#Silent Conference in Paris

[silent123456]

Silent conference equipment in Paris

Paris is a global commercial and business hub, home to numerous multinational corporations and the Euronext Paris stock exchange. Its location, history, and infrastructure contribute to its status as a center for trade and finance. The city's history dating back to the Roman Empire has created a strong business environment with a well-developed legal and financial system, making it a vital center for global markets. The city's strategic location in Western Europe and its rich history make it an attractive destination for businesses seeking global expansion.

Silent conferences in Paris are becoming increasingly popular. In fact, a number of organizations are now offering silent conference services in the city. These organizations can provide the headphones, equipment, and staff needed to run a successful silent conference.

[conferenceworldwide0426]

Silent Conference in Paris

A unique and innovative silent conference in the heart of Paris is set to captivate attendees with its unconventional approach to communication. This silent conference in Paris goes beyond traditional auditory boundaries, allowing attendees to seamlessly choose their preferred sessions. This unique format not only allows for uninterrupted learning but also encourages individualized engagement. For Conference-related queries, please contact us at +9811200494.

[translation1234]

Silent Conference in Paris

In Paris, the use of silent conference solutions is growing. silent conference systems, which enable numerous conferences with numerous speakers and delegates in the same hall with brief breaks. Those who need to spend money on soundproof buildings, intricate PA systems, and logistics for sizable events will particularly benefit from this. As they are brought in the day before the scheduled tests are ready, silent conferences don't need to rent exhibition halls or hotels for an extended period. They enable quick partitioning of groups using maxima, lower noise levels, and improve efficiency in terms of time and cost. The event can be enjoyed without hassle in any location in the hall because each speaker is given a set of microphones, and delegates can select the session they prefer.

[silentconference]

Silent Conference in Paris 

Paris, known for its rich cultural heritage and iconic landmarks, has embraced the innovative concept of silent conferences with open arms. These unique events have taken the city's vibrant conference scene by storm. Imagine strolling through the picturesque streets of Paris, surrounded by fellow attendees, all wearing wireless headphones that transport them into a world of knowledge and inspiration. With the Eiffel Tower as a backdrop or nestled in the charming courtyards of historic venues, silent conferences in Paris offer a truly immersive experience. Attendees can effortlessly switch between sessions, all while enjoying the tranquil atmosphere of the city of lights. It's a fusion of technology and culture that has elevated the conference experience to new heights, making silent conferences in Paris an unforgettable and forward-thinking way to engage with ideas and innovation.

[translationindia1111]

Silent Conference in Paris

Paris is a global commercial and business hub, home to numerous multinational corporations and the Euronext Paris stock exchange. Its location, history, and infrastructure contribute to its status as a centre for trade and finance. The city's history dating back to the Roman Empire has created a strong business environment with a well-developed legal and financial system, making it a vital centre for global markets. The city's strategic location in Western Europe and its rich history make it an attractive destination for businesses seeking global expansion.

Silent Conferences in Paris are becoming increasingly popular. In fact, a number of organisations are now offering silent conference services in the city. These organisations can provide the headphones, equipment, and staff needed to run a successful silent conference.

The increasing number of international conferences hosted in Paris also contributes to the growth of quiet conferences. These gatherings frequently draw people from all over the world, many of whom do not speak the same language. Silent conferences can help participants overcome this language barrier by allowing them to listen to the speaker in their native language.

Silent Conference Worldwide  ( www.silent conference worldwide.com)  is the worldwide leader in the supply of silent conference solutions. We have many years of experience supplying silent conference services for a wide range of events such as conferences, trade exhibits, and corporate meetings. We also have a team of highly qualified technical professionals on hand to assist you with the setup and operation of your quiet conference system.

[arkhamsknightz]

STARLIGHT // SUPERMAN HEADCANONS. CLARK KENT & JOURNALIST!READER.

content: just fluff, pure pure fluff. It's the biggest vomit of love lmao im sorry but i'm in love at this time so deal with it. I don't dare to write smut yet (i'm very rusty lol), + we don't accept snyder fans!clark here — sorry not sorry — this is the clark who would rescue a kitten from a tree so....

word count: 0,4k (almost 500 words)

notes: i'm testing the waters in the dc fandom, even though it's been too long since I've written in it, but the superman trailer is my new obsession and I can't wait for july. the brat summer hits hard, but the superman summer hits harder.

divider: @bernardsbendystraws

☆ You keep pretending not to notice when he leaves your apartment, and five minutes later "Superman" shows up to make sure you got home safe from your late assignment.

☆ Clark literally melts whenever you call him "Superman" in a teasing tone. like—he’s supposed to be the man of steel, but his knees go weak the second you smirk and say, “What’s the plan now, Superman?"

☆ You learned pretty quickly that dating the man of tomorrow comes with random date night interruptions. But he always makes it up to you. Like one time he flew in from stopping a train derailment with pastries from Paris and an "I'm sorry I missed our dinner" post-it stuck to your laptop".

☆ He’s so soft for you. Like, he’ll listen to you rant about Lex Luthor and his stupid company for an hour and then say, “You’re incredible. Do you know that?” with the most adoring look in his eyes.

☆ He's ridiculously good at remembering everything. birthdays, deadlines, how you take your coffee, and your favourite quote. He once quoted your own article back to you when you were doubting yourself, and you cried. He freaked out. tried to fly to get flowers or something.

☆ One time you tried to surprise him by bringing him lunch to the Daily Planet, and he got so flustered he nearly knocked over his desk. “You... you brought me food?” He blinked like krypto when he acts like never been fed before. Now he talks about it like it was a grand romantic gesture and not just an stupid sandwich.

☆ You once told him, half-asleep, that flying with him felt like dreaming while awake. Now he always asks, “Wanna go dream?” before lifting you into the sky.

☆ He sometimes reads over your drafts while you're out cold on the couch. leaves little notes in the margins like “love this part,” “so proud of you,” or “you spelt ‘crimes’ wrong, but you’re still my favourite reporter.”

☆ He lives for when you adjust his glasses or fix his tie before a press conference. It’s the only time he lets the whole “Clark Kent” act drop just a little and looks at you like you’re his whole world.

☆ Sometimes when you’re deep into writing, completely zoned out, he lands silently on your balcony and just watches you work for a minute—arms crossed, head tilted, that soft “I can’t believe she’s mine” smile on his face. When you finally notice him, he acts like he hasn’t been standing there like a lovesick puppy for the last five minutes.

☆ On your worst days at the paper, when deadlines crush you and the world feels heavy, he wordlessly picks you up and flies you above the clouds. No noise, no pressure—just the two of you, floating in golden light. “All of that can wait,” he whispers. “You can’t.”

[theemporium]

poly drivers (literally any idk they can all take me to Paris) reacting to a media personnel making a comment about reader… 👀👀

a mood💀thank you for requesting!🫶🏽

.

“My next question goes to the two fellas on the right.”

You pressed your lips together to try and bite back your smile as you watched Max subtly roll his eyes as he reached for his microphone. 

It never failed to amuse you how much the boy hated media duties, even after so many years being involved with the sport. He hated it, he thought it was a waste of time, and if he could avoid it, he would. 

Meanwhile, Charles sat next to him with a charming smile on his face. Despite his questionable acting skills, he was a performer in front of the cameras. He seemed to naturally know what people wanted to hear, what they wanted to hear from him. He seemed to have the media stuff under lock and key after so many years of having a camera shoved in his face. 

And conferences like this one—where both your boys were in one group—were your absolute favourite to watch. Just seeing the mere difference in the men you loved never failed to entertain you.

