#it will save them a ticket to paris!

[tommydarlings]

Vienna | s.v

pairing: dark!rbr!seb x reader

warnings: dark, obsessive behaviour, possessive behaviour, manipulation, mentions of stalking, gun use, inappropriate usage of a gun

w/c: 2.2k

summary: After leaving your beautiful home country because of the infamous German redbull racing driver, sebastian vettel, you thought that the nightmare would finally be over — but that was just the beginning.

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Leaving your beloved country called England, was definitely something that hurt you but you had no other option.

After you’ve rejected redbull's golden boy, Sebastian Vettel, two time already — he still asks you like it’s the first time, with a smug smile and some specific kind of darkness lingering in his usually oh so bright eyes.

And every time you reject him — just because you're simply not interested, he comes crawling back… almost like you’re his addiction that he just can’t let go.

At first you thought that it wasn’t all to bad since you actually kinda liked him — as a friend — but after two times of asking you the exact same question with the exact same sinister smile on his face, you’ve lost every kind of likeness for him in a matter of days.

And now you're here, in Paris, all alone — only because of him.

It physically sickened you already how many times he texted you. Unstoppably. Even after you blocked him and reported his number, he always found a way to contact you all over again. It even got so bad that you started to get serious nightmares because of him, haunting you until the early morning hours.

But the worst part were the letters that you’ve received after you decided to throw your phone away since he just wouldn’t stop texting or calling you. The letters were basically what widened the imagination for your awful nightmares that gave you sleepless nights.

Some of those letters that you’ve got in your mailbox were filled with threats, some with lovely and sweet words and some with one single word or short sentences that made goosebumps appear your skin.

“Mine.”

“I'm always going to find you.”

“You can’t run away, little lamb.”

“Forever.”

And after receiving those letters in France as well, you left the country again. With tears in your eyes you decided to go to Russia without telling any one your friends about it. When you left England — and all of your friends behind, you told them that you’ll go to Paris but now, nobody’s knows.

Or that’s at least what you thought, but in the end you’ve realised that this assumption of yours was wrong.

You furrowed your brows as the doorbell rang, disturbing you from desperately trying to choose the cheapest flight to Russia, but you furrowed your brows even harder as the mailman handed you a package from an unknown sender, but deep down you sadly already knew who this 'unknown sender' was.

“Thank you,” you quietly mumbled to the kind mailman before you closed the front door and gently placed the surprisingly lightweight package onto your dinner table, slowly opening it.

And you almost couldn’t believe your own eyes as you saw what this 'unknown sender' sent you.

A first class airplane ticket to Russia.

You gulped before you quickly shut your curtains and continued packing you things, swiftly and slightly nervously leaving your small apartment in France behind.

- - -

“Thank you, Anastasia,” you said kindly to your neighbour as she brought you the mail that the mailman accidentally delivered to the wrong address. “No problem,” she replied with a strong Russian accent before you closed the door behind you, observing the small envelopes.

But one, rather big and light brown one, stood out.

Tears already entered your eyes as you quickly ripped it open, slowly not only growing scared by all of this, but also mad.

But this time it wasn’t only a sick 'love letter' filled with 'sweet' or threatening or possessive words — No, this time there were pictures included, pictures that made you stomach twist, almost wanting to throw up.

There were five pictures, just like his driver's number.

One where you were cooking in your panties and a short top, slightly moving around the kitchen while you were listening to some song you can’t remember anymore.

The second one was one of you doing your daily workout routine, a picture of you in the plank position, tiny frown on your sweaty face as you tried to focus.

The third one was definitely taken from the small upper window from your living room, you were able to see your figure from behind, sitting on the couch while you were watching your favourite horror movie, eating a bowl of popcorn while doing so.

The fourth made you gasp, it was a picture of you showering — obviously, completely naked, which was perfectly able to be seen on the picture, which means that he saw you naked now, that fucking pervert.

But the fifth one — the last one, probably scared you the most, even though you wouldn’t have thought that, that would be able after the last one.

It was a picture of you sleeping, but this time it wasn’t taken from a window like the other ones…it was taken from the bedroom, inside the house.

The sickening picture showed you sleeping peacefully on your left side while Sebastian's hand brushed some of your hair out of your face, fingertips only slightly touching your hot skin.

You sniffled in fear and sadness but also anger before you took all of those five pictures and ripped them in half, hastily throwing them into your trashcan before you booked your next ticket.

This time to the wonderful vienna.

- - -

“Hier, bitteschön,” Here you go, The barista told you with a smile, for a grumpy city like Vienna, she was very kind.

Since you’re living in a pretty little but modern apartment in the capital city of Austria, you learned some German. But you were still struggling a bit with the Austrian accent.

You nodded before you mumbled a quick 'danke' thank you.

Luckily, your apartment was only a few meters away from your apartment so you arrived at your new home in a matter of just a few minutes, quickly opening the door with your silver key and gently putting the pink donut and the strong coffee onto the kitchen counter.

You sighed as you picked your new nail up, hands already slightly trembling but that quickly stopped again as soon as you noticed that the mail is actually normal and not scary or psychotic.

You gulped your fear down and turned around with a tiny grin, actually genuinely happy that the creepy German doesn’t stalk you anymore.

But then you’ve noticed the small package.

With hot tears and slightly shaky hands, you picked it up and set it down onto the table, gently grabbing a sharp knife and opening it. But you were only able to furrow your brows as you’ve noticed that it’s a tape.

A small, black VHS video tape.

You sighed and took a deep breath before you quickly went over to your VHS video recorder, gently putting the tape into the black recorder before you pressed 'play' and then set yourself down onto your small couch that's facing the TV.

You gulped as you covered your mouth, tears entering your eyes all over again as you saw Sebastian entering your modern apartment back in Russia, slowly creeping through your kitchen until he reached your trashcan, pulling the destroyed pictures with a loud sigh out of the trashcan before he set the camera onto the kitchen counter, looking directly at it now with a smile.

You don’t even wanna imagine how many women he fooled with that perfect smile before.

But then his smile faded again as he gazed down at the ripped pictures of yourself.

“Can I be real honest with you, meine liebe, my love, I was really hurt when I saw this through my binoculars,” the young German formula one racer said into the camera, making you wipe some of your tears away before you sniffled in pure fear.

“I though you would like them! But I guess I was sadly wrong,” he mumbled before he smiled again as he pulled tape out of the pocket of his jeans, quickly sticking the pictures back together with a sinister dark gaze in his eyes.

After that, he got a hold of his black backpack, swiftly pulling five dark picture frames out of it, gently putting them down onto the counter before he framed — in a very gently way, all five pictures, smirking as he did so.

Then he put them into his backpack before he put it back around his back, laying the undersides of his arms onto the cold counter top before he put his cheek onto them, happily smiling at the camera,

“See you in vienna, baby.”

And then the video ended. Leaving you in nothing else than tears.

Suddenly, you felt a big hand covering your mouth from behind, other hand quickly grabbing your wrists in a rather rough manner, pressing them tightly to your body, “Hallo, mein liebling.” Hello my darling.

You gasped before you softly cried into his palm, tears streaming down your heated cheeks now as your entire body started to tremble, “Missed me? I bet you did, am I right?”

But you only shook your head as you whined into his warm palm, making him press your arms even tighter to your body,

“I said…am I right?” The German asked you again in a deeper tone, German accent strong.

This time, you agreed with his wicked statement, slowly nodding as he slowly let go of your wrists, surprisingly freeing them in a gently manner before he reached for something in his back pocket.

Swiftly, he pulled a tiny gun out of his the right pocket, making you gulp as he slowly put it in front of your face, showing it off to you like it’s a brand new phone he just got himself.

Sebastian chuckled as he saw your facial expression that showed nothing more than fear now, “She’s pretty isn’t she?” He asked as he wiggled the gun in front of your face, showing you that it’s actually loaded with bullets.

You gasped as you heard the bullets rattling in his gun, raising your eyebrows and widening your eyes as the German redbull driver brushed a few strands of hair out of your face with the top of it, making you gulp.

“But clearly not as pretty as you, baby,” he muttered into your ear from behind before he slowly removed his palm from your mouth, gently placing it into the back of your head,

“S-Sebastian, please-”

“Shhh,” Sebastian immediately interrupted you, shaking his head from side to side with a tiny angry frown on his face before he went on, playing with the gun in front of your face like it’s a toy one, “Just do as I say…and none of those pretty little — but very painful, bullets will hit your delicate and oh so beautiful skin, meine liebe,” he said in a undertone with a grin on his face.

You knew that you shouldn’t have agreed like it means nothing, but you were just so unbelievably scared right now that you couldn’t risk anything, you simply couldn’t.

“O-Okay,” you nodded as tears landed onto your temple and cheeks, but Sebastian didn’t even acknowledged them, he only continued smiling like a sick and twisted fuck.

He nodded as he briefly bit his lip, “Great! Perfect!” He laughed along his sentence.

Suddenly, you felt him going on his knees, tying your hair in a rather clean makeshift ponytail and slowly bending your head backwards towards himself, making you whine,

“It’s okay, hey,” Sebastian spoke up, “If you cooperate like a good girl, I won’t hurt you, okay?”

You gulped and nodded, making you him forcefully tug on your ponytail, “Words goddammit.”

“Okay,” you answered in a quick manner, making him immediately smile down at you again, “that’s my good little girl,” he said before he ran his along your trembling lips, this time noticing your fear,

“Entspann, meine liebe, alles is okay.” Relax, my love, everything is okay.

But you were definitely far away from being relaxed, especially as soon as he spoke up again, genuinely scaring you with his words this time,

“Open your mouth.”

You choked on your breath as you felt him smiling against your cheek, fingers on the back of your head — that are still holding a neatly done makeshift ponytail — now softly stroking your scalp.

Very slowly, you opened your mouth, squeezing your eyes shut as you felt him slowly shoving the loaded gun into your mouth, roughly tasting the metal on your tongue now.

“So ein gutes mädchen.” Such a good girl.

“So brav, nur für mich, huh?” So good, only for me, huh?

Then he shoved the heavy metal gun further down your throat, forcefully choking you with it, making you gag around it.

“That’s what I wanted to hear,” he smiled against your wet cheek, making you cry and whine out, tears landing on top of his fingers and the gun now.

He sighed as you squeezed your eyes shut and tried to not choke on the loaded gun, “Gosh, this looks and sounds way better than I imagined it, to be honest,” he whispered into you ear before he kissed your wet temple.

Suddenly, Sebastian's hand let go of your makeshift ponytail created by him and put his palm onto the back of your head, slowly forcing your head towards the gun, making you choke on it even more as you gagged around it.

“Oh god,” Sebastian spoke up in a deep and raspy tone, making you open your eyes again, “Look what you’ve done to me,” he said before he turned your head so that you could see his crotch area.

And there he was, on his knees, shoving you a loaded gun down your throat with a big boner in his jeans, happily smiling at you.

[slapthebass]

EUROPE TOUR24 FROM DEPRESSION TO [mode of Withering to death & UROBOROS] - Live reports (Warsaw + Paris)

Warsaw - Progresja 19/03/24 (mode of WTD)

Travelled to Poland on the 16th, we had mixed weather during the week-end but it was luckily quite sunny (albeit cold-ish) while we queued outside the venue! My friend and I had Priority upgrades for this show so we arrived around 14:30 & waited right next to the VIP queue. Venue logistics for the queue(s) were a bit fuzzy at first* but we got our laminated passes around 16:00 (just after the VIPs got theirs + goodies) then waited for a bit after 18:00 when the VIPs entered the building. Diru/prod staff keeps a printed list of VIP/priority passes holders and distributes passes and goodies by checking the names.

*Fans were better organised with sharpies and unofficial waiting numbers :)

We went in and waited (again :) ) in the pit for 1h, behind the caution tape separating the VIP from the rest of the room. This allowed us to get some merch at the stand, then at 19:00 the security guards lifted the caution tape and we managed to get nice spots at the 2nd & 3rd rows in front of Die's mic. We waited again for another hour while the general attendance ticket holders entered the venue, then the show started around 20:20 (a bit late because of a technical issue with Die's guitar apparently, that had all their technicians running around looking stressed out), without any intro if I remember correctly, maybe because of said technical issue (but there were Diru remixes being played through the speakers during the whole time we waited inside).

I was unfortunately right next to an annoying (& bulky) man who kept pushing me & other fans around the whole time (I fought for my life the whole set and almost fell when the members entered the stage), but otherwise the show was very nice, it was great seeing them live for the first time even though it felt quite unreal! WTD is not my favourite album but it was still amazing to hear the songs live and the audience was really into it <3 I could see Die very clearly, Toshiya also came around a few times, as well as Kaoru in the end, but my view of Kyo and Shinya was a bit blocked. Die wore his usual tights with a black sleeveless top and red jacket; Shinya had a flowy white shirt as always; Kyo sported a simple black t-shirt & track pants (?) with a nice white make-up on the top half of his face; Toshiya wore the black siren dress (I almost died seeing it with my own two eyes) with thigh-high boots (not the same pair as in the 2024 Yurameki PV though, they had bulky heels instead of stilettos heels for practical reasons obviously :D), and Kaoru wore a black suit with a white shirt.

They all looked a bit jetlagged, having landed in Poland only the day before the 1st concert, and Die was breathing quite heavily during Akuro no oka in the end! The show ended quite abruptly with Akuro no oka, I was expecting Rasetsukoku as they tend to end most concerts with it but they all left the stage (Kaoru, Die and Toshiya being of course the last to leave after throwing picks everywhere).

On a personal note, I was overjoyed the finally see the brown ESP bass which is heavily featured on WTD songs <3

The setlist: https://www.setlist.fm/setlist/dir-en-grey/2024/progresja-warsaw-poland-6baa32c2.html

The show ended around 22:00, it took a while for everyone to leave the venue!

Warsaw - Progresja 20/03/24 (mode of UROBOROS)

We had VIP upgrades this time & arrived around the same time as the day before, to wait with other fans under a nice sun :) Logistics were better than for the 1st show, with barriers already in place and 3 visible queues (VIP/Priority at the front + GA at the back of the 1st two lines). We heard reports & anecdotes from the previous day's VIP meet & greet and were 'warned' that Kyo had a paper bag on his head, so that saved us some awkwardness later :').

Staff also came while we were waiting, to check the names/tickets and distribute laminated passes & VIP goodies. We got a nice cotton bag, a fan, and an enveloppe to protect the postcards distributed by the group members. This time we got both a laminated pass and a wrist bracelet, to avoid cheating with passes from the day before. Staff also warned us no to take pictures/touch them during the M&G, then we entered the venue around 18:00 as expected. People queued in the stairs then before the doors of the main room upstairs (some went directly to the merch stand while we waited here), then the doors opened and we went inside one by one in a continued file, to meet the members and get the postcards. It was all very quick, I was a bit confused because they stayed in a quite dark area and I almost didn't recognize Kaoru who was first in line, oops. We didn't really had time to speak with them so I just took the signed postcards while thanking each of them; after Kaoru was Die with big sunglasses, Kyo with a paper bag on his head, Shinya with a mask on and Toshiya with sunglasses (he was the most smiley of them all and looked really nice and patient!). They were not yet wearing their stage outfits/makeup (except maybe for Kyo under the bag I guess?), and there was a gift box right next to the table to leave stuff for them.

Then we rushed to the stage and got 1st/2nd row spots, right between Kyo's platform on the left and Die's mic on the right! We waited again for two hours while speaking with nice fans from Romania who were right next to and behind us (hi if you're reading that!).

The show started on time with a nice intro video; it started with Vinushka, which is one of my favourite songs so I was really ecstatic to hear it live **. Kyo had a nice skull make-up which was really impressive with the visuals displayed on the screen! Then everything went blurry & heavy really fast haha, Uroboros really has to be experienced live at least once! HYDRA -666- & Reiketsu Nariseba in particular were especially impressive, they put them at the end of the main set to try and kill us I think :') (I was lucky enough to record the Toshiya-Die interaction during Reiketsu!). One calmer moment was Inconvenient Ideal, during which both Kaoru & Die went AWOL for a while (Kyo seemed to be looking for them at the beginning).

Not that the encore was softer, it started deceivingly 'calmly' with Dozing Green, then it was chaos again with Stuck Man, T.D.F.F. and Eddie back to back. Akuro no oka was again the last song of the encore/show, but they all looked less tired than the day before even though the show was more intense!

The audience was enthusiastic once again and we got pushed a lot from behind, but it was an overall great show.

Kyo left the stage first as usual after saying bye-bye, then Shinya briefly went on the platform to throw his drumsticks before leaving. Kaoru, Die and Toshiya stayed for a bit, throwing picks and water, and I managed to get one of Toshiya's bass picks!

The setlist: https://www.setlist.fm/setlist/dir-en-grey/2024/progresja-warsaw-poland-6baa32c2.html

We took again a while to leave the venue, and headed to the merch stand to get more stuff (WTD/Uroboros lucky charms, stickers and postcards with cute drawings of the band members as monsters enjoying their trip to Europe <3).

Paris - Bataclan 22/03/24 (mode of WTD)

After a day of respite to travel back home, we headed to the Bataclan concert hall early in the afternoon to queue. I was a bit nervous as I'd never been to this venue before despite living in Paris, and its name was of course associated with dark memories from the 2015 terror attacks, but in the end the excitement to see Diru live again was greater than my anxiety :)

We had Priority upgrades and waited in the queue that was already in place; everything seemed quite well organised at first with three delimited lines but it ended a bit messy in the end with the VIPs moving to another line on the other side of the sidewalk, Priority upgrades members not knowing where to wait, etc. Luckily the weather was nice and sunny, and we waited more or less patiently until staff came with the laminated passes around 16:00. The VIPs got inside the venue a bit before 18:00, then the Priority upgrades; we waited again behind a caution tape inside the concert hall, which was then lifted at 19:00 and we managed to grab nice spots on the left side of the stage this time, I was at the barrier (1st row) right before Kaoru's mic and with an amazing view of Toshiya & Kyo!

There was a support artist this time, a French DJ who did his best to entertain us but I must admit we weren't really into it as we were waiting for the main set to begin. It wasn't that bad but I'd have preferred to wait with the Diru remixes like in Warsaw!

Unlike the 1st day in Warsaw, we had the intro music + video just before the band entered the stage (Die in red&white, Shinya in white, Kyo in black with a touch of eye-liner, Toshiya in the white dress and Kaoru in a steampunk-ish suit and vest **). Mode of WTD was great in Warsaw but it was wild in Paris, the audience sang everything loudly, cheered & clapped and the band seemed to really appreciate the vibe :)

It was the first time I really saw Kaoru so close (except for a few appearances on the right side of the stage in Warsaw) and it was amazing to see him play and make faces at the crowd & cameras, he really knows how to motivate people by (lovingly) yelling at them \o/

There was a funny moment during Akuro no oka in the end, when Toshiya almost began his bass solo too early with a single "klonk" and looked sheepish for a second (Kaoru was like "erm, i'm not finished yet mate" while still playing the guitar :D). I recorded the whole song but my phone mysteriously freezed right at this point so we concluded that Toshiya is actually a telepath and erased it with his preternatural powers :').

A very nice evening overall, it was the perfect combination of great songs & performances from the band + overjoyed participation from the audience! And the crowd was both enthusiastic and very chill pushing-wise on our end, so that was a nice respite from the Warsaw shows physically speaking :)

The setlist: https://www.setlist.fm/setlist/dir-en-grey/2024/le-bataclan-paris-france-3aa096f.html

Paris - Bataclan 23/03/24 (mode of UROBOROS)

THE BEST CONCERT EVER

(Sorry, this needed to be said first).

4th (and last :'( ) show of the tour for us, so we hoped it would be great and we were not disappointed!

The queue outside was incredibly chaotic: despite being more or less organised the day before, it was a mess this time and nobody really knew where to wait. In addition, the weather was atrocious and we got rain showers, a chilly wind *and* a freezing hailstorm during the afternoon, everybody ended up soaked with chattering teeth for the remainder of the waiting time... But the VIPs finally went inside around 18:00, then us (Priority upgrades again) around 20 mn later.

After the caution tape was lifted, we went to the right side of the stage and had a nice spot in front of Die's mic once again! Then the GA ticket holders went in and the room quickly got quite warm, before the support act even started. It was the same DJ as the previous evening but the audience was a bit more into it this time.

