#mason mount love island series

[joekeeryswife]

Love island Episode one: Coupling up.

a/n: it’s here! thank you to everyone who voted over this past week. here is the love island series. Mason has his pretty prince hair😍. villa is the 2019 UK love island villa, it will get better but i wanted to get the coupling up over with. anyways sorry if there is any mistakes, enjoy reading 🩰

you’d never been this nervous before. sure you’d been nervous but never this bad. you had been scouted for love island by the producers and you thought you’d give it a go. you had a pretty big following being a model/influencer with just over 500k followers and this would be the perfect opportunity for you to finally find love instead of focusing on your job.

you walked into the villa in you hot pink bikini, you picked it because it would stand out and that’s what you wanted to do. you wanted to make a good first impression on whoever was in here. you made your way to the garden and saw four other girls meaning you were the last to enter before you saw Maya Jama.

“hey everyone” you said making the four girls turn towards you and scream with excitement. they met you halfway and one by one introduced themselves to you. “i’m Molly nice to meet you” she kissed you on the cheek and hugged you closely. the next girl hugged you “hi im Chloe” she hugged you.

“i’m Anna” she hugged you and kissed your cheek and then you finally moved onto the last girl “im Amber nice to meet you” you didn’t know what it was but the girls even though you hadn’t been in there long had all made you feel welcome already.

“i’m y/n, nice to meet you all” you were still nervous as Molly poured you a drink. “so, tell us about you y/n. what’s your type?” you took a sip of the champagne before starting. “well, i’m 22, in a model and influencer. my type is tall, tattoos, brown hair brown eyes, tanned skin, someone who’s athletic and don’t think i’m weird but i love noses” the girls laughed.

“don’t worry y/n, i’m with you on that one” Chloe laughed. “tell me about you girls then, we are gonna be living together for a while” you tucked your hair behind your ear as you listened to them.

Chloe started “well, i’m 25, i’m a marketing executive. my type is anyone who is taller than me to be honest. i don’t really have a type i usually go for. i like anyone, and i do have a thing for noses” you laughed again knowing that this was gonna be a recurring thing that you would all speak about.

“as you know i’m Molly, i’m 23 and i’m an influencer. my usual type is a tall brunette but i’m open to get to know everyone here” you nodded and then Anna started talking. “so i’m a pharmacist and my usual type is anyone taller than me, because i’m so tall i want someone taller than me”

to be honest Anna was very tall so it wasn’t a shock that she’d want someone taller than her. lastly Amber started talking “i’m a beautician so i do facials, lashes, lip filler, everything like that and my usual type is tall dark and handsome, i don’t know how else to explain it” you all laughed and then you all heard a voice behind you.

“hello girls” you turned towards the voice and saw Maya standing there. a few of the girls screamed, seeing her made this experience feel so much more real. “how about we all gather around the fire pit and have a chat?” all of you made your way over to the fire pit and sat down.

“so, Amber, tell me, how are you feeling about being here? are you nervous? excited?” Amber nodded “yeah i’m excited because you never know who’s gonna come through that door like it could be the love of my life” her gordie accent thick as she spoke.

you all laughed and nodded, you really never knew who was about to come through the door. “Chloe, do you think you could meet someone here? or are you skeptical about it all” Chloe shrugged “i’m pretty skeptical but i’m optimistic about the whole thing. i’m excited to meet everyone else”

“okay well, are we ready to meet some boys?” you all cheered and made your way over to the five love hearts that were by the pool. you were on the fourth heart in between Anna and Chloe. “right, remember girls that you can step forward for the guy you like but he can pick any one of you even if you don’t step forward” Maya spoke so you understood the rules.

“let’s welcome our first boy Ovie” you all looked toward the door and saw him, he was very good looking. you all clapped as he made his way down the steps. “you girls doing alright?” you all said yes as he stood next to Maya. “so girls, step forward if you like the look of Ovie” you looked at the girls and saw Anna, Chloe and Amber step forward.

“wow three girls stepping forward already. Amber, why did you step forward?” Maya questioned “he’s just really good looking, definitely my type” Ovie was shocked that three girls stepped forward for him. he was hoping for at least one let alone three.

“y/n, why didn’t you step forward?” you blushed “now don’t get me wrong you’re very good looking but i just want to see the other options before i step forward for someone” Ovie and Maya nodded understanding where you were coming from.

“okay Ovie you have three beautiful girls who have stepped forward for you but who have you decided you are going to pick?” he was silent for a few minutes before he finally spoke up “the girl i would like to couple up with is Anna” Anna clapped with excitement that Ovie picked her. to be honest when they stood next to each other they looked perfect together.

“okay, next boy we have coming in is Toby” you all clapped again as he made his way down the steps and you heard Chloe whisper ‘oh my god’. she liked him for definite. “okay girls, if you like the look of Toby please step forward” straight away Chloe stepped forward. Chloe was the only one who stepped forward for Toby.

“okay ones not bad” he said making you frown but you quickly changed your face back to normal. “Toby you have Chloe who has stepped forward for you, would you like to couple up with Chloe or would you like to couple up with someone else?” Maya said fidgeting on her feet.

“Chloe is beautiful so i’m going to couple up with Chloe” you all clapped as Toby made his way over to Chloe and he kissed her on her cheek. Chloe blushed and smiled happily that Toby picked her.

“Molly why haven’t you stepped forward for any of the boys?” Maya asked looking at her intensely. “they just aren’t my type really, i bet they’re lovely but i’m just waiting for that spark straight away” Maya nodded “okay well i think you may like this next boy then, please welcome Tommy”

Molly gasped as he made his way down the steps, she was in shock at how good looking he was. “okay girls, if you like the look of Tommy please step forward” Amber and Molly stepped forward. “wow two girls, didn’t expect that” Tommy said smiling widely. “well, Molly and Amber have stepped forward for you Tommy, who would you like to couple up with? remember you can pick someone who has stepped forward for you, in a couple or even a girl who hasn’t stepped forward.

Tommys eyes scanned through the girls before making his decision. “i would like to couple up with Molly” she jumped a little as Tommy picked her. “thank you for picking me” Molly said as she gave Tommy a hug and he kissed her on the cheek. “you’re welcome beautiful” she blushed brightly.

“okay girls, last two boys. y/n, do you think you will step forward? you haven’t stepped forward for anyone” you nodded “i know, i feel bad but no one has really caught my eye yet” Maya understood “hopefully someone will catch you eye” you agreed.

“okay girls welcome Curtis” you didn’t even like the sound of that name right off the bat and seeing him just solidified that for you. he was not your type at all. “okay girls, if you like the look of Curtis please step forward” you were not stepping forward. you didn’t want to just step forward because you had too, you were here for yourself.

it was silent for a few minutes and sadly no one stepped forward for Curtis. his smile faltered slightly before he quickly put it back on his face. “oh Curtis i’m sorry” Maya said and he just shrugged it off “it’s no bother, they just haven’t gotten to know me yet.” he replied.

“okay well don’t worry, you can couple up with any of these girls. who would you like to couple up with?” Maya continued “i would like to couple up with y/n” your heart dropped but you didn’t show your sadness, you just had to get on with it.

Curtis made his way over to you and gave you an awkward hug. “y/n, how are you feeling?” god you hated that she had to ask you that “oh uhh, i’m glad i got picked but i just didn’t see that initial attraction but i guess i don’t know Curtis?” you sounded like you were questioning yourself.

“okay well, let���s see our next boy. please welcome Mason” you turned your head toward the door and your heart started beating. there he was and you were in shock at how pretty he was. “hey everyone” he said, even his voice was sexy. “girls, if you like the look of Mason please step forward” straight away you stepped forward as did Chloe and Amber followed.

“wow y/n, i’m shocked. you actually stepped forward for someone” you blushed and laughed. “well, it glad she did step forward for me” Mason winked at you and you felt weak. he was making you feel things you’d never felt before.

“Mason you have the choice to couple up with any of these girls, who would you like to couple up with?” Mason answered straight away “y/n” you were ecstatic. “that means Curtis automatically couples up with Amber” Curtis walked over to Amber and Mason made his way over to you and kissed you on the cheek and pulled you into a nice hug. “nice to meet you” he said as you stepped back to the heart.

“nice to meet you too. thank you for choosing me” your body felt hot, he was the perfect man by looks, and he had a nice nose. “well, you’re a beautiful girl. i’m excited to get to know you” you locked eyes with him, his eyes were dark brown but in the sunlight you could see golden hues which were so pretty.

“okay guys, everyone is now coupled up. i’ll leave you too it and remember, if you don’t get to know anyone your place in the villa may be at risk. good luck” with that Maya left and it felt even more real. “should we go over to the swing? i want to know more about you” you nodded your head and smiled. Mason grabbed ahold of your hand and the two of you headed over to the swing.

*to be continued*

[mountttmase]

A Mountain To Climb - Part Seven

Note - welcome to your weekly sugar fix, I feel like this chapter is rather sweet if I do say so myself 😂 also the next two chapters you will love I promise, we’re almost there guys 😂 thank you so much for all your lovely comments and please let me know what you think of this one 💙

Pairing - Mason Mount x Reader

Word count - 2.6k

Warnings - series will contain fluff, smut & angst

Masterlist

You knew you wanted to text Mason but you didn’t want to seem to eager. It was only Monday and he said it would be nice to hang out this week but you thought texting him this soon might of been a bit too much.

You couldn’t concentrate at work though, typing out a few messages and deleting them before finally just biting the bullet and texting him.

Excitement rippled through you at the thought of seeing him again, it had seemed like forever since you’d like spent some proper time together and the thought of it being just the two hanging out made you happy but also extremely nervous.

You spent that evening fretting about what your excuse could be as to why you wanted to see him in the first place but after thinking over what you’d spoken about with Freya over the weekend, an idea popped into your head that you couldn’t get out.

You were filled with nerves sat on the way home from work the next day and the smell coming from the bag on your lap wasn’t doing much to help. He offered to pick you up from the station and you popped your things on the back seat before climbing in next to him where he greated you with a wide smile.

‘Here she is, it’s been a while huh?’ He laughed, starting the car and backing out of the space.

‘More than a while’ you commented, smiling back at him when he sent you a wink. ‘I’d almost forgotten what your face looks like in 3D’

‘Very funny, I’m worth the wait though right?’

‘I’ll let you know later’ you winked and he shook his head with a smile before concentrating on the road.

The drive to his house was quick and you walked into the smell of something cooking. Mason quickly ran off to check it was all fine and you met him in the kitchen a few moments later where he was just shutting the oven back up.

‘You’re cooking?’ You questioned with an eyebrow raised.

‘I can cook’ he told you defensively and you smiled at him before he walked over to you with his arms out wide. ‘Come here, I’ve missed you’ he moaned as he wrapped you up in his arms. He smelt like soap and mint but mostly Mason and you nuzzled further into his neck as he swayed you both from side to side lightly.

You wrapped your arms around his back and stroked up and down lightly which caused him to hold you even tighter and you looked up at him with a smile. ‘Missed you, too’ you whispered before he placed a gentle kiss on your forehead causing your whole body to breakout in goosebumps.

‘Sorry, was that too much?’ He whispered and you shook you head as you pulled back a bit. Mason always respected your boundaries, respected them too much sometimes but after you’d initiated that first hug after he gifted you the cookies you could tell it was hard for him to not be as affectionate with you as he was with other people so you figured it was only fair to let him push it a little bit further sometimes plus you actually quite enjoyed it and you’d missed his touch over the past weeks. ‘I guess I need to hurry up and get you that Chelsea shirt now you’re coming to games’ he winked as he let go of you and gestured for you to sit at the kitchen island. ‘I’m still so shocked you were there’

‘I am too’ you laughed and he looked over at you with a shy smile.

You sat and watched him cook, chatting about how your days had gone and he was impressing you with how comfortable he seemed in the kitchen. Every time he reached for something in the cupboard his shirt would rise up and you’d catch a glimpse of his tummy, making your heart thud and it got to the point where you thought he might be doing it on purpose as his skin was continually on show. He told you it was almost ready but to stay where you were as he disappeared around a corner. He kept coming back every few minutes to get something new before asking for your hand so he could take you to where he’d been.