But as quickly as your good mood came, it quickly dropped when you heard the reporter's question. 

“Do you think sharing the same woman has helped your relationship on track or made it worse?” 

Your stomach dipped as the room fell silent, only the clicking of cameras and scribbling of pens on notepads could be heard. You didn’t care about the other journalists gawking at you, or even the other drivers on the couch. Your eyes were firmly glued to your boys.

Charles was frowning, a look mixed with shock and disbelief written across his face. Your boy in red liked to see the best in people, expect the best in people. And you could actively see his brain trying to work around the question to see if he just misunderstood what the man had just asked. 

But Max was a different story. 

His face was stoic and the glare he sent the reporter was almost bone-chilling. You honestly expected him to storm off, or even throw something at the reporter—to act out in the way you knew he was constantly scolded about by the Red Bull PR team. 

What you weren’t expecting was for Charles to be the first one to speak. 

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” 

The shock and surprise was clear on everybody’s face as Charles straightened up in his seat, his brows furrowed as he stared at the reporter in disgust. The man opened his mouth to speak, to probably defend himself, but Charles didn’t give him the chance. 

“No, seriously, who do you think you are?” Charles continued, his accent coming out a little thicker as he spoke. “We are racers. This is our job. Our relationship has nothing to do with anything, and it’s disrespectful that you would even bring it up, let alone talk about our girlfriend like she’s an object. She’s a human, unlike whatever you are.”

You stood there, mouth agape at the words that just came out of your boyfriend’s mouth.

However, Max almost looked proud before he lifted the microphone to his lips.

“You’re a fucking dickhead, have fun completely ending your career,” he stated simply with a smug look on his face before he dropped the microphone, not even bothering to listen to the media managers as they scrambled to get him to sit back down as he walked out with Charles following. 

Your cheeks burned as everyone turned to look at you, but you didn’t pay them any attention as you quickly slid out of the conference room. You barely made it three steps out the door before you felt an arm winding around your waist and tugging you towards a hard body, the smell of Charles’ cologne hitting you seconds later. 

“Amour,” he murmured as he nuzzled his face into the crook of your neck, his arms wrapping tightly around you like he was scared you would disappear. “I’m sorry you had to hear that.”

“Shh, it’s not your fault,” you cooed as you wrapped your arms around him, your fingers running through the hair on the nape of his neck as his body sagged against yours. “You were quite bold in there.”

“Didn’t like the way they were talking about us,” he grumbled.

You lifted your head when you spotted Max a few steps away, the smug look still painted across his face as he reached for you, his hand placed on the small of your back. 

“Personally, I think that was the best conference I have ever been a part of,” Max commented with a shrug, his smile widening a little when he saw you snort. 

“Be nice,” you chastised.

“I am,” he defended. “It was hot.”

“It was,” you agreed, and Charles’ arms tightened around you. 

“Let’s get him fired,” Charles said suddenly as he lifted his head to look at you both, trying to ignore the fact his cheeks were burning at your words. 

“I think he did that fine on his own,” Max said.

“No, I want him fired,” Charles frowned. “I don’t want to see him near a paddock ever again.”

“Okay, calm down,” you murmured as you ran your hands up and down his back. “Let’s just get out of here and let you cool down before you do something irrational. I think you’re on an adrenaline high.”

“I don’t like people who say things about us, about you,” Charles huffed.

You smiled as you leaned up, pressing a lingering kiss against his pouting lips. “And I appreciate that very much, baby.”

“Our knight in shining armour,” Max teased, only to wince a little when you pinched his side. “Kidding, schatz, I love you both.”

“Better,” you grinned before pecking his lips too. “Let’s stop by the Red Bull motorhome before we head back to the hotel, I want more of those churros.”

Max snorted. “Whatever you want.”

.

[dan-the-womans-blog]

Hi! I hope I’m not too late on request but I LOVE the idea of a bimbo reader with Spencer Reid. Could you write one where she is actually really smart (Emily and Spencer smart) and she has amazing style (I’m thinking Megan fox in Jennifer’s body type style). Spencer has this huge fat raging crush on her and always gets super nervous around her and vice versa?

If you don’t like the idea it’s obviously okay, I’m new to requesting things but I thought I would ask!

THANK YOU

NO PROBLEM!

The act of writing distracts me from the real world so thanks it's great timing actually ¯⁠\⁠_⁠(⁠☯⁠෴⁠☯⁠)⁠_⁠/⁠¯

Title: Kryptonite

---

The BAU was buzzing with activity when you arrived, your entrance as much a statement as your style. Heads turned as you made your way into the bullpen, your red heels clicking against the polished floor. Your fitted dress—a soft blush pink with a plunging neckline—hugged your curves just right, and your gold earrings swayed with every step.

Emily Prentiss leaned over her desk, smirking as she nudged Derek Morgan. "Here comes Spencer's kryptonite."

Derek grinned, folding his arms. "Poor kid’s gonna faint before he gets a word out today."

You breezed past their desks, offering them a warm smile. "Morning, Emily. Derek."

"Morning, gorgeous," Derek said, flashing you his signature charm.

"Nice dress, Y/N," Emily added, her tone teasing. "You know, this is a federal building, not Paris Fashion Week, right?"

You laughed, stopping briefly at her desk. "What can I say? I like to keep things interesting."

"Oh, you’re doing that," Derek quipped.

Across the bullpen, Spencer Reid sat stiffly at his desk, pretending to read the file in front of him. In reality, he was hyper-aware of your every move. His fingers toyed with the edge of his notebook, and his heart pounded as he tried to calm his nerves.

When you finally approached his desk, he felt like the air had been knocked out of his lungs.

"Good morning, Dr. Reid," you said, placing a file on his desk. Your perfume was light but intoxicating, and the way you leaned slightly toward him made his palms sweat.

"H-Hi, Y/N," he stammered, eyes darting between your face and the file.

"Busy day?" you asked, your tone light and playful.

"Uh, yeah. Lots of, um, cases. Profiles. Stuff," he mumbled, cursing himself internally for being so awkward.

From across the room, JJ leaned against Hotch’s desk, watching the interaction unfold with an amused smile. "Do you think Spencer will ever actually talk to her without tripping over his words?" she whispered.

Hotch glanced over, his expression as neutral as ever. "Doubtful."

You tilted your head, studying Spencer with a small smile. "You seem nervous, Spence. Everything okay?"

"Nervous? No! Why would I be nervous? I’m not nervous," he blurted, his voice cracking slightly.

Emily couldn’t help herself. "Reid, if you get any redder, you’re going to set off the fire alarms."

"Emily!" Spencer groaned, burying his face in his hands.

You laughed, your hand lightly brushing his arm. "Don’t listen to her. I think it’s sweet."

Spencer peeked at you through his fingers, his blush deepening. "You do?"

"Of course," you said, your voice softening.

---

Later, in the conference room, the team gathered to discuss the case. You took a seat at the head of the table, confidently laying out your analysis of the unsub’s language patterns.

"The use of archaic phrasing and formal sentence structure suggests someone who’s either highly educated or attempting to appear that way," you explained, flipping through your notes. "Additionally, the recurring themes in their letters—justice, punishment, purification—indicate a fixation on moral absolutes. This unsub likely has a rigid worldview shaped by trauma or indoctrination."

The room was silent for a moment before Rossi spoke up. "Impressive work, Y/N. You should teach a class in profiling."

You smiled. "I’ll leave that to the experts. I just like piecing puzzles together."

Spencer, who had been quietly marveling at your intelligence, finally found his voice. "Y-You’re really good at it," he said, his tone sincere.

