#maybe she takes more of a journalistic approach?

[lohstandfound]

hmmm.... deities au might become a fic or something

[avocad1s]

Trial By Combat - 6

Requested By: No one. Original Work

CW: manipulation?

Summary: Arlecchino’s got a secret…

Note: You all asked and I will provide! Here’s part six <3 this chapter is a bit slow but I promise it’s leading up to something great!

Part One —> Part Five

-

Fontaine, for the most part, had finally begun to go back to normal. Although no trials have been held since the Creators trial, many shops have reopened their doors to the public once more. It’s as if Fontainians want to disregard the event entirely, treating it as a work of fiction like the Prophecy. However, this doesn’t stop The Steambird from posting every single update regarding the Creator, nor does it stop every copy from selling out.

Despite the lack of trials, it hasn’t prevented the Chief Justice from sending criminals to the Fortress of Meropide, and only hours from now, Paimon and Aether would be a part of the group sent there. The two were the only customers dining at Cafe Lutece this afternoon, the owner seemed almost eager to provide the gluttonous amount of food the duo had ordered.

“Oh Paimon is feeling a bunch of nerves right now and it’s just making her more hungry.” She whines while rubbing her stomach. “I’m just hoping that the food in the Fortress is actually tasty.”

Aether lets out a soft chuckle, “it’s a prison Paimon. I doubt that the food will be any good”

Paimon pouts crossing her arms. “Hopefully will be rightfully compensated for our due diligence. Oh! Maybe even something from the Creator themselves!”

The traveler gives her a look, “you shouldn’t think like that Paimon, not when they are currently missing right now.”

The travel guide immediately covers her lips, muttering out a small apology.

“Speaking of the Creator,” Paimon says, “do you really think Childe might know something? I mean, we’ve heard how he’s talked about them before.”

It was true, during their time in Liyue when they had met Childe, he had expressed how heavily he revered the Creator. Not just him, all of the harbingers they’ve met have mentioned the Creator in a positive light. Aether even recalls when the Wanderer told him that the only thing all of the harbingers could agree on was their ultimate respect for them.

“Based off our interactions with the Fatui before, they might have some respect for Their Grace. But we still have no idea why they want the Gnosis, maybe it’s connected to the Creator.”

Paimon nods in agreement. “You’re right. If the gnosis are what connect the Archons to Celestia, then maybe the Creator has something similar?”

“Hopefully if the Fatui got their hands on Their Grace, they haven’t left Fontaine yet. We should still be able to rescue them.” Aether adds.

“Paimon hopes so too! Oh I can only imagine the type of horrors they could be putting them through!”

“Are you talking about Their Grace?!”

A familiar girl with a pink bob holding a camera in her head pops out of a bush quickly approaching the table. It was Charlotte, and she had a large smile on her face.

“Do you two have any nuggets of information about Their Grace? Oh please share it with me, I’ll make it worth your while!”

Paimon and Aether share a look before looking back at the journalist.

“We don’t have any new information on The Creator.” Paimon explained, “we didn’t even know they had returned until Monsieur Neuvillette told us.”

Charlotte makes a look of surprise, “wait seriously? It was such big news! I’m sure everyone in Teyvat wrote the piece I had written.”

Charlotte places her camera on the table taking a seat across from them. “I’m just hoping for Their Grace to have a speedy recovery. I would love to interview them if they let me, it just seems like all of the big names in Fontaine never have the time for an interview. Monsieur Neuvillette and the Duke of Meropide have been on the top of my list for ages now!”

“Oh right, you’re a journalist Charlotte! ” Paimon exclaimed, “do you have an information about the Duke?”

Charlotte ponders for a moment, “not really, just the same regurgitated information I get from people who leave the Fortress. Why do you ask?”

“We actually are going to the Fortress later today.” Aether answers.

Charlotte’s eyes get as big as saucers as she’s jumping in her seat. “You two are going to the Fortress?! Will you two please get some information about the Duke for me?

Noticing the restrained looks on their face, Charlotte quickly adds, “I’ll pay for your meal! Yeah…! Let’s make it a deal, you get information on the Duke for me and this meal of yours is on me!”

Paimon grins, “it’s a deal!”

Charlotte shares Paimon’s enthusiasm as she pulls out a small bag of mora ready to pay for the meal. At that moment, the owner returns with multiple plates and bowls filled with various amounts of entrees and desserts wheeling it to the table.

“H—how much did you order…?”

———

Many journalist stood outside of the Palais Mermonia demanding answers from their Archon who had entered the building earlier that morning. Luckily, gardes stood outside preventing anyone from entering.

Inside of the chief justice’s office was him, the God of Justice, and the Champion Duelist whose hair was damp with sea water.

“I checked the surrounding area,” Clorinde says, “there is no traces of Their Grace anywhere. The only logical conclusion is that the Fatui must’ve done something with them.”

Neuvillette nods. “Thank you for looking Clorinde, your help is appreciated.”

Clorinde nods, “it’s no trouble. We all want Their Grace to be found safe and sound.”

Furina had a worried look on her face as she paces back and forth in the office. “W—what are we supposed to do now? We looked all over Fontaine and they aren’t anywhere.”

“Lady Furina.”

Furina stops pacing, turning her gaze over to Neuvillette who looked calm considering the situation. “I think it’s time to meet with the Kanve, wouldn’t you agree?”

“T—that Knave?” Furina stammers, “ha, why would we meet with her? Don’t we have more important things to worry about?”

Neuvillette clears his throat, “until we find Their Grace, we must operate like normal. If the others find out that we lost Their Grace—“

Furina lets out a breath putting on a confident stance, “yes! Right of course!” She interrupts, “I was thinking the same thing… I will prepare for the two of us to discuss relations with her as soon as possible.”

“Who said that I would be joining you?”

Focalors lets out a short gasp as she quickly approaches his desk, her gloved hands balling into fists. “Y—you expect me to attend the meeting alone! No! You must go with me!”

Neuvillette closes his eyes as he shake her head, “I must focus all my attention on the Creator, we must locate them before the rest of Fontaine and Teyvat begin asking questions. As the Archon, this is something you should be able to handle. Correct?”

Furina tenses slightly but lets out a sigh. “But… wouldn’t attending the meeting be the best thing for Their Grace?”

Neuvillette furrows his brows, “What do you mean?”

Furina’s confident flair was back just as quickly as it dissipated, “Attending the meeting will give us the chance to indirectly interrogate the harbingers before she even knows that we suspect her.”

Noticing the look on the chief justice’s face, Furina lets out a boastful laugh. “Naturally I, the God of Justice, would be the first one to think of this! Worry not Neuvillette, I believe that after this meeting, the truth shall be revealed!”

Clorinde mutters how she needed a towel and Neuvillette lets out a sigh.

“Very well... I will participate in the meeting.”

In between Fontaine’s Lumidouce Harbor and Chenyu Vale, a large ship was anchored the familiar insignia imprinted in the sail. There was a plethora of Fatui agents stationed on the ship that it was overwhelming, it would be impossible to infiltrate the ship without being spotted.

Many of the agents weren’t even aware why there was such an urgency to return to the homeland. Curious glances and whispers spread throughout the ship like wildfire, wondering what could the Knave possibly be doing in the lower deck that no one else was allowed to enter unless they brought news from Fontaine. All of them knew better than to question their harbinger, but she hadn’t been seen since the night before.

“Your Grace.”

Arlecchino’s soft voice cuts through your thoughts. Fontaine was in danger and you were the only one who could help, at least that’s what she believed. It was only a matter of time before the nation was completely wiped off the map, Lady Furina has done nothing but bury her head in the sand.

You glance at her face, despite her sharp features she still had a soft yet powerful air around her. Maybe that’s why the children from the House of the Hearth trust her so much.

“Are you hungry? I have chefs on board, they can prepare anything you desire.” Her hand rested on top of yours, her long nails rubbing against your knuckles in a comforting way.

You were famished. You knew she was capable of, but she was making you feel so welcomed. It felt as if you could trust her, tell her anything and she would understand.

You nod slowly and she smiles.

“I’ll be right back.”

She stands up from her spot next to you leaving the room. Her luscious black and white hair that was pulled into a low ponytail flowed behind her. Arlecchino returned quickly letting out a soft sigh.

“They are preparing a Snezhnayian specialty, the food is quite delicious. I hope it’s to your liking” She commented placing her hand right back on top of yours.

“We will be heading towards Snezhnaya at sunset.” She says. “Although leaving Fontaine wasn’t originally apart of my plan, but considering the circumstances, changes had to be made.”

You furrow your brows. “The circumstances?”

Arlecchino nods. “Your power…or rather, lack there of.”

“I have a colleague, I do not trust nor like him very much but I cannot deny his intelligence, I believe he may be able to figure out the answer… or even Her Majesty may know.”

So there was a colleague within the Fatui who had extreme intelligence that might be able to help you. Maybe he would even know why you were healing so quickly? Or does that tie into your “godly” abilities too?

“Is that why we are leaving so quickly? Because of my supposed amnesia?” You ask.

The Knave shakes her head, “not necessarily. It’s mainly for your safety, you don’t wish to stay in a nation that tried to kill you, right Your Grace?”

You were forced into a corner with that question. Wanting to stay in a nation that almost killed you was bad, but wanting to go to a nation that had the capability to kidnap you wasn’t any better. Yet you had to pick your poison, and in that moment you decided—

“Right.” You reply. “Leaving Fontaine is the smartest option.”

“I knew that you would see it my way,” she praises, “I only want what’s best for you and all of Teyvat.” She gives your hand a squeeze a small smile spreading on her red lips.

A small knock on the door interrupts the moment, Arlecchino looks at the door her gaze becoming icy. “You may enter.”

The door opens and a young lady whose face is obscured by a mask enters and she immediately kneels.

“Y—your Grace… Lady Harbinger.” Her voice was almost breathless, her gaze transfixed on you. “I have news from Fontaine.”

Arlecchino lets out a sigh crossing her legs. “News? What is it?”

“Focalors has agreed to have a political meeting with you. The chief justice Neuvillette will also be attending.”

The Knave doesn’t even try to hide the smirk that spreads on her face, “Very well then. Was there a time mentioned for this meeting?”

“In the next few hours Lady Harbinger. We’ve already got a boat ready to return back to Fontaine’s harbor.”

