#the earth laughs in flowers: career

[sserpente]

Gifts and Roses

The other day, you saw a trend going around on the Internet where girlfriends shove some flowers into their boyfriends’ hands when they come home and then close the door on them only to then pretend their boyfriends got them for them. Now that sounds like way too much fun to pass up. Good thing Sylus is about to pick you up…

A/N: I saw this on the clock app just now and ran to write this. Have fun!

Words: 1162 Warnings: fluff

The trend was all over the Internet. It was funny if anything and your fingers were itching to try it with Sylus. For the laughs. And his reaction.

He was on his way to you now to pick you up to stay with him in the N109 zone over the weekend, spending some time with him, training together…perhaps you could even convince him to do a cheesy movie night with you.

For now, you’d found the perfect spot to hide your phone to record him. You’d strike when he was about to walk through the door. You looked at your Hunter’s Watch. Which should be any moment.

His knock came as if on cue. Confident, loud…how on Earth did he manage to make his knock sound dominant? You shook your head and quickly grabbed the flower bouquet you’d bought this afternoon. Two dozen red roses that smelled heavenly.

You giggled. Oh, you couldn’t wait to see the look on his face. Next thing he knew, you opened the door energetically only to shove the flowers in his hands.

“Good evening, ki—”

Then, you shut it in his face again before he could finish his sentence. Five seconds passed, then ten. Enough time for you to cover your mouth with your hands to stifle a hysterical laugh. You had never seen him so taken aback before. Oh, that video was going to be gold!

Finally, he knocked again. You took a deep breath before you swung it open again. He was blinking as if I’d suggested he should start a singing career. “What…the hell was that?”

“Sylus! Oh, what, flowers, for me? Oh, you didn’t have to, that’s so sweet of you! Thank you! Come on in!”

Sylus tilted his head and smirked. “Your antics are getting crazier by the day. If you wanted me to bring you flowers, kitten, all you had to do was ask.”

Your heart skipped a beat when he handed the roses back to you and kissed your cheek in greeting.

“It doesn’t count if I have to ask for them. Besides, your expression was priceless. It…was mainly because of this Internet trend so I set up my camera to—”

Sylus shut you up with a wild kiss. “You recorded me?” he asked then, hands still cupping your cheeks.

“…Yeah?”

“You are testing my patience, kitten. One of these days, you will successfully get on my last nerve and claim it for yourself.”

You grinned. “Would you like some dinner before that happens? I ordered some food for us.”

Sylus nodded. Amused still, he watched you retrieve your phone and followed you into the kitchen where you put the flowers in a vase before you grabbed the still-warm bags of food from the counter to make your way over to the dining table. Sylus had taken a seat already, one of his legs draped over his knee. He was engrossed in his phone all of a sudden and didn’t even look up when you served the food and eventually joined him.

“Busy week?”

“Hmm? No…surprisingly, it wasn’t too busy.”

“Who are you texting then? Are you sending angry emails again?” You raised an eyebrow. Sylus had a knack for terrifying people with his emails. You felt sorry for the poor guy at the receiving end of this one.

“No. No angry emails this time.”

You cleared your throat. “Okay then…I guess I’ll just start eating.”

With a start, Sylus paused and met your gaze. “Are you upset?”

“No! No, I just…I’d rather talk to you than watch you type away on your phone while we eat is all.”

He gave you an amused but honest smile, put his phone back into his pocket without another comment, and picked up his chopsticks instead.

“Thank you. Oh, I forgot to tell you! I qualified for the Senior Hunter Contest this week! The trials are starting next week. Would you…train with me a little over the weekend?”

“Were you now?” He chuckled. “I expected no less from you, Miss Hunter. Well done. Of course, I’ll train with you. But only if you listen to me when I tell you to rest. Unlike last time, hmm?”

“I passed out once, are you going to hold this against me forever?”

He leaned forward as if to make a point. “Yes.”

You rolled your eyes. “Fine. So…how was your week?”

You both finished your meal chatting about dubious business deals, Luke succeeding in doing a backflip for the first time and an angry email Sylus did send out on Thursday. Once you were done and you’d cleaned up, he grabbed the bag you’d packed for the weekend and beckoned you to follow him.

You had been looking forward to riding his motorcycle again all week. His affinity for ignoring speed limits (or lack thereof) aside, it was one of your favourite ways to spend time with him. The thrill that connected Sylus and you on your way back to the N109 zone was truly unmatched.

You took a deep breath when you arrived and took your helmet off, inhaling the crisp night air. You absolutely had to put ‘go for a drive’ on your weekend to-do list as well. Perhaps he’d even let you drive yourself. You rather liked the idea of him wrapping his arms around you for a change.

“Come. You’re tired.”

“No, I’m not!” Your body made you yawn before you could stop yourself. Traitor.

Sylus smirked. “I don’t think it’s a good idea for you to try and overthrow your sleep schedule every other weekend, kitten. I can stay up long enough for us to spend time together regardless.”

“I know but…”

“No buts.”

His large hand found your waist after he dismounted his bike himself, took your bag, and led you inside. Unlike what you had expected, however, he didn’t take you to his bedroom as usual but the guest room.

“I have some work I need to finish. I don’t want to disturb your rest.”

“I don’t mind. I like your bed better than—”

You paused when Sylus opened the door. The guest room didn’t look like you remembered it. Roses. Hundreds of them, decorating every single surface. Even on the bed, there were dozens of rose heads and the floor was speckled with fresh petals.

Your jaw dropped. “S-Sylus…”

“I had Luke and Kieran bring them to the guest room as soon as they were delivered.”

Delivered? “Wait…That is what you were doing on your phone during dinner? You ordered roses? Oh, Sylus…I feel bad now.”

“Don’t. My kitten wanted flowers so I got her flowers. And in the future…” He hugged you from behind, his hot breath ghosting over your ear. “…you better stock up on your vases, sweetie. And no more secret filming me, yes?”

You flipped around and grinned, wrapping your arms around his neck. “I promise. But only if you stay with me until I’ve fallen asleep.”

Sylus smirked. “Deal.”

[greynatomy]

bigger than the whole sky

alessia russo x reader

based on this request.

been writing this for a while. my longest fic yet. i cried so much writing it.

thank you anon for the request, one of my favorites.

i also just reached 1k followers! thank you all for following and reading everything i’ve put out. i started writing for female celebrities then got into woso. i never knew people would read what i would put out, but i was wrong. i appreciate every single one of you who like, reblog, follow, or just read.

again, thank you! enjoy this angst!

———

In her twenty-four years on this earth, Alessia Russo can count every single event, party, or celebration she’s been to. Whether that be a birthday party, after party, or a simple get together. But the event she’s at right now is not something she ever saw herself attending for a very long time.

———

Walking to the field in her first day of practice at UNC. She didn’t know anyone and was a little shy, but you were the first person to introduce yourself to her. 

During both of your time at UNC, you were inseparable. No one would see one of you without the other, so it was not shock at all when you got together a year after meeting.

~~~

“Hey! Alessia!” You get her attention, catching up to her.

“Hey, Y/n.”

“Uh, I was wondering if you’d like to go on a date with me tonight? Only if you’re up for it and aren’t busy.”

Alessia’s smile could not get any bigger.

“I would love to.” She kisses your cheek, walking away. “Text me the details.”

You stand frozen in your spot. You hand coming up to your face, fingers brushing where her lips touched.

A few hours later, you were standing outside of Alessia’s front door, flowers in hand. You go to raise your hand to knock, but it opens before you have a chance to.

“Woah.” You we’re speechless. Alessia was wearing a black dress, with a slit at the right leg and red bottom heels. You were in a simple black dress pants, white dress shirt with a couple buttons undone and dress shoes. “You look breathtaking.”

“Thank you.” She gives you her million dollar smile. “And you look very attractive.”

“Ready to go?”

“Yup. Let me just lock up.”

Opening the passenger door for her, she gets in, giving you a kiss on the cheek before you close it. You run to the driver side and get in. You put the car in drive and go on your way to your destination.

Alessia notices your fingers fiddling with the gear shift so she becomes very bold and grabs your hand to intertwine them, settling them in her lap.

The date went along perfectly. You talked about anything and everything, catching up on things that happened recently. Driving back home in a comfortable silence, smiles on both your faces.

You walk her to her front door, saying how you had a great time hoping to go on a second date and more after that, her agreeing. After a couple seconds of silence, you feel very confident and place your hands gently on her cheeks.

“May I?” You ask.

Alessia just nods, bringing her face closer to yours and closes the gap, lips molding together in a quick but passionate kiss. Pulling away she bites her bottom lip.

“I’ll see you tomorrow.” She kisses your cheek, hurrying into her door.

“Yeah. Tomorrow.” In a trance, you slowly walk back to your car with the biggest smile on your face, doing a happy dance not aware that Alessia was watching you through the window, laughing.

———

Walking around the living room, she can’t help but tear up. All the memories you made coming back to her. All that you accomplished together. She was glad to be able to play with you and start on your professional football careers together on the same team for Manchester United.

~~~

“I thought lesbians were supposed to be good at building and stuff.”

You and Alessia are in the process of moving into your new apartment in Manchester after being signed by United together.

“That’s very stereotypical of you Less.”

“I’m just saying.” She shrugs, biting back a smile.

“Would you like to help me then?”

“Nah. I think you’ve got it all figured out.”

~~~

“You’ll do great.”

“Same with you.”

~~~

“Making their debut today, Y/N Y/LN and Alessia Russo, an unstoppable duo from the University of North Carolina, subs into the game.”

~~~

“Another goal for Alessia Russo from the assist from Y/N Y/LN. The duo showing us exactly what they’re made of!”

~~~

Years later, you’ve both just signed a deal with Arsenal. The club not wanting to separate the dynamic duo the two of you became known for.

———

She makes it up to your shared bedroom, not having been since that day, opting to sleep in the guest room. Taking a deep breath, she twists the door knob, opening the door.

Everything was how it was left two weeks ago. Nothing being changed. Eyes scan the room, landing on your bedside table. A picture sat on top, one of Alessia’s favorites. Hands trembling, she delicately picks it up, thumb running over your face.

———

Walking along the water, footprints remain behind them on the sand. Hands intertwined, occasionally swinging between the two.

“You ready for tomorrow?” You ask softly, not wanting to disrupt the calm atmosphere.

“Nervous, but it’s the world cup final.”

“That’s to be expected then.”

“Come here. I wanna take a picture.”

Holding her arm out, phone in hand, you place your head next to hers into frame. She turns her head, placing a kiss on your cheek.

Later that night, she goes through the photos as you slept. Seeing as they were live photos, she watches them. She didn’t notice at the time, but after kissing your cheek, you look at her with the look all her friends told her about.

Like she hung all the stars in the sky.

———

Alessia felt numb. All of the emotions she could feel are bottled up inside her. She thought of the last moment she spent with you, still not able to wrap her head around it all.

———

You and Alessia make you way to the garage. You open the driver side door for her, letting her get in. You close the door, she rolls the window down. You lean down, resting your arms on the door, head sticking in the car.

“Now, you be careful getting to training. It’s our first one with the team.”

“Yes ma’am.”

“I’ll meet you there.”

“See you soon.”

She leans up giving you a kiss. When she pulls away, you hold the back of her head to pull her back in, kissing her a bit longer.

“Be careful. I love you.”

“I love you more. See you in a bit.”

She watched you put your helmet on, swinging a leg over your motorcycle, driving off, giving her a little wave.

Alessia arrives to training first, waiting for you at the car park. When you didn’t arrive in a couple minutes, she went ahead inside.

“Hey! Where’s your missus?”

———

The door opening snaps Alessia out of her trance. Looking up, she sees her parents and your mom. She wipes her tears hastily, sniffling a bit.

“Hey, sweetheart.”

“Hi, Mum.”

The three parents look at each other, not knowing how to start. Alessia’s dad eventually sit next to her daughter on the bed.

“We need to tell you something.”

———

You knock on the front door, it quickly opening to reveal Alessia’s mom, Carol.

“Y/N! What a lovely surprise!”

“Hi, Carol.” You greet, returning her embrace. “Is Mario home? I need to talk to the both of you.”

She leads you through the house to where her husband was sitting on the couch.

“Hey, kid.”

“Sup, pops.”

“Y/N said she needs to talk to us.”

“Oh? What about?”

Taking a seat in between the married couple, you reach into your pants pocket, pulling out a small velvet box. You hear a gasp that came from Carol.

“Oh, honey.”

“I-I just wanted to let you know that I’m ready, been ready, to take the next step into my relationship with your daughter. Alessia is… she’s the love of my life and I hope you’d give me your blessing to do so.”

A strong hand finds itself on your shoulder, pulling you close.

“Kid. You’ve had our blessing since the day we met you.”

“There’s no one better for our Alessia than you.”

———

Your mom holds out her hand, a small velvet box sitting in it.

“She told me to hold onto it.”

Alessia let out a quiet sob, sliding off the bed, kneeling over onto the floor. Her mom follows, wrapping her arms around her daughter.

“She loved you so much.”

———

“Is this Alessia Russo?”

Alessia got a call minutes after walking into the locker room. An unknown number.

“This is she.”

“You are the emergency contact for Y/N Y/LN. How fast can you get to London Medical?”

“I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

Alessia’s heart is racing, the unknowing of why she would be called as your emergency contact. She packs her things as quickly as possible, hands shaking.

“Woah. Where are you going? You just got here.” Katie questioned, seeing her stuffing her training bag.

“Uh, Y-Y/LN hos-hospital.” She stutters.

Katie realized how serious the situation is, grabbing her things for her.

“C’mon. I’ll drive. Which hospital?”

“Lon-London Med-Medical.”

“Okay. Get in the car.”

The two run towards Alessia’s car, giving her keys to Katie. After a twenty minute drive, they get to the hospital. Running to the emergency room, she goes straight to the nurse’s area.

“Y/N Y/LN. My-my girlfriend. I got a call.”

“Alessia Russo?” She nods. “I’m Kerry. I called you. If you can sit in the waiting room, I’ll have a doctor come out and talk to you.”