"Thanks, Spence," you said, giving him a warm smile that made his heart race.

After the meeting, Emily and Derek cornered him in the hallway.

"So, Genius," Derek said, slapping Spencer on the back. "When are you gonna ask her out?"

"I—I don’t know what you’re talking about," Spencer stammered, avoiding their knowing looks.

"Oh, please," Emily said, rolling her eyes. "You’ve been in love with her since the day she walked in here."

Spencer groaned. "Can we not do this right now?"

---

At the end of the day, as you packed up your things, Spencer nervously approached your desk.

"Y/N," he started, his voice shaky.

You looked up, your expression softening. "Yes, Spence?"

"I was wondering if… maybe you’d like to go out for coffee sometime? Or tea. Or, um, whatever you like to drink," he rushed out.

You blinked, momentarily stunned by his courage. Then, a slow smile spread across your face. "I’d love to."

"R-Really?" he asked, his eyes wide with disbelief.

"Really," you said, stepping closer. "Pick me up at seven. And don’t be late, Doctor."

As you walked away, Emily and Derek appeared from around the corner, both grinning like kids on Christmas morning.

"Finally!" Emily whispered.

Derek chuckled. "Took him long enough."

Spencer, still frozen in place, couldn’t stop the goofy smile that spread across his face.

---

Let me know if there’s anything else you’d like to see from me, requests are always open!

[sinnerinwonderland]

Still Yours, Still Proud.

› Pairing: Jannik Sinner x Female Reader.

› Summary: Paris, after the final. He finally lets go.

› Word Count: 1.4k.

Post-RG 2025 — Paris, Hotel Room.

The world had moved on fast. That’s what hurt most.

Commentators were already hailing Carlos Alcaraz’s era-defining victory. Headlines hailed the maintenance of the reign of the king of clay. Social media was a storm — clips, stats, rewinds. Everyone had something to say.

Except him.

Jannik hasn't said a word since the press conference. No interviews, no statements, no reposts. Just the eerie silence of his hotel suite and the muffled hum of Paris traffic below.

She had knocked three times before he opened the door. But when he did, pale hoodie on, hair still damp from a too-long shower, eyelids heavy either from tiredness or from the tears that threatened to fall, and his eyes found hers, something in him unknotted. Wordlessly, he stepped aside to let her in.

No one else had made it past that door.

She kicked off her shoes and crossed to him slowly, barely a breath between them. “Jannik…”

He sat down on the edge of the bed, legs wide, forearms on his knees, eyes locked somewhere near the carpet. She moved to stand between them, her fingers brushing over the soft copper of his hair before cradling his jaw gently.

“I still think you’re the best,” she whispered, because it was true. Because no match could ever change that.

He didn’t say anything, just leaned forward slowly, until his forehead pressed against her stomach, and then, just as quietly, he wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her into his lap.

The moment she settled, knees tucked on either side of him, his whole body gave in. His face hid in her neck, arms anchoring tightly around her waist like she was the only thing tethering him to the earth.

And then he cried.

Not loud. Not broken. Just silent, trembling, aching tears soaking the skin beneath her collarbone. She didn’t shush him, didn’t say anything about being strong or proud, just held him tighter.

Her fingers brushed through his hair as his breath hitched against her. “It’s okay,” she murmured, cheek resting against the top of his head. “You don’t have to be perfect for me to love you.”

He finally spoke, voice rough and choked. “I tried so fucking hard…”

“I know,” she whispered. “I saw.”

His grip on her tightened, like he thought she might vanish if he let go.

“No one else,” he said hoarsely, pulling back just enough to look at her through bleary lashes. “I don’t want anyone else near me right now. Just you.”

She cupped his face and kissed the tip of his nose, then his temple, then the corner of his mouth.

“You’ve got me,” she promised. “Always.”

And in the quiet that followed, with Paris glowing just outside the window and his chest pressed tight to hers, he felt it — the shift. The slow, small healing that comes not from the world forgiving you, but from one person loving you enough that it almost doesn’t matter.

─ ⋅ ── ♡ ── ⋅ ─── ⋅ ── ♡ ── ⋅ ─── ⋅ ── ♡ ── ⋅

Later that night, the Paris skyline had dimmed to a soft haze. The buzz of the city barely reached the hotel room anymore, and inside it, everything felt still — safe.

Jannik was lying in bed, one arm tucked behind his head, the other lazily curled around her waist. She was sprawled across his chest, warm and breathing slow, fingertips absently tracing lines over the fabric of his shirt like she didn’t even realize she was doing it.

He hasn't said much since earlier. Not because he was shutting down again, but because he didn’t want to break the moment. Not when she was here. Not when her presence felt like the only thing that didn’t ache.

He looked down at her then, at the curve of her cheek pressed to his chest, the slow rise and fall of her breathing, the little crease above her brow that never smoothed out until she was truly asleep. The sight made his throat feel tight again, but not in the way it had before. Not grief nor shame. Just awe.

And guilt, maybe. Guilt for letting it get to him so much. For crying. For caring so much. For not being the version of himself the world always expected.

“I shouldn’t have…” he started, voice barely above a murmur.

She stirred. “Hm?”

“I shouldn’t have gotten that upset,” he said. “It’s just a match. I mean, I lost. It happens. People lose.”

She lifted her head slightly, blinking up at him with sleepy softness. “Jannik…”

He didn’t look at her. “I’m not a sore loser, I swear, I’m not. I just— I couldn’t stop it. I felt it coming and I—” He exhaled sharply. “I don’t know why I took it so hard...”

She propped herself up on her elbow now, eyes steady on his. “You’re not a sore loser.”

He gave a faint, humorless laugh. “Sure didn’t feel like it.”

“You were out there for almost six hours,” she said quietly. “You left everything on that court. And when the match ended, you didn’t throw a tantrum. You shook hands, congratulated him, did everything with grace. And then when it was just you, you broke a little. That’s not being a sore loser, Jannik.”

She reached up to brush a piece of hair off his forehead, fingers soft and steady. “That’s just being human.”

His eyes finally met hers.

“It doesn’t make you weak,” she added. “It makes you real.”

For a moment, he just stared at her like he didn’t know what to say. And then, slowly, his arms wrapped around her again, pulling her back down onto his chest, closer this time.

She melted into him without hesitation.

“I’m lucky you’re here.” he whispered into her hair.

“You always will be.” she whispered back.

Eventually, her breaths evened out, hand going still where it rested above his heart. But Jannik stayed awake a little longer, just watching her, holding her, feeling everything in him soften because she hadn’t just seen the parts he tried to hide — she had held them, kissed them, forgiven them.

And for the first time all day, he let himself believe it might actually be okay.

─ ⋅ ── ♡ ── ⋅ ─── ⋅ ── ♡ ── ⋅ ─── ⋅ ── ♡ ── ⋅

The Morning After — Paris, 8:12 a.m.

Light spilled gently through the cracks in the curtains. The city below had already woken up, but inside the hotel room, time moved at its own pace.

She was still asleep when Jannik stirred, her cheek pressed against his shoulder, one leg tangled between his. The sheets had slipped low around their waists. Her hand, small and warm, was curled over his chest like she’d claimed it in her dreams.

He didn’t move. Didn’t dare to. Instead, he just looked at her.

The soft part of her lips, the faint crease in her brow, the way her lashes fluttered every few minutes like she was somewhere in between dreaming and waking.

His heart did something stupid in his chest. A little stutter, a little ache — but the good kind this time.

