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lu-vin-it · 1 year

Text

Made It

── ⋅⋅⋅ ────꒰ ୨ ♡ ୧ ꒱───────

Summary: After years of being apart, not knowing whether the other is alive or dead, you and your husband have reunited.

Pairings: Daryl Dixon x Reader

Pronouns Used: None mentioned, but Y/N is called Momma

Word Count: 898

Warnings: I hate this

A/N: Ty to @stqrluvr for proofreading, ily!

“That all of ‘em?” You ask, wiping your forehead. Your sister, Candace, nods. Sighing with relief, you pull your dagger out of the last walker you had killed. You wipe it on your pants before putting it in its holster.

“That was a lot.” Candace says, sitting down against a wall. She starts rummaging through her bag before pulling a water bottle out.

“Take a minute, but then we gotta get back to the truck.” You walk into the hallway and start pacing. You hated being gone this long. The run, which was only supposed to be a few hours, turned into a two day stop when you found a small urgent care. You were itching to get back to Alexandria, to your daughter, to your home. You knew she was probably worried sick. Even though she was only eight, she knew enough about this new world to know that if a person doesn’t return when they’re supposed to, it probably means the worst.

Candace walked into the hallway a few seconds later, and the two of you left with bags full of medical supplies.

You made it home in an hour, Candace volunteered to take the findings where they belonged while you rushed to Emily’s, the woman who babysat Janis from time to time.

“Emily? Janis?” You yell as you barge into her house. You run into the living room where you see Janis and Emily sitting on the couch. Your eight year old immediately springs up and runs to you, crushing you with a hug.

“Momma!”

“Hey sugar!” You hug her back tightly. “I’m so sorry, Auntie C and I found a little doctor’s office that hadn’t been looted, so we cleared it out and got some great stuff.” She pulls out of the hug and looks at you with the saddest eyes.

“I was really scared.” You can feel your eyes welling up.

“I know, baby, I’m very sorry. I wanted to come home to you the entire time.” You rub her cheek with your thumb. “I got you something!” You take your backpack off and put your hand into the side pocket, pulling out a necklace. It was silver with a small diamond on it. “Here, so we’ll match.” You put it against your own necklace which had your engagement and wedding rings on it.

“Woah!” She awes. “Put it on me!” She eagerly spins around.

Twenty minutes later, you’re back at your house, changing your clothes as Janis tells you about her previous day at school.

“Y/N?” You hear your sister shout, followed by the front door closing.

“In my room changing!”

“Get down here!” You furrow your brows.

“Why?”

“New people.. you’re gonna want to see one of them.” You raise an eyebrow at your daughter and the two of you shrug.

“K.. one second.”

“You have Jan, right?” You adjust your shirt before walking out of your room.

“Yeah.” You walk downstairs, Janis right behind you. Candace was waiting for you with a grin. “C’mon then.”

You all walk to the gates of Alexandria where Deanna, Aaron, and Eric stood in front of a group of thirteen strangers. You gave Candace a confused look before looking each stranger up and down. Stranger, stranger, stranger, stranger, st—what. You gulp. It couldn’t be.

“Daryl?” Everyone’s eyes snap to you in sync. The man glares at you for a moment before his eyes soften and all of a sudden he’s dropping his crossbow and running towards you. “Holy shit!” You call out as you wrap your arms around your husband. Your eyes well up and soon enough, you’re laughing through sobs. Daryl is squeezing you so hard that you think you might explode, but you wouldn’t have it any other way.

“Y/N.” He breathes out.

“Hi honey.” You cry into his shoulder. You feel something crash into your legs, you glance down and realize it’s Janis. You pull away from the hug and Daryl reaches down to pick up your daughter. She buries her head in his neck and cries while holding him tightly. You wrap your arms back around both of them. All three of you are sobbing at this point.

“Daryl? Who is that?” Rick asked inquisitively. Neither of you move away from each other.

“She’s his wife.” Candace supplies. “Don’t y’all have anything better to do than stare?” She snaps, glaring at the fellow Alexandria citizens. Most scatter off. You pull out of the hug and put your hand on Daryl’s cheek.

“I.. You’re.. You made it.” He cries. You laugh and nod.

“I made it. We made it. I knew you’d find me, never doubted it, not for a minute.” You rambled. “I missed you s—“ He cuts you off by kissing you. God if felt good. For the first time since the dead started walking, you felt at peace.

“Eww!” You pull apart and you both laugh at your daughter. It was a beautiful sight to everyone else, seeing this man reunited with his wife and daughter. “Where were you Daddy? I missed you.” Janis whispered, rubbing his beard because it felt funny just like she used to do.

“I missed you too, pumpkin. I was helping out some friends but I’m back. I’m here. I ain’t going anywhere. Okay?” She nods with a smile.

“Okay.” She wraps her arms around his neck and hugs him tightly.

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#daryl dixion x reader #daryl dixon x reader #daryl dixon x you #daryl dixon imagine #domesticated daryl dixon #daryl dixon x y/n #the walking dead imagine #the walking dead fic #the walking dead x reader

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precious-little-scoundrel · 5 months

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Regency Elvis

No I haven’t got a title for the series yet send help

…to seem like cherries in the spring…

Unedited, written today in between work because I have a brain worm with this idea and y’all have been requesting more Honeymoon vibes and while this has no learjets or even smut in this installment, I think I’ll be able to provide that shortly as i build a lead up. So heads up, this story will become quite mature. And dubious. So if that’s not your jam, be aware. For now have 3k of Pg 13 virginal musings on an arranged marriage to a roguish man. 😏

I picture 1973-ish, post divorce Elvis for this era, it’s part of the morose, vampiric kick he was on, he was serving such kitsch and seemed like he was pissed and maybe a tad bitter and I’d really like him to take that out on me so…here we are. Also, I’ll be joyfully ripping off Jane Austen’s writings and Beau Brummell’s life for this, as well as smushing Pre-Raphaelite artists too near to the Napoleonic wars. Also, I won’t apologize for overusing the word “oneself” to describe…oneself. But this is mainly about being ridden hard by grumpy, divorced and needing an heir Elvis so, let’s not fret over historic details. Lord knows the man may end up having unseen depths, kindly ones, one hopes

It didn’t take one as experienced as yourself and your maid longer than five minutes to don one’s evening gown in private and add the last touches to the arrangement of one’s hair.

You had been gone from your bridal party more than twenty.

Yet no one noticed.

Too busy in the adjoining sitting room discussing your business behind the closed door, such as marriage was a woman’s business, or perhaps your mother knew you needed such peace before stepping out and spending the evening making happy over your engagement.

A Husband.

You were bound to be given to one at some point but that didn’t help one resign oneself to it as much as one might hope. Yet it wasn’t a shock, not if you were being honest and it helped perhaps that he was your father’s acquaintance and that anyone so young and penniless and handsome as to have caught your girlish yearnings beforehand had, in a polite fit of heroism, gone off to France and got themselves summarily pulverized by Napoleon's artillery. Finest cannons in the world, it was said, killed half a generation of young Englishmen in the flower of their youth.

So now, adorned with spring blossoms about your virgin head and stood in your childhood room for close the last time, you hoped those bright young men were pleased with themselves for leaving you in such a lurch.

There were worse fates than marriage to a very wealthy, very reticent, very bewhiskered stranger. Cannon balls to the gut, for instance, or a hussar’s saber to the neck. That’s what you told yourself hourly in these days of lonely, neglected engagement. But according to your mother’s friends, commonly chittering over your head as they readied you for the day and even now in the adjoining room, heedless of your prolonged absence, you were facing a martyrdom of sorts.

“-such rank and such commendations, they are the product of wartime and now that peace is in sight, really Hortencia, what will there be of their social standing? Your poor girl. This match is a disgrace waiting to happen.”

“The Prince is bound to tire of Mr. Presley’s fashions and his sports, then where will the new couple be? Where will you stand? How can you bear it, Hortencia?”

“His commonness aside, it’s in poor taste of him to marry the daughter of one’s investor. It speaks of…of leverage.” This later part was hissed as if it were a terrible scandal.

That was very much the point of your marriage, you had surmised -leverage. But with the slowly tanking fortunes of your own noble family, just about anyone who condescended to marry you would be in a position to be a savior, one might as well have a wealthy and impressive savior, if one was going to be saved, than have a squalid and portly savior, no matter how very royal and inbred his noble blood. Not that the ladies saw it that way.

Common, quite common your groom was, and yet far too wealthy to be ignored. Companion to the Prince Regent, Arbiter of Dandified Refinement and a coal mining tycoon from the country. Filthy rich, passably handsome from your brief observations and rich. Did we already mention that? That he was Rich?

You were going to enjoy a wealthy husband, you were determined, and you were going to aid your poor, cheated parents as best you could in your new wifley position. Which was more than what those chattering crone’s outside could boast in terms of their own daughter’s loyalties or affections.

You dismissed your maid and twirled before the mirror, allowing yourself one last moment of peace and preening -eavesdropping, too- before joining them. You looked very fresh. That much was commendable, you hoped you didn’t look too young or if you did, you had hopes he wouldn’t mind. Not that first impressions mattered much, the engagement settled and the contracts drawn up, but you did so wish to not be spurned. You had only met him once, and you’d been a child then, tiny gloved hand shaking his when you should have been curtseying, he was younger then, too, and happy and gay enough to laugh it off.

That was before her.

You hadn’t met him since, though at times he was at the far upper end of your fathers table or across the room at court or else straddling the enclosures at ascot. But he had been younger then, merrier, less…hairy, less maudlin and less tanned than he was now.

But all of this erstwhile gallant merriment had been witnessed by you from a distance, and you had not seen much of him at all during his brief marriage, his wife’s preferment of town and its vanities grew with his one disillusionment of them. They had taken to the country in what one supposes was an attempt at refocusing. Harmonizing, a chin up try at domesticity and fidelity.

What occurred instead had the whole nation reeling in scandalized shock.

“There are far more unsuitable candidates in the upper echelons of society,” your mothers voice floated in, soft yet strained in her effort to

maintain civility with her supposed friends, “she could do far worse. A girl can grow used to the mature habits of an older man, she does not grow used to cruel caprices of vain peacocks.”

”Hortencia, it is natural to console oneself in the face of tragedy, but dear friend, you are handing your child to a wolf.”

You wanted to snicker at the thought that mother’s friends had waited until days before your wedding to showcase their tender, loving concern. You would be glad to move to the country with your new husband, to leave behind such stupid circles, loneliness on the open moors of Northumbria was welcome compared to the shiny cesspools of London and Bath.

“And his wife not yet dead!” Mrs. Turvydrop would be the one to object to that aspect.

In your occasional fits of honesty regarding the entire situation, you had to admit that the living existence of his divorced young wife, somewhere thriving in the continental Riviera, gave you a mild panic. The church was not at all fond of such breaking of covenants, but the woman had been in the wrong, there was a lover, there was a midnight abandonment of her husband‘s house, and there were the acquittals for manslaughter given to your groom.

Indeed, were it not for this public shame hanging over his otherwise irreproachably fabulous career as a national success at everything he set his hand to, you doubted that Mr. Presley would even consider marrying someone with so little to offer as yourself. Life is full of things we wish were different, and you wished your fiancé did not have a living first wife. So did Mrs. Turvydrop, it seemed, although you doubted the deadness of the previous Lady Presley would have done much good to the reputation of a man so ruggedly unconcerned with convention.

“His wife was adulterous. The Bible and the church give room for such annulments.” Your mother was at the ready, though her voice was weary. “This marriage will be Sanctioned before God, it is all quite proper, I assure you.”

“Indeed, but is he? A prince's companion is no recommendation for a husband.”

“Truly!” Another voice rose up to agree, “it leaves open all sorts of speculation as to what kind of man would drive his young wife to such extremes! She was every bit as sweet and delicate as your child. To have been driven to madness from such a genteel beginning suggests much blame on his part.”

“He is common. What did they expect?”