You were confused as his dining table was in the opposite direction but he pulled you in front of him and told you to close your eyes as he led you round a corner. You didn’t know what was round here and assumed it was just an extension of the kitchen but when he said you could open your eyes, your breath got caught in your throat.

He’d set up a cute little table with a fancy table cloth and and candles and a few roses in some bottles in a secret little unused part of his kitchen. You gasped as you turned to him, a shy smile on his face.

‘Mason? What the hell is all this?’ You whispered as he pulled out a chair for you.

‘Well, my tables a bit big for two people so I thought this would be a bit nicer. Is it too much? We can sit out there if you want I just thought this was a bit more intimate I guess’

‘No it’s lovely, honestly. I didn’t even know the room went round here. Is this where you take all the ladies’ you winked at him as he set your plate down and took up the seat next to you.

‘Ladies? Not quite, but me and Chilly eat here all the time. You think this set up is for for you? Nah he absolutely loves red roses’ he winked and you let out a loud laugh at his silliness, loving how much effort he’d put in but still wanted to brush it off like it was nothing.

You were surprised at how good his cooking was when you took your first bite and you looked up to find him eagerly awaiting your response. Your mouth was too full though so you just nodded at him before he smiled brightly at you and dug in himself.

‘Speaking of ladies, what’s the current situation?’ You asked and he seemed surprised at your question.

‘What do you mean?’

‘Are you seeing anyone?’

You had no idea why you were asking, the thought of Mason with someone else made you want to die inside but the intimacy of this little date thing you had going on left you on edge. Thinking maybe if you mentioned other women it would remind Mason you said you two were just friends and nothing more even if your resolve had clearly been slipping away.

‘No, don’t exactly have the time right now’ he told you, trying to brush it off but now you were on the subject you wanted to know more about his romantic history.

‘When was your last relationship?’

‘Like two years ago?’

‘We’re you together long?’

‘I guess so. But we were young and once we’d grown up we realised it wasn’t meant to be’ he told you and you nodded at him with a smile. ‘Are you done interrogating me now?’ He laughed and you felt your face flush. You hadn’t meant to you were just curious but the look he was giving you you knew he was only teasing. ‘What about you anyway? I definitely know you’re not seeing anyone’ he winked with a laugh and you felt yourself go cold as you knew what was coming next. ’When was your last relationship?’

There was the dreaded question, the one you avoided with everyone and the one only you and Freya knew the answer to. You body language must of changed immediately and you felt his hand rest on your knee under the table.

‘It’s alright. Like I said before, you don’t have to tell me anything’ he told you gently and you felt your eyes prick at his words.

‘Sorry, it’s not that I don’t want to. It’s just hard, you know? It wasn’t great and I want to tell you- I will tell you one day I promise, it’ll probably explain a lot but I can’t right now. I’ve held it in for too long to even know where to start’ you told him and he gave you a sympathetic smile to let you know it was okay.

‘It’s fine’ he smiled, grabbing your hand and placing a soft kiss to your knuckles. You melted at his gesture and the urge to close the small gap and kiss him was overwhelming. More overwhelming than it ever had been but you knew it wasn’t right so you shook the thoughts from your brain and gave him a soft smile before you both carried on eating. Mason thankfully changed the subject and you both moved on from the tense atmosphere as Mason told you stories that made you laugh until you had tears in your eyes for a whole different reason.

When you were both finished, he cleared the table and you helped carry everything back into the kitchen so he could clean it, making sure to blow out the candles before joining him.

‘So what did you want to drop over?’ He questioned as he placed the last plate in the dishwasher. You cheeks suddenly flushed as you remembered why you were there and you let out a nervous cough before grabbing the paper bag you’d brought with you to the kitchen and placing it down in front of him on the island.

You wanted to run, to grab your things and flea the scene as to not cause yourself any embarrassment. The only outcomes of this situation in your mind was a disaster, thinking he would laugh at you or think you’re weird but you willed yourself to be uncomfortable in the moment. Mason hadn’t let you down once and you trusted him not to now.

‘Open it then’ you laughed and he sent you a curious smile before peering in the bag before furrowing his eyebrows and digging in to grab out the box inside. You could feel your heart pounding in your ears as he opened it and his eyes met yours in confusion but you could tell he was happy so you dropped your gaze to the counter.

‘Cookies?’ He laughed as he picked one up and you gulped down nervously before nodding .

‘Yeah, you bought me some so I thought I’d make you some’

‘You made these?’

‘Yeah. And I know you’re on a bit of a strict diet so I found a healthy recipe but that doesn’t mean you get to eat them all in one go’ you laughed, finally looking up and he was gazing back at you in a way that he never had before. If heart eyes was a real emotion then a snapshot of Mason in this moment would be the reference. You felt hot and your skin prickled with nerves as he smiled at you, seeming loosing your breath under his stare. ‘What?’ You laughed and he shook his head at you in disbelief.

‘Thank you. Honestly this means a lot to me’

‘It’s just some cookies’ you winked, replaying his words from the night he gave you yours and he laughed shyly at the memory.

‘I know’ he breathed before pulling you into a hug. You were both silent, just holding each other as he rested his cheek on you head. You weren’t sure how long you were stood there for but the longer you were, the more you felt yourself well up. You hasn’t been held like this in such a long time, hadn’t felt this safe since you could remember and it was so overwhelming to feel your walls slowly slip around you as he held you together. You tried to sniff your tears away as discreetly as possible but he caught on, pulling back and holding you by your cheeks so you’d look at him. ‘Hey, what’s wrong?’

‘Nothing’ you laughed as he wiped a few stray tears away.

‘Are you sure?’

‘Yeah I just… thank you’ you whimpered, letting your emotions get the better of you as his big brown eyes looked into yours

‘What for?’ He asked confused and you nestled back into his chest, not having the guts to look at him right now. He wrapped his arms around you gently and you’d never felt so safe with anyone. His touch giving you the courage to speak your mind.

‘I never thought it was possible to have someone like you in my life. I’m really glad we’re friends’ you told him through small sobs.

‘Please don’t cry, love’ he told you, the pet name slipping make you nestle further into him and he held you even tighter.

‘They’re happy tears’ you laughed

‘Come on’ he whispered, guiding you to sit on the sofa, draping you legs over his as he pulled you into him as close as he could. ‘You can talk me to me you know. About anything at all’

‘I know. And you can talk to me too’

‘Yeah?’ He laughed and you nodded whilst wiping your eyes. ‘Not sure you can handle all my problems if you’re gonna snot all over me’

‘Masonnn’ you scolded trying to make him feel bad but you couldn’t help but laugh. He always knew what to say to make you smile and you rested yourself back into him so he could hold you. You stayed like that for a little while, sat in silence as you found solace in each others warmth.

‘I didn’t get any dessert, but maybe we can have a cookie?’ He asked, and you nodded before jumping up off his lap.

‘Stay there I’ll get them’ you offered and popped two on a plate before sticking them in the microwave to warm up a bit. He smiled at you brightly when you returned and you slotted yourself in besides him, offering him the plate so he could take one as he wrapped his arm around your shoulders.

‘Fuck me, these are good. Are you sure you made them?’

‘Yes, Mason. Don’t doubt my abilities’ you laughed and he squeezed your shoulder in response.

‘We should host a dinner party, I’ll cook and you can make dessert? That sound fair? I think we’d smash it’

‘As long as Ben does the washing up then I think that could work’ you laughed as he rested his head on top of yours.

For the first time in a long time, you didn’t want to push him off or run away. You were comfortable in his embrace and his company, and seeing the relaxed happy expression on his features because of you made you feel all warm inside. You knew you couldn’t give him all of you, but seeing him happy because of you settled you more than you ever thought it could.

Tagged: @alwaysclassyeagle @ricsaigaslec @cinderellawithashoe @vip-access @majx00

[dreamer-grl]

mason mount love island series coming soon

[trentaafcsblog]

Midnight Memories

Mason Mount

This isn’t like him at all. Trapped in a crowd of drunk and disorderly people who are staggering around to the beat of the music, sloshing their drinks all over one another when the pink and purple strobe lights descend upon their bodies and start flashing in a series of random patterns, enhancing their alcohol-induced illusions and perceptions of the world as they flail their limbs around and claim they’re flying or walking on clouds - a stage that Mason isn’t willing to reach tonight, or any night, for that matter. 

A sea of girls in overly tight dresses and heels that barely support them crowding around him and slurring things in his ear. Running their fingers up his bare arms and begging for another drink as he awkwardly shakes his head and tries to break away from them, only for another person to grip onto him from the other side and smear their cheap sticky lipgloss all over his neck in an attempt to add ‘I kissed a footballer’ to their CV. “Just kiss meee” they whine, pouting in his face and trying to pull him closer before giving up and making a move on the next available man, one who’s willing to explore their mouths and buy them endless rounds of multicoloured shots for the rest of the night without gently shoving them away or not-so-subtly avoiding their alcohol-coated lips.

This isn’t your type of place either, although you’re five cocktails deep into the stack of pornstars that your friends insisted on ordering. A stain down the front of your white bodycon dress thanks to an escapee half a passion fruit that decided to leave your triangular glass in order to explore the vomit-tainted floor. Your lips all patchy now that your lipgloss has migrated to decorate the rim of your empty glasses with sparkly nude smudges, although you’re slightly relieved because it means that your hair won’t get coated in it anymore, and it minimises the evidence if you end up kissing someone too, not that you came here to do that, or risk putting yourself in the same category as the girls that are now trying to climb into the VIP section with a bunch of semi-famous people, all because they want a drunk kissing video to plaster across their social media, hoping that it takes them to the front of the papers in the morning for being such-and-such’s ‘mystery girl’.

You’re looking up at the VIP area cordoned off by security guards in black puffer jackets and walkie talkies in their hands, feeling an overwhelming sense of empathy for all of the people that have to tolerate that kind of behaviour. Your eyes start scanning across the section of the club that is far too expensive for just a few hours’ stay, wondering if you can recognise any famous faces, but it’s just the ‘I lasted one day in the Villa and still managed to secure a Pretty Little Thing brand deal’ Love Islanders and the friend of the friend of the friend of a semi-professional footballer that made one twelve minute appearance for Arsenal back in 2010 and thinks he’s God’s gift. All of them either eating each other’s faces or taking boomerangs of them cheers-ing their margaritas before having to retake the same video five times because they’ve lost several lime slices in the process and it’s ruining the aesthetic. Your focus sharpening on someone with their back to you and at least ten girls around them, taking it in turns to have a drunken selfie or begging him to buy them a bottle of champagne with one of those fancy sparkler things on the top that gets brought out by women wearing elaborate carnival-inspired feather headbands and very revealing dresses. And you can’t help but feel sorry for him because you can tell just from the back of his head that he’s incredibly uncomfortable, even more so when he gets offered a blowjob from a girl who’s now threatening to get her boobs out in exchange for a whole bottle of Don Julio, in a bucket of ice, just how she likes it.

He’s turning around to face the rest of the club just as you go to look away at the menu that’s being wafted under your nose by one of your friends, and you can’t help but do a double take at his familiarity. Squinting your eyes so that you can get a better look at his features. ‘Nice drink’ you think when your eyes catch the glass of Diet Coke in his hand, quite obviously not accompanied by a swig of vodka going by his incredibly tense frame and stiff dance moves. Well, it’s not really dancing, it’s more of a ‘I’ll just copy what my friends are doing so I don’t look awkward’ move, aka a two-step shuffle from one side to the other. You can’t help but giggle as you watch him from across the room, your friends completely giving up on trying to entice you with a selection of expensive cocktails as they leave you to stare at some random man on the other side of the club, their need for a second stack of bright coloured drinks clearly overriding the want to look out for their friend.

You’re watching him for a bit longer. Becoming completely fixated on this familiar stranger who you can’t help but sit and giggle at. Part of you wanting to cringe with him at how hellish this night has become, but at the same time, it’s kind of funny watching someone who should be so used to having a large following blush and laugh awkwardly if anyone happens to recognise him. Okay, maybe it’s slightly uncomfortable to sit and watch a swarm of girls attack him with their overdrawn lips whilst he does everything in his will to not shove them into next week, especially when his friends start laughing and taking little videos of the awkward encounters, clearly ready to embarrass him at a later date. But regardless, it’s nice to know that fame hasn’t gone completely to his head, unlike an ex-reality TV star who’s screaming ‘do you know who I am?’ at one of the bouncers who won’t let her hang out with her ‘friends’ in the VIP section.