She had seen him yesterday, in one of his lowest, most exhausted states. Not just tired from the match, but from the weight of expectation, from the way defeat settled in your bones when you knew how close you came.

And she hadn’t tried to fix it. She had just stayed. Loved him right through it, without asking him to be anything other than exactly what he was.

"You're still staring," she mumbled suddenly, voice sleepy and soft.

He smiled, brushing a knuckle down the curve of her back. “I wasn’t staring.”

“You were definitely staring,” she muttered, eyes still closed.

“Fine,” he said, low and playful. “I was admiring.”

She peeked up at him through one eye, a small, crooked smile forming. “Did the view help you recover from emotional devastation?”

“A little,” he murmured. “Still recovering.”

She pressed a kiss to his collarbone, slow and lingering. “Take your time.”

And maybe for the first time after a loss that heavy, he would.

Because she made him feel like he didn’t have to rush past the pain or cover it up. That being human — even messy, emotional, tired — wasn’t something he had to apologize for.

So he pulled her closer, buried his face in her hair, and let the morning hold them both, slow and safe.

[bunniebubbleswrites]

'A Marriage of Convenience'

Kate Lethbridge Stewart x F! Reader

Chapter 2 | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

A/N: The sheer amount of googling I had to do. My 2 years of highschool french is not doing me much good. I'm also american and I've never left the country so forgive me for any inaccuracies. Warnings/Tags: More slowburn Words: 1,463 Summary: You and Kate take a long train ride to France and you are given quite the shock when you check into the hotel.

Friday came all to quickly. You sat in the parking lot, your hands gripped the steering wheel of your car so tightly your knuckles were turning white.

Everything is fine. Everything will be fine.

You take a deep breath and put your head restraint and loosen your grip on the steering wheel. It was only a week, you could handle a week. You take your keys out of the ignition and climb out of the car. You hear your phone go off in your pocket. You slip off one of your gloves. holding it between your teeth.

You take your phone out of your coat pocket, the small screen on the phone lights up with Kate's name. You grab your glove out of your mouth and flip open your phone. You bring it up to your face, as you shove your glove into your pocket, trading it for your car keys.

"Hey, Kate. I'm at the station right now. I'm just grabbing my luggage." You babble out hurriedly. You pull out your suitcase with a small grunt.

"Do you need me to come help you?" Kate asks over the phone.

You tuck your phone under your chin and pull out a small weekender bag and fasten it to the handle of your suitcase.

"No, no I've got it. I'll see you in a bit." You take your phone into your hand, and close your trunk.

"Right, see you soon." Kate's voice came from your phone and you hum in agreement before you hang up. You slip your phone and keys into your pockets and fish out your glove.

It didn't take long to reach the train platform. You thought you would be able to spot Kate in the sea of people on the platform, but you couldn't. You've been rocking back and forth on your heels nervously for what seems like hours. She had both your train tickets.

You heard someone call your name from behind you. You turn to see Kate walking towards you. Tickets in hand and luggage in toe. You waved your gloved hand at her, a smile gracing your lips.

"Sorry, there was some trouble getting the tickets. They didn't have the right transfer.Not to worry it's all taken care of." Kate explains briefly. You nod in understanding as you bury yourself into your scarf.

Kate hands you your ticket and you pull your passport out of the front pocket of your weekender bag and tuck the ticket in between the pages.

"So, how was your day off?" Kate asks casually as you both waited for the train.

"It was good. I caught up on some house work and some reading." Among other things. You smile at her. Luckily for you the train pulled up before anymore more small talk could be made.

~

Kate let out a frustrated sigh and you peak over your book to look at her. Her glasses are resting on her nose, the tablet screen reflecting in the lenses.

"Something the matter?" You close your book, placing a finger in the book to mark your place. You place your book down in your lap and Kate looks up at you over her glasses. You liked how she looked in her glasses.

"The report I was sent about the non human sighting is awfully vague. We don't know who or what we're dealing with." Kate looked back down at the tablet in her hands.

"Well, that's part of the reason we're attending the conference. We'll figure it out." You reach across to where Kate's hand rested on the table between the two of you, trying to reassure her. Kate looks back up at you and gives you a smile.

You return to your book and Kate returns to her work, the rest of the train ride to Paris is silent between you to. Every now and again you would look up from your book to look at Kate. You watched as her eyebrows furrowed in confusion and how she would bite her lip while concentrating. How could she be so effortlessly adorable even when she was so engrossed with her work.

You both rush to make the the next train to Lyon. You barely make it in time. You both plop down in your seats on the train after placing your bags in the overhead storage compartments. You let out a small laugh and place your head on Kate's shoulder without thinking.

"That was a close one huh." You breathe out.

"Yeah I guess it was." Kate laughs, god you could listen to her laugh forever. Kate makes no move to push you off her shoulder or even mention it. You quickly manage to doze off, the rock of the train lulling you to sleep.

~

You feel someone nudge you and you slowly open your eyes to see Kate looking at you. You blink the sleep from your eyes and you realize you fell asleep on Kate's shoulder. You felt the heat flood to your cheeks.

"Hey, we're here. We should get going to the hotel." You nod and stand from the seat next to Kate. She follows your motions. You both grab your bags from the overhead storage and make your way off the train.

You walk out of the train station into a old historic city. Lyon is beautiful, it's the second most beautiful thing you'd ever seen. The first being Kate.

You watch as Kate hails a taxi, her french perfect. She motions you forward as the trunk of the cab opens and she places her bags in. You place your bags in after her and close the trunk. Kate opens the door of the taxi, and lets you climb in first.

She gives the driver the directions in french, and you look at her expectantly waiting for her to explain. Your own french wasn't very good.

"We're going to the hotel. The Fort St. Laurent." She whispered as she leaned over to you. "Also, here, put this on." Kate pulls a small black velvet box out of her coat pocket. She opens it and pull out a plain golden ring. You look at her with wide eyes. It looks an awful lot like a wedding ring.

"What is that for?" Your voice is full of embarrassment.

"It's a tracking device, just in case anything happens. It's just a safety precaution." Kate says very nonchalantly. "Here let me." She slides the ring onto your left ring finger. She said it was it was just a safety precaution, it's best just to trust her.

The rest of the car ride was filled with small talk, Kate was pointing out all the sites, and you almost wish you had more than a week here to explore everything. The museums, the cathedral. and the roman theater. There was so much you wanted to see, and there wasn't enough time to see it all.

You're not sure how long the car ride was but you eventually pull up to a building that is definitely old building. You were staying at a military fortress, how fitting.

The taxi came to a full stop in front of the hotel. Kate climbs out of the taxi first and you follow after her. You both gather your luggage from the trunk.All you had to do was check in, and then you could rest. You hadn't realized how tired you actually were. You had slept on the train, how you could be tired. You didn't know. Maybe it was your body adjusting to the time zone.

You and Kate walk into the lobby, and it's full of people in suits and formal wear. You felt very under dressed. The only person you knew was Kate, it was a room full of unfamiliar faces. It made you anxious. Your eyes scanned the room, your hand gripping the handle of your suitcase tightly. You were trying to ground yourself.

"Are you feeling okay?" Kate's voice filters through your ears. Your eyes shoot over to her.

"Yeah, just a little anxious." You smile at her, your grip on the handle of your suitcase loosened.

"I understand. It can all be a little overwhelming. I'll be here the entire time." Kate reassured you with a smile and walks over to the check in counter with you following behind her.

"Checking in." Kate says to the lady behind the counter. You keep looking over your shoulder, you can't shake the feeling that your being watched.

