 Deeper Than You Think (Uplift Session) - Skindive Inc. 16:12 Various - Viggo Feat. Glow / Rivers Flow 16:07 Strange Voices - All Right For Now (3 Times Infinity Mix) 15:59 Curly Top - Aix Vibration 15:54 Manoa - Walk This Way 15:49 Dos Hombres - The Alkemyst 15:43 Chillwalker - A Dream Comes True 15:38 Michael Ruland - Embrace In Space (Progressive Chillout Mix) 15:34 Maximus - Mystery Of The Seven Chakras 15:28 Tina Dico - Break Of Day (The Stella Polaris Allstars Remix) 15:23 Portishead - Glorybox 15:19 Triangle Sun - Beautiful 15:15 Willie Blake - Classical Gas 15:10 Koolsax - Evasion 15:04 Liedschatten - Sunset 14:59 Index Id - Nautik 14:55 Morcheeba - The Sea 14:50 Jupiter Jack - Blank Space 14:45 Afterlife & Lux - Jello 14:41 Shapeshifters - Lola's Theme (Lola's Lounging Mix) 14:37 Mads Arp Feat. Julie Harrington - The Meaning Of Love 14:32 Luxury Traveller - Eagle Will Rise Again 14:28 Sun Electric - Sundance 14:22 Ohm-g - Relax 2 The Max 14:17 Nick Et Samantha - On The Beach 14:13 York Ft Asheni - Iceflowers 14:09 Mirrored - Stand Still 14:06 Nouvelle Vague - Love Will Tear Us Apart 14:00 My Island - Maledives Beach Lounge (Buddha In A Bar Mix) 13:53 Ganga - Hi-fi Love 13:47 Stephane Pompougnac - Pnc Aux Portes 13:41 Kaito - We Are Living Here (Beatless Version) 13:35 Dj - Skorpy - Circle Of Life 13:28 Fenomenon - Pacific Memories 13:23 One Mind's Eye Feat. Elsieanne - Shiva 13:20 Michael De Kooker - My Sweet Dani 13:14 Feel Good Productions - Balearic Sunrise 13:10 Morcheeba - Under The Ice 13:05 Martin Bro - To Lose Part 13:00 Gelka - Os Pastores Da Noitte 12:54 Sandspider - Crisses 12:48 Vargo - Get Back To Serenity 12:45 Future Loop Foundation - Everything As It Should Be 12:38 Good Chillaz - No Motion (Jazz Relax Mix) 12:34 Ficci - The Solden Gauge 12:30 Lazy Hammock - Star 12:24 Jano De Rhodos - Degustar 12:20 Jose Ramos - Alone Again 12:16 Peter Pearson - A Dreams That Never End 12:11 Kimbra - Cameo Lover (Electric Empire Remix) 12:06 Guardians Of Dalliance - Curious 12:03 William Orbit - Love My Way 11:59 Ibizarre - Smooth Temptation 11:53 Shivana Faction - Talking In Whispers 11:48 Woody Pak - Sugar Plum Fairies 11:42 Cujo-superstars Of Rock - Apollo 11:38 Jeff Woodal - Silver Birch 11:32 Melibea - Jam In Dawn 11:29 Anakelly - Under My Thumb 11:25 Thievery Corporation - Transcendence 11:21 L'art Mystique - Le Jardin Secret 11:17 Susana & Dark Matters With Eller Van Buuren - Home 11:12 Liedschatten - Red Blossom 11:05 Les Jumeaux - Miracle Road 11:00 Aware - Revoked (Renaissance Ii Mix) 10:55 Dj Milews - Children (Ambient Del Mar Winter Cafe Mix) 10:51 Kaya Project - Under The Spell (Original Mix) 10:46 Soleil Fisher - Beautiful Nights In Ibiza - Tribute To Cafe Del Mar Mix 10:39 The Realm - This Is Not A Breakdown (Chilled) 10:35 Peter Pearson - It's In The Stars (Original Mix) 10:30 P.m F.m - Chinchilla 10:26 The Angelica Project - Another Skin 10:20 Citrus Jam - Nice Holiday 10:15 Beach Armada - Ocean Eyes (Oriental Chill Groove Cafe Mix) 10:11 Riccardo Eberspacher - I Feel Love 10:04 Stress Assasins - Shopeleaner 09:58 Lemonjazz - Gypsy Woman (Erotic Bedroom Affairs Lounge Chill Mix) 09:51 Muki - Track 4 09:48 Jjos - I Want Your Soul 09:43 Ziller - Pearl & Dean 09:37 Silent Poets - Moment Scale 09:32 Madrid De Los Austrias - Mas Amor 09:26 Avalona - Empty Streets 09:22 Solasoap - Your Feet 09:16 Alucidnation - Give Me A Reason 09:11 Phillip Ashmore - Luxury Living 09:06 Night Loungers - A Little Lazy Morning In Paris - French Kiss Del Mar Instrumental 09:00 No Logo - This City Never Sleeps 08:55 Peter Pearson - With All My Love (Bliss) 08:49 Gelka - Please Keep Your Ticket 08:44 Missy Higgins - Nightminds 08:40 Loner - Road Song 08:37 Guru Dawn - Twin Peaks (Sunset Boulevard Mix) 08:31 Nightmares On Wax - Les Nuits 08:26 Dreamscape - Electric Emotion 08:22 Dan & York - Dejavu 08:16 Lenny Mac Dowell - Zanzibar Feeling 08:10 Naoki Kenji - My Destiny (The Sushi Club Remix) 08:06 Mystery Of Soul - It’s A Shame 08:03 Ashley Height - Painkillers 07:58 Cocktail Party - Chill Moods 07:52 Royksopp - What Else Is There? 07:47 Cafe Chillout People - Cafe Del Mar Sunset - Lounge Of Love Mix 07:41 Jess & Jess - Cute 07:32 Leo Abrahams - Spider (Jon Hopkins Remix) 07:28 Korsakow Feat. Erlend Oye - I've Been Waiting So Long 07:21 Lullaby Lounge - Chill Del La Mer (Blank Cafe Relax Mix) 07:14 Oxen Butcher Feat. Lisa Eaton - Love & Happiness (Original Mix) 07:09 Modi - Clementine 07:06 G-club & Banda Sonora - Guitarra G 07:01 Bright And Beautiful - Night Rains - Sound Of Ibiza Mix 06:56 Noel - Chalito (Ibiza Chillhouse Lounge Mix) 06:50 Supreme Beings Of Leisure - So Much More 06:44 Re:lounge - Fast Love 06:39 Light Of Aidan - Lament (Fixed) 06:35 Muki - I Don't Want To Know 06:31 Timecode Feat. Zak - Enigma Machine (Part 2) 06:26 Esteban Garcia Vs. Subworks - Runnin (Jazzy Dub Mix) 06:22 Kaskade - Steppin' Out (Chill Out Mix) 06:18 Cold Blue - Underwater Love 06:13 First Choice - You Took The Words (B.p. Williams Lounge Mix ) 06:10 Washed Out - Eyes Be Closed 06:03 Ypey - Love In Spain 05:57 Jeff Bennet's Lounge Experience Feat. Alexandra - Sympathy 05:52 Ambray - Carousel 05:47 Jo Manji - Lazy Loungin 05:43 Tj Rehmi - The Warm Chill 05:39 Tenishia & Sue Mclaren - Strong (Chill Out Mix) 05:33 Van Bellen - Let Me Take You (On A Journey) (Fantasy Voyager Rework) 05:29 Bissen Ft Victoria Gross - Like I Do (Chill Mix) 05:24 Ascension - For A Lifetime (Lustral's Sunset Mix) 05:18 Puff Dragon - Lava 05:15 M83 - Holograms 05:10 Nera & Felix - Del Mar 05:04 Tosca - Honey 04:58 No Logo - Ancestral Melody 04:53 Realin Tune - Just Like This 04:48 Sin Plomo - Without Me 04:42 Bedroom Surfer - Make It Happen ( Meet Her At Costa Del Sol Mix) 04:38 Mandrave & Miyagi - Asian Lights 04:31 Balearic Lounge Boyz - Leaving Home (Feat. Guitaragi) 04:27 Lemon Sol - Beautiful Morning (Piano Cafe Chillout To Ibiza Del Mar) 04:20 Philip Aniskin - Evening On The Waves 04:15 Victor G - Tu Despertar (Original Chill Mix) 04:12 Chilloutlounge - Track 6 04:06 Avenue Joy - Clean Sheets ( Sunrise To Sunset Mix) 03:59 Salt Tank - Sargasso Sea 03:55 Karen Souza - Do You Really Want To Hurt Me 03:49 Leila Pantel - Energia 