#successful sportsman

[pullupinarari]

The Secret of Us [LH]

I. Mistaken for Strangers

summary: a 5 chapter miniseries in which Lewis chooses you to coordinate one of his new projects, but the instant spark flicking between the two of you makes the professional lines grow a little blurry. do the both of you feel the same?

author's note: first chapter of this plot that has literally been living in my mind rent free for MONTHS. I am so excited to finally work on it and I had so much fun writing it! hope you girls enjoy it 🩷

• masterlist

wc: 9228 - English is not my first language! Feedback is always appreciated

Wednesday, 9:42 am. The sound of your heels clicking on the floor fills the space as you walk through the large corridors of the building, rushing to enter the meeting that was supposed to have started 12 minutes ago. 

Losing yourself in time, you got carried away in pressing ‘snooze’ on your phone, and the crazy traffic that seemed to swallow you in between the never-ending lines of cars didn’t help your case either. 

Your brain questions what this encounter is about - you just got a call from your boss yesterday, telling about how “a very important client” has demanded a meeting with you - refusing to give you any more details about it. Great, the only thing you know is that it’s a very important client, and you are starting off amazingly by showing up late. 

Slowly swallowing the coffee that you’re holding in your hands, you take a deep breath as if to calm down your thoughts, before your fingers push the door open. 

Your eyes scan the room briefly, already apologizing for being late as you start shaking hands with everyone at the office. There’s a familiar face in the middle of the group, one that stays behind everyone else, as if he is trying to adapt to the environment surrounding him. 

You know who he is, it would be hard not to. Even if you don’t pay much attention to sports, he is so much more than just a sportsman - Lewis Hamilton, the seven time formula 1 champion, is right in front of you.

Your gazes meet for a moment, while your hands connect in a professional hand shake. As soon as you get closer to him, feeling his touch in yours, it’s almost impossible for you to not grow a bit nervous - still trying to process the person that’s right in front of you.

Lewis knew what to expect when the door swung open. With a new project in hand, his team searched for the best of the best in the field, trying to find the most suitable person to be in charge to coordinate this investment. 

And that’s how you came along: in a stack of four resumes sitting on his desk, Lewis opened your file, carefully analyzing your entire career path, the types of projects you are used to working on, and the topics that excite you the most. 

Looking for someone who has similar values as him, he quickly realized that you were the one: you are determined, have a successful professional path, and you seem to share the same vision as him. That, and the fact that the picture on your resume has enticed him from the first second, not even reading the rest of the files on his desk - after all, he had found the person he was looking forward to working with the most. 

It feels like time has stopped when you stand in front of each other. Suddenly, the room went silent, like no one else was around you, leaving it to be just the two of you. But maybe, you stared at each other a second too long, maybe your hands felt the other’s warmth for longer than it was supposed to, until someone is clearing their throat, making you distance yourself from the man, occupying your seat at the table. 

Keeping your posture while you take a deep breath to regain your senses, you focus on your boss, who's now rushing so the meeting can finally start, not wanting to keep the client and his team waiting any further. 

Lewis’ team is quick to explain more about the reason why they wanted to meet you. This is a special project for the man: a new clothing line, whose profits will be donated to charities that Lewis cares for - a project that reflects most of Lewis’ personality, with his taste and passion for fashion, and his will to help others. 

It’s easy for you to identify all the common points that you have with the main idea for this job, so you slowly start growing excited to get your hands on this project. But, at the same time, you can’t stop feeling that something is startling you, making you lose your focus from time to time.

Maybe it’s the way Lewis’ gaze lands on you from across the table, how his eyes seem to burn the insides of your soul, making you shift your attention between him and the presentation of the project. 

When it’s finally time for him to speak, he gets up from his seat, ready to explain his motivation behind this idea and his expectations for it. But while he does so, his eyes never leave you, his words being directed only at you, forgetting about your boss or anyone else that’s also in the room with the two of you. 

You feel your cheeks growing warmer by the minute, your hands slightly sweaty, your heartbeat accelerated, almost hypnotized by his intensity, his gaze being strong enough to set you ablaze. 

He’s wearing a long, bright, orange blazer, his braids tied in a bun, enhancing his chocolate eyes that are totally focused on you, trying to record every single detail of your face in his mind, so he won’t forget about it. 

You’re pretty sure that everyone else can notice the way you keep looking at each other, even if they act oblivious to it, and that’s enough to almost make you die out of embarrassment, even if you’re giving your best to pretend like you are not bothered by his presence right in front of you.

Finally, the meeting comes to an end, having sorted out the main ideas you are going to start working on already, and you can’t help but notice the heavy weight that seems to lift from your shoulders once you shake his hand for the final time today.

It’s almost as if you can breathe correctly again, without feeling so self-conscious from being shamelessly stared at by someone like Lewis Hamilton. Still, the way he said ‘goodbye’ to you, with a slight wink and a smirk plastered on his face, left your insides rumbling, this weird feeling growing inside of you. 

You knew you were done from the first second you walked inside that meeting. The seven time Formula 1 world champion is obviously a very important client for your company, and your boss is making sure that he has everything he wants and needs. That’s why he was quick to inform you: Sir Hamilton will have a weekly meeting with you. Every Wednesday, at 9:30 am. Don’t be late.

Great, a weekly reason to make you wish you would be buried seven feet under. Your boss even made sure to tell you to clear your schedule every Wednesday morning, so the meetings for Lewis’ project wouldn’t have to be rushed. 

This is a very important opportunity for you inside your company, but you’re not that pleased about this, due to the way you had felt this morning, feeling as if the driver was analyzing every inch of your face, reading every bit of your facial expressions. 

The only thing you can do now is focus on your job, and not think about seeing him again until next week - and maybe even pray that these intense reactions from him could be just a 'first impression' type of thing, hoping he will show you a more calm side of his personality in the following meetings. 

“Lewis Hamilton is a problem for next week, Y/N” - at least, that was what you thought. The next day, you were peacefully enjoying your dinner at home, when your phone started ringing a crazy amount of times, the ringing sounding muffled in between the sofa pillows, but still annoying you, praying it would stop. 

A loud sigh escapes your lips when you look at the screen, your eyebrows furrowing when you check the countless messages from the man himself - Lewis, texting you a bunch of different pictures of ideas and inspirations he has for the project, wanting your opinion on them. 

You immediately groan, hating the fact that your boss asked you to give him your personal number instead of just the professional one, so he could ‘reach out directly to you whenever he needs’ since he’s ‘such an important client’. 

Opening the conversation, you notice his messages don’t stop coming, asking you questions and sending you different pictures of what he’s envisioning for this assignment. Tired of hearing your texts’ ring, you decide to dial his number, calling him in hopes he would just tell you everything that’s going through his mind while you are having dinner, interrupting the little time you have away from the office. 

After the second ring, the man picks up your call. 

- What can I do for you on this fine evening, Y/N? Can I get you sparkling water as cold as this typical rainy London night? Maybe a medium rare steak? - his voice sounds deep, yet light and you just can’t not notice the cheeky tone of his words, like he’s having so much fun while terrorizing your time away from work. 

Silently rolling your eyes at his attitude, you’re ready to answer him back with the same wit. 

- Well, office hours are over, and I hope you will keep that in mind the next time you think about clogging my phone with endless messages, Sir Hamilton. - using your most sultry tone, you smirk to yourself as you hear him humming on the other side of the line. If he wants to mess with you, he better beware that two can play this game.  - Noted, Miss Y/N. I’m sorry for taking your time outside of your office to bother you with work related topics. But maybe our interactions after your office hours can be rearranged, no? Maybe we can change the subject of our conversations? - pushing your buttons, he’s clearly smiling at his phone, enjoying the way you joined his banter, just as much as he enjoyed hearing the words Sir Hamilton leaving your lips, leaving him to dream about it all night. 

Fucker. His provocative words leave you speechless, struggling to have a reaction, your brain running to say something, so he will stop feeding his ego off the embarrassed silence that he got you in, now. 

Clearing your throat, you decide to change the topic of the conversation. 

- So, enlighten me a bit more about the ideas you sent me for the design? That’s why you contacted me in the first place, right? - you try to keep your composure. He’s a client like every other, Y/N. Breathe, in and out, and forget about what he said. Be. Professional. 

On the other side of the line, a chuckle leaves the man’s throat. 

- Office hours are over, Y/N. We will have plenty of time to discuss our ideas and different… positions on this project. Have a nice night. - The cheeky attitude makes your face feel hot again. He’s clearly smiling on the other side of the phone call, oblivious to the way your insides are trembling with his innuendo, in the same way that you have no idea how he can’t stop thinking about you, the way your baby blue suit would hug your figure perfectly, how your soft voice seems to enter his ears and travel through his veins, making him feel something that he has never felt before - but something that he definitely wants to chase. 

Tonight feels particularly hard for you to fall asleep. Your brain is trying to process everything that happened for the past two days, and every time you replay his words, your insides grow nervous. 

It’s like you’re already fighting an internal battle with yourself, conflicted between the way you feel and how wrong it is for you to feel this way, how you should remain professional. 

Either way, no man is worth losing your job over. So, with a final deep breath, you try to forget about him and his antics, reminding yourself that you have other projects, other things to focus and to work on. 

And, surprisingly, during the following days, the man grows silent. Doesn’t call, doesn't text, almost as if he was giving you a break from all the things he could say or do, letting you focus on your work and your inner peace. 

Still, his damn words would continuously hover in the back of your mind, even making you suppress a smile sometimes, thinking that you will end up going insane just by the amount of times that your head brings this back.

Soon enough, a new week arrives, and before you can notice, it’s Wednesday again. It’s 9:20 am when you walk inside your company's building, reaching for the door handle of your office, when your eyes scan Lewis’ figure sitting on the couch at the waiting area. 

Sharing a soft smile with you, he gets up once you open the door, noticing how the man just allows himself to walk inside your workplace without your permission, getting comfortable in one of the chairs in front of your desk, while you’re left dumbfounded at the door, analyzing his attitude. 

After a second, you sit on your chair, only to be met with Hamilton’s sharp tongue again. 

- It's amazing to see that you can actually show up on time for once - he ironizes, suppressing his own laugh when he notices your eyebrows lifting, looking straight at him. 

You can’t believe his smart mouth, how he feels so comfortable to push your buttons even before knowing anything about you. Still, you push your hair out of your face and straighten your posture before replying:

- Is acting like a prick your favourite hobby or something? - your snap back with an ironic smile on your face, hearing Lewis laughing loud at your question, lightening the mood between the two of you.

Almost as a peace offer, he finally puts a cup of coffee that he was holding in his hand, on your desk, moving it closer to you. You raise an eyebrow at him, looking at the cup in front of you that has your name written on the lid. 

- A hot blonde vanilla latte with oat milk. Did I get it right? - the man asks with a nervous smile on his face, showing you his fingers crossed in hopes that he didn’t ruin the order that he made sure to get you. 

A surprised chuckle leaves your lips, sincerely smiling at him, now. 

- Yup. That’s correct. How the hell did you find out what my usual coffee order is? - your furrowed eyebrows dominate your facial expression, trying to figure out how he discovered something so small yet so specific about you.  - I noticed the coffee cup you were holding on our first meeting. If you don’t want people to know what you’re drinking, maybe you shouldn’t walk around with the sticker of your entire order glued to the cup - Lewis giggles at you, seeing the way your lips suppress a laugh that soon you let free as well.  - Damn you, Starbucks! A girl can’t have her mysterious latte without some prick finding out about it - his eyes look small on his face when he hears your words, smiling widely at the light banter that revolves around you two now. 