“Common? He is uncouth, why his taste for food and confectionery is so bizarre as to be nearly repulsive, forget that it is served on gold plates.”

“You could even say, without much speculation, that it serves to reason his marital tastes are similarly appalling.”

“Rough appetites those mining men.” Lydia Carmichael’s voice agreed and you laid your hand on the knob, knowing your procrastination was inexcusable but far too invested in the subject being discussed to think of interrupting. “What if he -what if he’s brutish?”

“Yes!” Countess Jessop warmed to the theory and a Cacophony of scandalized voices rose like girls adding to a ghost story in the upstairs attic of a finishing school. “What if he was so…so brutish…that his poor lady wife had to flee from him?”

“Horse flesh and steam engines.” Mrs. Turvydrop sagely expounded, “It’s the only thing I’ve heard tell that interests him.”

“And a good waistcoat.” Countess Jessop tittered.

“Mark my words Hortencia, he has foul designs for your child.” Lydia Carmichael sighed, “He’ll break that girl like a licorice stick.”

“By your own admission he’ll likely be too busy with horses and steam engines to bother with her.” your mother returned wryly and filled yourself with smug comradery for her wit, you opened the door and presented yourself to the doubters.

The picture of you was hardly settling.

Virginal and swathed in blushing pink silks, your copious flowers were perhaps overdone but you looked a May Queen, airy and bright, like one touch of a masculine finger on your porcelain self would wilt you like a peony, breathed upon too hard.

Your eager face questioned your mother, a silent, unspoken query: “do you think he’ll like it? Will he like me?”

Her eyes filled with tears, seeing in you her promising young babe and a bound bride all at once. She saw you briefly as a man might, and she trembled at the sudden vision she had of Elvis Aaron Presley, Esquire and Dandy sinking his teeth into you like a delectable pastry.

“You are a vision of loveliness, dear.” she expressed with a choked voice, eyes watery and hands trembling as she grasped your own. The confusion shown on your face at her grief hurt her deeply, she knew you were not naive but you were a hopeless optimist, and as such you could beam and blush at so grave a prospect as marrying a wounded man. Like stags, spurned husbands tended to be crueler in their second rut. “Come, let us go down and join the men.” she urged with a brave smile and you followed her, gloved hand pressed in hers.

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fastandtheformula1 · 1 year

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Hi, Ro! First of all let me claim this 🐻 emoji can I? since I'm your anon fans haha. But it's true bcs I really adore your writing, they always made my day so thanks!

Sooo, I'd like to request an Ollie oneshot or imagine. I've my own prompt and plot if you're okay with it. Here is mine:

Ollie had been dating Y/N for couple of years but they kept it a secret from everyone. One day Ollie was doing a stream with his fans, he told Y/N about it and she planned to stay in the room so that she wouldn't be in the spotlight while Ollie was streaming. However, Y/N accidentally went to the room where Ollie was streaming bcs she couldn't find her stuff and the fans saw Y/N, then they started asking who Y/N was. Y/N tried to cover up about who she was bcs she worried Ollie would be mad, but Ollie did the opposite.

Ollie invited her to join the stream and did a go public. Y/N was scared bcs she was just a very ordinary british girl, she was just a nerd when most drivers tend to date someone famous, also everything was too sudden, she was afraid that Ollie's fans wouldn't like the idea of their fav driver already had a partner but Ollie comforted her, and they read those messages from the fans admired her beauty even supported their relationship. Maybe there's cute part when both of them answered some of fans questions about them.

Some prompt from me if you wanna use:

"She may look ordinary but I love her a lot, like a looooot. Also, my girl is bloody smart, soon to be my engineer!"

"See? They say you are beautiful! I know right?!"

"I love her bcs she makes the best smoothies in the world."

SORRY BCS IT'S VERY LONG BUT I JUST WANT TO WRITE WHAT'S IN MY HEAD BUT THE REST IS UP TO YOU. Thank youuu x

-anon🐻

Ollie Bearman- Why

a/n: first thank you so much that’s so sweet of you 🥹🥰 and yes ofc you can take that emoji! okay I LOVE the idea of secretive/protective bf Ollie! not that he doesn’t want to show you off, he 100% does, but he just doesn’t want the press to invade your personal space, etc. also I’m thinking childhoodfriend!reader… hope this is okay!

pairing: ollie bearman x childhoodfriend!reader

summary: you accidentally join ollie's stream causing you guys to go public with your relationship.

warnings: cursing

word count: 1,239

not my gif!

You and Ollie had been keeping your relationship secret for a while. You’d known Ollie your entire life, him being the perfect boy-next-door when you moved to Essex for your dad’s job. It was hard for you to adapt to your new school and environment, so you were always at Ollie’s house. He’d always been friendly and kind, and overall was a great person.

The few times you were out in public with Ollie after he got into F2, a few people noticed him and asked you to take their picture with him. It never bothered you; you were always happy that people recognized him for his hard work.

People remembered you as that one girl Ollie hangs out with. They saw glimpses of you, but no one knew that you two were together. You two had been dating for 2 and a half years, and things couldn’t be going better. You’d moved in together a few months ago, and were talking about getting engaged; he even suggested starting to look for rings.

“I’m gonna start streaming in like half an hour, okay?” “Okay.” “Okay. I love you.” “I love you too.”

Now you were sitting on you and Ollie’s couch, waiting for his livestream to be over. He told you that he’d be about an hour, which was normal for one of his streams. When he isolated himself into his room, you cleaned up a few things around the house, enjoying the quiet and peacefulness that echoed through the house. Ollie was always energetic and lively, but you needed some quiet time. Unfortunately without him, you were getting bored now. His livestream had gone on an extra twenty minutes longer than he said it would be.

Over the course of a few months, you’d picked up the hobby of crocheting. You had made little dinosaurs and flowers and gave them to your friends. Your current project was a brown teddy bear since Ollie’s birthday was coming up, but you couldn’t find it. You tore apart your room looking for it. It took you months to get the little feet right, and its hands. Then it hit you

You probably left it in Ollie’s room since he wanted you to stay with him last night.

“Baby please stay. You’re warm.” “You’re gonna fall asleep.” You chuckled. “That’s the point. Please, princess?” “Fine. Only ‘cause you’re cute when you’re needy.”

After he nodded off, you sneaked out of his room and grabbed his gift and sat in his desk chair, watching him sleep as you crocheted.

You looked around the floor, scanning for the half finished teddy bear. “Babe, have you seen my-”

“Y/N-”

“I swear it was right here.” You looked at Ollie who had wide eyes and a worried expression on his face, gesturing with his eyes towards the camera. He got up, trying to block your face from the camera.

“Oh crap.”

You glanced towards the screen, seeing the comments blowing up.

who is that??

is that his gf?

wait she looks familiar!!!

You rushed out of the room, swearing at yourself. You guys had been so careful about your relationship for the past few years, and now you’d gone and ruined it. You started pacing into the hallway, eventually ending up in the living room.

Oh shit. Oh shit. What had you just done? Ollie would be forever mad at you. You heard Ollie quickly excuse himself from the livestream, hearing his footsteps coming closer and closer. Oh god. You started to panic, your breathing becoming faster and your chest feeling heavy.

“Love?”

You only groaned in response.

“Hey. It’s okay.”

“Oh my god. I’m so sorry, Ol. Shit.”

“Y/N,” He sat down next to you, putting his arm around you. “Oh my god. Oh my god.”

“Y/N,” His voice was soothing and reassuring. “Just breathe, baby. It’s alright.”

“Fuck. Fuck. I’m so sorry,” He pulled you into his chest, stroking your hair.

“Shh. It’s okay, baby. Just breathe.”

It’d been about a week since the incident, you and Ollie laying low for the first few days, then slowly getting back on social media. Ollie had reassured you that everything was going to be okay, which it was. After it wasn’t a sore subject anymore, he suggested a Q&A so people would get to know you a little better. To his surprise, you said yes. So here you were, sat in front of his camera.

“Hey guys! This is my girlfriend, Y/N. Today we’ll be answering some of your guys’ questions.” He turned to you and wrapped his arm around you, giving you some support.

“Hi.” You’d felt a little anxious, since you never had been much of a vlogger or a YouTuber, so it was all new territory for you. You started reading the comments to yourself, and to your surprise they were actually really nice. You’d heard horror stories of drivers’ girlfriends getting death threats and whatnot.

Wait she’s actually really pretty

Aww they’re so cute!!!! 🥰🥰

#imgonnabealoneforever

I love your hair!!!

The way he looks at herrrrrrr. God 😭🥹

If he looked at me like that i’d melt on the spot ngl

You giggled at some of the comments, letting Ollie take the reins as he answered questions about him in the Ferrari Academy. You got more comfortable as you listened to him talk about driving, as some of the questions veered towards your guys’ relationship.

how long have you guys known each other?

First date storytime!!!! please!!!!

One question in particular caught your eye: Why did you hide your relationship for so long?

“Honestly, it was Ollie,” You answered honestly. “Guess he didn’t want me revealing his deepest darkest secrets during parties and events. I get chatty when I’m nervous,” You explained.

“No,” He said, hugging you closer to him. “Just didn’t want the press getting to you, love.” He placed a kiss on your temple

do you have a job/career? If so what is it??? <3

“Oh, well actually, I’m in school right now, but I’m aiming to be an engineer.”

“My smart girl!” He said, pinching your cheek.

“Ow.” You said, swatting his hand away. You chuckled at him, smiling at him.

You both answered a few more questions, laughing and making fun of each other until you both stopped and read the same one:

just curious, r u guys thinking long term? I love u guys btw!!!

“Oh, um,” You looked over at Ollie, seeing how he was going to answer the question. He did the same.

“I think so. I really like her, so-”

“Actually, I kinda hate you, baby. I forgot to tell you.” You joked.

You guys said good-bye to the fans and ended the livestream and decided to watch a movie.

You were laying with Ollie on the couch. For some reason you’d still felt guilty about what happened.

“You okay? You’re so tense all of a sudden.”

“I’m sorry about the whole livestream situation, honey,” The words came out on their own. “I know you didn’t want our relationship to come out like that.” You said, looking up at him. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay my love. I know it was an accident. No need to apologize,” He leaned forward and kissed you on the forehead.

You looked back at the screen, feeling the stress leaving your body.

“Honey?”

“Hmm?”

“What were you looking for, anyway?”

“Oh, um, you’ll find out soon enough."

#fanfiction #formual 1 #formula 2 #ollie bearman #oliver bearman #ferarri #formula one #prema racing #ferrari academy #carlos sainz f1 #charles leclerc #arthurleclerc

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edeluarts · 6 months

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A little analysis of this part in the Odyssey:

Reading time: ~10 minutes

Book 23, The Great Rooted Bed, Fagles' tr-n There he sat, leaning against the great central column, eyes fixed on the ground, waiting, poised for whatever words his hardy wife might say when she caught sight of him. A long while she sat in silence … numbing wonder filled her heart as her eyes explored his face. One moment he seemed … Odysseus, to the life— the next, no, he was not the man she knew, a huddled mass of rags was all she saw.

“Oh mother,” Telemachus reproached her, “cruel mother, you with your hard heart! Why do you spurn my father so—why don’t you sit beside him, engage him, ask him questions? What other wife could have a spirit so unbending? Holding back from her husband, home at last for her after bearing twenty years of brutal struggle— your heart was always harder than a rock!” “My child,” Penelope, well-aware, explained, “I’m stunned with wonder, powerless. Cannot speak to him, ask him questions, look him in the eyes … But if he is truly Odysseus, home at last, make no mistake: we two will know each other, even better— we two have secret signs, known to us both but hidden from the world.”

Odysseus, long-enduring, broke into a smile and turned to his son with pointed, winging words: “Leave your mother here in the hall to test me as she will. She soon will know me better. Now because I am filthy, wear such grimy rags, she spurns me—your mother still can’t bring herself to believe I am her husband.<...>

Telemachus is a precious baby, we've established that.