Arlecchino stands, her gaze becomes soft once more when she looks back at you. “Your Grace, I will return as soon as I can. If you have any needs anyone on the ship will be more than happy to serve you.”

She exchanges a few whispers with the agent before giving you one last smile leaving the bottom deck. The agent looks at you one last time before stuttering out.

“I—I’ll go get your meal immediately Your Grace!” She rushes out of the door leaving you alone once more.

The Fortress of Meropide was more grand than Aether had anticipated. Surrounded by Fontaine’s sea, there was no escape from this prison besides the path they embarked, which was at the rear of the Opera Epiclese.

After heaving their mugshots taken, Aether and Paimon are escorted onto a ship where they meet their tour guide, who is also just another prisoner within the Fortress. The entire tour he was standoffish and dry only giving the required amount of information. If the two asked for more information about credit coupons, secret rules, or about the Creator, he would say they’d have to pay for that.

The prisoner leads the two down the large hallway of the Fortress when multiple gardemeks came around the corner. The traveler immediately takes a stance ready for a fight when a voice eases his worries coming around the corner with the machinery.

“Welcome to the Fortress of Meropide,” the man greets. He had dark clothing and dark hair with a scar under his eye.

“Y—your Grace!” The tour guide quickly says, his standoffish nature immediately disappears. “Lovely weather we’re having!”

The man glances over at the tour guide, “Hm? Oh yes, I guess the weather is nice. If we could see it.”

The prisoner lets out an awkward laugh as the Duke looks back at Paimon and Aether. “I’m Wriothesley, but you can call me Your Grace.”

“You’re the Duke of Meropide?” Paimon asks in a shocked tone. Wriothesley nods.

“So, how was your tour?” He asks, “was everything up to standard?”

Aether glances as the tour guide for a moment before giving Wriothesley a firm nod. “Yep. No complaints here.”

“Wonderful.” Wriothesley smiles, “I think we should be able to reward you with more credit coupons then?”

“T—thank you Your Grace! Thank you!” The tour guide says. He then looks over at the traveler, “and thank you for such kind words! If you ever need anything! Anything at all! Please come find me!”

Once he rushes off, the Duke turns his attention back onto the newcomers.

“So, is it normal for you to greet all newbies in person like this?” Paimon asks.

Wriothesley lets out a soft laugh. “No it’s not. I just heard that you two were friends with Neuvillette so I figured I finish the tour myself.”

“Wait, how do you know that?” Aether questions.

“The Fortress might look like it’s cut off from the rest of the world but word still travels fast. Just like what happened to Their Eminence.”

Paimon glances at the traveler briefly. Wriothesley continues, “Many people in the Fortress were ready to leave just for a chance at seeing the Creator. But since they are still in the hospital recovering, I managed to keep them under control.”

“What else do you know about the Creator?” Aether asks.

“Nothing really.” He responds, “I haven’t had the time to leave the Fortress and go visit them myself. Unless you’re talking about the basic information, there’s books all around the Fortress that can tell you that.”

Wriothesley continues on with the tour, showing the where the so-called cafeteria was, the Pankration Ring, and where they would report to work everyday. He also mentions Sigewinne, the nurse who looks after anyone who gets hurt or sick.

Lastly, he shows them where they’ll be sleeping. As he explains the procedures for their room, Aether gazes falls onto someone walking nearby. An oddly familiar magician.

Lyney stops walking and looks back at him, but once Wriothesley notices, Lyney lets out a soft laugh doing a dramatic bow.

“Well hello there Your Grace! It’s lovely to see you out of your office!”

Wriothesley crosses his arms, “it’s good to see you too, but shouldn’t you be reporting to work?”

The magician gives him a cheeky smile as he stands back up, “of course! That’s where I was heading right now! But these two must be very important to get a personal tour from the Duke himself.”

Wriothesley says nothing in response but Lyney quickly excuses himself, his gaze falling onto Aether once more before walking out of sight.

“Come on,” Wriothesley says, “there’s one last stop I’d like to make.”

———

The three sit at one of the tables in the cafeteria, the chef bringing over three welfare meals. They remove the lids revealing the delectable meals inside causing Paimons mouth to water.

“Oh is this what the food is like in the Fortress?” She rubes her hands together, “Paimon could get used to this!”

“Actually, I managed to pull a few strings to get this meal, after today, you might not get another meal like this.”

The fairy didn’t seem to be paying attention as she keeps shoving more food into her mouth. The traveler rolls his eyes at his companion, looking back at the Duke.

“So you said there was books in the Fortress about the Creator?” Aether asks, his fork pushing around his meal mindlessly.

Wriothesley nods. “There are groups within the Fortress to make people feel more welcome or comfortable. There’s quite a few revolved around Their Eminence. Prayer groups, wanting a stronger relationship, or just normal worship in general, they’re actually pretty popular.”

Paimon swallows the food in her mouth, “How do you feel about them?”

Wriothesley ponders for a second, “I don’t know anyone who has a negative view on Their Eminence, including myself. I would be honored to go up to the surface soon and share a cup of tea with them.”

Aether didn’t say anything in response, but he had a feeling that Wriothesley knew more about the Creator than he let on. He did say word travels fast from the surface, is it possible he already knows the Creator is missing?

“Anyways,” Wriothesley says, “I have other things to attend to, enjoy your time in the Fortress and try not to cause any trouble.”

The Duke gives one last farewell, leaving the table without another word. Aether and Paimon continue eating their welfare meals preparing themselves to adjust to their new situation and figure what exactly Childe may know about the Creator.

———

“You were right.”

In a dark corner of the Fortress, the twins from the House of the Hearth spoke in quiet whispers.

“Paimon and the Traveler, I just saw them.” Lyney explained.

Lynette’s ear lay flat on her head, her tail swaying slightly. “Monsieur Neuvillette must’ve told them and they’re here to investigate.”

“We have to do what Father told us to do.“ Lyney adds, “although playing ignorant to figure what they know won’t hurt either.”

Lynette lets out a sigh. “…and what about Tartaglia?”

Lyney shrugs, “what about him? He’s not here. We have to focus on the Creator. Without Their Grace, the Fatui won’t be able to—“

“I know.” Lynette interrupts. “Let’s just focus on the traveler for now.

“I must say, the timing of this meeting seems almost convient…” Arlecchino narrows her gaze as she brings her teacup up to her lips.

“I’ll just cut straight to the chase. I’m here about my colleague, Childe and of course, Their Grace.”

The table inside of Neuvillette’s office was covered in sweets from Snezhnaya, something the Kanve brought to ease the tensions within the meeting. Yet, it doesn’t seem to be working.

“Childe was declared innocent by you, the Iudex, yet was still given a guilty verdict by the Oratrice…” Arlecchino explains, “and only days after that, you declare that Their Grace is an imposter and almost kill them.”

Furina shifts uncomfortably in her seat, “Y-yes… we are aware of our… transgressions. The Creator is being well looked after and is healing quite quickly.”

Arlecchino perks up, “Oh? They are? So is it possible for me to see them for myself?”

“That won’t be possible at the moment, I apologize.” Neuvillette quickly adds in.

Arlecchino brings a forkful of cake up to her mouth as she lets out a scoff. “An outright refusal? I must say, I am surprised…”

Neuvillette crosses his arms, “this meeting wasn’t called to talk about Their Grace, but rather Mr. Tartaglia, correct?”

“That is correct. Then am I able to enter the Fortress to check on the wellbeing of my colleague?”

“That also won’t be possible.”

Arlecchino sighs, “so I cannot see Their Grace and I cannot see Childe. What exactly will this meeting accomplish?”

“We already have a course of action for Their Grace.” Focalors adds, “but we cannot share it with you or any other nations for now. This meeting was just a… common courtesy”

“And as for Mr. Tartaglia I am investigating matter.” The chief justice adds.

“A common courtesy?” The Knave questions, “everyone in Teyvat is wondering just what exactly will Fontaine do after committing the biggest sin known to man… and all you can say is that it’s confidential? Not to mention the prophecy you refuse to address.”

Furina shoves another bite of cake into her mouth, scooting her chair closer to Neuvillette.

“As long as Their Grace is in our nation, they are under our jurisdiction.” Neuvillette explains.

Arlecchino clicks her tongue. “A disappointing outcome indeed… but I cannot say I am shocked.”

Arlecchino finished her tea, “the Fatui is willing to extend our help if you need it. You all seem to have a lot on your plate at the moment. Maybe it’s best to pass some of the responsibility onto someone else?”

“That won’t be necessary.” Neuvillette states.

The Knave stands from her seat, brushing her bangs out of the way, revealing her red X eyes. “I think it’s safe to say this meeting is concluded, I have to return back to Snezhnaya immediately.”

Furina raises a brow, “returing so soon? W—why such a rush to leave?”

It falls silent in the room for a few seconds.

“Her Majesty cares very dearly about the Creator, I am expected to report any and all news directly to her.” Arlecchino explains, her back facing the two.

“Snezhnaya as a whole cares deeply about Their Grace, and once they heal completely we will welcome them with open arms… not a trial.”

Focalors looks down at her lap as Arlecchino leaves the office returning to her ship anchored near the border of Fontaine and Liyue. A sinister smile spread on her lips while Neuvillette and Furina sit in the office in silence, a sour taste lingering in their mouth even with the baked goods in front of them.

-

© avocad1s 2024

Note: Good luck to all my Arlecchino wanters! I got her and her sig weapon so I give all my luck to you <3

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[heliza24]

Thoughts about Domesticity, Carework, and the American Dream in episode 2.5 of Interview with the Vampire

I’ve been mulling over episode 2.5 a lot. There was so much to love in the episode (the incredible writing, the kitchen sink off Broadway play of it all, the chemistry between Luke, Jacob and Assad, the vulnerability in Eric’s performance). But my mind keeps circling a couple of themes, trying to piece them together. So as usual I’m here on tumblr to try to work it out. 

