#constance grey

[nrrrdgrrrl2002]

Decided to make some Bendy:The Lost Ones designs for Bil, Brant and Constance

[mvshortcut]

The Mysterious Benedict Society + dear-ao3 - Part 2 (Prev)

+ Bonus:

Sources: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12

[milbroom]

“Lifeline.”

So I FINALLY got around to starting my remixed work for whiskey-lullaby’s “Clumsy”. It’s been gut wrenching to write so here’s a shamelessly angsty extract where everyone suffers because why not 😙

“And pray tell, Ms. Hubble, how the hell am I supposed to do anything with you if you're so intent on keeping everything to yourself?”

Mildred couldn't prevent the overwhelming hatred she felt for Constance poisoning her veins in that present moment. She hated her for all the times she had been there but never truly there. Mildred had wanted so badly for someone, anyone, to show some sign that they cared, so she delved head first towards the first person she stupidly believed did, and she was so fucking sick of only receiving coldness in return. Sick of everything being so hard for her, when it came so easily to everyone else. Miss Hardbroom would never change, and Mildred hated her for it, hated how much it hurt to be pushed away again and again.

So she snapped.

She strode over to Constance, standing so close that she could feel her erratic breathing on her forehead, and she snapped.

"Well it's not like you've ever given me anything to work with yourself! Not like you've ever tried to be approachable, because you're nothing but a cold, awful bitch, a twisted freak who's incapable of anything else and will never fucking change, and I HATE YOU FOR IT!" Mildred screamed, her voice cracking before she turned away from the older witch and glared out the window, her magic dangerously close to breaking point.

Constance balled her hands into fists in a desperate attempt to keep them to herself. She was ready to retort, ready to rip Mildred's insolence to shreds, until she saw her.

Really saw her, for what seemed like the first time.

The sight of her scarred skin, the fierce shaking racking her shoulders, her half-starved frame, the raw agony she had seen decorating her eyes. It all stopped her short. Never before had she felt such anguish, such inconsolable grief for someone in her care.

Mildred made no attempt to move as she tried to still her trembling chin. For a moment, Constance simply stood frozen, battling the hostile emotions swirling inside her, until her chest seized painfully, the anger draining from her as quickly as it had risen.

“Mildred…” Constance’s voice softened, almost breaking.

"Don't," Mildred choked, furiously blinking away the tears threatening to spill over. "Just let me go. Go back to Cackle's, and leave me to it. I'm a lost cause. I’m too much for you.”

"You are not..." Constance stopped, an unexpected ache seizing her chest, "not to me."

"Liar."

"Mildred..." She reached out tentatively, fingers brushing against her arm. The younger girl flinched, but before she could pull away, Constance firmly turned her around, and pulled her fiercely into her arms.

The girl froze for a brief second, expecting a blow to follow the intimacy, until her heart caught up with her head and for the first time in thirteen years, she did something she had never done before— she broke down.

Mildred let out an audible sob, the tears finally spilling over as she buried her face in her teacher's robes. The dread, the resentment, the loneliness—all of it came crashing down, and she sobbed into her shoulder, her small frame shaking with the force of her emotions while she clung to Constance as if she were a lifeline.

She was a lifeline.

[mariocki]

The Naked Kiss (1964)

"You know what's different about the first night? Nothing. Nothing... except it lasts forever, that's all. You'll be sleeping on the skin of a nightmare for the rest of your life."

[tomoleary]

Hugh Thomson (1860-1920) "Pied Piper of Hamelin" original illustration (1893) Source

Hugh Thomson (1860-1920) "The Death of the Old Grey Mare" original illustration (1897) Source

Hugh Thomson (1860-1920) "There - my note of hand will do as well" original illustration (1911) Source

Hugh Thomson (1860-1920) "In the strictest confidence..." original illustration (1909) Source

Hugh Thomson (1860-1920) “Give me leave to introduce Miss Constance Neville” Source

[merpmonde]

Coot chicks in Schaffhausen and herons in flight at Konstanz. That is all for today.