The band entered the stage around 20:25 like the other days, with intro song + video again. There was a technical issue with the projected images on the screen during at least 20 mn, the visuals for Vinushka were really blurry and we also saw a computer error message during the following songs, but it got fixed at some point and didn't stop us from enjoying the show: from Vinushka to Bugaboo, everything was already wild but the band + crowd went really insane after that until near the end of the encore: Doukoku to Sarinu, HYDRA -666-, Gaika, Reiketsu Nariseba... the end of the main set was even wilder than the first time, they left us no time to breathe and we were all screaming, headbanging and jumping everywhere. Kyo looked really satisfied and apparently parted the crowd in two at some point (this is from another live report i read), the audience went wild and the security staff had to douse us with water to avoid more faintings (they had to evacuate at least three people from the pit from what i saw). I almost didn't take pictures this time, except for a few during the calmer songs and interludes because i just couldn't move for anything else than jumping up and down :')

We were already almost dead on our feet at the end of the main set, and the encore finished us, it was as wild as the main set but we managed to find some unexpected resources within us to scream and jump some more! Akuro no oka was a welcome and moving respite at the end (no bass solo mishap this time, a certain bassist was focusing haha), I personally wouldn't have survived another song like the rest and had to sit down after the show ended to re-learn how to breathe properly :') Luckily the venue staff took pity on us and put the AC on during the encore, so we barely managed not to pass out from heat exhaustion...

Then another great time at the end when the band members stayed on the stage: Kyo left quickly as usual but Shinya stayed a second longer than the other nights and threw not only his drumsticks but also a drumskin (??) like a frisbee in the crowd, then the usual suspects Kaoru, Toshiya and Die loitered for a while, throwing picks and smiling at the crowd <3 They looked like they didn't want to leave and neither did we!

The setlist: https://www.setlist.fm/setlist/dir-en-grey/2024/le-bataclan-paris-france-1baa7d90.html

Gear

Don't think you can get out from a gear overview! For both albums/shows combined, we got:

Kaoru:

ESP D-KV 7str [Nothing]

ESP D-KV custom (blue JZH)

ESP D-KV 薰 custom (greenish/yellowish DKV - tag to be updated)

Die:

ESP D-DR 7str (lava D-DR)

ESP D-DR (red ESP)

ESP D-DR-300 (red mesh)

Morris S-custom D (acoustic black)

Toshiya:

ESP D-TR [RU-DRIVE Arch] (the brown one)

ESP D-TT [TRICK STAR] 00 (the black one)

ESP D-TT [TRICK STAR] 04 (striped blue)

Shinya:

Remo + Signia drumkit (it seems to be his default drumkit for abroad tours, maybe not to damage his usual Pearl one ?)

Sabian cymbals (probably as I didn't manage to take clear pictures of the brand)

Aaand that's it, thanks for reading all that! :)

[an0ther1]

Two Is Always Better Than One pt.1

Leah x Alessia

A/N: This is a little excerpt from my AO3 series. Need your help though. Need name suggestions for a pair of puppies. Non footballer names and think one is constantly getting into trouble and the other is trying to stop them.

“At least we got our ticket into Champions League next year.” Alessia said as she cleaned out her locker. “That’s what I came here for. And we got the FA Cup. Considering where we were at the start of the season, I’m really proud of us.”

“Yeah, and we finished the season with almost everyone healthy again too, aside from Lia. Got lucky her knee wasn’t more serious. Couldn’t say that this time last year.” Leah answered as she pulled things off the shelves of her own locker to put into her bag.

“I really did want to play in Paris, but-” Alessia turned around. “Everyone is going to get a proper rest. And with all the trophies we’re going to win next year and the Euros, who knows when we will get that again.” She put the last of her things into her duffle and zipped it up before walking over to Leah and wrapping her arms around her girlfriend from behind. “Proper rest means proper holiday. Just the 2 of us, a beach, maybe a private villa.” She started kissing the back of Leah’s neck.

“Save it for the villa Russo!”

Alessia spun around. “Piss off McCabe. We all saw that mark on Caitlin’s neck that wasn’t there when we got here this mornin’. I mean really, we just came for the end of season talks”

“Poor girl bruises easy.” Katie shrugged. “So is that what yous have planned for the time off?”

“After we take care of a few things.” Leah said as she zipped up her bag. “Which we do need to get going. We have to be somewhere in an hour.”

“We do?”

“Another house to look at? How many have you seen now? 20? 30?” Katie asked as she picked up her own bag.

“It has only been 10. But no. We are not looking at a house today.” Leah threw her bag over her shoulder.

“Good. I’m still gutted we didn’t get the house on Fishpool. I think we need to take a break from looking.” Alessia said as she went back over to retrieve her bag.

“You put in on a place on Fishpool? Never said nothin’”

“It was waaaaay more house than we needed. Far too big.” Leah started to explain.

“But the garden was beautiful. And the extra bedrooms meant Ella could stay over when she came down and Keira and G all at the same time. Or my family and yours. There was enough room for everyone. And a gated drive so no one would have to park on the road. It was perfect.” Alessia huffed out.

“I know love. But it just wasn’t meant to be. The agent said there might be another one on that road going up soon and we would be able to get first look when it does.” Leah wrapped an arm around Alessia as she walked back over to her. “Come on, we really do need to get going. We’ll give you a ring for dinner soon, Macca.” She said as she started to gently push Alessia along.

“Sounds good Le.” Katie replied with a wink.

Alessia looked at Katie and then her girlfriend. But Leah’s face didn’t give any indication as to why Katie had winked at her so she ignored it. “What are we going to do for dinner tonight? We haven’t been to the shop in a bit and I don’t really want to do that and cook tonight.” She asked as they left the locker room.

Leah dropped her arm off Alessia to grab her hand instead. “I was thinking we might go out and try something new.”

“Oh, where?”

“No idea.” Leah shrugged. “See what we find.”

The pair dropped their bags into the boot of Leah’s car. “So where are we going?” Alessia asked as she slid into the passenger seat. “You never actually said.” The striker opened Spotify and hit play as Leah started the car. “And why did Katie wink at you?”

“Does anyone know why Macca does most of the things she does?” Leah shrugged. “And where we’re going is a surprise. But it won’t take us long to get there.”

Alessia eyed Leah suspiciously but didn’t push. The couple sang along with the music playing through the stereo for the next 10 minutes before Alessia recognized the area. “Lee. Babe.” Alessia turned in her seat towards Leah. “When I said I didn’t want to look at any more houses for a bit I meant it. And I REALLY don’t want to look at another Fishpool house. I need time to get over the first one.”

“We aren’t looking at another house.”

“Then why are we here? This street is literally just houses.” The passenger pointed out the window. “Lee. No, I don’t even want to drive by it. Just turn around here. Lee, are you listening?” Alessia turned abruptly in her seat. “I was really excited about that one. I could picture us having parties in the garden, our friends bringing their dogs over to play with ours. I didn’t think not getting a house would be this shitty.” She grumbled.

They passed by several houses in silence before Leah reached around the center console and grabbed Alessia’s hand. “I’m sorry Less. Even though I thought the house was far too big and more than we needed, I felt the same way. The garden is amazing. And you had a point about being able to have our friends all come and stay with us at the same time, or family.”

“Lee.”

“Mmm?”

“If you feel the same way that I do about not getting it, why are you pulling into the drive?” Alessia straightened in her seat.

Leah didn’t say anything and just cut the engine. And then she got out of the car without a word. Alessia scrambled to unbuckle and follow. “Lee. What are we doing here?” Alessia yell whispered over the top of the car as she jumped out. “LEAH! Are you listening? Are we even allowed to be here?”

Leah didn’t answer. She just calmly walked around the front of the car to Alessia and gently grabbed her hand, pulling the younger woman along.

“Leah, love.” Alessia pulled back her hand slightly but didn’t stop Leah from leading her around the side of the house. “I don’t need to see the gar-” Alessia did stop. “Why is Amanda here?”

“Well.” Leah turned back towards Alessia, pulling her girlfriend by the hand closer to her. “The estate agent is the one with the papers we need to sign.”

“Lee.” Alessia’s eyes widened as she gasped. “Papers?”

Leah stepped closer to Alessia, dropping their joined hands in favor of wrapping her arms around her waist. “Yes. The papers for our new house. Something happened with the other buyers and the deal fell through.” She smiled brightly. “It’s ours, love.” She gave the taller woman a quick kiss. “Now come on, we’re going to be late.”

Alessia pushed Leah’s shoulder. “Shut it.” She grabbed her elbow and pulled her back. “How long have you known about this?”

Leah leaned in until she could count every eyelash surrounding Alessia’s bright blue eyes. “About 2 weeks.” She snuck in another quick kiss before the other blonde pulled away.

“2 WEEKS?! Lee, we lost out on the house 17 days ago!” Alessia said with a look of total disbelief.

Leah tilted her head back and forth. “Okay, so maybe it was 16 days. But who’s counting.” She shrugged.

“LEAH CATHRINE!”

“Come on. We don’t want to keep Amanda waiting.” Leah grabbed Alessia’s hand again and started pulling her to the back of the house where Amanda was sitting on the built-in patio set, large stack of papers and pen in hand.

“Afternoon ladies.” The estate agent said brightly. “Should we get started on this?” She lifted the papers. “It might take a while.”

45 minutes later, Amanda had gone over and explained everything that was covered in the documents, most of which went over the heads of the blonde couple. They crossed every T and dotted every I on every line that had a bright highlighter tab next to it. “I don’t think if you combined all of our football contracts over the years that we have signed, they would be even half of that.” She worked out a cramp in her hand. “I haven’t done that much writing since Uni.”

“That wasn’t that long ago love.”

Alessia elbowed Leah.

“Alright ladies. I’ll get you a copy of this in the next few days, but.” Amanda restacked the pages neatly before placing them in her bag. She then dug into the pocket of her blazer. “These are yours.” She leaned forward and handed the couple a set of keys. “Congratulations.”

Before Leah could do anything, Alessia snatched the keys from the estate agent and jumped up. “Thanks Amanda!” She said over her shoulder as she took off for the nearest door into the house.

“Thank you Amanda, truly.” Leah stood up and hugged the agent.

“My pleasure. I would say reach out when you’re ready for your next one, but as a Gooner, I never want that to happen.”

“It won’t if I have anything to say about it. But I’ll ring you when we have the housewarming party.” Leah turned towards the house. “I better get in there.”

When Leah made it inside, Alessia was nowhere to be seen. She walked through the kitchen, into the open living area and down the hall. She peeked into one of the guest bedrooms, then another, until she got to the last room on the first floor. There were large floor to ceiling windows on one wall that looked out into the garden. The property was so vast that even though the neighbors were fairly close on either side of the house, not a single building could be seen from this room. The garden just continued on forever it seemed.

“Imagine all of our medals and trophies in here. Photos from the Euros on the wall, the FA Cup, World Cup, and everything else we still have to win.” The striker turned around where she was standing in front of the windows to look at Leah in the doorway. “Imagine standing in here, in this light and seeing everything we have accomplished together in this room.”

“In our home.” Leah slowly made her way over to Alessia. She had just reached her girlfriend.

“IS SOMEONE GOING TO GIVE US A TOUR OR IS IT A SELF GUIDED KIND OF THING.” Someone yelled from somewhere else in the house.

“Bloody hell.” Alessia yelped.

“Looks like the girls are here.”

“Did they alllll know about this before me?” Alessia questioned with a raised eyebrow.

Leah leaned her head against Alessia’s chest. “Maybe?” She mumbled.

Alessia chuckled as she wrapped her arms around Leah’s shoulders. “I want to be mad at you for keeping this from me.”

“LESS! LEAH! YOU TWO BETTER NOT BE SHAGGIN’ ALREADY! AT LEAST GET SOME FURNITURE FIRST!” Katie yelled down the hall.

The couple both laughed. “Mmm. That’s one way you can make it up to me for keeping this a secret for so long. But thank you Lee.” Alessia leaned back and moved her hands to either side of Leah’s face. “I can’t wait to make this a real home with you.” She gave her girlfriend a tender kiss.

“BLOODY HELL! YOU TWO BETTER HAVE CLOTHES ON!”

Leah’s shoulders shook. “Come on. We better get out there.”

[withacapitalp]

Countdown Pt 2

Follow up to this thing I wrote yesterday

People always acted funny when they saw his timer. They usually reacted in two ways- either they tried to pretend that they didn’t see it, or they said how sorry they were. 

That’s not enough time. 

Oh I wish you had more time. 

Only a few days? I’m sorry honey. 

But Steve had never been upset about it. Sure, he only had less than a week with his soulmate, but that only meant that their time was more treasured. They understood that they had to make every second count. 

Wasn’t that a good thing? 

“You’ll understand someday, Steven,” His mother had said quietly into her wine glass one night when it was just the two of them at home. She was sitting on the couch, flipping through their photo album idly, holding Steve hostage with stories about how good things used to be. How in love his parents were, once upon a time. How happy they used to be before the job, before the promotion, before the big house in Loch Nora. 

(They really mean before they had him. Not that either of his parents will ever admit that) 

“You’ll understand,” She repeated in a whisper, taking another long sip. 

“What will I understand?” Steve replied. Usually he tried to stay as still and silent as possible on nights like these, did his best to pretend like he didn’t exist, waiting for her to finally wave a hand and release him to his room. But this time he didn’t get it. 

“You’ll understand that this? This is a curse,” She spat out, holding up her right arm and showing him her timer. All zeroes. His mother’s soulmate had died when he was ten, but her timer had counted down. She had met him at some point in her life though. She knew him, but she hadn’t lived a life with him. Whoever he was, he had died alone.  

Steve had always wondered about that, always wanted to ask. If she knew who her soulmate was, why not be with them? If she had found that person, why not make every second count? 

“It’s a curse,” His mother had said, continuing when Steve didn’t say anything in response, finishing what was left in her glass, “Especially yours. I remember the first time I saw your timer. It was right after you were born. I was holding you against me, you were so little then, so sweet, and I looked down, and I saw it. Five days. What kind of God would only give my baby five days? Not a good one,”

Steve wasn’t exactly sure what kind of God was out there. If he was being fully honest, he wasn’t sure he believed in God at all. 

He believed….in the universe. He believed in something linking them all, something that knew them and wanted them to find the person that completed their lives. The Universe knew that Steve and his soulmate were strong enough to handle five days, four hours, and twenty two minutes. That unnamed unexplained universe knew that they would know what to do with that time. 

Steve had plans for his five days, four hours, and twenty two minutes. 

When he found that person, the first thing he was going to do was hold them for at least five of those minutes. Steve loved hugs, and his parents hated them, but his soulmate would love them too. He knew that for sure. 

So a five minute hug, and then he’d ask where they wanted to go. The two of them would travel to wherever his soulmate wanted. Steve had the money, he’d been saving every single birthday and Christmas check he had gotten since he was nine. By now, it was more than enough for two tickets to anywhere in the world. 

They would spend the whole plane ride talking and getting to know each other. They would laugh, probably a little too loudly, and annoy everyone else around them with how infatuated they were with each other. 

Maybe they’d go to Paris. Stroll through the city, eat pastries, stuff like that. Maybe they would end up in some remote part of the world where it felt like they were the only two people on the planet.

Maybe they’d just stay in Hawkins. Hole up in his house, listen to records, swim in the pool, or lie in bed all day. 

A hug, possibly a trip, and after that it was up to his soulmate. Steve wasn’t going to monopolize their five days with just his ideas. He had a bunch of suggestions if they didn’t know what they wanted, but those were the only two things he really cared about. 

He didn’t hug his soulmate when they finally laid eyes on each other. Steve didn’t even realize his timer had started counting down. 

He was too busy thinking about the broken bottle being held against his neck. 

By the time he and Eddie both realized that their timers had started, they were already in the thick of things. Steve had seen it while Nancy was wrapping her sweater around his waist to try and stem some of the blood coming gushing out of him from the bat bites. He had put both hands in his hair just to try and give himself some other pain to ground with, and his timer caught his eye. 

It was already on three days. 

He had only met one new person in the last two days. One new person who always hid his timer under a leather cuff around his wrist. 

Steve did go through with his plans, but it was a funhouse mirror version of them, twisted and wrong. 

They did hug, but it wasn’t something soft or intimate. Eddie had woken Steve up from a nightmare on their second to last day, and Steve had laid in his arms shaking for two of their final forty eight hours. 

They did go on a trip of sorts, if stopping the apocalypse in an alternate dimension counted as a trip. They went, but they didn’t stay together. 

God, if Steve had a chance to do it all over again, he never would have let Eddie out of his sight. 

There was no avoiding fate, no changing what The Universe had planned. Steve has always been aware of that. He’s known that as fact his entire life. But still. Maybe things would have gone the way they were supposed to if they had been together. 

Because it was supposed to be him that died. 

His entire life he had known it was going to be him. 

Steve has imagined it a thousand different ways. A random heart attack, or a freak accident, maybe even saving his soulmate’s life somehow. He had never even thought to consider it might be his soulmate saving him instead. 

It was perfect. Dustin and Eddie would be far away from the danger, and Robin and Nancy were going to be just fine. Steve had no idea when it was coming, but it was going to happen in this final fight. They would win and he would have to do something stupid to make sure they did. Something off plan that would end up killing him. 

Except, he didn’t do anything that wasn’t in the plan. 

It went off without a hitch. Well, there was a pretty scary moment where there had been vines around his neck choking him, but the rest had gone exactly as they wanted it too. He and Robin had torched the monster, and then Nancy shot him in the head. 

Vecna was dead, burning to ash on the floor in front of them. They did it. They actually fucking did it. 

The elation of that was unlike anything Steve had ever experienced. The bone deep relief of knowing everyone he loved was finally safe, that this was finally over. That he had somehow lived to get to see it all. 

He had lived. 

He…..he was still alive. 

Steve hadn’t even thought to look down at his timer. He had been so busy just reacting, being in the moment of the fight. The fight was over. They had won. Everyone was safe now. 

Steve was still alive. 

He looked at his timer. All zeroes. 

How long had it been all zeroes? 

Steve took an experimental breath, and then another. Still breathing. Still alive. He looked down at his wrist. Still all zeroes. It was like he was looking at a puzzle with only one piece left, holding that last piece in his hand, but unable to make it fit for some reason. There was just something that was so wrong. 

There were two options when it came to Timers. You died, and your timer vanished, or your timer hit zero, and your soulmate died. There were two options. 

Steve had just never considered the other one. 

And by the time he ran out of the Creel House, it was already too late. Steve knew that. He was running anyway. He wouldn’t believe it until he saw Eddie for himself. His mother’s voice filled his ears the entire time. 

“You’ll understand that this? This is a curse,” 

Steve had promised himself he would never think about his timer that way. Promised that he would never be like his mother. 

But she might have been right about this. 

[bambi-kinos]

I really enjoy your meta and look forward to more mclennon analysis. Out of curiosity, you mentioned that you think they started being physical in 1964 - is there a reason why that year specifically? Personally, I've always thought they started sleeping together in 1963, and my reasoning for that is they seem much closer in videos/photos, not to mention it was the year they "broke through", so to speak.

Would love to hear your thoughts on that!

Hmm well I guess it depends on how they, and we, define their sex life. John and Paul were sexually intimate starting since they were teenagers because John brought Paul into the group wanks. (tbh it's a miracle Paul didn't brain John with something heavy thanks to all that Winston Churchilling.) There's really no telling how it progressed from there, anything is possible with these two. Until Paul tells us the details (and I do not put it past him) then he and John could have been hooking up at literally any point in their relationship. When I think of them getting physical with each other, I'm thinking of them getting each other off with intent and purpose, and considering the style of the time this would mean penetration. Everything else can be handwaved away.

I pick 1964 because of this post: https://www.tumblr.com/got-ticket-to-ride/739464905120497664/its-the-anniversary-day-of-john-and-paul-in-paris?source=share

It's just something about it, y'know. John and Paul are in their city. They stayed up all night and well into the morning and then slept deep into the afternoon, almost evening. And then as GTTR says, "And then they emerge from their hotel room looking like a newlywed couple."

Well, there's just a certain satisfaction radiating off them isn't there?

But I do see your point: why wouldn't they be hooking up earlier? Why wouldn't it escalate physically before this? Why would they wait until Paris 1964?

I have a few reasons, they are admittedly flimsy but since we are all just making shit up then it's fine, right?

Julian was born in 1963. I've read bits and pieces of Beatles 1963 by Rees and that book is full of little chunks about John running home to see Cynthia and the baby (usually not even for a full night/day because he was so busy.) Their schedule is also packed, they are constantly on the move especially during the night because this is where they had to start being smuggled out of theaters and such. So I genuinely think that John and Paul did not have the time or the space to have sex with each other. I know I am saying this when they had time to hook up with groupies between shows but considering who John and Paul are, and what they mean to one another, I just struggle to imagine them acting that way with one another. They would want to take their time with one another and get it right. They're hopeless romantics at heart, they're both deeply enamored with the idea of "you're special, you're different" so I genuinely think they would want to take their time with each other physically and do it right. I don't think they had that time in 1963 with the way they're running all over the UK.