Not even a minute later, a man dressed in scrubs walk up to the two footballers.

“Hi, I’m Doctor Hill. This is Officer Randall. You’re here for Y/N YLN?”

“Yeah. What happened.”

“We got a call for a crash. Witnesses say it was head on. Driver was drunk and is in our custody.” The officer answers.

“What about my girlfriend? What’s wrong with her?”

“She’s in surgery right now, we’re trying to repair her broken leg, ribs, arm, but what we’re most worried about is her head. She was wearing a helmet, which is good, but with how the driver hit her, we’re unsure how she’d heal. We’ll let you know more when we’re done. Now if you’d excuse me.”  With that, the doctor heads back through the double doors.

———

“Earlier this month, Arsenal signed women football’s dynamic duo, Alessia Russo and Y/N Y/LN. We’ve seen what they’ve done at the University of North Carolina, Manchester United and we’ve been excited to see what they could bring here at Emirates Stadium.

Two weeks ago, Y/LN was struck by a drunk driver and unfortunately passed away. Let’s all take a moment of silence.”

Alessia is trying hard not to break down in front of everyone. She’s done that plenty enough.

“To the families of Y/N, we are with you. Alessia Russo, we stand by you. Y/N Y/LN. You are loved. You are missed. Rest easy.”

———

It’s been four days since the accident. There’s been no change in your overall health and brain activity. Doctors have told Alessia that there’s a low chance of you ever waking up.

“Ms. Russo.” Doctor Hill knocks on the door. “I need to talk to you.”

“Yeah?”

“We’ve gone through her file and you make all of Y/N’s medical decisions now. When we need to do something, you’re the one to make the decision.”

“What about her mom? I thought that only if you’re married, you’re the next in line or something?”

“She listed you as her power of attorney. She trusts that you make the choice for her. Ones that she can’t.”

“What do I do now? Is there still a chance for her?”