But he does act a bit like a brat with Penelope a couple times. Of course I don't think that any of that is malicious or that he doesn't love her, but he's still being a bit of a brat.

They both suffered, their pain was similar, but also very different, their experiences and the way they processed it were different as well.

Moreover, at this moment Telemachus has already spent some time with Odysseus. They already had their meeting/reunion and they already cried it out (to an extent. I'm sure there's more crying they'll do afterwards). They even had a father-son bonding activity (a.k.a. the slaughter of the suitors). Telemachus got to know his father at least a little bit over the past couple of days and at this point he processed and accepted the idea of Odysseus being back.

Penelope, on the other hand, was told about it just a moment ago. She can't immediately go "oh, you're saying Odysseus is back? Wonderful, let me greet him", no. Odysseus wasn't away on a short hunting trip or something, he was away for two whole decades, half of that time he was pretty much thought to be dead by most people (the first half wasn't that much better, as he could've still died any time during the war, but at least he wasn't lost, Penelope knew where he was).

Now she needs time to wrap her head around what is happening. We even see her thoughts as she goes to meet Odysseus:

Penelope started down from her lofty room, her heart in turmoil, torn … should she keep her distance, probe her husband? Or rush up to the man at once and kiss his head and cling to both his hands?

She wants to reunite with him, she wants this to be true, but she can't be sure of anything now. They have been apar for longer than they knew each other. Does he still love her like he used to? Is he the man she loved? Is it even the real Odysseus in the first place? She needs to process everything, as well as confirm all the information herself, and Telemachus, at least at this moment, doesn't comprehend that. He's acting quite immature, scolding his mother for not immediately believing and accepting that Odysseus is back.

This is a very interesting detail. First it once again shows us that Telemachus still lacks a lot of maturity, despite having been on his coming of age trip. He's still very young.

Yes, he definitely grew a lot in that short time, but it would've been impossible for him to learn everything at once, he still has a lot of that immaturity left in him, there's still a lot of room to grow and that's completely understandable. We, as people, grow for our whole lives and Tele is doing remarkably well, especially considering his circumstances.

Another interesting thing about this part is that it shows Telemachus', perhaps a bit childish, impatience. He is a kid, who finally met his dad (and his biggest hero), he knows that his mother was suffering and grieving for pretty much his whole life (with things getting a lot worse over the past decade). From Telemachus' perspective Odysseus' return is supposed to solve all their problems, especially since their biggest problem, a.k.a. the suitors, was just taken care of and it wouldn't have happened without Odysseus.

Telemachus just wants a happy family. His dad is back and seems to love him, the suitors are gone, now his parents should reunite, his mother will stop grieving and everything will be perfect. This is something he dreamt of his whole life and it's finally so close, but his mother doesn't immediately believe him. She doesn't immediately accept Odysseus and Telemachus doesn't understand why. He is too preoccupied with wanting things finally to be okay, that he doesn't take time to think about what Penelope must be feeling. It doesn't even occur to him. Perhaps it's also partially the need to be believed and listened to, which is also something he lacked growing up around suitors and being treated as a child, but I'm not diving into that right now.

Odysseus, on the other hand, understands what's going on. He assures his son, that everything will be okay. He pretty much does a more adult version of "mom and dad will take care of this, you go play for a bit". Odysseus understands Penelope's reaction and goes from there. Of course he wants to be in her embrace as soon as possible, but considering everything she has been through, he definitely can't just suddenly grab her and do what he wants. This is his dearly beloved wife and he wants her to take on that role voluntarily, like she did before, he wants her to accept him as her dear husband, like she did before, and for that he has to let her do it at her own pace. He tries to meet her where she's at, to do this reunion on her terms, to assure her, that he is, who he says he is and who others tell her he is.

This is just so amazing and I love their relationship so much (T▿T)♡

I also love Penelope's reaction to Telemachus' words. She doesn't react negatively, she is remarkably calm and part of it is probably the shock from what's happening, but still, she is "well-aware". I think that she knows Telemachus really well, because even though he has surprised her with how much he matured, he's still the same boy, he's still her kid. She most likely understands where Telemachus' outburst is coming from and doesn't get angry, doesn't scold him for his impatience, she reassures him. She lets him know, that he doesn't need to be scared of things falling apart and that she isn't looking to reject Odysseus. She's looking for Odysseus and she hopes she can find him in that familiar and strange man before her. She just needs time, but she will be taking the effort to search for what she's looking for, now that she has a way (she wouldn't have been able to go searching for Odysseus at sea, but now he's, supposedly, right here and she will handle it like the queen that she is).

#the odyssey #this is just my interpretation of this scene #you're completely free to interpret it differently #I wrote this analysis a while ago and now decided to share it here #hope you enjoyed #odysseus #telemachus #penelope #they all care about each other so much and they've been through a lot #just give this family all the happiness #please TT #tagamemnon #greek mythology #the “reading time” mentioned above is how long it took me personally to read this whole post properly #I just find time estimates like this helpful when I'm about to read something long #obviously not everyone's time would be the same #someone might read slower. others might read faster and that's okay #I just thought this might be helpful to someone like it usually is to me #certainly no harm in putting it here)))#odyssey rant

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noorpersona · 27 days

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You Can't Be Serious NSFW (Reader x Iwaizumi)

High school is an extremely short era in people's lives. The choices you make don’t really matter, and the friends you made in that time usually wash away in the memories that overtake you in the cruel hours of early morning.

For most people at least.

In life, you’d guess that the world was split in two with these drastically different, but equally true opinions. But for you, it’d definitely be the first one. Had you not randomly joined the Seijoh High School boys' volleyball club on a whim as manager in your first year, you were very sure that your life would be completely different than it is right now.

You wouldn’t have four best friends that you keep in contact and chat with almost every day, and even more so, you wouldn’t being engaged at this very moment.

Yes, you were in fact engaged to your first crush and one of your very best friends. You weren’t high school sweethearts, and it wasn’t love at first sight, but more of a gradual thing that had started by the start of college and grown into something that you wouldn’t trade for the world. The ring adorning your left hand was a weight you’ve gladly grown accustomed to, having the ability to make you smile whenever the glimmer of the diamond caught your eye.

Of course, smiling to yourself in a random café was a little embarrassing, but hell if you couldn’t stop yourself. Instead, your smiling turned from the ring to the man you called out your name. You wouldn’t' be surprised if the people sitting in nearby tables thought that the man coming towards you, seemingly intimidating with the number of piercings and tattoos he had, however canceled out with the lazy grin slapped on his face, was your husband-to-be. But you both knew better.

“Hey there, Iwaizumi-san.” Matsukawa’s voice is light and teasing as he approaches your table, with you standing to greet him properly, head shaking slightly at his antics. You give him a quick hug, smiling up at him.

“You don’t have to call me that Issei. Though I will admit it does have a nice ring to it.” He hums as you both go to sit at the table again. “Also, you’re twenty minutes late. What’d you do, crawl here?”

Matsukawa clicks his tongue.

“I came here as fast as I could. It takes a lot of effort to look this good you know.” His arm raises to gesture at himself, jacket slipping down a little ways down his wrist where you could see the beginning of his most recent tattoo that you were against him getting. (What, 14 aren’t enough for you?) You snort.

“Believe me, I know.” He raises his pierced brow at you.

“Hey, it's just chance Hajime got to you first. I could’ve had you if I wanted you.” Its’ your turn to raise a brow.

“Issei... You’re gay.” His response is immediate.

“And he’s goddamn lucky I am. You would’ve fallen for me in an instant if I turned it on back then.” If this wasn’t considered a nice place, you’re sure he would’ve put his feet up on the table, confidence and pride just oozing off him, in the way you admittedly loved.

“Really now? Well, I’m sure my personal trainer fiancé would love to hear that.” A beat of silence hits the table.

“You play dirty.”

You shrug. “Where’s the fun in playing fair?”

“You gotta point.” You chuckle, finally looking at the menu given to you when you were first seated at the table. Matsukawa had actually invited you to lunch, for what you had assumed would be a mini celebration of yours and Hajime’s engagement, but only problem is...

Hajime wasn’t invited. In fact, you were told not to tell him you were going at all.

And, to your knowledge, he was a supposed to be a pretty important aspect of the celebration. When you had initially asked the reason to this impromptu lunch, and why you were told to keep it a secret from your fiancé, Matsukawa had been danced around the question, saying something along the lines of ‘What, I can’t ask one of my best friends to a random lunch? What is up with this society?’

Needless to say, you were suspicious.

You conspicuously look up from your menu, watching Matsukawa as he read his casually. As though this meeting was truly innocent, like there was nothing up his sleeve.

You’d known this man much too long to think for any second he’d do anything with innocent intent.

A server comes and takes your orders quickly and tells you that your food should arrive shortly. In this time, you figure out a proper strategy to try and find out what the hell this man is planning.

“So...” You start, fingers lightly circling the wooden table separating you two. “Mind telling me why you brought me out here so suddenly and why I was sworn to secrecy?” Matsukawa looks to you with half lidded eyes like he usually does, smile light and playful. Truly, an amazing poker face. Had you known him any less you

would’ve been none the wiser, but thankfully, you knew him all too well.

“I can’t take some time out of my very busy work life to see my favourite person in our ragtag group? Do you trust me that little?” You deadpan.

“Yes, I trust you that little. And what busy work life? Takahiro literally just told me you went out and bought as many RubberDucks with sunglasses you could find two days ago. For fun.” He scoffs.

“Well, excuse you, my work is very tiring. I need to find some ways to relax.” You can’t stop the roll of your eyes.

“You work at a funeral home and part time.”

“One could argue I’m doing the Lord’s work.” You fail to mask your face with the veil of annoyance, letting your smile take away any intensity you might’ve had. Chats with Matsukawa definitely didn’t get old.

“Then being the Lord’s helper, don’t you think you could cut the bullshit and tell me what it is you want from me?” He snickers, then goes silent. His face turns deadly serious in an instant, and his eyes meet yours. His stare was so intense you started to get a bit frightened. Was there actually something going on?

“I’m pregnant.” The tightening you felt in your chest was lifted as your tired sigh filled the air surrounding you. You wonder if this lunch was actually worth your time, in the moments that Matsukawa tries to contain his laughter to small chuckles.

“Issei...” He raises his hands in the air in surrender.

“Fine, fine. I brought you out here because I wanted to give you a little engagement present.” Your mood significantly lightens up at his words, mostly because the tiny anxieties in the back of your head of something bad really happening was finally put at bay. The sound of a ruffled paper bag hits your ears as he pulls your present from under the table and on top. (Really, how did you not notice it earlier?)

But you were still a little confused.

“And Hajime couldn’t know because?” Your question trails on as you grab the bag, peering over the table to a smaller white box in the bag. The box was unmarked, and you wondered what it could be.

“He’d beat the shit outta me.” Matsukawa said matter of factly. “He told us no gifts, remember?” Come to think about it, you do remember that. After he announced that you two were engaged to Matsukawa, Hanamakki, and Oikawa you vividly remember Oikawa over video crying about the things he could send from Barcelona, and Hajime saying that’d he punch him the next time they met if he did.

Hajime didn’t really like gifts all that much and it was understandable. He was the kind of guy who appreciated your company more than materialistic objects, which is something you did find really sweet. And he wasn’t alone in his opinion either, since you didn’t really like gifts either, but your reasoning was much shallower; In all honesty, having to remember who gave what and try to reciprocate the level of quality that person had given you before is a hassle.

You’d rather just be given money and be done with it.

But you would be lying to say that it didn’t feel nice to have someone go through the trouble of doing this.

“Aw, Issei... You didn’t have to...” He smiled again, slightly more genuine than the last. “It’s not a problem.” You thanked him, before enthusiastically looking at the box, attempting to open it.

“Actually, I’d refrain from opening it now.” He stops you dead in your tracks, and you look up confused.

“Huh? Why?”