Then there's the Absolute State of John and Paul's relationship in 1963. Remember that the halcyon days of Paris are way in the rearview mirror at this point. In 1962 Stuart died, Cynthia got pregnant, and John had to get married to save her reputation. I can't imagine Paul reacting well to any of this though I'm sure he put his cheery stoic mask on. Then in 1963, Julian is born. Barcelona happens and John seduces Brian to get the songwriting credit that he wanted and screws Paul out of their deal. Considering this is something Paul is still angry about to this day, I can't imagine how he blew his fucking top at John when he found out that May:

I don't think Paul was in the mood for any hooking up in 1963. John has a baby with a woman, is married, then he fucks off to have a gay experience with their manager and then when he comes back he's screwed Paul's side of the business on the downlow? I would be on the fucking six o' clock news lmao, John would not have escaped my wrath. It's really no wonder Paul made a specific point of hooking up with Jane Asher isn't it? He was making a point to John specifically and John seethed about it.

However I do think that something happened in 1963 that healed the rift in the Lennon-McCartney relationship:

Paul got sick from the gastric flu and he fainted dead away in the dressing room. John was very upset and was seen pacing the room when the doctor arrived to check on Paul. This is how we know that Paul actually fainted for real, if he was just feeling feverish John would be concerned but maybe not like that. @james-winston has a pair of really fantastic posts about the aftermath of the fainting incident that I have taken as gospel and I fully apply this to any McLennon analysis I write about this period. The key point though is this:

I have a headcanon that Paul being sick caused something to happen between John and Paul that left them both feeling awkward around each other. I don't think it is was sexual, I think it was more likely that John (who thought he was cursed to have all the men he loved die on him) was afraid something might happen to Paul, and reacted emotionally to it.

This all took place in November, after the Wooler thing, after the burn from Barcelona has had a chance to soften, after they both have had time to get used to the idea that Julian exists and has a place in their lives now. I think this was enough to mend things between them. And you know what else happened the night Paul fainted? Brian secured The Beatles their spot on Ed Sullivan:

So once Brian comes back and tells them the news, John and Paul flip right back into the honeymoon phase. The wounds of the past are forgotten (for now) and they're right back in each other's pockets. I think it's around this time period that Paul was taking photos that now make up Eye of the Storm.

TBH I can imagine John and Paul hooking up at this date. If someone looked at this and said "well this looks like a prelude to sweet love making to me" then that's perfectly reasonable. There's some suggestive photos in Eye of the Storm where Paul is taking John's picture from what looks to be a bathtub while John makes faces at him. It could have been then, absolutely.

But I like the idea that Paul wanted to wait until the next year. 1963 was rough on all of them and he and John are both big on getting new starts. Wait for 1964 to roll around. Brian says we're going to Paris in February. I can wait until then.

And just this once, it was worth it.

[anastasiaskarsgard]

Could you do a fluffy one shot of Vincent de gramont and the reader trying out clothes

“This really isn’t necessary” she told him as she was surrounded by seamstresses, taking her measurements.

“Oh but it is. It’s the least I can do after you so gallantly volunteered to save the day.” The Marquis remarked, smiling slyly.

Rolling her eyes, she couldnt help but smile at his antics. She highly doubted the validity of his supposed plight, of being unable to find a date to one of the most exclusive charity balls in Paris. All the richest elites from across Europe attended, dressed to the gills in the most extravagant gowns the high fashion houses had to offer. And here she was, a simple public servant, being fitted by the house of Dior. She was giddy.

“I think a form fitting gown in a blush or ivory would be ideal.” One of the seamstresses relayed.

“As long as it’s original, I don’t care about the cost. I’m trusting you won’t let me down.” The Marquis stated.

She couldn’t help but notice the flash of fear that crossed several of the women’s faces. Pondering over what could possibly make the finest fashion house fear someone, she decided he must be richer than she thought. The only fear she could imagine is the loss of a very generous client. Her head spun with the amount of money you’d need to spend, you make them even notice you.

All rising at once and exiting without a word to her, she couldn’t help but feel a bit disappointed they never spoke to her, except to tell her how to stand so they could measure her.

Too excited and frankly honored to have her own custom gown made for her, she stepped down from the platform.

“My beauty, they are only going to get some pieces for you to try.” He said halting her from exiting.

“I couldn’t possibly accept any more of your generosity…”

“Oh no no cherie! This is only so they can be sure how clothing falls on you and your preferences.” He assured her with one of his mind melting smiles.

“Oh well then that’s ok, I suppose.”

Just then 3 women returned to the fitting room with 3 racks of a wide range of selections. They all appeared to be breath taking and far out of her price range, but she wasn’t going to be difficult. Straining out a weary smile, she watched as the Marquis gave instructions to one of the girls, and exited to the viewing area.

Smiling warmly at the woman approaching her, she was surprised at the deer in the headlights look on her face. “Thank you for helping me today. I truly am honored to even be allowed to try these things on.”

Confusion passed between the women, until the one closest her, began to undress her. “You are very kind, but your beauty will do our creations a service. We should be thanking you.”

Smiling brightly, she was determined to be as polite and cooperative as possible, no matter how many things she needed to try.

Hours later, she felt how a Barbie doll must feel as she viewed the passing city in the hired car she’d been sent home in.

The Marquis was almost too good to be true. He was unbelievably handsome, polite, thoughtful and respectful. She’d had him looked into and he was active with many charities and took care of his only living realatives; two younger twin sisters, famous in the equestrian community.

His wealth came from toxic parents and investments made with an astonishing amount of revenue. He was perfect in every way, not having so much as a parking ticket, and even after several months, he never attempted to take advantage of the times they’d been alone.

She wasn’t sure that was a good thing. She had been hoping he’d kiss her tonight after dinner, but he’d only kissed her hand with those full sensual lips.

Bringing her hand to her lips, she kissed it tenderly where his lips had caressed her before. Laughing at herself, she was thankful she was alone in the car and thankful the privacy was up.

Peering out the window, she realized they had made it to her home. Thanking the driver, and making her way to her door, she nearly tripped and fell upon entering.

Feeling for the light, she flipped it on and nearly fell flat on her ass at the sight that met her eyes.

Dior packages covering every floor and every surface in her humble townhouse. It was like a fairy tale. She couldn’t help but squeal and run in place, before closing her door behind her.

Staring in disbelief, she wasn’t sure where to start. Pulling out her phone, she noticed a new message from the Marquis.

I may have lied, but it was for good reason. Forgive me?

She chuckled and thought on a witty response.

I don’t know. You’ll have to make it up to me.

Sending it before she could change her mind, she waited for his reply with great anticipation. Finally it came in.

I am yours, to do with, as you wish.

She couldn’t have stopped smiling, if someone put a gun to her head….

[arisu-artnfics]

“A trip to Paris” 5

Notes: 

Chapter: 5/12 Previous Next (First). Versión en Español

Also on:     A03 || FF || DeviantArt || Facebook.

Chapter 5: “From Amity to Paris”

That evening, Sam offered to help the Fentons with their hotel reservations, or rather, insisted she help them with the hotel booking. She wanted only the best for her boyfriend after all, even if she didn’t say it out loud. After several searches and comparing prices here and there, they finally decided on the ‘Le Grand Paris’ hotel. It was a bit fancier than the Fentons were used to, and maybe a bit overpriced… or, well, very overpriced, but that didn’t bother Sam, it was the best option for the family. 

The hotel had two boarding options: suits and apartment-style rooms. The suits slept four people, while the apartment-style rooms could have up to six. As a family of four, the suit sounded perfect to the Fentons, that is, until they read some reviews. Everyone said the suit’s first bedroom was fine, but the second was so small and cramped that you could barely open the dresser and there was no place to put your suitcase. The apartment-style option would be better for them, even though it was an odd choice for four. It consisted of a main bedroom with a king-size bed and two smaller rooms that each came with either a queen-sized bed or two twins. That way Jazz and Danny could have their own rooms, rather than them having to share like when they were very, very little. 

Sam took this as an opportunity to once again suggest that she go with them since there would be more than enough space for her too. She proposed that she could share a room with Danny, one of the ones with two twins, rather than a queen. 

Jack and Maddie were hesitant to say ‘yes,’ they obviously didn’t mind the two teens sharing a room since they had invited her to stay the night, but they had already bought their plane tickets. And even though they had accepted Sam’s help with their hotel –for her insistence rather than something else– they weren’t sure if they could get a ticket for her on the same plane. 

At that, Sam whipped out her phone, asked the Fentons for the flight information, and managed to use the power that came with being a Manson to not only get a ticket on the same flight, but sitting right next to them. She offered to upgrade all of their tickets to first class while she was at it, but the Fentons declined, they had saved up enough money for their travel expenses and didn’t want her to spend more –or rather, much more– than necessary.

After that, the Fentons simply allowed Sam to finish booking their hotel for the two weeks they planned to be in Paris. She respected their wishes and did as requested, only buying herself the plane ticket and making sure the family and herself were comfortable in one of the nicest hotels in Paris. After all, the idea was for them to have a relaxing and worry-free vacation, and that included not stressing over details that she would be more than happy to help with. 

The Fentons and Sam had everything arranged for their trip to Paris, and Dani and Valerie were prepared to stay behind and protect Amity Park. Everyone was excited for the start of summer vacation, everyone except Tucker. 

He loved his job as the Mayor of Amity Park, he really did! It was like that time he’d run for class representative, only better! But he missed spending time with his friends. He understood why he had a private tutor instead of going to school, but seriously, he was still a teenager! He never thought he would miss Casper High, but he was working on a way to attend classes there again next year, even if it was just part time. He wasn’t planning on running for the position again, so as soon as someone else was elected, he would be free to go back to being a full time student.

It was way too hard to lead, or even live in, a town overrun with ghosts, so both Tucker and the citizens of Amity were more than relieved when the news spread that the Fentons’ portal would be closed for two weeks. They were even more relieved when they heard that Jack Fenton would be out of the country and they could take a break from constantly checking their rear-view mirrors for that monstrosity they called an RV. It would be nice to have a break from the daily chaos, even if it was just temporary. After all, closing the portal forever wouldn't do any good in the long run. Ghosts from natural portals would still need a way to get back into the Ghost Zone. That was a main part of the case the Fentons presented to the FBI for why they should be allowed to repair their portal. 

Students would be out of school soon, but a Mayor’s job was never done. Tucker needed a break too. When he heard the news that his friends were planning a trip to Paris, he started thinking of a way to travel there too. If he could come up with a good enough reason, he could use money from the budget to pay for it… Even though it was mainly an excuse to have a vacation, he had thought of actually doing something official while there, so it wouldn’t be seen as a complete abuse of power. He did have responsibilities after all.   

The rest of the school year came and went. Danny’s time management plan was in full swing, and, although there were plenty of things that needed to be improved, it seemed to be working. He had help fighting the ghosts, and with Mr. Lancer doing his part as well, Danny managed to pass all of his classes. Now all that was left was the packing. 

The day of their departure finally came, and Mr. Gray and Dani drove the Fentons to the airport. 

When Damon learned about the little girl and what she was exactly, he almost couldn’t believe it until he met her and saw just how much like Danny she was. He was invited over to FentonWorks a couple of days before so Jack and Maddie could explain what to do if the portal accidently got activated or something else happened, as well as to get to know Dani a bit more. 

The Fentons made sure that the filter got changed before they left, so that wouldn’t be a risk, but Dani knew what to do if that was the case anyway. Everything was taken care of, now the adventure was about to begin. 

They were at the airport, pulling their suitcases out of the car. Danny made sure he unloaded the heaviest ones, as his powers helped them more than the others were going to accept, at least out loud. 

“I can’t believe we’re actually here,” he said. ”You guys really closed the portal… I– I don’t know what to say… ”

“Well, believe it little brother. You’re actually going to get some rest now, like you need to,” said Jazz. It was time for Danny to take a break from using his powers, even if it was just the super strength that he used almost without even realising it these days. Jazz had noticed how he had taken the heaviest suitcases himself. 

The group of travellers said their goodbyes to Dani and Damon, waving until they drove out of sight, then they headed inside. Jack and Maddie followed closely behind the three teenagers. It was strange to see them wearing ‘normal’ clothes, having left their jumpsuits behind, but they had promised a nice, non-ghost-hunting holiday. And even though it was a big change for them, they were true to their word.

“Exactly Danny–boy! We’re here, and everything is taken care of! It’s time to relax!” boomed Jack.

“Your father is right, Danny.” Maddie paused, “Jack dear, did we remember to thank Mr. Gray for driving us here? ” she asked. Even though they had, she had the feeling that they were forgetting something. 

“I hope they remembered that Dani and Valerie made him promise to pick us up from the airport when we get back, too...” said Sam knowing that they had kind of forced him to make the offer, even though they would be arriving very late in the evening. 

“I feel kinda bad about asking him to do so much for us, Dani and Valerie shouldn’t have… I mean, I could've flown us to and from the airport at least,” said Danny. He knew well enough that he was more than capable of carrying the family and their luggage without much of a problem. 

They quickly dropped their suitcases off at the check-in counter and headed for security.

Jazz pinched the bridge of her nose in frustration, “For the last time, Danny, this is a holiday. That means you shouldn't be exerting yourself, you shouldn't be doing any heavy lifting. And before you say anything, just because you can doesn't mean you should.” She kept her voice low and made sure not to mention Danny’s powers as they were in public, but her firm tone of voice let him know that she would brook no argument.  

“Yeah, I know, I know,” said Danny with a wave of his hand, “but— ”

“No. No buts, Danny.” Sam interrupted. “We already talked about it, didn’t we?” She was just as tired of trying to get Danny to stop using his powers all the time as Jazz was. 

“Yes, I know...” Danny sighed, “You’re right.” He looked around for the number of the gate that they needed to go. There weren’t that many gates, but it was their first time there. 

“This way!” Jazz pointed out their gate. It hadn’t taken her long to find the number that matched her boarding pass, it was a small airport, after all. ‘Amity Park Airport’ was fairly new, and probably one of the only good things that Vlad had done as mayor. 

“Good eye, Jazz, dear,” said Maddie, heading in the direction Jazz had pointed. 

In the waiting area by their gate, there was a large window that looked out over the runway and they were amazed by how many planes they could see and how busy and bustling it all was. Even though the Amity Park airport was small, it was still big enough for there to be several planes flying at the same time to different parts of the country. It was their first time travelling like this. Yes, they had flown before, but never in planes this big, let alone internationally. The seating on their first plane was divided into two sections of three seat rows on each side of the walkway. Danny, Sam, and Jazz sat together on a row while Jack and Maddie sat behind them next to a nice, young businessman. It was a short flight to Chicago and an easy layover at O’Hare before they were off again. Their second plane, the international one, was much bigger than the first. This one was divided into three sections, two on the sides with three seats to a row, and one in the middle with four. Just as with their first flight, the three teens sat together with their parents in the row behind them.  

A bit longer than ten hours later, the Fenton family, plus Sam, landed in Paris at the ‘Charles de Gaulle Airport.’ They picked up their suitcases and exchanged some of their dollars for euros, just in case, though they planned to use their credit cards mostly since it was easier. Luckily for them, the currency exchange post employee did speak English well enough. They were also grateful that they had booked transport from the airport to the hotel in advance, because French wasn’t easy, especially after such a long flight.  

When they arrived at the hotel, they checked in and then were guided to their rooms by a helpful bellhop. Once inside, they quickly set about exploring their apartment style suite, admiring just how big and luxurious it really was. Then they claimed their rooms and their beds, and did some light unpacking to settle in. Jack and Maddie obviously took the master bedroom, while Danny and Sam got the room with two twin beds and Jazz took the one with the queen. Just as they had agreed back home.

“Alright kids, let’s try to get some sleep,” Maddie looked at her watch, it was well past midnight in Paris, even though it didn’t feel like it.

“But I’m not tired,” Danny complained. “Can’t we stay up a little longer?”

Maddie levelled a motherly glare at him. “You’ll wish you’d gone to bed when morning comes and the jet lag hits,” she reminded them.

“She’s right, you know,” Jazz said. “It feels like it’s only five or six in the afternoon because that’s what time it is in Amity Park. But we aren’t in Amity Park anymore, and if we want to enjoy all the things Paris has to offer, we need to adjust our sleep schedules as soon as possible.”

They moaned and groaned and dragged their feet, even the adults, but eventually everyone was in bed. It took them some time to actually fall asleep, but the night came and went and before they realised it, it was the next day.

They woke up bright and early, much to the dismay of the teenagers and the family made their yawning, shuffling way downstairs for breakfast. The restaurant part of the hotel was on the first floor, or ground floor, as it was called here. They didn’t have much planned for the day other than getting used to being here and getting used to hearing everything in French rather than English. 

Once they were sitting at the breakfast table, Sam admitted to learning some French thanks to her parents' insistence on having a “well-rounded and cultured daughter.” Of course, Sam had never liked the image that her parents tried to force on her, she just wanted to be herself. But despite her best efforts, she had still picked up a little bit of the language.

“Well this is going to be interesting...” Danny said as he picked up the breakfast menu, it looked like it was written in Latin or something.

“Here, Danny, try this one,” Sam handed him the international menu. Even though this one was in English, it was still several pages of food he could not pronounce, because, of course, anyone who could afford it ate there and they needed a fancy menu full of fancy food to satisfy all their fancy tastes.

“I should have known,” Maddie muttered, mostly to herself, as she looked at the menu, “The price was decent for the room but not the food...” She and Jack were thinking about ordering some large breakfast platters for the family to share. 

They had found a pretty good deal on the hotel, it was well within their budget, but Sam still insisted on paying for it and well, how could they refuse?

“Hey, Sam, do you think we got such a good deal because of the French–American Friendship Week that happened recently?” asked Jazz. She had heard somewhere that it was going on, maybe she had read something about it… It sounded fun, but her family was never one for celebrations. Not even Christmas was correctly celebrated at her house, sadly.  

“What?” Danny asked in confusion. “The what–what, now?” He thought about it for a moment, and maybe it sounded a little familiar, but hey, holidays weren't his forte. 

“I’m sure you learned about it in school, Danny. The French–American Friendship Week is a celebration of our shared history, going back to the Revolutionary War when France was one of our first allies as a young nation. It happened just a couple of weeks ago, if I remember correctly. Just before, well, everything…” said Jazz, thinking back to what she saw when booking the hotel with her parents. The website had said to ‘book now’ before the ‘offer’ ended. “I think that this pretty hotel offered special discounts for Americans only… or something, lasting for the rest of the month...”  They got lucky that the booking allowed them to have the cheaper prices for that extended time. 

“I think so,” replied Sam. “I completely forgot about Friendship Week, it's not like they said anything about it at Casper. We live in Amity Park, and if it’s not about ghosts, it’s like nobody cares. As if history doesn’t even matter! But everyone should learn from history so things like wars won’t repeat again, you know?” she ranted, but without any real anger. She knew that they all shared similar ideas about the education in Amity Park.  

Jazz hummed her agreement. Education was important, but well they were from Amity… What can you do, right? That’s why she did her best to help teach them some of the important things that they didn’t learn in school. She also did her best to keep up with the latest technology. Nobody said that their education was bad, just that there were definitely gaps. At least it met the government standard, but not by much.  “All right kids, I think I got it!” Jack exclaimed after he and Maddie had spent a while reading over the menu options in silence. The small explanations beside the names of each dish were very helpful. French names were a challenge, but that wasn’t going to stop Jack Fenton.

“Got what?” asked Danny. “Oh right, breakfast! Um, how about, uh, French toast?” He didn’t even know what to get yet, or why he suggested that when he doesn’t even like toast. He may have forgotten that they were supposed to be deciding what to get. It was breakfast time after all, and, for the first time in a very long time, he was actually going to get to eat something that wouldn’t attack him. 

“Really, Danny?” Jazz crossed her arms, unimpressed. “French toast?”  

Danny simply shrugged in response. It was the only thing that he could think of at that second. 

“Your father and I have been looking over the menu… and, well, there’s a family special that includes a variety of food,” Maddie explained, tapping the menu for emphasis as she spoke. “We were thinking of getting that. It comes with toast, Danny, so everyone should…” 

Sam turned to look at her, raising an eyebrow. So far she wasn’t sure that they offer vegan options, so not everyone would be able to eat that, or that was what Sam was thinking. 

Maddie blinked a couple of times at that expression, “Don’t worry, Sam dear, from what I can see, we can order it with part of it vegan and the other part not, and this one includes vegan options,” she finished saying. She was pretty sure the ‘V’ symbols on the menu must be for vegan options, right?