[my-52-weeks-with-christie]

Golden Age Gals: The Little Sisters

[eldritchlittleblackdragon]

Euphemia's Academy Uniform: Basically like... the top half of Mercedes Uniform (but with a black/gold shawl instead of tan/blue/black) and the bottom half of Bernadetta's uniform (but with blue tights like some other characters instead shorts under the skirt).

[jolieeason]

April 2024 Wrap-Up

Here is what I read, posted, won, received, and bought in April. As always, let me know if you have read any of these books and (if you did) what you thought of them. Books I Read: Books Reviewed: The Stranger Upstairs by Lisa M. Matlin—review here The Trail of Lost Hearts by Tracey Garvis Graves—review here Off the Air by Christina Estes—review here Sincerely, The Duke by Amelia…

[ellieswyfe]

Hood Connie Tales PT 1

(#hood connie being so sweet to his princesa 😍🫶🏾)

warnings: gun kink??, puerto rican connie, riding, daddy kink, chocking, mention of drugs and guns. (this is so nasty yall) 😂 MDNII!!

mood song (luv this song)

Hood Connie who picks you up at random ass times in the a.m 🤦🏾‍♀️. his light grey 2023 ford mustang BLASTING down your street. whether it be the music or the loud sound of his exhaust, you can always tell when he arrives. (your neighbors have complained multiple times)

Hood Connie who has a nice ass car, all blacked out with dark tinted windows, vegan leather seats, and dark blue leds, paired with red stitching all customized by him. which always smelt like a nice cologne mixed with a low, deep, weed smell. he even got your initials hand sewn into the passenger seat headrest.

Hood Connie who greets his baby with a loong kiss, sucking on your tongue and whining softly when you pull away. “c’mere girl,, wasn’t finished..”he says in a deep husky tone, closing his eyes and drawing you in for another kiss.“babyy stawpp” you giggle pushing at his chest, eventually giving into his kisses.

Hood Connie who when pulling out of your driveway, does that sexy thing where he puts his arms on the back of your seat and leans in his, so he can look in his back window, the hairs on his chin look gruff, like he hasn’t shaved ina while.

Hood Connie who pulls up to the nearest McDonalds (the only thing opened at the time) and orders you whatever you want off the menu. he always makes sure you eat even throughout the day while he’s at work.

Hood Connie who works as a mechanic and sometimes sells with his bro eren in his freetime. he doesn’t do it often but still makes hella money off of it when he does.(which ofc he uses to spoil you...and his car)

Hood Connie who isn’t too far into the drug business but still totes a heavy, black, glock 19 since he still has hella opps. opps who would go out of their way to try and hurt his girl and he wont be having that.

Hood Connie who pulls up to yalls favorite spot. a hidden lake that not too many people know about, which is only really used for fishers and kayakers but still hosts a beautiful view, which is even better a night with the stars twinkling off of the glistening dark water.

Hood Connie who lets you eat in silence before he starts to talk. “so wassup mami? did you need something, you seemed worried when you called…” his voice trailed off, he knew what was wrong he always does. its just that finals week was coming up and you were so stressed with all the studying and pre exams, youve had no time to spend with him. 🥺

Hood Connie who is not the slightest bit surprised when you swing your leg over the middle console and straddle him as if you’ve done it a million times before. wrapping your arms around his waist while leaning into his gun print sitting on his hip, and digging your face into his neck. he smelt good- really good.

Hood Connie who rocks you back n forth feeling up and down your thighs to squeezing your ass. when he hears your meek voice asking him to do the thing.. constance knows exactly what to do.

Hood Connie who reaches for his glock and caresses it on your cheek. when he feels ready he prods the tip on your plump lips until you open up. staring into your low hazy eyes, you begin to suck on the nozzle. sliding the underside of your tongue up and down, admiring the rifts and ridges.

Hood Connie who praises you all the way while you suck on his glock. “there ya go..suck on that shi good princesa.” and “good girl always doing what daddy says.” which makes him get uber hard when he hears you loudly moan for his praise.

Hood Connie who as your salivating on his gun, starts to touch on your pussy. you wore nothing but a hoodie and slides. connie was surprised to feel there was no kind of cloth clothing your core and he could immediately feel your wet sticky pussy, which was yearning for his touch. “please touch me papa..hurts there..” you whine sliding your lips off his glock now.