03:44 J*s*t*a*r*s - Tripping The Light Fantastic 03:31 Laid Back - People (Parsberg Mix) 03:26 Coastline - Adriatic Sea (Dj Lounge Del Mar Vs. Milews Ambience Mix) 03:21 Missy Higgins - Nightminds (Dave Higgins Remix) 03:16 Limelight - Oxygene 4 03:11 Jjos - One More Night 03:05 Fila Brazillia - Place 03:00 Joey Fehrenbach - Don't Wake Me 02:54 Steen Thottrup - El Alba 02:48 Orange Music - Islandlover (Monotonic Trip Mix) 02:42 Klangstein - Deep Dive (Original Mix) 02:37 Miro - The Cure 02:31 Steven Solveig - Boa Noite 02:25 Chicane - Saltwater (The Thrillseekers Remix) 02:20 Lofty Right - Lazy (Urban Lounge Mix) 02:16 The Beloved - Deliver Me 02:10 Va - Red Muladhara 02:06 Drops Of Honey - Pura Vida - Puro Del Mar Sunset Mix 02:00 The Kelly Project Feat. Emma - All About You 01:54 Xaver Fisher Trio - Mombasa Bossa 01:49 James Bright - Be 01:41 Dido - Worthless 01:36 Pacific Coast Academy - Extreme Ways 01:34 K. Vio & Tim Tonic - Out Of Atlantis 01:25 Mental Generations - Cafe Del Mar(Underworld Mix) 01:20 Lange - Frozen Beach 01:16 Afterlife & Chris Coco - Home 01:12 Feist - How Come You Never Go There (Dj Mix Edit) 01:07 Gelka - Os Pastores Da Noitte 01:01 All India Radio - Mexicola 00:54 Roger Sanchez - Lost (Ibizarees The Unforgotten Mix) 00:49 Omaya - I Wanna Be With You 00:45 Thomas Pascal & H.p. Hoeger - Dadunda 00:40 Sinan - 99 Reasonsfeat. Omenzeter 00:36 Bj Block - Stickman 00:32 Nightmares On Wax - So Here We Are 00:26 Night Traffic - Rain 00:22 Jjos - Don't You Want Me (Chilled Mix) 00:17 Redlounge Orchestra - Someone, Somewhere 00:14 Synkro - Memories Of Love 00:08 Atjazz - Storm 00:03 Coyoteeve Feat Saro - Tribastone
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There are plenty of corporate events ideas available but choosing the best option is not so easy. So, let's take a look at few best corporate event ideas.
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hxneyhxrts · 2 years ago
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Rain Soaked || Jake “Hangman” Seresin (part 2)
Part 1
note: i’m glad you guys hated the last part, let’s get this going. i’m like marathon writing because i’m so excited for you guys to see what happens next. next part is my probably what i’m most excited for you to see but i’ll leave it at that. love you guys, thanks for engaging and making me laugh. love you!
warnings: explicit language
My Blood
Sundays used to be for daily dinners or late nights dancing in low evening light. Now, Sundays meant the final countdown to a new work week, mourning the weekend that should have been spent resting rather than keeping busy at all costs to avoid the very obvious, very heartbreaking elephant in the room.
This Sunday, though, keeping busy had been easy.
Gwyn had spent the better part of the day rummaging through mounds of clothes and little trinkets she thought she could get away with bringing along with her to her new station. Where she was going, she didn’t know, but wherever she went it would never be far enough away from the life she had once had here.
Did she even want to distance herself from it?