“Oh...” said Sam, who checked that section of the menu for herself to find that Maddie was correct. Fancy restaurants did have a tendency to be like that anyway. Whether here or in Amity, fancy also means ‘do whatever the client asks for.’ She’d never had a problem with that back home, so why should she here? And it was clear that the ‘V’ symbol was indeed for vegan options, and also that the platter had the option to make half of it vegan. 

After they looked over the menu for a few minutes, a butler that introduced himself as ‘Armand’ appeared to take their order. 

Even though he was usually on call for Miss Chloe, attending to her every whim, being a butler for the Bourgeois family meant that he was basically an employee for everything. He worked for Le Grand Paris, checking people in at the front desk, delivering room service, and sometimes he stepped in to help out the waiters in the restaurant or the hotel bar. 

The Fentons did end up getting the family special, as well as some other vegan options to accommodate Sam. After breakfast, Jack and Maddie announced that they were going to explore the hotel, just to make sure it wasn’t haunted. One can never be too careful, they always said. The kids quickly piped up that they would rather walk around and explore the city. And after Danny promised not to transform and fly them around, invisible or not, they let them go. 

Danny understood why his parents asked that of him, it made sense. Even if he wasn’t supposed to be taking it easy, they couldn’t risk anybody seeing Phantom in Paris and connecting it to the Fenton Family’s trip. He understood it, but that didn’t make it an easy rule to follow. During the flight here, he had been very tempted to fly below the plane for a while, just because he was desperate for a little bit of time to himself. Being crammed together in close quarters for several hours with a bunch of strangers was stressful, especially when one of those strangers was a very unhappy baby. His ghost powers had never seemed so appealing.

The kids headed for the door, calling out that they would keep in touch as they waved goodbye. 

The Fentons had never travelled out of the country, and so they hadn’t considered that they would be leaving their cell phone network behind. Luckily for them, Paris had a pretty good wifi grid. They also had their Fenton Phones as backup. Danny had sheepishly confessed to bringing his on the plane, and then one after the other, the rest of the team admitted to doing so as well. Although they were designed specifically to work inside the Ghost Zone, in the human world they technically worked as phones without the need for a network or data for basic communication. They did have the drawback of only being able to be used for calls, not texting; for that they would need wifi. This trip was going as unexpectedly as they thought it could be. But even though it hadn't been planned, at least with the Fenton Phones they could communicate with each other if something happened.  

Not far from their hotel, the three teens found a small park. They were drawn in by the beautiful landscaping and curiosity about the statue they could see in the middle of it. As they followed one of the many winding paths to the centre of the park, they felt oddly at home. Their city wasn’t named Amity Park for nothing, and even though they had only been gone a day, they already missed it.

A short walk later and they were examining the statue up close. It was obviously important for the city or it wouldn’t be here, but looked fairly new. It seemed to depict a pair of superheroes, or at least that's what it looked like to the three of them, what with the costumes and all. As they were wondering who the mystery heroes could be, Jazz pointed out a plaque at the base of the statue. They moved closer to read the inscription on it, and with the help of Sam’s limited French, they learned the pair were local heroes called 'Ladybug' and 'Chat Noir.' 

"Are they for real?" Danny asked with a laugh.  “That’s a bit on the nose, isn't it?” 

Their costumes did look like a ladybug and a black cat. At least, he was pretty sure ‘chat’ meant ‘cat’ and ‘noir’ meant ‘black’ but he couldn't remember where he'd learned that. And ‘Ladybug’ was obvious, that was just English.  

"Hey, you can't say anything, Mister…” Jazz quickly looked to see if anyone was near them, “Mister I'm-a-ghost-named-Phantom,” she whispered with a teasing smile. 

"And just what's wrong with my name?" he feigned offence. “It's way better than the one the media gave me, I could have been 'Inviso-Bill’ for crying out loud! Phantom is so much cooler!”

"You went from one shameless pun to another, Danny,” his sister replied with a deadpan expression. “I mean, you could have picked anything, but that’s what you went with?”

"Hey! That’s a great pun! Took me weeks to come up with!” He crossed his arms with a sniff, “Who knows, maybe I'll find someone around here who actually has good taste. That'll show you.” 

He stuck his tongue out at her and, after a moment, all three teens burst into laughter.

Once they calmed down again, Danny wondered aloud if there was a statue of him in Paris. It was a capital city, after all.

"You better not be thinking what I think you’re thinking." Sam warned. It would be easy for Danny to explore the city as Phantom without anybody knowing, at least not any Parisian, and try to find out what the locals thought about him. "You know if you go off by yourself and get lost, you won't be able to just ask for directions. We can't even do that now, when we're together. Which is exactly why we're not going too far from the hotel." Even if she did speak some French, that didn’t mean she was fluent. 

"That's why I brought a notebook,” said Jazz, pointing to what was, indeed, a notebook in her hand. “And I'm writing down the names of all the roads we see, so at least we could point and try to ask for directions if we need to."

Danny sighed, "No, I wasn't thinking about that, really. I promised Dani, and, well, you guys and my parents, too… and even Valerie. For this trip I'm just plain old Danny Fenton. No superheroing. No ghost powers at any time." It had been hard to accept their terms, but a real holiday was sounding more and more tempting each time someone mentioned it. 

"Good,” Sam took Danny’s hand with a smile and a blush, “We’re here to relax, remember?" Even after all this time dating, they still gave each other butterflies.

"All right, now where?" said Jazz, clearing her throat. Even though she was happy for Danny, it was a bit awkward seeing her little brother still blushing over something so simple. It had taken them such a long time to finally admit their feelings for each other, and she was happy for them, she really was, but she was starting to feel a bit like a third wheel.           

"I don't know… the river?" he suggested, looking around and noticing that they weren't that far from it. "Wait, is that a school? Across from that bakery?" he asked, confused. It was a bit odd, if you asked him, to have a school, a bakery, and a park so close to what he assumed was the tourist area, their hotel wasn't that far after all.

Sam shrugged after noticing the school he was referring to, "Who knows, maybe this whole area isn't as touristy as we thought. I mean we’re still pretty far away from the eiffel tower or any of the museums." 

“She’s right, you know,” added Jazz. She had looked up all the big tourist attractions on a map before they left the hotel, and nothing was in walking distance. 

“I guess… so, the river?” Danny asked. He wasn’t going to overthink it. He was here to be a tourist, and tourists visited the river.

“The Seine.” Jazz interjected automatically.

“Whatever.” Danny rolled his eyes.

"I suppose the river could be nice…" replied Sam, just happy to be spending time with Danny. She would have preferred if it was just the two of them, but she didn’t mind Jazz tagging along. 

They bid farewell to the statue and crossed the park in the direction of the bakery. From there, they would make their way to the stairs that went down along the river. 

Just as they reached the bakery, the main door flew open and a girl with blue-black hair pulled into twin pigtails ran out of it. She was carrying a tower of boxes so tall she couldn’t see where she was going and nearly ran into Jazz. Thankfully, Danny reacted quickly, pulling her out of the girl's way just in time.

The girl nearly tripped over thin air when she noticed the three of them, stuttering something in rapid French.

They simply stared at her with confused faces.

“Uh, sorry, we’re not French,” Danny offered as he helped her balance the boxes that she was carrying.

“Oh!” the girl’s face lit up as she recognized the language, repeating her apology in English. “And thank you for your help!”

Danny gave her a friendly smile. “It’s okay, happy to be of assistance.”

“I’m Marinette,” the girl introduced herself. “And my family owns this bakery. I’d love to stay and chat, but I’m running really late with this order, so, um, goodbye!” She turned to run in the direction of the park and immediately tripped over her own feet, almost falling again. 

“Woah, careful!” Sam called, helping Marinette with the boxes this time. She hadn’t thought it was possible for anyone to be this clumsy.  

“Would you, uh, like some help?” offered Danny. He caught the topmost boxes before they could slide off their precarious tower. That was the third time in as many minutes they had helped her with them and he wondered if this was something she could normally do by herself. 

“Oh!” said Marinette, noticing how much easier it was to move now that she didn't have so many. “Thank you! I should have waited for my friend to help me with these… but she had to babysit and they really do need to be delivered right away...” She sighed, “I’m so sorry to trouble you, but I would appreciate it if you could…I mean, you are helping me already… so, thank you.” 

Marinette smiled at the kind strangers. She really did need the help. Her friend had offered to help her the day before, but had to cancel at the last minute because her parents needed her to watch the twins. 

“I'm Danny,” said Danny, smiling back at her. If Marinette had introduced herself to them, it was only polite that he return the gesture, right? 

“Sam,” said the girl next to him, inclining her head when Marinette looked at her.

“And my name is Jasmine, but you can call me ‘Jazz,’” said Jazz, when it was her turn. 

“Sorry again for all of this. I normally take turns to do this many boxes, or ask my friend Alya to help,” she started walking and the three Americans followed her, “but like I said… well, it’s my fault really. I got distracted, and, well, I didn’t leave when I should and well…” 

They wouldn’t know as the attack had happened before they arrived, but Ladybug and Chat Noir were out until late last night fighting an akuma. Because she had stayed up so late, Marinette had overslept this morning. 

“Hey, it’s all right, you don’t have to explain yourself to us, you know. And I’m sure that whoever is waiting for these will understand you taking a bit longer, won’t they?” Jazz said gently, trying to calm Marinette down. The poor girl obviously had a lot on her mind and her distraction certainly wasn’t helping her coordination. She was already very clumsy, and when she wasn’t paying attention, the boxes began to tilt and fall because she wasn’t holding them up straight.

“Yeah, it’s okay Marinette, we don’t mind lending a hand. It’s not like we had anything else to do,” said Danny, still following Marinette with the boxes. Their only plans for the day were to get used to Paris and adjust to the time difference. They weren’t planning to visit the Eiffel Tower or any museums until later in the week. So all good in that department. 

“Oh god! I’m so, so sorry!” Marinette started again. “I didn’t even ask… I just assumed that–” 

“No, no, you’re okay there! We don’t mind,” Sam interrupted. “Just like Danny said, we don’t really have anything planned for today. For now we’re just getting used to everything, you know?” She rushed to reassure the Parisian, she was not about to hear another rant of apologies from a girl that they just met. She knew that would get annoying fast. 

“Ah!” said Marinette, realising that they had probably just arrived in Paris. “Where are you from? If you don’t mind me asking. Maybe after dropping these off,” she hefted the boxes as if to point out the favour they were doing her, “I could help you guys find a guide or something? It’s the least I can do to thank you for helping out a complete stranger during what I assume are your holidays.” She felt a bit guilty for bothering tourists.

“Well, it looked like you needed a hand, and we were right there, so why not pitch in, you know?” Danny shrugged, the boxes in his hands bobbing up and down. “We’re from Amity Park, Illinois. You probably haven’t heard of–” 

“Oh! I know that place!” Marinette interrupted excitedly, recognizing the name, “You are from that ghost town, right?”

Danny had forgotten that even though Amity isn’t really considered big, it was big news now. 

“Well, not a ‘ghost town’ ghost town, but that is where that new hero is from, isn’t it? Is he really a ghost? Sorry, probably a silly question to ask...” Marinette murmured, feeling a bit dumb now that she had said it out loud, but she and Chat Noir had been very curious about him since they had put up the new statue.

“Don't be so hard on yourself Marinette, it’s only natural that you would be curious. When the ghosts started appearing, a lot of people in Amity didn't believe they were real either. I told my little brother here, that now that Amity Park has been in the news, people all over the world would be wondering the same things we did in the beginning,” said Jazz. Although she hadn’t really expected to find someone actually asking… Or even anyone who recognized the name of Amity Park so quickly. 

“Thank you,” said Marinette. Jazz's words made her feel a bit better, but her cheeks still burned in embarrassment. Thankfully they had just arrived at their destination. “Well, we are here!”

Noticing that they had walked all the way back to their hotel, Danny had a sudden realisation, “Wait, are the baked goods here from your family's bakery?” he asked. 

“Are you staying here?” asked Marinette, making a face. Only very rich and famous people stayed at ‘Le Grand Paris,’ so Marinette was a bit surprised that her new friends were staying there. They were nice, but didn't look particularly rich or famous.

“They had a deal running for French–American Friendship Week, so…” Sam shrugged as if that was very obvious. She didn’t know what was with her attitude all of a sudden. 

“Oh, right...” Marinette replied. She had forgotten that for a whole month the hotel booked anyone from the United States for very, very cheap prices. She had been surprised when she heard about it, as it didn’t seem like a very good business decision, but then when she saw the extra publicity it gave the hotel, she understood. “Wait, I thought that promotion ended before the summer break… ” she added.   

“We made our reservations during the promotional period, and the deal carried over,” Jazz explained. She knew the normal prices, and it seemed like Marinette did, too, so her reaction was understandable. It was a very expensive hotel, after all. 

“And even if it hadn’t, Sam would have paid anyway,” Danny shrugged, not giving it any further thought. 

“Danny!” admonished Jazz. It was rude to assume that Sam would simply pay for everything. She had offered, but still.

“I mean, yeah, I would have anyway. But it was still good to get the offer, just so your parents wouldn’t feel so bad about me spending money on you guys, you know? Don’t think that I didn’t notice them looking for alternatives. And I don’t blame them, I mean the normal prices at this place are ridiculously expensive,” Sam rolled her eyes.

“Tell me about it,” murmured Marinette. Although she personally hadn't checked their usual prices, she knew that the Bourgeois family wouldn’t normally allow such cheap prices. That’s why only internationally famous people came here. People like Jagged Stone or her great-uncle.

“Ah, what did you just say?” asked Danny. He thought he heard her say something, but wasn’t sure. 

“Oh!” she exclaimed, surprised at being heard. “Well we should get inside...” she quickly changed the topic and shifted the boxes in her arms. She ran inside and made a beeline for the reception area, it was a good thing she was expected. 

“Oh, right,” said Danny, following her into the hotel. He shrugged, he must have just been imagining things. They were still getting used to it all. 

Jazz and Sam shared a look, rolling their eyes at the antics of the other two. 

After Marinette and Danny dropped off the boxes, they all headed back to the bakery. She thanked them again for their help, even though it had mostly been Danny, and he waved off her thanks saying that it was nothing and he was happy to do it.

On their way back Jazz began plying Marinette with questions about all the typical, and not so typical, places that they could visit while they were in Paris. Marinette was more than happy to help them get around and launched into a detailed explanation of lesser known attractions and also how there is a direct bus line that goes from their hotel to the Eiffel Tower if they were interested in it. She then even talked about Ladybug and Chat Noir, the two local heroes, as well as how her best friend probably knew more because she runs the ‘Ladyblog,’ an online blog totally dedicated to the local heroes. 

Danny was surprised that he was right when they were guessing what the statue was about, especially the part about obvious names.

Marinette agreed that the names were pretty obvious if you thought about it, but those were the names that the heroes gave to the public. She personally never thought about it, she may ask Chat what he thought about when she saw him as Ladybug. 

When they got back to the bakery, Marinette offered them some pastries as a thank you for helping her. The three teens declined her offer, saying that her advice about what to visit and how to navigate the city was more than enough. Jazz of course had written down everything that Marinette told them. She had made sure to note down every single detail, after all she was in charge of it since it was her idea. 

Just when they were about to say their goodbyes, Marinette’s parents joined them in the front of the bakery. They introduced themselves as Sabine and Tom, and thanked them for their help as well. They had noticed that their daughter was struggling with all the boxes and were about to take turns helping her when they saw the three of them step in. Normally they would need to start preparing a second batch of baked goods just in case the first one didn’t make it to the hotel, but they seemed like a responsible group of young people with decent balance and so they had gone back to tending the shop, sure that their daughter was in good hands.

Marinette’s cheeks turned a bright shade of pink as her parents explained how clumsy she was. Now these nice people would never want to be her friends! She groaned and buried her burning face in her hands.

Jazz patted her comfortingly on the back and Danny said that they understood her pain all too well. After all, the Fenton parents were about as subtle as a flashing neon sign. Even Sam could relate, there was a reason she didn’t like her parents very much.

The Dupain–Chengs apologised to their daughter and repeated Marinette’s offer of baked goods as a thank you and wouldn’t take no for an answer. The family’s combined efforts finally convinced them to accept a box of treats, not like they had much of a choice. Mr. Dupain had just shoved the box of baked goods into Danny’s hands when a nearby explosion rattled the bakery.  

To be continued :D :D 

[doomsday-dj]