"For Mrs and-" The lady looks up from her computer and you turn your attention back to her with a thin lipped smile. "Mrs. Stewart."

Kate nods and the hostess hands Kate your room keys. You stare wide eyed at Kate and she pulls you aside.

"What was that about?"

Taglist: @freshmoneyalmondathlete @starfleetwitch @suckerforcate

[hotvintagepoll]

Propaganda

Sharmila Tagore (Apur Sansar, Kashmir ki Kali, An Evening in Paris)—She was adorable, an actual princess (through marriage), the first woman to wear a bikini in a Hindi film, and had, I would argue, the most iconic beehive hair in film history.

Pola Negri (The Wildcat, Men, A Woman Commands)—Legally obliged to submit her as she's from Poland, but also it is one of the greatest stars of silent film, both in Hollywood and Europe, so she has to be here. The og femme fatale and a fenomenal dramatic actress. And just so hot in this 1920s vamp style. Obviously her career slowed down in America with the introduction of sound movies, because of her accent and low voice. I'd say her voice is so much hotter thanks to that, but I'm just a simple simp. But then she made movies in Germany, and after the war she was even offered Gloria Swanson's role in "Sunset Boulevard'' but she declined. She was probably bisexual as after romances with Charlie Chaplin and Rudolf Valentino in the 20s, since the 1940s she lived with her 'female friend'.

This is round 3 of the tournament. All other polls in this bracket can be found here. Please reblog with further support of your beloved hot sexy vintage woman.

[additional propaganda submitted under the cut.]

Sharmila Tagore propaganda:

"One of the most well-known Bollywood actresses of all time!"

Pola Negri:

A tempestuous green-eyed vamp of the silent screen, she tantalized with both her onscreen and offscreen romances. Rocked a Polish accent - well, once there was sound! A true proficient at promoting herself and using all possible tools to do so - from a dead Rudolf Valentino to a cheetah named Teddy, the latter of which she brought to a press conference.

First European actress to be contracted by Hollywood! She survived poverty and illness to become The Queen of Tragedy, she divorced a count to date stars like Charlie Chaplin and Rudolph Valentino, then spent the rest of her life living with Margaret West in what could have been a romantic relationship.

I don't have much to say about her actual career, personal life, etc. but I just need everyone to see how hauntingly beautiful her face is. I haven't been able to stop thinking about her since the first time I saw her LOL like its pretty clear why she was such a star

[silent123456]

Silent Conference in Paris

A unique and innovative silent conference in the heart of Paris is set to captivate attendees with its unconventional approach to communication. This silent conference in Paris goes beyond traditional auditory boundaries, allowing attendees to seamlessly choose their preferred sessions. This unique format not only allows for uninterrupted learning but also encourages individualized engagement. For Conference-related queries, please contact us at +9811200494.

[yesbutmakeitgay]

Once Upon A Time I Used To Know A Girl

Chapter 3

Carol Danvers x Reader

Masterlist | This work's masterlist | AO3

Summary: Kamala resorts to an old friend of yours for help, things are more complicated than expected.

Angst, Slow Burn, Amnesia.

Word count: 1086

Emergency Contact

Every day that week feels about the same, Kamala takes you to an empty conference room and asks you questions almost as if it was an interrogation. By the end you have had enough of it, "I’m sorry, officer, can you put me under arrest already?"

The girl looks up from her tablet. "What, no! Although Fury did say you’re not allowed to leave the compound," she says with a nervous smile. "Listen," she notices your antsy state, "I know that this is probably very uncomfortable for you, you’ve just been through a lot and I can’t imagine what it must be like,"

"I’ll say," you murmur under your breath.

"But I know you, even if you don’t remember me, I want to help you because I care about you." The amount of sincerity in her eyes is undeniable.

You take a deep breath, "Alright."

"Let's go through some questions to assess the state of your memory," she continues, "what day is it?"

"I don't fucking know."

"Place of birth?"

"You don't need to know that."

"I already know, it's on the tablet- date of birth?"

"Do you at least have any more pertinent questions?" you say, crossing your arms.

"Okay," she takes it as a challenge, "who's the King of Asgard?"

"Thor," you answer, as if it was obvious. Kamala remains silent, maintaining eye contact, "He's not?" you ask, puzzled.

"It was a trick question, it is now known as New Asgard and it is ruled by King Valkyrie." Her tone is smug.

"King Valkyrie, as in Val? How did that happen?"

"It's a long story- wait, you know her?"

"Yes," you respond with confidence.

"Will you talk to her?" There's excitement in her voice.

"Sure," you say, hoping to finally see a familiar face. Kamala starts to run out of the room when your voice stops her in her tracks, "I’m not doing one of those intergalactic calls, they say they're encrypted, but I know they're not! Bring me the real thing and I'll speak with her."

Kamala goes to a separate room to call King Valkyrie, news about the ambush had spread all over the universe but your state wasn't exactly public information so she takes the time to explain what happened.

"Wait, how long ago was Paris?" The King inquires, Kamala shows her the device with the mission information, "We hadn't met then." There's a frown on Valkyrie's face.

"So you met when you were already King?" The girl asks, finding the timeline difficult to follow.

"No, before that, but not 'Paris' long ago, she also mentioned Belova? She didn’t join the team until recently."

"And Monica. She said something about a house in Louisiana, too," she says, looking into the distance.

"That could be a different house," The King responds, emphasizing the word 'could'.

"You think so?" Kamala asks, unsure.

"I hope so."

"Well she seemed kind of happy to talk to you, will you do it?" she requests, pleading with her eyes.

"I don't know, little Marv, there's something strange going on with her, you should speak with Carol." Her voice is full of kindness and concern.

Kamala sighs, "Carol isn't speaking with anyone at the moment."

"I see, do you know where she is?" The King seems extremely level headed for the situation she's witnessing.

"'Home,' she said." Kamala repeats The Captain’s words.

"I'll give her a call, then," Valkyrie says with a sad smile.

Kamala goes back to the conference room but when she doesn't find you, she goes to your room. "So it seems King Valkyrie will not be able to come talk for a while," she says with disappointment.

"Aw bummer, I was beginning to think I would get to go home soon." She can't tell if you're being sarcastic and neither can you.

"Tell me about this home of yours." Her voice trying to sound nonchalant.

"It's a quaint little home, big yard, beautiful porch."

Kamala is trying to hide how she's freaking out inside, hearing an exact description of the home you used to share with Carol, "Anything else?" She puts on her best poker face.

"It's got four walls and a roof." It comes out a little aggressive, you don't know what she's getting at.

"Right, okay, I'll see you tomorrow." She leaves as quickly as possible.

You feel a little bad about it, maybe you were too harsh to her, but this whole situation is making you start to lose the little mind you have left and sarcasm is the best way you know to deal with it.

You wake up in a dark room, a couple of men in black, full-body armor holding you down to a metal table as a third one injects something into your neck, you try to fight it but your eyes begin to close again.

When you come back to your senses you’re in the compound. You jolt up confused and frustrated by what you saw and decide to call Kamala.

"This is Kamala Khan," she picks up a lot faster than you expected. You become paralyzed on the other end of the line, you can feel the neurons in your brain trying to connect unsuccessfully, "Hello?" she insists.

"Kamala Khan of Jersey City," your voice is barely audible. The girl gasps with excitement and tells you she's on her way, the reason why you called all but forgotten.

You both sit on your provisional bed trying to work out what you remembered. "You're Kamala Khan of Jersey City, I know you," you say, almost giving yourself a headache from how hard you're thinking.

"Yeah, you do!" There’s a big smile on her face.