Mo had assured her on their phone call the day before that it would be good to get away for a bit, even if it was for work. Putting physical space between her and the reminders of Jake would be good for her soul, and maybe she’d be able to come back soon without it hurting.
Disco had spent the evening weaving between bags and legs, eventually annoying Gwyn enough to force her to quit her relentless pacing. Sleep didn’t come easy, but it came nonetheless.
She dreamt of open skies and rolling green fields and a soft, strong hand cradling hers as she sprinted through it all. And when she woke up to the startling noise of her alarm, she couldn’t tell if she was mad at herself for letting her mind wander to him even in sleep, or disappointed that it had ended before she could really revel in it.
Gwyn had called for a cab in between bites of oatmeal, and a short honk greeted her only twenty minutes later. The driver had given her a small wrinkle of his nose at the sight of Disco, curled up in her carrier, but decided not to comment on her presence.
The drive to the airport was silent save for the low hum of the radio, a different station than the classic oldies she had permanently set her own car radio to.
Most of the ride was spent in her head, thoughts swirling and crashing down against the edges of her skull. Thoughts of what was to come and how badly she missed her friends and him despite the months that had passed. But now she’d have nothing but work to fill the time and keep her from obsessing over these feelings.
Her poor father had sat through several phone calls in which she bitched and moaned over the state of her love life, always ending with a soft promise of “whatever will be, will be”. She just hoped “whatever” was enough to yank her from this funk that was starting to freak her out.
Who mourned a relationship for almost a year? When had she become so pathetic that something that only lasted a few months could leave her in shambles?
She often tore herself to shreds over the person she had become, but she knew deep down that she was being too harsh. Because what they had was so much more than just a few months, it was a quick and fast and passionate affair that she had been dropped into rather than choosing it. She had no choice but to love Jake, and maybe that’s why it upset her so much, even now. Loving him was a subconscious thing, something she still found herself doing.
She loved him. Desperately. And something in her thought she always would.
‘You’ll always be my girl, I think.’
What a stupid fucking sentiment. One that destroyed her all over again every time she thought about it.
So yes, this time away from home was very necessary. But it still burdened her to think about why.
—--------
The flight itself was relatively uneventful besides the old man next to her who unceremoniously fell asleep against her shoulder only minutes into the trip. She didn’t have the heart to wake him up, letting him snore into her ear for the remainder of the journey. He had awoken with a sheepish smile once they landed, and Gwyn tried to smile back. She really did.
A car had been waiting for her outside, a small mercy considering how little she knew about the city. She watched the town rush by as she rated her forehead against the cool glass of the window. The sun beating down left the air warm, but nowhere near as warm as California had been. She caught small glimpses of elaborate houses lining lakes and ponds as they navigated the city, and soon she was doing the familiar routine of handing over her name and I.D. to the gate guards to get on base. The cab driver dropped her off at an incredibly nondescript apartment building that twinned the others on either side of it.
‘Home,’ she thought bitterly. She had had her fair share of shitty dorm-adjacent apartments all through flight school and Top Gun. Now here she was, a decorated aviator, right back where she started. Flashbacks of late night gas station runs for snacks with Alec and eating her weight in ramen noodles came rolling in, and she couldn’t stop the small smile that broke out across her face.
Maybe simplicity was best at a time like this. Maybe simple and familiar was exactly what she needed.
She spent the next several hours unpacking the few suitcases she had dragged along with her and setting up a small space for Disco. She still avoided listening to music, too worried that every song would somehow pull her thoughts back to Jake, so she opted for organizing in dead silence instead.
By the time she had finished, she had only thought about him and his voice and his eyes about eight times. Progress, she thought, considering how strung out she had been about him the evening before.
It was inescapable, the feelings she had. Jake had been her first love, and if romantic comedies had taught her anything, it was that you never truly forgot your first. Though they left out the part where you continued to love even after they desecrated your relationship by ending it over a text.
‘Fuck him,’ she swore to herself, but it had no bite. She had tried out anger, but it never truly stuck. She wasn’t angry with him. Not completely, at least. Perhaps she was angry at his actions and how small she felt reading that text, but she couldn’t be angry at Jake. Not after everything he had given her.