I keep coming back to the way that Armand was gendered in this episode. His big complaint to Louis was that he was “home picking lint off the sofa”. He arrives with “mop and misery” to clean up the mess. Louis insults him by calling him “the good nurse”. All those things are feminized. They’re also extremely of the era; these are Feminine Mystique, mid-century housewife type complaints. The wife’s job is to make the husband’s life smooth and never worry about her own happiness. Obviously in the 1970s we’re seeing this begin to change thanks to second wave feminism. We’re in the process of trying to ratify the ERA, Ms. magazine has just been founded, and things are shifting. The kind of cheery domestic American dream of the 1950s is definitely shifting, and we see this in the episode as well. Betty Hutton selling sewing machines competes with Spiro Agnew resigning on TV. The watergate scandal signified a loss of faith in American authority, a kind of parallel destruction of the country’s father figure (brought down by journalists, no less). The comfortable lie of domesticity, the “prison of empathy” that Armand has created around Louis is crumbling. Armand is boring but he’s also bored, like a housewife taking valium to get by. The whole episode is set in an apartment that reeks of divorce, according to Daniel, and we’re seeing it play out in real time. When Armand lashes out to hurt Louis, he does it not through direct violence, like Lestat, but by holding his failure as a father over him, telling him that Claudia  never loved him. That jab, in combination with the way he’s edited Louis’s memories (gaslighting, another time honored form of domestic abuse) is enough to get Louis to hurt himself. LIke a wife who is always outwardly obedient to her husband but spends her time exacting petty revenge against him for the way he takes her for granted, Armand’s methods are never violent. They are soft and subtle and targeted.

I have to thank @bluedalahorse for first alerting me to the way the crumbling domestic American dream is threaded through this episode. And after she mentioned it I saw it *everywhere*. 

Obviously there is a level of complexity here in the Loumand relationship that this metaphor cannot fully capture. For one thing, Armand is a man. He was turned in a time before modern understanding of gender and sexuality really solidified, so in some way it makes sense that he would be the most gender fluid of our main characters, but his position would be a lot different if he were a woman, even a woman vampire. And Armand is very powerful. His insecurities and crippling fear of being alone keep him from exercising this power and walking away in a way that would perhaps be healthier for both him and Louis. But he is not trapped economically or socially in the way a wife would have been in this era. (That being said, I get the sense that *something* about the way the fire happened in Paris has made Louis and Armand go to ground. Maybe there is an element of being “trapped together because of fear of exposure”. But even then, I think my point still stands.)

To drill down and become more specific, there’s an extra added layer to the way Armand is feminized in this episode. I’ve written a lot about disability in this show and also the way it approaches eugenics, and those things were very on my mind as I rewatched this episode. (To be fair, they are always on my mind when I watch anything. Being disabled will do that to you.) Anyway, the specific way that Armand casts himself in this episode is as a caregiver. He is a beleaguered, bitter caregiver to those weaker to him. I think you hear this especially when he describes to Louis what happened: “you said the worst things you ever said to me, and then you walked into the sun. And now you are a convalescent.” The absolute sneer on the word convalescent.  The absolute disdain for being put in this position again. The way he denies Louis the blood and keeps him out of his coffin for so long. The “final act of service” in calling Lestat. And then the tenderness laced with fear. Will he “be on suicide watch for the next 1000 years?”. 

Armand is fascinating to me because of the way he seems to instinctively reject people who remind him of his own past weaknesses. Those weaknesses are buried down deep in his characterization, but they’re there and they’re important. He was sick and wasting away when he was turned. And before that he was an abused sex worker. You can see the way he dismisses people in similar situations in the way he treats Daniel in this episode. He calls Daniel a “broken boy” when he’s talking to Louis. He casually rejects the idea that there might be any sort of truth captured in Daniel’s tapes. The interviews on those tapes are with a sex worker and gay veteran and his disabled refugee husband. All of these people are so close to Armand in so many ways. I even think this is why Armand comes down so hard on Claudia, and why he cannot abide the true empathy and love Louis has for her. Claudia was turned when her body was weak. Weaker and more disabled, so to speak, than Armand. But they are not dissimilar. But Louis loves Claudia anyway, and respects her strengths. No one ever shown the love Louis shows to Claudia to Armand. No one ever granted him true empathy. The only way he has been able to hold on to any love at all is to grovel, to manage, to care give. The only way he experiences care is to give it. Of course he’s broken, of course he’s bitter.

So now we come to Daniel. The broken boy who has suicidal ideation and a drug problem, things that make him imminently dismissable in Armand’s mind. But Daniel also has a drive, a passion for life, and a love for the people who slip through the cracks. Louis and Daniel definitely share this great affection for humanity, and it’s what allows them to connect in San Francisco and again in Dubai. And it’s what makes him inscrutable, and captivating, to Armand. Because there really is no greater act of service than telling somebody’s story. Daniel describes himself as a therapist ironically in Dubai, but what he’s doing is carework. It’s real empathy. And Armand doesn’t understand that. Armand doesn’t understand what someone is doing recording the stories of people who were just like him. A whole universe of possibilities opens in the moment when Armand almost starts telling Daniel his story. Out of all the ways Daniel tries to save himself, that little life line of empathy is what almost snags Armand. But then Armand clamps back down, realizes he’s staring into a “black hole”. He’s trying to insult Daniel when he says that, but to me it just sounds like he’s describing himself.

When Armand is lulling Daniel into death, the thing he chooses to describe to him is the American domestic fantasy. He describes it as a fate worse than death. He describes it as a boring trap. And he specifically casts Daniel in the masculine, straight role in that fantasy, with a wife “vacuuming on valium” who “counts down his thrusts”. In some ways Armand is painting his own relationship to Louis as the worst possible fate that Daniel could suffer. (And it makes me wonder– did Armand ever wonder if he would amount to anything? Does he think his life has any meaning at all, if you subtract the vampiric powers? Armand has never stopped to introspect like this, but I wonder what would happen if you forced him to.)

But Daniel is stubborn, and his desire to tell stories and empathize with people resists death. I love that he still defends himself, still claims that he’s “a bright young reporter with a point of view” and that that is worth something. Because it is.

When Louis asks Armand to save Daniel, Daniel unwittingly becomes a symbol of Louis and Armand’s continued marriage. He’s a wedding ring, a vows renewal. He’s emblematic of the continuation of failing vampiric domesticity. And when Louis tries to repair the damage Armand has wrought, he isn’t able to offer Daniel soothing words about his ability to find a spouse or raise children or understand love. Louis doesn’t understand those things, so how could he teach Daniel about them? But Louis has always understood stories and humanity, so he is able to gift Daniel his writing and his reporting back. 

I think you can interpret Daniel’s failed marriages and difficult relationship with his children in a lot of ways. We could say that he was always going to fail at these things, regardless of whether or not he met the vampires, because of the discontent that Armand sensed in him. Maybe the trauma that this aborted gay hookup with Louis created was enough to re-closet him, and send him down a dark road of unfulfilled straight relationships. Or maybe Armand’s words really did echo around in his head and pull him down as much as Louis’s lingered and sustained him over the years. Maybe we’ll get more answers about this as the show goes on, or maybe it will live in the ambiguous world of memory and manipulation the show so often plays in.

Regardless, I think this episode was a masterpiece, and the way it firmly established these themes about the failure of domesticity and the burden and joys of carework are going to really matter, I think, as we hit the brutal conclusion of the season. When emotions are at a breaking point, especially between Armand and Louis, they are going to resonate because they were grounded in this little claustrophobic wonder of an episode.

As a little postscript, I’m not quite sure where we’re going with Devil’s Minion after this episode, or if we’re even going there at all. If a DM timeline happened in the past, it would require additional editing of Daniel’s memory, and I’m not quite sure if that reveal would work structurally. (I would love to be proven wrong about this though, because I would love for young Daniel and Armand to have interacted more, for Assad and Luke’s chemistry if nothing else. They were so wonderful together.)  If it were to happen in Dubai, or to happen again Dubai, however… well that’s interesting. Because older Daniel is disabled. He’s even more firmly in this category of people that Armand is apt to dismiss. And if they were to get together, there would probably be some aspect of caregiving on Armand’s part. And there would also be some caregiving on Daniel’s part, in his ability to listen to Armand. So that has the potential to be really fascinating, and maybe mutually beneficial to both characters. But I think we have to cover a lot of ground before we would be able to get there.

[lotties-ashwagandha]

POWER CURES

tashi donaldson x fem!reader, word count 4.2k. NSFW!

your career in sports journalism has made you one of the most successful women in your field — a career you built on your own after you broke up with tashi donaldson at stanford. yet rivalry still burns between you, and whenever given the opportunity you can't help but add fuel to the fire. requested by @elaci who also writes for challengers so go follow :)

“It’s a miracle he’s still playing,” you say. “Art showed so much passion today, I could feel it. Maybe next time he could focus on hitting the ball instead of smashing ants on the court with his racket – it just sends the wrong message I think, not very eco-friendly.” 

Tashi shakes her head, attempting to brush off your comment, but you can feel the silent fury you’ve stirred up in her. Her expression is partially hidden by her sunglasses as the two of you stand at the edge of the court, her only guard from your scrutiny. It’s been nine years since you’ve spoken to her, but the four years you dedicated to her before that taught you every one of her tells. She’s different now – she wears her hair short, her makeup darker, age and experience have made her seem solemn. But you can feel it, that under all of the change she is still the same. 

“At least he still plays,” she says sharply. “You’re the critic, the journalist, but you would get on the court and get yourself knocked the fuck out. Art works, he doesn’t lock himself in the basement to write pity-party bullshit for money.” 

“Neither do I,” you smile. “I don’t write anything for money, though I do enjoy the benefits.” 

“You’ve always been greedy,” Tashi accuses. “You enjoy taking what isn’t yours, and destroying what you can’t reach.” 

You shrug. You won’t attempt to deny it – greed is what got you into this profession, and greed is what has held you up to survive it. Greed is what got you a million dollar mansion and the audience that paid for it, and greed is what has you standing at the side of Tashi Donaldson as you watch her husband step off the tennis court after losing another match to add to his streak this year. 

“If you write anything about this match, I will end your career,” Tashi says casually, because power means nothing to her, and using it is easy. She takes off her sunglasses, puts them in her purse that costs more money than your car. When she meets your eyes, there’s stoic sureness in her gaze. 

“It’s sweet that you think I only came here for you.” 

She gives you a hard look, searching you for the truth if she couldn’t trust it to come from your words. Whatever conclusion she would come up with was none of your concern – it’s true that you hadn’t come here for her, not completely. You’re here for another set of competitors, the headliners of the women’s division. If there was one thing you could use to define your career, it wouldn’t be the Donaldsons, or the Duncans – it would be your influence on women’s tennis. Your journalism through the years has put women in the spotlight of the sport, and for as long as you could you would continue the mission of keeping them there. 