Hood Connie who lets his princess ride his dick while he holds up his glock to your head, chocking you.

“ooo..o-oh shit baby- so deep.” you sob while he thrusts up once again, continuing his brutal attacks on your pussy.

Hood Connie who might not last with the way your gripping and creaming around him, a white ring forming at his base. “ungh...oh fuck- dios mioss..chupando mi mierda bien..” he damn near screams feeling your cunt cleanch on him- hard this time letting him know your close.

Hood Connie who times his nutt perfectly, to be in sync with yours. he watches as your brows furrow and your mouth opens to form an “o” not even a drop of sound leaving those lips- until he hears a meek “ooo..o- shit daddy..ungh cummingg.” the grip you have on his dick almost making it impossible for him to pullout in time, cumming on your belly.

Hood Connie who carries wipes and aftercare supplies in his car, cleans you up and makes out with you.you continuing to straddle him for about an hour more till you fell asleep.

Hood Connie who stops by the corner store before dropping you off. leaving you sleeping in the car for a quick minute so he can get some of your favorite snacks.

Hood Connie who drops you off and is elated to hear that you passed your exams next evening, all thanks to him 🫶🏾🩷.

[shakingparadigm]

I think the matchup between Till and Luka can hold a lot of meaning within it, and I'm not sure if it was intentional but the way their personalities and levels of experience contrast can bring to mind a kind of "out with the old, in with the new" concept that's so commonly seen in media.

There's something so fantastic about Alien Stage's character design and how it manages to successfully portray Till as young despite certain aspects of his design suggesting otherwise. Till's grey hair and prominent eyebags are significant examples, along with his relatively tall and gaunt figure. These features are commonly used to signal that a character is of old age, weak and jaded. Despite this, Till is the youngest of the cast and has the fighting spirit to match, debuting with the most energetic and eccentric performance in the season. His magazine nickname "black sheep" emphasizes that Till's style is unique and a standout amongst the rest of the contenders. An erratic, more modern kind of style that becomes both a point of contention and attraction to the audience. He represents the "new", messy and full of youth, sharp lines and pure energy. An eccentric avant-garde way of art that challenges the reigning status quo.

Luka's appearance does little to indicate his true age of 30 years. His looks can simply be described as angelic, almost cherubic with his light blonde curls and soft features. Even as a child who was most likely the oldest of his batch, he was short-statured and incredibly fragile. There's the factor of Luka's hair and how light blonde is a color most commonly associated with youth and childhood, eventually fading away as one gets older. Despite Luka's soft and innocent facade, he is the eldest and most experienced of the cast. Solemn, almost hollow, and with little of the vibrance and energy expected of his looks. The fact that Luka retains his almost porcelain appearance even as a full-grown adult is a testament to not only Heperu's experimentation, but also of Luka's association with constance. He almost never changes, presenting a state of purity and perfection that has been honed to its absolute peak. From the garden to the 49th stage to the present, his image has never faltered. Dressed in pure, flowing white, his style is classic and traditional, with smooth, enveloping tones and elegant movement. His performances are displays of tact and grace that are delicate in execution but immense in impact. Luka represents the "old", or rather the constant. Unchanging, a performance that extends from the previous season (which, in an extremely fast-moving and trend-obssessed society, may be considered "old") to the next, aiming to reign for many more years to come.

The conflict of the Challenger and the Champion is one that commonly involves the idea of opposites. Luka and Till seem like two completely opposing forces, one as the serendipitous symbol of perfection, and one who comes crashing in, wielding chaos. Luka is the comfortable constance, catering completely to the audience, while Till is the change, catering completely to himself.

Of course, another common theme within this type of conflict is the hidden parallel, the "we're not so different" dilemma that brings one party to a sense of unease. It's become increasingly clear that Luka and Till have very similar upbringings, the major difference being what their guardians choose to present to the public. Experimentation, biological alteration, torturous practices and performance against their will. An extensive history of abuse is what lies underneath their stage personas, and while Heperu makes sure to keep this secret under wraps, Urak allows for Till's suffering to be known. Shock value, spectacle, anything to put the eyes on an unruly pet who wants nothing more than to be left alone. Heperu's methods, while more discreet, are no less diabolical.