And taken away from her.
Same difference.
Sighing, Gwyn surveyed the space, now mostly set up and littered with small knick knacks from her old life.
And now she had nothing to do. Nothing to keep her from thinking.
She paced a bit, swiping at invisible dust and fluffing the couch cushions for the second time. She briefly considered watching TV, but decided against it.
Something to do. She could find something to do.
What was Jake doing right now? Did he ever go through life unsure? Did he ever feel out of place like this? Did he-
Gwyn grabbed her keys and stormed out of the small apartment.
—-----------
If there was one thing about naval bases, it was that they were never more than a stone’s throw away from a bar.
The car she had called dropped her at the door and pulled away without a goodbye. The outside looked shabby, if not cozy. Nothing compared to the upkeep of the Hard Deck, but at least it was a bar. And they were all the same in the end. Gwyn wasn’t feeling particularly picky either. So long as they had cheap beer and music that drowned out any conversation around her, she didn’t care.
The inside was warm, almost stiflingly so, as bodies milled about and drinks flowed. Several patrons adorned their service khakis or other uniforms, something that had always made her roll her eyes, but now brought her comfort. These were her people, and they didn’t know who she was. Or what she was feeling.
She pushed through the sea of people, and flagged down a bartender as soon as she came close enough to the bar to be heard over the roar. She pulled herself on to a stool and propped her elbows up on the ledge of the bar while she took in the crowd more closely. A wide range of ages and types, but naval folk all the same. Just like her.
“Well hello there,” came the cool slide of a male voice just over her left shoulder. She turned in her seat slightly and came face to face with a man, maybe a few years older than she was, wearing a charming smile under his neatly trimmed facial hair. His uniform was pressed and starched, making him look every bit the suave military man he tried to convey. “Haven’t seen you around here before.”
Gwyn snorted, thanking the bartender who dropped off her drink before taking a sip. “Has that line ever worked for you?”
A laugh erupted from him, startling Gwyn for a moment. He had thrown his head back in a chortle, a sound that echoed through her bones almost unpleasantly. With one last chuckle, he leaned himself fully against the bar. “No, actually, I’m beta testing it tonight.” Gwyn resumed her people watching, trying to communicate that she was very much not in the mood to talk, but the stranger pushed a hand towards her with another smile. “James,” he introduced simply.
Gwyn half contemplated giving him a fake name or outright ignoring him, but the small glint in his eye drove her to accept his hand and shake it quickly. “Gwyn.”
“Pretty name,” he complimented, eyeing her a little too close. She squirmed in her seat. “So what’s a pretty girl like you doing in a bar like this, Gwyn?”
She snorted. “Isn’t it obvious? I’m scoping out all of the military hunks,” she joked, taking another swig of her drink and setting it down. Her fingers brushed anxiously at the condensation
“Well,” James started again, sipping at his own drink, “you’re in the right place, sweetheart.”
Gwyn bit her tongue. No one called her ‘sweetheart’. No one except-
“Maybe you should test out those pretty lines with somebody else, sailor.”
James’ eyes narrowed, just a fraction, but enough to tell her she had hit a nerve. “Pilot, actually.”
“I didn’t ask,” she bit back.
But James was still smiling at her.
She knew he was a pilot, of course. But she wanted him to leave her alone, and figured the jab at his position might drive him out, but he was still gazing down at her in a way that made her flush.
She had just opened her mouth to ask him what his problem was when he pushed off the bar with a small laugh. “I’ll see you around, Gwyn,” he called over his shoulder.
She grit her teeth. Leave it to a pilot to drive her up a fucking wall on the one night she had to relax before work picked back up.
Typical.
She’d have a migraine by the end of the night at this rate. With a sigh, she flagged down the bartender for another drink.
It’s not that James was bad looking, quite the opposite actually. But like every guy before him, she found herself comparing him to Jake and found too many shortcomings in every difference she spotted. Maybe she’d get lucky and find out Jake had a long lost twin he didn't know about and would never have contact with who was exactly like him in every way.
That seemed to be her only chance at this point.