But when you had seen Tashi’s husband playing in the final match of the day, and when you had seen her watching him alone at the sidelines, you couldn’t help but take advantage of it. Your comments and motives were petty, but deserved. 

You see Art begin to approach the two of you with his gym bag. “That’s my cue, isn’t it?” you ask. You try to avoid Art at all cost even after all these years, it creates a situation more awkward for you than for him. “I don’t think he needs me to lecture him, not again.” 

You begin to depart from Tashi’s side, but then you pause and turn back to her. “I’ll be in New Rochelle for the Challengers tournament in a few weeks,” you tell her. “Maybe there’s someone there your husband could beat, for a change.” 

Tashi scoffs, and you take your chance to leave before you can be joined by Art or any of the reporters or journalists following in his wake. You’ve done your work for the day, your air-conditioned hotel room is calling to you and you’re all too prepared to run to it. 

When you stand at the exit to the tennis court, you spare a look back in the direction of the Donaldsons. Tashi is immersed in giving feedback to Art as he stands in childlike submission. Her hands are planted on his shoulders, she’s looking into his eyes, and when she spares a look at the court a sense of nostalgia washes over you as you remember how it felt to watch her play. How she used to win every game she signed to compete in, how effortless her victories were. 

In a way, you miss it. You miss her. The promise of her victories that would pull you through in college, that you could look forward to watching and writing about. The memory of it sparks a flare of anger within you – four years, erased, yet still so potent in your memory. 

You turn away from the court. You push through the crowd, in your pride you stand a little taller than the rest. Against you is the only match Tashi Duncan could never win. 

You pass by the doors of the locker rooms on your way out. You know Tashi must have waited with Art in his locker room before the match started – a private locker room, you would suspect, or one they bought out for the day in a grand show of money.

You frown. How many times had you waited with Tashi in locker rooms until tournaments began, how many times had you come in after her matches to listen to her talk through them while she got ready to leave? Enough times to know you weren’t alone in reminiscing, that Tashi could escape the memories with no more ease than you could. 

THIRTEEN YEARS AGO, STANFORD. 

You resist a smile – you can’t let her win, though you can see she’s trying inexplicably hard to. She never takes it seriously when you try to interview her for assignments for your classes at Stanford. 

“I can’t put that in my paper,” you tell Tashi. “I’d get us kicked out.” 

Tashi shrugs, stepping toward you as you stand in the locker room alone together after her match. “You asked what I was thinking about during the game. I was thinking about you.” 

You roll your eyes. You lean back against the lockers, and Tashi takes advantage of it, coming up in front of you to box you in. Her eyes meet yours – her intensity is unmatched, even after she’s won every game of tennis this season that’s been thrown at her by the university. Power means nothing to her, because using it is easy. 

“You don’t believe me?” Tashi asks. Nothing goes unnoticed by her, it was brave to roll your eyes. “You’re all I think about.” 

“Tennis is all you think about.” 

Instead of correcting you, she kisses you. Your hands find her waist, and wrap around her back when you pull her closer. She consumes your thoughts, your mind, and you’re happy to keep it that way with disregard to the price you might pay for it. 

Tashi’s hands slip under your shirt. One travels up your side, under your bra. You arch into her touch, senses clouded with her – until you hear voices outside the locker room, people leaving the building. 

You pull out of the kiss as the voices fade, and immediately she’s kissing your neck. “This is a terrible idea,” you murmur half-heartedly. You want her to prove you wrong. 

“No one’s coming in, I was the last match.” 

“But they could come in.” 

“They won’t.” 

You don’t seem convinced. Tashi moves to look at you, and tilts her head. 

“Tell me you don’t want this,” she demands. You see how she craves you, she’s willing to indulge herself after her latest victory. It wouldn’t be the first time you would find yourself here, against the lockers with every intention of letting her use you in the way she wishes. She sees through your words – she knows you want this just as much as she does. 

“No,” you say, because you do want this. You’ve wanted her all morning, since you saw her warming up for her match. And even if someone were to come in and find you with her, pressed up against the lockers and at her will, it would only prove a fact you dream of everyone knowing anyway: that in every way, Tashi Duncan is yours. Audiences may celebrate her, anyone might desire her, but at the end of every day it’s you she comes home to. It’s you she wants. 

“Good,” she mutters, and presses you harder against the locker, pressing space between your legs with her knee. She kisses down your neck, and one of her hands travels below the waistband of your shorts while the other is still at your chest. Her hands are cold against the warmth of your skin, sending a chill rippling down your back. 

“Be quiet,” Tashi orders, and you nod. An empty promise, but you’ll try your best. “Good girl.” 

Her praise has you biting back a moan as her knee moves away and her hand slides between your thighs. You can’t hold her gaze, the gravity it holds. 

Your hips chase her hand as she circles your clit – your hips buck back against the lockers, and the sound echoes through the room, and your moan would accompany the noise if not muffled by Tashi’s hand over your mouth. A quick reaction on her end, she knows your body better than you do. 

“Quiet,” Tashi whispers. She presses a kiss to the edge of your jaw, below your ear. You try for a deep breath, but it’s shaky. “I’m fucking you here, and you’re moaning? Anyone could hear you. But you’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

You nod again, her hand still over your mouth. Your eyes fall closed, her touch burns through you like fire. It’s not enough, it’s too much, it’s everything you need and more. 

Tashi feels the pleasure building in you – it inspires her to interrupt it, to pull both of her hands from you. 

You whine in protest, watching her in curious alarm. You need this, she knows you do. 

Tashi’s hands find your hips, and she watches you closely. A sadistic sort of smile pulls at her lips, one that has you squirming, reaching for her again. Your attempts are futile, your yearning feeds her desire to starve you, push you to your limits. “You have to be patient,” she says. 

And you will be, though everything in you aches for her. You will let her win, let her pick your cards and cheat the game to end in her favor. You’re content with it – a side that is not without reward to you as Tashi lowers to her knees in front of you, and when she looks up at you, she already knows she’s won. 

THIRTEEN YEARS LATER, NEW ROCHELLE.

The sun glares down at you through the windshield, but despite its best efforts, it cannot reach you. It’s cool in your car – it combats the sweltering heat of the morning in New Rochelle as you sit waiting for the final matches to start on the second day of the Challengers tournament. You don’t want to go sit down too early, there’s no point in submitting yourself to the discomfort of hot metal seats amongst the swarm of the audience until you have to. You’re content to sit here with your eyes closed for as long as you can, you finally have a moment to yourself after the chaos of traveling to New Rochelle. 

Tapping on your window makes you jump. Your eyes snap open, and when you see who waits on the other side of your car window, you wish you’d never traveled to the tournament at all. You knew he would be here, you saw him competing yesterday, but you had successfully avoided him and had left early after the first few matches.  

You roll your window down. Patrick Zweig stares at you with the most dumbass fucking smile you’ve witnessed in years. 

“Well, look who it is!” He exclaims. He leans an arm against the top of your car, but you shove him off of it through the window. 

“What the fuck are you doing here?” you snap. He frowns, and you sigh. It’s been nine years since you’ve seen him in person – since you broke up with Tashi – and not a day has passed in which you can decisively say you have missed him. 

“I’m competing,” he says. 

You furrow your eyebrows. “I know that. Why are you here, talking to me?” 

Patrick shrugs. “Can’t I take a second to reconnect with an old friend?” 

“An old friend?” you ask. “I don’t think we were ever friends.” 

“Maybe not, but I know you’ll be hoping I win instead of Art this afternoon.” 

You pause. “Art Donaldson? He’s here, competing?” 

“Yeah. You know, I was told you invited him and Tashi. It’s everywhere online. That’s why I came over here, to say thank you for setting up the match. Art and I are the only ones left in the division. I wanted to wish you luck, too, with whatever it is you plan to get out of having us all here.” 

You don’t respond for a moment. Vaguely you recall inviting Tashi to the Challengers tournament a few weeks ago after Art’s loss – Maybe there’s someone there your husband could beat for a change – but you had disregarded it. You had meant the entire thing as a joke, a jab at Art’s poor tennis performance. Never would you have expected the Donaldsons to remotely consider participating in a Challengers tournament. You regret leaving early yesterday, missing their arrival at a tournament so far beneath them. You would have enjoyed witnessing their shame. 

“I didn’t set anything up,” you tell Patrick, yet you doubt the validity of your own statement. “And I’m not planning on getting anything out of it.” 

“Whatever you say. I just know Tashi wouldn’t bother with something like this for the hell of it. Either Art’s tennis has gotten really fucking bad for them to stoop to a tournament this low, or she’s using him to be here with you. Or, of course, both can be true. I’m going with both.” 

You shake your head. “Tashi has no interest in me.” 

“It’s been nine years since she left you, and she still hates you. She would probably fucking stab you if given the chance. That’s not something to take lightly with her, it takes more than resentment to hold onto something that long. Even I’m not as lucky.” 

“I’m not interested in making amends with Tashi Donaldson.” 

Patrick shrugs. He gives you a look, I don’t believe you, that you want to punch him for. You have nothing to say to Tashi, no reason to wish to see her. You went up to talk to her those weeks ago at Art’s game because you wanted to taunt her with your presence. You wanted her to see that you were successful without her, you don’t need her. 

You wanted her to see you – you realize how it sounds, and that there’s no way you would win a dispute with Patrick if your only explanation for reconnecting with Tashi is I wanted her to see that I’m better than her husband. You look back to him with a facade of nonchalance. 

You don’t know what to say, so you shift the focus back to him. “You’re going to get killed in a match against Art.” 

“How would you know? You haven’t seen me play in years.”

“I don’t need to.” 

“Wow, thanks for having so much faith in me.” 

You roll your eyes. 

Patrick’s gaze shifts to something beyond your car, something his eyes trail for a few seconds before he turns back to you. “I need to go warm up,” he announces, and backs away from your car. “Write something heroic about me to publish when I win, will you?” 

You roll up your window. You watch him disappear from the parking lot. Peace still evades you once he’s gone – that Tashi would be coming to the tournament is enough to have you nearly in hysterics. The promise of her soon arrival has adrenaline coursing through you, though the emotion accompanying it is indecipherable. 