Still, you take the cup in your hands, sipping on the latte, realizing that it really tastes just like every other you usually order - he didn’t miss a detail about it. 

- Thank you, Sir Hamilton. This is a very nice gesture from you - you say, giving him an honest smile while your eyes dance with his in an intense, yet brief, stare, before turning your attention to your computer.

There’s a moment of silence, the typing on your keyboard being the only sound filling the room, while Lewis’ mind is loud inside his skull. As if he keeps fighting himself to continue the banter, to tease you about the whole ‘Sir Hamilton’ thing, or to make another snarky remark just to push your buttons again. But instead, he just takes a breath, trying to ease some of the tension on his shoulders, due to all the pressure that he keeps putting himself under whenever he sees you. 

- Please, you can call me Lewis. - is all he says. With a soft tone, with shiny eyes, looking up at you as you turn your face in the same direction as his voice, your gazes meeting again. 

You gulp. Okay, Lewis. Not Sir, not Mr. Hamilton. Just Lewis. Nodding your head, you find the courage to speak through the intensity surrounding your bodies right now, as if your figures are speaking for yourselves, leaving little room for actual words to leave your mouth. 

While the air grows thicker around you, Lewis’ deadly stare is still on you, almost defying you to reciprocate it, noticing the way he props his elbows on the table, moving his body closer to you, even if there’s an entire desk distancing you two - something that you aren’t sure if you should be thankful for or not, your mind wondering as your eyes travel through the man’s shape. 

Taking his jacket off, his body gives you a show of what’s underneath the fabric covering his skin. He’s wearing a sleeveless shirt today, one that hugs his toned body perfectly, showing his biceps on full display for you right now, making you feel flustered, making it impossible for you to deny how good he looks.

He notices it. He feels it. Your eyes travelling through his frame, admiring his toned arms, the tattoos strategically positioned to adorn his skin, your cheeks turning a slight shade of pink that makes a sly smile play on his lips, loving the way your gaze seems to not be able to leave him, addicted to having your attention. 

Once you realize that you have been staring for too long, you pull yourself back from the trance he got you in, clearing your throat as you sip on your coffee again - doubting that filling your system with caffeine is a wise decision, right now. 

- Well, thank you for the coffee, Lewis - you enhance the way his name sounds on your lips, getting a simple, yet knowing, smile from the man. 

Shifting in your seat, you try to regain your focus, hoping the drink might at least help you with that. 

- So, about the project… - you change the topic, looking back at your computer, as you try to start discussing some ideas with the driver, who is ready to listen to them, and to everything that you want to tell him, really. 

Time passes by faster while you’re in each other’s presence, even if, deep in your bones, it feels like every second burns on your skin, passing by excruciatingly slowly, feeling every breath in your body, every stare, every word sinking in your soul.  

And while both of you are trying your absolute best to remain focused, it’s hard. Lewis can’t stop noticing every detail of your presence, the way your hair gets in front of your face when you’re writing down the topics you need to work on next, forcing you to always keep the strands behind your ear, how you bounce your leg almost absently whenever he talks, biting down the skin of your lips as a way to distract you from the anxiety travelling through your blood - silently letting him know that he’s not indifferent to you, that he causes your body to react on its own.  

Showing him your ideas, you turn your computer screen to the side, so the man can see everything you had planned already, how you picture the final result. But instead of staying in his place, he gets up, walking over to you, his frame leaning over yours as you two look at the screen in front of you. 

- It’s just easier this way, no? So we can both look at things from the same perspective - his hoarse voice tells you, suddenly speaking lower, his lips closer to your ear as he directs his eyes to the projects in front of him. 

As soon as his figure got closer, you could immediately notice the scent of his perfume, the delicate yet strong aroma hitting your nostrils, feeling so pleasant yet so present, just like him. 

Looking up at him, you just give him a smile - one that’s not completely innocent, one that could make Lewis lose everything right here and now, only if he had a bit more confidence with you to take you in his arms, so he could lay your body on this desk, showing you how crazy the hours by your side are making him. 

And looking down at you, he smirks. Moving to touch the mouse, his hand lands on yours softly, dominating your movements. 

- What if we change this part of the event? Would it make sense to launch it this way? I want something different - you can barely make any sense of his words, sounding sultry as his hand continues to hold yours, and you can only thank yourself for not taking off your jacket this morning, covering the visible goosebumps that have found their home in your skin, now. 

There it is. The sparks showing up again, the heat radiating from both of your bodies, making it hard for each other to breathe. Lewis’ face gets dangerously close to yours, taking in your features, his lips so close for you to take in yours, his arm almost embracing your side as he continues leaning on your chair. 

You never felt so close to giving in to something capable of igniting your insides in a matter of seconds. And God, how badly you wish you could. But you can’t shush the little voice in the back of your head, telling you how he is a work client, after all. How you are just here to coordinate his project, and especially how your boss won’t be happy if he finds out about the slightest thing happening between you and one of the most important clients of this company. 

Unfortunately, you let that voice win. Clearing your throat once again, you take your hand from under Lewis’, getting up from your seat to go grab a glass of water, desperately needing to put out the fire that continuously threatens to consume your mind and body. 

- So, you were saying you want something different for the launch? What’s on your mind? Maybe if you explain it to me, I can make it come true - you ask from the middle of the room now, leaving the man to hold himself up on an empty chair, trying to regain his breath and mentality as well, now. 

He doesn’t have a single doubt that you could make all his dreams come true, even the most breathtaking ones that he keeps having every night, dreaming of the way his name leaves your lips, how your touch feels soft against his own, ever since the first time he got to shake your hand. 

But maybe this is pointless. Maybe you two just really need to calm down, and Lewis needs to rethink his next steps at your meetings. So, looking down at his watch, he sighs. 

- I have to go, I’m sorry Y/N. I’ll just email you my ideas, okay? Not out of your office hours, of course. - he shows you a small smile, trying to pretend like he isn’t just chickening out because you keep driving him wild, eating away all his sanity. 

- It’s always a pleasure, Miss. I’ll see you next week - shaking your hand, he shoots a wink in your direction, making you smile gently, watching him leave your office, and almost leaving behind this emptiness that now surrounds the space around you. 

Sitting down on your chair again, you sigh. Feeling helpless, and almost a bit sad to see him go, you look at the clock on your computer, realizing that you have only spent an hour together, thinking of the way you cleared your entire morning, planning on having a longer meeting with him. But maybe this is for the better, so neither of you ends up doing something crazy that you might regret later. 

Dumb ass, Lewis mutters under his breath, entering his car, only to stay still in his seat, sighing frustratedly as he stares at the horizon. I have to go? Where the fuck do you have to go, dumb ass? You two had the entire morning only to yourselves and you just left? Lewis, get your fucking shit together - the man says out loud, calling himself out at the ridiculous decision he just made, leaving you alone at your office, only because he decided that he wasn’t capable of dealing with the powerful feelings emanating between your bodies. 

To tell the truth, he just doesn’t want to ruin it. He doesn't want to make you feel like he is rushing something, even if he can feel that you share the exact same feelings and sensations as him.

Disappointed and angry at himself, he decides to drive home. Going back to knock on your office door would just make him look even more stupid. What would you even say to her? Oh, turns out I don’t have to leave? That would just make you look even more ridiculous - he continues to argue with himself, sighing exasperatedly as he distances himself from your company building, from the place he could find you in, spending the entire morning alone with you, just as he has been dreaming for the past days. 

  And yet again, Lewis goes home thinking about you. About your eyes, that seem capable of sending bullets straight to his heart, your slender legs that looked so perfectly hugged by the skirt you were wearing today. His mind wanders through every new detail that he keeps learning about you, wishing he could become the pen that slowly touches your plump lips while you put your brain to work, organizing your train of thought before writing down your ideas. 

Behind the door to your office, you still have your entire morning free, and you could use it to go have a nice breakfast at your favorite bakery, you could work on all projects you have on your hands right now. But no. Instead, you continuously refresh your email, waiting for the ideas that Lewis said he would send you. 

You lock and unlock your phone a bunch of times, hoping he would say something, even if he would just clog your entire phone with pictures of what he wants to do for this investment. You just want to hear from him, to get something more from him, craving his presence since you almost got a taste of him this morning. 

This isn’t right. You shouldn’t feel like this, you shouldn’t act like this at your workplace. You shouldn’t feel like a void has taken care of you just because he left. He’s just a client, you are just going to coordinate this project for him, and that’s it. Once all of this is done, you probably won’t even see him again. And now, you need to wait an entire week for him to show up once more.

Or maybe not. Tossing and turning in his bed that night, Lewis is feeling the desperation hitting his body, wishing you were lying by his side, so he could touch your smooth skin, smell your perfume, recording the scent on his pillow so he could feel you close to him whenever he would miss you. 

He doesn’t want to explore your perspective on this project only, he wants to explore your perspective in life, maybe while you’re wrapped in between the sheets with him. The fact that he has never felt this way before, makes his knees buckle every time he thinks about you, about the way you make him burn with desire, with curiosity to discover you, so your bodies can finally meet.

But he can’t deny how powerless you make him feel, even if he tries to play it cool and use his strong mask, acting all tough around you, you could make him crumble in seconds just with your eyes, let alone with your touch on his body.

He needs to see you again, he wants to see you again. It’s like his brain can’t even process other information that’s not related to you, not even thinking twice before sending you a quick text at 4:39 am. 'Can we please have an emergency meeting tomorrow morning? We are having some issues with the plans for the line.' And with a heavy breath leaving his body, he presses send, hoping you will reply back with a ‘yes’. 

Startled by your phone ringing in the middle of your slumber, you try to read the message you received, even if your eyes are almost fully closed. Seeing Lewis’ name on the screen is enough to make you rub your face, trying to wake up faster so you can find out the reason as to why he is texting you in the middle of the night. 

Furrowing your eyebrows, a groan escapes your lips. Great, more work problems, as if your week isn’t chaotic enough already. Looking at it from the bright side, you will see Lewis again, even if it’s in the middle of solving problems, of getting some work done, maybe without that much time to banter as you usually do, but just seeing him again will be enough for you. 

I can make some time after my first meeting of the day. 10:45 am in my office? - you reply back, lying on your pillow again, trying to go back to sleep when your phone rings one last time with a simple 'Perfect. Thank you, Y/N.'

You would be lying if you said that the thought of having him inside your office again tomorrow morning isn’t making some butterflies appear in your stomach, making it hard for you to fall asleep. But above all, you need to keep your focus, even if he is a very pleasant sight to look at, that’s all he is. Nothing more. 

There’s a smile plastered on Lewis’ face once he reads your answer to his prayer. You said yes. You will make time to see him, to allow him to look at your gorgeous features again, to hear your voice shushing away all his intrusive thoughts. 

He knows there’s not a problem with anything yet for you to fix, but he will make sure to figure something out, just looking for an excuse to see you again as soon as possible, without having to wait an entire week - wanting to redeem himself for his stupid attitude that he gave you this morning, when he walked away from your meeting. 

Thursday, 10:35 am. Lewis is already waiting for you to be freed from your current meeting so he can see you. Wearing a navy blue jacket, his hands hold two coffees, and a small bag that has some scones inside of it, in the hopes of making your stressful morning a little more sweet with his presence, and the small cakes. 

Your meeting runs a little late, and it’s already 10:57 am when you’re able to call his name, asking him to please follow you to your office. Opening the door, you encourage him to walk inside, noticing how he doesn’t seem as confident to erupt through your space again as he did yesterday. 