But you’re quickly forced out of your trance when you feel somebody shoving something into your hand. Looking down at your palm and clocking the ten pound note before your eyes are lifting to the hand that it’s been given from. “Go and get us those cocktails” your friend slurs before slumping back in her seat and falling to one side slightly, her pink lipstick slathered all over her chin from where she’d tried to apply it without a mirror when a man wearing an extremely tight fitting top happened to settle down in the booth next to you, obviously hoping that he’d look her way. “Hurry up, I’m thirstyyy” your other friend whines, making you sigh and mutter something under your breath in reference to them being lazy and ruining your evening, as you slide out of the row of pink arched seats and stand up. Having to grip onto the back of the chairs when your legs go all warm and fuzzy from the one too many cocktails you’d already consumed, pulling your dress down to a more appropriate length before heading off in the direction of the bar. Trying to catch a glimpse of Mason as you swerve in and out of the sea of dancing bodies, but you just end up feeling as though you’re going to fall to the floor when the strobe lights start spinning on the ceiling before dispersing their blue and green beams around the room at the most ridiculous speed. Everybody around you swaying from side to side and elbowing you in the ribs as you try your best to dodge them, kicking yourself for wearing the most stupid pair of heels as your toes crush into each other more and more with each step, cursing when you skid in a puddle of what looks like - or at least you hope is - vodka, and you have to grab onto a stranger’s arm to steady yourself, much to their dismay until they catch a glimpse of your apologetic face and suddenly want to make out with you.

You’re breathing a sigh of relief when you finally make it to the bar, setting your bag down on the counter and ordering what you think your friends want, although you probably should have double-checked with them first considering you were too busy having a nosy at someone across the club to pay any sort of interest to their alcohol preferences. “What?” you’re shouting at the barman when he tells you the total of the drinks, hoping that you’ve misheard him but ten pounds clearly isn’t going to cover the cost of sixteen cosmopolitans with added shots of vodka. Panicking when he repeats the price and turns his back to get started on making them, your hands now frantically searching your bag in the hope that you manage to find the extra money before he starts yelling at you for ordering things without being able to pay. “Fuck” you’re hissing as you turn the contents of your bag out onto the countertop, checking the inside of your phone case and a pressed powder incase they happen to house the remaining money. Your heartbeat pounding louder in your ears the closer it gets to having to admit that you’ve actually only got a quarter of what you need. 

“I’ll get it” someone’s saying, clearly sensing the tension between you and the barman as you shrug your shoulders in response to him sticking his hand out for the money. “I’m not a charity” you snap back, your slightly tipsy state giving you a rush of confidence as you continue to search your bag in the hope that the money has magically appeared just so that you can laugh it off and shut everyone up. “I know, but it’s on me” they’re saying again, leaning forward and tapping their card on the machine before you can even consider fighting back a second time. “Thank-” you’re starting before realising who it is that’s just saved you from an incredibly awkward situation. Surely not. Surely Mason Mount hasn’t just bought you, of all people, a load of cocktails for your mates.

“It’s okay” he laughs nervously, making your heart melt because clearly he’s just as awkward around you as he is everybody else in this club. “Prices have gone up, haven’t they?” he smiles as he takes a step closer to you, propping himself up on the countertop with his elbows before asking the barman for a lemonade, with ice, just so it isn’t too fizzy. “Yeah, I don’t normally come out so I underestimated it a bit” you laugh shyly before looking off in the other direction, simultaneously cursing and thanking your friends for leading you to believe that you could get sixteen cocktails for a tenner, because without their stupidity, you wouldn’t be talking to the boy that you’ve been watching all night. “Prefer to stay at home then?” he asks as you turn back and nod your head. “Me too” he’s saying, “I’m normally in bed by now” he giggles as his gaze rises to the clock above the bar, the time reading 00.04am. The slight dark glow under his eyes letting you know that he’s normally tucked up by 9pm in his pyjamas. “What are you doing here then?” you ask. Stupid question really. He’s here for the same reason that you, and probably half of the people here, are - he’s been dragged along and forced to pretend that he’s a right party animal whilst he sips his non-alcoholic drinks and fights off every woman in sight. “My mates made me tag along, I’m kind of glad they did now though” he’s telling you, the second part of his sentence almost becoming inaudible as his voice quietens just as the volume of the music rises with the chorus of ‘My Yé Is Different’, ironic since you’ve just spotted the twenty grand watch decorating his wrist whilst you’re stood there in a passion fruit stained dress. But you’re still managing to hear it, and you can’t work out whether that’s in reference to you, or the fact that he’s been able to drink fizzy drinks when he’d normally only have water. Except you’re not stupid. 

“Bet you say that to everyone” you tease, gaining his attention again as he laughs nervously and shakes his head. “Only the special ones” he replies, which is true, but now you can’t help but wonder if his drinks have been accompanied by a few shots of something or another because those words and the sincerity of his tone aren’t a reflection of the awkward man you spotted ten minutes ago, let alone the fact that he clearly considers you to be one of these ‘special ones.’ “Yeah, yeah” you’re saying back, flicking your hair over your shoulder before taking a sip of one of the cocktails that are sat before you, still waiting to be taken back to your friends. “Got quite a few drinks for somebody that doesn’t go out much, no wonder you needed me to pay” he winks as you roll your eyes and blush at the thought of somebody having to give you a helping hand with the price. “This is my last one, I’m off in a minute cose I can’t keep up with everyone else” you’re shouting over the music, watching him throw his head back and laugh because he thought he was the only one in that position. “I’ll join you” he’s replying, thanking the barman for his drink before taking a sip through the straw. “Not the sort of thing you say to a girl after only knowing her two minutes, Mason” you’re teasing, studying his face as his eyes blow wide slightly and he shakes his head, quickly swallowing his lemonade before stuttering on his words. Unsure whether he’s panicking about you jokingly misinterpreting his comment, or if he’s uncomfortable over the fact that yet another girl knows his name, but either way, he’s laughing awkwardly when you tell him that you’re only messing. 

“I wouldn’t mind though” you say smugly, causing another nervous giggle to escape his lips. Your alcohol-induced confidence only adding to the butterflies that are already batting their wings against his rib cage, something about your slight feistiness and sarcastic sense of humour attracting him to you, even more so when he takes in how beautiful you still look despite being on the verge of your alcohol limit.

“Where are you going afterwards?” he’s asking once the lights have swivelled around in the opposite direction and the blush on his cheeks isn’t so evident. “I’ll just go to the chippy down the road and then get a taxi home” you’re telling him, looking down into the fluorescent pink concoction in your glass and feeling your stomach churn at how rough it’s going to make you feel in the morning. “Mind if I join you?” he’s asking as you look across at him in disbelief, watching as he downs the last few sips of his drink and stands the glass back on the countertop. Is this a dream or something? “Sorry, that was a bit forward...again” he panics, feeling a surge of anxiety run through his body incase he’s greeted with newspaper headlines in the morning about him unintentionally trying to latch onto girls that aren’t interested in him, even if half of the club know his name. 

“No, it’s fine, of course you can” you laugh, your cocktail glass almost slipping out of your grip thanks to the layer of sweat that is now developing across your palm. “I’ll just take these over to the girls and then I’ll be ready” you smile, looping the strap of your bag over your shoulder and grabbing as many glasses as you can, which really isn’t a wise move since you’ve partially lost all sense of coordination thanks to Mason’s ability to wipe any drop of confidence out of your body and replace it with nervous butterflies. 

“I’m off” you’re announcing once you’ve made your third trip back to the booth your friends are sitting in, their drunken reactions to your words making you giggle as you reach over them to grab your jacket. “Where are you goinggg?” one of them whines, gripping onto your leg and pouting before another one is drawn to the verge of tears at your confession. “I’m just tired” you nod, blowing them all a kiss and ensuring that they text you when you’re home as you turn around and head off towards the exit, not wanting to keep Mase waiting any longer. Praying that he’s stood just around the corner outside as he’d promised as you stagger across the dance floor and dodge a sea of flailing limbs and slurred shouts of ‘can I get your number?’. A sigh of relief forcing itself out of your nostrils when the ‘exit’ sign hanging above one of the fire doors becomes within touching distance and the bouncer in charge anticipates your departure, pushing down the grey bar across the middle of the door and letting it swing open, enabling you to step out into the night.

“There you are” you smile as you approach the back of his figure, his head kept down and a cap adding a nice accessory to his outfit, although it’s definitely worn as some form of disguise. “Hi” he’s smiling nervously when he realises that it’s you, a swarm of butterflies invading his tummy again when you link your arm through his and gently rest your head on the top of his shoulder - a move that you’re aware might push you into the same category as the other girls that have been after him all night, but your crippled feet and wobbly legs are grateful for the extra stability, even if your motivation to make that move takes you both by surprise. 

“Let me get this” you’re saying once you’ve made your way into the kebab shop, your arm dropping away from his as you gesture towards the table up against the front window. “You sure?” he’s asking, dipping his hand into his back pocket ready to pull his wallet out just incase, but you’re nodding and confirming that you’re more than capable of paying four-pound-fifty for a kebab and a couple of drinks - just as well really after the events earlier this evening. Giving him a small smile as he turns and heads off towards the table in the corner, his celebrity instincts kicking when he takes the seat right in front of the glass, conveniently covered by a sticker of the menu, and some extra protection offered from the back of his body. 

You’re setting the gold foam kebab box down on your table for two, along with two plastic forks, a bottle of water and a Fruit Shoot because you noticed him eyeing them up in the fridge when you came in. And it turned out to be one of the hardest decisions of your life trying to work out what flavour he wanted. Maybe it was the alcohol that was messing with your brain, making you think that he was more of an citrus guy than a berry one. Or maybe it was the fact that you were buying a child’s drink for a fully grown adult, a famous one too, who probably hasn’t had one for ten years, which only added to the pressure. Or maybe it was because you liked him and you didn’t want to ruin your chances by getting him the wrong flavour. But after flicking your gaze between the stack of bright coloured bottles and his body cowering away in the corner, you settled for the blackcurrant one, just because he looks like the type of person to play it safe - well, he is the type of person to play it safe, going by his Diet Coke and lemonade choices tonight. 

“This for me?” he’s asking as he picks the purple bottle up, smiling when you nod to confirm his answer. “How did you know this was my favourite flavour?” he’s questioning, a smug look appearing on your face as you shrug your shoulders and reply with ‘only the ‘special ones’ know that kind of information’. A giggle escaping his mouth at your words before he’s pulling the plastic lid off the drink and taking a sip, humming at the familiarity despite not having one since his seventh birthday party. “Still as good as they used to be” he’s saying, something about the additional happiness that’s now surging through his body after a drop of blackcurrant juice making your tummy fill with butterflies because he really is just the cutest, biggest child.

You’re both sitting in a comfortable silence as you pick at your shared kebab, trying to eat from separate ends so that you don’t cross any boundaries or run the risk trying to stab your forks into the same piece of chicken. But the fuzzy filter that the alcohol has brought to your eyes and the slight delay that it’s caused between your thoughts and your actions means that you find yourself diving into the last piece of pitta bread just at the same time that Mason does. And from his side it’s a poor judgement call. The sugar from his Fruit Shoot clearly giving him an extra boost of energy and causing his arm to extend outwards towards the polystyrene box, clouding his mum’s reminder that ‘you need be a gentleman and let girls eat whatever’s left, even if you want it’. And truth be told, he doesn’t really want it, which is why the pang of anxiety as soon as his plastic fork clashes with yours is stronger than ever. His cheeks turning a violent shade of crimson as he quickly pulls his fork back, leaving just four little holes from where the prongs had been as you panic and do the same.