You loathe Tashi Donaldson. You hate her husband even more. But there’s something so addictive about being around her to prove it. To prove that it was a mistake to end things with you and pursue Art shortly after, that he could never live up to you. Your fame came from success in writing and journalism, Art’s fame came from Tashi and viral videos of Art flinging tennis rackets after his losses. It felt good for you to prove your worth in contrast to his. You finally have power over them, and you have every intention of using it. 

For better or worse, you still care about Tashi’s opinion of you. For better or worse, you still care for Tashi Duncan. 

A car pulls into the empty spot next to you. The glare of the sun against it burns your eyes, leaves you with the start of a headache. 

You turn to look at the owners of the vehicle. Immediately you understand what Patrick had been spying beyond your car, and why he had been so quick to flee. 

You missed them yesterday, but you wouldn’t miss them today. You turn your car off and get out. 

“Need help carrying that?” You ask Art as he picks up his gym bag out of the trunk of the car beside yours. “I don’t want you to break any rackets.” 

“That would look good for you,” he says dryly. He shuts the trunk. “To make it seem like you’re making amends.” 

“I have nothing to make amends for.” 

He’s silent. You have two thousand words to make amends for, actually, but you’ll never be caught apologizing. You wrote an article about Art’s tennis years ago that gave you much of your fame – an article that had suggested Art was one of the worst tennis players to come out of Stanford, and that it was a shame he was using Tashi’s injury to his advantage by convincing her to coach his mediocre games. You implied that he was using her, that he was a cheater in the very least as far as tennis was concerned. 

It was never your finest moment, but you would never regret it. He deserved it, and so did Tashi for the way the two of you left your relationship. 

A car door slams. You’re joined by Tashi. In a light blue dress she’s stunning, radiant beyond comparison with the man she comes to stand by. A man she knows she cannot defend, a man beneath her. 

She gives Art a tyrannical look. He’s going to go find the locker room, he says, as if he hadn’t played here yesterday, and with a final look between you and Tashi he takes his bag and begins his way across the parking lot. 

You’re left alone with Tashi. The two of you are silent – she’s waiting for you to say something, and you’re waiting to come up with something that sounds right. 

“I saw you talking to Patrick,” Tashi says at last. You nod. “Did he tell you he asked me to coach him?” 

A smile pulls at your lips. “No, he didn’t.” 

“Good. Now you have something to write about,” she says, taking a step towards you, “when he loses. You can write about how he tried so desperately to come out on top, and you can write about who he lost to.” 

It’s not about Art anymore. It’s not about Patrick, it’s not about this tournament. It’s about you. Tashi’s reversal, her revenge. She won when she left you ten years ago, you won with your article, and Tashi Donaldson has never been one to keep a tie. She’s been keeping score for nine years in preparation for an opportunity such as this, one to set the record in her favor. 

“I’m not interested in placing bets on failed prodigies.” 

“You’re not too good for it, though.” 

“You are. At least you should have been.” 

Tashi shakes her head. “What the fuck does that mean?” 

“You know what it means,” you say, and step closer. “It should be you on that court, not them. I should be writing about you.” 

You know you’ve struck a nerve. Tashi stills. Her expression was once unreadable, but now it reveals her resentment. At you maybe, but also at fate itself, because you’re right: it should be her competing. Winning for herself and not through others. She still bears the weight of power, but it’s no longer hers to use. 

“Your husband is going to lose,” you say, and you both know it’s a lie. But you will be there when Art wins, you will be there waiting for her to prove you wrong like she’s always craved. If it is winning that will let her make amends with herself, you will be the harbinger. You will let her cheat the game just so she can win. Maybe it’s all you’ve wanted this whole time, inviting her to the Challengers tournament. 

Maybe it’s your way of making amends. 

“Any final words before the game?” You ask, in the way you always used to ask her before her matches. Any final words. You used to laugh together about how apocalyptic it sounded, and Tashi used to watch you write about her after and use her quotes for assignments for your university classes. 

Tashi remembers the phrase, you see recognition sweep over her. She watches you closely, and behind her facade you see something too reminiscent to be hatred. “Fuck you,” she says, though her voice lacks animosity. 

“Is that on the record?” 

“Yes.” 

An uncanny way of making amends, but one you would welcome all the same. 

-

Her gaze sears into you as you sit in the stands watching the match. Tashi sits on the opposite side of the court, yet the two of you are positioned with a clear view of one another throughout the game. 

The score has fluctuated throughout the match. Patrick and Art have stayed consistent in score and loss – it’s closer than you thought it would be, enough that you see Tashi’s concern growing over the end result. Art is wearing, he’s becoming tired, and you know if he quits in his exhaustion he’ll leave with another loss. The Donaldsons will lose credibility, Tashi will disappear in the eyes of the media. 

You find yourself conflicted in all ways related to the match continuing before you. You want Art to lose every match he signs for – yet the thought of Tashi going down with him haunts you. Even after all she has done to you, all you have done to her, she deserves better than any path offered.  

You pause – the match has ended, the audience stands in applause. You stand to view the court, peering over shoulders, pushing your way out of the audience. 

Art Donaldson, standing in the middle of the court. He basks in the glory given by his victory, one long suspended in anticipation for you to be witness. He looks up to find Tashi in the stands, and you watch as something unsaid passes between them. An I told you so on Art’s end, and something unsatisfied from Tashi’s. 

You don’t need to watch the rest of it. You don’t need to see Art’s self-ordered victory lap, and you don’t need to hear the speech he’ll give the reporters waiting to flock to him. You don’t need to see Tashi by his side, so you leave the court. 

You make your way through the tennis complex. Fluorescent lights stare you down, their judgment shines brighter for you. You don’t give them anything to taunt you with, keeping your expression flat. It was obvious Art would win, and in his victory Tashi has been fulfilled. 

The click of heels trails you. You spare a glance over your shoulder as you walk, and you pause. Her eyes are on you alone in the empty hall. 

“Congratulations,” you say, dull. “Do you feel better now? I see Art does.” 

“Fuck Art,” she snaps. Tashi is empowered in her pride, which has not been placed in her husband, but in herself. This is not his victory, it belongs to her. She closes the distance between you, and if you moved back any further you’d be leaning against the wall. The door to the locker room is across the hall – your memories hardly feel like your own, hardly feel like they belong just the same to the woman in front of you, but they crash through you anyway. 

“This feels familiar,” you murmur, looking up at her. You look to see if the halls are empty, but Tashi wastes no such time – she pulls you against her, her lips on yours, hunger in her touch as the two of you realize how much time you have to make up for and so little opportunity for it. Her nails dig into the back of your neck until her hand weaves into your hair, and like you always have you melt into her every desire. 

“I win,” Tashi says once she pulls away. Her eyes bear into yours, dark and unforgiving, dominating. “I fucking win.” 

There’s nothing that could prove her wrong. Power cures, if you know how to use it. 

—

—

—

i wrote this fic so many different times honestly and i kept a few of the scenes I deleted from it bc it was getting too long so if anyone wants a part 2 lmk andddd i can put something together 😔

[theemporium]

Max ready to destroy the earth if someone so much as disrespects or pisses Trouble off

it’s low-key giving will smith🤠anyways thank you for requesting!🫶🏽

.

Max was always very blunt and honest in conferences and interviews, it was just the way he was.

And it wasn’t uncommon for him to defend himself and his friends in said interviews. He did it countless times when journalists tried to push stories about him being too aggressive, too angry, too competitive on track.

He did it countless times when they would come for Charles and blame he was taking for his team’s mistakes. He did it countless times when people questioned Daniel’s performance and his right to have the Red Bull seat. He did it countless times when they tried to drag Lando for not achieving highly when McLaren weren’t giving him the car he needed to be proving he could do as much.

And he would be damned if he didn’t do it for you too.

It was after a race. He was tired, exhausted even, and all he wanted to do was wrap up the rest of his duties so he could maybe sneak a nap in with you before you both joined the rest of the team for a night out to celebrate his win.

He was approaching the last interviewers, a name he vaguely recognised and his nose scrunched up when he remembered most of the man’s questions were tasteless and dry. But he shrugged it off, keeping a passive face as he approached the journalist with his PR manager lingering behind him with a tape recorder in hand.

“Max Verstappen, how does it feel to be a winner again?”

He gave the man a tight-lipped smile and hoped it was enough to hide his exhaustion as he continued the interview.

And it was going fine, in retrospect. The man’s questions were similar to the countless ones he had been asked before. But he couldn’t complain because they were easy to answer, and easy to mostly zone out until he knew he had to answer.

Until he asked something that caught Max’s attention right away.

“Any plans to celebrate with your side piece after your race win? Maybe get her on her knees?”

Max blinked, and for a short moment he wondered if he just completely mistranslated what the man said.

“What?”

But the man repeated the question again, a slimy smirk on his face and your name was rolling off his tongue. And truthfully, Max didn’t even remember moving or reacting or even breathing in that moment.

One second the man was holding a microphone to his face, awaiting his answer. And the next, he was on the floor as he clutched his bloody nose and screamed Bloody Mary.

He was vaguely aware of other drivers and journalists and PR managers looking over, trying to understand the scene in front of them. He was vaguely aware of security being called and someone mentioning Christian or Helmut. He was vaguely aware of someone trying to tug him back, but he just shrugged them off.

“She’s my girlfriend, you moronic dickhead,” Max spat at the crying journalist. “Put some fucking respect on her name.”

“Alright, let’s go before you break any more noses,” he heard Daniel mutter behind him, and this time he let himself be pulled back.

But then his eyes caught the wide, scared gaze of the cameraman who was recording the whole thing, and he glared. “I hope that bullshit was live. Because next time, I’m breaking more than a fucking nose if anyone ever disrespects her again.”

Despite the commotion being sudden, news spread very quickly around the paddock so it was no surprise to Max that you knew by the time he made it to his driver’s room.

“Playing the knight in shining armour now, huh?” You teased as he entered, still sprawled on the couch without a bother in the world.

“He deserved it,” Max stated simply as he made his way towards you. No matter what happened, no matter what put him in a shitty mood, just being near you always helped.

“He did,” you hummed as you opened your arms and let your boy settle on top of you, his face pressed into the crook of your neck. “Thank you for defending me.”