Still, he sits down, putting the coffees and the small bag of pastries on your desk as he waits for you to join him. He has a soft smile on his features, almost as if he is feeling nervous, and he is. This morning, you have some music playing at a low volume in your office, and the man is quick to search for it while you are still at the door, talking to your secretary. 

Thanking God for the power of technology, he finds out that you are listening to Daniel Caesar's ‘best part’ before you notice that he is actually shazamming the song. 

He sips on his own coffee slowly, listening to the melody and the lyrics of the track, realizing how fitting it feels for this moment. Seeing you this morning is definitely the best part of his entire day. 

You sit down in front of him, smiling at the cup of coffee waiting for you. 

- I already had coffee this morning, Lewis. But thank you - you politely say, putting the cup to the side, saving some sips for later. - Oh no. A bit more caffeine won’t hurt, will it? - he jokes, making you shake your head at his antics. - I also brought some scones, maybe they’ll make your morning a bit more sweet.  - Do you want me to go crazy with the amount of caffeine you want me to put in my body, Mr. Prick?! - you joke, laughing in unison with him. - I’ll take the scones though, I am really in need of something that will lighten up my day. - you explain, taking a bite out of one pastry. 

Something to lighten up your day? That’s me, Y/N. - Lewis thinks to himself, feeling his heart racing in his chest at the sight of you, looking so beautiful, so bright and bubbly as ever. 

Even if the carnal desires erupting from your bodies are evident, the man is starting to realize that it’s so, so much more than just that. Yes, he wants to hold your body close to his, bringing you to the edge of pleasure, seeing you roll your eyes to the back of your brain as you moan his name, but he also wants to hug you, to kiss your cheeks softly, to taste your lips that he’s positive that are sweeter than a scone, he wants you to caress his scalp, he wants to share a coffee and pastries with you more and more, hearing your ideas, your life perspectives, studying the way your amazing brain works. 

He’s been thinking about it for some days now. Realizing that, whenever he thinks of you, he just doesn’t think of sex only, he thinks of nice encounters at your favourite bakery, he thinks of getting you flowers in the morning, just to see your adorable smile in your sleepy face, to the sight of your favourite flowers in his hand. And maybe that’s why he’s feeling softer, today. The tough guy façade will soon fade away, the more you grow on him, the more he dreams about you, wishing he could spend more days and moments by your side. 

- Daniel Caesar is already a nice vibe for a stressful day - he tells you, his head slowly moving to the tune playing in the background, making you realize that you still have music playing on your computer, feeling way too overwhelmed to remember it.  - Oh! Sorry. I like to listen to music when I’m alone, especially if I’m stressed. But I forgot it was playing - you quickly reply, turning it down immediately.  - Why did you turn it down? I thought it was fitting for our meeting. Seeing you might be the best part of my stressful day as well - there. You said it, Lewis. You shouldn’t have said it, but you did, and now she’s not replying. She’s blushing, but she’s not replying. She’s definitely smiling at your words, but she’s not saying anything back. But God, she looks so cute when she gets shy. 

It’s an internal battle with himself, hating the fact that he couldn’t hold his words inside, but loving the effect they had on you, making your cheeks turn into his favourite shade of pink, the cutest smile on your lips as you share a scone with him, silently agreeing with him. And that’s enough to make his heart flutter. 

- So, what’s wrong? - you break the mood once again, focusing on the reason why he woke you up at 4 am.  - Huh? - the man says while biting down his scone, lost in his thoughts. - What’s wrong? What happened for you to text me at 4 am and schedule an emergency meeting today? - you ask again, noticing the man’s lost face expression.

Nothing’s wrong, I just wanted to see you. No, you can’t say that, you idiot. She’s at work, she’ll think you don’t take her job seriously enough to schedule pointless meetings while she has her hands full of projects she should be focusing on, instead of wasting her time having scones with you. 

- Oh, yeah. About that… There’s a problem with the fabric suppliers, apparently they won’t be able to deliver all the materials necessary in time for the date we want to launch the clothing line. - his brain is fast to make up an excuse, finding something that can count as an issue that sounds bad enough for him to come to your office outside your weekly meetings. 

However, now you’re the one feeling lost in the subject. Your eyebrows are furrowed, trying to decipher what’s going on.

- That sucks Lewis, but I am not the one that can solve that problem. I am coordinating the project, meaning I only get to intervene once the clothes are done, so we can prepare the launching, the charity side of the line and all that. You’re the one who can do something about it, you need to speak to the suppliers directly, or send someone else to do it for you - you are quick to explain, seeing the way his face falls, as if that wasn’t the answer he was expecting. 

Shit. Does this mean that this meeting is over? We have nothing more to talk about? Not a problem in sight to solve? I have to go? Now that the coffee and the scones were tasting so delicious at the sight of the most gorgeous woman I’ve ever laid my eyes on? She’s looking at her watch, she must be in a hurry, she must have more important things to do. You shouldn’t be selfish to the point of wanting her all to yourself while she’s buried in work, but unfortunately you are. Think, Lewis. Use your brain for once and fucking come up with something. 

- Oh, can’t you be the one talking to them instead? - that’s all you can come up with? No wonder she thinks you’re a prick. You’re asking this woman to talk to a supplier who hasn’t done anything wrong, are you fucking stupid? Don’t answer that, brain - I’m good. 

The way your eyebrows are quick to fly up your face, tells him how weird that idea was.

- Me? I don’t think that’s a good idea - you chuckle, sipping on the coffee the man brought you.  - Well, why not? Maybe if you call them pricks like you do to me, they’ll get the job done. You’re the boss of this project, after all. I’m just dropping my ideas from time to time - he shows you a cheeky smile, one that makes you shake your head at his words, with a laugh escaping your lips. You’re the boss of my mind, at least. 

You get up from your seat, a silent way of telling him that it’s time for him to go - even if you don’t want him to go, even if you would rather hear his jokes all day, making you forget all the problems at work. 

- Maybe you can try and solve it yourself, and then give me some feedback, alright? - you tell him with a smile. - I guess Mr. Prick will see what he can do - Lewis replied, taking his coffee cup with him as he leaves your office. - See you on Wednesday, Y/N. 

23 minutes. That’s all you got from an emergency meeting that you didn’t even plan correctly so you could have some more time with her. In between the scones and the music, you got 23 minutes of what your insides hoped to be the rest of the day, the entire night, tomorrow, all your hours dedicated to her. 

At least, you got to look into her eyes once again, Lewis. You made her laugh, helped release some tension from her shoulders with the scones. Gotta give you that, it could be worse.

But it also could be a lot better. That’s why Lewis goes back home with this feeling itching in his chest. He just wants to spend more and more time by your side, so why can’t he? 

He already has the weekly meeting with you, every Wednesday morning. And as the weeks pass by, the driver stops chickening out, spending all morning in between the four walls of your office, sharing his ideas, mixing them with your own for the project, sometimes focusing on work, other times paying more attention to the way your hands softly touch when you’re passing on papers to the other, how your figures meet when you’re side by side, organizing design visuals at your desk, how you lose yourselves in the other’s eyes. 

But a weekly meeting doesn’t seem enough, doesn’t feel enough. So the man starts ruining small things here and there, causing inoffensive problems that are good enough to justify another emergency meeting with you - to which he would always show up with your favourite coffee and scones, almost creating this chaotic yet pleasant tradition, finding peace when he’s with you, even while dealing with the chaos of the little problems he created.

You can’t deny that you find it weird that every week, emergency meetings with Lewis seem to have become something mandatory on your schedule - sometimes over the smallest things that definitely didn’t require a meeting to be solved. 

But as the banter, the laughs, the soft conversations and touches kept growing, the air around you two got more comfortable as well - or maybe, you’re the one who got used to breathing in between the flames he causes to erupt on your body.  

Every night feels lonely while you dream of him, your head lying on the pillow where you’ve whispered his name already - without even having touched him yet, addicted to his perfume that seems to get attached to your clothes once you started hugging each other, instead of just shaking hands. Every time you get to feel just a small ounce of his touch, you swear you could get lost in it, in him, and never wanting to come back to reality. 

However, as much as you might feel this way towards him, you’re not sure if Lewis feels the same way, or if this is just a fun game to him. And even if he might, in a parallel reality, share the same emotions as you, you’re pretty sure that he will never make a move, and you definitely can’t even equationate doing it, because your job is on the line. And that’s why the desire for him is the only thing lulling you to sleep every night. 

Lewis has been getting lost in his own thoughts and fantasies as well, picturing every single thing he would do to you, imagining how different his days would be if you were by his side, completely hooked on you - dying a little more every week, as the will to hold you, to touch you, grows at an insane pace, only for him to have to fight it, using all the power in himself to restrain his movements around you, so he won’t lose it. 

He has never been so sure of his feelings, and that’s why it kills him to see your dynamic when you’re together, the girl of his dreams right in front of him, falling in love with you the more he gets to know you, the more time he spends with you. 

When he got to hug you for the first time, sensing your hand on his shoulder softly as you got ready to say goodbye after another meeting, your bodies got closer than usual, and he invited you for a first hug, to which you happily complied. 

God, he could lose it right then and there. Chanting victory in his head just because he got to hug you once, celebrating the small wins you give him from time to time, the man was ready to confess his love for you in that second, when your noses almost touched once you broke the hug.

He wants to see you outside of work - that’s the thing he wants the most right now, and he would give up on anything for it to become true. But, as he continuously messes up with your work schedule, requiring more and more meetings outside of his weekly hour, the more you roll your eyes at his antics, the more you call him a ‘prick’. 

It was fun seeing your reaction at first, laughing every time you would call him that, while the banter was light and meaningless. But now, Lewis can’t sleep, wondering if you are growing tired of him, feeling annoyed every time the man shows up at your office with another problem, making you work extra hours on those days, due to the amount of times you have to change your schedule to fit his ‘emergencies’. 

Would you possibly say no, if he would gain the courage to ask you out? That thought haunts him every night, every week, at every meeting, every time he looks you in the eyes, every time you smile at him - so sweet, so innocent, but with the power of breaking his entire heart in half. 

Besides that, he knows how you’re focused on your job, and he doesn’t want you to lose your position at the company because of him. He knows how this is important for you and your career, how you always remain professional, even when he might say something a bit more cheeky, trying to get you to loosen up a bit more. So maybe that’s another valid reason that would make you say no. 

But once again, he needs to be selfish. He can’t wait so many months until the project is finally done, waiting for the time when you two are no longer business partners, when all the professional meetings will come to an end, to finally ask you out.

After all, he doesn’t want to lose contact with you. He doesn’t want you to stop working with him either. But he can’t continue to feel like this, every meeting feeling like absolute torture that he needs to endure on his body, restraining from touching the goddess in front of him, never allowing his dreams to become reality.

It’s been five weeks since the first time you saw each other, and it’s been around ten times that he has been inside your office, ten times you two had to keep from giving in to temptation, resisting to what your bodies so desperately beg the two of you. 

And to tell the truth, you’re both growing tired of it. Lewis reads between the lines every time you give in just a little, always focusing on how professional you must remain at all times. So he knows that this one must be on him.

After weeks of debating with himself whether he should do it or not, he weighs the pros and cons of gaining the courage to finally asking you out: you can say yes, and that would be the most perfect scenario he can picture in his head, finally allowing him to see you outside of work, exploring you further away from the suits and the office you’re safely kept in; or you could say no, leaving him to deal with a broken heart, crushing all his expectations and dreams that you’re in. 

With a deep breath, he makes a decision: he will ask you out, and if you say yes: perfect. If you say no, he feels like he has no choice rather than to choose someone else to work on this project with, not feeling like he would be able to deal with seeing you every week after being rejected by the only person that he has ever desired this much.