“Sorry, no you have it” he says quietly, nudging the box towards you in the hope that you get the hint. “No, you eat it” you smile, pushing it back towards him. The two of you just repeating the same movement as the box moves two centimetres one way, and then two centimetres back the other. “Mason, just eat it!” you whine as he sits opposite you and shakes his head. “I said you could have it” he smiles nervously, subtly wiping the sweat off his palms and onto the material of his jeans when he realises that you’re staring straight into his eyes. “Why are you getting all nervous for? Just eat ittt” you groan, a giggle escaping his lips because there’s no way you’re backing down on this one. “Fine” he huffs, stabbing his fork back into the little holes that it made earlier before slowly moving it towards his mouth. Your eyebrows raising more and more as you watch it edge closer to his lips. And then he’s doing the unthinkable and quickly changing the direction of his fork so that it starts heading towards your mouth instead. Involuntarily parting your lips whilst you wait for what’s just happened to register, and the next thing you know, you’re swallowing the piece of pitta bread. 

“What a fuss about nothing” he hums as you roll your eyes at him. “You’re quite romantic, aren’t you?” you tease as his eyebrows furrow in the middle, waiting for you to clarify your comment. “Is that all of the alcohol that’s made you so desperate to share the last piece of food with me?” you question, another layer of blush painting itself across the tops of his cheeks. “Oh, sorry, you didn’t have anything to drink, did you? Lightweight” you smirk, making him roll his eyes this time. “I’m just being a gent, plus you’ve been drinking so you need something to sober you up, maybe it’ll stop you being so rude next time I offer to buy you a drink” he says smugly, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning back in the chair. A wave of composure washing over him now that he’s left you slightly speechless and he’s matched your sense of humour. “Next time? You’ll be lucky” you sass as he scoffs at you. “You’re the one that needs to buy me a drink to apologise for snapping at me, so there will be a next time to call it quits, thank you” he smiles, his sudden burst of confidence talking to you allowing his real personality to shine through, and you can’t help but start to get lost in it. “Was I really that rude?” you ask, secretly dying as you think back to your ‘I’m not a charity’ comment at the bar. “No, I’m just messing” he laughs, eliciting the same response from you as you erase that memory out of your brain. “You’re just confident, I like it” he’s saying, the last part of his comment getting lost when a group of people come staggering through the door, drowning out his words for the second time tonight, but you’re ninety-nine percent certain you managed to catch it. And now you’re the nervous one.

You’re quickly moving the conversation on to something else when you feel your chest starting to heat up with anxious prickles. Mason going all funny inside because it’s clear that he has the same effect on you as you do him, but he’s trying to push that to the back of his mind as he listens to you rambling on about your favourite breed of dogs, and how you had a fish finger sandwich for tea before you came out tonight, and how you actually know quite a lot about football but you’re reluctant to bring it up because you don’t want to embarrass him, although your drunken state causes you to let a few football facts slip out, all of them relating to Mase but you’re too caught up in your fuzzy alcoholic state to even recognise. But he does, obviously. Finding it sweet how you know exactly how many appearances he’s made for Chelsea, and what minute he came on in his debut against Manchester United, and what colour boots he wore against last season’s match against Newcastle. Just sitting back and letting you talk in between the occasional swig of water, hardly being able to get a word in edgeways because the alcohol is well and truly running through your veins now, making you come out with all kinds of mismatched comments and slurs. But he doesn’t mind, which takes him by surprise a bit, especially as he’s secretly scared of drunk people and he can count the amount of times he’s felt a bit tipsy on one hand, but there’s something different about you. Maybe it’s your sense of humour and how you’ve got him in stitches, or how your drunken state leads you to be more concerned about the welfare of a stray cat outside than it does anything else on the planet, or maybe it’s how deep beneath that strong outer shell you’re protecting yourself with that he knows you’ve got a heart of gold, an inside of ‘pure mush’ as his mum would say. 

“What time is it?” you slur after knocking back your last swig of water. “Nearly one o’clock” Mason’s replying, glancing at his overly-expensive watch as you sit there and wonder how he actually knows what hour of the day it is when all of the numbers have been replaced by diamonds. “Better head off” you mumble, staring blankly into the empty kebab box and trying to process what move you need to make next in order to get yourself back home in one piece. “I’ll order you a cab if you want, or I’ll walk you back, I don’t know how far away you live” he’s saying, forcing you out of your trace as you look up at his tired, bloodshot eyes. Knowing full well that as soon as you’re gone he’ll be running home to bed with a glass of water to tone down the bubbles in his tummy from his fizzy drinks, paranoid incase they give him a fizzy version of a hangover. “I live about half an hour away and I can tell you’re ready for bed so I’ll go with the cab” you smile, making him giggle nervously at the fact that his tiredness has been uncovered, although it’s not difficult to pick up on the fact that the only other time he stays up this late is on New Years Eve, and even then he normally sets an alarm for 11.57pm so that he can wake up from his nap in time.

You’re letting him help you put all of your belongings back into your handbag after you insisted on showing him your favourite lipgloss midway through your earlier conversation. Linking your arm through his and stepping out into the coldness of the night, a breeze nipping across your legs and causing you to let out a little squeal as you start pulling your dress down to try and hide your goosebumps. “Here” Mason’s saying, taking his jacket off and draping it over your shoulders. “Mase” you’re replying. Mase - he likes that, and he likes how naturally it’s left your mouth too. Trying to give it back to him but he’s adamant that you keep it. “Gives me another reason to see you in order to get it back” he winks, making you roll your eyes as you stand snuggled into his side on the edge of the pavement. 

“Did you want my number?” he’s asking, already taking his phone out of his pocket and holding it out in your direction before you even have chance to respond. “You’ve not really given me an option have you?” you laugh, making him giggle as he shuffles awkwardly from side to side, waiting for your digits to appear on the screen. “Only because I need to give your jacket back, there’s no other reason for this” you tell him, smiling as he nods his head but you both know that’s a little white lie. “There you go” you’re saying, passing his phone back to him as his eyes study the new contact in his hand. A new number written beneath Y/N. 

‘Shit’ he’s thinking. He didn’t even ask for your name before this. Awkward. 

“Pretty name” he smiles, trying to play it off cool, but you’re not drunk enough to not notice his mistake. “So pretty that you didn’t even know that’s what I was called until now” you reply, making him giggle and let out an awkward ‘oops’. “I’ll let you off this once” you’re saying as you look up at him stood beneath the lamppost that’s towering above the two of you. A golden glow adding a filter to his face and making him look even more gorgeous than he did when he was sipping his lemonade in the club and shoving lettuce and chicken into his mouth. And you’re desperate to just kiss him, especially since he’s got a bit of dried Fruit Shoot in the corner of his mouth and you know his lips will taste all sweet like they do in the movies. But considering he’s only just learnt your name you don’t think it’s the right time, and there’s also a bunch of Tottenham fans making their way up the street, not wanting to have to make him endure any teasing, especially when he’s already stayed up late in a part of town he wouldn’t usually be seen dead in to spend time with you. 

“Thanks for tonight” you whisper as you briefly rest your head on his shoulder, pulling it away when the taxi he’s ordered for you appears at the side of the curb. “My pleasure, thank you” he’s saying back, removing his protective hand from the small of your back and stepping forward to open the back door of the car for you. “Told you that you were a gent” you tease as he mumbles ‘shut up’ and pretends to shove you into the back seat with a giggle. “See you soon for that jacket, yeah?” he winks as you reply with ‘yeah yeah, whatever’, making him let out a little chuckle as he closes the door on you. Giving you an awkward little wave as you head off down the street, standing and waiting for your car to turn the corner before heading home himself. Leaving just a message of ‘thank you again, can’t wait to get my jacket back cose it’s freezing without it ;) x’ that’s just appeared on your screen connecting the two of you. And even if you have been slightly tipsy tonight and now can’t remember half of the things you spoke about, there genuinely doesn’t seem like a better person to sit in a kebab shop with in the early hours of the morning after stumbling across him by pure chance a club that neither of you particularly wanted to spend the night at. Thanking your lucky stars for allowing your paths to cross because you already know this is the start of something special. Very special.

[itscominghome]

Mason fic where he can’t stop buying you expensive things

Summary: No matter how many times you ask, Mason won't stop coming home every so often with an expensive gift for you. And as grateful as you are for all of them, the one he gave you on the 19th July was the most special one yet.

Notes: I put a little bit of a spin on this, hope you don't mind! Requests are open! x

Warnings: Consumption of alcohol

Remember I Love You - Mason Mount

"Mase, you need to stop buying me all of this. I love it, but you're spending way too much money on me," I explain, not wanting to sound ungrateful as I look down at the envelope-shaped necklace. Inside was another piece of metal, engraved with the words, "Remember, I love you." Not only were the words engraved a reference to my favourite TV series (little quiz for you here, what TV series is it?), but it was also a reaffirmation of his love for me. As was every gift he came home with. I was building up a collection quite quickly. The first one had been a small blue number 19 dangling from a bracelet. The second had been an unnecessarily big and unnecessarily expensive bouquet of roses. I'd been gifted an elegant dress one night before being told we were going out for dinner to really fancy restaurant. Then there was the beautiful, but as you can probably guess by now, expensive eternity rose. And the many pieces of jewellery. Oh and you can't forget the big fuss he made of me on my birthday. It wasn't like he bought all of these things to buy me or anything, he wasn't like that. He was everything you could ever want in a boyfriend, he just threw in these nice presents as a way of further amplifying his love and respect for me.

When Mason had asked me to accompany him to Mykonos after the shattering loss of the Euros 2020 final, I had been quick to accept. I'd offered to pay for my own tickets and split the costs of hotel rooms and the sorts, but as presumed, Mason wasn't having any of it.

"It's my treat. Don't worry about it," And who was I to argue. It wouldn't get me anywhere, he was stubborn as anything.

And when we'd arrived, I was nothing but spoiled. Taken on nights out, boat trips, jet-ski hires. But there was that ultimate moment on the night of August 19th. Mason had left the hotel room at around 5pm after agreeing to a lazy day, but I couldn't fault him for wanting to go and spend some time with his friends. I'd hopped in the shower for a couple of minutes, wanting to freshen up after a night of fun and alcohol. But when I had returned, Mason was nowhere to be seen. He hadn't come back in about three hours so I went and found the rest of the football lads in hope of finding him there.

"Jack? Have you seen Mase? He left a couple of hours ago?" I ask. But Jack just shakes his head.

"We've been here all day, Y/n/n, he hasn't messaged or anything," he replies and now I'm starting to worry.

"I'm sure he's fine. He'll be back with you in no time, I'm sure," Jack affirms, a slight, suspicious grin on his face. When I'm back at my hotel room door, I'm greeted by a concierge.

"Kýrios Mount has asked for you to meet him at the Agios Sostis beach," He says. I look at him, confused, but listen to him either way, eager to find out why Mason hadn't been around for the last couple of hours. I'd taken a short walk down to the beach I had been instructed to, sceptical as it began to get dark. When I arrived, I saw a figure waiting on the bridge leading over to the taverna on a small island further offshore. The bridge was lit up with candles, strewn with rose petals and the sides had flowers weaved on the banisters giving it a rustic look. And sure enough, there was Mason, stood in a suit, halfway across. I instantly felt underdressed, assuming I was being taken for another night out. But when I reached Mason, I realised that was not the case as he lowered onto one knee. My hands shoot up to my face and I can feel myself getting emotional already.

"Y/N, this really wasn't what I had planned for proposing to you. The plan was, we'd beat Italy and win the final, you'd run onto the pitch and we'd hug and celebrate for a while. Then I'd get down on one knee to ask you to marry me. I wanted it to be this big public display of how much I was in love with you, to show everyone you were mine, but unfortunately, that didn't happen. So, now I guess we're onto the sappy stuff. Please don't cry because you'll set me off too. Y/N, honestly the last four years I've spent with you as my girlfriend have been the best four years of my life. You've always been my lucky charm, my biggest supporter and the love of my life and I think I've known since the moment we met that you were the girl I wanted to marry and have a family with. You're perfect, in every way a human ever could be. You're kind, and loving, you're supportive of everything I do, you've loved me through thick and thin, you're loyal, you're the funniest person I know, and you're drop dead gorgeous. And that's only the beginning of a very long list. I can't promise you that I'm everything that you're looking for. But I can promise you that I'm going to love you until my dying breath." He pulls out a ring box, opening it to reveal the beautifully made ring inside of it.