“Let’s just say it's something you definitely wanna open alone.” Your expression makes him laugh but he doesn’t say anything further. You have half the nerve to throw caution to wind and open it anyways, but something deep inside your conscience tells you to listen to him. You hold your slightly concerned gaze, as you gently place the box back into the bag.

“Alright then...” You say cautiously, putting the bag next to your chair. “Can you at least tell me what it is?” His grin turns Cheshire.

“I’m bound by the law of my own unwillingness, and it has extremely strict regulations. So, unfortunately, I’m unable to tell you at this current moment in time. You’ll just have to see for yourself.” He says causally as he watches you slump back in your seat like a child with a laugh. You give him a side glance.

"So, you really just called me out here to give me this?”

“Yup.”

“With no other allterior motive?”

“Nope.” You sigh again, right as your food is being delivered. You both give a quick thanks.

“And you couldn’t have told me this over the phone?”

“What fun is that?” He says, mouth now full of food. You scoff as you begin to eat

your own, still slightly annoyed for being worried over seemingly nothing. Matsukawa notices.

“Aww, are you mad? What can I do for you to forgive me?” His mock pleading voice makes you smile again despite yourself. You click your tongue.

“You can start by treating me.” And with that you drop it. _________________________

The rest of the meal was quite pleasant, with Matsukawa paying for your meal just like you asked and congratulating you once again. You make plans to have lunch again with him and Hanamakki sometime soon, then finally leave for home.

During the meal, you mostly forgot about the present Matsukawa got for you. Sure, the delivery was weird, but Matsukawa was just weird in nature, so you didn’t really think much of it. You loosely held the bag in your hand as you took the train ride home. Your walk back was calm, and everything was ordinary until you returned to the small one-bedroom apartment that you and Hajime shared.

“I’m home!” You called out, taking off your coat and shoes. You hear no response. You crinkle your nose. Hajime should be home by now. You walk into the living, looking for your fiancé, to find a small note on the little table you have your meals on.

Had to pick up someone's shift at the gym, so I’ll be home late tonight. Don’t worry about food I’ll get some on the way. Love you, Hajime

You feel warmth race through you at the note. You always teased him about stuff like this, saying that he should text you instead, but he still did it anyways.

Not that it matters anyways, he knows you like it.

You let a little exhale as you place the note back down. Looks like you're on your own for the rest of the evening. You decide that today would be the perfect time to do nothing but lazy around, since you haven’t done that in a long time and it’s a Friday night damnit. Living an adult lifestyle can be so tiring sometimes, and you deserve a break.

You nod to yourself and prepare for a day of relaxing, throwing your clothes into your hamper and taking the necessary items for a long hot shower. You take your time, letting the warm water ease your tense muscles, and calm you down entirely.

By the time you finish, the bathroom is full of steam, and you know that you’re going to cringe at your water bill this month, but at the moment you didn’t care. You wrap

yourself with your towel and exit filled with bliss. Mind free of all ailments. At least until your eyes land on that paper bag.

You stare at it, and you swear it stares back at you. Every second that passes, you feel your curiosity peak more and more until you can barely stand it.

“Let’s just say it's something you definitely wanna open alone.”

Matsukawa’s words bounce around in your head, and it is his words that make you grab the bag and move to your bedroom, setting it on the bed before removing the unmarked box from its confinements.

You’re eager yet weirdly cautious as you open the box, seeing nothing but coloured tissue paper on the surface. Removing that you find a smaller package. Picking it up you instantly recognize it as the weight of clothes.

Seems normal enough. Why would I not want to open this in public?

You rip the packaging open, to be met with the reason as to why he didn’t want you opening this in public. Your jaw dropped.

It was the sluttiest lingerie set you’d ever seen, in fact, lingerie would be an overstatement.

Lingerie had more fabric than this monstrosity.

It came with a thick light pink collar, and you wish that the was the worst of it. The top was completely pink mesh, made to show everything except the nipples, which even then didn’t do that job correctly because you knew there was no way that would be covering anything properly with this material. The panties, if you could even call them that, were just three pink strings, not even covering what underwear was supposed to cover.

And of course, there were some thigh highs. Because why not add more to this shitshow.

Your face grows more and more red as you stare at the ‘clothes’ in your hands. You stare and stare, and stare... Until your embarrassment of holding such an item turns to pure rage and bitter resentment towards the person that is Matsukawa Issei.

You dial his number in anger and shame, getting more pissed for every ring you hear. Finally, he answers. You don’t even give him time to say hello.

“You perverted son of a bitch.” There’s a pause.

“Hi, you’ve actually reached the boyfriend of the aforementioned ‘perverted son of a bitch’. Can I be of service to you?” Hanamakki’s tone is mockingly serious, amplified over the crispness of the phone audio, and you’re really not in the mood.

“Where the hell is Issei?”

“I’m afraid he’s occupied with a couple dozen RubberDucks and a bath. Perhaps I can solve your issue?” You scoff.

“My issue is that your boyfriend is a sick fuck.” You practically spit. There's another pause.

“Didn’t we establish this? Like a long time ago?” You let out an exasperated sigh. You don’t know why you’re even bothering at this point, there are two peas of the same pod; they were practically made for each other.

“Takahiro, I’m serious. You won’t believe what that rat bastard gave me as an ‘engagement present’.” You use the term present lightly. Like anyone would ever want this.

“Yeah, I know. Can you believe I owe his dumbass a 1000 yen now?” Your eyes narrow in confusion, letting out another scoff unintentionally.

“You knew?”

“Please, I was the one who picked it out.” You tried multiple times to make sensible sentences, but your frustration was getting the better of you. Hanamakki listens to you stumble over your sentences patiently. You take a couple of deep breaths, not wanting your blood pressure to rise.

“Why?” You stress, after realizing that you wouldn’t be able to form anything coherent.

“I’ve actually prepared a whole presentation on this subject matter. It mostly concentrates on, ‘Why the hell not?’” He snickers.

You could swear you saw read.

“Takahiro.” Your tone is clearly conveying your current emotions because you swore you could hear Hanamakki gulp nervously. “Look, it was only a gag gift. No harm, no foul. If you don’t want to use it-” You cut him off with another of your scoffs.

“I’m sorry, ‘Use it’?! What on earth would I use this abomination for?!” There's a beat of silence between you two.

“...Do we really need to have this conversation?” Your nose unintentionally wrinkles.

“You’re not really saying, that either Hajime or I would enjoy this?” You raise the items in your hand, as though Hanamakki could see.

“You, maybe not. But Hajime, most definitely.” You blink, once, twice, slowly.

It’s you who doesn’t say anything for a while, as you stare at the lingerie in your hand.

Hajime would like this? Really?

You could hear Hanamakki sigh on the other end.

“I can practically hear you contemplating your life choices. I am actually sorry if it made you uncomfortable.” You narrow your eyes.

“Are you really?”

“No, this conversation has been really fun. But,” You roll your eyes. “What I’m telling you is true. That thing is maddening I’ll say that much.”

“Yes, because your advice on me and my fiancés' sex life is much appreciated.” You hear his laugh.

“I’m only saying that if Issei came out in something like that, we wouldn’t be leaving the house for days-”

“Ew, ew, I’m hanging up now.” You abruptly end the phone call upon the images of your best friends doing things in certain outfits infiltrate your mind.

You sigh heavily, all the work you put into relaxing dissipating into nothing after a single phone call. You lay back on your bed, eyes trailing to the fabric still in your hand.

That thing is maddening I’ll say that much.

You wince at the fresh memory bouncing in your head, unable to think about anything else.

You sit up straight, a newfound sense of frustration and throw fashion’s version of the spawn of Satan back in its box.

You had more self-respect than this. You had more pride than this.

You would never, ever, put yourself in a position where someone could ever see you like that. It was gross, weird and something you’d never do.

Never, ever.

_________________________

You can’t believe you’re doing this.

Your head is bowed in shame as you slide the thigh highs on your legs. For as shady as it looked, the material felt surprisingly good.

Whether you liked it or not, Hanamakki knew his shit.

You gave the socks one final tug before standing up and slowly looking at yourself in the mirror, full of fear and distaste that you caved into the words of your idiotic friends.

Your eyes widened at what you saw. You quite literally couldn’t believe it was you.

The bra seemed to fit you perfectly, and you had half a nerve to call up Hanamakki and ask him how he got it so accurately, but a part of you felt it was better to not know the answer. The underwire fit directly into the contours of your breasts, knowing exactly how to push them up and close, creating more cleavage than you’d ever seen on your self. Of course your nipples were showing from the transparency of the fabric, and sheer lack of it showed the bumps of your buds, leaving nothing to the imagination. The underwear hugged tugged your hips downward in the magical ratio of accentuating your waist, really showing off your figure. The string that went directly down your ass also somehow managed to make it look nicer, and you aren’t even sure how.

All in all, you were shocked to say the least. You couldn’t take your eyes off yourself, and you completely understood what Matsukawa and Hanamakki were talking about.

But obviously that didn’t mean showing this to Hajime. You have no idea how he’d react, and honestly, you’re too much of a coward to try and find out.

But apparently, you wouldn’t have much of a choice.

You jump from your trance at the sound of a door opening and closing, your heart jumping up to your throat in pure anxiety.

“I’m home.” You hear Hajime call out from the living, and you immediately start to panic, the sound drying up in your throat. Truth be told you weren’t the best at handling things under pressure, and while there were dozens of possible solutions to your problem, none were coming to mind.

Your name is called in question, your fiancé used to having you welcome him home. You squeak, stumbling to the door.

“I’m in our room, Hajime! I’m just trying something on!” You yell out, all the while

hopping on one foot trying to remove the socks as quickly as possible.

“Oh? You went shopping?” Your heart sinks. On any normal occasion, you’d show him what you’d bought if you did go shopping, so it’d look even more suspicious to hole yourself in your room.

“Oh trust me, this isn’t something I’d ever buy. Ever.” You chuckle nervously.

“What is it?” His voice was clearer now, you could tell he was on the other side of the door. For some reason, you stop undressing.

This thing is maddening I’ll say that much. There’s a pause, but before you know it words are flowing out of your mouth. “Nah, you don’t want to know...” Hajime hears you mumble, embarrassed. He was intrigued.

“Then why would I ask?” A silence follows, consisting of you finding the courage to actually show him this abomination. “You have to promise to not get mad, okay?” Hajime raises a brow.

“...Alright?” You take a minute to get the nerve.

“Issei and Takahiro got us a gift for the engagement-Well, not really it was more of a joke, a gross joke-But I just got curious and-“ You realize that it’d be more embarrassing to explain it rather than show it, so you take a deep breath, hike up your socks and slowly turn the knob. You cautiously open the door to find Hajime standing there, eyes widening the second you came into full view, his breath stuttering. You couldn’t meet his eyes.

“Please don’t laugh.” You sigh out, defeated.

He didn’t say anything, not being able to see his face but peeking high enough to see his Adam’s apple bob.

A couple of seconds felt like hours, and when there was absolutely no response, with your anxiety rising, you quickly tried to diffuse the situation.

“This was clearly a mistake. I’ll just go take it off—“ As you go to turn around, Hajime grips your arm.

Almost desperately. Without a single word spoken. You turn back around, scared and confused.

“Hajime?” You’re barely able to get his name out before he kisses you. Hard enough to make you stumble back into your shared bedroom, almost falling over. He’s quick to catch you though, hands immediately reaching to grab your ass, pressing so firmly

you’re sure it’ll leave marks. His mouth hasn’t left yours, completely dominating you as his tongue licks yours, making your whole body shiver. Your bodies are pressed firmly against each other, with everything happening so fast you don’t realize he had pushed you to the bed.

When his lips finally leave yours, they don’t go very far, travelling down your neck only to lick and bite at it. You could already feel the bruising happening, trying to get a word out before his fingers rubbing over your thinly clothed nipples rendered you unable to talk, only letting out surprised moans and whimpers. He plucks at them until they’re at straining attention, so sensitive you can’t stop the quakes going through your body. You start to feel hot, feeling his warmth come off in sudden waves as you feel the pressure of his chest against your stomach, realizing that he’s travelling downwards.