"How do I know you?" You begin to share her excitement.

"We've worked together," she responds carefully, not wanting to say something she's not allowed to.

"What have we worked together on?"

Kamala thinks for a moment, "We stopped an evil lady from destroying several planets."

Your brain is overheating at this point, "Which planets?"

"Tarnax, Earth, Aladna-"

"Aladna! I know Aladna, lot of water." Kamala hums in agreement, "They sing and dance, Prince Yan!" Kamala seems captivated by your process, "Very handsome guy," you add.

"Anything else you might remember about him?" There's hope in her voice, you shake your head, "He got married some time ago."

"He did? I don't know anything about that."

"Hmm, okay," she says, disappointed.

"Did he get married to me?" Your voice panicked.

"No, no, no! Let's move on from that." Relief washes over you.

Chapter 4

Tell me all your thoughts!

Tags: @graniairish @thelittleliars @carols-photonblast

Let me know if you wanna be tagged :)

[spacedewey]

As our situation had become more complex, Martin's speeches had become simpler and more concrete. As I remember, he spoke very simply that evening on the work of the Southern Christian Leadership Conference, what had been done, what was being done, and the enormity of the tasks that lay ahead. But I remember his tone more than his words. He spoke very humbly, as one of many workers, speaking to his co-workers. I think he made everyone in that room feel that whatever they were doing, whatever they could do, was important, was of utmost importance. He did not flatter them -- very subtly, he challenged them, challenged them to live up to their moral obligations. The room was quite remarkable in the most serious sense of that weary phrase, profoundly honored.

And yet -- how striking to compare his tone that night with what had been not many years before! Not many years before, we had all marched on Washington. Something like two hundred and fifty thousand people had come to the nation's capital to petition their government for a redress of grievances. They had come from all over the nation, in every condition, in every conceivable attire, and in all kinds of vehicles. Even a skeptic like myself, with every reason to doubt that the petition would, or could, be heard, or acted on, could not fail to respond to the passion of so many people, gathered together, for that purpose, in that place. Their passion made one forget that a terrified Washington had bolted its doors and fled, that many politicians had been present only because they had been afraid not to be, that John Lewis, then of SNCC, had been forced to tone down his speech because of the insuperable arrogance of a Boston archbishop, that the administration had done everything in its power to prevent the March, even to finding out if I, who had nothing whatever to do with the March as organized, would use my influence to try to prevent it. (I said that such influence as I had, which wasn't much, would certainly not be used against the March, and, perhaps to prove this, I led the March on Washington from the American Church, in Paris, to the American Embassy, and brought back from Paris a scroll bearing about a thousand names. I wonder where it is now.)

In spite of all that one knew, and feared, it was a very stirring day, and one very nearly dared, in spite of all that one knew, to hope -- to hope that the need and the passion of the people, so nakedly and vividly, and with such dignity revealed, would not be, once again, betrayed. (The People's Republic of China had sent a telegram in our support, which was repudiated by Roy Wilkins, who said, in effect, that we would be glad to accept such a telegram on the day that the Chinese were allowed to petition their government for redress of grievances, as we were petitioning ours. I had an uneasy feeling that we might live to hear this boast ring somewhat mockingly in our ears.)

But Martin had been quite moving that day. Marlon [Brando] (carrying a cattle prod, for the purpose of revealing the depravity of the South) and Sidney Poitier and Harry Belafonte, Charlton Heston, and some others of us had been called away to do a Voice of America show for Ed Murrow, and so we watched and listened to Martin on television. All of us were very silent in that room, listening to Martin, feeling the passion of the people flowing up to him and transforming him, transforming us. Martin finished with one hand raised: "Free at last, free at least, praise God Almighty, I'm free at last!" That day, for a moment, it almost seemed that we stood on a height, and could see our inheritance; perhaps we could make the kingdom real, perhaps the beloved community would not forever remain that dream one dreamed in agony. The people quietly dispersed at nightfall, as had been agreed. Sidney Poitier took us out to dinner that night, in a very, very quiet Washington. The people had come to their capitol, had made themselves known, and were gone: no one could any longer doubt that their suffering was real. Ironically enough, after Washington, I eventually went on the road, on a lecture tour which carried me to Hollywood. So I was in Hollywood when, something like two weeks later, my phone rang, and a nearly hysterical, white, female CORE worker told me that a Sunday school in Birmingham had been bombed, and that four young black girls had been blown into eternity. That was the first answer we got to our petition.

The original plans for the March on Washington has been far from polite: the original plan had been to lie down on the airport runways, to block the streets and offices, to immobilize the city completely, and to remain as long as we had to, to force the government to recognize the urgency and the justice of our demands. Malcolm was very caustic about the March on Washington, which he described as a sell-out. I think he was right. Martin, five years later, was five years wearier and five years sadder, and still petitioning. But the impetus was gone, because the people no longer believed in their petitions, no longer believed in their government. The reasoning behind the March on Washington, as it eventually evolved -- or as it was, in Malcolm's words, "diluted" -- was that peaceful assembly would produce the best results. But, five years later, it was very hard to believe that the frontal assault, as planned, on the capitol, could possibly have produced more bloodshed, or more despair. Five years later, it seemed clear that we had merely postponed, and not at all to our advantage, the hour of dreadful reckoning.

Martin and Andrew and I said good night to each other, and promised to meet in New York.

--James Baldwin, from To Be Baptized, one of two essays collected in his book, No Name In The Streets.

[mxdimitrescu]

Love Found in Cafe

Synopsis: Krashlyn meets a charming stranger and falls for her charms.

Genre: Fluff

Pairings: Ashlyn Harris x August Kane x Ali Kreiger

(Masterlist)

As Ali stood outside their hotel room, tapping her foot impatiently, she couldn't help but feel a twinge of frustration. She had been ready for ages, while Ash seemed to be taking an eternity to perfect her hair. "Ash, come on!" she called out, her tone a mixture of impatience and amusement.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Ash emerged from the room, still fussing over her hair. "You can't rush this hair, babe," she explained with a grin, completely unfazed by Ali's exasperation.

Rolling her eyes, Ali reached out and grabbed Ash's hand, urging her to hurry downstairs to the conference room. As they made their way through the hotel corridors, Ali couldn't help but tease Ash about her meticulous grooming routine, earning herself a playful swat on the arm in response.

Upon entering the conference room, they were greeted with a mix of cheers and teasing remarks from their teammates. Some chuckled knowingly, while others offered playful jibes about Ash's apparent tardiness.

"Looks like someone had a late start this morning!"

"Trouble in paradise, ladies?"

Ali shot a playful glare at the teasing voices, but couldn't help but chuckle along with them. She then turned to Ash and, with mock seriousness, declared, "You know, Ash, I think you might have set a new record for the longest time spent on hair maintenance this morning."

Ash laughed and playfully nudged Ali in response. "Hey, you know I have to look my best for our big day," she replied with a wink, earning herself an eye roll from Ali and a round of laughter from their teammates.

Ash huffed in mock annoyance as she flopped down into one of the empty chairs, earning a laugh from Ali as she settled in beside her. Jill, the team leader, approached the front of the room and cleared her throat, immediately drawing everyone's attention.

"Now that everybody's here," Jill began, her gaze lingering pointedly on Ash, "Today is your free day. We'll start training for the finals tomorrow. So, go out, explore, have fun, but be back here before 7pm for dinner and one last meeting."

With that, the team dispersed into smaller groups and headed out of the hotel. Ali, Ash, Christen, Tobin, Kelley, and Alex found themselves together, wandering the streets of Paris, France. They visited various shops and iconic landmarks, taking in the sights and sounds of the bustling city.