"So, Y/N Y/L/N, will you marry me?"

Taglist: @masnmount @masterclassbaby

[f00tball-imagines]

✨ FOLKLORE / EVERMORE MASTERLIST ✨

This series is based on Taylor Swift’s albums Folklore and Evermore and a collab with the lovely @alltoolewin! 💗✨

(If a song title is crossed out, it means that someone has already requested an imagine based on it and it’s going to be published ASAP!)

♡ Folklore:

1. The 1 (Kai Havertz)

2. Cardigan (Ben Chilwell) (written by @alltoolewin)

3. The Last Great American Dynasty (Neymar Jr.)

4. Exile (Trent Alexander-Arnold)

5. My Tears Ricochet (Dominic Calvert-Lewin)

6. Mirrorball (Neymar Jr.)

7. Seven (Mats Hummels)

8. August (Dominic Calvert-Lewin)

9. This Is Me Trying (Lando Norris)

10. Illicit Affairs (James Rodríguez)

11. Invisible String (Lando Norris) (written by @alltoolewin)

12. Mad Woman (James Rodríguez) (written by @alltoolewin)

13. Epiphany (Neymar Jr.)

14. Betty (James Rodríguez)

15. Peace (Mason Mount)

16. Hoax (Neymar Jr.)

17. The Lakes

♡ Evermore:

1. Willow (Jadon Sancho)

2. Champagne Problems (James Rodríguez)

3. Gold Rush (Ben Chilwell)

4. ‘Tis The Damn Season (James Rodríguez)