You aren’t given any warning before the flat of his tongue licks you. You jump up, yelping your fiancé’s name, immediately gripping his hair. This only seems to spur him on, a growl ripping through his throat, vibrating against you as he licks and sucks at your clit with such intensity. You can barely hold yourself together, grip only getting tight and you only getting louder. When he started to point his tongue to make figure eights on your pearl, you swear you began to see stars.

“Hajime—“ You whined, not being coherent enough to say anything else, beginning to feel yourself get closer to climax. With Hajime most likely sensing this, he stops, giving you the first proper look at him.

He looked crazed. More crazed than you’ve ever seen him.

His hair was destroyed (mostly your doing), eyeing you like you were a piece of meat waiting to be devoured, his mouth covered in the essence of you.

“I didn’t say you could cum.” His voice was coarse, his adam’s apple bobbing intensely and you felt yourself shiver.

Something tells you you’re going to be sore in the morning. _________________________ Hours had passed, and the two of you had finally gone to bed. At around 6 in the morning when you both had been fucking since 8 pm.

Needless to say, you were both sleeping rather soundly, in each other’s arms as the afternoon sun shone through your bedroom windows, when Hajime stirred awake from a buzzing,

Groaning, he blinked his tired eyes as he annoyedly searched for the source of the noise, finding your phone on the nightstand, buzzing in a rhythmic tune, and seeing a rubber duck appear on the screen.

Immediately, he knew who it was.

He reached over you, grabbed the phone and answered, only slightly pissed off.

“What do you want?” Issei chuckled. “Man, your morning voice is really rough [Name],” Hajime only grumbled. “You woke me up and almost woke her up. What do you want?” He repeated. Course, Issei only asked the questions that were bound to annoy Hajime. A specialty of his.

“It’s almost 1 pm, what’re you guys doing sleeping in this late?” Hajime went to answer, before going red, looking down next to you sleeping peacefully, covered in hickeys and blemishes. All caused by him.

His silence was all Issei needed.

“Enjoying our gift? Maybe we’ll grab you guys a different pair for your honeymoon?” Hajime turned red, but of course he didn’t want Issei to know that.

“Shut up.” Was all Hajime said before hanging up. Issei chuckled, looking back to Takahiro, also very amused. “I told you they would. You owe me.”

#iwaizumi hajime #iwaizumi x reader #haikyuu iwaizumi #hq iwaizumi #iwaizumi fluff #hq smut #iwaizumi x y/n #iwaizumi smut #hanamaki takahiro #matsukawa issei #oikawa tooru #humour #writing #fanfic

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callsign-magnolia · 11 months

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Lost In Translation // How The Tables Turn

MATURE CONTENT (18+)

Synopsis: Liz falls in love with her childhood best friend, thinking he is the man of her dreams. But what is she to do when the real man of her dreams comes along?

Bradley Bradshaw as Noah

Bobby Floyd as Harrison

Warnings: Angst, cursing, violence, eventual smut.

Collaboration w/: @alltimereverie

Confessions | Masterlist

I adjusted my dress, smiling at myself in the mirror. I was really getting married today, I have waited so long for this to happen.I love Harrison so much, in a way that I never truly felt. I wish Noah was here. I hate that I do, but he’s been my best friend for so long and it almost feels wrong to not have him here. “Wow.” I gasped as I looked into the mirror seeing Noah standing behind me. “You look beautiful, Liz.” I smiled at him before turning and rushing over to him. I threw my arms around his shoulders as I pulled him into a bone crushing hug. “I can’t believe you actually came. I never got an RSVP so I thought you weren’t coming.” Since the bar fight, I haven’t really seen or heard from Noah. I saw him at work occasionally and we exchanged greetings but that was about it. He chuckled, holding a hand out for me. I took it and he spun me around, giving me a small smile. “What’s wrong? You only make that face when there’s a problem.” He shook his head, sniffling a little.

“He’s just a really lucky guy.” I smiled at him before turning back to the stand with my jewelry. “I’d say I’m a lucky woman to land a man as kind and thoughtful as he is.” I looked in the mirror as he stared at me, a look in his eye I’ve never seen. “Where’s Katy?” I asked, hoping he didn’t bring her to my wedding. “We uh-we broke up.” I furrowed my brows and whipped around to look at him. “What? Why?” He pursed his lips, pushing off the door frame to come and stand in front of me. “I realized a few things.” He said, grabbing my left hand, brushing his thumb over the band of my engagement ring. “What?” I asked, furrowing my eyebrows.

“I realized I love you, as more than my best friend. Liz, I’m hopelessly in love with you.” Tears sprung to my eyes at his words. This was not happening, not today. “And I know you love me too.” He said as he brought his hand up, caressing my cheek. I shook my head and pushed his hand away. “So you showed up to confess your feelings on my goddamn wedding day?!” I yelled out and he put his hands out, trying to quiet me down. “Don’t yell it out! But yes, and I know it’s selfish-” “Damn right it’s selfish! I was in love with you for years! But I moved on Noah! I have found a man who loves me, and treats me like fucking royalty and you decide to come in here and possibly fuck that up?!” He groaned as his hands ran down his face. “Look, I know that this is not ideal and I should’ve realized sooner but I’m telling you now. Liz, I fucking love you! I would give you the world if you gave me the chance.”

“Harrison already beat you to it.” His face fell as mine flared with anger. “I’m giving you two choices and I really shouldn’t. You can either stand up there and support my marriage, or you can fucking leave.” Tears welled in his eyes. “What?” I scoffed. “Did you really think that you were going to come in here, confess your love and then have me run off with you? You broke my heart time and time again with Katy. So no, I am not leaving with you. I am going to walk out of this room in twenty minutes, meet my daddy in the lobby and walk down that aisle and get married to the man I love.” He wiped his eyes and stared in shock. I felt like a bitch, but in reality he deserved it for thinking he could come in here and pull that stunt. I turned back to the table with my jewelry and grabbed the tiara that had my floor length veil attached. “Now help me put on my veil.”

It took him a minute before he could move. He walked over slowly, carefully taking the tiara from me and lifting it over the hair I had pulled up on my head. He adjusted it and I pinned it in place before turning to him. “I still love you, Noah. Just not like I used to. Now if you’ll excuse me, I need a shot before walking out there and you need to find a seat.” I said pushing past him and headed for the bottle of tequila sitting on a table next to the couch. “Liz.” He said, catching my attention after I poured my shot glass. “I love you.” I knew what he meant, but I also knew he meant it as my best friend too. “I love you too, Noah.” He sniffled, turning for the door as he wiped his tears. I took my shot and a sip of water before grabbing my bouquet. Natasha came and got me before helping me downstairs. She was my maid of honor and she’s been my biggest support system through all this.

My dad walked me down the aisle and my eyes were locked on Harrison’s the whole time. He looked amazing in his navy blue tux. I didn’t even realize we were at the end of the aisle until he took my hand. I couldn't look away from him during the entire wedding, his bright blue glassy eyes held mine even as we placed our rings on each other's fingers. “You may now kiss the bride.” Harrison grabbed me, pulling me flush against him, our lips crashing against each other’s. I smiled into the kiss, my hands resting on his neck and playing with the little hairs on the nape of his neck. We pulled away as applause surrounded us, his forehead resting on mine. “I love you, pretty girl. So much.” I grinned widely, pulling him into another kiss. “I love you too, Harrison.”

We went back down the aisle, and did our wedding photos before we went to our reception. As soon as we entered, we went into our first dance. Harrison held me close as my head rested on his chest. “Is that Noah over there?” He asked quietly in my ear. I looked over, seeing him sitting at the bar, whiskey in hand. “Yeah, he came in just after I got my dress on.” He hummed, kissing my head as we continued dancing. “Everything okay?” I nodded. “Yeah, it is.” I certainly wasn’t going to tell him about what he said, that would just ruin the day. I would wait to tell him. After our dance, we sat down and ate, or at least tried to. Everyone kept coming up and asking for pictures and wanting to talk so by the time we actually got to eat, our food was cold. But I was too excited about everything to care. Everyone did their speeches, causing tears to flow and then finally, the dance floor was opened up.

After a few dances with Harrison and a few other people, I made my way over to the bar. Noah was still there, staring down into the whiskey like it would make everything better. As I looked at him, I saw myself a year and a half ago. Drowning myself in vodka as I watched him with Katy. “Vodka soda?” The bartender nodded, making the drink and sliding it over to me. “And pour him another one?” He nodded and I turned to walk away but something tugged on my dress. I turned, seeing Noah had a hold of it, tears in his eyes. “I’m happy for you, Lizzy. I just wish I realized my feelings a lot sooner.” I gave him a small smile, fixing his hair. “If you had, I never would’ve met Harrison.” He closed his eyes, tears slipping out. I wiped them from his cheeks before bending down and kissing his forehead. “Are you gonna be okay over here?” he nodded as the bartender slid the fresh whiskey over. “Yeah, I will be.” I nodded and turned, heading over to Harrison who wrapped his arms around me. “Is he okay?” He asked, nodding over to Noah. “No. But he will be.” With that, Harrison led me to the dance floor, spinning me around as the night went on.

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

Taglist: @dhwanishah09 @wkndwlff @genius2050

#lost in translation #top gun maverick #bradley rooster bradshaw #bradley bradshaw #rooster top gun #bob floyd #robert bob floyd #bob floyd fanfiction #bob floyd x oc #top gun bob

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xxiamtiebrousxx · 2 years

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Stray Cat (Yoshikage x Reader) One Shot

A/n: Yes, I had to include the speech.

“Tama! Dinner’s ready!” I called out, pouring cat food into a bowl. I added tuna and shrimp on the side, it was my cat’s favorite. I tapped the bowl slightly so my cat could hear it. Tama appeared from the corner of the house, meowing at me. I knelt down and reached out for her. “Who’s a good kitty?” I asked in a baby voice. She just meowed and left. I scoffed, standing up.

For weeks now, Tama had been wandering off to who knows where. I never saw her around anymore. She stopped obeying my calls. She was gone like a teenager. And like that teen’s parent, I was fed up. So, slipping on my shoes, a jacket, and grabbing my house keys, I locked up the house and followed my cat. She hadn’t gone far but as soon as I came into view, she started to run. I picked up the pace and followed Tama.

We lived in the town of Morioh near the villas. It was a ten minute walk from my house to the villas. And that’s where Tama led me. She made sure I was following her all the way. If I slowed down, she’d meow for me and wait patiently. Eventually, our journey came to an end and I was out of breath. A ten minute walk/run was a killer for me. “Wait up,” I said, panting. Tama meowed, walking towards a car that just pulled up to the driveway. The man got out of his car. He carried a brown bag with groceries inside. Tama seemed to know him and immediately began to purr. She walked up to him and started kneading at his shoes. That was something she did around people she was comfortable with. “Tama no!” I exclaimed. I ran over to the two, picking up my cat. “Sorry, Tama doesn’t know boundaries,” I apologized to the man. He simply looked at me. “Uh, I’m Y/n L/n,” I said. “Might I ask who you are?” I asked. He took one good look at my hands and smiled.

“You can call me Yoshikage Kira,” he replied. “I’m currently thirty three years old. Not that you’d care, but I reside in northeast Morioh’s villa district. Also, I’ve yet to marry. In order to make a living, I work for Kame Yu department stores. After a long day’s work, I return home no later than 8 PM. I don’t like smoking, but do enjoy the occasional drink. I’m always in bed by 11 PM, and I make it a point to get no less than eight hours of sleep each night. Before bed, I drink a warm glass of milk. It’s always coupled with twenty minutes of stretching to decompress from the long workday. Sweet dreams are the usual result of this.”

“Wow, that’s a lot,” I said. The man did not stop there.