Wednesday, 9:24 am. As always, Lewis is already waiting for you at the small sofa near your office door, admiring your figure as you arrive to open the door for the man.

You stopped buying your own coffees every Wednesday, knowing that Lewis will already be waiting for you with two cups of coffee and scones in his hand, like the little tradition you started in your office. 

Walking inside, both of you quickly make yourselves comfortable, getting used to your meetings, to each other’s presence. This morning, you feel all the stress of this week on your shoulders - having to deal with extremely tight deadlines, getting little to no sleep for the last couple of nights. 

Lewis can feel your heavy energy, trying to lighten up the mood with a joke here and there, only to notice how you crack very little this time. You’re not joking back, your smile is smaller than it has been in the other weeks. He’s not a quitter, but for now, he just decides to tone down his snarky replies, listening attentively to your professional speech, stepping up to talk about the project with you. 

When you ask him to check some visuals with you on the computer screen, he does what he has been doing since the first meeting - gets up, meeting you on your side of the desk, to lean his body over yours, feeding the both of you with some soft yet intense touch of the moment your bodies meet for some minutes. 

You are too overwhelmed with work and information to even pay that much attention to his body reaching so close to you today, so you continue to complain about how neither of the designs seem to fit the ideas that you two came up with, how you need to ask the designers to work on something new and different, how this will delay the launching of the clothing line even more, how this is all a tragedy.

He’s looking down at you with a soft smile on his features, finding you adorable while stressing over something so trivial like colors and lines of a design, as if it’s the end of the world. You’re speaking fast, barely catching any air in your lungs as you are now venting about how stressed you feel today - your eyes focused on the computer screen in front of you, not even daring to look at the man’s face right now. 

If he could, he would cup your face in his hands, reaching slowly so your lips could meet in a loving kiss, shushing away all your worries, grounding you again so you could breathe through his lungs, bringing all the oxygen back to your body, to your mind. But, in the situation you’re currently in, he can’t. And that kills him so much that he decides to leave all his fears behind as well, gaining the courage to interrupt your train of complaints. 

- Wouldn’t you rather rant over a nice dinner? I think you once mentioned you like Italian food? - he says cheeky, even if his insides are trembling with anxiety, afraid of your reaction. Please say yes, please say yes. Please. 

You stop talking, finally turning your head to him, your features meeting his soft ones - the smile that you love seeing on his face so much, so close to you once again, almost making it impossible for you to keep your impulses to yourself. 

- What? - a nervous chuckle leaves your throat, as if you’re not quite understanding what he’s telling you. You heard me. - For dinner, Y/N. Italian? Indian? Mexican? I don’t know, what do you prefer? - he insists, his arms still resting on your chair and your desk as before, but somehow making you feel as if you are trapped now. 

Soon enough, realization washes over you - he’s really making a move, one that you never thought he would be capable of making. In a matter of seconds, a knowing smile paints your lips as well.

- You want to take me out for dinner? What if I say no? - it’s your turn to defy him now, expectant to hear his reply. I don’t think you want to say no. - That’s not an option - the man is quick to say, his confidence growing inside of him as he reads your facial expressions, learning how to decipher you throughout the time.  - Oh? - you say surprised, with an eyebrow raised. - That’s not an option? Then I guess I have no options - you inform him, shrugging before you leave your seat on the chair, walking over to the opposite side of the desk, trying to physically escape the hold he has on you. Don’t run away from me when you feel the same way as I do. - Your only option is to say yes and to let me take you on a date. It’s been time, now - he confesses, sincerity splattered all over his eyes, even when the typical smirk threatens to steal all the attention.  - You’re ambitious - that’s all you say, feeling all the weight coming back to lay on your shoulders, your heart racing in a way that it hasn’t in a long time, now.  - You should’ve known that by now. I never stop fighting until I get what I want. - he states confidently. And I want you. So insanely bad. You’re everything I can think about on a daily basis. You’re driving me mad.

A moment of silence fills the space between you two - and it’s not the comfortable type. It’s the heavy, dark, uncomfortable type of silence, the one that nobody enjoys. 

Please, say something. Don’t grow silent on me, not after everything I just said, after the touches we shared, the glances, the coffees, the jokes, the silly conversations. Please. 

Lewis grows nervous to the point of being scared that you might leave the room, not knowing what to expect from you right now. But even if you do, he’s positive that he will beg you on his knees for you to stay, to not turn your back to him. 

Your mind starts spiralling, questioning if this should really happen or not, feeling divided between your heart and your mind, each one having a different opinion, almost like the angel and the devil that are fighting a battle on your shoulders. 

You never thought Lewis would have the courage to really make this move, startling your senses a bit at his audacity. If you’re being honest with yourself, there’s nothing you want more than to finally go out with him, to discover all the other sides of the driver besides what you get to see inside your office. 

But unfortunately, when weighing the pros and cons, there are more important things on the line here, things that you can’t allow yourself to lose. So, maybe, you truly are left without an option, having only one possible answer to give him - preparing yourself to deal with the consequences that this might bring you. 

[astrodice]

What career suites you best based on destiny matrix? (part 2/3) part 1

To find out what career suits you best and what can you do to succeed, we have to look at the number under the dollar sign.

note: there are so many different career choices and the options I'm listing here are just general examples based. you're free to choose any career, and hopefully, you don't feel pressured by this post to suddenly become philosopher.

8 - Justice

People with justice energy are successful in any field related to the rights and law. They are good at collecting, processing and summarising information. Intuitively they find the right solution from a variety of options.

The most suitable career:

lawyer, judge

accountant

referee

jeweller

saper

Challenges that affect career:

being too straightforward

depending on other people's opinions

being overly responsible and idealistic

9 - Hermit

People with hermit energy work are responsible and curios, they are always driven to expand their knowledge. They also prefer to work alone and doing solo projects than working in a team.

The most suitable career:

small business owner

philosopher

scientist

mentor in spiritual practices

archeologist

art critic

Challenges that affect career:

being shy/scared to ask for better pay

rejecting team work

not using your knowledge in practice

lack of ambitions

10 - Wheel of Fortune

People with wheel of fortune energy generally very lucky when it comes to money and career. Bun to achieve something they still must put in the work, being passive won't make them any good. They do especially well in freelance and in a career that doesn't have strict schedules.

The most suitable career:

freelance

PR-manager

record producer

croupier

editor

Challenges that affect career:

being passive

gambling

refusing to communicate with people

relying too much on fate

11 - Strength

People with strength energy have great spiritual and physical strength. However, only good intentions can bring them financial abundance and successful career.

The most suitable career:

sportsman

personal trainer

animal trainer

policeman, firefighter

life coach

Challenges that affect career:

not being able to rest

habit of postponing

stubbornness

12 - Hanged Man

People with this energy have an ability to see thing from different point of view. Also, they are very persistent, empathic and creative. Very important note: take credit for your work and don't be afraid to ask for money for your work!

The most suitable career:

acting

artist

rescue worker

medical worker

Challenges that affect career:

negative thinking

trying to help everyone around (and forgetting to help yourself first)

feeling guilty for your work

not being able to say 'no'

taking more responsibility than you can handle

13 - Death

People with this energy are more likely to experience major changes in their career throughout their life. For example, they can have degree and experience in engineering and then suddenly quit to start working as a fitness instructor. And they go through this transformation flawlessly.

The most suitable career:

surgeon

funeral director

auctioneer

esotericist

Challenges that affect career:

resisting changes

rushed decisions

advice: you might be into taboo and risky business and that's why you need to be conscious and careful when it comes to your decisions and choices.

14 - Temperance

People with temperance energy need work-life balance like no-one else, because only then they will be able to become successful. They are creative, diplomatic, peaceful and usually they are against "hustle lifestyle".

The most suitable career:

pharmacist

diplomat

healer

HR

cook

Challenges that affect career:

overindulgence

chaotic approach in work

challenges in maintain emotional stability

15 - Devil

People with devil energy have all traits of a charismatic leader. They also make very good investors, because they just know what to do with their money.

The most suitable career:

show business, entertainment

investing

gold miner

investigator

currency trader

helping people overcome addictions

Challenges that affect career:

fraud

greed

lack of consistency

having addictions

[lokideservesahug]

Can't Get My Mind Off Of You

-°•°•°•°•--•°•°•°•°--°•°•°•°•--•°•°•°•°-

Pairing: Carlos Alcaraz x gn!reader

Warnings: Identity crisis, Carlos being a pining idiot but what's new? Y/A means your initial

Notes: This is for the nichest audience ever (less so because its gn ig). But as long as it makes someone happy (I'm looking at you @alcqraz )... And please give feedback on this because I'm very conscious that there are probably so many errors...

Summary: Carlos is smitten with you. He looks for you in every room, his thoughts are plagued by you. But he just can't seem to get a word out when he's around you...

-°•°•°•°•--•°•°•°•°--°•°•°•°•--•°•°•°•°-

Your words wrap around him like a warm embrace. His native language rolling off of your tongue like it was made for you. The plosives formed just for your lips to take advantage of the air. The same air that Carlos swears down he is so lucky to breathe, the same as you. He watches as your arms flex. To most it looks likes he's watching you, seeing if the rising star makes any mistakes. Carlos' eyes scan your form as if looking for cracks in your form. But Carlos knows deep down that he's trying to map your figure. Paint a picture of the way your muscles ripple as you take another serve. He lets out a deep exhale. You're just such a good sportsman. That's what's luring him in...right?

He tries his hardest not to look at your competitor, fairly certain that his gaze would actualy burn holes into him. Carlos isn't quite sure if he's jealous that the man across the court is playing against you, as opposed to Carlos being on the other end of your hard (yet attractive) stare or that he's trying to beat you. Either way, the man on the other side of the net to you is underlying of your time or attention Carlos thinks.

Carlos watches as you finally turn towards him once again, face flushed. He tries to not let his minds slip to when else you'd be covered with the same sheen of sweat... He shakes his head. What has gotten into him recently? So lost in his own thoughts, Carlos fails to notice that you're back to practising but is broken from his thoughts by the sound of your grunts. The same sound that the Spaniard can't seem to get his mind off of recently...

☆-☆-☆-☆-☆

Carlos stares at his phone, scrolling mindlessly on Instagram. There isn't much substance to the social media but anything is better than being left alone in a quiet lift with his own thoughts; especially with how wild they've been raoming especially when it comes to matters of a certain Y/H/C tennis player. The subtle pat of trainers on the floor makes him glance up. Only to be met with the sight of your eyes. Carlos feels the breath become knocked out if him as you give him a small smile. You nod and turn away from him, leading Carlos to just stare at the back of your head.

And gosh, he didn't know lifts were so warm... Ah who's he kidding Carlos knows that the only reason his heart rate feels like it's beating out a samba is because of the close proximity of the two of you. He could just reach out and feel your- Carlos shakes his head as he feels his fingers twitch. Gosh what a perv-

He should should talk to you, like a normal, sane human being. He takes a deep breath in and looks up, only to be met with the sight of your retreating figure walking out of the lift doors. Damn-

☆-☆-☆-☆-☆

Gosh Carlos must be dreaming. Well not again. He cursed himself this morning when he was ripped away from the domestic image of the two of you this morning. The dream of the both of you wrapped up in warm embarces, chaste kisses and silk sheets runied by the sound of his alarm. But now, as he arrives to the tennis courts early, the Spaniard is sure that you two are a match made in heaven.