5. Tolerate It (Mason Mount) (written by @alltoolewin)

6. No Body, No Crime (Jordan Pickford)

7. Happiness (James Rodríguez) (written by @alltoolewin)

8. Dorothea (Jadon Sancho)

9. Coney Island (Ben Chilwell)

10. Ivy (Jadon Sancho)

11. Cowboy Like Me (Kylian Mbappé)

12. Long Story Short (Kylian Mbappé)

13. Marjorie (Marco Reus)

14. Closure (Kai Havertz)

15. Evermore (Ben Chilwell)

16. Right Where You Left Me (Marcus Rashford)

17. It’s Time To Go (James Rodríguez)

~~~

Updated on 08/08/2021

[binsofchaos]

‘I Believe in Love’: Elizabeth Wurtzel’s Final Year, In Her Own Words

Introduction by Garance Franke-Ruta. Jump to the start of Elizabeth Wurtzel’s essay here.

The late Elizabeth Wurtzel was best known for her memoirs and essays, especially Prozac Nation and Bitch: In Praise of Difficult Women, but after attending Yale Law School in her late 30s she also enjoyed having a voice in the political arena. She was as much an original there as everywhere else, and between 2010 and 2012 she wrote a series of pieces for me at The Atlantic.

A feminist and a New Yorker who had really lived, she looked at the world in a different way from all the boys on the bus in Washington. And she was funny. She would send long text messages written on her smartphone while she was walking through Washington Square Park, an emissary from a more vivid and creative world than the boxy K Street buildings I would pass en route to my office in the Watergate. Sometimes her stories would come in like that too, texted in graf by graf, and I’d knit the passages together in what seemed like the right order and ask for some connective language. The thoughts were always razor-sharp; the understanding of human nature acute.

Over time our editing relationship moved into a long-distance friendship. We met for dinner at a restaurant in Chelsea, outside of course so her dog could be nestled at her feet. She had somehow managed to find a lipstick with my name on it — Guerlain’s Garance — and purchased us two tubes encased in elegant silver that sat heavy in the hand. She wore hers to dinner, and when I went to the restroom, I changed my color too, making us lipstick twins. It was how she was and in many ways the secret to her success: In addition to being wildly talented, she overcompensated for being so difficult and never totally in control by being astonishingly thoughtful, and kind, and, well, seductive. She was a seductive personality; hard not to love even as she could be hard to be close to.

When I started working at GEN this fall and living in New York full time, I reached out to her. “I’m in remission!” she’d said brightly when we first reconnected, three years after last seeing each other and nearly five years after she first learned she had the BRCA gene and breast cancer. We drank red wine on her balcony overlooking a giant earthen pit in the ground: The future NY offices of Netflix. We went to dinner at Il Buco on Bond Street (her suggestion); I could feel she was lonely. She and her husband Jim Freed had separated and were in the process of divorcing, a not so happy ending to the happily ever after story she had been astonished to stumble into in 2015, and something she was still figuring out how to write about. She started sending me things she had written as we talked about her writing a piece about Gen X politics and the 2020 race.

“I am intimate with the dirt,” she wrote of the Netflix pit. “It has infiltrated everything. It is all over me and under me. It is Love Canal, sewage from the Mississippi, cigarette butts, marijuana ash, slave remains, rats, mice, Three Mile Island, Mount Etna, Mount Saint Helen, Dust Bowl, Adam, Eve, serpent, Satan, Chernobyl, Berlin Wall, acid rain, asbestos, uranium, geraniums, 9/11, 7/11, Donner Party, bird beaks, pigeon claws, squirrel tails, gerbil puke, hamster wheels, insulation, Saran Wrap, Mason Pearson bristles, dental floss, Nagasaki, Hiroshima, Mafia hits washed up from the East River, syringes, works, the residue at the bottom of the empty bag of dope, coal waste, cookie crumbs, broken bottles, rusty nails, Bataan Death March, Manila massacre, Boston Tea Party, frog legs, goldfish, mutant ninja turtles, alligators from Florida, red algae, yellow fever, Agent Orange, bubonic plague, gold teeth, silver spoons, copper wires, iron ore, Crest with fluoride, whitening strips, stripper tips, dollar bills, twenties laced with cocaine, subway tokens, expired MetroCards with unused fare, tickets to see Star Wars in 1976, bicentennial souvenirs, gutta-percha, cat guts, doll parts, golf balls, tennis racket strings, cashmere socks, polyester, rayon, pylon, nylon, Mylar, warped vinyl, scratched CDs, crispy leaves, shredded lettuce, tarnished keys, queen bees, xerox paper, pepper spray, Prozac pills, poppers, pooper scoopers, hula hoops, leis, fecal matter, aborted fetuses, snot, rot, cots, bots, shot glass shards, broken windows, chimney smoke, dice, playing cards, poker chips, lollipop sticks, toothpicks, used tissues, dirty handkerchiefs, bandanna threads, kite pine needles, kite strings, toilet water, wolf fangs, sunburn peel, hangnails, cavities, skin, scabs, split ends, fur balls, chicken bones, dissected cadavers, wisdom teeth, crash test dummies, Big Bang, Little Miss Muffet, Humpty Dumpty, Rip Van Winkle, bog wood, petrified forest, oyster shells, freshwater pearls, blood diamonds, Star rubies, asteroids, primordial ooze, love letters, promises kept and broken.”

Very soon the piece she’d wanted to write about Gen X politics started to slip. The cancer was back. There were so many tests and scans to undergo. I told her not to worry about writing it and was surprised when she filed. She said it was a good distraction from having cancer. She badly wanted to interview Beto O’Rourke, but by the time he arrived in New York City where they might have had a face-to-face — the Gen X skate-punk candidate and the Gen X icon — he was already getting ready to drop out of the race.

She sent me a long piece about her past year, about her impending divorce and her marriage and her mother and Donald Trump. It was from something longer she was working on, she said.

We talked about her writing an additional passage when she recovered from brain surgery and running the piece on Medium. “I suppose I have to add something about this, since so much of the piece is about cancer,” she texted. “You know, of all my failures of imagination, I never wondered what a brain tumor is like. So I could not have guessed it was this atrocious, the dizziness and the pain.”

Her recoveries from the relentless march of the disease during her final, dreadful month would prove to be brief.

After her first brain surgery — she had two to cope with her metastatic breast cancer and subsequent complications — which she described as a “brain resection,” she was astonishingly herself. She was funny and poetic and articulate and in good spirits. Still dizzy and unstable — the tumor had impacted her balance center and left her clutching the furniture as she walked during her last night in her own home — but also still herself. She laughed with her mother, who took video and pictures of her in the hospital and helped coordinate, along with Jim and some of her oldest friends from college, a parade of sun-up to way past winter sundown visitors so that she would never feel alone.

And the night before the surgery, Jim was the one she stayed with. He was the one who took care of Alistair, her dog, and her black cat, Arabella. When I saw him in the hospital, he was entirely attuned to her and what she might need so that she could recover and have, in the unspoken best-case scenario, another year.

“I can’t get over how great my husband has been with this. He has made it possible for me to get better and not worry about anything,” she wrote in mid-December, after the surgery. “He loves you so much it’s clear,” I texted back, thinking of how attentive he had been, how he was arranging visits with so many people, that look on his face that you cannot fake. “I think so,” she texted back. “It’s good you see. I love him so much.”

But the past year had been a hard one. This is what she had written about it. She had shown it to Jim too, and he agreed, as did a number of her oldest friends, that she’d want it published. She loved to be published.

I Believe in Love

By Elizabeth Wurtzel

Greetings from the chaotic land of marriage come undone.

The caravansary is dismantling, toothpicks flying everywhere, the bubblegum that held it together is unstuck.

Everything is falling.

My husband moved out at the end of December [2018], as the calendar flipped from last year to this [2019], while I was in Miami Beach, strolling the walkways in the shocking morning sun and under the nighttime Van Gogh sky, away from it all.

I knew he was moving out, but still: I was surprised.

I did not see that the game was over. I did not know the clock was running. I never lose, but I do run out of time. It turns out this was basketball and not baseball.

While I looked away, my marriage fell apart.

I fell off my keel. I lost my kilter. I was a kite without a string.

Maybe it’s better.

It is a peaceful purple without him here. But psychedelic with disarray.

Marriage is an organizing principle. It is flow. It is coffee in the morning. It is who walks the dog. It is HBO at night.

And love. Don’t forget that.

Now I am an ombré mess of a person. I am missed appointments and canceled meetings. I am the thing I forgot to do. I am hanging on by a strand of Drybar dry-shampooed hair.

All day long I have to ask people to forgive me, I am flailing and failing at it all. Forgive me, I beg, as I hope my untweezed eyebrows will. Maybe soon, I will even tug at a few strays.

Or maybe wild is the way.

🖤🖤🖤

I still think of Jim as this sweet person I married. He is my trust fall. He is my emergency contact. He is my next of kin. He is my valentine. He is my birthday dinner. He is my secret sharer. He is my husband.

I do not know him anymore so I do not know myself. Who are my friends? Where is my family? I have fallen into a crevasse of nobody nowhere.

I am estranged and strange, strangled up in blue.

I do not want to feel this way. I am going through the five stages of grief all at once, which Reddit strings have no doubt turned into 523. They are a collision course, a Robert Moses plan, a metropolitan traffic system of figuring it out.

I feel bad and mad and sad.

Is this a festival of insight or a clusterfuck of stupid? I change my mind all the time about this and about everything else.

I got married because I was done with crazy. But here it is, back again, the revenant I cannot shake. I feel like it’s 1993, when my heart had a black eye all the time.

26 is a boxing match of the soul.

I did not expect bruises at 52.

🖤🖤🖤

I have blamed myself. I have blamed my husband. I have blamed cancer. I have blamed marijuana. I have blamed sexism. I have blamed Charlottesville. I have blamed my in-laws. I have blamed several men named David. I have blamed my mother who lied to me my whole life about who my father is.

Who would I be if I did not blame Donald Trump?

I am angry all the time since the election of 2016, like it happened to me, like I was gang-raped by Michigan. I don’t want to be angry, but so there, I am.

Who don’t I hate?

Who won’t I blame?

If you are standing there, I blame you.

It is not conservative against liberal.

It is everybody against everyone. Here we are, in it together, alone.

The problem is not arguments I have with people who voted for Trump, who I don’t know anyway. The trouble is the way all of us who agree about everything are bickering. Oh, the narcissism of small differences.

I remember not that long ago when the world was not political. I was part of landmark litigation that was all about a team of Republicans and Democrats working together. I loved everybody. We were all on the same side.

What Alamo did I not forgive? What Masada did I not get over?

Now there is no microaggression too small for me to scream about so the next four neighborhoods can hear.

My husband does something and I am affronted like it matters.

I am sure he does not know how I feel.

And maybe he doesn’t.

But what does any of this have to do with why we got married? We got married to be in it together. Polarization has even invaded love.

I have anger fatigue. I am sick of sick. Like everyone.

The emotional toll of the world we live in is going to do all of us in.

But politics is not about conflict.

Politics is about making the world a better place.

🖤🖤🖤

How could my mother keep a secret for 50 years? What makes someone do that?

She buried herself in it. She grew a wild Victorian garden with thorny bushes of rose and purple larkspur and red snapdragon. There was a lush meadow of lavender that gave a whiff of Aix-en-Provence en été. The dandelions ran rampant and the daffodils glowed yellow like Big Bird.

But underneath it all, beneath the lilies of the valley and the rows of geranium, there is dirt.

There is a secret.

I am a bastard. I am her bastard daughter.

There are things that come along that are a shock.

I believed something for nearly half a century. It was a lie.

I was conned.

I was wrong about myself.

I did not know who I am.

My mother told no one.

It was a lie she told for so long it became true and the secret faded to no-memory. She misremembered who my father was. She did not think it mattered.

When it all came out in 2016, not long after I got married, just after my real father died, my mother could not see what my hysteria was about. She did not understand why I was stunned.

All the while I was trying not to feel the worst way ever, trying not to be overwhelmed by the explosion, my mother could not figure out what was bothering me.

After all, she is the nuclear physicist.

My mother is like everyone else. She thinks she is normal. She is sure her behavior makes sense. She believes she does the right thing. Since she cannot imagine that this is not the case, she is surprised to find out that, yes, she makes bombs.

I scream at my mother, “What’s wrong with you?!”

I do that and she does not know what I mean.

She says, “Oh get over it.”

Her eyes widen until they look like goggles on an herbivore. She is put upon. She cannot believe we have to discuss this yet again.

“Omigod yet again!”

When will I quit badgering her?

I say, “You lied to me.”

She says, “It wasn’t a lie.”

“Then what?”

“It was a decision!”

Any relationship founded on a lie is doomed. Or not a lie, according to her, which is another lie, a lie about a lie.

That is how it is between us. We are living in the doom.

And yet, we are still at it. My mother and I refuse to give up. She is my only parent. She is all I have.

She made sure of that.

This is the most painful thing ever.

She has made so many inexplicable decisions over the years that I know about, and now I see the ones I did not know.

And yet I love her more than anyone else in the world.

She is it for me. She is in the way of everything. I should be interested in my husband, but how can he compete with how much I want to figure out the Once that started all that is upon a time?

🖤🖤🖤

I was a welter of emotions.

I was so emotional.

When I found out that my father is not my father, that my mother lied to me my whole life, that there was so much I did not know, a bomb dropped in my life. Bombs, really, aerial bombardment. It was the Battle of Manila: bazookas, flamethrowers, grenades, tanks, cannons, howitzers, banzai charges, kamikaze tactics, I was shocked and stunned with feeling.

I did not know what to do.

I became a raging lunatic.

I was a mettle of rage.

My rage is my retinue. My rage is a filthy velveteen train I drag around with me, carelessly. It is my ruby tiara. It is my rainbow and my pot of gold.

My rage is cream. It makes Chock Full O’ Nuts coffee that my grandmother brewed in a percolator on the breakfront in the dining room taste not half bad.

It is the coloratura harmony to my singsong days.

My rage is my conscience. I insist on my right to feel.

But I got caught in a Möbius strip of emotion. I was gone round the bend of scream.

It was stuplimity.

🖤🖤🖤

My marriage is crushed beneath the weight of so much. It is delicate, like all relationships. It is not one of those fine elms that blows with the gusts and does not snap.

We are a scattering of branches on the lawn. We are deadwood.

Oh, there is a lot that holds us together, the love and the hours. We got married during chemotherapy. We are bound.

But my husband is not who he was.

Yes, I know: It is always like that. The sorrow of unraveling is the stranger you are facing. What happened? I want to scream. Where did you go?

My husband had a softness. I will not compare it to the feel of cotton balls or the touch of silk charmeuse, because it is better. He was new to love. I could tell. I could see. He was surprised. He did not see me coming. He did not know I was interested. He was alone in a room. His life was small. He had the same six friends he always had. He was shy. He was not brave. He had no expectations.

He was lovely.

The beginning is always like honey, liquid and sweet.

But he was open.

He was not wounded by a million heartaches.

He had not been through it all.

He did not have a wretched past.

He was 34, which is not young. Younger than I was, but a lot could have happened by then.

It had not.

He was fresh.

There was nothing I would not do for him.

There was nothing I did not want for him.

We met in October and got engaged in May.

We knew.

And now he knows he has had enough.

It has been too much.

🖤🖤🖤

Most of all, it is not easy to be married to someone with cancer.

I feel for my husband.

Cancer is so big. Everyone is prostrate before its deadly enormity. It is the answer to every question. It is the reason why. Is it an excuse or is it real? Who is anyone to argue? Cancer is a bully. It is an elephantine disease of body, mind, soul. My husband moved a half a mile away from it. I would love to do the same.

I am stuck until the end.

I do not know what he expected when he married me when I was ill. I am sorry that it has not been what he wanted. I am sorry that I hurt him.

After I got cancer, I was not the same.

I wanted to be.

I wanted my life to go back to what it was.

I was so lively. I was so lovely.