“I then awake as refreshed and recharged as a newborn child, ready to take on the day’s challenges. And after my last checkup, I was given a clean bill of health. For as long as I could remember, I’ve done everything in my power to live a productive life that allows me to pursue a lasting inner peace. This may be a foreign concept, but I choose not to concern myself with winning or losing, life’s troubles, or enemies who bring sleepless nights. That is how I cope with this backwards life we find ourselves living. It’s what brings me happiness in a world fraught with hardship and misery. Of course, if I were ever to engage in combat, I would win the battle without question.” I blinked several times, petting Tama’s gray fur.

“That’s a lot of information,” I said.

“Where are you from?” he asked.

“Oh, I live ten minutes away from here,” I said, pointing to the street I live down on. “Which reminds me, I gotta go. I’ll see you around, bye.” I ran off with Tama in my arms. It was already evening. My food was definitely cold by now. My stomach rumbled as I ran/speed walked back to the house. It would take another ten minutes and I was tired. Yoshikage’s car pulled up, coming out of the blue. It’s like he knew I would give out. It slowly parked next to me. He rolled down the window.

“Need a ride home?” he asked.

“Yes, please,” I begged.

I got in the passenger seat. “I live just down there,” I said, pointing to my house which was not too far. I was lazy and hungry to walk a short walk, that was my excuse. I was dropped off with no words said except for goodbyes, which Yoshikage and I exchanged. Tama and I had a quiet dinner. She meowed, looking up to me as if she was asking if I thought her friend was nice. I smiled. “Yeah, he was nice.”

For a few days, I started visiting Yoshikage with Tama. On some nights, we would have dinner at my place and on other nights, we would have dinner at his place. Every night when we would leave, Yoshikage would kiss my hands like a gentleman. He was kind, liked to keep things in a certain order, and was respectful. I liked that. One night, he didn’t even kiss my hands like he used to. Instead, he kissed my cheek.

Of course, after some time, I never saw Yoshikage or Tama again. She had gone missing and after putting up missing posters, she was never found. The day she went missing, I assumed she went near the section where Yoshikage lived. He wasn’t home and also seemed to be missing. I asked people around the area where either of them might have been but they didn’t know.

I was feeling depressed. I took a walk around town when I came across the backyard of the Kawajiri residence. I stopped to watch as Kosaku Kawajiri carried my cat in his arms. She wasn’t moving and was bleeding. There was a huge hole under her chin. I gasped, covering my mouth and catching Kosaku’s attention.

“Y/n?” he asked. His voice sounded awfully familiar.

“Is that, T-tama?” I asked. My voice cracked and the tears threatened to fall. “What h-happened t-to her?” I shakily asked.

“I wanted to bring her to you. There was an accident with my wife and Tama didn’t make it.I thought it would be best if you heard it from me,” he said. I wiped the tears, trying to remain calm in front of him. I didn’t know him very well. I knew Shinobu in junior high because I was one of her friends that seemed to pressure her into dating and eventually marrying him. “Y/n, are you okay?” he asked, opening the fence and making his way towards me. The tears rolled down my eyes.

“I just thought if Tama was alive and well, so would Yoshikage,” I replied. “But, I guess he could be lying dead somewhere.” Kosaku hugged me so suddenly. I was shocked. Shinobu described him as dull. “Why are you hugging me, Kosaku ?” I asked. “This seems out of character.” He chuckled, lifting up my chin.

“You can call me Yoshikage Kira,” he replied. “It’s been a while. I haven’t seen you in a long time.”

#Anime #JoJo's Bizarre Adventure #JJBA #JoJo's Bizarre Adventure X Reader #Jjba X Reader #Romance #Fluff #One shots #Yoshikage kira x reader #Yoshikage Kira

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zecretsanta · 1 year

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FIC: Eggshells

Hi @graceisprettygreat I was so excited to fulfill your request this year and I really hope it was what you were looking for. The prompt I chose was “a father’s day for tenmyouji”.

The weather was miserable, so even if Quark hadn’t been feeling well, he probably would have told the boy to stay at home. It was a good day to hit up the old research facility.

The building wasn’t obvious; whatever branding had existed before was long gone, so he wasn’t even sure what it presented itself to the world as. He was pretty certain it had been some sort of secret government facility. On one trip he had been bored and rifled through some documents on Department of Defense letterhead. The front of the building had collapsed, blocking off the entrance, and he was convinced the DoD had probably done it themselves, on purpose. Vegetation was overgrown, the parking lot was a disaster, and it took him a week just to figure out how to get in through some rubble in the east wing.

It was an hour-long trip on the bus, then about another half an hour on foot. He always feared the building might collapse in on him as he wriggled his way in, or his bag might get stuck as he tried to pull it out. But the stuff he found usually ensured he didn’t have to work quite as hard for another few months.

The other downside was the real reason he never brought Quark here. He could possibly make a safer way in, or limit any excursions to areas where the risk of collapse was low. It was the signs sporadically located throughout the building that warned of radiation past that point. He had some radiation detection badges from an abandoned hospital, and he wasn’t even sure if they worked. But he was old as dirt and there was no way he hadn’t been exposed at some point before. He couldn’t risk it with Quark.

The badge didn’t want to stay on his soaked shirt so he just shoved it in his pocket. He’d check it periodically. The building was huge and he never wanted to stay in for too long, so there were still sections that were unexplored. The upper levels of the west wing were a little intimidating, since there was already some structural damage. But he ventured there anyway. No electricity, obviously, so the elevators weren’t an option; it took him another half hour to get to an unexplored level. He pulled a marker out of his pocket and scrawled a big ‘X’ for future endeavors.

Nothing much of value in the first few rooms. The third office on the right had two corpses in it. Dead bodies didn’t much bother him anymore, especially ones that were so old. But in this case, one of them was lying on a couch, legs crossed at the ankles, hands crossed over the chest, some kind of deteriorated cloth over their face. The other person might have killed themselves, if the gun lying on the table next to their head was any indication.

The gun wasn’t really of much value. Electronics yielded a small amount of useful material. But the real money was in the jewelry. Engagement and wedding rings, a gaudy necklace and a few bracelets. The first time he scavenged from a corpse, he threw up when he got back home. Ended up burying the rings in the backyard of whatever damn place he was holed up in. Had nightmares about being haunted by the dead people who wanted their mementos back.

Today, he brought tools that could snap bone and make his task easier.

The rings scratched the glass, so probably real diamonds. There were still people who cared about these things and would pay good money for it. They might be able to go easy on the work for a couple weeks.

He thought he heard the building groan when he tried to get at some exposed pipes, so he packed up and slipped out, back into the rain. The bus was running late, so he got home a little later than expected, but he knew Megan and Joe wouldn’t mind. They loved the little guy, and the new laws meant they couldn’t keep the bar open after 8pm anyway. When he was about twenty minutes away, he pulled out his phone and messaged them to let them know he was almost home.

The key fob didn’t work. Must be another rolling blackout. They never had them in the old neighborhood, but there were still definite advantages living over a bar. He went around back and used the door with a manual key. No candles downstairs, so he went up to where their personal rooms were.

Then nearly jumped out of his skin when he was met with a round of, “Surprise!”

Joe was lighting candles on a cake that … appeared to have been frosted by Quark. There was a large root beer float sitting next to it, along with a small package tied up with yarn.

“It’s not my birthday,” he muttered as he shrugged of his coat.

“No, it’s Father’s Day! There’s a Grandfather’s Day too, but nobody could remember when it was.”

Oh. Was it? He imagined some people still celebrated it. It was frowned upon to be procreating in this world, and only idiots still raised their kids if they did end up creating one. He saw the looks he got walking around with Quark. And that jackass in their old town who bragged to everyone about having a mother only guaranteed their status as social pariahs.

Quark’s smile faltered a little in response to his silence. He held out a piece of paper, and as Junpei took it, he realized it was a drawing. He didn’t think Quark had any crayons left. It was probably supposed to be the two of them, walking somewhere.

“I made the cake with real eggs, too.”

HIs mind was reeling a little at how much this would have cost, but he ignored it for now.

“Sounds great.” He rubbed his temple to try and stifle the headache building. “Thank you, Quark.”

“Well blow out the damn candles,” Megan nagged him.

He did as instructed, careful to only extinguish the ones on the cake and not the others lighting the room. When Quark insisted on cutting the pieces, Joe asked Junpei to come downstairs with him to grab a knife and some plates. They had one flashlight and fortunately Megan must have made sure the batteries were recharged, as it came to life as Junpei pressed the switch.

“You could try to look a little more enthusiastic,” Joe chided him.

“I’ll pay you back for whatever that all costs.”

“Don’t worry about it. He saved up his allowance for this.”

“I know what he gets for allowance,” Junpei said as Joe handed him a stack of plates. “And I know what eggs and root beer cost.”

“You’re the first boarder in a long time who paid the full rent on time every month. I told Quark his allowance covered it. So don’t worry about it.” He held up a knife and frowned at it, putting it down and picking up another, running his finger over the edge. “This should be dull enough that he can’t cut himself. Now when we get up there, act happier. He put a lot of effort into this.”

The lights came back on while they were going upstairs.

“About damn time,” Joe grumbled. “This is the third one this week. I’m starting to worry about our power grid.”

“Starting?” he muttered under his breath. As they re-entered the room, he made an effort to smile. Quark looked a little apprehensive, and he felt bad for not being more grateful. He was still fixated on the cost, the time Quark must have spent doing this, after lying to him about not feeling well, and how he could have been -

He squeezed his eyes shut in an effort to derail that train of thought. When he re-opened them, he forced the smile on his face to look natural and genuine, not … well … forced.

“Let’s crack into that cake, huh? Haven’t had something with real eggs in it in a while.”

“I tried to get all the eggshells out. One of them broke really easily and I wasn’t expecting it. And you have to open your present!”

He held out the box. The “wrapping paper” was clearly a napkin from the bar, complete with stains that just wouldn’t wash out. Rum and some kind of tomato-based sauce, if he had to guess. Junpei undid the yarn that was holding it together let the napkin fall to the table. The box inside was labeled PERISHABLE and smelled like cheese, so he was surprised when there wasn’t food inside, but a small metal trinket. A brooch, actually, shaped like a J. It had seen better times, so it was clearly something Quark had scavenged somewhere. Very girly and ornate, not anything he would actually ever wear, even if donning fancy jewelry wasn’t like putting a target on your back. But he found himself tearing up anyway.

“Do you like it? There was a whole bunch of letters like that in a building me and David were exploring. I wanted a G for Grandpa but they didn’t have one.”

“It’s perfect,” he said, his voice cracking a little. “How long have you been planning this?”

“Since whenever Miss Megan’s birthday was. She told me about it. If you’re crying, does that mean you don’t like it?”

Oh. His face was wet.

“I love it, Quark. It’s the perfect Father’s Day present.”

The worry instantly left Quark’s face, and he held out a sloppily cut piece of cake. Chocolate, from the looks of it. He … was not going to worry about how much that cost.

“I bet it’s delicious. Make sure you and Joe and Megan get pieces, too.”

Quark gave him a huge grin and turned back to the cake, cutting out ridiculously large pieces for everyone. Junpei wiped a bit of schmutz off the fork before digging in. The texture was off, the frosting was grainy, and Quark had definitely not gotten all the eggshells out.

But it had literally been decades since someone had baked a cake just for him. Decades since he felt that someone … cared about him. Loved him.

He would protect this little one with his life.

(fin)

#submission #vlr #virtue's last reward #zero escape #quark #tenmyouji #graceisprettygreat #grumpsterkitty #Zecret Santa 2022

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dalliansss · 9 months

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that was the wrong place, wrong time, maeglin/maedhros ?

“I ACCIDENTALLY TOLD YOU I LOVED YOU AND NOW WE’RE FINALLY TALKING ABOUT IT” PROMPTS

Life in Himring is certainly very different from life in Doriath. For one, the absence of the usual creature comforts and the thriving forest had at first unsettled Maeglin, and pampered Sindar prince he might be, he knew he had to adapt -- he chose the Lord of Himring for his spouse after all, and that meant dividing his time in each year between Doriath and Himring.