“Always, Trouble,” he murmured in reply.

A few beats passed.

“You know, I wouldn’t mind seeing you do it again,” you said, trying to keep your voice as casual as possible as you ran your fingers through his hair. “It was kinda hot.”

You could feel his smirk against your neck. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Max lifted his head, his eyes a little darker and his mood significantly different to when he entered minutes ago. “Hot enough for me to fuck you over this couch?”

“Hot enough for you to have me any way you want me,” you confessed, your words a little breathier than usual as you felt his hands graze down your side.

Max’s smile was almost sadistic. “Bend over the couch, Trouble.”

.

[mapileonxputellas]

Beckham II: 1 New Beginning

Please find instagram aesthetic here.

Post here explains how I've wrote it, I think it's quite simple.

This is the first part of my new series and I hope you enjoy xx (3k words)

“Do you ever think about how crazy it is that you’re an icon in Barcelona and yet your dad played for Real Madrid?”

“I try not to think about that. I think that bothers him more than me.”

“Does he have any Barcelona shirts?”

“Of course he does.”

…..

“David, how does it feel watching your daughter play for Barcelona?”

“It’s the best feeling in the world. I’m guessing you were expecting some kind of rivalry but I’ll always support my daughter.”

…..

Barcelona, February 2023.

One down, nine to go.

It was like clockwork in your brain. Training would finish, everyone else would rush to get back into the training room and get back to their everyday life. Yet here you were, on your own, just how you like it. You and the ball. Free kick after free kick after free kick. Ten in total, all from different areas, all with different aims but each one just as equally important in your brain.

Barcelona was a dream. You were here with the best players in the world but you hated letting anyone down. Every little mistake was over-analysed, picked at all because of who you were. At the weekend it was a wonder save which stopped one nestling in the top corner but that didn’t matter. It hadn’t gone in and therefore didn’t meet your expectations.

The expectations you put on yourself, multiplied by that moment four years ago.

You loved your father but many people probably didn’t understand that there wasn’t a gene for taking good free kicks.

Unbeknownst to you, all of this was about to change. “You’ve got a visitor.”

“If it’s another journalist, tell them I’m not interested.”

You couldn’t be bothered with whatever reply the press officer would tell you. It was the same every day. Someone wanted to speak to you, you said no. They came back the next day.

You’d think they’d get bored after four years of consistent turn aways but that was never the case. You did the press conferences, the interviews after games but a sit-down full-length interview was not something you felt like you could ever handle.

So you carried on, resetting the ball in the correct spot. Back to just you and the ball.

For February it was a sunny afternoon in Barcelona, the sun was still shining for the mid-afternoon with minimal wind. Perfect conditions to practice and as your teammates had pointed out you hadn’t needed any more persuasion to get that training vest on, your tattoos on full show. Along with football they were your biggest passion, your phone was full of tattoo inspiration and little doodles you did when you were bored, they were a big part of you and maybe the image you wanted to create for yourself.

You took inspiration from everything, football, the environment, your father. Growing up many would say you were already a carbon copy of him but the tattoos were the icing on the cake. Your mother may not have been as happy about them but they promised to accept all your passions and that included turning up every few months with a new collection of tattoos to show off.

…..

“Maria, is she copying you?”

“You’ll have to ask her. No of course not, I would say we take great inspiration from each other. We’ve got a few matching ones, I’ve done a few on her and she’s done the same to me. That’s kind of what started our friendship.”

“You both have ‘looks can be deceiving’ on your necks, is that true for her?”

“Depends on what you think of her. Maybe some find her scary but you have to find out if that’s true yourself.”

…..

You could hear someone approaching you, watching as you took the next kick nestling it into the bottom corner underneath the imaginary wall.

“Y/N, have you got five minutes?” The unmistakable voice of Sarina. Many people would love Serena Weigman to turn up at their training session, not you. Not now.

Shit. You almost didn’t want to turn around. Maybe if you stayed facing the other way she would leave. Leave you be in the bubble you’d created for yourself, nothing good could come out of this conversation.

But of course the Dutch woman wasn’t going to leave that easily, edging closer to you. “I only want to talk.”

“I gave you my answer a year ago.”

“Lots can change in a year. Five minutes. If you still want me to leave after, I’ll leave.”

Maybe it was worth hearing what she had to say. Nothing could change your mind anyway, you’d hear whatever she had to say and then she could leave.

You knew what she was here for and it didn’t surprise you what came out of her mouth next. “I want you back, I name my squad next week and I want you ready to play for us at the World Cup.”

“And I can’t do that.”

“Why not?”

“The fans are not that accepting, the players don’t deserve to be drawn into that drama because of me.”

“There’s always drama in football.” Maybe she had a point but off the back of the Euro’s success the lionesses have had nothing but positivity from the media and public. “We’ve lost Beth, we’ve lost Fran and I think the players would welcome your experience in that position. It’s your decision but I know deep down you want to prove people wrong and I want to give you that opportunity.”

“Some would say I don’t deserve that.”

“It will be different this time.”

“How?”

“It’s been four years, everything’s changed. We protect you guys, you have support systems in place, we have support systems. It’s not individuals anymore, it’s a team.”

“I made that decision to protect myself.” Almost four years ago you’d sent that letter, asking not to be selected for international duty again. They had no choice but to accept it and when Serena came into the role she approached you but you told her a tournament on home soil was not something you could mentally cope with. Not yet. “Why would now be different?”

“I’ve watched every game you’ve played in the last 18 months. I know you may not see a difference in yourself but I do, the interview after you lost to Lyon showed your spirit, your drive. I need players like you, it won’t be easy but I don’t want something that happened four years ago to stop you showing the world how talented you are.”

You were conflicted. Of course you’d love nothing more than to prove all those who bashed you before wrong, to make a difference on the world stage after winning every trophy you could with Barcelona. On the other hand it was just opening a can of worms you’d hidden all those years ago. Although you were only in Spain it felt like a different world, you turned your comments off on social media and they never came back on. Interviews were a no-go and your former friends were now distant acquaintances.

“Can I think about?”

“Of course you can. Like I said, the squad goes out on Tuesday so I need an answer by Monday. Any questions, I’m coming to the match on Sunday, maybe I can speak to you after?”

“Thank you.” With a soft squeeze to your shoulder she was off, except now you couldn’t focus knowing you were about to make a decision which would change everything.

…..

“You seem distracted.”

In hindsight it probably wasn’t the best idea to accept the dinner invite from Maria and Ingrid but you knew your best friends wouldn’t take no for an answer. The three of you along with Frido were sat at their dinner table, tucking into the tapas you’d ordered from your favourite restaurant and it wasn’t lost on any of them how your mind was elsewhere. Casually picking through your food was a total opposite to the way you usually devoured this.

“Y/N?”

You’d been debating on the way whether to speak to someone about it.

Maybe your dad? He’d gone through something similar but he was in Miami and would only just be getting up.

Your mum? She was the most rational option but she would never understand that pride of pulling on your national shirt.

Your therapist seemed the best option but the earliest session she had for non-emergencies was tomorrow.

“Y/N!” In your own little world you’d even forgot to answer their questions. “Are you alright?”

It could help speaking to them, couldn’t it? “I had a visitor after training. Sarina Weigman.”

“Shit man, I thought you said no.” Maria Leon was your best friend from the moment you stepped foot in that training room, you bonded over everything from tattoos to food. You’d been her wingman in getting with Ingrid and had a mutual understanding of each other’s situations with your respective national teams even if the circumstances were very different.

“She wants me back but I don’t know, this feels different from last year.” If Bonnie, your 5-year-old beagle, adopted 3 years ago to signify a new chapter in your life, wasn’t by your feet they would definitely be anxiously tapping the floor right now.

“They probably feel your absence more because they’ve lost other players.” Frido added some context. “Not that you wouldn’t have always walked into that team but now you definitely would. You’d be their main player.”

“I can see you’re considering it.” Ingrid pointed out. “When she came last year I could see you were like, definitely no, now you haven’t turned it down immediately.”

“There’s no right or way wrong to feel,” Maria tried to comfort me. “Only you can decide if you want to go back there.”

“I miss it.”

“Of course you do.” Ingrid agreed. “You wouldn’t watch all their games if you didn’t.”

“It’s just the fact that I’m comfortable here, I have been for so long and now I’m going to throw myself back into four years ago.” Four years ago when you’d been forced to move away from your club at the time in Chelsea and accept the fact that one mistake had changed everything. “Plus the media attention, no-one wants that in the lead up to the world cup.”

“They were your friends, I’m sure they’d understand.” Frido tried to make you see that side of things. “Shit happens in football but what happened to you when completely over the top of that.”

“I isolated them.” Of course you had friends in the squad at the time, in fact best friends. But as soon as you made the move to America you slowly distanced yourself from them as they did to you. You hated letting them down and completely understood that being associated to you meant unnecessary exposure where perhaps they would not want it.

“So you’ll make friends again.”

You’d changed as well, grown into a completely different person in that time. Your appearance and attitude on the pitch were a distinct opposite to the crippling shyness you had yet to shake off. “Maybe.”

“You will,” Maria assured you. “Plus I think Bonnie told me she wanted a sleepover with me.”

“Oh did she?”

“I’m not swaying you either way but if that’s what you want, I’ll support you all the way.”

“We all will.” Frido added wrapping her arms around you to bring you into her side. “We love you.”

“Thank you, I love you all too.”

“Speak to your dad, maybe even your mum. I’m sure they’d want to help.”

One of the funniest moments in your life had to be watching your teammates introduce themselves to your parents when they came out to watch your first match in the Blaugrana. Watching their nerves dissipate when they realised how down to earth, especially your mother was, when it came to their children. Of course their name brought so much extra attention to you but you couldn’t have asked for a better upbringing.

Maybe it was their words that made you do it but subconsciously you knew the best thing to do was to ring them. So as you got into bed that night, once you got back, Bonnie at your feet watching, you rang the number you’d had memorised for years.

“Hi baby.” His voice almost brought tears to your eyes. Although you tried to be as independent as possible, wanting to be your own person, you sometimes wished you could just go back to spending every night in his arms.

“Hi dad.”

“What’s wrong?” You hated how easily he could read you, how those two words were enough for him to know something was wrong.

“It’s nothing.”

“You know you can tell me anything.”