I was so busy. I was so social.

But I could not do it.

No surprise, I changed.

I was withdrawn during chemotherapy and my world became small. It contracted like starvation. It is hard to get back what is lost. It is more difficult still to begin anew.

I tried. So hard. I called. I emailed. I texted. I showed up.

But there was a diminishment.

Cancer is an ecosystem. It is a crime spree.

Things broke. My radius. My fibula. My tibia. My spirit.

My cancer came back a year after it went away.

You think people are nice about it? No.

Cancer is misunderstood.

Everyone says the wrong thing. Which is what they do so much anyway.

Then I say the wrong thing back.

There we are, bumper cars of mismatched words.

I can’t believe the stupid things people tell me in an effort to be kind, about something hard they had to deal with that is not the same as having cancer.

The worst thing anyone can do is tell me they are sorry about my cancer.

I don’t want anyone feeling sorry for me. About anything. Don’t apologize unless you have done something wrong. It is nasty to feel sorry for anyone for any reason because it pushes her away.

Mostly sorry is just a thing to say. Anything else would be better, including I don’t know what to say.

It is always people who are the problem. What else? Our suffering is small compared to our misunderstandings with others, how they fail to give us a break, know what it’s like, judge us fairly, see the world the way we do. It is not even cancer or especially cancer. It is especially this and even that. If you are looking for absolution, you are going to have to forgive yourself.

I have chainmail from years of frustrating conversations, of people who think something bad has happened to me.

I don’t see it that way.

You could tell me everything that’s bad about cancer, like that it’s cancer, but you could not convince me that cancer has been bad for me.

Cancer has made me optimistic.

These are the days of miracles and wonders, of biopharma fireworks, of immunotherapy wow.

I have been saved.

I am miraculous me.

I will skate figure eights into infinity.

I am all claws I am all fangs.

I am not afraid of cancer. I think cancer should be afraid of me.

This past October [2018], I had a tumor in my shoulder bone that was 5 inches: big! It was threatening to break it.

And worse.

My cancer antigens were at 205, when 25 is as high as the level can go.

I had meetings in the World Trade Center while all this was going on. I hate it down there. Skyscrapers as grave markers. It is an ominous place.

When I went for help in Philadelphia at the Basser Center for BRCA at the University of Pennsylvania, only Alistair, my service dog, was with me.

My husband said he had to work.

My marriage had already come undone.

I had stereotactic radiation at Memorial Sloan Kettering. It took only three sessions to zap the tumor away. The treatment saved me, but I have a five-inch hole in my bone that looks like a cave in the Thai jungle.

When my husband moved out, I was still healing. I have a rotator cuff tear and pain from the long way home.

🖤🖤🖤

This is a love story.

Every marriage is a love story.

People who run off to Vegas after knowing each other for 10 days and find a drunk outside the Sands casino to be their witness — they really mean it. Marriage is a big gesture. There is no reason to do it except: love.

It is effusive.

I am sorry I failed.

I am sorry for this confederacy of catastrophe.

I am sorry for it all.

I think that my husband can’t believe I hurt. I know what I’m like: I have a powerful personality, it’s true. But he got me.

He made a vow to love me in sickness and in health.

There was great love between us.

And love is hard to stop.

We made a commitment for when we could not remember why we did.

He decided enough.

I am a monotheist. I am in it for life. I am in everything for life. If you don’t stop me, I will not stop myself. I have the kind of faith that you can only have if you have talked your way out of trouble all along.

I feel so much and too much. Deep in my radiated bones.

I cannot believe it is like this with my husband and not like it was that long ago on Halloween, our first date, which he did not know was a date, maybe it was maybe it wasn’t, he showed up at my door not knowing anything at all.

We were resting on our future arms, we were like people who have never read The Unbearable Lightness of Being, have never seen City of God, have never heard Exile In Guyville, oh what lay ahead.

I remember my husband in the beginning, I know the man I married, I insist he is still there somewhere.

I keep peeling for the pentimento.

Or has this all been a fraud?

Love gone wrong feels like a confidence crime.

That is the worst of it.

Do I have an electron microscope or am I blinded? Do I see more clearly now or is this a distortion? I could ask that about the whole wide world.

Sex and race look different since Trump was elected. We know all the things that we never knew. We were living in a world of trust, we believed we were on a righteous path, that things were incrementally improving, so we did not look so hard into sunlight.

All anything ever is is another way of seeing.

I thought my husband was on my side.

I thought I knew him.

I did.

I don’t.

He changed.

I do not know how to help him.

I do not know how to reach him.

Anything is possible.

I believe in so much.

I am just that way.

I believe in love.

What matters more in this crazy world?

Shame on Casablanca’s ending! I will take the hill of beans.

(This is Garance again.)

Love. Sometimes in our lives when we feel most bereft it turns out that we are not alone at all. It is the kind of cloying Disney sentiment Lizzie might have scoffed at, but it was also the truth with her. She affected a toughness that was both real and a coping mechanism, but which also led her to downplay how sick she was. Even as she was telling me she was in remission in September, spots of cancer had already returned, I have since learned.

“The people who know us when we are not our best selves — what would we do without them? I am so grateful right now for even my mother coming through for me,” she wrote after her first surgery in December. Her mother Lynne Winters and she had a famously complicated relationship, but it was Lynne who took her home to recover both times she was released from the hospital, and who had the difficult burden of having to bring her back, and who sobbed in the sparkling clean MSKCC neuro ward hallway where other parents of too-young-to-die adult children paced forlornly.

“Jim has been the best,” Lizzie texted after the surgery. “I wish you a great first husband. That might be all you need.”

They had, in fact, not divorced. The papers were signed, but not filed. He was her husband until the end, during the final days after it was clear no further interventions would work, when she lay still in bed in what was by then her at least fifth different hospital room, for all the world the image of a big-eyed Renaissance pieta looking heavenward.

“Neurology takes a positive view toward god and prayer,” she had texted after the first surgery. “And relinquishing, which is what god and prayer is about. It is always turning your will over to a higher power and letting the will of the world and not your extraordinary manipulations lead you to your desired result. I always say that, it is my constant prayer: god, if you are out there, watch over me and your will, not mine, be done. That is what will happen anyway, but I pray for release from the dreadful fight.”

She spent her whole life fighting — fighting her parents, society, the patriarchy, social conventions, addiction, depression. But man, did she live big. She had a gift for building love into her life and at the end, her friends built a cocoon of love around her.

And on the morning of January 7, 2020, she was, as she had prayed, released.

[sebeth]

All-Star Squadron #10 - 12

Warning, Spoilers Ahead…

 All-Star Squadron #10 – 12 by Roy Thomas, Adrian Gonzales, and Jerry Ordway

“If An Eye Offend Thee!”

The issue opens in San Francisco. It is early January 1942 and Hawkman has snuck away from the military base for a late evening flight.

The majority of the Justice Society retired their heroic identities to enlist in the various branches of the military.

Carter joined the Air Force and is set to make “pilot in record time” but “it’s liable to be months before I’ll see action in the army air force.”

Hakwman witnesses a fleet of B-17 Bombers arriving at the base from Randall Field, Texas.

Carter muses: “Those flyboys will do America a lot more good than one former playboy swooping around in a beaked masks and wings.”

“Speaking of former playboys, I just remembered Randall Field’s where Starman – Ted Knight – is based. I wonder if he might be – no, not likely. He couldn’t have his officer’s commission yet.”

Carter is wrong, as Ted is flying one of the planes. Ted’s co-pilot can’t get over how fast he made pilot status.

Ted suspects his co-pilot feels Ted’s money cut through the red tape but, in fact, as Starman, Ted has been “flying high for a year now.”

I’m not sure how flying under your own power allows easy mastery over flying a plane but I’ll go with it.

Starman admits missing using his gravity rod to fly under his own power.

A flying UFO appears out of nowhere, “glowing so blindly I can barely look at it.” The UFO attacks the planes.

A plane plummets to the ground. Hawman races after, knowing it’s futile, but hoping his Ninth Metal harness can stop the impending crash.

Fortunately for Carter, Ted makes excuses to head to the back of his plane. He promptly changes into his Starman costume, grabs his gravity rod, and exits the plane.

A relieved Hawkman has Ted save the plane while he prevents the UFO from attacking more planes.

An unconscious man falls out of the UFO. The UFO flies away to parts unknown.

Starman has to get back aboard the plane but Carter wants to know how Ted made pilot so fast.

Ted: “I got the President himself to fix it up for me.”

Ted admits he hates “using our ‘in’ with F.D.R.” but “winning this lousy war that’s important” and he would “mangle every rule in the book” if he had to.

Carter realizes he needs to return to base before he’s reported A.W.O.L. but first he needs to find help for the unconscious man. Unfortunately, the man dies in his arms before Carter can reach the ground.

Carter believes he knows the dead man and if it’s who he thinks it is “the secret behind that ‘Flying Eye’ may be even more sinister than I’d imagined.”

A caption box informs us we’ll have to wait an issue or two before discovering the full meaning of Carter’s words.

I enjoyed the quick check-in with Hawkman and Starman. The military enlistment was used throughout the All-Star Squadron run to explain why the members of the Justice Society weren’t featured heavily in the series.  It’s still nice to have the occasional appearance from a Society member.

We switch to Washington DC.

The Shining Knight, Hawkgirl, and Johnny Quick are careening past the Washington Monument.

I still don’t understand how Shiera hasn’t died of hypothermia while fighting crime in a bikini top during an East Coast winter.

I don’t have a problem with certain female super-heroes fighting crime in swimsuits, hot pants, or skirts. For example: She-Hulk, Supergirl, Power Girl, or Mary Marvel. All four women are mostly invulnerable and largely immune to temperature extremes. As long as it’s true to their personality, those women can wear what they want – they don’t have practical concerns to worry over.

However, women like Black Canary, Huntress, and Hawkgirl are neither invulnerable or immune to temperature extremes. Their costumes should reflect their need to protect their body from physical harm.

Side-note: Huntress’s abdomen-baring, hot-pants costume was one of the most idiotic outfits of all time. Both for the reasons listed above and because shorty before it’s debut, Helena was shot multiple times in the abdomen by the Joker. And the life-saving surgery was performed in Gotham during No Man’s Land. There was no plastic surgeon nearby to minimalize the scars. Yet no artist ever drew Helena with a scarred abdomen. Stupid!

Johnny compliments Shiera on the design of her new mask.  Shiera took the time to modify her mask but not to add sleeves to her top? Okay.

Johnny mentions he’d “better get some newsreel footage of all this, or Johnny Chambers is gonna be looking for a new job.”

Johnny is a cameraman for See’s All/Tells All News.

Sir Justin tethers Winged Victory and notices an unconscious man: “Here lies a man unconscious and he wears the regalia of an American soldier.”

Johhny has entered the Washington Monument in time to stop a sabotage attempt.

Johnny stops the actual explosion while Shiera and Justin deal with the saboteurs.

Sir Justin: “We thank you for letting us deal with these Nazis, Johnny Quick, for, in sooth, ‘twould be most unseemly to have let you fight the good fight unattended.”

Johnny: “Knight, you sure do talk pretty sometimes.”

The trio take the unconscious man (wounded guard) to the hospital.

Johnny mentions this is the second national monument he’s saved in a month and “I wonder how things are going out at Mount Rushmore?”

Hey, every hero needs a specialty. Superman fights alien invasions, Batman solves crimes, and Johnny Quick protects national monuments.

We switch locations to “one of the few American outposts in the distant Pacific Ocean which has not yet fallen to the Japanese juggernaut” where a “total blackout has been rigidly enforced for the past month.”

We have another check-in with a JSA member.

Dr. Charles McNider is on the island researching tropical fever. And he’s brought Hooty!

Charles serving in a research role for the military is a perfect fit. Charles wouldn’t be able to actively enlist in the military as he is blind.

Enemy planes and the “Flying Eye” attack the island. Charles changes into his “Dr. Mid-Nite” uniform to help the soldiers on the ground.

A solider is very confused: “Dr. Mid-Nite?! How the heck did you get over here?”

I understand Charles’ natural impulse is to change into costume at the first sign of danger but making an appearance on an isolated island is not a good way to maintain a secret identity.

The Flying Eye causes multiple plane engines to stall and crash. Fortunately, the pilots bail out.

The Flying Eye retreats and Charles heads back to his lab: “Better get back before my assistant Myra Mason notices Dr. McNider’s missing.”

Charles, trust me, Myra knows you run around as Dr. Mid-Nite. She may not say anything but she knows.

Did Charles use the “FDR card” in order to have Hooty and Myra accompany him? Myra is a nurse and Charle’s long-time assistant, used to working with the blind Charles, so she’s a logical choice to accompany him but Hooty?

I mean, I love Hooty, I’m just now sure how Charles convinced the military brass to allow his owl on the island.

We switch to the Russia’s Crimean Peninsula where the Flying Eye attacks both the Russian and the German forces and flies away.

Back to Washington. Robotman examines Steel. Robotman declares Steel free of any influence from Baron Blitzkrieg.

Firebrand accompanies the duo outside in time to witness the arrival of the Flying Eye.

The Flying Eye causes the hospital generatiors, along with Steel and Robotman, to shut down.

The Flying Eye heads to the White House. Firebrand along with a recovered Robotman and Steel race to the White House.

The trio arrive at the White House and meet up with Liberty Belle, Hawkgirl, the Shining Knight, Johnny Quick, and the Atom.

A shadowy, seven-foot man emerges from the Eye and battles the All-Star Squadron.

The man removes his helmet and proclaims: “I am Akhet, and I have come from the second planet of the star you call Proxima Centauri to annex this world, and all upon it, in the name and by the power of the Binary Brotherhood!”

Up Next: “The Spaceman’s Sinister Secret!”

Akhet issues an ultimatum: “All of Earth’s nations must surrender that a united planet planet may be ruled by myself, as emissary of the Brotherhood. Any nations which resist – be it one or all – will be obliterated by such power as my starcraft has already demonstrated. You have one earth-day to choose between abject surrender and total annihilation!”

The All-Stars want to attack but Liberty Belle correctly states that they should wait for the President’s signal.

Half the Squad attacks anyway, and when it goes badly, the rest rush in to help.

Sir Justin, as always, has the best battle cry: “Nor shall any man or maid set a foot further than does the Shining Knight! Forward to the fray, Winged Victory!”

The fight doesn’t go well and Ahket absconds with Steel, Hawkgirl, Atom, and Robotman.

Johnny laments: “What a time for the big guns in the Justice Society to have decided to enlist in the Army as privates!”

The Flying Eye attacks random locations across the globe.

The remaining All-Stars meet with the President, Prime Minister Churchill, and a military general.

Liberty Belle is suspicious of Akhet’s claims: I’m convinced there’s more to this than meets the eye.”

Hawkman arrives at the White House.

Hawkman informs the others of his and Starman’s encounter with the Flying Eye.

Carter tells the group the identity of the man who fell out of the ship: “Garret Owens, a pioneering bio-chemist. He’d gone out for a stroll near his Illinois home in 1933 – and hadn’t been seen since!”

Carter notes the emblem on Owens’ uniform is an old alchemist’s symbol for the Middle Ages, it is the sign for “the spirit of the world”.

Hawkgirl and Atom awaken in the Eye. Shiera’s a bit over-whelmed as she’s not a “full-time masked hero type. I’ve just put on this outfit to help the Hawk a time or two – and now this happens!”

Atom informs her “It’s a little late to fall back on your amateur standing.”

Atom and Hawkgirl explore the Eye.

Hawkman and the non-captured All-Stars race to the estate of Elwood P. Napier, a physio-mathmematician.

Elwood is another scientist who has gone missing in the last decade.

Johnny Quick has discovered the missing scientists were part of a government brain trust that ran out of funds in 1930.

Elwood was the last of the scientists to go missing. Before that one of the scientists went missing every six months.