The look on the doctor’s face says otherwise.

~~~

After talking to your mom, her parents, she’s now back in your hospital room. She never thought she’d see you like this, lifeless on a bed, wrapped in bandages, wires poking and prodding all over.

“Hey, baby.” She sniffles. “Um. It’s been a few days since you’ve been here. Uh, it’s really all up to you now.” She grabs your hand, mindful of the wires and needles. “If-uh-if you feel like you can’t go on, I pro-I promise you that I’ll be fine. I can look after your mum.”

Alessia gets up from her seat, walking to the corner, bottom lip trembling, holding in a cry. Holding herself together, she goes back to where you lay.

“I don’t want you to fight for me anymore, to-to suffer and longer. If…if you need to let go, you can. Just know that I love you. As much as I want you to wake up, and see what we could’ve been, what should’ve been, I-I let you go.”

She watches your chest rise up and down, the movement slowing down. The beeping from the monitor slows, ending in a long beep. Flatline.

You were gone.

Nurses rush into the room to try and revive you, but Alessia waves them off, not wanting you to go through anymore difficulty. She let you pass peacefully.

———

“A hat trick for Alessia Russo on her Arsenal debut! What a player!”

Alessia couldn’t hold it in anymore. She collapses onto the ground, tears streaming down her cheeks. Her teammates surround her, Lotte gets to her first, embracing her in a tight hug. Lotte had become your best friend at UNC, so it was difficult for her too.

With Arsenal winning the game, Lotte and Alessia were asked to do a postgame interview.

“We’re now here with Alessia Russo and Lotte Wubben-Moy. What an amazing performance from the both of you. Alessia a hat trick and Lotte who assisted them all. What was going through your head?”

“Uh, well, it’s the first game of the season and there was supposed to be one more here from the UNC squad, but unfortunately she isn’t. I played for her. Y/N is-was my best friend.”

“Alessia?”

“Uh, yeah. We all started our football journey together back at UNC and supposed to be back together again, the three of us, so I just played for her. She always believed in me and was by my side, following to all the way to Manchester and now to London. So I-uh-the whole team really just played for Y/N.”

———

Walking down the path, flowers in hand, Alessia stops in front of headstone. She takes the old flowers out of the built in pot and replaces them with the new. 

She takes a blanket out of her bag and lays it out in front, sitting on it. She reads the stone, for what felt like a hundred times.

Y/N Y/LN

Daughter • Footballer • Wife

you are bigger than the whole sky

Even though the two of you never got married, your mom and Alessia decided to call you a ‘wife’. It just wasn’t official on paper, but it would’ve happened anyway. She now wears the ring you never got to give her on a chain hung around her neck, to keep you close to her heart.

“Hey, baby. Uh, played my first game as a Gunner. Scored a hat trick just for you. Pretty sure you were watching down on me, helping me get those goals in.” She wipes a fallen tear. “Wished you would’ve been down at the pitch with me, but, uh, yeah. I don't know what else to say. You’re usually saying something back. I’ll see you again soon.” She kisses her fingers and placing them overtop of your name. “Ti amo amore mio.”

At twenty-four, she didn’t think she’d have to say goodbye, but here she was, walking out of the cemetery, leaving you behind.

[loveemagicpeace]

💜Astro Notes💜

🩵Neptune in 1st house-many times you attract the attention of children. Because you give energy as if you are some kind of character and then they see you as some person who is not real and is more of a dream. Dreamy things often suit you. You look like a fairy. Makeup looks best on them.

🥳Sagittarius placements are soo funny. They always have the best jokes. And if you can laugh with anyone, it's them. But the funniest thing to me is that sometimes they also laugh at their own jokes.

🌙Moon in 6th house- can make you emotionally unstable and overly concerned about your health. Many times you can think the worst about situation. The moon here has a good instinct, but it can deceive you many times if you are too nervous. Your day often depends on how you feel. So your health also depends on your well-being.

🌵Mercury in 6th house- you can become obsessed with your treatment or think too much and research (when you are sick) what could be the cause and why it is so. It is good for these people to work on themselves and to do things that add as little stress to them as possible. Especially if you have a scorpion in this house.

🧸Taurus moon- they don't like to change the environment, and they don't like new people around them. They mostly like to stick with people they have known for a long time. I have the feeling that even if they see new people, they still like to stick with the old ones. It's the same with the Cancer moon - they are tied to emotion. On the connection they have with people. They do not like to change the people around them, because they feel that the new ones will never perceive them as emotionally as the old ones. It is difficult for them to let go of the emotion they feel for someone. Both moons are tied to a feeling of familiar. Both moons love someone they met in the past or childhood love can be at the forefront here many times.

🎈Aries & capricorn placements-these people are obsessed with winning in business. They will do everything just to be better than their competition, to prove to others that they are the best and that they can succeed. I won't lie these people can devote their lives to their careers.

💙Pluto in 1st house- These people will always have secrets that they will not confide in anyone. This is not about them lying, but their energy tends to keep their secrets to themselves, so as not to burden others. But the secrets you find out about them can be really, really dark. They can be dying in the hospital or have a serious illness and they won't tell anyone. These people are every strong inside.

🌞Leo placements -if they love you they will do anything for you. If they don't have you then they can be very selfish.

🍀Mercury in Virgo- analyze every situation and think a lot about how they acted. Many times when they tell a story, they go into detail. But it depends on where mercury falls in their house. If mercury is in the 3rd house then they will be very talkative and sometimes won't stop talking. If mercury is in the 12th house their thoughts will be more poetic.

💫 3rd house is house of gossip so people with a lot of planets here will be very interested in what others are doing or what is happening in the neighborhood.

🎸I think people with sagittarius placements can be very generous, passionate and devoted in love. People underestimate their love. They will give you all the love in the world. They will show you all their favorite places and everything that brings them happiness. They will want to travel and discover the world with you.

🔥Fire signs always wear colorful clothes or someting fiery. 🌊Water signs always wear something which is related to emotions (inscriptions or something that is emotional). 🪴Earth signs always wear simple and grounded clothes . Something that is appropriate for society. 🌬️Air signs always wear something cute and fun.

🪴People don’t talk about this but capricorns love nature, flowers, earth and gardening. They like something that is not related to people, work. Also cap risings many times they feel responsible for the people around them. They sound cold and can be stubborn, cruel and even rude, but inside they will always feel bad for people, even if they don't show it outwardly. If you really want to get to know them, you have to know that you have to hang out with them more than just once.

🎁5th house-the inner child-this house describes how you are as a child and how you can keep the child inside you. So thats why leos are child their whole life. They know how to keep passion alive. Planets here reflect the essence of this inner gift.

🌊The difference between a virgo and pisces rising is that virgo often worry and become anxious when something doesn't go their way or when they can present themselves to people. Many times they give more attention to others instead of themselves. Pisces don't worry so much about how they will stand out in front of others or how they look. They have a lot of illusion in them and many times this leads them to emit a different energy outwardly.

-Rebekah🩵💧

[thorin-is-a-cuddler]

Pot Plant Sister

A/N: Hello my sweetest people. I have finally gotten myself to writing, hallelujah! This fanfiction is especially dedicated to the most wonderful @cas-kingdom. I really wanted to write for the BBC Musketeers again. Aramis’ sister is 12 years old and her favourite thing in the world is not doing what her brother tells her to do.

You were once again doing what your brother had told you not to do.

Apparently window sills were not meant for people to perch on. They were meant for pots of flowers or for glasses or for drinks you preferred to consume cold. But not for curious musketeer sisters who wanted to hear what Captain Treville was saying to his soldiers.

Whether you brother was worrying you might fall down – Aramis, please, you scoffed in your mind – or whether he simply did not want you to eavesdrop on things he feared you might imitate – it was one time and shooting at things with your hat covering my eyes wasn’t actually the worst I could have imitated, your mind rambled on – you did not know for certain why he didn’t want you to perch on the sill.

Porthos had once kindly suggested they buy you a pot since you were apparently thriving for a career as a pot plant. “Maybe you’ll worry less when we put her in one, cover her up to the neck with earth and check once in a while whether she needs some water.”

You’d sent Porthos a glare, but his big grin never failed to infect you and so you had taken to hit him against the arm to get your point across nevertheless. “Be careful, I might grow thorns!”

“More than you already have?” Athos had asked with a sassy head tilt and a smirk that barely showed on his lips but lit up his blue eyes.

Aramis had grabbed you and pulled you on his lap to prevent you from jumping on Athos for that comment. He’d wrapped his arms tightly around you and had put his head on yours, gently rocking you from left to right. “Can’t you just promise me that you won’t climb on that sill again, (Y/N)?”

You’d worn a disgruntled expression that had made Athos and Porthos laugh. Obviously you hadn’t promised anything that day. And for a good reason, since you were not someone to break your promises… and since you were on the sill again, there was nothing you had to be ashamed of.

You could see your brother and his friends in the first row of all the present musketeers. They looked so different from when they were around you. Less friendly, less relaxed, less careless. They were wearing their professional soldier faces – barren of sympathy and covered by an icy mask. Cooly they listened to the orders of the day, multiple hat feathers ruffling in the wind. Aramis, Athos and Porthos were given a mission to go to the fruit market and search for a suspect. Your fingers were getting cold from holding on the wall next to the window and your nose started running from the cold breeze that was whistling around you. But none of that truly mattered to you – you were raised at a musketeer corps, you were tougher than most girls your age.

When Treville finished his speech, he left to go up the stairs to his bureau opposite of your position – you were lucky he didn’t notice you. When the door closed behind him, you looked back down to the murmuring musketeers who went to prepare their horses. Your brother was twirling his hat in his hand and was smirking at something Athos had said to him. Porthos was getting out one of his muskets, checking if it was loaded. A longing demanded its place in your hurting chest – you really wanted to go with them.

You didn’t want to practice your Latin – Aramis had left some work for you on the desk as he usually did; when he got home for his missions, he put on his glasses – yes, he wore glasses for reading, don’t tell anyone – and verified your work. It was how you had become quite fluent in English and German. But your Greek and Latin still needed pretty much work.

It wasn’t how you wanted to spend your days though. You longed to get out there. You longed to get in the saddle in front of your brother, feel his strong arms hold the reigns around you and go with him on his missions. You wanted to make adventures, meet new people, fight, win glory and fortune and most of all, share the experiences of the three people you loved most in this world. You knew you were young – and a girl – and that there was little chance they would take you with them, even if you were an adult. But reason could not take over the passion that was rising in your chest.

When Athos, Porthos and Aramis turned towards the stables, you couldn’t help yourself; you put your fingers against your lips and whistled as loud as you could.

All three of them turned around in an instant, muskets holstered up on their shoulders.

Gif by: https://www.tumblr.com/useyourtelescope (I couldn't resist, it fits my story so well :,))

You were fully aware of the fact that you were getting their attention while perched where you were not supposed to perch – but instead of looking sorry or feeling in the least ashamed, you just ran your hand over your nose and called to them: “Can I come with?”

Aramis’ shoulders sagged – so hard that you could see it from the other side of the garrison – and he bowed his head, shaking it while a cloud of his breath appeared in front of his face – a sigh the cold presented to the world like an exclamation mark.

Athos was blinking up at you, his tired eyes narrowed against the brightness of daylight that fell into the courtyard. His features were soft and you were sure that he was quite fond of the way you never did what anybody told you. Porthos simply broke out laughing when he saw you.

“Aramis, your plant is speaking again,” he chuckled, shaking your brother’s shoulder.

Aramis rarely got mad at you, the really, really, super angry kind of mad. And this moment was no exception. He shook his head with yet another sigh, but his lips were already forming a little smile. He knew, deep down in his heart, that you were not the type to conform to norms and that you would never change in that regard. And he was so proud of it, of you, of the way you were capable to hold a musket like he did and the way you could ride a horse while facing its back.

You were a wild child; and more importantly you were his wild child.

Still. There were boundaries. He was your brother, but he had responsibilities that went far beyond the jobs of an older brother.

“What do you think?” Aramis simply fired back at you, the amusement audible in his voice. He squinted his eyes at you and you squinted right back at him.

“I think … I would be a real support for you guys!”

Athos tilted his head with an honest to God chuckle, before looking at your brother expectantly. He always enjoyed these little exchanges between the two of you. It amused him to no end, when Aramis who was cooler than winter in combat, almost lost the entirety of his nerves in any dispute with you, his younger sister.

Athos was a calm and reassuring presence in your life. While Porthos was playful and never got tired of chasing you through the stables, Athos was taking his time to talk to you often, about all different kinds of things. He took your hand when you were close to getting lost in crowds. He only had to send you one look to make you stop when you were being stubborn. And he always encouraged you to get on Aramis’ nerves, simply by not intervening.

It was a recurring situation Aramis found himself in: all three of you against him. He knew the other two were mostly doing it, because it made you laugh – like some babies started giggling when someone got hit over the head. But he sometimes did wonder, if they were not enjoying themselves a bit too much at his expense.

“You know what would be very supportive of you?” Aramis asked, his brows raised high.

“What?”

“Getting down from that silly window sill.”

“It’s not silly! It’s made of wood which in Latin means … ”

“(Y/N)!”

Porthos crossed his arms in front of his wide chest, his mouth opened in a laugh. “I’m sure, we could actually use her to prick someone with her thorns. Especially if we need to part the crowd on the market!”

“You’re not helping!” Aramis groaned, running one hand down his face.

Athos smirked, looking at him with amusement. “He’s not wrong though.”

Aramis looked at him with bewilderment. “I am not taking her with us!”

“We could throw her after people who try to escape!” Porthos added, imitating the movement of someone throwing a ball. “She will cling to them like a cat!”

“No throwing!” You felt compelled to exclaim, making Porthos laugh some more.

Aramis sighed, looking up at you and speaking in a softer tone. “(Y/N), I can’t, okay? I’m scared I’d lose you in the crowd if we actually had to seize someone out there. What if I lose sight of you? What if bullets are fired and you are in the line of-“

“Ughh, alright!” You gave in, putting your chin on your knees, a pout pulling your lips down. “I get it. I’ll do my stupid Latin homework…”

“It’s not stupid,” Aramis responded, imitating your remark from earlier by altering his voice, “it’s made from paper which in Latin means-“

“Oh, stop it, you!” You barked at him, a laugh mixing into your voice.

He grinned up at you. “I promise I’ll take you to the city, tomorrow, okay? But now, please come down from there, will you?”

“From my silly window sill?”

“(Y/N)…”

“Alright, alright! But someone will have to catch me!”

Three pairs of eyebrows shot up.

“No, (Y/N), don’t even think about jumping!” Aramis said in a much sterner voice than before.

“Come on, it’s not that high!” You argued, your pout intensifying. “I have to say good-bye to you guys!”

“Well, climb back inside the room and use the bloody stairs!”

“That’s boring!! I’m a musketeer’s sister! I jump if I want to jump!!”

“Dear Lord, whatever did I do to-“

“On three, okay?” You yelled with an angelic smile on your lips.

“NO, no no no no no no!!” Aramis shouted up at you, raising one hand to underline his words. “You will NOT!!”

“’Mis, I know that you will catch me.” You said in a tone so confident, it made Aramis move his head back in surprise.

Athos and Porthos wore slightly concerned expressions on their faces, but they did not seem to believe it useful to argue with you on this. And you were sure that they as well knew, Aramis would never fail to catch you.

“Are you ready?” You asked with an excited light in your eyes.

Aramis shook his head at you and sighed for the thrillionth time that day. “Are you sure you want to jump straight into my arms right now, in this very moment, where you have already tested my patience for quite a while?”

You closed your mouth and narrowed your eyes. “What are you saying?”