Much sacrifice is required in order to reach the level of talent that Luka and Till have developed, and despite the imbalance it seems as though they are the only two people who can understand each other's extent of self-sacrifice.

There's another layer of "I'm just like you" that began to surface during ROUND 6, where Till's sharp edges softened in clutches of alien control. His parted hairstyle, the chains near the shoulders of his outfit... quite the familiar ensemble indeed. Almost like a dark mirror of Luka, but not quite. Not yet.

As of now, it's unsure whether or not Till will succumb completely to this loss of control, manufactured into a copy of his greatest opponent. However, judging from the very little that has been revealed about ROUND 7 so far, it seems that the passionate and fighting Till will make a resurgence.

The final round is now underway, and no matter who the winner is (or if there will even be a winner at all), it's sure to be an absolute spectacle.

[holdmymallowsweet]

Ravenclaws 🦅

all named and confirmed Ravenclaws in Hogwarts Legacy 🪶

Everett Clopton

Professor Satyavati Shah - Professor Dinah Hecat

Duncan Hobhouse - Ignatia Wildsmith - Samantha Dale

Sophronia Franklin - Zenobia Noke

Sirona Ryan

Astoria Crickett - Constance Dagworth

Hector Fawley - Amit Thakkar - Andrew Larson

Mahendra Pehlwaan - Isidora Morganach (being represented by her empty painting, because there's no photo mode in cutscenes)

Ravenclaw door knocker, for Rowena Ravenclaw

former Headmistress Niamh Fitzgerald - "The Grey Lady", Helena Ravenclaw

All Ravenclaws in Hogwarts Legacy, to the best of my knowledge and ability (but let me know if I missed anyone). I tried to make everyone look as good as possible, and I have plenty nice shots of them all that I didn't end up using, so if anyone wants more pics of their favourite underappreciated Ravenclaw, just let me know and I'll happily post them💙

(other houses coming soon)

[mvshortcut]

bonus:

[peasant-player]

Elrond with dramborleg

"His hair was dark as the shadows of twilight, and upon it was set a circlet of silver; his eyes were grey as a clear evening, and in them was a light like the light of stars."

This drawing was for @armenelols and @polutrope post about elrond using a family heirloom "dramborleg".

Oh boy I had so much fun.

My main thought while painting this was " what would be different about elrond?"

And the answer is alot but a the same time nothing.

Elrond is in a way a sad character he kind of lost everything and the only constance in his life is the heralded past of his ancestors/family and friends.

He almost can't remember his parents but he can read about them even maglor is ,despite being a kindslayer, described as strong imposing and a mighty warrior.

His own brother,who chooses mortality,is a revered king!

This elrond that I depicted here is not the lord of Riverdale. Not married yet.

This is a elrond who will stand between evil and his folk.

Just like his ancestors did.

He is holding a legacy of strong unrelenting men who did change the tides of war who done the impossible no one else did before them!.

This is also elrond who found out that his brothers legacy Numenor is at the bottom of the sea - because of sauron.

This is a elrond who becomes a lord for many different kind of elves because he is a different kind of elve.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

The Grey Zone 4

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon, manipulation, age gap, bullying, toxic parental figures, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: Your relationship with your parents has never been good, and that with a family friend takes a strange turn(goth!reader)

Character: Lloyd Hansen

Note: We're back

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me <3

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!)

Your bedroom door swings open, the handle knocking against the short shelf of figures behind it. You clutch the black skirt in your hands and face your mother as she gives you that look. The one dripping in disappointment and loathing. She’s hungover, you can tell by how she squints.

“Are you not ready yet?” She sneers, a Louis bag dangling from her elbow.

“Almost,” you assure her, rolling your tongue nervously, “mom, are you sure I should come? Work isn’t very happy about the time off and–”

“How dare you,” she accuses, flinching at the spark of her own temper, bringing her manicure to her temple, “Lloyd has been very nice in inviting us all to the lake house and I will not have you spoil it with your attitude.”

“I wasn’t trying to… I just thought…”

“Stop thinking,” she points at you with a long shellacked nail, “you’ll ruin everything.”