Firebrand uses her powers to light up the interior of the house.

Sir Justin: “Odd’s blood, lass, but in my long-ago day, they’d have burned ye for a witch.”

Good thing Firebrand’s a modern woman. Also, good luck with the burning thing considering the nature of her powers.

Hawkgirl and Atom encounter Akhet and easily knock him out. The duo discover Akhet is a robot.

The duo discovers the rest of the captured All-Stars along with the missing scientists.  All individuals are placed in clear tubes.

Hawkgirl and Atom discover the true mastermind behind the plan: Dr. Hastor, Hawkman’s arch-enemy.

“Doomsday Begins At Dawn!”

Hawkman and his fellow All-Star leave Elwood’s estate.

Carter recognized Hastor in the photos found at the estate, “a man I saw die more than two years ago”.

Carter recaps his origin and debut as Hawkman. This is familiar ground for DC fans but I’ll offer a quick summary: Ancient Egypt – Prince Khufu and Shiera – murdered by Hath-Set, a priest of Anubis, all three re-incarnate to their present day lives.

Carter battles Dr. Anton Hastor in his first adventure. Hastor presumed dead after his fight with Carter.

Carter informs his fellow All-Stars that there is no alien invasion – only Hastor’s machinations.

Hastor explains to Shiera his plans and how he became involved with the missing scientists.

Hastor took control of the group of scientists and the Flying Eye, starting the events of the last few issues.

The All-Stars reach the Flying Eye via a hot-air balloon! No engine to knock out in the balloon.

Carter, Shiera, and Hastor battle by using their past lives’ astral forms.

The Hawks win, the Flying Eye is deactivated, and Hastor falls into a comatose state.

I love the All-Star Squadron but this is a pretty “meh” arc. Too many twists needlessly over-complicated – and stretched out - the plot.

[mysteryshelf]

BLOG TOUR - Calamity at the Continental Club

Welcome to

THE PULP AND MYSTERY SHELFJuly Mystery Week Special!

DISCLAIMER: This content has been provided to THE PULP AND MYSTERY SHELF by Great Escapes Book Tours. No compensation was received. This information required by the Federal Trade Commission.

Calamity at the Continental Club by Colleen J. Shogan

Calamity at the Continental Club (Washington Whodunit) Cozy Mystery 3rd in Series Camel Press (July 1, 2017) Paperback: 272 pages ISBN-13: 978-1603813358

The Mayflower Society is about to hold its annual meeting at Washington D.C.’s swanky gathering place for the elite, the Continental Club. That means Kit Marshall’s upper-crust future in-laws, Buffy and Winston Hollingsworth, are coming for a visit. Annoyed that Kit has not set a date to marry Doug, Buffy wants her to commit to a high society wedding at the club. Kit, though chief of staff for a congresswoman, feels uncomfortable with Buffy and Winston’s crowd.

Kit receives an unexpected reprieve in the form of murder. En route to her morning jog, she encounters the corpse of the leader of the Mayflower Society, conservative multimedia tycoon Grayson Bancroft. On the security cameras, no one was seen entering or leaving the club, which means the culprit had to be an overnight guest. Little love was lost on Bancroft, but the police have their prime suspect: Doug’s father.

Buffy and Winston, formerly disdainful of Kit’s sleuthing, urge her to investigate. With her future in-laws’ freedom and reputations at stake, Kit sets out once again to solve a murder mystery, this time aided by her fiancé Doug in addition to her friends Meg and Trevor and her dog Clarence. Her search for clues will take her from the club to the Smithsonian Museum, the National Archives, and Mount Vernon.

Book 3 of the Washington Whodunit series, which began with Stabbing in the Senate and continued with Homicide in the House.

    Interview With The Author

What initially got you interested in writing?

I’m a political scientist by training, so I was much more familiar with non-fiction writing. I became interested in writing novels because I came up with a fun mystery set on Capitol Hill in Washington, D.C. I hadn’t ever written fiction before, although I’d been an avid reader. It was challenging to learn to write in an entirely different way.

  What genres do you write in?

I’ve published a non-fiction book on the presidency and occasionally I still write academic Political Science. But in fiction, I write mysteries.

  What drew you to writing these specific genres?

I started reading mysteries at a very young age. Throughout my life, I’d always return to mysteries when I wanted to relax and read for pleasure. In graduate school, I discovered the “cozy mystery” genre, which typically features an amateur female sleuth as the main character. It reminded me of the Agatha Christie Miss Marple mysteries I’d loved to read in my younger years.

  How did you break into the field?

I went to a terrific seminar on publishing and the business of writing, sponsored by the Washington Independent Review of Books. At that conference, I learned almost everything I needed to know about writing a good query letter, finding an agent, and pitching a fiction book. A few months after the conference, I had found representation and soon thereafter, a publishing contract.

  What do you want readers to take away from reading your works?

Washington, D.C. isn’t full of greedy, power-hungry people. In fact, there’s a lot of hardworking government employees who genuinely are trying to help the nation and our citizens. Yes, politics can be deadly (pun intended), but for the most part, those who work in our nation’s capital are motivated by altruistic intentions.

  What do you find most rewarding about writing?

I enjoy it when others learn something from my books, such as how Washington works or how business is conducted inside Congress.

  What do you find most challenging about writing?

My biggest enemy is time. I work a demanding job, so it’s a challenge to find enough time to write.

  What advice would you give to people wanting to enter the field?

Learn a lot about your genre and its professional publishing rules and norms. For example, if most books in your genre are 75,000 words, don’t submit a 125,000-word manuscript to agents. It’s important to pay attention to those details to make sure your writing is considered on the merits.

  What type of books do you enjoy reading?

I like reading mysteries and biographies. Those are probably my two favorite genres. From time to time, I read general fiction, as well.

  Is there anything else besides writing you think people would find interesting about you?

I have a cool “day job” at the Library of Congress. I help run our public programming and outreach division, which enables me to work on initiatives such as the National Book Festival. We’re always working on developing a new idea or unique way to promote the Library. I’m lucky to have enthusiastic colleagues who share a passion for learning, reading, and innovation.

  What are the best ways to connect with you, or find out more about your work?

You can find me on Twitter @cshogan276.  Or Facebook at https://www.facebook.com/washingtonwhodunit

  About The Author

Colleen Shogan has been reading mysteries since the age of six. A political scientist by training, Colleen has taught American politics at Yale, George Mason, Georgetown, and Penn. She previously worked in the United States Senate and for the Congressional Research Service. She’s currently a senior executive at the Library of Congress, working on great outreach initiatives such as the National Book Festival. She lives in Arlington, Virginia with her husband Rob Raffety and their beagle mutt, Conan.

Author Links

Webpage – www.colleenshogan.com

Facebook – https://www.facebook.com/washingtonwhodunit

Twitter – www.twitter.com/cshogan276

GoodReads – https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/1269678.Colleen_J_Shogan

Purchase Links

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July 15 – The Pulp and Mystery Shelf – INTERVIEW

July 16 – Books,Dreams,Life – SPOTLIGHT

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July 19 – My Reading Journeys – REVIEW, INTERVIEW

July 20 – Celticlady’s Reviews – SPOTLIGHT

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July 28 – Bibliophile Reviews – REVIEW, INTERVIEW

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BLOG TOUR – Calamity at the Continental Club was originally published on the Wordpress version of The Pulp and Mystery Shelf

[joekeeryswife]

Episode 2 : Chats

a/n: episode 2! thank you for so much love on the first imagine, i really do appreciate you all. here is part two, trying to make it a bit more interesting lol but the ending is awful, next part will be better, anyways enjoy reading loves🩰

“should we go over to the swing? i want to know more about you” you nodded your head and smiled. Mason grabbed ahold of your hand and the two of you headed over to the swing.

you sat down on the swing and he sat opposite you, now you were alone you could finally have a good look at him and you were in shock at how pretty he was. now, you’ve had crushes in the past but he was practically perfect. “so, tell me about yourself then y/n. what do you do for work and how old are you? ” Mason said as he got comfortable on the swing.

“well, i’m an influencer and model and im 22.” Mason wasn’t shocked that you were a model, you were absolutely stunning. when he first made his way down the steps his eyes were fixated on you. you were utterly perfect and he couldn’t believe someone like you was on love island, not that it was a bad thing but how could someone like you be single?

“that doesn’t surprise me, you’re beautiful” he said making you blush brightly. “thank you” you smiled at him “what do you do for work? and how old are you?” you said as you tucked your hair behind your ear. “i’m a footballer and i’m 25” you nodded “what team do you play for?” you were honestly still in a little bit of shock that Mason had picked you, he was so good looking and even though you were pretty the other girls were just as beautiful.

“yeah, i play for Man United” your eyes widened, you thought maybe he would say a team you didn’t know but you did not expect that to come out of his mouth. “i know, embarrassing that a footballer is on love island” Mason didn’t know why but he was a embarrassed. he was quite popular and that wasn’t him being big headed but he felt like every girl was just using him for his money.

“no i don’t think it is, you shouldn’t be embarrassed for wanting to find someone” he felt at ease after you said that, he wanted to impress you because he felt a connection “so, what’s your type y/n” he ran a hand through his hair, the two of you hadn’t broke eye contact since you’d been sat here.

“i like someone who’s taller than me, older, tanned, has tattoos, athletic.” you had practically described him and he was happy about that. “what about you? what’s your usual type?”

“i don’t have a usual type really, i’m open to everyone” you nodded, you thought it was a good outlook to have. “it’s good that you’re open to everyone, it shows maturity i think.” Mason went to talk before you heard the sound of a phone chime and Molly called out saying she had gotten a text.

she was sat on the day beds with Tommy and the two of you looked at her as she stood up getting everyones attention. “islanders, tonight you will have a party to celebrate this series of love island. #getthispartystarted” you all cheered and decided it was time you should start getting ready.

-♡-

you were in the dressing room doing your makeup next to Amber and Anna. “so girls how’s your chats been with your boys?” Anna said as she straightened her hair. “Curtis isn’t my type at all but he’s sweet. nothing would ever happen between us though. i hope someone comes in for me though” Amber said as she stuck on her eyelashes.

“you are beautiful and someone will definitely come in for you Amber” you said as you applied your eyeliner. “how was your chat with Mason, he seems really into you” Amber replied and you smiled at the thought. “he is very pretty. he’s really sweet and he was really interested in getting to know me but i guess that’s what you do on love island” they both laughed.

“the two of you make a perfect pair” Anna said. “how are you and Ovie?” she groaned “he is so hot i can’t get over it” you and Amber agreed, you nodded your head. “i’m going to get to know him more and see where things go” she continued.

“what were you girls thinking of wearing?” Chloe said as she came into the dressing room from the bathroom. “well, i’m thinking of this dress, it’s one of my favourites” you said getting up to show the leopard print dress. “oh my goodness that is perfect, Mason is going to love it” Chloe said and the other girls agreed.

you had all done your hair and makeup to perfection, definitely trying to impress the boys on the first night which you all succeeded. when you all finally came out of the villa into the garden all of the boys whistled at the sight of you.

you all grabbed a glass of wine and split off with your partners, you and Mason sat on the day beds next to each other. “so, you model and you’re an influencer, what do you like to do in your free time?” Mason was thinking of things to ask you. “i love makeup, very into fashion so when im free i go to Paris and visit the House of Dior exhibition with my friends which may seem weird but i love it” he listened intently as you spoke about things that you loved.

“i also love shopping, going to the gym, painting and travelling. what about you? other than football what do you like to do?” you asked “i love the gym obviously, i play video games, i love watching the formula 1 and i love to travel too” you almost squealed with joy when you heard he loved to travel.

it was one of your favourite things to do. “where have you been? and where would you like to go?” you asked as you took a sip of your drink “i’ve been to pretty much all the main places you go to when travelling like Australia, America, Japan, South Korea, Bali. what about you?” he felt at ease when he spoke to you and this had never happened to him before.

“the same, Australia is my favourite. i think if i could live anywhere in the world it would be there, but i don’t think i could leave my family just to live there” he nodded his head “is your family important to you then?” he almost shook his head at the silly question but you smiled.

“very important. my mum is my best friend, im very close with my siblings and cousins too. i have two nieces as well who are the cutest thing ever. to be honest its going to be weird not seeing them for however long i’m in here for. i see them practically every day” you loved your family and he could see that by the way you spoke about them.

“you have two nieces? so do i” another thing you bonded over “no way? isn’t that crazy, we like almost all the same things and now we have bonded over our nieces” you both laughed “i miss them so much. i moved to Manchester last year and they live in portsmouth so that’s like an almost five hour drive which is hard for them. i went from seeing them every other week to seeing them every other month” even though he loved Manchester he wished his family was closer.

“that must be really difficult for you. i don’t want to sound rude but do you not get lonely? i assume you live alone” he shook his head “that’s not rude at all. yeah, i live alone and that does get pretty lonely. i mean i have my dog Max and i have friends up there but there’s nothing like coming home to someone you know? that’s why i’ve come on here, to find someone so im not lonely” you felt sad for him, he had been living in Manchester for almost a year meaning he must have been feeling like this for all that time.

“i’m not going trying to jinx it but maybe i could be that person?” you cringed at what you had just said and pulled a face making Mason laugh, you had gone bright red. “sorry that was disgusting i cannot believe i just said that” you laughed at yourself which made Mason laugh even harder.

“no don’t say that, that was a good one until you made that face. who said i didn’t want you to be that person?” he flirted which made you feel better. his eyes flickered to your lips then back up to your eyes. “do you mind if i kiss you?” you shook your head at his comment. he lent in, one of his hands going to your cheek as he kissed you. the kiss was filled with passion, it almost made you dizzy. he was a good kisser. a very good kisser.

you both pulled away, breathless but in awe at how amazing that first kiss was. you had never had a kiss like that before and it was the first night? no one had ever kissed you as passionately as him. “wow, that was just, incredible” he said making you drop your head as you blushed.

“why did you decide to pick me then? out of the girls why me?” you were curious, i wasn’t that you were insecure or anything but you just wanted to know why “why was i the only boy you stepped forward for?” he retaliated. he was quick witted which took you by surprise.

“i stepped forward because you were the only boy i seemed to have an attraction too. none of the other boys are my type and so far you’re ticking every box. and you’re very very attractive” you shrugged and he nodded, he felt his face heat up as you spoke about him. “well, i picked you because when i walked down them steps i was honestly mesmerised by you. i was in shock at how pretty you were and you’re the only person i wanted to get to know” you also blushed at his comment.

you felt giddy “let’s see how this goes then, who knows you could be the love of my life” you joked making him laugh. “maybe you could be” you both smiled at one another and as you made eye contact with him you felt your body filling with this feeling you’d never felt before, you felt bonded to him, like you needed to get to know him more and you were going to do just that. you just hoped no one else would feel this way about Mason too.

[joekeeryswife]

Love Island Masterlist

a/n: it’s here! my love island series is finally here and i’m so excited for you all to read. enjoy reading it and get ready for this crazy journey lol🩰

Episode 1 : coupling up

Episode 2 : chats

[joekeeryswife]

may or may not already have the mason mount love island series in the works 🫣🤭

(ps doesn’t his prince hair look divine 🥹)