“Are you sure you can take the consequences of your actions?” The expression on your brother’s face lightened up again; there was something smug in his eyes now and you were pretty sure you knew what was in store for you, were you to land in his arms.

You hesitated long enough for Athos to start grinning and for Porthos to start laughing.

“I wouldn’t underestimate the thorns of your brother.” Athos said meaningfully, a knowing expression in his eyes.

“I’m not scared,” you reminded them vehemently, preparing for a jump, despite the revenge that your brother most certainly had in stock for you.

“Sometimes, it’s wise to be afraid,” Aramis growled, cracking his fingers. “But by all means, do what you think best, I’m ready.”

“You better be!” You called, your stubbornness getting the better of you. “On three!”

“Alright!” Aramis smiled.

“One,” you started, your hands searching for a good spot on the walls to hold on to.

“Two,” Aramis continued, close enough to break your fall.

“… Three!” You screamed as your feet left the wooden sill. The fall was shorter than you’d expected, but the impact upon hitting your brother’s arms much harder than you’d hoped for. He groaned from the force and stumbled backwards, while you were squealing in his ears, from excitement, from adrenaline, from anticipation and from the smallest amount of fear.

He chuckled as you tried to push yourself out of his arms, tightened his grip around your middle and threw you over his shoulder. “Now where do you think you’re going so quickly?”

“Aramis, let me down!!”

“I’ll never let you down!” He answered, using the double meaning of the word to keep you pinned to his shoulder. “We have to say good-bye first!”

You threw punches against his back, but recoiled within seconds, when fingers started digging into the ticklish parts of your sides. “NOO!” You screeched, your elbows pushing down to cover up the spots your brother’s hands were already covering. “NO TICKLING!!”

“No tickling?” Aramis gasped, as if it shook him deep within his soul. “Should have thought of that before provoking me the way you did.”

You started laughing uncontrollably, your forehead colliding with his shoulder as you twisted and struggled within his grip to get away, away, awayyy. But your brother was a master at this game. He swayed your body from left to right until you were almost hanging upside down, with his fingers crawling over your belly. You barely managed to get a breath in amidst your helpless squealing.

“STOP IT!!” You giggled, trying to hold on to his fingers that somehow escaped and started poking all over your sides.

“Just one more good-bye kiss, yes?” He teased, lifting your upper body towards him as you continued to wiggle and twitch with laughter.

“NO NO NO, not THAT!” You screeched, but your brother was merciless and already a long and ticklish raspberry found its way underneath your chin. Laughing silently, you tried to protect your neck, but Aramis put one hand on the side of your face to hold your head against his chest and have full excess at the other side of your neck. It tickled terribly, what with his beard adding to the sensation and his nose teasing another spot on your sensitive skin at the same time.

“PLEASE NO MORE!!”

Your brother lifted his head with a smirk and looked down at you, his eyes lit up by the glimmer of mischief. He was holding you like a sleeping child, both arms around your body and your head on the height of his shoulder. Gasping for air, you held on to his shirt unconsciously – he noticed it and was quite endeared by it. After a few seconds, you had calmed down enough to focus and send a half-hearted glare at his fond face.

“That was mean.”

“You’ll live.”

“Barely!”

“Drama queen!”

“Hey!” You used your free hands to attack his neck with tickles of your own, making him snort and chuckle softly before he carefully let go off you, making your feet land back on the floor. You tried to continue your little attack, but he caught your wrists and lowered them decidedly.

“You best not provoke me again straight away!” Aramis chuckled, covering his sides, when you tried to tickle him more. “I don’t have time for you to get revenge now. We have to go, (Y/N)!”

“This is not fair! Why is there time to tickle me, but none to tickle you?”

He was too amused by your attempts to get your hands on his ribs that despite not succeeding, you made him laugh which was definitely better than nothing.

Eventually he did manage to get you to stop, grabbing your shoulders and looking you deep in the eyes. He was slightly out of breath from laughing which made you grin. “No more of that now, pot plant! Go up and plot your revenge there, okay? And do your homework!!” He gave you a kiss on the cheek and turned around to get to his horse.

“Damn it, I must have pulled a muscle when you did your little stunt.” He made a grimace and started massaging his shoulder while walking.

Porthos and Athos were wearing equally endeared expressions on their faces, standing next to their horses and waiting patiently for Aramis’ and your good-bye ceremony to be over.  

“Don’t worry,” Porthos winked at you, “We’ll help you get your revenge later!”

“I heard that,” Aramis said, raising a reprimanding brow at his friend.

“Good,” Athos smirked at him, rearranging his hat to protect it from the wind that would weigh against them while riding.

“You three will be the death of me,” Aramis sighed while getting on horseback. He looked back at you and winked, a smile on his face. “Do your homework!”

“Yes, I heard you the three first times you said that,” you wailed, but ended up sending him a good-bye grin, before he rode out of the courtyard.

“No more window sill jumping, pot plant!” Porthos demanded, raising a finger at you half-seriously.

Athos tilted his hat at you, ever the courteous musketeer. “I second that!”

You watched them leave and started doing maths instead of Latin: Aramis had told you, you could accompany them – if at all – when you were at least 16 years old. You sighed when you realized that you had to do four more years of Greek, Latin and window sill perching before that. Hopefully you wouldn’t turn into an actual pot plant until then.

Plotting your revenge, you started climbing the stairs to your and Aramis’ apartment. If Athos and Porthos were to help you, Aramis would wish he’d never tickled you in the first place.

[bagopucks]

M. Marner - Light My Love

✄————————————

Mitch Marner x Fem!reader

Word Count: 2.3k

Warning(s): none!

It felt like such a Mitch song, and I wanted to do something real tiny before going on to new requests!

—————————————

Can you light my love?

Flames glowing bright as the sun

Deeper than oceans you run

Watch as our world has begun

I was an art major, but my art never had feeling behind it. It was my passion, but somewhere along the line, I forgot passion in the midst of work. In the midst of going through the motions. I lost my motive and love for the things I made. My works had beauty, but they had no fire. They had no feeling.

Until I met Mitch.

My classmates often said the things they loved were their muses. Pets, music, books and movies, family or friends. Lovers.

Mitch was my friend, but he was too vast. Looking at him was overwhelming. Mitch was his own work of art. Made up of the elements. The ocean in his eyes and the earth in his hair. The wind that followed his stride on skates, and the fire that represented itself in the heat radiating off his skin any time of day.

He was vast, made up of cuts from all types of fabrics, his mind ran deeper than one could possibly imagine. His pain, shortcomings, and strife made him the man he was. Likewise, his accomplishments, past, and those who loved him. Every moment in his life shaped him. Mitch was like a ten page essay. Just when you got the motivation to start, you’d look at the ten empty pages and feel too overwhelmed to continue.

That’s how it felt when I pulled out a blank canvas and decided to use Mitch as my muse. It was blank, and I didn’t know where to begin. Or how to paint him. There was too much of him to cover, and I felt I’d never have enough paint to do it all.

When I met Mitch, I wanted to know him completely. From head to toe. From mind to heart. He became my next project.

Your mind is a stream of colors

Extending beyond our sky

A land of infinite wonders

A billion lightyears from here now

The days spent in cafe’s, dinky diners, and the living area of my apartment, were ones I looked forward to. I found myself asking Mitch about himself nonstop, and most questions he asked about me were pushed aside with quick or rushed answers.

I found that he was such a creative and lighthearted person. Full of childish wonder and boyish charm. He’d play nonstop if the world let him. Which I assumed was why he chose hockey as his career. Mitch loved touring me around Toronto, showing me things to take pictures of and explaining what he found beauty in and why.

In the late evenings, we found ourselves caught up in conversations of wild theories and subjective beliefs. If he believed in aliens. Which planets he wanted to visit. Who he thought built the pyramids and which conspiracy theories he believed or laughed at. Mitch’s mind worked a mile a minute.

He liked to tell me of all of his ideas for new workout routines, little senseless inventions he thought would be beneficial to life, and of all the things he wanted to try and experience.

Whoa, light my love

Whoa, light my love

My art adopted a brighter complexion each time I spent a new day with Mitch.

There was something about him and the way he saw the world, that was awfully refreshing.

I have seen pictures of time

The frames still in motion I find

A grand revolution outlined

Hate bound by fear will unwind

Through time I fell in love with Mitch and his beautiful mind. My pictures shifted from tourist spots and landscapes, to those of him that I snuck on nights out and nights in.

I could scroll through the photos and recall memories of each moment.

A photo of him mid laugh, hands held over the sink covered in white powder while there was some on his face and in his hair. The rest of the mess on the counter. I had been trying to help him learn to cook, and we ended up in a flower fight.

I had another photo of him. An ‘aerial’ view, where his head had been in my lap, a blanket pulled over his body but his bare shoulders peeked out just enough to know he was shirtless. I took that one after Mitch had showed up on my apartment doorstep, sore and miserable after a hard game. We became so comfortable with one another that he didn’t bat an eye when I invited him into my room to watch a movie and get a back rub.

My favorite photo of Mitch, was the one that finally allowed me to see him completely and clearly as my muse. The one that helped me bundle all of Mitch in his entirety, into one photo. Into one work of art.

A still of him in my art studio, the sun illuminating his figure from the skylights above. He was sat on the linen cloth I had spread across the stained wood floors, a canvas laid out that I told him he could use while I worked. The canvas had a brown blob on it with big orange eyes, and a white bandanna. The only reason I knew what it was is because Mitch never shut up about his dog. Little old Zeus, who I had the luxury of meeting on multiple occasions when we went for walks.

I took the picture when I turned to check on him, his face all scrunched up and focused. I captured the photo just after he’d gone to itch his cheek, smearing the brown he used for Zeus across his cheekbone. He looked so relaxed, and yet so happy at the same time. Content to do nothing with me but still do something in the same room.

I decided to use Mitch as a figurative muse first. So I painted him as things he reminded me of. When he asked about what I was doing for the art final, I never told him, and he only got fussy when I wouldn’t let him in my studio to see either. I invited him to the college’s gallery presentation of the art finals when the night came. I told him I was wearing baby blue, and he was welcome to do the same.

I told my teacher, that my plan was to reveal the final piece of my project at the viewing. That my final piece would be my ‘inspiration.’

The only reason she gave me an exception was because she said she saw a real improvement and emotion in my art. That in all the four years she taught me, she was incredibly proud and excited to see what had brought back my passion and desire to continue to create.

We were both hopeful that the moment, when it came, would go well.

Your mind is a stream of colors

Extending beyond our sky

A land of infinite wonders

A billion lightyears from here now

“Mitch!” I whisper-shouted over mumbling parents and guardians, lovers and friends. The showing was hosted in the library, big enough to house all of the art, and the right setting to let people know it wasn’t supposed to be loud. Those that came in mostly spent time looking at the art of who they came for.

I was stood somewhere around the middle of the room, my various pieces set up on easels I brought from my apartment, and one toward the end of my display still covered by a sheet.

Mitch quickly walked down the few steps by the door, swift to slip though the crowd to meet me by my displays. He wrapped his arms around my hips, and my own flew over his shoulders.

Our blues didn’t entirely match, but it was closer than I expected them to be. I wore a baby blue dress with a flowing skirt that stopped just above the knees, the sleeves made of lace that hugged my wrists and a bodice that hugged my torso and hips.

“Hey, so sorry I’m a little late.” I shook my head as I pulled away. I took a moment to examine Mitch’s outfit. Black slacks and a baby blue polo. I straightened his collar. He smiled bashfully.

“Don’t worry about it, Mitchell.” I teased quietly, barely able to contain my excitement. He could tell, and it made him all the more smiley than before.

“So? Can I finally see this stuff?”

“Goodness, Mitch.. I’ve been waiting so long.” My heart rate picked up. In this moment, I was more worried about him not liking my art, than the possibility of failing my last final. I reached for his hands, took them in my own, and stepped a few paces back. I led him toward the first canvas, his eyes already looking over my shoulder at the art before I could inform him of what it was.

“That was from our first hike.” His pearly smile made me giggle as he spoke. I let go of his hands and turned to look at the first painting. I considered a hike something to be done in mountains and wooded areas, but Mitch and I had walked for a while down the coastline that day. He tried to prove to me that a ‘hike’ didn’t have to be an incline.

“How’d you do that?” He reached out to run his fingers across the grooves and divots of dried oil paint. I had never painted with textures before, but I felt it was one of the many elements I needed to properly represent Mitch and all of his layers.

My eyes examined him, as he examined my art. That same wonder I used to see when he discussed his own passions, now presented itself in his eyes as he took in my creation. I hadn’t realized I became one of his new passions over time.

I reached for Mitch’s hand again, taking it and guiding him to the next piece.

“This one might be a little harder to guess-“

“You took pictures of this one when I was over at your place.” I was astounded by his attention to detail. “It had just finished raining outside. You said you liked the yellow in the clouds.”

We made eye contact. I couldn’t have been smiling any wider, and Mitch looked oddly proud of himself for remembering such a random detail.

“What’s the last one?” He was the first to break our eye contact, nodding behind me to the canvas covered by cloth. The same linen from my studio floor.

“You’re sure you don’t wanna get a snack or drink first?” I tried, my hand subconsciously squeezing Mitch’s.

“Come on. I’ve been waiting for like- a month to see all this.” He didn’t have to beg or ask much. I gave in quite easily. I took a step back, my breath caught in my lungs as I reached with my free hand to hoist the cloth up over the canvas.

“Okay.. but- I did my best. It’s not perfect.”

My third and final oil painting. Of Mitch in the middle of my studio floor. I used the photo I took of him, but in the background I added other elements. His jersey draped over the empty easel, and a pair of paint stained skates hanging from my wood shelves. I included the pair of his favorite slippers, a can or two of Red Bull, and a rolled up yoga mat. My favorite addition though, was the tiny details of our photos together, painted so they looked to be tapped up on the wall in the background.

I clenched my jaw while Mitch looked, his brow furrowing at first. Then his head tilted. I worried he wouldn’t like it, and his initial reaction had me pulling my hand away from his own.

Then his brow smoothed, and he stepped closer, eyes squinting to catch all the tiny details. His lips turned upward. He looked at me. I offered an uncertain smile.

“What made you do this?”

Whoa, light my love

Whoa, light my love

“You..” I shrugged. “You became my muse. I needed something to bring the feeling back into everything. My art, my life.. I didn’t really expect it to be you. But it was.” I looked back at the painting. “I caught this photo of you a little while back. I added some of your favorite things in there. Figured I didn’t need to include Zeus because you already had him in your own little painting.” I teased softly in hopes of easing my own tension. Mitch laughed softly.

He stepped up by my side, slipping his hands into his pockets.

“It’s really cool.. but you’re missing something, ya know?” His question had me raising my brow as I looked up at him. He looked down at me.

“Can’t have all my favorite things without you.” My heart skipped a beat, I giggled bashfully.

“Mitch-“

“I’m serious. Nothing else matters if you’re not there too.” He turned his body to face my own, and I found myself stumbling over my own thoughts. I was supposed to be the poetic and meaningful one. And yet I couldn’t think of a single thing.

“It’s almost perfect.” He continued, and I found the courage to meet his eyes.

I decided to test him. To be certain.

“What would make it perfect?” I was hesitant. Hot all over, trying not to crash and burn.

“If you’d be mine.”

“God Mitch..” I breathed out in relief. He looked panicked for a moment, worried he’d crossed a boundary. I eased his nerves by springing forward to connect our lips. His hands raised to his sides in a concerned motion, before he relaxed and returned the kiss, his hands found my hips with ease.

One of my hands held his face, the other on his shoulder. By the time I felt satisfied, I pulled away breathlessly. Mitch’s wide eyes stared me down, smiles slow to find both of our lips.

“You came just when I needed you.”

“I like you so much.”

“I really like you too”

I really needed to pass that final, but it was the last thing on my mind.

✾❀✾❀✾❀✾❀✾❀✾❀✾❀✾

[patsault]