You snap your mouth shut. For her, this is another vacation. You know her plans don’t extend past wine and naps in the sun. And it is supposed to be a ‘family trip’. If you don’t go, your father might just tell her to stay behind too. It’s not that she wants you to go, but she wants to be sure she gets to go.

“I’ll be ready in like ten,” you spin back to your bed and tuck the skirt into your duffle.

“Make it five,” she huffs with the click of her tongue.

She prances off and you shake your head at the stacks of clothes in front of you. You cut it down as you roll up each piece to fit into your bag. You don’t need much. You shove your chest of makeup at the end and tuck your toiletry pouch inside.

You grab your leather knapsack and slide your laptop inside with your textbooks. You wonder if you’ll even have a signal all the way up north. If not, you’ll have a lot of catching up to do. Oh well, maybe it will be nice to get away. Or maybe you’ll be in hell, trapped in an isolated cabin with your own parents.

And him.

You shove a few novels in along with your computer and zip it up. You drag your stuff towards the door and grab your jacket from the clothes rack against the far wall. The long black trench goes well over your wide-leg curtain paints and razor back halter. You pop on a wide brimmed black hat and your favourite pair of sunglasses; black lenses framed with silver.

You grab your bags and haul them out of your room, making the slow and perilous descent to the first floor. You leave your bags right behind your mother’s pile of matching Louis luggage and wiggle your feet into your clunky Mary Janes. 

Your mother emerges with a sunhat and a pair of large square framed sunglasses. She winks at you as she tucks a flask into her purse. You say nothing and cross your legs, perching on the bench impatiently.

“Is that what you’re wearing?” She harrumphs.

“Yeah?” You look down.

“You don’t have anything… lighter? It’s sunny out.”

You shrug, “we’ll just be in the car.”

You stare at her bags. How much does she need to bring? The physics of packing all of it into the SUV worries you. You fully expect to be crammed in next to her bandouliere bag.

“Constance!” Your father’s voice booms as his steps pound onto the porch. You look at the screen door as he rips it open, “well,” he stops short inside, “I told you to start bringing your shit out.”

“I told you, my shoulder,” your mother pouts, “yell at your daughter, she’s the one sitting around.”

Your father huffs and grabs her largest bag, pointing at you then the rest of her things, “well, let’s get this going. I don’t wanna be driving past midnight.”

You get up and grab two of the lighter bags. You roll your eyes behind your lenses, knowing you won’t be caught. You follow your father out the front door, the weight of your mother’s excess chafing your fingers. What did she pack?

The hatch door of the SUV is already open. Your father’s things are neatly placed against the wall of the trunk. He hikes up your mother’s suitcase in the other side and it takes up much of the remaining space. You place the two in hand on top and ponder the last three. It’s like a very unfortunate game of Tetris.

“Go,” your father snaps his fingers, “get the rest.”

You don’t argue. As you come up on the porch, your mother emerges with a bright pink travel tumbler in hand, slurping on the straw as your left to wonder at the contents. You dip inside and retrieve her smallest bags; a perfect circular valise and two more oblong ones.

You hand them off to your father and he grumbles under his breath as he tries to fit them into the hatch. You return to the house to get your own bags. You won’t mind sitting with your own things. 

The backseat offers little hope as you find a large cooler taking up more than half of its length and fishing rods across the floor. So, where exactly are you supposed to sit?

As you stare, perplexed by the puzzle of your own belonging, a horn toots and a car rolls up the driveway, coming just short of your father as he turns to stare down the Bentley. You keep your knapsack on your shoulder and your bag clutched tight.

You face Mr. Hansen as he climbs out of his car, leaning on the door as he looks over it at your dad, “Ray Ray, ready to go?”

“Just loading up,” your father answers.

“Holy shit,” Mr. Hansen snorts, “you know you’re not moving in for good, right?”

“Connie’s shit,” your father snarls.

Hansen shuts his car door as he strides up the tarmac. His focus shifts as he sees you standing listless. He flicks his sunglasses up and gives a crooked smirk.