Swiping her beer, she pushed out of her seat and began the painstaking process of pushing through the crowd again. Several hands had brushed against hers in an attempt to invite her in for a dance, but she waved each one off with a smile she hoped was polite.
This was easy. This was familiar. If she closed her eyes, she could almost pretend she was right back at the Hard Deck, getting her ass handed to her in pool by Phoenix.
Her temples were throbbing already, and Gwyn found herself ready to throw in the towel and just spend a night in with Disco.
Like most nights.
With a sigh, she decided that no, she couldn’t do that. If she continued isolating herself, she’d only drive herself further into the hole and she was already dangerously close to the point of no return (if she hadn’t passed it already).
So she’d stay out tonight, and she’d dance and have a few drinks before heading home and falling into a restless sleep. She owed it to herself to try.
She thought about tracking down James and apologizing and maybe offering to buy him a drink, but that still felt out of her depth. One step at a time. She’d focus on being out tonight, the rest could come later.
“Eat shit, loser!”
Gwyn froze. She was completely still, even as people pushed past her and cast annoyed glances at her.
That voice. She would know that voice anywhere. She knew that voice better than she knew her own sometimes, the smooth curve of it and the harsh syllables when it grew tired.
Pushing through the bodies around her much rougher this time, Gwyn’s head swiveled quickly as she searched for the owner of it.
She finally managed to break free of the worst of the crowd, sweating and eyes frantic as she scanned every face she could see. Her chest had just started to constrict in disappointment at the thought that she had imagined it when she saw him.
He was leaning against a pool table, cue in hand, and a darling smirk painted across his lips.
Alec.
Alec.
A small sob worked its way up her throat, one that she barely managed to swallow as tears stung at her eyes.
He was here.
Alec was laughing at his opponent’s lazy attempt at beating him, grin full and boyish. She wanted to cry at the sight of it.
Alec. It was Alec.
She was rooted to her spot, feet refusing to move no matter how badly she wanted to run for him. She barely noticed one of the other servicemen eye her in confusion as she stared at Alec openly and unabashedly. At least, until he nudged her friend and subtly gestured in her direction.
Then Alec’s eyes were on her.
His brow had furrowed in confusion first, before smoothing out as his mouth fell open. His expression was so open, so vulnerable and longing that it nearly choked her. He looked like he had just found an oasis in the midst of a barren, or light in the deepest recesses of darkness. The pool cue fell from his hand and landed against the bar floor with a rattle.
She saw him mouth her name, and then he was charging at her, dodging through other patrons and aiming right for her.
“Alec,” she cried softly as he wrapped her up in his arms, just as strong and inviting as she remembered. He surrounded her in a warmth she hadn’t realized she had been craving until she had it again.
This. This was home.
Hands squeezed at her waist almost painfully, and she cursed the tears that slipped out. It was Alec. Her Alec.
He pulled back, gazing down at her softly. “What are you doing here?”
Gwyn sniffled. “What are you doing here?” she hiccuped pathetically.
Alec grinned, thumbing at the moisture trailing down her cheeks. “I’m not allowed to say. Special detachment and all that,” he teased.
Another pang threatened to cleave her chest open. “How funny, so am I.”
The grin that she was met with nearly split his cheeks. Alec pulled her back in, almost suffocating her in his embrace, but she didn’t mind. She’d let him hold her like this forever if it meant he’d always be around.
So no, this wasn’t her house or hometown or the Hard Deck or anything she had come to be familiar with. But it was Alec. And it felt close enough to home that all she could do was breathe in the sea salt smell of him and sit in the joy simmering around them.
The rest of the night had passed in ease, many rounds of drinks piling up on her tab as she giggled her way through a losing game of pool and a basket of fried pickles Alec had insisted she try. The best night she had allowed herself to have in a long time.
And when she tumbled into bed that night, Alec already dead asleep on the left side of the mattress (“his side” as they had decided several years ago), Gwyn realized she hadn’t thought of Jake at all that evening.