“I know dad.” Out with it. “Sarina Weigman came to visit me today, she wants me to go and join them in the next international break.”

“And what do you want?”

“I think I want to.”

“You think?”

“I just know that if I do I’m just going to be brought back to that moment.”

“Then you’ll go back to a moment where the referees made a terrible decision. Football fans are fickle you know that as much as I do but you’ve watched it back enough to know that nine times out of ten nothing happens. The commentator did you no favours, Phil didn’t stand by you as he should have and the media hung you out to dry.”

“I know.”

“But as awful as it was it made you the person you are today and your stronger now then you’ve ever been before. If you want to go back then you’ll make it work. I know you will.”

“Thanks dad, now how is…”

,,,,,

“How many times have you watched that tackle back?”

“Over a thousand times.”

“Do you think you should have been sent off?”

“Of course not.”

……

You loved Barcelona, from the moment you stepped through those doors 3 years ago you’d been welcomed in and never looked back. In 2019 you moved to America but your year out there was plagued with depression and homesickness resulting in a lack of game time, when Barcelona came calling it was a difficult decision with your family ties but they had a project, they had a good set up and you knew the onus wouldn’t just be on you. The first six months were still tough, working out Spanish football to both play with your teammates and counter the opposition but by the end of the season you felt at home for the first time in 2 years.

Your role this year had been heightened by the loss of one of your midfield partners in Alexia, but you were adaptable and that’s probably how you found yourself 4-0 up, having just scored a second goal in the second half.

“It’s almost like you’re trying to impress someone.” Mapi whispered giving you a half hug as you walked back into your own half.

“Shut up.”

“I bet she’s panicking that you might turn it down now.”

“She’s got other players Maria.”

“But none of them are you.”

The match stayed at 4-0, some of the youngsters coming on to see the game out.

You’d never been in a team like this, of course you had little arguments and there were small groups within the team, but everyone worked so hard for each other. And with that came the protectiveness, when you joined you were only 21, now 24 and the older ones took you under their wings. You’d been daunted a lot at the fact of playing fellow English players in the Champions League but they’d been your shield for those moments.

It blew your mind when the younger age groups joined you and they speak about that moment. Most of them staying up late to watch it making you feel old. But that meant they came to you for advice a lot of the time. Maybe this time though it was time to get advice from them.

“Hey little one.” Maria Perez was the first one you spotted in the changing room. “You played really well today.”

“Thank you.”

“How are you feeling about being called up?” It was only yesterday that the Spanish squad had been leaked and she was once again in it.

“Excited, another opportunity to prove myself.”

“I like that you see it that way.”

“Everyone should, it’s no different to playing here, as long as you be yourself you can never be disappointed.”

…….

@jillsmithjournalist: Serena Weigman is present at the Barcelona match. No current England players are playing however star player Y/N Beckham scored twice. Beckham has not played for England since she withdrew from selection in August 2019 amid public backlash and a rumoured feud with England manager Phil Neville. Could a return be on the cards?

@newlionesses_x: Surely she can’t just pick and choose when to come back.

@wslfan: Fine without her last year

@england123: Liability for England

@barcelonafan: All you hating on Beckham are crazy, one of the best players in the world and you don’t want her back because of something that happened 4 years ago, grow up. Could tell she struggled when she joined us but this past year she’s been exceptional, people change, mistakes happen (even though she should never have been sent off in the first place)

…..

You’ve known your decision for a long time but you still delayed giving it as long as possible before you could wait no longer. You could see she was the only one left in the hospitality area as you entered, the table she had chose overlooking the pitch you’d just performed on.

This was what you wanted and now it felt only right to give yourself that opportunity again.

“I’ll do it.”

[middlingmay]

I've seen a few Hockey AUs around here.

And for someone who's never seen a game of hockey in their puff, I do love a good Hockey AU.

So whilst I'm 100% never going to write one, how about this? :

Imagine John is one of the biggest Hockey stars in the US. Mahoosive. And he's known for being the sweetest guy with no ego about it, too.

He constantly talks up his team mates and is the biggest team player. He's openly critical of the coaching team when he thinks it's called for. He tries the direct approach first, but when they won't listen, the next time someone shoves a camera in his face, something's going to go down. This is usually when there's been an avoidable injury.

He pops up at local kids club games whenever he has downtime, wherever he is, and spends loads of time with them and is really encouraging.

And Gale, being woefully ignorant about the land of sport has absolutely no idea who he is.

Maybe he takes Marge's kid to practice sometimes, and he sees John there and just thinks he's a friend of the coach, given how delighted the coach is to see him (and maybe how the coach hangs off him, too).

Gale lets himself look. It's been a while and John is cute. All bright, easy smiles and patience with the kids, even as they try scaling his legs and back like a jungle gym (but only when their skates are off).

And John notices Gale and keeps catching him looking and they both keep looking away and looking back and blushing like children. Idiots, I stg.

And Marge's kid - let's call her Andy - chatters a mile about about how great John is and Gale figures it's not an uncommon occurrence for the coach's friend to come around if Andy knows him that well, but he makes a note to ask Marge about it. And maybe offer to take Andy to more practices. Give Marge and Rosie some time to themselves after work (because fuck it, Marge is married to Rosie in this).

On their way back from practice, Gale sees a hoard of news vans going the opposite way and just thinks, "Huh. Weird."

So he asks Marge if she knows about John - she does, of course. Andy does not shut up about him - and she clocks right away that Gale has no clue who he's been flirting kindergarten-style with and elbows Rosie in the ribs before he can blab. Oh ho, she's going to enjoy this.

John isn't at the next practice, or the one after, and Gale is disappointed, but he can't focus on that for long because his car won't start to take Andy home.

Who arrives on the scene? John Egan.

He offers them a ride and Andy does not give Gale a chance to say no.

Gale is hopelessly, awfully flustered in the front seat. John talks almost as much as Andy and the two chatter and bicker back and forth, because yes John does argue like a 12 year old.

But, he also gesticulates, and his hands get everywhere and if they brush up against Gale one more time, surely his heart can only jolt like that so many times before it's not good for him??

And cute or not, Gale finds it difficult to talk to strangers. Maybe John notices, and asks Gale yes or no questions, offers him little jokes and pretty much doesn't demand any input from Gale which is...New.

He finds himself laughing and offering little bits of conversation unprompted which have John beaming.

John walks them to Marge's door (he thinks it's also Gale's because Andy has blonde hair, too). And when Marge opens to door and Andy says, "Mom, look who it is!" John's face falls - until Rosie appears and Andy calls him Dad.

Marge, seeing an opportunity for mischief, invites John in for dinner as a thank you whilst Rosie calls Ken to get Gale's car. She drops hints about John's work which sail right over Gale's head:

"All that travelling must be hard. And surrounded by all those screaming people?"

"Oh you're in just about every paper and news report on tv."

So Gale, obviously, comes to the conclusion that John is a journalist.

It takes a very, very, very long time for him to find out the truth. Far longer than it should. They've been dating for a while, but with John's travelling and Gale's studies and his work, it just doesn't come up much. When they're together, work isn't at the forefront of their minds. So Gale doesn't quite cotton on to the fact that the sudden uptick in photographers he sees about town are following him and John. And he doesn't really follow the news, so yeah.

I may post more thoughts about this, but I just love Sports AUs in general. I will read every fic any of you write, God help me

[ghostieyanyan]

I’m the anon who requested the Yandere overblot Jamil. Other than him, I think Floyd has the most potential to be a yandere. The guy’s just unhinged. Maybe a bit too insane. So I thought what if he was too dangerous and insane that Floyd was locked away at a mental facility but managed to escape and kidnaps MC. Or maybe Floyd would be more unhinged as a yandere when he overblots. Either one is a great idea. Floyd would just destroy anyone who touches his Shrimpy

thank you for requesting again ^^ <3

this reminds me of @merakiui serial killer floyd (im one of her biggest fans) she wrote something about floyd in a prison on death row and mc/yuu is an journalist that interview him so that's what it reminds me of and i might be a little inspired by her work but i do want to try to have my original put on it too. so i hope that's okay.

~Crazy for you~

Patient!Floyd x caretaker!mc

Warnings: yandere, stalking, kidnapping,

~~~~~

Floyd

yes. the boy is crazy. like off the hinges crazy, but he's actually really smart too. Sly, slimy, cold hearted eel. even when he got caught, he didn't even seem remorseful. But with his family that has connection everywhere, he was put into a mental facility for his "troubles."

you weren't anything special in that the facility, you just help with medication records, paper works, and if there was low staffs, you'll help give out the medication. but that rarely happened.

but this was a rare scenario, Floyd with his mood swings and violent behavioral issues made him a ticking time bomb for some people or like an eel waiting quietly in the cracks of the coral waiting for them to put their guard down.

it was a really busy day and a lot of the workers had to take care of other patients who has going through sever side affects with their medication. So this was going to be the first time you'll meet the famous Floyd Leech.

Since Floyd was so problematic, his has to be placed in a different room from the rest and when he takes medicate, you have to have a guard with you.

When you walked into the room, the room was a mess, even with the limited things that he had. Floyd was looking at you with his blanket over his head.

you had to lore him out like a kid... or better described, a monster..

it took a few minutes to get him out but when he did, a smile grew on his face. He gave you the nickname Shrimpy, because how small you are to him. He took his medicate and was really enjoying the "conversation" you two were having. more like he asked question and you just answered. i mean, they were simple questions, "what's your favorite color?", "your favorite food?" , "do you like the ocean?" , "if you can go anywhere you wanna go, where?"

after you finish, you were about to leave when Floyd sudden lunges at you. holding you against him.

"nooo... don't leave shrimpyy"

more guards has to come in and hold him down to get you out. you take a last look at him when you left. his eye were locked onto you...

The next few days, Floyd would act hostie with another workers, demanding that he wanted to see you. Its gotten so bad that the facility just gave you the role to take care of him until something changes in him.

you didn't know why or how you've won this eel man's heart but i guess you did. lucky you.

Your presents helped his mood so much that the facility thought that he was sane to leave. Frankly you think they just want to get rid of him, for good.

The day Floyd left, he didn't whine, he didn't scream or lunged at anyone. he was tamed as a house pet.

For his finally request, he asked to see his Shrimpy, when you approached, he gave you one tight hug and said something that sent a shiver down your spine.

He lets you go, sent a big smile and waved everyone good bye.

You vanish the next day, people thought that you tired of the crazy, like Floyd.

Or you could have been drugged in your home and dragged out to who knows where.

But when you do wake up you'll see the unsettling smiling face of an eel...

"welcome home shrimpy~"

~~~~~

sorry for misspellings qwq

[myfandomprompts]

Dubious Headlines | Aemond Short Story (Part 3/3)

Aemond x Reader Modern!AU [Part 1/ Part 2]

Synopsis: In a world where Dragon Incorporation is the most powerful firm in town, Rhaenyra Targaryen's last announcement sends you, a journalist, to interview the younger sons of the family. However, you did not ask for any of this.