Life in Himring was bare, and followed strict and rigid routine -- at least, for most of the citizens that lived there. Everybody, even young elflings, wore chest plates or else carried weapons about their persons at all times. Even in the mildest of weathers everybody wore at least two layers, and sometimes, when the summers got too extreme, they rid themselves of that one layer and retained one -- still with armor.

Maedhros woke up very early, as if he were racing Arien each day, and Maeglin often awoke with his husband no longer beside him, only the impression of his body left on the sheets, alongside his warmth and his scent on their pillows. Maeglin would then arise, and find out Maedhros had gone to inspect this or that, or else rode out with a small cavalry north into the Lothlann.

Everybody was always ready to spring into combat in Himring.

The first time Maeglin experienced an attack, it had been in the middle of the night, and the world had been quiet. Then the first trumpet sounded, and Maedhros, who had been sleeping cuddling him, was out of the bed in seconds, even before Maeglin could truly comprehend what happened. Within a minute, Himring had sprung to life, and the second trumpet was sounded. He barely had time to recall what the trumpets meant: one meant orcs; two meant trolls and catapults and siege towers; three meant all those plus balrogs.

The third trumpet was sounded. He wasn't about to let his husband dive into danger alone. Unaware that they did combat in specific ways in Himring, Maeglin wore his armor and found himself included in the first cavalry that rode out to meet the attackers. Again unaware of formations the soldiers of Maedhros obeyed, he charged head-on against one of the balrogs, engaging the fiery creature alone, eager to prove himself to his Noldo spouse.

(The Noldor had condescending opinions on the Sindar, and it was unfortunate his husband shared some of the outlook. Maeglin had been seething for days. He wanted to prove Maedhros wrong that not all Sindar didn't want to fight against Bauglir.)

To cut the story short -- he got injured. And his little stunt cost them twenty lives. When Maeglin regained consciousness, he was under Helwion's care -- and the Noldo, chief healer of Himring, made no move to hide displeasure known by side-eyes and biting remarks, never mind that he was tending to his lord's spouse. Maeglin didn't care though, and only wanted to see his husband.

When Helwion wasn't looking, Maeglin escaped the infirmary, taking his bruised self back to their suites. He burrowed under all the pelts, and woke up two hours later when he heard Maedhros moving about. True enough, his husband was removing bits of his armor, but retained his chest plate. He poured himself some wine.

"Nelyo," Maeglin breathed. (How sweet it was, to be allowed to call him by this name, where everybody else called him Maedhros, Lord Maedhros -- the name, Maeglin understood, he reserved for family.)

Maedhros turned to him, and though others would quail at the sight of those gruesome scars on a harried face, Maeglin only found him more desireable.

"Himelya," Maeglin pushed himself up to sit. "Himelya, come sit with me, my love."

Maedhros frowned mildly at him and complied, standing close to the bed edge his armored knees touched the sheets. Maeglin shifted and hugged into his chest.

"I love you. Himelya, I was worried. I didn't see you during the attack."

He felt his spouse's gold-and-mithril hand smooth back his curls. "This is not the place, and time, Maeglin," comes Maedhros's voice. "Your little stunt cost us twenty lives, and you injured. If it was not for Helwion's care, you might not be here."

Maeglin pulled back. Maedhros's scarred face, close like this, looked both grave and harried.

"I charged the balrog alone, for you, I was helping defend our realm. Helping defend Himring," he insists.

A thin smile curled Maedhros's lip. "Twenty lives, young husband mine. Lives we cannot otherwise get back. We will need to have a long, long talk when you are fully well. Not now."

@skaelds

#my drabs #silmarillion #silm #maedhros #maitimo #nelyafinwe #maeglin #lomion #maedhros/maeglin #galvorn prince #murder elf and goth blacksmith

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rosenallies · 2 years

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my forte lately has been writing random shit that absolutely no one asked for that has 0 plot and just me rambling but anyway here’s some Jankie based off of late to the party by kacey musgraves <3 it’s a v good song if u like girly girl cuntry <3

——

They're blowing up our phones Asking where we are Just say we're almost there We ain't even in the car You're rolling one for two And I'm still picking out my shoes

Jackie’s nimble fingers expertly rolled a joint, hair half done and undressed while Jan hobbled around the room, one shoe on and wondering where the other had gone. She glanced up at the clock, Rosé and Denali’s party started in twenty minutes, and usually Jackie was ever so punctual, always the first at every function, but something about Jan relaxed her, slowed her world down and allowed for her to take a step back.

“Here. baby,” she said, pulling Jan down on the loveseat next to her, lighting the joint and holding it to her already painted lips.

Jan took a long drag, eyes fluttering and opening glossier and redder than before, a gentle laugh leaving her lips as she passed it off to Jackie.

“Rosie is gonna kill me,” she said through a giggle.

Jackie shrugged, taking a drag herself, much enjoying the alone time with Jan, something that seemed rare these days. “It’ll be fine, baby.”

Jan hummed in agreement, curling up against Jackie’s side.

I'm never late to the party If I'm late to the party with you

By the time we get there Everybody will be drunk The chairs will be on tables And the band will be unplugged We're gonna look real good But we're gonna look real rude I'm sorry I'm not sorry that I'm...

By the time they were walking up the walkway to Rosé and Denali’s door, the party had been going on for an hour and they could hear the commotion from the walkway.

Jan lets herself in, Jackie never letting go of her hand as they snuck through the crowd in search of the brides to be.

She finds them and makes quick conversation, making the excuse that she didn’t want to monopolize their time when there was a line of guests behind them wanting to congratulate the two on their engagement. But in reality, Jan was consumed with Jackie and Jackie was consumed with Jan.

Jackie lets herself get taken around the party by her hand, just happy that Jan had let her into her life and her circle, even tagging along to a party neither of them wanted to be at very much felt good because they got to be with each other.

“Just so no one catches us leaving so early,” Jan whispers, pulling her to a private area of the house, still loud with commotion just around the corner.

Jan holds Jackie’s face in her hands and kisses her softly. “You’re all the party I need.”

Jackie rolls her eyes affectionately, but only to distract from the fact she was blushing. She catches Jan’s lips in another kiss and spins her around.

Late to the party with you Oh, who needs confetti? We're already falling into the groove And who needs a crowd When you're happy at a party for two? The world can wait 'Cause I'm never late to the party If I'm late to the party with you

Leading Jan around an empty kitchen that didn’t belong to them in a slow dance, tipsy from the cherry schnapps, Jackie fell in love. She dipped and twirled Jan in her arms, her heart full and butterflies fluttering in her stomach.

Jan followed after Jackie’s move, afraid that someone would interrupt them and burst the perfect bubble they created for themselves in an otherwise crowded place. Giggling as they danced out of tune with the loud pop song playing in the next room over, Jan fell in love. Her heart pounded and her gaze softened.

“I love you,” they whispered in unison, looking into each other’s eyes for a second as realization hit both.

“Jackie,” Jan cooed.

Jackie exhaled. “Jan.”

“You first.”

“I love you, Jan, I mean it,” she said.

Jan snaked her arms around Jackie’s neck and kissed her nose. “I love you too.”

“Do you think saying ‘I love you’ for the first time at your sister’s engagement party is in bad taste?” Jackie pondered lightheartedly.

Kissing her again, Jan giggled. “It’s not gonna be as bad as when I propose at the wedding.”

Jackie feigned a gasp. “Rosé really would kill you.”

Jan hummed. “She might, but what do you say we get out of here?” She whispered into Jackie’s ear, kissing right below her lobe, one of the places Jan knew really made her blush, “I’ll sneak out the back and you sneak out the front? It lessens our chance of being seen.”

“Got it, I’ll see you out front,” Jackie said before Jan was scampering away, drawing more attention to herself with the way she skipped excitedly to the front door. Though, everyone was so caught up with other things that they didn’t notice her pass by, nor did they notice Jackie as she followed only a few feet behind her because now that she had her, she’d follow her anywhere.

No, I'm never late to the party If I'm late to the party with you

#just don’t read this probablg it’s not good I just wanted to write Jankie idk #jankie

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hellsitesonlybookclub · 6 months

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Around the world in 80 days, Jules Verne

CHAPTER III. IN WHICH A CONVERSATION TAKES PLACE WHICH SEEMS LIKELY TO COST PHILEAS FOGG DEAR

Phileas Fogg, having shut the door of his house at half-past eleven, and having put his right foot before his left five hundred and seventy-five times, and his left foot before his right five hundred and seventy-six times, reached the Reform Club, an imposing edifice in Pall Mall, which could not have cost less than three millions. He repaired at once to the dining-room, the nine windows of which open upon a tasteful garden, where the trees were already gilded with an autumn colouring; and took his place at the habitual table, the cover of which had already been laid for him. His breakfast consisted of a side-dish, a broiled fish with Reading sauce, a scarlet slice of roast beef garnished with mushrooms, a rhubarb and gooseberry tart, and a morsel of Cheshire cheese, the whole being washed down with several cups of tea, for which the Reform is famous.

He rose at thirteen minutes to one, and directed his steps towards the large hall, a sumptuous apartment adorned with lavishly-framed paintings. A flunkey handed him an uncut Times, which he proceeded to cut with a skill which betrayed familiarity with this delicate operation. The perusal of this paper absorbed Phileas Fogg until a quarter before four, whilst the Standard, his next task, occupied him till the dinner hour. Dinner passed as breakfast had done, and Mr. Fogg re-appeared in the reading-room and sat down to the Pall Mall at twenty minutes before six. Half an hour later several members of the Reform came in and drew up to the fireplace, where a coal fire was steadily burning. They were Mr. Fogg’s usual partners at whist: Andrew Stuart, an engineer; John Sullivan and Samuel Fallentin, bankers; Thomas Flanagan, a brewer; and Gauthier Ralph, one of the Directors of the Bank of England—all rich and highly respectable personages, even in a club which comprises the princes of English trade and finance.

“Well, Ralph,” said Thomas Flanagan, “what about that robbery?”

“Oh,” replied Stuart, “the Bank will lose the money.”

“On the contrary,” broke in Ralph, “I hope we may put our hands on the robber. Skilful detectives have been sent to all the principal ports of America and the Continent, and he’ll be a clever fellow if he slips through their fingers.”

“But have you got the robber’s description?” asked Stuart.

“In the first place, he is no robber at all,” returned Ralph, positively.

“What! a fellow who makes off with fifty-five thousand pounds, no robber?”

“No.”

“Perhaps he’s a manufacturer, then.”

“The Daily Telegraph says that he is a gentleman.”

It was Phileas Fogg, whose head now emerged from behind his newspapers, who made this remark. He bowed to his friends, and entered into the conversation. The affair which formed its subject, and which was town talk, had occurred three days before at the Bank of England. A package of banknotes, to the value of fifty-five thousand pounds, had been taken from the principal cashier’s table, that functionary being at the moment engaged in registering the receipt of three shillings and sixpence. Of course, he could not have his eyes everywhere. Let it be observed that the Bank of England reposes a touching confidence in the honesty of the public. There are neither guards nor gratings to protect its treasures; gold, silver, banknotes are freely exposed, at the mercy of the first comer. A keen observer of English customs relates that, being in one of the rooms of the Bank one day, he had the curiosity to examine a gold ingot weighing some seven or eight pounds. He took it up, scrutinised it, passed it to his neighbour, he to the next man, and so on until the ingot, going from hand to hand, was transferred to the end of a dark entry; nor did it return to its place for half an hour. Meanwhile, the cashier had not so much as raised his head. But in the present instance things had not gone so smoothly. The package of notes not being found when five o’clock sounded from the ponderous clock in the “drawing office,” the amount was passed to the account of profit and loss. As soon as the robbery was discovered, picked detectives hastened off to Liverpool, Glasgow, Havre, Suez, Brindisi, New York, and other ports, inspired by the proffered reward of two thousand pounds, and five per cent. on the sum that might be recovered. Detectives were also charged with narrowly watching those who arrived at or left London by rail, and a judicial examination was at once entered upon.