i am a firsthand witness to my father's anger. i am his only child so engaged in following his footsteps. the apple doesn't fall far from the tree, they say, but i am not an apple and he is not a tree. though his face is oaky and strong and mine is red and blistering, so different yet so alike, what differentiates us from one another will always walk a thin line of existence and delusion. i am still the embodiment of his worst qualities. i still harbor the nature that scared me as a child. though he was understanding and kind, though his eyes were gentle and blue, they could still grow cold. the weathered hands that once cradled me as a child were still capable of bleeding. the comfort in his voice could teeter over the thick bridge of careful consolation and could harden like ice, cold and unloved. i am a firsthand witness to my father's anger. i am the only one so imbued in becoming just like him.

i wish to be a lover. i wish for my hands to be careful and soft. i wish to cradle the fists that have beaten me and wash the feet of those who have kicked me to the ground. i wish to love in any way that is not pathetic or desperate. i wish to be able to express myself without rage. i wish to be without rage. i wish to be without. i wish.

i am the precursor to my mother's misery. my very being is her burden. they tell me that this is what she had signed up for. that this was her duty as a mother. i tell them she should not have given herself up simply to cater to her children. i tell them she should not have given up. there was a time where she was free. where she could dance and sing and laugh without worry. where she could pursue her career and go home to an empty house with a big dog named after a flower. where she could cry and smile and spin around in circles with her arms in the air. where she could run down the streets of the city in the rain with nothing but the clothes on her back and the warmth of her best friend's hand holding hers. i am the precursor to my mother's misery. my existence has only caused her plague.

i wonder about the woman she would have been had I not been born. i wonder how much love she could have felt before she met my father. i wonder if she would have often thought about someone who has not yet existed. i wonder if she would have missed me. i wonder if she misses me. i wonder if she misses. i wonder.

i am a testament to my sister's loneliness. i am the final piece of evidence that everyone will leave her. we had grown close when we were younger. two peas in a pod, is what they had called us. opposite sides of the same coin. best friends on two ends of the same earth. different, yet so, so alike. so similar it makes me want to rot. we grew distant with age and time, as all siblings do, but have never reached that breaking point where we cave in and come back to one another. i wonder if i should have stayed. if i should have reached out one bleary night where the moon was drunk and the stars were slow dancing in the sky. if i could have done anything to make her feel less hollow. if i could remember that i am not her keeper, that her suffering did not have to bleed into mine. i am the testament to my sister's loneliness. i am a monster for not feeling guilty for it.

i crave guilt. i crave to let it consume me and turn me into nothing. i crave to feel something that makes me just a bit more human. i crave to hate leaving her, to regret it for just one moment. i crave to hate her. i crave to hate. i crave

[writingfics-passingtime]

Dandelions - Ruth B.

Peter Parker x reader

Thank you, @manyfandomsfanvergent 💜 This story came to me almost instantly. Hope you like it !!

Forever in Your Eyes

This drabble is part of JJ’s Mixtape - a mini series based on my followers’ favourite songs and characters. You can read more of them here!

Song Prompt: Dandelions

Pairing: (AG) Peter Parker x reader (no pronouns used)

Words: ~1500

CWs: minor swearing, mentions of Gwen’s death, some kissing

Sunset light bathes the battered desks and vinyl floors of the art studio, discussions of weekend plans and new movies hums lowly through the room; Thursday night classes had that effect on everyone, but especially those with no classes on Friday.

Those like Peter Parker - who’d only made the Friday Class Mistake once so far in his college career. The young college student, and part time masked vigilante, slides into an empty plastic chair just as the tutor enters the room.

“Portraits!” The tutor, a vibrant bespectacled man named Robin, reminds everyone of the plan for the class as he takes attendance in his head. There were only about sixteen people in this time slot so it’s an easy task.

“Your assignment was to find some portraiture you really connected with, take it apart, make it your own, I don’t need to remind you guys,” he waves a hand as a shrug. “Let’s jump in so we can all get on with our weekend. Who wants to go first for crits?”

The girl sitting next to Peter, an eager beaver named Marie, puts her hand up to have her work picked apart. And so it begins.

Person after person shares their screen to the projector and explains why they chose their setting, the subject, the colouring, why it was edited the way it was. Peter ends up being last, and he’s feeling pretty good about the photos he’d taken of you.

He’d had to bribe you, of course. Because you hated being in front of a camera but not more than you loved a burger from that place just outside of town - the place near a secret patch of wildflowers that Peter wanted to capture you in.

He’d been careful to make sure the flowers treated carefully and with respect. Then, he’d done the same with his camera-shy best friend.

You’d needed a lot more reassurance than the flowers had.

“I’m doing a terrible job.”

“No, you’re doing great,” Peter encouraged as he peaked out from behind the lens. “Tilt your head a little to the left, just a- perfect.” He snapped a few more shots before seeing you subtly squirm and draw in an uncomfortable breath. He lowered the camera and caught you in a gentle, level stare. “Hey. Just look at me.”

“You’re not the problem,” you argued and crossed your arms over yourself, “It’s that thing in your hand.”

He grinned at you. “Don’t look at the thing in my hand.” He saw you take another shaky breath in before you met his eye with an intense vulnerability.

“Yeah,” his smile softened, he pointed and clicked as he kept your focus on him. “Just keep looking at me…”

The photos turned out great, and it’s his turn to have his work critiqued.

He clicks a few keys, types in the screen-sharing code, and your face fills the large screen at the front of the room.

It’s an objectively beautiful photo of you. The colours of the earth and the flowers bring out that sparkle in your eye that Peter’s come to know as the starlight that appears when you’re laughing, or thinking of something cheeky to say in response, when you’re truly at ease and happy where you are. Your expression says peace. The flowers around you bring out something wild in your soft smile. Your stare is just above the lens, fixed on Peter.

Before he can explain why he chose this field, why he chose his best friend, Robin makes a noise of approval and turns to the class.

“Okay guys, see now this is the advantage of doing portraits with a romantic partner- with someone you have a real connection with. See that depth in the subject’s eyes, and see where the eyes are fixed? On the photographer, right? Now, that’s something that can’t be faked.”

The sun had set. The room has darkened. But Peter is caught too off-guard to worry if anyone can see the way his cheeks were burning, or the way his drying mouth was hanging open. But you don’t feel the sa-

“The trick, Peter, is going to be figuring out how you can pull this from other subjects going forward,” Robin throws the words out so nonchalantly, painfully oblivious to the way his student’s head is spinning. “Now let’s take a look at the setting.”

The rest of the feedback is a ghost to Peter. It drifts by, vacant, untouchable, warping time and reality. All he can think of is you and that look in your eyes. How long had you looked at him like that without him noticing?

Or, more accurately, how long did he notice but not really know what it meant?

Needless to say, he broke land speed records sprinting out of the building the second class ended, and ripping his skateboard down the sidewalk towards your apartment just off-campus.

Oblivious to Peter’s crisis, you pick up a fork and make your way to the fuzzy blankets calling your name. Your roommates were out and it was the perfect night for Doordash and a marathon of that show you’d been wanting to see. You settle onto the couch, ready to press play, when you hear a frantic knock at your front door and Peter shouting your name through it.

“I know you’re in there!” He yells, still pounding. You lower your brow and practically vault over the couch trying to get to the door before he breaks it down with his fist.

“I’m coming! Jeez, Pete!” You yell back right before your fingers flip the deadbolt and you pull the door inwards. “What the hell’s the matter with y-”

“How long?” He demands, waging a glare so intense you suddenly feel like you’ve done something super wrong. Your mouth falls slack as Peter brushes past you to enter your apartment.

It takes you a moment to recover, to try and put together what the hell he was on about, and by the time you realise that he’s out of line coming in here with vague accusations, so you close the door and turn to face him, you’re met with the sight of his open laptop screen on your kitchen counter.

It’s a photo of you, from the wildflower fields. Something deep in you wants to internally cringe but… it looks real. Honest.

When you meet Peter’s eye, he looks the same way. Except there’s something desperate in his gaze.

“How long?” He repeated, breathless and wanting.

You open your mouth to respond and quickly realise you don’t know how to. Thankfully, Peter fills in the blanks.

“How long have you been in love with me?”

It’s a punch to the gut. That question. It sucks every bit of air from your lungs, from your throat, tears spring to your eyes and you don’t really know why. Maybe because it’s so out of left-field and you have no time for any other reaction. Maybe because of the despairing way he was looking at you, and you had no idea why he’d be doing this.

“Peter, please,” you choked out. It was useless to lie to him. “I’ve never expected anything more from you, I’m happy with-”

He takes a step forward. “How long?”

You cover your eyes with the heels of your palms and sniff in a cry. “I don’t know. A while, I guess.”

You feel him take another step towards you and you’re sure you’re done for. He’s going to step around you and walk out and never come back and-

“We’ve wasted so much time,” his gentle whisper comes. His touch comes too, weaving through your own, tugging your palms from your eyes just far enough for him to place his hands, cradling either side of your face.

You brave meeting his eye, and… peace.

Your shoulders release their tension, your jaw unclenches, your hands find rest around his wrists. In a feeble attempt to explain, you mumble, “I didn’t know if you were ready.”

The metaphysical mention of Gwen sends a bolt of grief through Peter’s heart. But it’s a grief he’s grown to greet like a friend; one that will always be with him, one that wants him to grow.

His thumb traces the warm blush on your cheekbones, wiping away a tear in the process. He didn’t do this right. He should’ve done this better but the pain and recognition and the want all melded into one and-

He stops overthinking and doesn’t waste any more time.

Peter ducks his head and kisses you like it’s the easiest thing in the world. Like he already knows the contours of your skin, like he’s memorised the steady beckoning in your breath.

He’s a welcoming home. Under his hands, you find a refuge. When he steps into you, closing the space between your bodies, the heat of him is an all-encompassing embrace. You kiss him like it’s something you’ve done a thousand times before. It feels so right. The taste of forever is sweeter than any time you’d ever dreamed of it.

Because this time it’s real.

[gate-to-valhalla]

May I request a fluffy Buddha x reader oneshot? I don't have anything in mind so just pick any scenario you want <33

Of course! I originally wrote this with a female reader but feel free to request again if that wasn't what you were looking for! I'm sorry for the wait ^^"

_____________________________________________________________

A Unique Gift

Buddha x Fem!Reader

Type: One-shot

Situation: After humanity is saved, (Y/N) returns to earth to resume her career as a baker. Though she is sought after by a potential suitor, unaware of (Y/N) relationship with Buddha.

Requested by: @night-ace

“I’m in love with you and I’d very much appreciate it if you would allow me to treat you to dinner!”

(Y/N) couldn’t help but stare wide-eyed at the man bowing in front of her, holding a bouquet of flowers outstretched towards her. The man had been her neighbor for years and she really thought of him anymore than a good friend. Awkwardly looking around for a moment as the silence began to sink in, (Y/N) would clutch the fabric of her skirt and would bow herself.

“I’m sorry but I cannot accept your offer. I appreciate the kindness and friendship you have given me, but I just do not feel the same.”

She would say before standing straight, taking a step forward to push the bouquet gently towards her neighbor as a form of rejection. She would just smile warmly again as her neighbor would stand up, an obvious disappointed and solemn look on his face though (Y/N) would remain her happy self.

“Don’t worry, there are plenty of women in town that would love to have a man as respectful and kind as you are. I’m just not the one.“

She’d say with a smile, gesturing to her earrings. Though as she would watch her neighbors confused expression and the tilt of his head, she would just laugh a little. 

“I’m sorry, that probably still doesn’t clear anything up. I’m married. These earrings were a courting gift from my husband, he doesn’t do rings. He says they aren’t as special because it’s something everyone does.”

(Y/N) would explain with a light blush on her face as she’d reminisce the day she received her earrings from her husband. They were nearly identical to Buddha's, though only slightly smaller and lighter to not damage her ears. It was after humanity had been saved, (Y/N) embracing her husband ever so tightly out of worry for his safety for rebelling against the gods. But he had made a promise and he had kept it. 

Her neighbor would open his mouth to speak though was interrupted, leaving his mouth in the shape of an ‘O’ as an arm would’ve wrapped around (Y/N)’s waist and she would’ve been pulled into someone’s side.

“Well yah, how am I gonna treat my wife the best if I’m just gonna give her somethin’ every other wife has?”

Buddha, (Y/N)’s husband, would’ve questioned, looking nonchalant as he always did, resting his head and body lightly against his wife as to make sure she didn’t topple over. (Y/N) in response would’ve just lightly pressed her head back against his, just smiling at her neighbor as she’d silently hope he put two-and-two together. Which the neighbor did, eyeing the earrings of both Buddha and (Y/N) clinking and sparkling together. Though still, under Buddha gaze, even if it seemed nonchalant, the neighbor could feel the heat of anger directed towards him, making his posture straighten even more and him hide the bouquet behind his back.

“W-Well I apologize for bothering you, Miss (Y/N) and Lord Buddha. Thank you for the advice, I will keep looking for the right person.”

He would’ve said awkwardly as he began to back up, (Y/N) just waving cheerfully and Buddha still eyeing him down as the neighbor walked away.

“You know, you didn’t have to scare him away, he’s a good neighbor. Besides, if you weren’t “training” so often and didn’t come home at odd hours of the night, people may actually believe you exist when I talk about you” 

(Y/N) would’ve lightly scolded, reaching back and giving his cheek a small pat as Buddha would pull away from her, looking towards the basket of treats (Y/N) held in her hand, attention divided between sweets and his wife.

“Uhuh…was just makin’ sure he knew to back off”

He would’ve said as he’d slowly reach for a pastry behind his wife’s back. Though as if she was superhuman herself, (Y/N) would’ve quickly moved the basket out of his reach, puffing her cheeks defiantly.

“Not for you.”

“C’mon, just one?”

“No.”

[freakingoutthesquares]

Mojo Britpop Special 2009 This Year’s Model. Transcription: Me.

A mix of Celtic yobs and art school wits, Pulp created a culturally momentous update of old school glam. But joining London's glitterati fragmented them. By Roy Wilkinson.

At the 96 BRITS, whilst Jarvis Cocker was making himself known to Michael Jackson via a stage invasion, bandmate Russell Senior was making another acquaintance. ‘I met Chris Eubank,’ says Russell of the monocle wearing former boxer. ‘We were getting on famously, but after the Jackson incident he folded his arms and turned away because he was a huge Jackson fan. I'd been having this interesting conversation, about art, philosophy... But Jarvis ruined it!’ [Laughs] ‘Though he had a point, of course.’

A phenomenon as chummy as Britpop was never likely to produce seditious acts similar to self-immolating monks or suffragettes throwing themselves under horses. Cocker's BRITS incursion was perfect - a commando raid as envisaged by Charlie Chaplin. If the Britpop was a national Jubilee, Cocker’s assault was the feat of bravado that marked the party at its peak - before dawn revealed the broken glass and trampled flower beds.

With nothing but a stylised posterior display and glare full of silent movie distain Cocker derailed Jackson’s plan to recast himself as a mix of Jesus, David Attenborough and Doctor Bernardo. Surrounded by children, images of wildlife and actors done up as representatives of the world's key religions, Jacko sang on through Earth Song, oblivious to Cocker’s presence. But the rest of the world noticed, and there were consequences.

Jarvis was locked up at Kensington police station, Brian Eno took out a pro-Cocker advert in industry paper Music Week, while Simon and Yasmin Le Bon appeared in the Daily Mirror wearing ‘Justice for Jarvis’ T-shirts. An act that united the ex-Roxy Music pop sage with the Duran Duran singer was an appropriately odd reflection of the way Pulp’s uneven career embraced both high and low art. By the time Cocker gatecrashed Jackson's performance, Pulp had been going 18 years. Jarvis, a single minded fellow, was the only surviving original member.

Russell Senior left Pulp after ‘Jacksongate’ in January 1997. He'd been with the band since 1983, effectively operating as Jarvis, his right-hand man. When I spoke to Russell, he was attempting to create a nesting site for kingfishers in the garden of his three-bedroom family home in Sheffield. Conversation ranged from Suede and Oasis to Russell’s fascination for central Europe. He recently visited Criona, a Serb enclave in Croatia. The band's guitarist and multi-instrumentalist, Russell quit Pulp, citing artistic frustration and the desire to spend more time with his family. He'd been part of Pulp’s slow ascent to 1995’s Different Class album, the band's commercial and critical peak, cut by a line up completed by keyboard player Candida Doyle, drummer Nick Banks and bassist Steve Mackey.