Even some of the most dedicated and successful tennis players Carlos has met throughout his career have given him strange looks when he mentioned waking up especially early on the daily to practice early. Something about "A goodnight sleep is really your best frie-" well Carlos didn't pay that much attention to what they were saying in all honesty.

But now, as he watches you bend down and collect the balls that you've clearly been hitting at the wall for the past few minutes, he's sure that you must be his soulmate. He doesn't even focus too much on the vision of you near folding in half as you pick up yet another tennis ball! But at least he can save the image for a rainy day (that knowing him would come sooner rather than later).

Suddenly, you turn around and your eyes meet Carlos'. You freeze for a moment and tilt your head, smile dancing across your lips. You furrow your brows for a moment but just walk towards the bench where your bag lies. You place the tennis balls down haphazardly on the bench and rummage around in your bag.

Carlos' gaze remains fixed on your figure. Gosh you make even the most mundane of things look attractive. And as you take a swig of your water bottle. Carlos, oddly enough has never wanted to be a droplet of water more. As he watches it run around the curve if your lips and drip down past your chin. He'd give anything if he could just be that small bit of water as it drops just above the neckline of your shirt. Carlos has to look away in embarrassment as his cheeks heat, looking at the mixture of your sweat and water glistening on the skin, peeking out of your shirt.

He doesn't notice you put the bottle down but he sure does notice you lift the bottom of your shirt to wipe the sweat from your brow. Carlos feels his mouth drop as his eyes scan across your muscles. Gosh he never knew why people were so wierd when admiring the human form... but now? Looking at you? He gets it. He understands every sonnet, every love song, every dedication in every book and every tear shed over the concept of loving a person so dearly.

Love. Carlos not long ago would have laughed at the word but now? He's sure that just looking at you brings meaning to the word. You meet his eyes and as is common practise these days, his gaze falls to your lips. You smirk and Carlos feels the breath get caught in his throat once more as you go to open your mouth, clearly with something to say.

"Y/L/N." Your eyes widen and if Carlos wasn't mistaken you almost looked sorry? Maybe it was just his imagination. He turns to looks at the intruder of your moment (that if it wa sup to Carlos would be a confession of love and a marriage proposal) and as the two of you greet in a small handshake, Carlos finds it the perfect opportunity to sneak away. Besides, he wasn't ready to speak to you. He'd probably have frozen up and looked like a fool again.

☆-☆-☆-☆-☆

As Carlos sits in the seats, waiting for one of the courts uou lean forward on the railings. Carlos looks up from his phone and is startled by the newcomer in such close proximity to him. All is forgiven however, when he realises its just you.

You smirk and look him up and down. "You're cute Alcaraz but gosh are you slow." He tilts his head and his eyes glisten with confusion. You hold back a giggle at him and his puppy look all but proving your point. You shake your head and give him a pat on the shoulder as you both hear a distant call of your name. You look behind your shoulder and then back into Carlos' eyes, carefree smile painted on your face that Carlos doesn't think he'll ever shake from his memory.

"Call me." You wink and skip of behind him. Carlos goes to call out after you but you're already too far away. "But you didnt-" He shakes his head. Once again, he'll have to wait until next time. But now, for once in his life, Carlos knows he feels a new sense of determination.

☆-☆-☆-☆-☆

The Spaniard walks up to his car and freezes. Carlos pats his back pockets for his car keys. He reaches into one of his jacket pocket only to pull out a pack of gum and a few notes. Carlos huffs as he tries the other one. However, his fingers instead feel an unfamiliar paper sensation. He grabs at the foreign object and unfolds the note.

-Call me, Alcaraz ;)

xxx-xxx-xxx-xx

-Y/A

And gosh, Carlos knows he made a vow to himself to tray and act less hopeless. But even the just the sight of your handwriting makes his heart flutter. He fumbles to reach into his back pocket to find his phone and save your number to his phone. And lets just say that there were many questions when Carlos arrived a out half an hour later, chattering teeth, complaining about the cold but still, somehow with his signature grin.

-°•°•°•°•--•°•°•°•°--°•°•°•°•--•°•°•°•°-

Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed!

As always, likes, reblogs and especially feedback is always welcome!

Taglist: @nikfigueiredo @mysoulispainted @leclercings @d3kstar @hiireadstuff @a-beaverhausen @nichmeddar @lozzamez3 @stinkyjax @marymustdie @littlesatanicassholebitch @mehrmonga @insanedeathwish @ems-alexandra @a-disturbing-self-reflection @cherry-piee @thatgirlmj

And special tags for: @yungbludz ofc and @alcqraz who inspired me two write with less of a female reader in mind (and sorry it's not male per se)

[bethanydelleman]

I find Sir John and Lady Middleton very interesting:

Sir John was a sportsman, Lady Middleton a mother. He hunted and shot, and she humoured her children; and these were their only resources. Lady Middleton had the advantage of being able to spoil her children all the year round, while Sir John’s independent employments were in existence only half the time. Continual engagements at home and abroad, however, supplied all the deficiencies of nature and education; supported the good spirits of Sir John, and gave exercise to the good breeding of his wife.

This seems to be a rather happy, successful marriage. Sir John happily hunts, hangs out with his mother-in-law, and throws parties for all the young people within his reach. Lady Middleton hangs out with her children, is fancy, and serves good meals. Both of them seem pretty content in their lives despite having opposite personalities and being pretty incompatible.

And you know what, I respect them for it. I'm fed up with Mr. Bennet, who basically hides from his family and treats his wife terribly (by exposing her to the contempt of her own children). He might be more amusing, but he's also irresponsible and a massive jerk. I'll take Sir John and his good natured-teasing any-day over Mr. Bennet's cutting wit.

Even though the narrator sometimes jokes about Sir John's kindness (he only wanted girls in Barton Cottage so he wouldn't have to share his hunting), he has done a genuine good deed in bringing the Dashwoods to Barton. Yes, he benefits from it because he and his wife are incapable of being alone together, but I'm still giving him all the props. Sir John is one of the best characters in this book and one of the best husbands we see in Austen (main couples excluded, as they don't marry during the books).

[mydaddywiki]

Billy Nungesser

Physique: Husky Build Height: 5′ 10″ (1.78 m)

William Harold "Billy" Nungesser (born January 10, 1959) is an American politician serving as the 54th lieutenant governor of Louisiana since 2016. A member of the Republican Party, Nungesser is also the former president of the Plaquemines Parish Commission (2006-2014). Prior to serving in elected office, Nungesser was a successful small businessman whose innovative idea of converting used shipping containers into modular living quarters improved the living conditions of our state’s offshore oil drilling workers.

With his acute business acumen, big heart and ebullient character, as well as an ardent passion and colossal pride in his home state, he has managed to prove the naysayers wrong and continues to do so, now that he has made the admirable switch from business to politics and philanthropy.

Lets see, Billy is married of course (Fuck my luck), an active sportsman who raises elk and cattle on his ranch. Sounds like a real working man and the New York Times agrees, naming him the “hardest working man in Louisiana.” And if I was a pimp, I’d definitely put him to work. Selling that ass. Though he wouldn’t being making money as I’d being fucking him all the time. With those Donald Trump socks on. What? You know I have a thing for socks and shoes.

[the-garbanzo-annex-jr]

by Ben Cohen

South African Jews reacted with outrage on Friday after the country’s governing body for the sport of cricket stripped the Jewish captain of the U-19 national team of his role, citing the “risk of conflict or even violence” as the reason.

Cricket South Africa (CSA) announced that David Teeger, who is Jewish, would no longer captain the side just one week before the opening of the U-19 Cricket World Cup, when teams from 16 nations will compete in South Africa for the sport’s top prize.

In a statement released on Friday, CSA said that its security team had advised “that protests related to the war in Gaza can be anticipated at the venues for the tournament.”

It added that such protests would likely focus on Teeger — an observant Jew and resident of Johannesburg who made his professional cricket debut in 2023, scoring an impressive 51 runs for the South Africa Emerging Players side against North Cape. Teeger was only appointed to the captaincy of the U-19 team last month.

The targeting of Teeger could result “in conflict or even violence between rival groups of protestors,” CSA said. Invoking its “duty to safeguard the interests and safety of all those involved in the World Cup,” it said that Teeger had been “relieved of the captaincy … in the best interests of the players, the U-19 team, and David himself.” Teeger would “remain an important and active member of the team and we wish him and the team every success in the tournament,” CSA concluded.

CSA’s decision — against the background of rising antisemitism in South Africa, widespread support for Hamas in the wake of its Oct. 7 pogrom in Israel, and the charge of “genocide” brought by South Africa against Israel at the International Court of Justice (ICJ) — provoked fury in South Africa’s Jewish community.

Prof. Karen Milner, chair of the South African Jewish Board of Deputies (SAJBD), told The Algemeiner that CSA’s decision was “an outrageous act of antisemitism.”

“There is no basis for this decision, other than the fact that Teeger is Jewish,” Milner said. “It is shameful that CSA is embarking on a path that is dangerously reminiscent of Nazi Germany, when Jews were actively discriminated against, including among sporting clubs.” She stressed that the SAJBD “would do everything in its power to fight against this vicious prejudice.”

In a separate statement, the South African Zionist Federation (SAZF) said it would be calling on the International Cricket Council (ICC), the sport’s global governing body, “to investigate the CSA’s blatant act of discrimination.”

“The ANC [ruling African National Congress] government’s political hostility to Israel and its friendship with Hamas has created a climate in which it is entirely acceptable to target a sportsman because he is proudly Jewish,” the SAZF stated.

Among those expressing sympathy for Teeger on social media was three-time MLB All-Star Kevin Youkilis. “Heart goes out to this young Jewish man,” Youkilis posted on X/Twitter. “The ‘security risk’ excuse is bullshit.”

Former Boston Red Sox star Youkilis also referred to a speech that Teeger made just weeks after the Hamas pogrom, delivered after he received the “Rising Star” Award at a Jewish community ceremony. Teeger paid tribute to the Israeli military, saying, “Yes, I’ve been [given] this award, and yes, I’m now the Rising Star, but the true rising stars are the young soldiers in Israel.” He went on to dedicate the award to “the State of Israel and every single soldier fighting so that we can live and thrive in the diaspora.”

Teeger was being “punished for showing gratitude to the State of Israel,” Youkilis commented.

[astrology-by-sita]

LIONEL MESSI BIRTH CHART ANALYSIS

So this is Lionel Messi's chart from astro dot com. He is ruled by Saturn, and it's in the 11th house of fans, community and popularity. He has 3 planets in Cancer (Mars, Mercury and Sun) in the 6th house of daily routines and physical health.

Cancer rules family so he would like his workmates (who happen to be his team) to be like family to him, instead of having pure professional interactions. Mars, Mercury and Sun are all planets of movement so he is always physically moving,never lazy - essential for his profession.

His Mars is debilitated by sign. Actually I noticed many great football players who have a debilitated Mars. Diego Armando Maradona, Zinedine Zidane, and Kylian Mbappé are some examples. This is an interesting pattern to study, as Mars is about physical strength.

He has debilitated Mars in the 6th house of health, and as a child, when he was 10 years old, he easily diagnosed with a growth hormone deficiency and needed a treatment. According to traditional astrology the 6h is the joy of Mars.

So despite his health issue he was able to excel and succeed as a sportsman and exert physical effort in the field.

Cancer stellium in 6h of work made him shy and reserved as Cancers can naturally be shy, he had difficulty in socializing at work with his team mates, they even believed that he was mute due to his quietness.