There were real grounds for supposing, as the Daily Telegraph said, that the thief did not belong to a professional band. On the day of the robbery a well-dressed gentleman of polished manners, and with a well-to-do air, had been observed going to and fro in the paying room where the crime was committed. A description of him was easily procured and sent to the detectives; and some hopeful spirits, of whom Ralph was one, did not despair of his apprehension. The papers and clubs were full of the affair, and everywhere people were discussing the probabilities of a successful pursuit; and the Reform Club was especially agitated, several of its members being Bank officials.

Ralph would not concede that the work of the detectives was likely to be in vain, for he thought that the prize offered would greatly stimulate their zeal and activity. But Stuart was far from sharing this confidence; and, as they placed themselves at the whist-table, they continued to argue the matter. Stuart and Flanagan played together, while Phileas Fogg had Fallentin for his partner. As the game proceeded the conversation ceased, excepting between the rubbers, when it revived again.

“I maintain,” said Stuart, “that the chances are in favour of the thief, who must be a shrewd fellow.”

“Well, but where can he fly to?” asked Ralph. “No country is safe for him.”

“Pshaw!”

“Where could he go, then?”

“Oh, I don’t know that. The world is big enough.”

“It was once,” said Phileas Fogg, in a low tone. “Cut, sir,” he added, handing the cards to Thomas Flanagan.

The discussion fell during the rubber, after which Stuart took up its thread.

“What do you mean by ‘once’? Has the world grown smaller?”

“Certainly,” returned Ralph. “I agree with Mr. Fogg. The world has grown smaller, since a man can now go round it ten times more quickly than a hundred years ago. And that is why the search for this thief will be more likely to succeed.”

“And also why the thief can get away more easily.”

“Be so good as to play, Mr. Stuart,” said Phileas Fogg.

But the incredulous Stuart was not convinced, and when the hand was finished, said eagerly: “You have a strange way, Ralph, of proving that the world has grown smaller. So, because you can go round it in three months—”

“In eighty days,” interrupted Phileas Fogg.

“That is true, gentlemen,” added John Sullivan. “Only eighty days, now that the section between Rothal and Allahabad, on the Great Indian Peninsula Railway, has been opened. Here is the estimate made by the Daily Telegraph:—

From London to Suez viâ Mont Cenis and Brindisi, by rail and steamboats ................. 7 days From Suez to Bombay, by steamer .................... 13 ” From Bombay to Calcutta, by rail ................... 3 ” From Calcutta to Hong Kong, by steamer ............. 13 ” From Hong Kong to Yokohama (Japan), by steamer ..... 6 ” From Yokohama to San Francisco, by steamer ......... 22 ” From San Francisco to New York, by rail ............. 7 ” From New York to London, by steamer and rail ........ 9 ” ------- Total ............................................ 80 days.”

“Yes, in eighty days!” exclaimed Stuart, who in his excitement made a false deal. “But that doesn’t take into account bad weather, contrary winds, shipwrecks, railway accidents, and so on.”

“All included,” returned Phileas Fogg, continuing to play despite the discussion.

“But suppose the Hindoos or Indians pull up the rails,” replied Stuart; “suppose they stop the trains, pillage the luggage-vans, and scalp the passengers!”

“All included,” calmly retorted Fogg; adding, as he threw down the cards, “Two trumps.”

Stuart, whose turn it was to deal, gathered them up, and went on: “You are right, theoretically, Mr. Fogg, but practically—”

“Practically also, Mr. Stuart.”

“I’d like to see you do it in eighty days.”

“It depends on you. Shall we go?”

“Heaven preserve me! But I would wager four thousand pounds that such a journey, made under these conditions, is impossible.”

“Quite possible, on the contrary,” returned Mr. Fogg.

“Well, make it, then!”

“The journey round the world in eighty days?”

“Yes.”

“I should like nothing better.”

“When?”

“At once. Only I warn you that I shall do it at your expense.”

“It’s absurd!” cried Stuart, who was beginning to be annoyed at the persistency of his friend. “Come, let’s go on with the game.”

“Deal over again, then,” said Phileas Fogg. “There’s a false deal.”

Stuart took up the pack with a feverish hand; then suddenly put them down again.

“Well, Mr. Fogg,” said he, “it shall be so: I will wager the four thousand on it.”

“Calm yourself, my dear Stuart,” said Fallentin. “It’s only a joke.”

“When I say I’ll wager,” returned Stuart, “I mean it.”

“All right,” said Mr. Fogg; and, turning to the others, he continued: “I have a deposit of twenty thousand at Baring’s which I will willingly risk upon it.”

“Twenty thousand pounds!” cried Sullivan. “Twenty thousand pounds, which you would lose by a single accidental delay!”

“The unforeseen does not exist,” quietly replied Phileas Fogg.

“But, Mr. Fogg, eighty days are only the estimate of the least possible time in which the journey can be made.”

“A well-used minimum suffices for everything.”

“But, in order not to exceed it, you must jump mathematically from the trains upon the steamers, and from the steamers upon the trains again.”

“I will jump—mathematically.”

“You are joking.”

“A true Englishman doesn’t joke when he is talking about so serious a thing as a wager,” replied Phileas Fogg, solemnly. “I will bet twenty thousand pounds against anyone who wishes that I will make the tour of the world in eighty days or less; in nineteen hundred and twenty hours, or a hundred and fifteen thousand two hundred minutes. Do you accept?”

“We accept,” replied Messrs. Stuart, Fallentin, Sullivan, Flanagan, and Ralph, after consulting each other.

“Good,” said Mr. Fogg. “The train leaves for Dover at a quarter before nine. I will take it.”

“This very evening?” asked Stuart.

“This very evening,” returned Phileas Fogg. He took out and consulted a pocket almanac, and added, “As today is Wednesday, the 2nd of October, I shall be due in London in this very room of the Reform Club, on Saturday, the 21st of December, at a quarter before nine p.m.; or else the twenty thousand pounds, now deposited in my name at Baring’s, will belong to you, in fact and in right, gentlemen. Here is a cheque for the amount.”

A memorandum of the wager was at once drawn up and signed by the six parties, during which Phileas Fogg preserved a stoical composure. He certainly did not bet to win, and had only staked the twenty thousand pounds, half of his fortune, because he foresaw that he might have to expend the other half to carry out this difficult, not to say unattainable, project. As for his antagonists, they seemed much agitated; not so much by the value of their stake, as because they had some scruples about betting under conditions so difficult to their friend.

The clock struck seven, and the party offered to suspend the game so that Mr. Fogg might make his preparations for departure.

“I am quite ready now,” was his tranquil response. “Diamonds are trumps: be so good as to play, gentlemen.”

#hellsitesonlybookclub #bookblr #jules verne #80 days

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vienna2023 · 1 year

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Day #5: Thomes

Today we continued exploring the creative history of Austria, with focus on the modernist period. I say Austria instead of Vienna because for the first time this trip, we set our sights outwards with an afternoon trip to the village of Mödling! It was a day of exploration and discovery, as we took on new places and new approaches to engaging with history- looking at artwork, residencies, and nature. For me, it was also a day of great challenge, which is why I wanted to be the one to write about it. So without further ado, let’s dive into the day!

We started with a short walk to the Leopold Museum. This art gallery features paintings, sculptures, and memorabilia from around the end of the classical to the start of the modernist era. There’s also a focus on Viennese artists, such as Gustav Klimt, Richard Gerstl, and most notably, Egon Schiele. This museum has the biggest Schiele display in the world, and as one of the most innovative figures in the art world, we were encouraged to look closely at his exhibit.

Schiele started out as an apprentice of Klimt, but his style quickly evolved vastly from his mentor’s. He focuses on lines and shapes, taking a more abstract approach to the human anatomy- his signature is hands, which are always contorted with the fingers strangely spaced. I also found the way he paints eyes rather striking. His works focus on his inner self, his raw emotions and turmoils. Many are self-portraits, representing his philosophizing about identity and death. The second thing he paints the most is women, in a very raw and passionate display of his own lust. He doesn’t paint nudes with the angelic beauty of traditionalists, but with a very real sexual energy. Overall, Schiele embodies what the modernist movement was: a necessary change, twisting away from the old conventions for an age of messy expression; beauty in unfiltered feeling.

The piece which resonated with me the most was actually not done by Schiele. It was “Pieta” by Albin Egger-Lienz. The piece is what it says, a pieta- imagery of Mary holding the body of Christ after his crucifixion. Most other pietas I have seen are done in classical romantic styles, going for ethereal beauty in-line with the religious lens. However, this piece is much more modernist. The blurriness of the paint, the expressions which look more horrifying than peaceful, the emphasis on blood and gore…it makes the piece feel like death, like real, gruesome death, and not just a serene religious symbol. To me, it’s a great example of the modernist movement: breaking norms, straying away from manufactured beauty and into discordant reality.

Once we finished at the museum, we met our guide Aike to take the train to Mödling, a peaceful town just twenty minutes outside Vienna! It was beautiful, really embodying that small European town vibe. A canal runs through the village, and we saw people cleaning it or playing in it as we passed. The streets are narrow, and surrounding the horizon are small lush mountains. Just lovely!

However, this is where the personal challenge I mentioned was starting to kick in. The last couple days I had started coming down with a mild case of runner’s knee, making it difficult to walk. When we got to Mödling, I spent the walk to our specific destination limping quite a ways behind the rest of the group. But, I managed to make it to…

…Arnold Schoenberg’s house! We got to take a look in the composer’s real life home, specifically in one of his offices. We observed his piano, his harpsichord, his typewriter, and his luggage. It was great getting to be physically present in this space. While most of what we learned here was just reiterations from yesterday’s museum, or small facets of his daily life (like how he packed his suit jackets), it helped me further connect to his existence as one of the great composers. It’s easy to slip into thinking of historical figures as just these vague concepts or characters in stories, instead of real people who actually existed, and getting to visit a space like this helps combat that thought and strengthens my appreciation of Schoenberg. Plus, we got to recreate some of his iconic photos! Who did it better?

Then, for our grand finale to the day, we began to hike up Mödling Mountain! The trails were lush and stunning- and my favourite part, completely bug-free! I’ve never gotten to spend so long in a forest without a single mosquito or blackhead! However, it took me a while to fully appreciate the mountain’s beauty, because the climb was incredibly difficult on my knee. I fell quite far beyond the group, and started crying early on because I didn’t want to miss out on the experience, but didn’t feel like I could make it. But some friends rallied me, providing painkillers, a walking stick, and words of encouragement, and…

…I made it! And it was well worth the struggle, because there at the end of our trail was the ruins of a 12th century castle! It was absolutely stunning: the old bricks, the distant city, the high up mountain view…it was like a fairy tale! We spent some time resting and exploring the ruins (endless photo opportunities!) and learnt a bit about the ruins. The castle has no specific name or detailed history, those have been completely lost to time. But it looked so “ruined” because of how villagers pillaged it, taking bricks to use for their homes instead, as it stopped being necessary/useful once war times ended. This specific fact felt very reminiscent of the modernist movement, even if it happened centuries before, and even if it was done for practicality instead of for art. I think there’s something in that idea of taking apart the old and implementing it into the new.

I think that question is my biggest takeaway from today’s explorations into modernist history. How do we move forward? What parts of history need to be preserved, and what parts need to be reconstructed? How can we be doing things differently? What change inevitably will happen? This all sounds quite existential, but I’m mostly thinking from the perspective of art, music, and other artistic culture. We don’t live in the end of the timeline, our way of life and standards for art will inevitably change in ways we might not yet be able to conceive. I find it fascinating to look back at things like the modernist movement, to see examples of the times changing, and to wonder how history will end up repeating itself. But more than anything else, I loved getting back to the hotel and getting to rest my fucking knee!

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