This Pulse Against Other Rhythms Rizzoli & Isles Rating: M (not this chapter but eventually--possibly even E) Chapters: 1/? Post-Series Finale fic, or: here's what I think happened in Paris. Click through to AO3 if you want to see tags and notes, but no archive warnings apply.

~~~~~

Truthfully, Jane wasn’t sure exactly what she’d been expecting, but she knew it wasn’t this. 

The decision to delay her start at Quantico and tag along on Maura’s month-long trip to Paris was one that could have been mildly described as impulsive. A more accurate assessment would've been drunken. Other words that fit the bill: ‘reckless,’ ‘inconsiderate,’ ‘technically credit card fraud.’

Jane had broken out in a cold sweat when she awoke the next morning and found an itinerary for a round trip ticket from Logan to Charles de Gaulle waiting in her email. 

After checking that tickets purchased with frequent flyer miles were refundable, she called the airline to do just that. When the customer service representative informed her that both the purchase and refund of the ticket would be reflected on Maura’s next statement, Jane realized that the only thing worse than buying herself a surprise first class ticket with her best friend’s miles would be buying and refunding a surprise first class ticket with her best friend’s miles.

So now Jane was in Paris with Maura. 

And it was…fine. 

Maura had seemed excited when Jane first told her, if a little shell-shocked. Animated was an apt word, but when Jane really thought about it, she could recall how Maura’s smile didn’t quite reach her eyes and that the energy of the moment was a little more frantic than euphoric. 

If she were being entirely honest, Jane didn’t need the powers of retrospect to correctly identify that the moment in Maura’s bedroom had been a foreboding one.  Even at the time, Jane knew that Maura wasn’t entirely thrilled and Jane hadn’t been either. They hadn’t even hugged about it, just sat stiffly side by side and had a strained conversation about wearing sweatpants in the city of light. But what were they supposed to do? If either of them had been brave enough to declare that the trip was a bad idea, that would have been it: friendship terminated. It would’ve been an admission of what had been simmering for at least a couple years and a betrayal of how they’d decided to deal with it, which was to let their relationship die a slow, strangled death, with neither willing to just take it out back and shoot it. 

So, again: Paris. 

Jane had been to Paris once before. She went after graduation, before the police academy, alone. 

During high school, when she was still entertaining the possibility that she, the first born daughter of a mediocre plumber, could attend Boston College University, she’d spent any free time that wasn’t dedicated to sports or school at a variety of part-time jobs. In the summer she often had two or three. At the end of her four years, Jane had saved enough money that if she’d gotten one of the more robust financial aid packages available she might have even been able to attend. 

She didn’t. And so she didn’t.

No matter how many times she did the math, attending BCU meant financial ruin, either for her parents or for herself. Jane was certain her parents would have re-mortgaged the house to send her there, or she could have also availed herself of a predatory student loan that she would have been paying for the rest of her natural born life. Neither option appealed. 

The police academy, meanwhile, was a one-time expense of three grand plus the eternal cost of suffering her mother’s demonstrative dismay.  She set aside the majority of her remaining savings to fund moving out of her parents’ house but decided that she deserved something for all her hard work, and booked herself a trip to Paris as a graduation present. 

No one she knew could afford to go with her and she couldn’t justify paying someone else’s way, plus who could she really have gone with? Casey had been preparing to enlist right after graduation and she truthfully never had many close friends besides him. Not until Maura. 

So alone she went. She stayed in a hostel, made friends enough with the other girls in the dorm room that she was invited out a few times in the evenings, but the days she spent mostly by herself. She tried to fit in as much of Paris: The Greatest Hits as she could, visiting the Louvre, Notre Dame, Musée d'Orsay, and the Père Lachaise Cemetery. Despite only having five days, she devoted all of one to visiting Versailles. She skipped visiting the top of the Eiffel Tower but toured the Catacombs before anything else. 

It was a nice trip, if a lonely one. A fleeting glimpse of what the world had to offer for a blue collar kid. Now, despite her reservations about traveling with Maura for a month after their relationship had grown strained, she was still excited to see the city again and have someone to share it with. 

Except she didn’t have that, not really. 

Or not anymore. 

The first few days had actually been wonderful, despite the rocky start. The cab ride to Logan had been tense and awkward and Jane even briefly considered doing an emergency roll out of a moving vehicle while shouting that she’d catch up with Maura when she got back. Her plan had been thwarted by little else than the doubt that she was still physically capable of doing it. They barely spoke all through check-in and boarding but everything changed after take off. 

Jane hated flying. Maura had seen Jane grit her way through a flight before but this one was even worse, because Jane especially hated flying over an ocean. At least while flying to LA she was able to convince herself that if something went wrong they could do an emergency landing somewhere, but all she could think about after the few short minutes it took for them to be over the Atlantic was the various ways in which they could die: on impact, while adrift in the ocean, etcetera. So scared was Jane that she didn’t even have the strength to fake confidence and the vulnerability of her fear shifted something between her and Maura. Jane was pathetic enough that it disarmed Maura and Jane was scared enough that she let Maura back in. Maura took Jane’s hand, squeezed it firmly through every bounce and rumble of turbulence, and made sure the other always held a glass of champagne. 

By the time they landed in Paris, it was nearly like old times. Something had broken back open, they’d reacquired their rhythm. Both more than a little inebriated, they managed to keep their composure through customs and were soon pouring themselves into the sleek sedan of the airport car service that Maura had pre-arranged. 

Jane sat with her body turned away from her window for the entire drive, caught off guard by her own delight in watching Maura take in the city from the other side of the car. 

When they arrived at their accommodations, there was more champagne—a chilled bottle waited for them, a welcome gift from the rental company. Jane popped the cork theatrically and for the first time in a long time, they talked about things that weren’t work or family. Jane told Maura about her first time in Paris and Maura regaled Jane with stories of boarding school in France, some funny and some so lonely they would have broken Jane’s heart once. They might have still, if Maura hadn’t seemed so secure in who she was now. Jane jokingly asked if the stereotypes about boarding school were true and Maura bashfully declined a real answer, saying only that they were true for some.

Around 9pm, Maura looked at her watch and declared, slurring only slightly, that they’d stayed up long enough to avoid jet lag. The apartment that Maura had booked only had one bedroom but it did have a small study with its own door. While there was currently nothing in there that Jane could sleep on, Maura had already ordered a folding bed to be delivered and it was due to arrive the next day. For that night, they both tumbled onto the queen mattress in the bedroom, struck silent as they admired each other with sleepy, half-drunk eyes. They were on their sides, facing each other, their hands resting in the space between them. Maura’s pinky finger brushed gently against hers. The moment was loaded but Jane wasn’t sure with what. 

“I’m glad you’re here,” Maura said, and she seemed almost surprised by it. 

“I am too,” Jane hummed drowsily. The last thing she felt was Maura's fingers twining with her own.

The next two days were a whirlwind. Assembling the bed took far longer than it should have for a certified genius and the offspring of a manual labourer, but they figured it out. Maura even offered to sleep on it so that Jane wouldn’t have to get up early to accommodate Maura’s morning writing sessions, but Jane scoffed at the notion. Instead, Maura would wake Jane and Jane would pad sleepily to the bedroom to further doze in Maura’s bed there. In Boston, Jane always had trouble falling back asleep once woken, but somehow she drifted away easily under this new arrangement. Maybe it was Maura’s new perfume lightly scenting the pillows. Perhaps it was the lack of murders. 

After the ordeal of the bed and a trip to acquire groceries and other necessities, they explored their surrounding neighbourhood, which, Jane noted out loud, had a surprising amount of rainbows. Maura noticeably hesitated before she explained that it was Paris’s gay district, Le Marais. Maura made a vague gesture, like it was a coincidence, but there had already been a few bread crumbs to this effect in their friendship and lately, it was getting to be more like bread chunks. Jane reacted with the kind of enthusiasm she hoped would indicate support and Maura changed the subject, launching into a history lesson about the storming of the Bastille as she led the way to the column that marked its site. 

On their third night, Jane offhandedly suggested attending a show, throwing out Moulin Rouge and Crazy Horse as options. Maura made a face and asserted that those were just tourist cash grabs and promised to take Jane to a more authentic Parisian cabaret. They ended up at a jazz bar in the Latin Quarter called Aux Trois Mailletz. After dinner and a few cocktails upstairs, they descended the steps into a small thirteenth century cellar. The stone-lined room had a raised stage with a long table that extended out from it. Jane was surprised at the small size of the stage, given that Maura had described the show as quite lively, but once the singing began and the performers began using the narrow table as a runway, Jane was sold. 

The entire show was obviously in French and there was considerable banter between songs, but the energy of the singers and the crowd was such that Jane got swept up into it even without the aid of Maura’s occasional translations. Of course, she didn’t exactly mind when Maura leaned heavy into Jane’s shoulder, grinning as she shouted explanations over the din. 

The night ended with all the performers and most of the audience performing a rousing rendition of Edith Piaf’s “Non, je ne regrette rien.” Maura sang along as well, loud enough that it seemed like she was trying to account for both of them, and Jane’s heart was full to the brim with the reminder of how that was not one of Maura’s many talents. Jane watched, making no effort to hide her infatuation. Maura blushed fiercely but only sang louder. 

The show hadn’t even begun until after eleven at night so it was well past two in the morning by the time they stumbled back out into the streets of Paris. Drenched in sweat from both the enthusiastic show and cramped quarters, they walked home slowly in the cool summer night. 

Taking the simplest route from point A to point B, it was barely a fifteen minute walk to the apartment Maura had rented in the 4th arrondissement, but they dragged it out by strolling around the Île de la Cité, nearly abandoned so late at night. When they paused outside of the Saint-Chapelle, Maura spoke breathlessly and at length about the interior of the gothic chapel. She promised to book them tickets to see the inside of it, swore to Jane that it was much more beautiful than nearby Notre Dame. The moon wasn’t quite full but it was still very bright; Maura’s eyes sparkled as she talked about the stained glass windows and Jane had a hard time believing she’d see anything prettier. 

Eventually, Maura shifted her attention away from the facade of the church, giving it fully to Jane, and there was the softest intake of breath when their eyes locked. 

Intellectually, Jane understood that she must have actively moved closer to Maura, but it truly felt like their bodies were simply drifting together without any effort on her part. 

The moment was loaded and Jane was starting to understand with what. 

She took Maura by the wrist, pressing her thumb against a thundering pulse. Jane’s lips were parting to speak and she was really looking forward to finding out what she had to say because she truly had no idea. Maura’s shining eyes widened. 

The never-welcome sound of loud men shattered the moment and Jane’s self-preservation instincts kicked into gear. She tensed up and released Maura’s hand, took a long backwards stride away from her, dropped her hand to a gunless waist. 

The source of the noise quickly came into view. It was a group of drunken revelers in Paris Saint-Germain jerseys and Jane exhaled slowly as they passed them by, paying the women no mind. 

When Jane turned back to Maura, she was looking out over the Seine. Her arms were wrapped protectively around her body and she avoided Jane’s eyes as she complained of the cold. They walked home mostly in silence. 

Jane wondered if the acute sense of loss she was experiencing was a shared feeling, or if perhaps one of them felt like they’d dodged a bullet. 

The next day, everything very obviously changed. Maura politely explained the new schedule: she would write in the mornings, and she and Jane could do something together in the afternoons, but the writing group she had signed up for would begin meeting in the evenings. 

“Every evening?” Jane had asked over breakfast, the two women seated around a small circular table on the narrow apartment balcony. 

“Very nearly,” Maura replied, ripping off a small hunk of croissant and pressing it between her lips. Jane watched it disappear behind her teeth with an unsettling amount of interest. She glanced down at her own pain au chocolat. At the patisserie, she’d referred to it as a chocolate croissant and she wasn’t sure if she’d ever seen Maura so embarrassed. 

“That seems like a lot.” Jane took a sip of her coffee and watched as Maura gazed absently out across the rooftops of Paris. If Maura hadn’t already used up her anecdote about how angry Parisians had been when the city had overturned a ban on tall buildings, Jane was certain she'd be deploying it right now as a stalling tactic. 

“It’s more than one group,” Maura said simply, then shrugged. “I need a lot of help. Plus, there’s a social component to it as well. A great way to practice my French, which has gotten rusty.” 

Maura was lying. That was something she could do now since her confrontation with her father and good for her, Jane supposed. The thing was, there existed a big difference between telling a lie and selling a lie, and while Maura had gained the ability to do the first, the second was still well out of her reach. Jane felt only a little bit of guilt about keeping that fact to herself. 

“Makes sense,” Jane said, finally taking a bite of her pastry. It was truly spectacular, literal heaven on earth, so at least there was that. “Uh, still on for the Saint-Chapelle today?” 

Maura’s eyes clouded over as she stared down at her croissant. She ripped off another piece and nodded once.

“Yes, that will be nice.” 

It was only just barely. To be sure, the stained glass was as beautiful as Maura had claimed it would be, but despite Jane’s best efforts to break down Maura’s walls, to unleash the version of her that had spoken so passionately about the interior of the church, Maura demurred. She’d insisted her knowledge of the building was insufficient and had, contrary to Jane’s protests, hired one of the on-site guides to lead them on a walking tour. They’d followed him silently and Jane knew something was really wrong when Maura never once interjected. Jane had even tried to goad Maura into taking over the tour, asking increasingly specific questions that their flustered guide couldn’t answer, but Maura just set her jaw and looked up at the glass. 

It continued that way and days became weeks. They’d soon been in Paris for nearly seventeen days and since that walk home after the cabaret, all they had done was tour the sites together for a few awkward hours between Maura working on her book and her evening “writers groups.” They visited museums and churches and historical sites and whenever it was possible to pay someone to be a buffer, Maura leapt at the opportunity. Through the lengthy explanations of Paris’s finest tour guides, Jane was experiencing a very thorough education of the city’s history and art, all while their briefly reignited friendship slowly turned to ash. 

On their eighteenth evening in Paris, when Maura once again passed on Jane’s invitation to have dinner together, Jane finally lost it. 

“What the fuck, Maura,” Jane seethed. “We haven’t eaten together in two weeks.”

“We eat together every day, Jane,” Maura said calmly as she packed a few items in her purse. Jane craned her neck to try to get a look into the bag but Maura shifted her stance to block her view. “We have breakfast and lunch every single day.”

“You know what I mean,” Jane groused. “We haven’t had dinner together. I thought we would do that at least occasionally.” 

Maura pressed her lips together, a reliable non-verbal clue that she was carefully considering her words. 

“I planned this whole trip without you, Jane,” Maura stated. “I made all sorts of commitments that didn’t include you and I think I’ve done a remarkably considerate job of accommodating you without disrupting what I came here to do.”

Jane recoiled at Maura’s choice of words. 

“Accommodating me?” Jane said, voice sharp. Maura turned around and assessed her dispassionately. Her refusal to match Jane’s energy was infuriating. “What, like you’re doing me a favour?”

“Aren’t I?” Maura glanced at her watch, avoiding Jane’s piercing gaze. “You’re in Paris for a month at almost no cost to yourself. Flight, accommodations, many of our excursions… I don’t keep score, Jane, you know that. But I think we can at least agree this is largesse on my part.”

Jane had no response to that, partly due to the fact that it was so out of character for Maura, but mostly because, devastatingly, Maura was right. Jane switched gears instead. 

“What the hell happened, Maura? The trip started out really nice. I had been so worried about it and then it was great! And then all of a sudden you don’t have the time of day for me.” 

Maura’s body visibly tensed when Jane admitted she’d been worried and Jane cursed internally.

“You’re exaggerating, Jane.” Maura said, a little exasperation leaching into her voice. She pulled a pair of Prada heels from the hallway closet. Jane knew they were Prada because she had been with Maura, holding her bags, when she had purchased them on the Champs-Élysées.

“Am I?” “We’re spending time together every day. We’ve done so many things together.” Maura braced herself against the wall with one hand, hooking a leg backwards to slip on one pump, then shifting her weight to put on the other. 

“I mean, yeah, we’ve been physically at the same place every day, if that’s what you want to call spending time together. You’re managing the incredibly impressive feat of avoiding me while standing right next to me.” Jane exhaled noisily, frustrated. “I don’t get it, Maur. We had such a good time at the cabaret and the next morning everything was different. I’m gonna ask you again: what happened?”

Maura checked her hair in the hallway mirror, glancing at Jane by way of her reflection.

“You really don’t know?” 

Jane felt an overwhelming physical urge to stop her somehow, to block her path to the door, to grab her handbag and hold it hostage. Her body twitched with the effort required to avoid escalating the confrontation.

“I really don’t.” 

Maura turned to face her, appraising her carefully. For a moment, it seemed as though Maura might relent, that she would give in to Jane and stay. Instead, she sighed and opened the door of the apartment. 

“I’m already late, Jane. We can talk about it tomorrow.” Maura stepped out through the threshold.

“I know it’s not a writing group, Maura,” Jane said coldly. 

It was a last ditch effort. Jane hoped confronting Maura about a lie would break her down. Honesty had always been such a weak spot for her. 

Maura did hesitate, but only slightly, and then she was pulling the door shut behind her without another word.

[ijustreallylovethem]

https://www.tumblr.com/ijustreallylovethem/737804343006396416/for-christmas-mark-bought-elle-a-trip-to-europe

Can we get a blurb on them opening gifts

so everyone has one gift from everyone else, so they take turns opening one present at a time. mark makes sure elle opens the gift he got her last. she’s intrigued but she also knows mark, and know she very well may just be acting cheeky and wanting “to save the best for last.”

“okay, time for mine,” he smiles widely at her. she rolls her eyes but starts to tear the wrapping paper off the box. her eyes rows furrow when she realizes what she’s looking at.

“a printout of a map of europe?”

“we’re going to europe in june. but i want you to pick what cities you want to go to.” she gasps, lifting the paper out of the box. two plane tickets to paris sit underneath. “i figured you’d want to go there so i already bought the tickets. but you can plan what we do for the rest of the week.” elle lunges forward, knocking mark onto his back with the force behind her hug.

“i love you so much. you’re amazing.”

“i love you too, elle. my favorite girl.” she giggles, and he can feel a tear hit his neck. “you crying?”

“i’m so excited!” he chuckles and so do his parents. elle pulls away, wiping at her eyes. “i can’t wait for june.”

[coffeecities]

um, i have a snippet of day 6 of @lestappenweek? 🫣 i thought about posting this independently but then i saw this would fit right in lestappen week 😶 so here you go, i guess

EDIT: was tagged by @xiaoluclair so i’m tagging her back (and now am looking through my other wips and looking for snippets to post) + also tagging @f1-giuki​ and @fueledbyremembering to post snippets from their wips to tide us over spa this weekend 👀

“That last ace serve was incredible,” Charles said as he began talking with his hands again, “but the backhand in the second set—the one before matchpoint?—was my favourite. It was very much like Federer, non?”

And really, Max had no choice but to be smitten. And once again wonder why he never bothered keeping up with Formula 1.

“Being compared to Federer is too much high praise,” Max replied, a little shy to being compared to a legend. The media could paint him arrogant all they want (and he really was arrogant sometimes, to be quite honest), but being compared to legends—especially those that recently retired—still was too much for him to handle.

“But it’s true, yes? It was like watching Roger Federer fighting with Rafa Nadal,” Charles said as he continued to praise him, “ah, but your opponent is not too much like Nadal. Perhaps we will find out in Paris.”

“Will I see you in Paris then?”

Charles gave him a small, amused smile, and Max had to wonder if it really was time to get himself updated with Formula 1. He could hear Christian in the background conversing with Charles’s companion, and wondered if he could pull his coach and save him from embarrassment.

“I would like to,” Charles began, but Max could feel a little apprehension (disappointment?) at the tone, “unfortunately, I—we—have races on some of the dates. Perhaps if you made it to the finals?”

“I always make it to the finals,” Max joked, peacocking a little as he found himself enjoying the conversation he’s having with Charles.

“Ah, but that is true,” Charles conceded with a quiet laugh, “then perhaps I’ll get myself a ticket to the finals?”

Before Max could answer, the staff interrupted them and told them they needed a photo together for their social media. Max was quick to put his arm around Charles’s waist, blaming the redness of his face from the energy he exerted while playing. Christian was already making their goodbyes and Max was a little panicked at having their conversation cut short.

“Can I have your number?,” Max asked, surprising both himself and Charles at his bold question, “I can get you an all-access pass in Paris for the finals, of course. Just so you’re not inconvenienced.”

[cant-get-no-worse]

'Let's all take a moment to remember the somptuous ref manipulation/acting performance given by Luis Suarez on March 2017. This guy practically gave us the Remontada as much as Neymar 🙏'

Ciene you can't just drop this and not elaborate

Took me about a month but oh but anon, I will. A year ago, I watched a short documentary of a former French ref who analyzed the Remontada (heavily criticized for its refereeing decisions, dubious penalties given or not given, etc) and the external factors that made it happen. Absolutely fascinating stuff. I'll give you a bullet point resume of the doc here, since it's exclusively in French.

So here's why La Remontada isn't only the consequence 22 players' mentality and in-game performances for 90 minutes but rather a product of a boiling setting, wrong UEFA predictions, inexperienced referees, weak communication, experienced players' social manipulation on top of 22 minds in radical different headspaces.

Practical context.

February 14th, 2017. Paris Saint-Germain beats FC Barcelona 4-0 at the Parc des Princes in the first leg of the UCL's round of 16.

March 8th, 2017. FC Barcelona receives Paris Saint-Germain in the second leg of the UCL's round of 16.

2. Emotional context.

After the absolute "desastre" (Mundo Deportivo's front page) that was February, 14th, everyone, save a few Barça players and part of the culés, consider the second leg to be already done and over with. No team has ever broken a four goal difference in a UCL knockout stage and the sheer beating taken by Barça at the Parc stands fresh in everyone's minds as a chapter closed. PSG has secured its ticket into quarter-finals. Barça has fallen deeper and deeper since their 2015 treble.

March 6, 2017. Four PSG players do an at-the-time chill, but after the facts bit of a surreal interview where they talk about the up coming game and their feelings about it. One Marco Verratti notably jokingly asks the three others if, hypothetically speaking, they'd be happy if they lost the game 5 - 1 but still scrapped by to the Quarter Finals. 2 of them say they'd be fine with it. The 2 others, Verratti included, say they'd be disgusted having conceided that many goals; "You let 5 go in, people are gonna laugh at you."

3. UEFA's wrong predicitions and choices of referees.

Refereeing a knockout UCL game is the stuff of what the UEFA calls "elite" referees, the best of the best in Europe.

Following the 4 - 0 of the first leg, the UEFA, deeming like 80% of football world the encounter to be over, decides to appoint a up-and-coming referee in what is talked about as an "easy game" within the Federation. It's still a knockout round game, so there are still the bright stage lights, but the stakes are deemed to be nul because of the 4 - 0: the perfect stage to give a referee a safe space to grow experience and for the UEFA to test him in stress-free conditions.

4. The refereeing squad of March 8th, 2017.

Deniz Aytekin is the main referee of the game. He's got a solid reputation as the 2nd best German referee at the time and destined to replace the old first one.

This is his first ever UCL knockout round to referee.

The whole refereeing team consists of 5 guys. Four of them are FIFA referees, meaning they've already referee international games. One of them, which we'll call Double B., is however only a Bundesliga referee. He's never refereed a European game in his life, never been under such bright spotlights. He's there as an Additional assistant referee (AAR), meaning he's behind the goal line to observe if any incident occurs near the penalty area.

He's the weak link of this whole refereeing team.

5. A boiling setting.

Despite the heavy 4 - 0 slapping received by the home side in the first leg, the attendance on March 8th is 96,290. The stands are jam-packed, heated by Luis Enrique's words of the previous night in press conference:

But the audience must be a cauldron, before and during. There will be no need for a break. I don't ask them anything. But we will need a Camp Nou like a volcano.

The setting in which everything happens plays a key part in how the night's going to go. The chants, jeers, shouts, whistles and protests of almost a hundred thousand people are directed at the opposite players, but also and more importantly at this team of referees thrown onto the pitch. One of which has never refereed a European game, and another one who's experimenting his first UCL's knockout round.

This isn't me waxing some poetics by the way, but a factor to take into account when analyzing this match. New Zealand's famous haka, the ceremonial dance executed by the All Blacks at the beginning of each of their rugby match, has been critized for being a tool for the team to take psychological ascend over their opponents. This debate has taken place around a one minute ceremonial dance performed by fifteen players. Now picture ninety minutes of ceaseless jeering produced by a hundred thousand people all around you, constantly, added to the twenty-two players, their coaches, their staffs and substitutes on the pitch pressing you at every decision.

That's why UCL games require "elite referees", and that's why it was the mistake of UEFA to call up inadequately prepared referees to this game that changed everything.

6. First shake (3')

Luis Suarez (Barça, n°9) scores with his head. The 4 -0 is reduced to 3 - 0 (aggreg.) not even three minutes into the match. In the referee's head this match, which should've gone rather peacefully and without surprises, is already shaping up to be something else than a mere testing game.

More importantly, as players celebrate wildly, you can see Double B., the referee in charge of checking the ball has crossed the line and can indeed count as a goal, looking at an assistant referee rather than taking the decision himself. First tip of something wrong: you got a referee who's not assured enough in his own judgment to make a call.

At such a stage, a weakness in decision-making is unforgivable. It will prove true later.

7. Key fault (23')

That's Edinson Cavani (PSG, n°9) in white. That's Gerard Piqué, local angry catalan man (Barça, n°3) in blue.

Piqué just made an uncontrolled tackle from behind. Piqué, known for protesting at every corner, walks away without saying anything when Aytekin pulls a yellow card.

That's because he knows in any other circomstance and game, this action should've been a straight red.

This will prove key in the game's unfolding, acting as a pressure point on the referee's future decisions and players' behaviour.

8. Tense situations. Luis Suarez, local Karen. (23' - 45')

The next twenty minutes are a swarm of potential-penalties situations and complaints. Neymar falls in the penalty box but isn't given a penalty. Around the 30', Cavani takes a yellow for referee contesting: knowing Piqué's first tackle deserved a red, Cavani is outraged at the lack of yellow showed by Aytekin the second time Piqué fouls him, and reclaims one is showed. He's the one that takes the card instead, sending him furious.