His Ascendant is in the bound of Mercury. And Mercury is in its own bound in Cancer in 6h. So this makes Mercury even stronger as an indicator of physical movement and activity. According to Vettius Valens, Mercury rules sports. He has a night chart so Venus is the best planet. It rules his 9h of foreign travel so he found luck and success abroad, in Spain.

[cursedreverie1945]

Aha! A Heydrich post that is NOT about Reinhard. Peter Thomas Heydrich was the son of Heinz Heydrich and the nephew of Reinhard.

Heinz Heydrich's oldest, Peter Thomas Heydrich, was a well-known German cabaret singer, and wrote a book about his childhood, father, and uncle. In the book, Peter Heydrich describes how, as a youth, he enjoyed the fame of being a "crown prince", as the nephew of Reinhard Heydrich.

During boyhood, he thought of his uncle as a successful sportsman and a sensitive musician. In vists to Prague, Peter observed that his uncle had become a "High Animal." Peter derived many privileges from being Reinhard Heydrich's nephew. Even after the war, Peter still felt some pride in the familial relationship, if not so openly. But finally, Peter had to admit that Reinhard Heydrich was a evil man, who planned and executed the Holocaust and other war crimes.

Enough of Reinhard, let's get back to Peter.

There are some discrepancies about the name. He is listed as both Peter Thomas Heydrich and Peter Bruno Eugen Heydrich. My guess is that Peter Thomas was more of a stage name and that Peter Bruno Eugen is his birth name. I am not positive that is correct.

After studying acting, Heydrich worked for a decade as an actor and director in Düsseldorf and Wuppertal. As a director, he directed plays by Arrabal and Sartre , among others . At the Cirque Royal in Brussels, he appeared ninety times as Mackie Messer in Brecht's Threepenny Opera .

In 1977, Heydrich moved into cabaret, performing programs based on texts by Kästner , Heine , Wedekind , Busch , Brecht, Tucholsky , Mehring , and Waldoff . He performed his programs, some sung with piano accompaniment, some spoken, at major cabaret venues in Germany.

Some of Heydrich's programs were released on records. A recording of the Ringelnatz evening on May 4, 1985, at the Senftöpfchen in Cologne was released, as was a recording of a Tucholsky evening on April 27, 1990. Audio cassettes and CDs were also released. I have not been able to find any of the recordings, yet. Give me time, if it is out there I will find it.

Sadly, Herr Heydrich died in 2000 after a long illness.

A couple of pictures from his book and the cover of said book. Yes, it is the book I own and just opened the package of (3/2025).

He certainly looks like the Heydrich family.

[ralphlanyon]

This excerpt from "The Poisoned Bowl: Sex and the Public School" on British public school "legends" reminds me so much of Ralph Lanyon (and Frank Maddox, who is name-dropped as a fictional example):

"It may seem a mathematical absurdity which defies the laws of proportionality, but almost without exception each boarding school, whether it was large or small, produced every year exactly one boy of exceptional magnetism who became a legend. This hero was not, like many others, merely the jealously-guarded secret desire of one or two boys but rather a cult figure whom almost all boys adored. He was invariably of exceptional good looks and an outstanding sportsman. Sometimes he was also academically brilliant. More often he was academically average, but of greater import was his charm, his charisma, and his apparent indifference to success; a convincing combination of character traits that could win over even the most cynical of minds. ... The school hero had to be a great all-rounder and could never be seen to try too hard. He had to be the casual collector of trophies, someone who played any sport with a refrained but skilful grace....Most boys were glad just to have the privilege of observing such a legendary figure from a distance. Invariably his presence on a school team drew a crowd of onlookers more interested in the hero's performance than the outcome of the match. But despite being the focus of such enthusiastic attention the king of heroes always retained that essential composure that distinguished him from lesser gods. ... While it might sometimes be dangerous for a boy to confess a crush on some relatively obscure senior, or worse still junior, the hero worship of a school legend was something which was always shared. It was the one instance when school boy adulation invariably took on a public, almost ritualistic form."

[burningvelvet]

Lord Byron responds to criticism of his poem Don Juan:

“The air of this cursed Italy enervates—and disenfranchises the thoughts of a man after nearly four years of respiration—to say nothing of emission. As to ‘Don Juan’—confess—confess you dog and be candid that it is the sublime of that there sort of writing—it may be bawdy—but is it not good English? It may be profligate—but is it not life, is it not the thing? Could any man have written it—who has not lived in the world?—and fooled in a post-chaise? in a hackney coach? in a gondola? against a wall? in a court carriage? in a vis a vis? on a table?—and under it? I have written about a hundred stanzas of a third Canto—but it is a damned modest—the outcry has frightened me. I have such projects for the Don—but the Cant is so much stronger than the Cunt now a days, that the benefit of experience in a man who had well weighed the worth of both monosyllables must be lost to despairing posterity.” (Letter to Douglas Kinnaird, Venice, 26 October, 1819.)

Francis Cohen remarked: “Lord B. should have been grave & gay by turns; grave in one page & gay in the next; grave in one line, & gay in the next. And not grave & gay in the same page, or in the same stanza, or in the same line… we are never drenched & scorched at the same instant whilst standing in one spot.” (Letter to John Murray, 16 July, 1819).

Byron replied to the critique:

“I will answer [Cohen] who objects to the quick succession of fun and gravity—as if in that case the gravity did not (in intention at least) heighten the fun. His metaphor is that ‘we are never scorched and drenched at the same time!' Blessings on his experience! Ask him these questions about 'scorching and drenching’. Did he never play at Cricket or walk a mile in hot weather? Did he never spill a dish of tea over his testicles in handing the cup to his charmer to the great shame of his nankeen breeches? Did he never swim in the sea at Noonday with the Sun in his eyes and on his head--which all the foam of ocean could not cool? Did he never draw his foot out of a tub of too hot water damning his eyes & his valet's? Did he never inject for a Gonorrhea? Or make water through an ulcerated Urethra? Was he ever in a Turkish bath—that marble paradise of sherbet and sodomy? Was he ever in a cauldron of boiling oil like St. John? Or in the sulphureous waves of hell? (where he ought to be for his 'scorching and drenching at the same time') did he never tumble into a river or lake fishing—and sit in his wet clothes in the boat—or on the bank afterwards ‘scorched and drenched' like a true sportsman? ‘Oh for breath to utter' —but make him my compliments—he is a clever fellow for all that—a very clever fellow. You ask me for the plan of Donny Johnny—I have no plan—I had no plan—but I had, or have, materials.” (Letter to his publisher John Murray, Bologna, 12 August, 1819.)

Letter to Douglas Kinnaird, Genoa, 31 March, 1823:

“I care nothing for what may be the consequence critical or otherwise – all the bullies on earth shall not prevent me from writing what I like – & publishing what I write – “coute qui coute”*– if they had let me alone – I probably should not have continued beyond the five first – as it is – there shall be such a poem – as has not been since Ariosto – in length – in satire – in imagery – and in what I please.” *(“at any cost”)

[microcosme11]

Germaine de Staël is creeped out by General Bonaparte

I saw him for the first time at Paris. I could not find words to reply to him, when he came to me to say, that he had sought my father at Coppet, and that he regretted having passed into Switzerland without seeing him. But, when I was a little recovered from the confusion of admiration, a strongly marked sentiment of fear succeeded. Bonaparte, at that time, had no power; he was even believed to be not a little threatened by the captious suspicions of the Directory; so that the fear which he inspired was caused only by the singular effect of his person upon nearly all who approached him. I had seen men highly worthy of esteem; I had likewise seen monsters of ferocity: there was nothing in the effect which Bonaparte produced on me that could bring back to my recollection either the one or the other. I soon perceived, in the different opportunities which I had of meeting him during his stay in Paris, that his character could not be defined by the words which we commonly use; he was neither good, nor violent, nor gentle, nor cruel, after the manner of individuals of whom we have any knowledge. Such a being had no fellow, and therefore could neither feel nor excite sympathy: he was more or less than man. His cast of character, his understanding, his language, were stamped with the impress of an unknown nature;—an additional advantage, as we have elsewhere observed, for the subjugation of Frenchmen.

Far from recovering my confidence by seeing Bonaparte more frequently, he constantly intimidated me more and more. I had a confused feeling that no emotion of the heart could act upon him. He regards a human being as an action or a thing, not as a fellow creature. He does not hate more than he loves; for him nothing exists but himself; all other creatures are cyphers. The force of his will consists in the impossibility of disturbing the calculations of his egotism; he is an able chess-player, and the human race is the opponent to whom he proposes to give check mate. His successes depend as much on the qualities in which he is deficient as on the talents which he possesses. Neither pity, nor allurement, nor religion, nor attachment to any idea whatsoever, could turn him aside from his principal direction. He is for his self-interest what the just man should be for virtue; if the end were good, his perseverance would be noble.

Every time that I heard him speak, I was struck with his superiority; yet it had no similitude to that of men instructed and cultivated by study or society, such as those of whom France and England can furnish examples. But his discourse indicated a fine perception of circumstances, such as the sportsman has of the game which he pursues. Sometimes he related the political and military events of his life in a very interesting manner; he had even somewhat of Italian imagination in narratives which allowed of gaiety. Yet nothing could triumph over my invincible aversion for what I perceived in him. I felt in his soul a cold sharp-edged sword, which froze the wound that it inflicted; I perceived in his understanding a profound irony, from which nothing great or beautiful, not even his own glory could escape; for he despised the nation whose suffrages he wished, and no spark of enthusiasm was mingled with his desire of astonishing the human race.

It was in the interval between the return of Bonaparte and his departure for Egypt, that is to say, about the end of 1797, that I saw him several times at Paris; and never could I dissipate the difficulty of breathing which I experienced in his presence. I was one day at table between him and the Abbé Sieyès;—a singular situation, if I had been able to foresee what afterwards happened. I examined the figure of Bonaparte with attention; but whenever he discovered that my looks were fixed upon him, he had the art of taking away all expression from his eyes, as if they had been turned into marble. His countenance was then immovable, except a vague smile which his lip assumed at random, to mislead anyone who might wish to observe the external signs of what was passing within.

The Abbé Sieyès conversed during dinner unaffectedly and fluently, as suited a mind of his degree of strength. He expressed himself concerning my father with a sincere esteem. “He is the only man,” said he, “who has ever united the most perfect precision in the calculations of a great financier to the imagination of a poet.” This eulogium pleased me, because it characterized him. Bonaparte, who heard it, also said some obliging things concerning my father and me, but like a man who takes no interest in individuals whom he cannot make use of in the accomplishment of his own ends.

His figure, at that time thin and pale, was rather agreeable; he has since grown fat, which does not become him; for we can scarcely tolerate a character which inflicts so many sufferings on others, if we do not believe it to be a torment to the person himself. As his stature is short, and his waist very long, he appeared to much more advantage on horseback than on foot. In every respect it is war, and only war, which suits him. His manners in society are constrained, without timidity; he has an air of vulgarity when he is at his ease, and of disdain when he is not: disdain suits him best, and accordingly he indulges in it without scruple.

By a natural vocation to the regal office, he already addressed trifling questions to all who were presented to him. Are you married? was his question to one of the guests. How many children have you? he said to another. How long is it since you arrived? When do you set out? and other interrogations of a similar kind, which establish the superiority of him who puts them over those who submit to be thus questioned. He already took delight in the art of embarrassing, by saying disagreeable things; an art which he has since reduced into a system, as he has every other mode of subjugating men by degrading them. At this epoch, however, he had a desire to please, for he confined to his own thoughts the project of overturning the Directory, and substituting himself in its stead; but in spite of this desire, one would have said that, unlike the prophet, he cursed involuntarily, though he intended to bless.