As they strolled along, something caught Ali's eye, and she tugged on Ash's hand, leading her away from the group. Curious, Ash followed, trusting Ali's instincts.

They soon found themselves outside a charming little café, the inviting aroma of freshly brewed coffee and baked goods wafting through the air. Ash's stomach rumbled in response, and they eagerly joined the queue at the register, greeted warmly by the café staff.

"Bonjour, que puis-je faire pour vous aujourd'hui?" The café worker greeted them in French, her warm smile faltering slightly when she noticed the puzzled expressions on Ash and Ali's faces. Translation: Hello, what can I get for you today?")

Ash turned to Ali with wide eyes, silently mouthing, 'I don't know French.'

Ali's brows furrowed with concern. "Oh, um, we don't speak French. Perhaps English?" she asked, her voice tinged with worry.

"Je suis désolé, je ne parle pas anglais. Laissez-moi trouver quelqu'un qui le parle," the woman apologized, scanning the room for assistance. (Translation: "I'm sorry, I don't speak English. Let me find someone who does.")

Before Ali could respond, a smooth, slightly deep, raspy voice cut in, interrupting the frantic search. "No worries, I speak French," it declared confidently.

Ali and Ash turned to see a tall figure stepping forward, his voice exuding calm assurance. He gave them a reassuring smile, indicating that he would assist them.

Both Ali and Ash turned to see their savior, greeted by a very tall, tanned girl standing at about 6'2. She had shoulder-length curly hair that cascaded in wild waves and stormy gray eyes that seemed to hold a hint of mischief.

"What do you guys want?" she asked, her voice confident and friendly, her demeanor exuding a casual charm that put them at ease.

"Uhh um, two espressos, two macaroons, and one of those mocha cake slices," Ali mumbled out, feeling a bit flustered by the sudden assistance.

The stranger smiled warmly, her eyes crinkling at the corners, and turned to the café worker, effortlessly switching back to French. "Ils auront deux expressos, deux macarons, et une de ces parts de gâteau au moka. Je vais prendre un café glacé au caramel avec des crêpes fourrées au chocolat. Je vais les payer," she ordered, her tone polite but firm, her command of the language impeccable. (Translation: "They will have two espressos, two macaroons, and one of those mocha cake slices. I'll get an iced caramel coffee with chocolate-filled crepes. I'll pay for them.")

She handed her card over to the worker, who took it and swiftly swiped it through the machine before handing it back with a nod of approval. As Ash reached into her purse to retrieve the money, the stranger interjected, "No worries, I got you."

"Are you sure? It seems like quite a lot," Ali asked, her concern evident in her tone.

"I'm sure," the stranger replied with a reassuring smile, her eyes twinkling with sincerity.

"Well, then you should sit with us if you're going to pay for us," Ash offered, a warm smile spreading across her face.

"I will gladly take up the offer of eating with two gorgeous women such as yourselves," the stranger replied with a wink, causing a slight red tint to appear on both Ali and Ash's cheeks.

The three of them made their way to find an empty table and settled down, exchanging introductions as they waited for their order to arrive. "I just realized that I never introduced myself. I'm Ali, and this is my girlfriend, Ashlyn," Ali said, extending her hand in greeting.

"No worries, I'm August," she responded with a warm smile. "So, based on your accent, you're American. What brought you here?"

"The women's tournament actually," Ali replied.

"Oh, that's right, the women's soccer World Cup. You two soccer players?" August asked, her curiosity piqued.

"Yep, Ali's a defender, and I'm the goalkeeper," Ash chimed in just as the café worker arrived with their food and drinks.

"Merci beaucoup," August said with a grateful smile as the lady walked away, leaving the three of them to enjoy their meal.

"Mmh, this is so good," Ash hummed happily after taking a sip of her coffee, earning chuckles from Ali and August.

"What about you? I can hear a slight American accent," Ash asked, intrigued.

"Ah yes, I'm from Florida actually, but I moved here when I turned 18 to attend a cooking school. I haven't been back since then," August explained.

"Oh, may I ask why you haven't come back?" Ali inquired gently.

"Sure...my parents died when I was 20 years old, and I don't have any other family, so there was nothing to come back to. I just decided to stay," August shrugged, a hint of sadness flickering in her eyes before she quickly composed herself.

"Oh, I'm sorry for your loss," Ali said, her smile tinged with sadness.

"It's fine. I've grown to love this place anyway," August replied, her smile genuine despite the somber topic.

Their conversation was interrupted by the ringing of a phone, which turned out to be Ash's. She took the call and listened intently before hanging up with a sigh.

"Hey...it's 6:30 already? Yeah, we'll be there. Okay, bye," Ash informed Ali, turning to her with a sense of urgency. "We gotta go. Dinner is at 7 and then a meeting after that."

August's expression flickered with disappointment, but she quickly masked it as they glanced back at her. Despite the reluctance to end their conversation, they all stood up, disposed of their trash, and made their way out of the café. They stood in silence for a moment as the breeze gently brushed against them.

"So, umm, I guess this is goodbye. Good luck at the World Cup," August said softly as she turned to walk back to her home.

Ash and Ali felt a pang of regret as they watched August leave. They had shared a connection with her, a brief but meaningful moment that left an impression on them both. As August disappeared from view, they exchanged a glance, silently acknowledging the mutual feeling of reluctance to let her go.

But just as they were about to part ways, Ash's expression suddenly changed, a realization dawning on her.

"WAIT!"

August turned around to see Ash and Ali running toward her, their expressions filled with urgency.

"We have finals in two days. Come see us? We'll provide tickets," Ash asked hopefully, her voice tinged with desperation.

August bit her lip, considering their offer, before smiling at them. "Sure...gimme your phone."

Ash handed her phone to August, who quickly typed in her contact information before handing it back.

"You have my phone number. Text me about the tickets," August said as she turned and walked away, waving her hand back at them. "See ya gorgeous ladies later!"

Ali and Ash watched August as she disappeared around a corner, their hearts pounding with anticipation. Just as they were about to discuss their encounter, Ash's phone buzzed with a notification. Her face paled as she read the message.

"Ali..."

"Yeah?"

"We're ten minutes late..."

"Shit..." Ali cursed, realizing the gravity of their situation.

•••••

As the day of the game arrived, Krashlyn and August had been texting each other throughout the night and the next day, learning new things about each other. It was safe to say that Ali and Ash were slowly but surely developing feelings for August.

On the other hand, August was a bundle of nerves. She found herself attracted to both women, who were already in a relationship with each other. The late-night conversations only fueled the fire of emotions she felt for Ali and Ash, leaving her in a state of turmoil.

As the women's team entered onto the field for the game, Ali and Ash scanned the stands in hopes of spotting August, but she was nowhere to be found. The other girls on the team noticed their searching gazes and decided to inquire when they returned to the locker room.

Upon their return, Alex couldn't help but ask, "Ali, Ash, who or what were you looking for out there?"

Ash glanced at Ali for confirmation before she spoke up. "We met someone, two days ago when we went out. We ended up at this little café, and there was a communication barrier. Luckily, a stranger named August helped us out, and we invited her to sit with us. It was... amazing. We connected so well with her," Ali explained, her voice tinged with longing.

"When you guys called us that day, we didn't want to leave her so soon, so we invited her to the game," Ash added.

"So, you were looking for August, but I'm guessing she's not here?" Kelley asked, and Krashlyn nodded in confirmation.