Jarvis wasn't the only member of Pulp to trespass at the BRITS. Cocker was accompanied by Peter Mansell, Pulp bassist, from 84 to 87. Mansell’s presence at the BRITS was a subtle reminder of the bands long torturous history. They survived years on the dole and lived through the Miners’ Strike, during which Russell served on the picket lines. Pulp finally reached the masses during Britpop's commercial peak in 95. But for Senior. Britpop began earlier, on a night in Paris in October 1991. Pulp were third on the bill to Blur and Lush.

‘My first experience of Blur,’ says Russell,’ was walking into their dressing room in Paris and seeing them smashing this mirrored wall. The floor was covered in glass and Alex (James) was pouring champagne out of the window onto the people below. Damon (Albarn) was flicking spoonfuls of caviar out of a window. The first thing Graham (Coxon) said to me was, ‘We like your band. We're going to copy you.’ I used to do this kind of Pete Townsend arm fling. Next time I saw Blur, Graham was doing it but making it look more like a Nazi salute.’

‘Later I thought their Girls and Boys single was very Pulp. (Blur producer) Stephen Steet did say, ‘I know we've nicked your clothes a bit.’ But I'm not griping at Blur because they had the balls to do it bigger. For me, that night in Paris was the start of Britpop. It's not something I'm going to knock. I mean, there was a period little later when I started wearing Union Jack socks.’

Prior to Senior’s Britpop flashpoint in Paris, he is band had a 13 year pre-history - unlucky for some including, it seems, Pulp. The band came into being in 78, formed by Jarvis at school in Sheffield. They were known as Arabicus Pulp, the Arabicus coming from a copy of the Financial Times. It alluded to a commodities index featuring coffee arabica, found in Ethiopia and Yemen. Spiritually cursed by such obtuseness, Pulp spent the next 15 years plagued by tragicomic levels of ill omen and commercial failure. There were rehearsals in the building shared with table tennis clubs and model railway enthusiasts. According to Jarvis, these hobbyist sects were at daggers-drawn and expressed their antipathy by crapping outside each other’s doors. Jarvis said in 1993 that he devoted much of ‘It’ Pulp’s 83 debut to ‘writing all these songs about girls when I'd never had a proper girlfriend.’ When he did secure female attention, Cocker had unconventional ways of making an impression. He attempted to walk along a second-floor window ledge outside a Sheffield bookshop. He fell, breaking a wrist and ankle and fracturing his pelvis.

Subsequent shows saw Jarvis singing from a wheelchair - a sight some interpreted as grotesque take on the kind of ‘disability chic’ launched by a hearing-aid-adorned Morrissey. Pulp made an album for £600. The sales figure wasn't of a dissimilar magnitude. Pulp made three albums in these wilderness years. It was followed by Freaks (1987) and Separations (1991) [Actually 1992!]. Freaks’ subtitle - Ten Songs About Power, Claustrophobia, Suffocation and Holding Hands – said Pulp were still some way from the matily exuberant dimensions of, say, Blurs beery, Britpop totem Girls and Boys.

I first interviewed Jarvis and Russell in 87 around Freaks. They were genuinely amazed that then record company Fire had stretched to some chocolate biscuits to go with tea. The resulting article compared Pulp to Ian McEwan, Bertold Brecht and Carry On actor Charles Hawtrey.

‘It wasn't all about me and Jarvis by any means,’ says Russell of Freaks. ‘There was also this Celtic yob element which was (Belfast born) Candida Doyle, Magnus (Doyle, Candida’s brother and Pulp drummer at that point) and Pete Mansell. If it was just me and Jarvis, it would have all been very art school. The other three liked Sham 69… Actually, we all liked Sham 69. Perhaps that was the only thing we all had in common. In fact, we sometimes played Sham 69s Hurry up, Harry live.

After Freaks, Jarvis moved to London, studying at Central St. Martins College of Art and Design. Steve Mackey had joined Pulp on bass and was also in the capital studying film at the Royal College of Art. Soon Pulp were exhibiting a more playful mood and an unknowingly pop-art retrospection. There were concert flyers advocating ‘Pulp-ish’ things to do, such as ‘doing a wheelie on a Raleigh Chopper’ and ‘Going to the supermarket wearing a lurex jumper.’

This increasing friskiness - and references to the kind of 70s bicycling design that would soon turn up in the video for Supergrass’, Alright single - began to manifest itself in Pulp’s records. In the early 1990s they released a string of singles full of a new vivacity. In title, at least one single could hardly have given clearer indication that Pulp were now ready for revelry. It was called Razzamatazz.

Pulp left Fire for Island Records. The band's first album proper for Island was His’n’Hers in 1994. Now Pulp finally reached the Top 10 of the UK Albums Chart. The sleeve featured an airbrushed portrait of the band by Philip Castle, the artist best known for his poster image for the film A Clockwork Orange in 1971 - Pulp were a vision of sci-fi second-hand chic. The music included the same pop art reconfiguration of the past.

‘Glam rock was a big part of the picture,’ says Russell. ‘I'd written this mission statement for the band - about making the fairground music of the future. The music of dodgem cars and girls with love bites - the modern version of Sugar Baby Love by the Rubettes, anything by Slade and Sweet. In the dour time we were experiencing, there was a wistfulness for the exuberance of glam rock. We believed in glamour. We absolutely wanted to be pop stars - on our own terms, but pop stars nonetheless.’

With its vandals, acrylics and tales of sexual initiation His’n’Hers was a critical and commercial success. The next 16 months saw Pulp - Jarvis in particular - become a national treasure. Where once Cocker had occupied the mildewed margins, now he seemed to be permanently addressing the nation with wit, charm and the ability to correctly answer every question that Mike Read [it was Chris ‘Talent’ Tarrant actually!] asked in the quick fire round on BBC 1's Pop Quiz.

Pulp’s years lurking in the backwaters could now be seen as advantageous, their own prolonged version of the way The Beatles had honed their craft hidden away in Hamburg. If Britpop was about taking age-old strands of British culture and re-styling them for the contemporary era, Pulp were masters of the moment. The Sheffield years weren't far removed from the formative grind endured by any traditional Northern stand-up comedian.

Russel: ‘On stage, Jarvis is always great at talking to people. But before Britpop, he kind of had them in his hand and then turned it into a joke. That used to drive me mad because I wanted him to keep hold of them and make it all really euphoric. Coming into the 90s he became a full-on master of ceremonies and it was great. The Pulp shows in that period was so exciting. That was the best of it for me. I don't think we ever truly captured it on record.’

When Pulp stood in for an injury-stricken Stone Roses at Glastonbury in 1995, they were greeted with the kind of open-armed gratitude Allied troops experienced while liberating Paris in 1944. These latter-day saviours brought with them a whiff of sex and nylons, but also Common People, a song that for the summer of 1995 became a universal anthem to match Lily Marlene or The White Cliffs of Dover.

When Jarvis guest presented Top of the Pops in 1994, he was met with a wave of communal good will. Even more so than when Chris U band appeared two years later, gamey lisping through ‘Suggs at six with Cecilia.’ Then Pulp became Top of the Pops themselves, their Different Class album hitting Number 1. It wasn't difficult to account for its success. The likes of Mis-Shapes and Something Changed have show-tune vigour that could have been as successful for Tommy Steele or Jesus Christ Superstar. There were also more left field inclinations. Common People was partly inspired by the drones of American minimalist composers Steve Reich and La Monte Young. But at its core, the album dealt in ancient methodology: narrative writing set to music everyone could understand.

While Britpop groups occasionally mined British music hall, Pulp surveyed the eternal verities of popular song less self-consciously than their peers. Here was a new folk music, but one that always felt like pop music. Musically, the album touched on The Beatles’ Revolution 9, drum and bass, the soundtrack to 1966 French film Un Homme et une Femme by Claude Lelouch and Gloria the 1982 hit from Laura Branigan. It amounted to a remarkable piece of populist art. However, the band have mixed memories of this period.

‘It did feel like vindication,’ says Nick Banks. ‘We were always confident that if only the masses could hear what we were doing, then they'd like it. When people did hear it, quite a few thought it was good enough to shell out for a record or two.’

‘At the time,’ says Candida Doyle, ‘We fought against the Britpop label. I thought we were the best band and there was no way we should be grouped with these other bands, but looking back, we were part of it and I'm glad we were. It was only in 2000 that I actually began to enjoy playing with the band. Before that, I was petrified on stage. Headlining Glastonbury, that was really fucking scary. But when we played Common People and they turned the lights on the crowd singing for miles into the distance, I'll never forget that.’

Russell has a more challenging version of events. ‘It had become a travesty,’ he says. Different Class was a kind of last gasp. It was over by then, but we still managed to get it down as a document. I rather hated Jarvis when he was in the studio singing Common People. He'd become so far removed. He was the villain of the piece because he was wearing trousers he'd been given by some designer. He wasn't wearing his jumble sale trousers. We were surrounded by coked-up knobheads.’

Senior also talks about an attitudinal North-South divide in the band at this point. In the Southern corner were London residents Jarvis and Steve. For the North, Russell, Nick and Candida, (though Candida was actually living in London by this point.) It's a perspective partly shared by Nick. ‘There was a North-South divide,’ says Russell, ‘Abso-fucking-lutely. I like living in Sheffield and one does have a chip on one’s shoulder about being patronised by poncy Southern bastards. To find there was a couple of members of the band who were doing the patronising was rather irksome! (laughs) The more they go all Kate Moss and London, the more I'd be, ‘By heck, where's me whippet?’ There was definitely a divide within the band.’

Russell left Pulp as they began to work on what would become 1998’s This is Hardcore album. By this time narcotics had become part of the picture, appearing in the lyrics of This is Hardcore and becoming a staple topic in Pulp interviews.

‘I thought that was a distorted image,’ says Steve Mackey. ‘I've never known Jarvis have a problem with narcotics. Ever. I was taking a lot more drugs than he was, but I didn't think I was taking that many. With Pulp no one ever went to rehab, no one was taking heroin. I don't recall Jarvis ever regularly taking drugs. But it did become a fairly regular part of the studio experience during This is Hardcore, and that's a dangerous thing. It became a bit of a self-indulgent record. But in a way that's also its finest hour, because something glorious came out of that. I feel very affectionate about that record. I think we really reached something with that.’

And the alleged north-south divide?

‘I never felt that,’ says Mackey, ‘My recollection of why Russell left is that after Different Class, it was clear he wanted to make a record that followed on in that vein. Me and Jarvis made it clear we weren't going to make that kind of record. Russell made it clear he didn't want to make our kind of record. The split was pretty amicable - we didn't fall out, but it cast a shadow over the band. I missed Russell - he was the person I loved watching when I saw them live before I joined.’

Before Pulp played their last show in 2002, they made one more album, the nature oriented We Love Life, released in 2001. There was also an underperforming greatest hits compilation in 2002, a record Jarvis has described as ‘the real whimper, the real silent fart’ of Pulp’s career. It charted Number 71, then disappeared. But if Pulp’s last years can read as forlorn times, that wasn't really the case. Recorded with Scott Walker, We Love Life has some of Pulp’s finest material, particularly the wonderfully elegiac, spoken word piece, Wickerman.

Nowadays, Pulp’s ex-members have a healthy view on all the past dramas, perhaps because Pulp isn't the only thing in their lives anymore. Jarvis was unavailable for interview because he was in America mastering his second solo LP. He also guest-edited BBC Radio 4’s Today programme and collaborated with Nancy Sinatra and Marianne Faithful. I spoke to Candida Doyle as she was visiting Disneyland Paris with six Shetland cousins and their ten children. She’s started a counselling course in London. Steve Mackey just finished producing Florence and the Machine’s debut album. He's produced and co-written for MIA and has remixed the likes of Kelis and Arcade Fire. While overseeing London's Frieze Art Fair’s musical programme, Mackey booked Karlheinz Stockhausen for one of his last engagements before he died. Nick Banks plays at private parties with The Big Shambles, knocking out covers of songs by The Damned, David Bowie and Amy Whitehouse. More typically, he runs Banks' pottery, a Rotherham based crockery business – ‘Crock’n’roll, as we like to call it.’

Of all the former members, Russell Senior has strayed furthest from music. He's written 50,000 words of a debut novel and has been setting up a ‘wild-foods processing plant.’ An avid lover of wild mushrooms, Russell has been furthering this. Rather than reducing trees to a pulp, he's utilised woodland in a more sustainable manner. ‘What I've been doing,’ he says, ‘is drilling little holes in Birch trees to collect sap – I’d highly recommend it.”

Scans from PulpWiki

[tanadrin]

The Third Sublime and Royal Effloresence of the Ecumene, which in the traditional chronology is reckoned either the third or fourth Great Flowering, and the twenty-ninth Flowering of Humanity overall, began auspiciously at the close of the second circumcalactic year; or, in a certain long-forgotten calendar of the early Ecocene[1], approximately 4000000 CE. Whereas the First and Second Effloresences had been driven by sudden paradigm shifts in technology and culture, the Third came at the tail end of a long and happy period of stability and prosperity. It was indeed occasioned by a discovery of sorts; or, to put it more aptly, a re-discovery.

It had been the ambition of the Archival Clade of Magellan for a better part of the last four epochs to uncover as much as they could of the early history of the Ecumene, and in particular of the so-called Hundred Civilizations which, according to legend, had formed its original nucleus. Holobiont Myriarmonion Teleaoidos advanced the contraversial theory, based on evidence uncovered by one of their subsepts, that many of these Hundred Civilizations were originally descendants of a single clade, and that this clade, rather than forming out of multistellar "last common community" was in fact originally from a single planet.

The idea of a monoplanetary origin for the Ecumene, or at least of a large part of its original core, sent shockwaves through cigalactic space and beyond; the Foundlings of Leo A and Voyagers of Caldwell 57 sent delegations of a symposium on the subject, and even the then-para-Ecumenical Triangulum oikos, with whom the Ecumene had had intermittent and indirect contact from the A14 vantage, weighed in with a skeptical note. But Myriarmonion had the last laugh; for a scant few thousand years later, the planet Earth was rediscovered.

"Rediscovery" here is perhaps an unapt term. A better one might be "re-noticed," or "de-lost." For the galaxy had been thoroughly mapped for eons, and every star and large planet noted, and most well-surveyed. The planet once called Earth, orbiting a star once called the Sun, was accurately plotted in several million astronomical catalogues, many of which incorporated extensive historical notes and detailed histories. But in those days, such was the disarray of the most ancient historical data in the galactic records that an enterprising archailect, with an advantageous position on the major transmission routes and talent for cross-referencing, could make a career for themselves collating and disseminating these ancient records in a format more useful to the modern world. With the evidence of the archives in hand, and a confirmation that the catalogues were indeed accurate, skepticism gave way to astonishment in the pan-galactic scientific community.

This little Earth--a modest rocky world of a few billion inhabitants--had never quite forgotten its origins. Many planets have their local mythologies, of course, tracing descent from this god or that culture hero, or such-and-such archon, and many of these myths are tied up with stories of creation. More than ten thousand worlds have cultures that describe their home plant as the omphalos of the universe; thousands of others as the axle of the cosmic wheel, or the root of the Universal Tree. Earth's narrative of its own history was somewhat more modest. It was generally held by the inhabitants that some six to seven million years prior, the original humanoid ancestor had split off from the larger clade of hominins, and that, after many intermediary millennia of evolution, a single member of this new genus had come to dominate the planet; and that, moreover, long before the Ecumene, long before the Hundred Civilizations, long before the First Flowering or the archai or even the first near-lightspeed ships, these early humans had begun to spread out to the nearer stars; and that this began a long period of slow expansion and speciation which was the foundation of the pan-human Ecumene to come.

This narrative astonished many, shocked and scandalized not a few--how strange, to think that species with whom you have almost nothing in common biologically or pscyhologically might actually be your distant kin!--but the final blow came when it was discovered that the Earthers had *proof* of their claims. They were, after all, a very old civilization; they had carefully preserved many artifacts and memorials and records of this most ancient period, and though the story they told could hardly be believed, it could be *corroborated.* The archai were soon convinced; and when the archai were persuaded, most of the lesser sophonts deferred to their keen judgement.