“Hey, sunshine,” he greets, “uh, Ray,” he stops, just a few inches from you, pivoting towards the back of the SUV, “where exactly is the baby girl supposed to fit? You strapping her to the roof?”

“She’ll squeeze in,” you father dimisses.

“For eight hours?” Hansen’s fingers tickle along the back of your arm and he squeezes just above his elbow, “I got lots of room.”

“I don’t care. Take her, then,” your father barks, “I got Lonny bringing up supplies, I don’t needa worry about all that.”

“Hear that, starbright, go toss your things in mine,” Hansen twirls his keyring and holds it out to you, “lots of legroom.”

“Um, it’s fine–”

“Don’t argue,” your father slams the hatch door. “He’s right, we don’t got the space.”

You could suggest your mother leaves a few things behind but you know that will only end the same. You take Hansen’s keys and thank him. He grins and steps back, not much, just enough for you to pass, just close enough for you to brush against him.

You go down the drive, surprised to find yourself trailed by another set of steps. You glance over your shoulder as Hansen circles around you, “bottom button, sunny.”

You hit the fob and the trunk pops open. He seizes your bag before you can react and puts it in next to his. You slip your knapsack down your arm and he just as quickly has it in hand.

“Couldn’t imagine eight hours in a car with those two,” he says quietly, “you’re welcome.”

“Uh, yeah, thanks.” 

You cross your arms and step back as he closes the trunk. He keeps his hand on the sleek pant and eyes you up and down. He tilts his head and his tongue pokes out.

“You feel like driving,” he asks, “I don’t mind.” He pats the butt of the car, “she handles well.”

“Um, it’s okay…”

“Come on, you get the first hour and we can switch at the rest stop,” he goads, “I woke up fuckshit early.”

“Alright, I guess,” you keep the keys in your hand and go to step around him.

“Wait, wait,” he blocks your path, “one more thing.”

“Alright?” You frown.

“I didn’t say…” he reaches to tap the brim of your hat, “you look fucking good.”

You don’t know how to respond. You’re unused to compliments and a simple thank you would do but something about his tone has you tongue-tied. You wipe away your chagrin and try to smile. Your lips just quiver and fall straight.

“Right, let’s stop dragging ass,” he spins and struts up the driveway, “Ray,” he calls to your dad, “here’s the spare key. In case you get ahead of us.”

You chew your lip and slowly walk along the side of the car. You unlock the doors and open the driver’s side. You reticently get in and take off your hat, twisting to throw it in the backseat. You turn straight and adjust the seat and steering wheel. It’s a really nice car.

The passenger door opens and Lloyd drops in, sliding the seat all the way back as he stretches his legs. You leave the keys in the cupholder and push the ignition. The engine rolls as you take in the breadth of controls. Nothing too unusual.

“What’s that shade of lipstick called?” Lloyd leans on the armrest of his seat, “how many shades of black can they sell?”

“Um, I don’t know,” you fix the mirror.

“Like those glasses. Where’d you get them?”

“Amazon,” you answer as you shift into reverse, the camera showing on the console screen. You grip the wheel and slowly back out.

“Now, don’t be afraid to put that foot down once we hit the highway,” he says, “she’s got a lot of power. She can handle it.”

“Mhmm,” you stop at the end of the driveway and look both ways down the street. “Got it.”

🖤

As promised, you trade places with Lloyd after the first hour. He’s a bit more heavy-footed and you find yourself with your hand on the door as you brace yourself with his careless and aggressive passing. You’re a cautious driver and his style has you almost dizzy. You’re not bold enough to tell him to slow down.

“Isn’t this nice?” He asks, “no squabbling middle-aged assholes to listen to.”

“Sure,” you grasp the seat belt as you keep a wary gaze through the windshield.

“Hopefully it’s only more of this, baby,” he continues, “my house, my rules. You don’t worry about mommy and daddy.”

You nod and hold back a squeak as he swoops in front of another car. You wish you had kept driving. You hate this.

“I’ll be working on my tan as daddy does all the hard work,” he scoffs, “been a long year.”

You listen, almost curious as he’s rarely anything close to transparent. You would never imagine him having a bad day. He seems to carry it with that no fucks given strut. He swerves again and you can’t help but elicit a rather pathetic noise.