Most notably, at around 35', Suarez almost goes to head-to-head challenge with Meunier over some action at a corner. He then proceeds to get up Aytekin's face, protesting over what seemingly is nothing.

It is nothing, but what Suarez is doing isn't innocent. Protesting and contesting every call the ref does is a behaviour he's known for, has got the referees wary of players like him, and not only because it's annoying: because over the length of 90 minutes and within such setting, a player constantly contesting and protesting calls can get in the head of lesser-accustomed referees.

The devil works hard, but Luis Suarez, appointed contester in chief, works harder. That too will prove true later, at the tipping point of the match.

9. Half time (45')

At half-time, the socre is 2 - 0, five yellow cards and four potential-penalty situations the ref has had to deal with. Players and referee squad go back to their locker rooms to a feverish stadium. At that point, a referee is redoing the first half of the game in his head: what Aytekin, and the players & staff, are seeing, are all the accumulation of non-given cards, given cards, tense non-penalty calls and contests. This piles up in everyone's mindset and creates a serie of pressure points in the unconscious - or conscious, in case of players like Luis Suarez, used to play on such chord - of everyone on that pitch.

This is very much not what the UEFA had planned for this team of referees.

9. Turning point. (50')

At the 50', Neymar (Barça, n°11) in blue is tripped by Meunier (PSG, n°12) in white inside the penalty area.

Aytekin doesn't give the penalty. Players protest. Aytekin consults the sidelines referee. A few seconds later, he gives the penalty for Barcelona.

This precise moment is where Aytekin loses the match and what explain the Remontada.

See, when this action happens, Aytekin is there (bottom, in yellow glow):

About 14m from the action: the most well-placed to judge what happened and make a call.

Up there (top of the screen, circled in red), you got Double B., the Bundesliga ref, who's the furthest from the action, the less experimented of the referee squad, who shouldn't referee at this level. As Aytekin says nothing, players start protesting, and start swarming up Double B. :

That's Luis Suarez at the left, by the way. I know, color me surprised. Local referee's-face-lurking man, just short of hand-written protest signs but not of hand movements to express his sheer outrage at the call, how could you not call this, there is foul, see, see, there's penalty, call it, how can you not see this.

So Suarez is once again complaining - with Rafinha (Barça, n°12) - but this time not to Aytekin: he's complaining to the very much non experienced Double B. And as Aytekin hasn't announced a penalty, what's Suarez doing? What he always does, what he's been doing since minute 0, probably been contesting nurses' opinion since he was out of his mother's womb. Provokes, simulates, criticizes, contests. There, he's pointing at the penalty area. Now what's Double B. doing? Not staying in his place, that's for sure: he walks on the pitch and towards Aytekin, forcing the latter to acknowledge the opinion of his AAR by going to him. Thing is, it's not like Double B.'s opinion was 100% his: he's inexperienced, far from the action, litteraly swarmed by Barça players telling him there's foul and penalty, and under the pressure of 90 thousand people currently yelling him the same thing.

So, instead of acting like as a proper AAR - an assistant referee - and letting the main ref make the right call from where Aytekin was the most well-placed to, or staying where he was and letting Ayteking know his opinion in the privacy of their headset, Double B. publicly backs Aytekin to a wall.

Seconds later, Aytekin points to the penalty spot and, amending his previous decision, gives the penalty. Messi (Barça, n°10) transforms it.

3 - 0.

Aytekin's just lost control of his referee team, and he's just lost control of the game.

10. Getting control back. (50' - 67')

So at that point, you have on your hands a match that has completely changed, a boiling situation escalated into prime Balkans 1912, a stadium on fire, players thinking they can do about anything, and a referee squad who starts taking decisions in your place.

Aytekin isn't an idiot. He's a ref with experience, no matter how little in the UCL. He knows he has to take back the upper hand in this game, or it's going to be hell. When a ref has to tell others something, he does this through his headset: this is what Aytekin must have done after the 50' minute, following the previous incindent. He most certainly has send a message to his assistant refs and linesmen, reminding them of how it worked: they have authority in the designed zones they're astrained to, but he remains the main ref and the one to make a call elsewhere.

This reminder of hierarchy is not without incidence on the follow up.

In the following minutes, Aytekin refuses to give penalty to Neymar when he falls in the box.

At 62', Cavani scores, bringing hope to everyone on PSG's side, but also allowing the referees to breathe: this game might finally fall back on its feet. At 67', Aytekin immediately calls Suarez's bluff when he dives into the penalty box and gives him a yellow. You can visibly see Aytekin regaining confidence in his own judgments and taking back the prevalence in calls. Everything is finally resolving itself.

Is it, though?

Two issues.

we're at the 67' minute. This is the eight yellow card showed by Aytekin. Amongst referee, there's a sort of implicit accord that beyond five yellow cards, you should start putting reds, to take back control of the game. A red makes all your over-excited players stand still.

minutes pass, and soon enough we're entering the 80th. This match is a high-intensity one, both mentality as we've detailed extensively, but also physically. It's back and forth all the time for Aytekin, who's the only referee constantly running all around the pitch with the players.

Eventually, Aytekin pays this physical intensity, and this reestablishment of hierarchy within the referee squad.

11. Fucking up. (85')

Di Maria (PSG, n°11) goes back for a speedy counter-attack towards Barcelona's goals; he's fouled inside the penalty area by Mascherano (Barça, n°14).

Highlighted in yellow, the other assistant referee.

Highlighted absolutely nowhere to be seen, Aytekin.

Aytekin is too far away, he's been running around for almost ninety minutes, he's worn out. So for once, the most well-placed referee to make the call for this action is the Assistant Referee.

Slight issue there: this assistant referee is part of the squad that's been put back into place some twenty minutes ago by Aytekin over an almost point-by-point similar situation happening on the other side of the pitch. He's heard his colleagues and himself get told that in such cases, it's Aytekin who gets the final call. Problem is, it should indeed be Aytekin to make the final call, but only if Aytekin is in a position to call anything: this isn't the case here. The Assistant is utterly alone and the closest to the action. He's the one who has now a legitimate say to whether or not what he saw counts as a penalty.

He doesn't say anything. Aytekin doesn't call the action. No penalty given to PSG. This could've been the goal that would have turned the history of the match.

It doesn't. The score remains 3 - 1 on the pitch, 5 - 3 on aggreg.

12. Luis Suarez. Yes. (91')

After Neymar reduces the 5 - 3 to 5 - 4 at the 88' in a free kick that's enough to make a grown man tear up each time he recalls it, there comes this.

These images make me howl with laughter. I genuinely cannot help but laugh out loud each time I see the face of this man, giving Camp Nou an acting lesson worthy of being hidden behind a MasterClass paywall. Because spoiler alert: this bitch has not been tripped by Marquinhos (PSG, n°5).

There is a contact, but this isn't a penalty contact. There's an amplification on Suarez's behalf - no one who's been tripped falls with their hands in the hair, your first instinct dictates you to put them in front of you to soften the fall - and borderlining on simulation.

Aytekin gives a penalty and a yellow card to Marquinhos. At shis tage of the match, with these stakes, at the point where the action happened, if you're gonna call penalty and thus validate the fact that you think Marquinhos willingly fouled Suarez as he was going to the goal, this shouldn't have been yellow. This should've been straight red.

Giving a yellow highlight Aytekin's incoherence in his decision making. Confusion furthermore highlighted by what happens next.

Do you know what's the rule for penalty taking? As soon as 2 players, one of each team, have intruded the surface as the taker is taking it, the penalty has to be redone.

Do you know how many players are in the penalty area? Seven.

Aytekin doesn't make the call.

Barcelona gets its fifth goal at the 91' minute. 5 - 5 (aggreg.)

13. Match ended. (91' - 95')

Over the course of the next few minutes, Suarez manages to avoid a card once again, having trapped Aytekin in a mental game where Aytekin can't give him a yellow without giving him red, Verratti gets a yellow, the stadium cries at every opportunity. It's the tenth yellow card Aytekin has given in this match.

This is Argentina - Netherlands 2022. At this point, so many yellow cards don't mean a single thing other than the referee has well and truly lost control of the game.

At this point, Aytekin knows he's fucked up, massively so. His only redeeming grace would be for Barcelona not to pass to the Quarters. He'd go under the radar for a bit, until the UEFA use him again for another game, and his career would get out of this mess mostly fine.

Tough luck.

So the Remontada is the result of a crash fall from 4 - 0 heights, a profession of faith by a 25 old, unwavering hope of a thousands, failure of UEFA to consider UCL football as an ever-changing tide where the beaten team isn't condemned to defeat, failure of the winning team to conserve a cool head, inexperience of a referee, lack of proper communication, wrong calls, non calls, too much calls, peer pressure and one very, very decided Urugayan.

In short: I understand where the feeling is coming from (ie: obvious failures of refereeing) but I don't believe the Remontada to be rigged. I believe it is merely a splendid display of the impossible rendered possible by humans being humans, at their strength as in their complete failings, and a serie of unfortunat/fortunate events (depending on which side you're standing on) resulting from each action, decision and mindset of the involved actors. UEFA business men are humans. So are players. So are referees. It was unfair. If I was a PSG supporter, I believe I too would be calling it rigged for lack of better words. I just so happen to have been on the lucky side. It's the referee's fault, it's everyone's fault. It was avoidable. Or perhaps it wasn't. Beautiful football for some, nightmarish evening for other, at the end of the day, it just was, and that's about it.

[futurecorps3]

OK, what about Eddie dating a cinephile? Like, they meet each other in a videostore, and there're always something new, because you can't possibly watched everything... 💕

Masterlist <3

THIS IS SO SWEET AND AMAZING I LOVE IT 😭💘 (I like cinema a lot but idk if I'd call myself a cinephile so this is just fucking perfect ahhhhh hope u like it bestie <3)

»»————-　♡　————-««

"Hey Y/L/N" Steve greeted me as I once again walked into Family Video. "What ya got for me, Harrington?" I smirk, leaning over the counter, looking over the little doodles he and Robin made, tickets with addresses I'd never be able to read and some change they didn't place on the cash register. Steve pulled out an enormous pile of tapes from under the surface, all neatly wrapped in cellophane paper. Fresh tapes.

"Seriously, you could be addicted to weed or alcohol, but you choose to drown yourself in-" "Art? Yes" I interrupted, my rings jingled as I made grabby hands and directed them to the new movies they had curated for me "Gimme gimme" The paper felt soft under my fingers, and I couldn't help but sigh in relief to see I had my weekly watch list updated once again.

For about a month now, Steve and Robin had been keeping a copy of the best-reviewed films in the "art" labelled box that came in every week for me. Not that they ran out of copies, because if we're honest, no one in Hawkins watches the three-hour, black and white, European movies over the latest Police Academy, but because they chose them specifically for me and saved me the reading and researching.

And for that, I'd be eternally grateful.

"'Paris, Texas'?" "'84, it's about this homeless dude who wanders off the desert and tries to reconnect with his seven-year-old son and his wife" Steve explained, exaggerating now and then on his tone, mocking what seemed one of the worst plots ever "It's from that one dude you like, Y/N" said a raspy voice in the back, soon, Robin was walking to us with a box in her hands "Win Wenders?" "Yes, him" she nodded, dropping the package on the floor next to Steve's feet.

"It must be good then" I smiled, tapping my fingers on the tape and directing myself to the horror section "Start counting Harrington, I'm feeling hysterical tonight!" he laughed at my affirmation and jazz hands before registering the prices of the 5 movies I was taking home "On it". I dragged my feet through the carpeted floor, scanning over the endless dumb titles and humming a certain Black Sabbath song I couldn't get out of my head since yesterday.

"What the fuck is 'the fly' supposed to be about?" I asked myself, giggling audibly and continuing for my search. The rack was awfully empty this week. Shit. And then, I saw it. Almost like a vision, the lights reflected on the shiny letters; 'Friday the 13th: Jason Lives'. The cover had Jason's hockey mask illuminated from behind. 'Jason Lives' could be read on a grave. I scoffed, chuckling at the ridiculousness and the lengths people will go to keep a franchise alive.

Perfect.

I smiled to myself, noticing it was the last copy. I reached to grab it. "Hey Steve, I'm also ta-". The touch of someone else's hands stopped me mid-sentence. My eyes looked up after we both flinched, revealing a tall boy with the craziest hair I had ever seen. His lanky, pale figure framed by a t-shirt from a band I didn't recognize and black jeans.

"Shit, sorry," we both mumbled under our breaths, loud enough for the other to hear. We laughed together, a pretty one he had. "It's the only good one of this miserable bunch," I giggled, pointing awkwardly at all the others. Would it kill me to stop being so stupid and act like a normal person when hot people were around me? "Yeah, this week's selection is pretty crappy," he nodded, motioning his ring covered fingers over the complete area. "Watch it, Munson" Steve warned.

Munson. I've heard that somewhere.

"You can take it," I said, offering him a tight-lipped smile and waiting for him to take it. "No, it's okay. Take it," he answered. "Listen, I'm taking a bunch of tapes, anyway. Harrington has them on the counter now. This was just a whim." he smiled cheekily and paused for a second before taking the title.

"Let's watch it at my place"

I couldn't help but laugh quietly, blushing a little, but still a bit freaked out by the sudden request. "What makes you think I'd go to some stranger's house to watch a crappy movie?" I question, looking him dead in the eye with a curious glimpse coming from my pupils. "I mean, they say it's pretty good; A sixth part that has been attempting to keep whatever they have going on alive, pathetically, by the way, might be enough to risk your life," he smirked playfully, brushing some hair out of his face with his ring-clad fingers.

"Nice rings" "Thanks" we both stared at each other, him hoping I'd say yes and me contemplating the decision I was about to take. Would mom be proud? No, she wouldn't. This was probably a terrible idea, but in my head, Robin and Steve knew him, so I was 99% sure he wasn't a total psycho trying to kill me.

"Fine, but you gotta walk me home after" I smiled, walking before he could say anything else. A little "Yes ma'am" followed soon after and I heard steps coming behind me. "15 dollars, please and thank you," Steve grinned, packing the tapes in a plastic bag and sliding them over the counter.

"Did you not want anything from the shitty horror section?" Robin asked as the boy gave her the movie and handed her some wrinkled dollars from his black pants pockets. "Yeah, but he's paying for it" I giggled, taking the bag with my tapes and walking towards the exit. From the reflection on the store's glass, I could see Steve and Robin's perplexed expression as I waited for Munson boy by the door.

"Relax you two, the voices haven't acted up in a while now," he smirked. Robin couldn't help but burst out laughing and I did as well, after knowing for sure he was joking "Plus, Harrington here knows where I live in case I decide to kill you" he smiled sweetly at me, opening the door for me.

"Well, at least I'll look pretty while making my way through the doors of hell. Bye, guys!" I waved the wonder duo goodbye and walked outside, accompanied by my new friend, who had a little smile on his lips. "Do you live far from here?" I asked, walking as the dirt on the road got my black boots muddy. "No, it's only a couple of blocks away. Ya' know the trailer park?" "Oh yeah! So it really isn't too far from here"

A brief pause was made, cars passing by next to us, the sound of the wind being the only thing heard aside from the music they were playing on the inside. "I know you" I nodded, throughly sure I've seen this boy somewhere else. "School?" "Probably, b-but there's somewhere else I've..." "My band? 'Corroded coffin' rings any bells?" he seemed hopeful. He wanted my answer to be a yes, but I really remembered nothing related to a band.

"No. But that's one great fucking name." He nodded, laughing softly at my remark. "I know. Y-you should come see us... we play at the hideout on Tuesdays. It's pretty cool. We actually get a crowd of about... five drunks?" Munson admitted. He sounded almost embarrassed but still with a dorky smile adorning his lips "Hey that's something!".

After about five minutes, we arrived at his trailer. It was getting dark and the warm lights coming from the tall posts scattered around gave the place a mysterious atmosphere that was very much appreciated for our current situation. He struggled briefly with the keys in his hands, the lock not working properly the first time he put them in.

I got inside, cleaning my shoes on the rug rapidly and dropping the plastic bag I had been holding on the couch. Papers filled the carpeted floor, many notes and drawings sketched with black ink adorned them. They were on top of some squared sheets and maps of what seemed to be a fantasy land. "Excuse the mess. I wasn't expecting visitors." the boy quickly but with great care gathered them all, placing them on the empty table near the kitchen.

"You say that as if you weren't the one inviting me over" I said as I sat on the couch and waited for him to play the movie "Well, it's not every day you see the pretty girl you've noticed at school reaching for the last copy of the slasher movie you were pretending to check out. Sue me" he breathed, walking towards my direction and sitting on the other side of the small yet comfortable loveseat.

I felt the heat creep the way up my cheeks. Truth is, he was hard to miss. The big hair, rings, black bandana in his back pocket, chains, all black clothes. Of course, I had seen him at school before, but it seemed like a wild idea he'd noticed me as "the pretty girl" or for either of us to even acknowledge each other's existence. Hawkins was one shitty small town.

Throughout the movie, we remained silent besides from the small scoffs and maniac-like laughs we released at the silliness of the deaths on the film. I had to admit it was refreshing not to watch something that required deep analysis and my undivided attention. He made popcorn, and we placed it in the middle of the couch, him throwing single pieces at me from time to time and vice versa when we got bored.

It was nice to see a Jason movie that hadn't had just one death and some nice jokes in the horror of it. To be honest, all I've ever thought about when I'm reminded of that night is that boy's company. The little quirks he put on display when a jump-scare got him, how he'd mumble things to the characters as if they could hear him and his feet going absolutely wild when he got excited.

He was the nicest stranger I had ever met.

As promised, he walked me home. It had many advantages to it; it was dark, the walk home was about twenty minutes and I really found myself extremely intrigued about him, so I really didn't feel like the night to end right there. As we wandered to my place, he told me all about his DnD club, the band, how he learned to play guitar and the stories behind his tattoos since I pointed them out eagerly when I first noticed.

"I'm taking you to get a tattoo" he stated, more like a decree than a request "Jesus no! My parents would kill me" "Oh but they don't need to know about it" he teased with a little smirk on his face, raising his speed for just a moment and facing me soon after, walking backwards into the road. "You are a bad influence, Munson." "They don't call me 'the freak Munson' for nothing, doll" he winked.

I could feel something about the way he said that. And I just knew Jason and the team who shared a single brain cell with him must've come up with that stupid nickname "They just can't handle your coolness" "You think I'm cool?" he smiled "Duh" I said, widening my eyes with knitted eyebrows at the thought of him thinking otherwise of himself as we stepped into my front yard.

"Thanks" I nodded right after we stopped a few steps away from my door. "Hey, you potentially risked your life by coming with me. It's the least I could do" I couldn't help but giggle at his statement. "I was extremely stupid, yes. " "But did you have fun?" "I did" I smiled, walking towards my door and leaving him behind.

"And uh, by the way, the name's Eddie. I-I'm Eddie Munson," he said from the street just as I was about to close the door. "I'm Y/N" "See you tomorrow, Y/N" he smiled, waving goodbye and walking back from where we came from.

But I didn't see him on Monday. Or on Tuesday. Not even wandering the halls. Truth is, I was hoping to see him right away. It was until Wednesday when we finally spoke again. "Hey, Y/N" were the words that startled me when I was getting some stuff from my locker, I flinched before I turned to see it was him, earning a soft giggle.

"Relax, not here to murder you" he smiled. "Where have you been?" I asked, actually curious. "I could tell you I've been pretty busy with my business or I just didn't feel like coming but I've been trying to figure out how to approach you for the past two days" he barely blushed at the statement, rocking on his feet back and forth, hands in pockets.

God, is he cute.

"Is the plan coming along? Are the results fulfilling?" "I got to see you again, so yeah" now I was the one blushing like crazy, he noticed and smirked so smugly it almost made me mad. I couldn't get mad at him but I know I had given him the satisfaction of seeing me blush. "Does the pretty girl happen to be free on Friday night?" he questioned, looking at me amused "The pretty girl happens to be, yes" I nodded smiling.

"Great. Movie night?" my heart melted at the thought of repeating the whole thing again, wanting nothing but that since he left last time "What are we watching?" "I don't know, but there's plenty of tapes at Family Video. You're not about to tell me you've watched it all, are you?" he said, raising his brows at the serious matter in hand "I don't mind re-watching" I joked, getting a small smile from him too-

"Oh you got me feeling kind of special, Y/N" "You are, Eds" I closed my locker after noticing the red tints on his cheeks. "Now walk me to class," I said patting his arm and walking before he caught up.

We started dating a month after that.

To this day, I am convinced there hasn't been a more beautiful coincidence than Eddie Munson to ever happen to me.

[evita-shelby]

Incantatrice

Chapter 14

(Also the result of the build-a-fic game, thanks for playing)

"He looks miserable, poor soul."

Gif by @themarcspector-a

Taglist: @thegreatdragonfruta @zablife @wandawiccan60 @call-sign-shark

Luca is not the same man as before.

He is colder, cruel and craving blood, Shelby blood to be specific.

He loves her still, but he is rougher and less tolerant of her games and the way her visions disagree with him and his plans.

Audrey is an unwelcome guest in their house ---making it feel too small despite having rooms for everyone--- where she begins to make Luca heed her every word.

The witch fights her for Luca’s attention, and she just knows she’s going to kill that fucking woman one of these days.

But then, out of the blue he surprises her with a romantic getaway for two to Paris while Audrey takes care of the children.

Rosalba is nearly a year old now and Leonardo nearly five, as much as Eva cried about leaving them, she can’t let her marriage with Luca slip from her fingers.

And it is a good decision, he is different away from that wretched woman’s desire for vengeance.

Vengeance Eva knows will be the death of him and every man that goes with them.

But Luca is as if nothing had changed in Paris.

Apologizes for neglecting her as of late and lets her do as she pleases. They are somehow like before, when he agreed to her strange whims because he knew it be fucking fantastic.

Luca has been very indulgent as of late.

He is hiding something, and she knows what it is.

The witch knows he is preparing for the vendetta even if he lies to her face about it.

The Changrettas in New York, the Battaglia from his mother’s side, some Terranova cousins he has been chummy with recently and even Matteo’s in-laws were getting involved in his vendetta.

“There is no fucking way you go to England without me, mi vida.” She said holding his ticket for a first-class cabin on a different ocean linear.

“I can risk the children losing both of us, Evuccia.” He tries to take the ticket back only for her to gracefully move out of his way the moment he bends slightly to distract her with his lips.

She could taste the Averna in his breath even after moving away from him.

“But you want me to be okay with losing you.” He goes high, she goes low.

“Eva.” He begins and cannot even make a better argument about it. “I have to do this; they came for my family and they will pay for it.”

They were kept under lock and key now, always armed, men keeping watch and moving with every step they took.

Even Spinietta could feel the dark shadow looming over them.

A vendetta was to the death of the last man or until some accord was had.

But Luca needed more than Thomas, Arthur and John dead.

Audrey wants them to make the Shelbys wish they had never crawled out of the hole they came from.

To kill the children and the women and anyone carrying Shelby blood.

“Take me with you. You always do better with me in your corner.”

Luca knew Eva was not one to fuck with, and yet every time she joins the game, she leaves him shocked.

“Yes, Mrs. Macmillan, I have heard so many things about Mr. Shelby. He is not a good man; I would not wish any child to grow up with the man who killed his real father.” Eva smirks as she plays the concerned mother to a woman unaware her only grandson had not a single drop of her blood.

Grace Shelby was something.

She wanted to break the rules for Shelby and yet left boots cleaner than any shoe shiner Luca knew.

She wanted Shelby and she had gotten him only for less than three months.

The man had waited for a standard two year mourning period for a husband she or he killed, the boy was given the dead man’s name to save face even if everyone and their dog knew the man shot blanks and now, would lose the boy because of his dead wife’s desperation to be accepted by her own people.

He had lost his family, Luca had mentioned to Eva and told her this was the best time to attack.

He still has one person he would do anything for, the witch had smirked as she drank from his liquor as they plotted.

Charles Thomas Macmillian would be spared from the vendetta only because in the eyes of the law, he is not Thomas’ son.

“He will be weaker by the time we arrive, mi amor. Nothing worse than knowing your own child will never be yours again.” Eva was good, he could admit that.

But she was the mother of his children, his wife, his woman.

If they killed her like they claim they killed the late Mrs. Shelby---

No, just the thought of that was enough to make him truly afraid.

She should be safe in New York, with the children and waiting for him to clear the way for their triumph.

Instead, she is here making a phone call before they leave Paris tomorrow, proving how much he needs her on his side.

“They will come after you, vita mia, I cannot lose you.” He continued to persuade her against joining him.

“They can try all they want, but even death is afraid of me, Luca.” She argued before leaving her red lips on the rim of his glass.

Next time they drink it, it will taste like Shelby blood.

They will make Thomas Shelby and his family a footnote in their history.

The next morning, they depart together for Liverpool.

“He looks miserable, poor soul.” Eva hides her blood-red smile after Mrs. Macmillan thanks her for giving her the courage to fight for her only grandchild.

“Poor he is not, and I doubt it he has any soul. Killed my Clive and then stole his boy.” The Irish American woman spat the mention of Thomas Shelby.

Won’t recover from that, publicly. Not him nor his dead wife ---whom Eva had the displeasure of meeting and humiliating in New York three years ago--- would ever be known as anything else as the man who killed Clive Macmillan and the woman who helped him cover it up.

A very fucking dumb mistake to let everyone believe sweet Charles was Clive’s offspring.

But very fortunate for her, the witch who wants to prevent unnecessary murders in this vendetta.

“I am so sorry, what was your name, dear?” the woman asks as they part ways.

Shelby will not know what hit him.

“Eva, Eva Changretta. My husband is the one you should thank, his late brother was a victim of Mr. Shelby, you see, my late brother-in-law wanted to marry his secretary only to find out she is his mistress. Poor Grace must have been so afraid of him.” The witch lies and the woman eats it all up.

[vulpes-fennec]

Prythian's Fantasia 🎪 (Ch. 2)

Summary: It’s 1889. Desperate to save her ailing mother’s life, Feyre strikes a bargain with ringmaster-witch doctor Amarantha. As the Archeron sisters join Prythian’s Fantasia and head for the World’s Fair in Paris, they begin to realize the circus’s magic runs far deeper than its enchanting nightly performances.

Read: Masterlist | AO3

***Elain***

London’s finest—including the Archerons—arrived at Prythian’s Fantasia in a procession of stately carriages and well-mannered coachmen. The middle class bundled together in exposed horse-drawn wagons, rumbling and jostling over cobblestone, while the poor came on foot. Regardless of their mode of transport, everybody had to be dropped off at the edge of a short lawn and line up at the gate. 