Part 3
tags: @my-soulmate-is-mycroft @unknown1010000202 @alanadetigy @barbiewritesstuff @dempy @maggieromanov @jake-h-ngm-n-seresin
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thegryffindorprincess · 4 years ago
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Two In A Bed//Draco Malfoy x Reader
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A/N: Holy Cow I’ve finally reached 100 followers wow! Firstly, thank you! Secondly, I’ve promised myself I’m gonna post at least three days a week from now on, so feel free to send any requests you have my way! Enjoy this little cliche piece of ‘two exes have to share a bed’.
Set: Post War
Word Count: 1,550
Warnings: swearing, drinking, sexual tension, SMUT
Y/N Y/L/N dragged her black suit case behind her as she climbed the stone steps to the grand country hotel that towered in front of her. She hovered at the door, pausing to check her apperance in the glass before pushing them open. The grand hallway was decorated in silver and green- very Pansy she thought to herself as she wandered over to the check-in desk. 
“Hi, I’m a guest at Pansy and Theo’s wedding tomorrow?” The bored teenage wizard behind the desk flicked through the parchment guest list and once Y/N had told him her name, he handed her a small silver key; room three hundred and two. Making her way up the stairs, struggling a little with her suitcase, her mind began to wonder whether Draco would be attending. Since she moved to America for work, she’d heard nothing from her ex and was even slightly surprised to have been invited to Pansy’s wedding. When she reached her room, Y/N struggled with the lock before finally unlocking the door and throwing it open. As she lugged her suitcase in, eyes to the ground, she was shocked when her body hit into a much taller one. 
“What a pleasant surprise Y/L/N.” God, his voice was so smooth, Cheeks flushed red, Y/N met Draco’s bright, blue eyes, taking in his appearance. He hadn’t changed much, he was still tall, pale and well dressed. 
“What are you doing in my room?” Was the only thing Y/N could mumble as she attempted to avoid his fixed gaze. 
“My room, you mean.” Y/N huffed before showing him her key only to find out he was holding up an identical one. 
“There must be some mistake, we can’t share this room,” Y/N began to pace, “Merlin’s sake it’s only got one bed.” Draco laughed at her a little. 
“It’s not ideal for me either darling, Pansy didn’t want my wife here and now has me sharing a bed with another women.” He suddenly stood, gently sliding his feet into his shoes, “I’ll go and sort it out.” 
Y/N watched as he left, sitting down on the bed, raking her hands through her hair. She heard the door open and instead of seeing Draco, Pansy stood at the door, face contorted in a sneaky smile. 
“If this wasn’t your wedding, I would kill you.” Y/N warned as Pansy walked over to join her on the bed, Pansy giggling quietly. 
“I couldn’t help myself, you’re just still in love with eachother and I wanted to help.” She smirked. Y/N shot her a dangerous scowl, which Pansy rolled her eyes at.
“He’s married Pans, for fuck sake.” 
“Yeah, an arranged, loveless marriage.” The words left her mouth, causing Y/N’s jaw to drop to the floor, Draco entered, causing the two of them to quickly regain composure. He announced that the wizard at the desk had instructed him to talk to Pansy about his room problem. 
“Sorry Drakey, there’s no rooms left,” Pansy said slyly before making her way to the door, “so you two will just have to be very grown-up and share.” With that, she left, giving Y/N a small wink as she closed the door. 
Draco and Y/N sat in silence for a while before either of them decided to speak. Then they launched into deep conversation, talking about her travels, his work, their lives and it felt as if they’d never lost contact. Draco didn’t mention Astoria once. When dinner time rolled around, Draco got ready first, letting Y/N have the bathroom for as long as she needed. When she stepped out in her knee length green dress, Draco was unsure on where to look. Instead, he simply let Y/N take his arm as he led her to the dining hall to meet the other guests. The dinner was spectacular, Y/N wondered how much the whole thing had cost Theo’s parents. The alcohol was effectively unlimited and before long Y/N was beginning to feel a little dizzy. As guests began leaving, she attempted to stand, swaying on the balls of her feet. Draco ran to her rescue, one of his strong arms sweeping around her waist to help her up the stairs. When they reached their room, he helped her in, leaving her to stand while he fetched her water. 