Liberté, Egalité, Fraternité: Exploring the French Revolution (link)

[zoominsainz]

Sainz Sr has always rubbed me the wrong way, maybe not like Jos Verstappen levels of ick, but pretty up there… that mentality he taught Carlos from the young age that he has to toughen up if he wants to succeed, I can’t imagine saying to my kid that he can’t be himself and be successful at the same time. And sure, maybe this mentality is right for the sport, but it seems like it’s not right for Carlos as a person which in turn affects him as an athlete because he’s afraid to disappoint his father or embarrass their family name so he has to play up the ‘tough’ act. Idk. My perception is that he’s just different than his dad but he’s been molded into someone else his whole life so there’s a big conflict inside of him. His dad needs to step away from managing Carlos’ career me thinks, I feel like that would bring Carlos at least some peace

I wanna relate the ‘toughen up’ with the way he acts around people, he’s so constructed around patriarcal masculinity that being soft around people is weak and so he has to masc his affection by being rough (ie. his way of showing affection is physical touch but feminine! So I’ll hit and shove and throw you around bc I’m a man and I’m supposed to be rough)

It’s so obvious that senior is the most important member of the sainz family, he’s a renowned sportsman plus I’m guessing he’s the responsible one for the family’s wealth and political power so everyone looks up to him as the leader and so being named Carlos, after him is such a big honor and you’re the only boy! So you have to carry on the legacy of the successful sainz family, so you have to live up to be as great and efficient and be a leader, be a shark, a force to be reckoned with, that’s what you father tells you since you are 6, and all the family around you telling you “you got to be as great as your father”. In a family with such conservative and patriarcal values there’s no room to make a mistake or even be mid, it’s glory or failure, and they won’t hesitate throwing at his face everything they have given him and his only job being to be the person they boast around in gatherings and events.

But Carlos, he’s soft, he show he cares, he doesn’t like putting people down, he never boasts about winning bc he can see that the real fun part was the activity and not the result, ofc he likes winning, everyone does but like with lando, when asked who wins at golf and saying ‘oh in the end we didn’t keep score’ or with charles in the challenges, whenever charles gets too competitive he always offers to share the points instead or recognizing his efforts out loud.

I think he does feel immense pressure of living to his dads standards, show him he can be as good as his dad expects him to be, a carlos sainz as good as carlos sainz and the spanish media have a whole cultural background approach to carlos that he has to be perceived as a tough, emotionless guy, he always sounds snarky and very masculine coded when talking to dazn, very matter of fact. With his country also expecting him to succeed like the other spaniard in the grid with 2 wdc.

I agree with you, if his dad stopped managing him I think he would be able to relax and craft his approach to the sport that he loves in a more personal way and not with his dads expectations but also financial and political interests looming over him.

This was very rambly and messy and the anthropological pov discourse possessed me for a little bit there.

If you have any more thoughts I’ll be happy to read them.

[scotianostra]

On October 2nd 1931 Sir Thomas Lipton, grocer, tea merchant died.

Say the name Lipton, and most people nowadays think of tea, although some of usthat are a certain age will recall the supermarkets. But behind that brand lies the extraordinary story of a rags-to-riches tycoon, self-publicist, philanthropist and sportsman who was honoured as "the world's best loser".

While his father worked in a succession of poorly paid jobs, young Tommy Lipton’s siblings all died in infancy, leaving him as the family’s only son.

Tommy had to leave school aged 13, because his parents needed an extra income to make ends meet. He also attended night school at the Gorbals Youth School. In 1864, he signed up as a cabin boy on a steamer running between Glasgow and Belfast and seems to have been taken with crew-members’ stories about the United States, so in 1865, Thomas used his savings to pay for a passage to New York spending the next five years there travelling across the country.

During this time he held many different jobs, including work at a tobacco plantation in Virginia; as an accountant at a rice plantation in South Carolina; as a door-to-door salesman in New Orleans; as a farmhand in New Jersey; and as a grocery assistant in New York.

Thomas returned to Glasgow in 1870. After spending some time helping his parents at their shop, he established one of his own, Lipton’s Market, at 101 Stobcross Street in the Anderston area of the city. This proved highly successful and Lipton went on to establish a chain of shops, first in Glasgow and then across Scotland, before expanding to cover the whole of the UK over the next ten years.

Meanwhile, the demand for tea was increasing among the middle classes and in 1888, by which time Lipton had 300 stores, he set out to bypass the traditional lines of supply for tea by investing directly in tea plantations. The Lipton Tea brand he established offered good quality for low prices and proved hugely popular, expanding the market for tea to all parts of society and establishing it as the national drink of choice.

Lipton was a big fan of promotional stunts. When his first 20,000 tea chests arrived in Glasgow he put on a party, complete with a brass band and bagpipe parade. In 1893 Sir Thomas Lipton officially established the Thomas J Lipton Company, a tea packaging company based in Hoboken, New Jersey . He felt that tea should be a drink for everyone, not just the wealthy , so he strived to make packaging and shipping less expensive.

Instead of arriving in crates, Sir Thomas packaged his loose tea in multiple weight options. The tea was also standardised, so Lipton customers knew exactly what to expect.

Thomas Lipton developed a passion for yachting, between 1899 and 1930 Lipton challenged the American holders of the America’s Cup through the Royal Ulster Yacht Club five times with yachts he named Shamrock through Shamrock V. He never won the cup, but he was awarded a special trophy as “the best of all losers”. This may sound double-edged, but one effect of his efforts to win the cup was to make his name well known across the United States, and his tea very popular there.

Although Lipton, through his yachting, became a friend of royalty, as a self-made man he still had difficulty breaking into some corners of the highly stratified British society of the day. He was, for example, only accepted as a member of the Royal Yacht Squadron shortly before his death.

Lipton died at his home in north London in 1931. He left most of his wealth to his native city of Glasgow. His yachting trophies are now on display at the Kelvingrove Art Gallery and Museum. Sir Thomas Lipton was buried alongside his parents and siblings in Glasgow’s Southern Necropolis.

Liptons continues today as part of the multinational Unilever brands, their teas and other beverages still bear his name and are a world known brand, not bad for a young lad born in a Glasgow Tenement to Irish immigrants.

[i-did-not-mean-to]

YOTP - January

So, let's start this off with Farawyn. It's a continuation of this story!

So, that kicks off YOTP...Stay tuned for February!

Pairing: Faramir x Éowyn

Prompts: First Kiss, Mission Fic, Fake Dating, Historical AU, Snow, "Whenever I look at you"

Words: 2 050

Warnings: /

Éowyn knew that something was the matter as soon as Faramir entered the room they shared—his cheeks turned bright red as soon as he saw her sitting there, darning her own socks, evidently lying in wait for him.

“Did you get your grades?” she asked breathlessly and threw her handiwork to the floor to wave a thick piece of paper in front of his widening eyes. “I did very well.”

“Of course, you did,” he replied warmly. The enthusiastic joy in her voice thawed him instantly, and he gave a long, weary sigh. “You have never given me any reason to regret breaking I don’t know how many laws.”

“You know exactly how many.” Leaning back against the wall, Éowyn motioned at the cold supper their landlords had brought up and cocked her head. “What ails you, friend?”

“Nothing that should preoccupy you,” he said hastily and turned to the old table to pretend to fix himself a plate.

With a soft snort of affectionate derision, Éowyn sprang to her feet and gave his shoulder an encouraging push. “You’ve made my dearest wish come true—I am in your debt.” When his tense posture did not relent, she made a small cooing sound.

“Jest aside, Faramir. You can tell me what weighs on you—if at all possible, I shall endeavour to help you!”

“You cannot,” he groaned. “I’ve just received a letter from my father, informing me that I am to attend the Winter Ball in Minas Tirith. I don’t understand why he’d want me there—I’ll only embarrass him by awkwardly lurking in a corner.”

As he spoke, he gestured with a piece of soft bread, and—taunted by the repetitive motion and the alluring smell—Éowyn simply took a bite out of it.

Chewing in pensive silence, she looked on helplessly as Faramir became increasingly agitated.

“And he’ll certainly expect me to dance with all the eligible ladies who will then make faces at me because they actually wanted to dance with my brother instead…”

“I can come with you!”

In the sudden, deafening silence, one would have been able to hear a single pin drop to the impeccably swept floor.

“I beg your pardon?” Faramir gaped at her in evident disbelief.

“Every day, we pretend—with much success if I may say so myself—that I am a young gentleman. You treat me as a cherished friend, and it is your acceptance and encouragement that keep our wicked ruse alive,” Éowyn explained in a voice that was ripe with self-evident smugness. “I would not do this for a lesser friend, but—for you and in return for your endless kindness—I shall change my costume and pretend to be an accomplished lady.”

Faramir then realised that he had never investigated where the enchantingly versatile creature with whom he shared his room, his studies, and his secrets came from exactly.

“Don’t stare at me so,” she exclaimed, cackling wildly. “I can wear my frilliest dress and sit prettily. After all these months, you’d still doubt my abilities as an actor?”

“I wouldn’t dare!” Faramir replied vehemently, but they both knew that he was lying. While he did not put her skills as a scholar, sportsman, or satirist into question, he was not entirely certain whether the same fey changeling who had infiltrated the seminary would be able to sit through a whole dinner during which people much less smart and educated than her would patronise her cruelly.

“Then it’s decided,” Éowyn declared. “I will make it my solemn mission to convince your father of the fact that I am on the verge of ruining my name and my reputation for your admiration and affection!”

Aghast, he threw the remnant of his bread at her. “Do not! He’d never believe that!”

“That, my friend, remains to be seen!”

Faramir paced nervously through the hallway; even if they were to leave right away, they’d be fashionably late for the grand opening of his father’s cherished ball.

“You can blame me,” a soft, sensual voice resounded behind him, and he instantly whirled around. “How do I look? Convincing?”

Swallowing thickly, the young scholar ran a trembling hand across his suddenly uncomfortably numb lips.

He had known Éowyn for months—they had shared many a joke and had brooded over partially incomprehensible texts side by side. A mere five minutes ago, he would have boldly and unwaveringly claimed that he was intimately familiar with every facet of her being.

This, as it turned out, was not so.

Before him, bathed in the soft glow of the forgotten lamp on their shared desk, stood a young lady.

“You’ll have to carry me to the carriage,” Éowyn laughed and pointed at the delicate silken shoes she was wearing, revealing slender ankles clad in a powdery, translucent layer of impossibly thin fabric that made Faramir’s heart skip a beat. “Henceforth, you might be able to better appreciate why I avoid conforming to the farce that is ‘appropriate’, ladylike garb too often—it’s laughably unpractical.”

Extending his arms, Faramir was presently not convinced that he’d be able to support the weight of a feather, let alone this wondrous creature gleaming with self-satisfied triumph.

“I clean up nicely, don’t you think?” she teased and patted the complicated updo into which she had wrestled her stubborn, flaxen hair through some impressive display of hitherto unrevealed masterfulness.

“You look stunning,” Faramir whispered, utterly awed.

“Ah!” Frowning, she walked past him and down the stairs, her head held high and her chin jutting out petulantly. “Am I to surmise then that you’re no better than my uncle’s most duplicitous courtiers?”

Despite her forcibly teasing tone, Faramir could tell that she was genuinely hurt.

“I do not know the good men,” he replied cautiously. “Nevertheless, I merely sought to compliment you on yet another wonderfully executed disguise.”

Huffing, she threw open the front door and grimaced at the thin, slick layer of snow that would delay them even further.