“Mr. Hansen, can you… slow down a little?” You ask.

He doesn’t answer right away but he does as you request. “I get it, you wanna enjoy our time together,” he snickers.

“Uh, well, I get a bit carsick,” you utter.

“Ah,” he accepts with an air of disappointment, “can I ask you something?”

“Okay.”

“Can you call me Lloyd? This Mr. Hansen business makes me feel old as shit. I’m not, you know, I got all my faculties,” he lets out a small chuckle, “just so you know.”

“Right, Lloyd, sorry,” you say, “dad just… you’re his friend so he–”

“Yeah, real tight ass but damn good at what he does. The biggest fuckers always are,” he scoffs.

“I guess…”

“So, those girls, they bug you again?” He keeps the same pace in conversation as he does driving. You’re disoriented by the flip.

“Haven’t seen them, no…”

“You know, they’re just jealous,” he says, “I know girls like that. I’ve f– met a lot. They’re not worth it.” He shakes his head and laughs, “hate to say it, but your mom is one of those. Never a nice thing to say about anyone but herself.”

You lean into the seat and bend your arms in front of your stomach. You know that. Deep down, you know your family is imperfect, you just didn’t realise how obvious it is.

“You’re young. Shit’s tough when you’re figuring it out.”

“Yeah,” you murmur.

“You got Spotify or something?” He asks abruptly, once more jarring you. “Got bluetooth in here. May as well put something on, we got time.”

“Right, uh, I could…” you dig your phone out as he pushes buttons on the steering wheel with his thumb. The screen flashes with the pairing symbol.

You find the right connection and scroll through your playlists. You don’t know if he’ll like any of those. Maybe you could find something generic.

“What do you like?” You ask.

He answers with a chortle, “nah, you put something on. I wanna hear your music.”

“Well, it’s a bit… of an acquired taste.”

“My car, my rules, put your music on,” he demands.

You resign and tap shuffle on your weekly mix. Joy Division drones from the random selection and you black out the screen. You’re comforted by the familiar tones.

“Holy fuck,” Lloyd says, “this is old shit. Before my time, even.”

“Uh, yeah,” you reply, “it’s just a shuffle–”

“Not complaining,” he smirks, “glad I actually know this one.”

You exhale and try to relax. It’s going to be a long ride and you're thankful he opened that door. You don’t know how much longer you could handle his chaotic conversation. Only six hours or so, you can make it if you have music.

[hotjaneaustenmenpoll]

The Quarter-Final Round Roundup

Before the start of the Semi-finals later today we say farewell to the fallen four Hot Jane Austen Men who must retire to the country as their season ends.

In a matchup of men who mothers dote on the voters were persuaded that despite being a loveable labrador of a man Mr Bingley (1995) was still too easily lead and so will not be returning to Netherfield Park as you instead chose the constancy of a Colonel...

And not just that of a Colonel but a Captain too as the never inconstant Wentworth was rewarded with your votes as you rejected the rakish ways of Willoughby (1995), disinherited him from Combe Magna and sent our very last Jane Austen fuck boy off in search of a Miss Grey and her 50,000 a year.

While Edward playing pirates with a younger sister may mean you think very highly of him - that you greatly esteem him when his opponent can one-up him by saving a younger sister from absolute ruin, pirateering is not enough. Which means you declared that whether as a Daniel Cleaver or a Edward Ferrars (1995) Hugh Grant can never defeat a Mr Darcy.

Our hardest fought battle this round was of course between the last of our post 90s men Mr Tilney (2007) and Mr Knightley (2009). Though you conceded that Henry Tilney would dance with you at a party where you know no one, talk to you about your favourite books, tease you and flirt with you even risk disinheritance after you accuse his father of murder - he is after all still for the church so for the second time this week you said who wants a clergyman when you can have an estate? And so it is Mr Tilney (2007) who watches on as we speed past him in our gig right into the Semi-finals!

Our two Semi-Finals will be posted in the next few hours so if you have any propaganda that you think will take your man all the way to the Hot Jane Austen Man Final send it in now!

But before you do join me once more in saying...

Bye boys!