Politically, the rediscovery of human origins changed little; the Ecumene had been stable in its then-current form for half a galactic year. But culturally the shift was monumental; it sparked a renewed interest in galactic prehistory, and there was a positive craze for all kinds of stories and entertainments on the subject. It also sparked a craze for genopaleontological research reconstructing the "baseline" human form, and for various scientists and celebrities and entertainers to incarnate themselves in this or that reconstruction, and to describe the experience to others. Some found this a little perverse; after all, they argued, ancient humans were only one small step above its hominin predecessors. It debased the very notion of pan-Humanity to wallow in such animalistic ways.

But the most lasting effect of this period was a new appreciation for the spirit of our earliest ancestors. For these primitive humans, one small step above the apes, had managed to do something that very few in that age could: they had risked something, ventured into the vast unknown of space in fragile vessels; they had been able to conceive of a future that was far greater than the present that they knew, of a vast, indeed limitless possibility. And they had pursued it, with all the ardor they were capable of. What have we lost, asked some in the Ecumene, that we are no longer capable of this? Thus, two impulses, quite entertwined, developed at the beginning of the Third Galactic Year: one that looked into the past, and sought to understand the beginnings of all things, and one that looked into the future, and sought to dream of things which had never been dreamt of before.

So after a long age of stagnation, the Oiketores of the Milky Way, and soon of the whole Local Group, began a new Great Work. For too long, the horizon of their world, and indeed of all the future, had seemed to be this little clutch of galaxies; but there lay beyond it a universe greater than they could conceive of. And after all, had not once the edge of the Milky Way seemed equally forbidding? And before that, the great gulfs between the stars--and before that, space itself, or the vast seas of Earth? New starships would be built, some the size of worlds; new peoples would spring up; new clades would grow themselves out from the existing ones, the better to explore and to understand what lay ahead of us all. From the humblest modosophont to the greatest Archailect, a new spirit of curiosity and wonder seemed to be enkindled; and thus did the Third Great Effloresence begin.

In the many eons since, our universe--that is to say, the part we may claim sure knowledge is inhabited by complex minds, be they of human clades or no--has grown vastly. And with it, thanks to Teleaoidos and those who came after him, our conception of the size of our possible futures has only grown also. It may seem to you, who will live a million more lifetimes than your ancient forebears could have imagined, who will see and hear and learn a million times more than any of the Earth ever knew, before the first ships were launched into space, that all the universe is peopled, and that nothing new remains to be discovered. Learn, then, the lesson of this epoch: our horizon is never so near as it seems, and the story of the cosmos has only just begun.

[1] "Ecocene" denotes that era when principally vulgar forces governed the precursors to the Ecumene, that is to say, constraints imposed by mutation and selection effects, the slow development of new clades along geological timescales, and later, scarcity value and primitive systems of exchange. The Ecocene is generally reckoned to have conclusively ended for the wider Ecumene at the beginning of the Sixth Flowering, but uncontacted clades in cisgalactic space remained in Ecocene-like conditions as late as the Twelfth Flowering.

-Nova Panencyclopedia Universae, 73rd edition

[lunar-years]

Roy Jamie Keeley 11, 22, 45 for the otp ask!!

11. Do either try to hide their emotions if upset? Can the other still tell?

I don't think Roy could hide being upset if he tried. It is so very apparent when Roy is a Mood to literally everyone around him.

With Jamie, my first instinct is to say he wouldn't try to his emotions from them! However we did see him spiraling in Mom City without telling anyone, so I think it can happen. In that case, Roy was able to still tell! And then as we saw in the boot room, Jamie cracked immediately as soon as Roy confronted him. Which is to say, I think Jamie might attempt to hide things when he doesn't really know how to verbalize what he's feeling. (a la the "What's wrong" "I don't know, I don't know..." panic). Like, sometimes he's upset and he doesn't really know WHY he's upset so he feels like there's nothing to tell them, really, and then he convinces himself it's not a big deal and therefore not worth worrying them about. I still don't think he's intentional about hiding his emotions from them, he just has a tendency to close himself off when his emotions aren't really clear even to himself. However, Roy and Keeley recognize when this happens, and with their mildest of prompting Jamie is usually ready to talk.

Keeley would definitely be the most intentional about hiding her emotions, but only when she's upset about something that feels like a personal failing on her part. I think Keeley has a lot of feelings of inadequacy esp. in her career and she does have a history of hiding when she's struggling from the most important people in her life (Roy in s2, Rebecca in s3, etc.) I think Jamie is probably better and picking up when this is happening than Roy, but sometimes it takes their combined efforts and sometimes they do miss it completely. Keeley has to work really hard on learning to be honest and open up about things she's struggling internally with. However, if she's upset for EXTERNAL reasons she absolutely lets them know about it. Very passionately.

22. What reminds each of their partner?

Reminds Keeley of Jamie: anything football (obvs), very excitable dogs (lol), clothes/accessories she sees whilst shopping she just KNOWS he would love, the smell(stench) of Lynx 🙅‍♀️, her relationship playlist she definitely has for each of them

Keeley of Roy: football and the relationship playlists, again. Roy's cologne (Roy definitely has a signature scent to ME. It is a very high end cologne that he either found by chance or perhaps was gifted, really likes, and will never change because finding a new scent in the fragrance section with the two of them both weighing in sounds like hell on earth), aromas coming from the kitchen, ice cream and breakfast pastries

Jamie of Keeley: fuzzy blankets/pillows, designer shoes, anything that's little and cute (knick-knacks!!), nice and long cathartic talks, soft fabrics, flowers

Jamie of Roy: his beard oil, muppets :), the early morning breeze, airport book sections, any sort of weird obscure kitchen utensil he has know idea what it's used for (and therefore thinks, 'Roy would definitely know this'), really fancy & good cocktails

Roy of Jamie: vanilla vodka, windmills, muppets :), the color Pink, really stupid jokes he hears from other people and finds himself laughing at even though he doesn't find them funny. He's really just thinking about how hard Jamie would be laughing if he was there

Roy of Keeley: the color pink, glitter/sparkles, butterflies, planners/notebooks/any sort of organizational supplies, loopy handwriting, actual sunshine

45. Can they fall asleep without the other?

I think they have to by virtue of their lives/jobs. For instance, Jamie bunks with other players at away games even once he's dating Roy. Keeley goes to conferences and takes solo trips, etc. They all CAN sleep apart but they definitely feel coziest and safest when it's all three of them together, and whenever one person is gone and the other two are still at home, the bed feels too big without that person :(

Ship Asks

[gemini-sensei]

hcs about asking moon if she wants to start a family? like asking her if they can have a baby <33

You Wanna Have a Baby?

Headcanons ○ Fem!Reader ○ Pure Fluff

This was such a cute idea! I loved writing this. Pls send more Moon fluff hcs! Pls pls pls!

Moon comes home and sees her wife is cooking dinner, and just from the smell, she knows it's her favorite. She dips her finger into a mixing bowl for a taste and her hand gets playfully swatted away. She laughs and hugs her wife from behind, kissing her cheek.

She thinks nothing of this dinner as she walks to their room to take a shower before dinner. It just seems like any normal evening to her.

When she comes back down, she's all refreshened and completely relaxed. Her wife is putting the finishing touches on their meal, so she walks over to pull out some plates and help set the table.

It's a cute little square table, big enough for the two of them and some guests should they ever have company. Moon loves to host and always enjoys having another couple come over for a little double date. So it's fairly easy to set up.

She notices the fresh flowers in the vase at the center of the table and admires them. They're soft and delicate, the bouquet made up of whites, blues, and pinks. She touches them and smiles, then glides away to finish helping her wife.

As they eat, they talk about the day they've had, holding hands and cheerily feeding each other. They're so romantic and cute all of the time, so this is a normal night for them. Moon also gives her compliments to the chef and is constantly praising her wife with every bite.

Conversation is casual, but her wife can't hold it in anymore. She's nervous, but chooses to let her thoughts be free before she can change her mind. So she blurts out, "What if we had a baby?"

Moon stops and looks at her. She knows she definitely heard her right, but she's asking herself where this is coming from. They've never really talked about having kids, they've only been married a little over a year. They just got settled into their home and careers. There's just a lot going through her mind, but none of it's bad.

Then she remembers a couple of weeks ago, they had gone to visit Sam and Miguel and their new little one. They'd bought some toys for the baby because they're good godmothers like that, but she specifically remembers her wife holding their little girl for a majority of the time they were there, and talking about how cute she was all the way home, and how big her smile was when they talked about her.

Everything makes sense now; the special dinner, the flowers, the build up. Her precious wife has a case of baby fever.

Moon puts a hand over her nervous wife's to hold and asks, "you wanna have a baby?"

When her wife nods, Moon breaks out in a wide grin. She loves nothing more than the idea of having a baby with her wife, whom she adores to the ends of the earth.

"Is that what you want? I mean, I know this is kind of sudden and we've never really talked about it, and we only just got into this house. And-"

She cuts her wife's nervous rambles off with a sweet kiss. It melts her anxieties away and Moon pulls back, looking at her with such loving eyes. "Of course I do. I love kids, and if I'm gonna have a kid with anyone, I want it to be with you, dear."

Once that initial conversation is had, they start researching what they can do to have a baby, how much it'll cost, what they need to prepare for, and who will carry their little one. The entire time, Moon is just admiring her wife's smile, happy to see her happy.

She's also very excited to go into this chapter in their lives together! She can already see a little high chair set up at their dinner table 💖

[lez-exclude-men]

Hello. So this is a question i'm going to send to multiple radfem blogs. What would you say is a crucially important role women have in society that isn't childbirther/care taker? I've asked this on other sites and it has so far stunned everyone, and i hate the idea that my existence is only valued because i can be used as a broodmare. So i'm looking for any answers other than that. How would society crumble without women?

Uh women are people? We build and create, we're smart and resourceful.

This question is so weird like.

"a crucially important role" - what do you consider "crucially important"? Women are engineers and architects, biologists and artists, craftspeople and artisans. Women can build bridges and dams, create councils and grow food, test soil samples and track the migration of geese. We're capable of performing every crucial role in society.

"Women" - why are you asking this question singling out women? What crucially important role do MEN play in society that can't be done by a woman? Why do we as women need to justify our existence?

"in society" - what is your definition of society? Because, at least in my interpretation of your question, you're conflating advanced modern society with evolutionary "purpose".

You say you hate the idea that your existence is only valued because you can be used as a broodmare. Here's my suggestion: get a gun, then go shoot whoever told you that. Then pursue whichever career or hobby interest you, travel, taste new foods, talk to different people, explore new areas. Your purpose in life is what you want it to be. We have approximately 60-80 years to spend on this earth. Breathe. Drink water. Touch grass. Plant grass. Plant different grass. Maybe plant some flowers. Watch the bees and butterflies pollinate them. Hear the thunder and witness the lightning as a storm waters the grass. Feel the rain on your skin. Marvel in the simple wonders of the world, and take pride in knowing you helped something flourish. Or don't. Do something else, something that has meaning to you, something that inspires you, something that makes you laugh, makes you cry, teaches you something. Ride a horse, write a letter, draft plans for an art museum (ik I've used several engineering examples, I'm just literally in an architectural engineering studio keeping my best friend company while she figures out how to put air ducts in an art museum. Lol)

Society is one of those words that means something slightly different to almost everybody. According to Google one definition is "the aggregate of people living together in a more or less ordered community". I like this one. People just living together, doing things together. You are people, I am people. The amount of structure and order in how we live together can vary, but what matters is that we're together. We love each other, hate each other, feel ambivalent about each other. But we're all here, at the same time. Isn't that marvelous?

Which brings me to how you mentioned the "caretaker" role. Humans are social creatures, we thrive in taking care of each other. I think it is stupid to consider this a gendered thing. Everyone interacts with someone, everyone can take care of someone. Many radfems get angry because men to take care of only other men, while women tend to take care of everyone. And sometimes we don't want men to take care of other men because we think some men don't deserve it. We struggle with how society is currently structured, forcing women into a lower class. Most radfems I know combat this in their daily life by uplifting other women, making sure their needs are met. We want to see each other succeed and be healthy and enjoying life. But ultimately, when there are people existing together, no matter if they're men or women, there will be society, and someone will be taking care of someone else. Men are caretakers too. Humans are caretakers, because that's what being a social creature is.

On that note, what does your community directly around you need? What struggles and issues are your neighbors facing? If you're struggling for purpose, this is another good place to start. How can you make life better not just for yourself, but for your neighbors too? Talk to people outside of the internet, get to know their struggles and passions, needs and wants. Share your own. Find out what matters to you and your neighbors, and what you can do towards that goal or issue.

"How would society crumble without women?" How would society crumble without men? Would society crumble without men? Does it matter?

We can spend hours coming up with imaginary situations and philosophizing. And perhaps there is some value in that. But right now, my best friend wants my opinion on which floorplan incorporates air ducts in the most tasteful way without disrupting the utility of the museum's main room. So I'm going to go participate in society by offering her my opinion, and I hope you find some purpose, however big or small, in your part of society as well.

[greer-morgan]

Family Ties | Self-Para

“It's just there's so much of it. The future is real, but... the past, well it's... all made up.”

Time: February

Place: District Ten (the funeral of Prairie Quartz)

Greer flicked open Prairie's knife, which was tucked at the bottom of the pocket of her long black coat. She ran her thumb along the blade and folded it closed again, before starting the process over in a steady rhythm. She'd nicked the pad of her thumb this same way at least a dozen times by now, so often that she knew there would be a scar there when she finally let it heal over.

It was an unseasonably mild day, almost pleasant. Greer was caught somewhere between grateful that Prairie had gotten a nice day and angry at the sun just for having the audacity to shine. But despite the sun, everything was still and stark, and bare. February seemed to be dipping her toe into spring for just a moment, ready to pull it back out again without warning. The threat of cold made all of the red and white flowers pop against the scenery and the new quartz headstone, freshly placed into hard earth.

They'd all stood in small groups for the memorial— a few peacekeepers, The Morgans, Greer by herself, Prairie's father by himself to give a speech— none of them brave enough to cry in front of the others. That vulnerability was a currency too valuable for any of them to be willing to exchange with the others. But it had been a nice service, Greer wished she could think as she walked away.

"Hey! hey, Greer wait up." Greer's brother jogged up behind her.

"What?" She tossed over her shoulder, almost deciding not to stop.

"I've... I've been thinkin'. There's a lot'a talk about what's goin' on in Eleven, and people are gettin' organized in Ten too. I've been thinkin' about helpin' out."

Greer laughed sharply, which cast a shadow of hurt over Cal’s features. "What's funny about that? I wanna make somethin’ happen. I thought you of all people’d be all about it."

"Why would I give a shit?" Greer turned to face him, settling under the low, twisted branches of a bare tree. She was tempted to lean against the trunk, already exhausted by both the day and the impending conversation, but she thought better of giving up whatever physical space she could command.

"'Cause shit's gonna be different. People are talkin' about endin' the Games, G. Don't you want that?" He answered her, a child-like optimism to his voice.

"Yeah, of course I- fuck, Cal... I guess-"

"You guess what?" He cut her off.

"I guess I just don't fuckin' believe you. You're not gonna get involved. You're not gonna risk your career, the money you get from dad. You're gonna what? Start swingin' a gun around? Killin' peacekeepers? There's a fat fuckin' chance of that. You? Who's so afraid of causin' a scene? Who'd never say one bad word against dad? Yeah, you're the real face of a rebellion, Cal."