Prythian’s Fantasia was nothing at all like the previous circus shows Elain attended, which were humble little events. She had first spotted the flag-tipped peaks of the circus tent cresting above buildings from across the Thames. Now, up close, it towered overhead, light pulsating under its vertical white and plum red stripes. 

“Hurry up!” Elain’s heeled slippers squished into the rain-drenched grass as she tried to keep up with Feyre. A tall gate encircled the circus, complete with swirling brassy motifs and a proud display of “Prythian’s Fantasia” over the entrance gate.  

How a traveling circus managed to erect gas lamps and a tall gate around its premises was beyond sound logic. Despite these firmly established characteristics, Prythian’s Fantasia lacked substance, as if it were a whimsical dream on the verge of waking up. Perhaps it was the faint sound of instrumental music drifting in the frigid air. Or perhaps it was the golden light and friendly murmuring beyond the gates that drew Elain in, like a moth to a flame.

A peculiar ticket booth was the last thing standing between them and the festivities. Nestled between brassy gates, the booth’s entire exterior seemed to be made of clock parts: translucent faces with Roman numerals of all sizes, burnished gold cogs and gears, onyx hands, wiry mechanisms. The surface shifted and clicked, as if the entire ticket booth was a clock. 

“Tickets, please!” If the incessant ticking and clicking bothered the young woman with twinkling teal eyes in the booth, she did not show it. 

“Yes, here they are!” Feyre excitedly handed over the crimson slips. Coppery-brown hair shifted in the light as the ticket attendant scrutinized the tickets. Feyre was holding her breath anxiously. Thankfully, the attendee ripped the “Admit One” tabs off before handing them back to Feyre. 

“Welcome!” The girl clapped her hands twice. “Enjoy your evening at Prythian’s Fantasia! Next! Tickets, please!” 

Feyre was giddy with delight as she pushed Elain through the well-oiled gates. The delicious scents of savory butter and sweet caramel hooked snagged Elain’s attention. To her left, an open air, plum-red tent housed several portable cooking apparatuses on wheels. The setup reminded Elain of the street food vendors who hawked hot buns, jellied eels, mystery soups, and sausage on London’s streets, except this outdoor cafe was spanking clean. And it sold delightful things: salted nuts, crystalline candies, treacle-drizzled apples, hot coffee, and what looked like puffy white clouds on a stick.

“Oh, I’m so hungry,” Elain exclaimed, turning towards Nesta with a silent plea in her big brown eyes. “We should have some refreshments before the show begins!” 

Nesta relented, purchasing a small bag of sweets and one of the cloud sticks. Elain and Feyre delicately pulled on the cotton material, eyes widening in amazement at its fluffy texture. “It’s sweet!” Elain gasped with delight.

“And it melts in your mouth!” Feyre added, grabbing another piece. “Nesta, you must try it!” 

“You’re right,” Nesta agreed, her gray eyes lightening as she took another bite. “Perhaps we can buy another one. They call it cotton candy.”

“Cotton candy indeed,” Elain sighed, unable to stop eating the sugary cloud. 

Cheerful orchestral music played in the distance, the catchy tune tempting Elain to dance. Folks of all classes milled about, partaking in the treats or boisterously appreciating all the fine touches of Prythian’s Fantasia. Children chased each other in little groups, delighting in the amount of open space available to play. While there were more attractions—Elain heard several circus goers babble excitedly about the optical illusion and fortune-telling tents somewhere around the corner—it was in their best interest to locate good seats.

Nesta swung open the plum red flap, revealing a colossal circus tent that lived up to the circus’s outlying grandeur. Rows of seats—actual seats, not just wooden benches—circled the massive ring, the lowest platform already filled with patrons. Thick metal beams stretched high into the air, parallel to thin ladders that led up, up, up onto small platforms. A web of ropes and bars criss-crossed just shy of the plum red and white-striped ceiling, promising of acrobatic performances to come.

“Up the stairs,” Nesta chided as Feyre and Elain stopped to gawk at how the circus ring was a shallow, matte-black tub instead of dusty dirt. The Archeron sisters settled on the seventh row up, with Nesta and Feyre sandwiching Elain protectively. The tent had five entrances, and Elain wondered how the performances would enter without a designated backstage area. 

After several minutes, the lights dimmed, cuing the audience to quiet. Click-clack, click-clack. Heeled boots strode crisply across the floor, so dark that it seemed to swallow up all light. A yellow spotlight singled out a woman at the center of the ring. Dressed in a fitted gold bodice and cream breeches tucked into knee-high black boots, the woman’s crimson-painted mouth smiled, stark against her bone white skin. 

“She’s wearing breeches?” Elain blanched slightly. No woman dared to wear breeches. 

“She’s wearing breeches,” Nesta said in amazement next to her, leaning forward with marked interest.

Clearly this woman did not care what the audience thought of her, based on the way she tossed her flowing, plum red hair over a shoulder and tilted her chin with regal air. A crimson jacket, with its hem brushing the curve of the woman’s waist, was made more feminine with a cinched waist and black lace edging the lapels and cuffs. She seemed lovely…and powerful. 

“Good evening ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls. My name is Amarantha, and I am Prythian Fantasia’s ringmaster.” Amarantha’s lilting voice confidently amplified across the vast space, just like magic. “Are you ready for the greatest show on earth tonight?”

The crowd burst into a mixture of polite applause and raucous cheers. Elain clapped lightly, while Feyre whooped loudly in response. 

“I’m very pleased to see you as well. Without further ado, let the circus begin!” 

Music kicked up from a hidden orchestra. Lights and a gaggle of performers exploded into the ring. Acrobats in brightly colored suits walked on their hands, with legs and feet perfectly pointed in the air. Unicyclists cut tight corners, weaving between performers comically wobbling on tall stilts with striped pants artificially elongating their legs. Pairs of smiling dancers twirled streamers, stepping in precise, synchronous rhythm. 

The glorious display was simply too much to take in, as Elain’s eyes could barely focus on one act for five seconds before darting towards another. As for the matter of the lights…were the red, green, and blue beams a product of electricity? But even then, how was it possible for the lights to be so clear, so multi-colored? 

After several successive songs, the organized chaos of performers disappeared off into the sidelines. The ring darkened again, and silence fell in anticipation for the next act. The pitch-black darkness weighed heavily with the presence of hundreds of souls. She could no longer tell which way was up or down, what was in front of her or even behind her. It was a heart-pounding, sweat-inducing oppressiveness.

But then…a spark. A tiny sign of life down in the ring. Someone seemed to have struck a match.

Fire danced its way into a sparking, fizzling circle that grew larger and larger. Drums began pounding in the background, the powerful beats sending vibrations through the seats. 

A shadowed figure twirled a flame-tipped rod at high speeds, cycling the ring of fire through the air before gracefully tapping the rod on the ground. Upon contact, a circle of fire erupted, creating a wall of fire burning so hot that Elain felt heat sear her face. She gasped when three people stepped out of the flames: a woman with a bird mask, and two men—one with a fox mask, the other with a feline mask. The blazing inferno dimmed slightly, just enough to cast an orange glow over the audience. 

The two male performers lit their staffs, and began moving to the beat, effortlessly passing the staff between hands, threading it over shoulders, under arms, and between legs. Fire was contorted into multiple shapes, streaking through the air like a glowing serpent. Surely any lesser-trained performer would be scorched, but these performers danced with fire unbothered.

Elain’s eyes were drawn to the man in the fox mask, who she now just realized was shirtless. His toned body gleamed in the orange light as he reached into a basket and tossed one, two, three, four balls into the air. The fire must have added a few degrees to the room, for Elain was suddenly feeling hot at the sight of his fine muscles and braided red hair glowing like molten ore. The pounding drums became one with her heart as Elain stared, enraptured. 

The foxy man simultaneously set the four balls on fire and extinguished his staff with one final slash. Elain’s jaw dropped when he began to juggle the flaming balls with his bare hands. Surely this was impossible, she thought. Perhaps the man had covered his hands in a protective coating. 

Her attention shifted to the woman, who had exchanged her staff for two massive fans in each hand, both ablaze with blue flame. Her mouth curved sensually under her bird mask as she fluttered the fans, twirling them deftly with quick wrist movements. Her free-flowing long red hair, similar to that of the foxy man’s, did not catch fire. 

Again, the woman moved as if she was one with the flame, bending her knees and shifting her shoulders gracefully around the blue fans. She pranced around the arena, light as a deer, and lifted her hand as if she were blowing a kiss to the audience…she blew fire. A solid jet of flame that set a tall torch ablaze, then another, and another, as the lady made her way round the ring. 

Was this a lady, or a dragon who had donned pale skin and a burgundy gown? The way she breathed fire so effortlessly…surely there had to be some match up her sleeve, a sleight of hand that struck flint and sparked the torches. Elain wished the fire act was longer, but it seemed that the circle of blazing torches had set the stage for the next performance.

***Feyre***

The hour had passed in a magical blur. Trapeze artists and acrobats had just finished swinging through the air like nimble monkeys on a vine. The audience—and Feyre included—had held its breath in fear as men and women in leotard tights leapt, somersaulted, and swooped through the air, with no net available to save them should they fall. 

Feyre had been tempted to shield her face, to avert her eyes so that she would not have to bear witness to a performer splattering on the ground like an egg. She was not immune to gripping Elain’s hand like a vice whenever an acrobat seemed to soar just shy of the catch bar. Waves of relief would soothe her fears when performers not only caught the bar, but also managed to swing back up and execute somersaults mid-air. 

Now, frightened gasps broke out in waves as a massive beast prowled onto the arena. Large as a horse, with a thick, shaggy brown body and a wolfish head, it had several ladies fainting on sight. What a strange creature! Like most things in Prythian’s Fantasia, it was unlike anything Feyre had ever encountered before. 

The beast circled around the arena with feline grace, allowing the crowd to view its full glory. Surely the attendees in the first few rows were regretting their decision to sit so close as they shrank back against their seats upon the beast’s fearsome approach. When it passed by Feyre, she could make out sharp black claws scraping the ground, as well as the massive teeth poking out from its maw. Elain trembled next to her. 

Crack! Amarantha strode onto the ring, armed with a whip and cool as a summer lemonade. The beast snarled, its emerald green eyes glowering viciously at the ringmaster. With a flick of Amarantha’s wrist, the beast sat on its haunches. 

The crowd murmured in awe at how a woman could control such a dangerous animal with a simple gesture. The ringmaster did not have to wield the whip when she ordered the beast to jump through the hoops and nimbly navigate the obstacle course. Upon her cue, he would even let out a hair-raising roar that kept the audience on its toes. 

While everybody else was preoccupied by the beast’s tricks, Feyre was busy studying its features. Working out how to replicate the ripple of muscle, the fine texture of the hair, and the strange proportions of its body on paper. While others found the beast frightening to look at—Elain, for example, was covering her eyes—Feyre thought the creature was fascinating.

The beast act was relatively short; the arena falling into darkness soon after. But Feyre did not fear the dark. Right now, she could see stagehands rushing to set up the ring for the next performance, thanks to perfect night vision. In fact, she’d spent countless hours manipulating shadows to shield herself from danger in London’s shady hovels. She’d even mastered darkness into something corporeal, strong enough to open a door or swipe money off the table. 

The power of the night was what Feyre called it, not wanting to ponder too much where her capabilities came from. 

Light flashed and thunder crackled like an avalanche, causing Feyre to jump out of her seat this time. And standing in the newly lit circus ring, amidst clouds of billowing violet smoke, was the most beautiful man she had ever seen. 

A magician, judging from the looks of his black top hat and his fitted black suit with silver threading. He gallantly bowed. And upon straightening his back, the man’s uniquely blue eyes seemed to pick her face out amongst the sea of people. His mouth quirked into a feline smile, sending an electric jolt down Feyre’s spine.

Feyre blushed, though she had no reason to. Everybody else was fixated on him. So why did he find it particularly satisfying that she was staring?

He could not be any older than thirty, but his expression seemed to carry the weight of a man who had lived countless lifetimes. The circus seemed to employ performers from all over the world, yet Feyre was most intrigued by this man’s origins. With his black hair carefully slicked back and his warm brown skin, it was clear this man was not English. 

The magician swept his top hat off his head, turning in a circle to show the audience its empty contents. Because out came a sizable hand-held mirror, a lush bouquet of roses, a broadsword, a silk blanket, and finally, a rush of pure gold coins pouring into a seemingly endless waterfall. 

The crowd clapped appreciatively as he placed the mirror, roses, and sword back into the hat. As for the pile of coins on the ground, the magician threw the silk blanket and waved his hands with flourish. Feyre watched the lumps under the cloth and the ground carefully, wondering if she could catch his sleight of hand. 

But when the magician plucked the silk blanket off the floor, the coins had completely disappeared. It was as if those objects had been squirreled away into a pocket between worlds. He tucked the blanket back into his hat with a smug smile.

“For my next set, I require a volunteer from the audience.” His voice was deep and sensual, with a slight rolling accent. 

Feyre’s hand shot up like lightning. Oh please, please, please, she begged silently. There were so many other volunteers in the audience, but this was her one chance to get closer to him. 

“Put your hand down,” Nesta hissed. The magician glanced towards her again, but to Feyre’s immense disappointment, he selected a young man and an older woman at random. 

After briefly allowing the volunteers to introduce themselves to the audience, the magician gave both a deck of cards. 

“Thank you for your participation. Please check the cards to ensure a complete deck, and affirm to the audience.” The magician smirked. “Wouldn’t want anybody to accuse me of foul play.” The deck must have been arranged by suit and number, for both volunteers affirmed loudly that the decks they held were regular playing cards.

“Now, both of you shall shuffle your cards, and then fan them out. Like so.” He adjusted the older woman’s cards by maneuvering her hands, causing Feyre to suddenly feel a pang of jealousy. The woman, old enough to be her mother, looked ready to swoon at the handsome magician’s gloved touch. 

Upon his instruction, the volunteers picked a card at random from each other’s deck. “Examine the card you’ve selected, and then show the audience. I shall close my eyes, of course.” The magician enunciated clearly as he strode around the volunteers slowly. 

The magician placed his hands behind his back and closed his eyes, patiently waiting for the volunteers to display their card. The man held a nine of spades, the lady held an ace of diamonds. 

“Excellent. You, sir, have selected a nine of spades. And you, madam, have selected an ace of diamonds.” Both of the volunteers’ eyes widened in shock, for the magician was several yards away and his eyes were still closed. The audience clapped appreciatively. 

“Before we can move onto the next act, we must set the cards free.” Confusion was written across the volunteers’ faces. The magician raised an eyebrow in response. “What, never had to release your playing cards? Well, all you have to do is toss them into the air.” 

Feeling somewhat foolish, the volunteers reluctantly cast their deck of cards into the air. In a blink of an eye, the numbers and suits fluttering to the ground were replaced by a small colony of brown bats, squeaking and flapping their wings as they took to greater heights. 

“Impossible,” Nesta said in disbelief as the audience roared with delight. “Those were a standard deck of playing cards! Bats?” Feyre watched the bats as they settled on the tightrope wires. From the way they hung upside down, still chittering, the bats were very real indeed. She could have sworn the magician was looking at her again, seconds before he turned to the volunteers. 

“Please step onto our magic carpet, so I may transport you to a delightful world.” He smoothly set out the silk blanket from his hat. “Fantastic. Close your eyes, and on the count of three, you may open them again. One…”

Shadowy mist began to appear out of thin air, roiling over the magic carpet. Feyre jolted up in her seat. 

“Two…” Feyre’s heart thundered in her chest, recognizing the unnatural movement of shadows. The magician had the same capabilities as her. 

“Three.” The volunteers opened their eyes and looked around them with a renewed expression of wonder. 

“Such lovely flowers,” the lady gushed. “Oh, the butterflies are magnificent! This grass…such a vibrant green and freshly trimmed…” She bent down and seemed to pick something up from the ground. 

Meanwhile, the man walked with a swaggering step, as if the ground was shifting underneath him. “Oh hoh, finally on the high seas!” he crowed. “Give me your looking glass, mate! We must search for treasure on the endless horizon!” 

Feyre was vaguely aware of the audience clapping and shouting more questions at the volunteers, who answered them happily. She barely registered the volunteers waking up and thanking the magician profusely for such a life-like illusion. Hell, the magician had continued to perform a slew of magical feats, each more impossible than the last, yet she could only sit stunned.

She was not naive to think magicians had actual powers. Parlor “tricks” followed a specific set of steps that, when coupled with proper showmanship, created the impression of magic. Perhaps the volunteers had been strategically placed actors, all in cahoots with him.

The whole night had been surreal, though. Feyre would have chalked it up to the thrill of going to a circus show until she recognized the magician’s shadow magic as her own. Oh, Prythian’s Fantasia definitely carried otherworldly power under the guise of pure talent. If the magician possessed such remarkable magic, then ringmaster Amarantha’s power was surely leagues above the performers. 

Realizing the rumors of Amarantha were legitimate was like striking gold in a riverbed. Feyre’s heart soared like the trapeze artists: hope existed for her mother, for her family!     

The magician had one last illusion up his sleeve: he threw a handful of glittering dust. Light dropped away to reveal the night sky above, as if the circus tent’s canopy had been lifted away. A multitude of stars twinkled in the backdrop of eternity, the moon’s crescent sliver an exact copy of the one that waited for circus goers outside. 

The night sky had always comforted Feyre, and despite all her efforts, she could not quite capture its magnificence on canvas. And now the magician had replicated it effortlessly.

The golden lights gradually returned, but the magic lingered in the air like a suspended cloud of stardust. A standing ovation, thunderous drumming of feet on the floor, cheers and whistles filled the air. Feyre didn’t want to leave just yet, but Nesta and Elain were urging her to move along.

It was raining again by the time the Archeron sisters found their family carriage, cold droplets splashing down onto Feyre’s shoulders. Their carriage was just as frigid, and Elain clung to Nesta for warmth. 

“That was such a delightful show!” Elain exclaimed. “Please send Isaac my thanks when you see him again, Feyre.” 

“Of course,” Feyre murmured as she peered out past the rivulets of water streaking down the window. The distorted lights of Prythian’s Fantasia grew more distant with each step the horses took. Once they faded from view, Feyre closed her eyes and smiled quietly at the thought of the magician’s charismatic eyes. Questions were lingering on the tip of her tongue, and she would see that they were answered.

✨

Tags: @velidewrites @reverie-tales @highladysith @shadowsxgwynriel @foxwithagoldeye @sunshinebingo @jealousveronya @corcracrow

[fizzycherrycola]

PrUK / FrUK Historical Fluff [PART 8]

As a gift from France, England receives a pair of tickets to a spectacular exhibition in Paris. He decides to bring Canada along to the event and they explore the wonderous inventions amidst the backdrop of the Industrial Revolution.

Click Here to Read from the Beginning

Industry and Grandeur - Chapter 8

England’s brass timepiece ticks softly, and yet, the page before him is still bare.

By now, a report to Queen Victoria detailing the day’s events should have been completed, or at least drafted. Instead, the pen and inkwell sit untouched.

Darkness hangs gently around the soft edges of the apartment’s lamps. They hiss quietly, expending their gas for pale, sleepy light. England’s head rests upon the writing desk. Its mahogany wood has grown warm against his temple, so he shifts, rolling his head to the other side and finding a cooler spot to soothe his skull. His eyes scan the room in a vain attempt at distraction.

Crown moulding and embellished panels decorate the walls, accented by long, flowing drapes and elegant, upholstered furniture. This hotel room is much more luxurious than the coaching inns and taverns which once populated the city. Dwindling family-run businesses cannot compete with four-storeyed arcade towers, private bathrooms, high windows, and elaborate carpets. This, too, is another sign of progress – an exemplar of the ever-changing future.

England grimaces.

A vision of that blasted lipstick smudge appears in his mind’s eye. Must they discuss it? Canada has been alive for centuries and based on tonight’s events, he obviously knows how courtship works. If England broached the subject, what would they possibly talk about? Christ, he would rather not. It would save them both the embarrassment. And were things to progress towards their... natural conclusion... there would be no consequences beyond a petty scandal anyway. Besides, with their kind, fathering children is impossible. No, damn the lipstick; that is not the real concern!

The crux of the matter is... adulthood.

England shuts his eyes. Head throbbing, his mind drifts to the early months of 1813, when American raids harassed communities along the St. Lawrence River. It was just after a war meeting; while the men filed out into the cold, Canada lingered behind, wearing a sour expression on his pimpled, boyish face. England was prepared for another mild disagreement, because he had initially forbidden the boy from fighting. Their quarrel happened as expected, but instead of backing down, Canada insisted, saying: ‘This is my home. These are my people. Let me defend them.’

Noticeably, he did not say ‘our people’, and that simple change made all the difference in the world. A rare spark of something burst from behind Canada’s passive demeanour that day. He stood, straight-backed with a steady fire behind his young eyes and England could not find the words to make that spirit disappear. So, he relented, putting one of his spare uniforms on the boy’s shoulders and a rifle in his hands.

As Canada was an inch or two shorter than England then, the jacket hung loose on his smaller frame, but even so, he gave his thanks. England should have recognised those actions for what they were, but he did not. Maybe it was the plethora of stressors plaguing his mind at the time, from Napoleon to America, or some other unconscious snare. Regardless of what ailed him, he later dismissed Canada’s attitude as a rare ill temper, when of course, it was not.

It was a declaration of identity, maturity, and self-reliance. Underneath his kindly demeanour, Canada was already a grown man.

“Your people,” England murmurs to the empty room. He sits up, joints creaking from the erosion of centuries, and sighs, dragging his hands over his face.

Presently, it is the spring of 1844 – just shy of seventy-one years since everything fell apart with his former ward, America. England registers a familiar cramp in his stomach and fails to shut it out of his mind.

Through the gaps in his fingers, his eyes drift to the page. Never mind the Queen; he will write to her later. Firstly, he must sort out this neglected thing with Canada, because England cannot get anything else done until he does. What to say, though? Every book that covers respectable letter-writing offers similar advice: to speak from the heart and with only the best intentions. But what the best intentions are, England cannot often deduce, and from the twisting knot in his abdomen, he can almost feel any good will being strangled by apprehension. What if Canada turns out the same as his brother? What if everything crumbles all over again?

England has no idea how others do it. How on earth can one be laissez-faire about such things? Recalling Prussia, England remembers his words:

‘I haven’t made any plans at all!’ he declared today, followed by: ‘This is different from a campaign. I’m raising a young man!’

Is it not better to have a strict plan? One that instils good morals, loyalty, and obedience? But... if that were the proper method, England would still be on speaking terms with America. Proper speaking terms, and not the low-contact charade they have going, where discussions are sapped of emotion and only occur out of necessity. Their last correspondence involved settling a trade dispute, and letters were addressed with cold formality. ‘To whom it concerns’ is how America begins most messages he now sends across the Atlantic.

No, the old methods will only yield old results. England sighs. He takes his pen, dips it in the inkwell, and brings it to the paper.

With no memories of his mother and paltry examples from his brothers, how can he be a proper guardian without any role models to imitate? Only briefly did he ever catch snippets of family life from the humans he knew. The parents and keepers were never perfect, but plenty far exceeded others. Successful households seemed happy, close-knit, and loyal to one another.

‘I suppose... I’m striving to let him grow up – to keep him happy and healthy.’ Prussia was beaming when he said that.

England hesitates, heart wavering behind his ribs. Then, he starts writing. The words come slowly at first, trickling out of him like a thawing river on the edge of spring. Then they build momentum, flowing steadily; he writes and the pen scratches away. His brass timepiece ticks, interrupted occasionally by whispers of the world around him. Low murmurs of conversation in the room below. A footstep or two from the apartment above.

Beyond that, there is little else. Outside, the world has begun to quiet and his hotel windows that overlook the Tuileries Garden vanish. The universe shrinks down to his singular hotel room and the ink characters that carve emotion out of pulp.

It is near midnight when he finishes the statement and checks it over. It reads less like a speech and more like a letter. Perhaps that is preferable. With a flick of his wrist, he signs it as such and considers slipping it under Canada’s door. However, that would be quite cowardly.

He gets up and drags the chair aside, wood scraping against wood, and winces at the sound. Then he exits his hotel room to invade the narrow hallway space in front of Canada’s door, pausing before it. Deliberately, England smooths his frown into something normal and placid, clamping down on his final doubts. When ready, he finally knocks and waits for an answer.

For a while, there is nothing.

England’s loose fist hesitates in mid-air. Should he knock again? Perhaps Canada is asleep. Yes, that is probably a reasonable assumption. Throat dry, England swallows. It would not be terrible to have this discussion another time; after all, he has written down his thoughts, so the hardest work is done. Still....

Then, the creaking floorboards come to life, and a latch clicks open.

“Um... hello,” Canada mumbles, peeking his blonde head through the door.

England coughs. “Canada, I was hoping... erm.... Might I have a word?”

Canada slouches and his gaze slips to the ground. Silently, he steps aside and opens the door further. England enters, fingers fidgeting with the pages and pointedly avoiding eye contact.

“Um,” Canada says. “Are you upset with me?”

England halts. Then, he turns and gapes at his ward.

“Whatever for?”

Canada shrugs. “For trying to hide the truth? About the actress?”

“Ah, right. That.” England sighs. “No, I’m not cross.”

“Really?”

“Really. Just don’t let it happen again.”

Canada's neck droops lower, making him look very much like a scolded dog. England blinks, realising his awful phrasing. “Omitting the truth, I mean! Not the other thing. Don’t tell half-lies, of course. Be sure you don’t do that. But as for meeting with the actress, that’s... well, it doesn’t need to be explained in detail. Just be sure you.... Erm.”

He stops talking. Screwing his eyes shut, England mentally curses himself with every colourful phrase he can imagine. Which, after centuries of living with his brothers, is quite a multitude. He takes a steady breath, exhaling slowly, and opens his eyes. “It’s fine.”

Canada is staring, wide-eyed and owlish. “Okay.”

“Shall we have a seat?” England strains, gesturing to the small yet posh sitting area.

They shuffle to the sofas and sit opposite one another, and England finds the patterned cushions to be much stiffer than they appear. He thumbs through the pages in his lap. “You’re not in any trouble,” he manages, “but I’ve written something down that I think you should hear. And after I’ve read it, we can... have a chat about it. Is that all right?”

Canada arches an eyebrow, but he leans in, the tension melting from his frame. He nods.

“Okay.”

England sighs and glances over his handwriting once more. Iron weights burden his shoulders and lead settles in his shoes. This is about as comfortable an atmosphere as he can hope for. All that is left is to push through to the end, come what may.

He clears his throat and silently promises himself that he will not murmur or mumble his next words.