“I’m going to get undressed now.” Y/N announced, half shouting, swaying in her seat as she sat down on the bed. “Don’t look freak.” Draco threw his arms up in mock innocence before turning around to face the wall while she took off her dress. “You can look now.” He turned back to look at her and audibly sighed when he saw her in just her underwear. “Liking what you see Malfoy.” Y/N teased. She stood and before she could stop herself she was standing in front of him. She wrapped her arms around his neck and leant in, closing the gap between them. Draco’s hands found her waist and he pulled her into him, returning her kiss with twice the passion. Then all of a sudden, he pulled back, pushing her from him gently. 
“I’m sorry, I can’t do this.” He whispered. He silently gathered his stuff from the room and sent her a sympathetic look. “I’m married.” Y/N watched him stuff his suitcase, still standing, saying nothing. Draco strode to the door, pulling his suitcase behind him. As he opened the door to leave he turned on his heal to look back at her. “I can’t fall in love with you again.” And with that, he left. 
XXXX
Y/N awoke to gentle rays of winter sunshine peaking through the gap in the curtains. She groaned as she remembered last night and realised her head was pounding relentlessly. Y/N stretched out in the kingsize bed before rolling over to look at the time. Eleven AM- shit. The wedding started in half an hour. She quickly jumped from the bed, sprinting around the room, perfecting her makeup, curling her hair and squeezing into her silver dress. She was finished just in time and sprinted down the hotel stairs and into the grand hall, throwing herself onto her seat. 
“Rough night last night Y/L/N?” Blaise teased as she let out a deep breath. 
“Fuck off Zabini.” She spat, he let out a chuckle. The wedding was beautiful, Pansy’s dress was stunning, the ceremony emotional and the wedding dinner as immaculate as the night before. Y/N barely drunk today though, regretting her actions last night. Draco was a no show to any part in the wedding, which left Y/N with a pit in her stomach, knowing he’d gone back to his wife. She left the wedding disco early, before anyone else, making her way back to her room at only eleven at night. As she flounced down her bed there was a soft knock on the door. 
“Go away Pansy.” Y/N yelled.  The door opened anyway, causing her to groan. 
“Not Pansy.” Draco appeared at the foot of the bed, causing Y/N to sit bolt upright. He nervously played with the family ring that snaked around his pale finger. “My wife’s fucking her boss.” He sat down next to her. 
“Oh,” Y/N sighed, “I’m sorry Dray...” 
“I’m not.” Draco suddenly turned towards her, placing his hand on her thigh, making her gasp a little. “It means I can do what I wanted to do yesterday.” With that he pulled her into him by her jaw, causing Y/N to release a shaky moan. “I’m going to file for a divorce,” He whispered while placing sloppy kisses onto her neck, “not that I ever loved her.” He swiftly fell to his knees, using a firm hand to part Y/N’s legs. “Fuck.” Y/N watched as Draco rolled and buttoned his shirt sleeves, showing off his forearm, the dark mark poking dangerously under the sleeve. With that he pulled Y/N towards him, nestling his head between her legs, dragging his ring finger over her clothed slit. She moaned again quietly, watching his every movement. 
“Are you sure you want this angel?” He asked, suddenly softly. 
“Yes. Draco I-” He suddenly moved her panties to the side before pushing his face against her pussy. He began to eat out so slow and sensually, Y/N felt like she was going to explode. Draco ate her until her legs began to shake, letting her cum on his face. Then he twisted her round, arching her back with his hands. His pale hand came down onto her ass with a smack before he teased her entrance with his tip. 
“Fuck me Draco, please.” Y/N moaned quietly. Draco needed no more motivation, pushing his entire length into her, causing her to writhe beneath him. He began to pound into her at a ridiculous pace, not giving Y/N time to think. Draco’s hand came down to grab her hair into his fist, pulling her neck back so that their eyes met. 
“Sorry princess, I just want to see your face when I cum in you.” With that Y/N’s legs gave way once more, her mouth screaming his name along with many profanities. With a few more thrusts, Draco came inside of her with a groan, pulling out and inspecting his work. Then, he leant down, placing a tender kiss to her forehead. 
“I should’ve never left.” 
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