"Oh, unlike you, who only knows how to cause a scene?"

"What's that mean?"

"You know exactly what it means. You love to yell and complain about everythin'. Oh, look at me. I'm the only one who's ever had a sad fuckin' feelin'. You won the Games and you just went and cut us all off? Why? For the drama of it?"

"I did not! I did not cut you all off!" The words ripped themselves from her throat with such force it was almost sore. Her skin grew hot with the frustration that no matter how loud her voice got, she was never heard. "I cut mom and dad off. I did not cut you off! It's not like any of y'all ever thought to call me either. That shit goes two ways."

"What the fuck happened to us, G? We used to be so close, and then one day you were like a whole different person."

"Sorry, I had some other shit goin' on."

"I'm not talkin' about the Games, and you know it. It was way before that. We used to do everything together, and now you're like this cold bitch I don't even recognize."

"It’s ‘cause I was the only one who ever got in trouble for any of it."

"Oh, yup. There it is," Cal rolled his eyes. "You remember things so much worse than they really were. You make everythin’ out to be the end of the damn world."

"I do not remember them worse. You just never got in trouble for anythin'! I stood in that damn corner starin' at a fuckin' wall for hours-"

"It was not hours."

"It was hours."

"It was maybe thirty minutes."

"It was hours. And it's not just that,” she breathed. “It's all the other shit too— the manipulative shit they’re always doin’. The time they took my bedroom door off the hinges? I still don't know what fuckin' for. Or all the times mom and dad pretended I wasn't even there. You didn't have to beg them to look at you on fuckin' Hearth Day, Cal! That house was a fuckin' prison, but it never affected you, 'cause you're mom and dad's perfect boy."

"It wasn't always easy for me either. Dad didn't hit you the way he hit me. It sucked sometimes, but he made me fuckin' tough, Greer."

"Yeah, real tough. Filin' paperwork and livin' off dad's money. You think he's gonna buy you nice things when you run off to play rebel?" They both knew from the start he was never really going to do it, but this was beyond that now. This was a lifetime of resentment boiling over, and neither was willing to cut the heat.

"Me? Look at you! It's real easy to be high and mighty, cuttin' off dad's money when you're bein' funded by the president. I don't see you strugglin' to make ends meet."

"You think I wanted this? Any of this? I should've died, but instead I played their stupid little game and did exactly what they all fuckin’ wanted from me— start to finish— and I get to live with that every day. Prairie's dead, and I couldn't bring her or anyone else home, and I get to live with that too. I should've died, and mom and dad don't give a single shit as long as it fits into their narrative, and they don't give a shit about your life, or Leighton, or Teeny, or Avery-Kate either. I hate to be the one to say it, but mom and dad don't actually give a shit if you're even alive, Cal. They never have. They never will."

"That's not true," Cal protested, even though a part of him knew it was. "Dad tells us all the time how you leavin' broke his heart."

"Yeah, well..." She shook her head. "Funny how he cares now. Could'a cared any time in the last twenty-four years. But I guess that’s the kinda thing that’s easier to say than do, ‘cause you only gotta say it when it makes you look good. No fuckin' follow through. Sorta like your whole rebel idea, huh?"

All that anger had fizzled into nothing but silence between them now. Silence that lasted too long. Silence that made Greer's chest ache. There was nothing left to say.

"I'll see you at the next one of these," Greer concluded, already walking away, tossing a half-hearted wave over her shoulder at him.

"Yeah," he answered her, more under his breath than out loud. “See ya then, I guess.”

[tricornonthecob]

You know what, fuck it, have some pre-LK war drabble vibes while I work out things in my head and not write them down.

---

When an Englishman falls, Major Phillips thinks, boots crunching the frost-hardened soil, his scarlet regimentals mask some of the blood from prying eyes.

The French do not suffer their soldiers such dignity.

Clouds of gunsmoke linger in the yellow winter morning. They swell like sea foam, disturbed only by a crow’s wing beat or the wet thud of a bayonet ensuring peace amongst the corpses. With each breath, Major Phillips tastes the sulfur and decay and is reminded, briefly, of Revelations’ brimstone. The scent is fouling his hair powder.

With the obligation of a chore, he prods the toe of his boot under a gray-coated soldier splayed out before him, rolling the dead weight over. Clouded eyes and a waft of stagnancy are all the confirmation his suspicions need. This Frenchman is carrion.

The red flowering on his chest and abdomen, lurid against gray coat and blue facings, has only just begun to dull. With time it will muddy the threads to a watercolor of rust. Gaze dragging up to the clearing, Major Phillips counts French and Wyandot bodies against the smattering of redcoats. Someday, he thinks, this winter skirmish could be the subject of a fine English painting, the commission of which will make some fine English artist’s career. Then, perhaps, the field will lie fallow for a time, having drunk its fill of men’s blood, and the crows will have nothing to eat.

Behind him, he hears a horse nicker - Captain Daniels’ mount, Grey Nathan, he supposes - and the subtle grit of frozen earth against boot leather. Major Phillips continues to count while his Captain saunters up beside him, sharing the prospect. After a moment’s pause, he feels more than hears the man let out a low whistle.

“You’ll be calling their hounds to us, Daniels,” Major Phillips hears the dry comment pass his lips, but it sounds tired. “I don’t imagine they’ll be pleased to see their masters in such a way.”

“Indeed, sir.”

The two stand abreast while the gunsmoke thins.

“Always a reassurance,” Daniels starts up after a time, “to see more Frenchmen laid to waste than Englishmen. For once.”

“Nike has been kind to us.”

“Sir?”

Major Phillips turns to look at his Captain, taken aback. The molten brown of Daniels’ eyes arrest his for a moment. And then, the Major recalls himself.

“The Greek deity of victory,” he explains, gaze returned to the field. “Sometimes I forget we neglect our Virginia brethren’s education.”

“William and Mary teaches Greek myth, surely,” Daniels intones. “But what does a Winchester stableboy know of Williamsburg curricula?”

“Well - ”

A shriek pierces the morning. Snapping to attention, the Major catches the distant sight of a redcoat staking a man to the earth with his bayonet. The wail curls in on itself, sputtering out with a gurgle. Echoes dance about the meadow and along the woods. Grey Nathan whinnies against the silence that follows; another steed answers.

Daniels shifts his weight and paws at the body before them with his boot.

“Our bastard here’s the luckier,” he says. “Damn fine mark, clean through the heart I reckon. Quick. A gentleman’s death.”

“Aye. Hope it was one of our company’s carbines that did him in so judiciously.”

That puffs a mirthless chuckle from the Captain’s throat. Some of the tension dissipates with the last of the gunsmoke.

“Well, it sure as hell wasn’t Dearborne. Man couldn’t shoot an elephant’s arse if it was sat atop him. Sir.”

The Major feels himself breathe a half-laugh as he turns with his Captain away from the bodies and the blood-watered meadow.

----

Later, as their company moves southward through the woods, Major Phillips lends voice to his observation on how well different uniforms hide carnage. The morning has aged to a stark afternoon and a breath of warmth threatens to melt the frost under their horses’ hooves.

“Perhaps,” Daniels muses aloud, “it isn’t a question of dignity.”

Major Phillips waits as his companion works his thoughts into words. The leather of Daniels’ saddle creaks as he shifts his weight. At length, he continues.

“Perhaps - rather - it’s a question of pride. The Englishman would be seen composed. His pride, the courage of discipline in the face of death. But the man of New France - perhaps that man would have you look upon the flesh you’ve rent. The life you’ve stolen. See how I bare my blood, he says! I fight, I die, and in death I am alive. I spite you, English devil, with a proud and naked spite. You have released me to hell, but I shall have you see my face in your dreams until it drags you along.”

As he speaks, Captain Daniels grows quiet, his eyes unseeing. Even Grey Nathan slows down his marching walk, listening closely to his rider. Curious, Major Phillips eases Midas to stay abreast and shoots Daniels a look. The Captain’s frame shudders suddenly. Intelligence returns to his umber eyes and Grey Nathan’s pace picks back up.

“My apologies, sir,” the Captain intones. “I know not where I went.”

Major Phillips nods a quiet response. It is enough. He returns his gaze to the bright horizon peeking through the trunks. A cloud of steam billows from his mouth as he exhales.

“So, then, Captain,” he says, voice crisp as the air. “You speak of Frenchmen and Englishmen. What of Virginiamen?”

“Sir?”

“You are provincial militia. Your coat is blue. How would you have your death witnessed?”

In a distant corner of his mind, Major Phillips feels the pull of an old self-consciousness, numbed by time and musket fire; his words are black-hearted. His wife, surely, would chide him for it.

He suddenly wonders why he thought of Eliza. Why it is now that his chest aches, and why he should care.

“Are we not also Englishmen, Major?” Daniels’ dry observation pulls him from his thoughts.

“Aye. You are right, of course.” Major Phillips hopes his voice is even. Daniels hums.

“Then, I suppose, I should desire composure.”

“Should?”

“Aye. Should.”

---

fin

This was a scene of a skirmish in my head. I'm not entirely sure when/where this is in the grand scheme of things but its somewhere in the middle of the war, possibly in Ohio country.

Would a poor stableboy-turned-militia captain be this eloquent? Why not!

Relatedly, y'all know how hard it is to find information about the Virginia murder pony troop that was involved in Braddock's Defeat. I'm still not even 100% sure their uniforms were blue.

[macybeckham7]

Grid Kids

Azalea #5

Azalea was sat in the paddock, there was a red flag and she found herself clicking on the interview Lewis and Cairo did together. It was ahead of this season, they were sat in the living room of the London house. 

‘Who is your favourite child?’ Cairo smirks. 

Lewis rolls his eyes. ‘It depends on the day, which ever one isn’t giving me a headache’ he laughs. ‘And that is mostly Lea’ he adds. She smiles down at the screen. 

‘Who is your biggest rival going to be this season?’ he reads the card in his hand. 

‘Truthfully, Azalea. You know she is a Hamilton and I believe she has more natural talent than me, and with Michael, they seem like a scary team’ he admits. 

She looks around the paddock and finds him sat on the chair with Adelaide sat on his lap, they were both in their own little world. For her, she was always so jealous of her brother, he exuded talent, he had more talent in his little finger than all her 5′6 self. She could go on track and leave everything out there, and he could easily do the same, but with less effort. 

She searching up the driving standings, clicked on the link and waited for it to load up. 

Driving Championship table: 

C Hamilton- 291

A Hamilton - 290

J Verstappen- 289

J Leclerc- 287

There was still a lot to play for. And that was what excited the fans. It was the Grid Kids all competing. 

There was suddenly hands on her shoulders, giving them a squeeze which made her pull a face, she looks up and saw Michael Schumacher. Since she was young, she had always looked up to him, he was one of her hero's. He saw her as his own, while a lot of people pushed Cairo, he saw her as the next big thing. There was a lot of times the two of them got into a big argument, and both leaving with a limp like a wounded animal, but their love never faded. Lewis trusted him with his daughters career and knew he would walk to the end of the Earth for her. 

‘How are you my little lion cub?’ he asks still massaging her shoulders, not letting her get away from him. 

He has always called her a lion cub, because she was still a baby (in the formula one world) and despite her cuteness, she was dangerous and could do damage if you go to her unprotected. And it was only a matter of time till she grew up to be a lion, the king (or queen) of the jungle. 

‘Ok’ she nods. Before the red flag she was in pole position, there was only 10 laps to go, so this couldn’t of come at a bad time for her. 

‘You have Cairo and the Jack-ass behind you, defend and do not let them pass’ he explains. The Jack-ass being Jules, safe to say he wasn’t a big fan of him. He had comforted her, most occassions. When she felt her heart was being blended, he was there to tell her ‘he doesn’t deserve you, you are a diamond’. 

That was probably why she didn’t have him back or forgive him so quickly. Azalea would do anything for him, she hated him for how he made her feel. But she loved him more. And that was also probably why she was giving Jacob a chance. ‘He is a good kid’ he mumbles as he sent her some flowers to the Ferrari office. ‘He can’t do any worse than the fucker’ he smiles. 

The race finished with Azalea on pole and Jacob second with Cario coming in third. Jacob suggested that the three of them should go for food. ‘Can’t I’m sorry, you two have fun though’ he smiles. 

So that was why the two were in a booth in a sushi place. Jacob’s arm was wrapped around the back of Azalea as they talked. When they weren’t hating each other they actually got on. Jacob was telling a funny story about how he had a few dates with a girl and they were on a trail on two horses. And how his horse got spooked and he couldn’t for the life of him stop the horse, so he was holding on for his life. Her head goes back as she was properly laughing about the story, making tears come out of her eyes, as Jacob just watched her. 

‘Well what do we have here?’ a voice appears, they both look up and see Jules. ‘Been texting you and find out you are here with him, couldn’t you find someone better, at least make me jealous’ he says before getting into the booth. 

Azalea shifts awkwardly while Jacob moves his arm and the two making room between them. 

‘This is cute’ he smiles between the two of them. ‘How long has this been going on?’ he raises his brows at Azalea. 

‘I don’t know why you are offended, aren’t you the one who cheated on her?’ Jacob asks. 

Jules ignores him as he just stares at Azalea. Even though she wouldn’t like to admit it, he was only a few people who really knew her. It felt like he could see into her soul which freaked her out. She dropped the eye contact, which just made him laugh.

‘Fuck you!’ you snaps looking up at him. ‘Fuck you for making me fall in love with you, making me bring my walls down just for you to fuck me over!’ she says a little too loudly than she expected. 

The three of them didn’t care that they had everyone’s attention. ‘I know that it was nothing about me, I know my worth’ she smiles. ‘You should leave’ 

Jacob stands up and tells him that he needed to leave, he laughs as he stands up to him. Azalea didn’t hear what he whispered into his rivals ear, but it must of been bad as Jacob swung for him and punched him in the jaw. And next minute they were having a fight. Jacob had Jules on the floor and was punching him, and then they switched. 

‘Jules get off him!’ Azalea shouts, she looks around shouting for anyone to help. 

That night, Azalea stayed with Jacob. She got the first aid kit out as he refused to go to A&E. And they shared a kiss. 

----

The whole week Azalea and Jacob were together, they travelled together and slept cuddled up. Max and Lewis giving each other questioning looks. It was news to them that they could even stand to be in each other’s company let alone all over each other. 

There was extra eyes on Azalea ahead of the GP that weekend. She kept her earphones on to block out the noise. She was starting sandwiched between the two of them, which made it even more exciting. Jules was zoned in and could see the massive target on the #5. The red lights light up above the grid cars and then the flag was waved and it was go time. All the cars weaved around each other as everyone wanted to find a gap to get further up the grid. Jules gets up the side of Azalea which makes her in the middle of him and Jacob. She was closed in and she suddenly went up. All her wheels were off the floor and she goes into the board. 

It was like slow motion, she knew it was inevitable that she was going to have a bad impact. 

You could hear a pin drop around the track. The red flag was being waved as Michael told Cairo it was Azalea. He parks up on the side, as the cars all go past him. ‘Cairo what are you doing?’ Michael asks. He unbuckles himself and climbs out the car, he didn’t care about the points, or the race or even the season, He just needed to know his little sister was alright. The dust settled from the gravel and he saw how the car was. A steward holds onto him as he was shouting her name. Lewis and Michael were stood together just watching on in shock, both praying. Adelaide held Gisela as she was crying. 

Jules and Jacob walk into the paddock, Gisela launches for the ex and starts hitting his chest, blaming him. 

Cairo goes to the car as the stewards try to work out how to get her out of the car. ‘Please get me out of her’ she cries as he leans over to take her hand. ‘You’ll be out, just hold tight’ he says with a smile, she gently squeezes his hand.

‘You need to move back’ someone says to him. 

He looks down at his sister who shakes her head, he could see the look in her eyes that she was scared and hurt. ‘I am not leaving her’ he says. ‘Get her fucking out!’ he shouts. 

After a while she was out, Cairo holding her as she walks to the ambulance which she demanded she would to let everyone know she was ok. 

-----

‘What happened?’ she asks as she sits in the hospital bed. ‘I don’t think we should talk about it?’ Adelaide quickly says. 

She feels the tension in the room between Jacob, Cairo, Gisela and Elias. She could hear shouting coming from the corridor, which when she listened hard enough she could tell the voices belonged to Michael, Sebastian, Lewis and Jules. She looks at Jacob and looks at him. 

‘It was him wasn’t it’ she says with her voice breaking. 

He didn’t have to say it, she knew. She pulled all the wires off her and gets out of bed and storms out. 

‘What is your problem? Wanted to hurt me more than you already have?’ she shouts walking towards him, with the four of them hot on her heels. 

‘It was an accident, I would never’ 

‘What have you forgot how to fucking drive like a normal human being? Have all your sluts sucked out your talent?’ she sasses. Sebastian stays in the middle of them. ‘Fuck you’ she yells letting Jacob pull her away and back into her room.