~~~

Author’s Notes

Before modern hotels, it was common for travellers to stay at coaching inns. These were small establishments with fewer rooms where you could sleep overnight while lodging your horses. They fell out of style in the 1800’s as the luxurious yet accessible hotels replaced them. Our characters are meant to be staying at Le Meurice, a hotel built in 1835 which overlooked the Tuileries Garden.

During the War of 1812, Britain’s attention was divided between fighting Napoleon’s armies in Europe and defending its North American territories.

As mentioned in my notes on Chapter 2, the War of 1812 was very important in forming the Canadian identity, including the idea that civilian soldiers were largely responsible for repelling the American invaders.

While it’s true that trade resumed between the USA and Britain after the American Revolution, the relationship was rocky for a long time, flipping between tepid and disruptive depending on numerous factors. Examples include: The Jay Treaty (1793), the War of 1812, the Caroline affair (1837), and several territorial disputes.

Many guides about proper letter writing were published in Victorian times. Often, they’d simultaneously advise to write with absolute feeling and be cautious about saying too much, or saying the wrong things. It was a difficult balancing act, to be sure.

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[p96822]

After Tucker deactivates the dream helmets, Danny, Jazz, and Marinette return to Fenton Works.

Marinette and Danny went to bed and had good dreams about them together on a date. Marinette's dream was them on a hill while watching the sunset. Danny's dream was for them to go dancing and have fun at the Eiffel tower.

The next day Danny and Marinette woke up ready to start the day. Marinette thought of something that she and Danny were going to do today.

"Good morning, mon chevalier," Marinette greeted her boyfriend with a smile.

'Good morning Mari," Danny greeted back.

Marinette went next to him and kissed him on the cheek. Danny blushed at this show of affection.

"Was that a good morning kiss?" Danny asked.

"Do you like it?" Marinette asked.

"Well yeah," Danny smiled at her.

The two stared at each other before Jack and Maddie came out of their room and saw this moment.

"Aw, look at that, Jack. They look at each other like you, and I did when we were in College and even now," Maddie cooed as she placed her head on Jack's chest.

"You got that right, sweet cheeks. I see that loving stare that Danny is giving Marinette, just like I give you," Jack smiled at the moment.

Marinette and Danny saw them teasing them and decided to go to the bathroom and get washed up.

After getting washed up, they went to their room to get dressed and then headed downstairs to eat breakfast.

"So, Marinette, what do you want to do today?" Danny asked his girlfriend.

"Maybe we can go see a movie or something?" Marinette suggested.

"Yeah, that sounds pretty good," Danny said as he looked at his phone for any movies they could see.

Danny found a movie that he showed Marinette that surprised her. It was the Ladybug and Chat Noir Movie that was being showcased in Amity Park's Theather.

"I didn't know Ladybug and Chat Noir Movie came to America?" Marinette said.

"I guess it was popular enough to come here of all places," Danny said.

"So you want to go see your superhero crush's movie?" Marinette teased him.

Danny nodded with a blush, and after finishing their breakfast, they went to the movie theater to buy their tickets.

As they were walking to the movie theater, Danny had to ask this question to Marinette. "So you met the guy who made this movie?" Danny asked her.

"Yes, I did, and you knew that macaroon I was about to give Adrien gave him an allergic reaction after he accidentally ate it," Marinette said.

"I didn't know about that part of him eating the macaroon by accident," Danny said.

"He got akumatized that day, but Ladybug and Chat Noir was able to save the day," Marinette had a small smile on her face.

After they finish talking about Marinette meeting the director of the movie, the two make it to the theater and buy their tickets to the Ladybug and Chat Noir Movie.

They got their popcorn and drinks and went to their seats to see the movie. There were only a few people besides students from Casper High who were fans of Ladybug, Chat Noir, or both. Danny thought he saw Star and Kwan in the movie.

As they watched the movie, Danny felt slightly jealous of Chat Noir being paired with Ladybug.

"I hope that ladybug can be paired up with phantom next time," Danny joke.

"Well, Danny, if you want phantom to be in the next movie, come to Paris more often," Marinette said. "Also, Ladybug might be grateful for having another partner to help her out and chat noir." she put her head on his shoulder.

Danny blushed as they were about to kiss before his ghost sense went off.

"Oh, come on! Who is ruining this moment for us?" Danny muttered

"I'm the Box Ghost, and beware!" the Box Ghost said.

The audience ran for their lives after the Box Ghost showed up. Danny grumbled, dealing with the Box Ghost for the two millionth time.

"Hey, Boxy, can you beat it? I'm in the middle of something!" Danny said, annoyed with the interruption.

"What do you mean?" the Box ghost asked.

Danny facepalmed and transformed into Phantom to deal with this annoyance.

He phased the Box Ghost out of the movie theater and started to beat up the Box Ghost and trap him in the Fenton Thermos. He phased back into his seat and transformed back into Fenton.

"Wow, that was quick," Marinette said, impressed by how Danny dealt with the Box Ghost.

"Yeah, Boxy is annoying, but I can easily take him down," Danny smirked.

After the movie, Danny and Marinette were going to head back to Fenton works until They saw a poster about a carnival. So they decided to check it out.

They headed to the carnival and which was free for couples.

"Well, that was convenient," Danny said.

The two went on rides like roller coasters, bumper cars, and the Ferris wheel, where they saw the sunset. Both of them said it was beautiful before Danny said, "just as beautiful as you," they kissed after they left, and Danny's ghost sense went off, and it was Ember. She was hypnotizing people with her song.

"I guess the teen rocker wannabe is the back," Danny quipped.

"Can you fill me in on who she is?" Marinette asked.

"Evil rocker chick who uses her music to hypnotize people so she can rule the world," Danny explained.

"Alright, got it. Do you need any help taking Ember down?" Marinette asked.

"I can normally handle her on my own, but if you insisted on helping me, then be my guess," He told her.

They found a private place to transform, and they nodded at each other.

"I'm going ghost!" Danny cried out.

"Tikki, Spots on!" Marinette cried out.

As Ember continues to sing, she stops by her microphone being taken away by a yo-yo.

"Who decided to ruin my concert?" Ember asks.

Ember saw Danny Phantom with a girl she didn't know right next to him.

"Hey, baby Pop, who is the girl with spots?" Ember asks.

"I'm Ladybug, and you're interrupting our date," Ladybug said.

"Your baby pop's girl. Sorry, but you don't look like dipstick's type," Ember said...

Marinette looked offended to hear that.

"What are you saying that I'm not his type? Are you saying you're the type of girl he likes?" Ladybug said.

"What?! No way!..."Ember said, but she sounded forced.

Ladybug did not care as she kept speaking.

"I'll admit, even if I'm not the type that Danny normally goes for...at least he is choosing to spend the day with me. I guess he likes girls with good natures over girls with egos and megalomanic tendencies..."She said.

Ember heard this and frowned. She got angry at that remark and felt some jealousy, though she refused to see it that way.

"Someone has to crush this bug..."The villainess thought.

"You sound all smug, bug girl. I wonder just how smug you'll stay if I...just for kicks...steal your date..."Ember said, smirking.

"Wait...what?!..."Danny exclaimed.

Ember smirked and aimed her guitar at the ghost boy.

"Time for a love song!..."She shouted as she fired.

"Oh no, not again!..."Danny shouted.

"No!..."Ladybug shouted as she pushed Danny out of the blast's way.

And ended up getting hit instead.

Danny saw this and panicked once he realized what had just happened.

"Ladybug?!..." He exclaimed in worry.