“Milady,” Faramir invited coyly and assumed the necessary posture once more to lift her into his arms and ferry her over to the waiting carriage without creasing her dress or damaging any other adornment overmuch.

He had to suppress another tremor of unidentifiable unease—Éowyn felt soft and supple in his arms, and a discreet smell of wild lilacs and river grass tickled his nose.

In truth, all his senses were entirely taken over by the complex beauty of the one he was holding as if she was made of glass and ice crystals, and yet he couldn’t deny the surge of instinctive reluctance taking hold of his heart.

“I wish you didn’t have to do this,” he whispered dejectedly as they started rumbling along the merciless, frozen path in jolting fits and bursts.

“Béma—we would have made better time on horseback without—”

“Not in that dress, dear,” Faramir interrupted gently. “Anyhow, I doubt that anyone is expecting my arrival anxiously.”

“Fools,” Éowyn declared haughtily and pushed a stray pin back into her ornate coiffure. “Having had the pleasure of your company for many a night now, I can vouch for your excellence as a conversation and study partner!”

Despite suspecting that she was lying to assuage his mounting anxiousness, Faramir felt considerably heartened by her words and smiled at her gratefully.

The rest of their journey was spent in companionable silence; each was mentally preparing for the great unknown that was awaiting them.

When the carriage came to a sliding halt and a young man with impeccably polished buttons and fastenings opened the door to help the latecomers alight, Éowyn nodded at Faramir encouragingly. “Same as before.”

It was undignified to have to be carried thus, but Éowyn was nothing if not steadfast in her resolutions and brave in the name of duty and loyalty—looking up at Faramir’s tense, pale face, leisurely, she was reminded once more of how unobtrusively handsome her roommate was.

Of course, she usually did not waste any time or thoughts on his countless qualities—the man was her most trusted confidant, he not only knew about her devious charade, no, he actively facilitated and endorsed it.

Surely, he would never see her as anything other than a rebellious, reckless fool.

At times, Éowyn earnestly regretted the fact that the only man she had ever liked enough to consider him as a romantic partner had been made irreversibly inaccessible by her achieving her most cherished dream,

She sighed softly. Her uncle was right—she was a selfish creature, and she had sacrificed the matrimonial bliss she owed to her name, her family, and her sex on the altar of her personal fulfilment.

“We’re almost inside,” Faramir whispered, hastening his steps. He had mistaken her shivering exhalation as an expression of dismay on account of the blistering cold air and felt bad for her.

Indeed, while he was wrapped in a thick coat, Éowyn had only been able to conjure up a woefully flimsy shawl.

“You’re right,” he admitted as he set her down carefully inside the brightly lit foyer. “These clothes are ludicrous! I shall give you my coat for the ride home! You’ll catch your death in that!”

“It matches the dress,” she shot back defensively, fussing with the delicate fabric ostentatiously.

“Humbug!”

Chuckling, Éowyn allowed herself the treacherous indulgence of touching her cheek to his shoulder briefly—then, the doors swung open, and they stepped into a lavish ballroom.

“Oh no,” Éowyn whispered, gripping Faramir’s arm with unladylike strength and vehemence. “My brother is here!”

He turned his head a fraction to glimpse a tall, broad-shouldered paragon of strength, smiling at them.

“I was under the impression that you were devoted to him—why are you upset?” Faramir pointedly avoided looking at her face—flushed from the heat and radiant with virginal fairness—as she insisted on mooning at him in a shamelessly exaggerated display of admiration and unspoken affection.

At least, he thought her demeanour to be hardly credible—his father and brother, on the other hand, had smirked at him and clapped congratulatory hands onto his stiff shoulders.

In his heart of hearts, he was dismayed and disgruntled by the discovery that—while his academic prowess and the deep, meaningful friendship he had established with the authentic Éowyn meant nothing to them—the simple act of parading a handsome maiden at a lavish feast seemed to suffice to gain their approval.

“I do love him,” Éowyn replied in a hushed hiss. “But his being here means that I’ll have to up the ante if I want to be believed.”

“You don’t have to—”

“You’ve once told me that we were in this together,” she said softly and cupped Faramir’s burning cheek tenderly. “Allow me to reciprocate that sentiment and battle cry.”

Pushing herself up on her tiptoes, she cocked her head to the side, her hair glistening like pure spun gold in the flickering light of the sconces. “Can you pretend for a moment that I am pretty? No doubt, my valiant effort in the defence of your reputation would earn me so minor a boon?”

“There shall be no need to pretend. I marvel at your beauty whenever I look at you,” Faramir answered before his mind could censor his tongue, loosened by the glowing atmosphere of the room and the double-edged victory of the night.

Éowyn blinked. “Whenever?” she then asked demurely, colour flaring in her cheeks.

“You look stunning tonight,” Faramir grinned, elated that he got the opportunity to set right his previous misstep. “The dress compliments your smile. Nevertheless, I would be a poor friend and a despicably shallow nincompoop if such caparison was needed to alert me to the rare beauty of one I see every day in all her glory.”

Shining brighter than all the gold in the room, Éowyn brushed her now flawlessly clean thumbs against his bearded jaw to tilt his head back.

“I was right,” she crooned. “You are the most precious! I’ll have you know that I love being right!”

Before Faramir could assure her that he was well-aware of that fact, she had drawn herself up further and pressed her lips against his in a kiss that spoke of deep trust, enduring loyalty, and nascent love.

My very dear readers; I hope this has been enjoyable!

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[best-wishes-gifts]

Elevate Your Gift Game: Stylish Gift Baskets for the Modern Man

Finding a good gift is sometimes very hard, especially if one is searching for an excellent and rather exclusive gift for the men. Among the most popular and, at the same time, universal, one can highlight a gift basket with the help of which it will be possible to meet the preferences of the intended recipient. It does not matter if a man is young or old, married or single, a successful businessman, a sportsman or even a Hollywood superstar – there is a grooming kit that should suit him. Now, it is time to take a closer look at why the gift baskets are best for men, and how to prepare the best baskets for various occasions.

Why Choose a Gift Basket?

1. Personalized Touch: A gift basket can therefore be thought out in terms of the kind of products which may be deemed relevant in the life of the concerned person. Whatever his passion is whether he is a gourmet, workout freak, or a drinkerm, you can personalise the items to his interests.

2. Stylish Presentation: Often, gift baskets are not put in plain wrappers like the conventional gifts but instead are carefully placed. A basket should be presented in good packaging and aesthetic, therein adding value to the gift by making them luxurious.

3. Versatility: Catering for all occasions has never been easier when it comes to gift baskets. This basket could well be a birthday gift, a Father’s Day basket, an anniversary gift, or simply a basket to say ‘thank you’.

4. Surprise Factor: A gift basket is more interesting than the provision of a single item because the receiver will not receive one item, but a number of items grouped together.

[justforbooks]

In the closing minutes of Wales’s Five Nations meeting with France at Cardiff Arms Park in March 1976, the home side were resisting an onslaught by the visitors when the French wing Jean-François Gourdon found some space on the touchline by the north stand. Gourdon was then hit by a shuddering shoulder charge from Wales’s full-back, JPR Williams, that all but sent him spinning into the crowd. Williams raised his fist in triumph and Wales held on to win 19-13 and complete a seventh grand slam.

In truth, Williams’s tackle was far from legal, but the incident remains an indelible image in the minds of Welsh rugby supporters – that and a photograph of the Bridgend No 15 with blood pouring from his face after being trampled by a visiting All Blacks boot. International rugby in the 1970s was not for the squeamish, and JPR survived by being not just supremely skilful, but as hard as nails.

Williams, who has died aged 74 from bacterial meningitis, would forever be known as JPR, the three most evocative initials in the sport. Only France’s Serge Blanco could rival him as the greatest full-back in history. When the law-makers of the international board prevented the ball from being kicked directly into touch in 1968 it gave the opportunity for Williams and others such as Scotland’s Andy Irvine to forge a template for how a modern attacking full-back should play.

The source of Williams’s famous hardness is surprising. Unusually for top-class players in Wales, he came from a comfortable middle-class home. Williams once told of how he turned up at a Wales Schoolboys’ trial in a Rolls Royce. His upbringing, he said served as an incentive “to prove to my mates that I was tough and one of them”.

John Peter Rhys was born in Bridgend to Peter and Margaret, both doctors. Margaret had been born in Rochdale, so young John could have played for England, but that was not a subject much discussed in the Williams household.

It was on the lawns of Wimbledon rather than the muddy fields of Cardiff Arms Park or Bridgend that Williams first made his mark as a sportsman of renown. As a 17-year-old, he won the 1966 British junior tennis title at Wimbledon, beating David Lloyd in the final.

He was gaining a reputation at rugby in Bridgend, where his father was the club president and doctor. By this time Williams had left Bridgend grammar school for Millfield school in Somerset, where future Wales scrum-half Gareth Edwards was a pupil.

From Millfield, Williams went to St Mary’s hospital in London and had a spell at the London Welsh club. He chose to continue playing the amateur sport rather than tennis and concentrate on his medical studies, his father having told him that he would not make a living as a professional sportsman.

He was still a teenager when he was called into a Wales squad to tour Argentina in the summer of 1968. There were great expectations of the new boy John Williams, as he was then known, when he made his full Wales debut against Scotland at Murray Field the following February.

Wales had a new coach, their former captain Clive Rowlands. Barry John at fly-half scored the final try in Wales’s 17-3 win. Something was brewing in Wales and the 70s were a golden age. Once Phil Bennett, alongside Edwards, established himself as Barry John’s natural heir and once JPR was joined by the wings JJ Williams and Gerald Davies, Wales became an unstoppable force in northern hemisphere rugby. At the heart of their team was JPR, instantly recognisable with his Elvis-Presley style sideburns, flowing hair and socks often pulled down to his ankles.

What set him apart was his success as an attacking player which, allied to that rock-solid defensive play, made him a permanent fixture in the Wales side between his 1969 debut and 1981, when he retired from international rugby. He burnished his reputation on the successful British Lions tours to New Zealand in 1971 and South Africa in 1974, playing in all four Tests on each. Williams had been on a Wales tour to New Zealand in 1969 when they were humbled by the All Blacks in two Tests so the 2-1 series win by the Lions two years later came as a big relief.

In Auckland he settled the series with a long-range drop-goal in the final Test. It came as a surprise to his team-mates, but England’s Bob Hiller, his full-back understudy on that tour, had apparently joked to him that he could not consider himself a proper international until he had dropped a goal.

In South Africa three years later, Williams was heroic again as Willie John McBride’s team prevailed in an often brutal series win over the Springboks. The Lions’ call of “99” often signalled all-out punch-ups, and the sight of Williams racing upfield to thump the much larger South African lock Moaner van Heerden was a memorable one, though, as Williams confessed later it was not something of which he was particularly proud.

Williams won 55 caps for Wales, five of them as captain in 1978-79; in 1977 he was appointed MBE. In between those Lions victories he scored the final try in the Barbarians’ famous victory over the All Blacks at the Arms Park in 1973, and after retiring from the international stage played club rugby for Tondu as a back-rower until 2003, when he was 54.

He met Scilla (Priscilla) Parkin at medical school, and they married in 1973. His principal post as a trauma and orthopaedic surgeon was at the Princess of Wales hospital, Bridgend (1986–2004). Williams rarely joined the ranks of retired players who became pundits, but he was always happy to talk about a stellar career, particularly the 11 games against England, in which he always ended on the winning side.

He is survived by Scilla and their children, Lauren, Annie, Fran and Peter.

🔔 John Peter Rhys Williams, rugby player and orthopaedic surgeon, born 2 March 1949; died 8 January 2024

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