"GAME TIME!" Jill's voice boomed into the locker room, putting the conversation on hold as the women geared up and headed outside to start the game.

In the first 20 minutes of the game, August finally arrived and took her seat in the stands. She watched in awe as Ash demonstrated pure concentration while managing the defense lineup, and she cheered enthusiastically when Ash made a crucial save. Meanwhile, Ali proved to be a formidable force in defending the ball from the goal box. Overall, August gained a newfound respect for the players and developed a newfound love for soccer.

The shrill sound of the whistle pierced through the air, signaling the end of the first half of the game. Players streamed off the field, seeking respite and hydration on the sidelines. Amidst the flurry of activity, Ali's gaze once again wandered to the stands, where she immediately caught August's eyes. A wide smile adorned August's face as she proudly sported Krieger's jersey, cheering fervently for Ali and Ash.

Ali's heart swelled with warmth as she called out to Ash, who initially looked at her in confusion until Ali motioned towards the stands. Ash followed Ali's gaze and spotted August, a surge of happiness coursing through her as their eyes met.

The second half commenced with the resounding blow of the whistle, and Ali and Ash shifted their focus back to the game, determined to give it their all and put on a show for August. For the next 45 minutes, they poured their hearts into every play, fueled by the desire to make their newfound friend proud.

As the final whistle blew, signaling the end of the game with a resounding 3-0 victory in favor of the USA, Ali and Ash's jubilation knew no bounds. They rushed towards each other, enveloping one another in a tight embrace before pulling back to share a celebratory kiss.

Meanwhile, the rest of the team made their way to the stands to reunite with their families, leaving Ali and Ash to make their way towards August, who was waiting at the barrier.

"Congrats, champs!" August exclaimed as they reached her, her eyes sparkling with admiration. "That was an amazing game—"

Before August could finish her sentence, Ali seized the moment, pulling her in by the jersey and pressing her lips against hers in a sudden, passionate kiss. The world seemed to stand still for a moment as they shared the intimate embrace.

Seconds later, Ash joined in, pulling August into another kiss, their connection electric and undeniable. As they finally pulled away, August was left speechless, her cheeks flushed with a deep blush as she processed the whirlwind of emotions that had just washed over her. And as they stood there, enveloped in the afterglow of victory and newfound affection, the surrounding spectators bore witness to the unexpected but undeniable chemistry between the three of them.

"I-I..." August stuttered, her mind reeling with a whirlwind of emotions.

Ali's voice broke through the tension, her tone filled with vulnerability. "Here's the thing," she began, her nerves palpable. "We like you. Like, a lot. And we want to date you... if that's something you're up for?"

August felt a rush of warmth flood her chest as she looked into the earnest eyes of Ali and Ash. Their sincerity was undeniable, and for a moment, all of August's doubts melted away. She found herself nodding slowly, a soft smile tugging at the corners of her lips.

But words seemed to escape her, and before she could respond, Ali leaned in and pressed her lips against August's, a gentle yet passionate kiss that spoke volumes. Ash followed suit, her touch equally tender as she captured August's lips in a tender embrace.

As they pulled away, August felt a surge of warmth and acceptance wash over her. "I like you two, and I'm all for it, gorgeous," she finally murmured, her voice filled with sincerity and affection.

The three women grinned at each other, a newfound sense of connection blossoming between them.

Their tender moment was interrupted by Kelley's booming voice echoing across the field. "ASH! ALI! We need to take pictures!"

Reluctantly, Ali and Ash broke away from August, their fingers lingering as they exchanged one last smile.

"We gotta go, talk to you later?" Ash asked, her eyes shimmering with excitement as they began to descend from the barrier.

"Of course. Have fun, and I'll call you later, loves," August replied, waving at them with a smile.

As she watched them walk away, August couldn't help but feel a surge of gratitude wash over her. She knew that this was just the beginning of something beautiful, and she couldn't wait to see where this newfound connection would take them.

[sydneyindawoodz]

An Olympic Confession🥰

The Paris 2024 Olympics had been the biggest stage of your life. You’d just come off the track after winning gold in the 200-meter final, your legs still burning from the sprint. The adrenaline was still coursing through your veins as you stood on the podium, soaking in the cheers of the crowd, but what truly made your heart race wasn't just the victory—it was knowing Halle Bailey had been watching in the stands.

Halle had been texting you throughout the games, offering encouragement and support, but it was more than just friendship. There was something between you, something neither of you had fully admitted out loud yet. At least, not until now.

The post-race press conference was buzzing with excitement. Journalists from all over the world were eager to ask you questions about your race, your training, and what it felt like to win gold.

You were fielding questions, answering them with your usual grace, until one reporter asked something that threw you off balance.

"First of all, congratulations on the gold medal!" the reporter began. "Now that the Olympics are over, what’s next for you? Do you have any plans to celebrate? Maybe with someone special?"

Your heart skipped a beat, and before you could stop yourself, your mind went straight to Halle. She had sent you a message earlier: "Can’t wait to see you after the race. I’m so proud of you!" Her support meant the world to you, but in that moment, your brain was running on pure exhaustion and excitement.

"Uh, yeah…" You fumbled with the microphone, laughing nervously. "I actually have someone special in mind. Halle Bailey… Yeah, I mean, she’s…"

The room went dead silent.

You froze, realizing what you had just said. A mix of gasps and laughter broke out from the reporters, and you could feel your face burning as cameras flashed in your direction.

"Wait," another reporter interrupted, clearly intrigued. "Halle Bailey? Are you saying you’re dating the singer and actress?"

You blinked, realizing there was no going back now. You hadn’t meant to say it like this—definitely not in front of the world. But it was out, and part of you felt a strange sense of relief.

"Well…" you started slowly, nervously running your hand through your hair. "We’re not officially dating… but I, uh, I really like her. Like, a lot. She’s been there for me during the games, and I guess I just let that slip."

The room erupted in chatter as the reporters jotted down every word. They were eating it up. You’d just accidentally confessed your feelings for Halle Bailey in a post-Olympic press conference.

One of the reporters grinned, leaning in. "So, do you think she feels the same way?"

You chuckled nervously, shaking your head. "I have no idea. I guess we’ll see after this."

After the press conference, you were both mortified and relieved. You had no idea how Halle was going to react, but you had just bared your feelings for the whole world to see. As you stepped away from the cameras and interviews, your phone buzzed in your pocket.

It was a message from Halle: "So… I just saw the press conference. 😊"

Your stomach dropped. You quickly typed back: "I’m so sorry, that wasn’t how I wanted to tell you…"

Moments later, your phone buzzed again. "Don’t apologize. I’ve been waiting for you to say something. Dinner after this? 💖"

Your heart leaped. You couldn’t believe it—Halle felt the same way. The whole awkward confession had somehow turned out in your favor.

Absolutely. I’ll see you soon, you replied, a huge smile on your face.

Later that evening, you met Halle at a quiet restaurant in Paris, away from the chaos of the media. When you walked in and saw her standing there, her smile lit up the room.

"You know," she said, greeting you with a hug, "I didn’t expect to find out how you felt during a live press conference in front of the whole world, but I’m glad you did."

You laughed, still a little embarrassed. "Yeah, that wasn’t exactly the plan. But I’m really glad you saw it."

"Me too," she said softly, her hand brushing against yours. "And just so you know, I feel the same way."

The rest of the night was a blur of laughter and easy conversation, the weight of your accidental confession lifting as the two of you finally admitted what you had both been feeling all along. As you walked through the streets of Paris with Halle, hand in hand, you realized that this might just be the best thing to come out of your Olympic experience—gold medal and all.