Warning: Fluff, but not only

You had a wet dream. Or at least you thought you had, it was all still foggy. The signs were there though, you had awoken abruptly, heart beating at a fast rate, slightly panting and more importantly, a sore feeling between your legs.

You sat up in the dark as it slowly came back to you, images of long silver-hair and a soft voice speaking into your ear as you heard yourself moan loudly like a distant echo.

When you realised what, or rather of who your dream had been about you shook your head at once, attempting to chase these thoughts off your mind.

You had a big day ahead of you and you needed a cool shower.

“It’s your lucky day!”

You stopped your typing to look up at your boss towering over you with a big smile on his face.

“It is?”

“Yes, a request came up, something about an art gallery opening in town, and they chose us to be the prime reviewers. I know you’ve been waiting for that sort of exclusivity for a long time.”

Why does this sound familiar?

“What sort of art gallery?” you asked warily.

“Specifically paintings, I believe. This came from one of our correspondents at Dragon Inc. From what I understand, it’s founded by one of their branches.”

Of course. It didn’t take long, it was only a week and a half ago that you had seen Aemond Targaryen at the inauguration. At least in the real world. For now you kept your emotions at bay.

“And they requested me?”

“Not you particularly, but who else would I put on the case than my best writer?” he joked, putting a paper on your desk and leaving with a proud smile.

“Yeah…” you breathed out as you looked at the info you needed, “Who else…”

It was a beautiful building, with large glass windows and high ceiling, and as you entered the lobby, worrying over the fact that you might be greeted by the quite cold assistant whom you had over the phone to make the appointment, you were relieved to see only an attendant sitting boringly behind a reception desk. You looked at your watch, ensuring that you were on time as you walked toward him to announce yourself, but someone came out of an adjacent door and you stopped in your tracks.

The sight of Aemond Targaryen appearing in your line of vision instantly made you think about the dream you had recently, making it very real for a moment. You got lost in the memory and by the time you had managed to get rid of one particular vivid image, he had levelled with you.

“Miss. L/N? Y/N?” he called again.

His voice made you snap out of your reveries and you realised that you had not talked at all since he had approached you. You tried to appear as natural as possible as you took control of yourself again, ignoring the fact that his hand was on your shoulder as you finally spoke, “Good afternoon, sorry-” you cleared your throat. “Thank you for having me, M. Targaryen. I hope I am not late.”

“Not at all, right on time,” he said, letting his hand fall from your shoulder to reply to your handshake. “And please, call me Aemond.”

His hold on your palm lingered far longer than necessary and you were unable to react, too occupied with the thought of how calling him by his first name would sound strange to you. Or maybe you would like it.

Yes, you definitely would.

“Very well then I shall,” you smiled as you took in your surroundings. “This is a very nice place. Do you own it?”

“My mother does. She uses it for her own private events and exposition such as this.”

You looked at the stone walls and warm lights that illuminated the elegantly decorated lobby, sighting only a part of what you assumed would be the exhibition room.

“Will your mother be joining us? I always admired her taste in art, she is a wonderful patron, I would love to have her insight on this.”

Aemond clenched his jaw, perfectly aware that you and his mother would have got along greatly. “Unfortunately, she won’t. I’m afraid that she had other matters to attend to. But she will be here at the opening.”

Your disappointed look sent a pang in his heart but he did not feel bad about it. He had told his mother earlier that her presence was not requested for your coming, that he would handle it alone. It was a calculated decision, one that he did not regret. You had come alone, so did he.

“Oh, that’s a shame…” you quietly said, taking your pad out. “When is the opening exactly?”

“Next week. Tuesday night.”

“And you need The Westerosi to advertise it enough beforehand for people to come to it, correct?”

“Correct.” Among other things.

You smiled at him, lowering your pen as you finished your note. “Alright, then let’s see it!”

Aemond returned your smile and extended his arm in order to let you pass, leading you to the exhibition room.

It was pretty big, warmly lit, contrasting with the usual bright lights of the museums, and you could only guess the length of the room because tall panels that were placed along both the walls and in the centre were hiding the end of it. You could see sofas and chairs placed here and there, surely to allow potential buyers to sit and admire the numerous paintings that hung on the walls and panels.

“This is quite the exposition, how many artworks do you have on display here?” you asked, walking toward the first painting on the left.

“Over forty. It is a few, but we have room for more.”

He was following your every step, arms clasped behind his back, watching how your mouth opened slightly each time you focused on one of the frames. “And will the exhibitors all be present next Tuesday?” you asked as you admired a mural representing two robotical birds over a white background.

“Not all of them,” Aemond said with a slight apologetic tone, “But enough so you have something to write about. If you decide to attend next week, of course.”

You gave him a side glance at his words, finding it amusing that he believed that you would not be returning. As if .

“You can count on me to be there, Aemond, I wouldn’t miss it. From what I see this is really worth it.”

He knew that asking you to call him by his first name had been a mistake. Now all he could think about was how nice it sounded and all the different ways he wanted you to say it.

You took some more notes as you asked him technical questions, about the choice of the artists, and how his own preferences and his mother’s had influenced what to display. “Do you paint yourself? Or your mother?”

“No, I hardly would have the time. And my mother is also just an observer, although she takes great pride in my sister’s drawings. She is the one with the artistic fibre.”

“Your sister Helaena?” you presumed, hardly picturing a woman like Rhaenyra draw in her free time.

“The very one,” he replied, following you as you kept advancing to admire the next painting. “Do you paint or draw?”

“Oh no. My grandfather was the painter, but apart from my aunt no one in my family can even draw a cloud.”

This was an obvious exaggeration, but it had the merit to make Aemond laugh. “I see. We all must find our talent in different places, I guess. I’m sure you have many skills besides writing.”

You blushed a bit as you examined a very small canvas, trying to see what it exactly represented. “I wouldn’t be so sure. I may write for a living but for everything else, I would call it hobbies instead of skills. Skills must be forged by practice.”

“I agree. To find in art what is worth admiring and what is not is a talent that we acquire over time, I’m just glad I had my mother to teach me from an early age the meaning of beauty.”

You had reached an area where tables had been placed among the panels, certainly intended for future glasses or food to be served for the opening.

You turned to him. “Because you believe that beauty is what makes art worthy of admiration? Not talent or its message?”

“Of course it does too, but we are mainly attracted to what we find beautiful in our eyes. Don’t you find yourself staring at something beautiful and intriguing longer than at something you don’t truly understand?”

You had both stopped walking and were now staring at each other, his gaze growing more intense by the minute as his words hang into the air, their meaning taking a whole new dimension. You felt your heart skip a beat.

“This... is an interesting theory from someone who hasn’t shown interest in any of the paintings he owns yet. Shall we test it? Show me the work you find the most beautiful to look at and I’ll make my own opinion,” you said, gesturing towards the many sketches frames around you.

But Aemond’s face lit up as if he had won the lottery, and remained perfectly still and silent. His eye was boring into you and you grew uneasy, asking yourself what exactly he did not understand.

“What are you doing?” you asked, a little confused.

“I’m looking at you.”

His voice had dropped several octaves lower and you felt your cheeks reddened.

“Why?”

“Do I truly need to say it out loud?”

He had scoffed, but his expression was serious, and you could not help but straighten as he got closer.

“A-actually I’d rather not,” you shyly said.

“Really? And why is that?”

“Because… if you do, I’m afraid that this interview will become very… unprofessional.”

He arched a brow but remained composed, taking several steps further, whereas you struggled to keep a straight face, feeling crushed under his gaze. He was closing in on you and you felt him reach out to your pad and pen in your hands to gently remove them from your grasp.

“And what exactly,” he said as he discarded your belongings on the table behind you, his face almost brushing against yours, “is it that would make this ‘unprofessional’?”

He was so close that you had to look up in order to hold his gaze because of how tall he was, without mentioning how good he smelled.

“By doing this…?” You sensed his fingers trail along the inside of your wrist and up over your arm, eliciting goosebumps all over it. He then went up to your shoulder, brushing your hair away from your neck as he cupped your cheek, his eye fascinated in the way your skin reacted to his touch.

“Or…”

He had only breathed out his last word, voice oh so very low into your ears as he took hold of your chin, slightly pressing his thumb over your lower lips, and you had to close your eyes in order to repress a moan.

“Aemond…” you warned, feeling your body ready to burst into flames.

He hissed at that, the sound of his name rolling out of your tongue sending electricity down his spine. He was enthralled by you, how you looked, how you felt, how you melted under his touch. He hadn’t expected to give into his desire so quickly, but here he was. He felt your hands crept up to flatten against his chest, looking for more contact. You looked, no, you felt exquisite.

“Tell me Y/N, tell me because otherwise I might be about to make a big mistake.”

You opened your eyes again, meeting his dilated pupils locked onto your lips, and you further grabbed the collar of his shirt to pull him closer, feeling the warmth of his burning skin through the fabric. Then his eye darted from your darkened eyes and to your alluring lips again, before strengthening his grasp on the back of your neck and finally closing the distance.

You could not register anything else around you apart from how soft his lips felt against yours and the way his fingers delicately brushed your neck, making a whine escape your throat as he slowly kissed you, his taste so sweet and maddening that you wondered how you had survived without it until now.

You did not know for how long it lasted, but by the time you had to part for air, leaving both of you breathless, you realised that your phone was vibrating into your vest’s inner pocket.

You heard Aemond growl as he heard it too, coming to rest his forehead against your own as he closed his eyes in frustration. “If you don’t take that thing off, I swear I’ll break it.”

You could only display a wicked smile on your face, amused at his impatience before letting go of his chest and reach for your phone, but your movement was apparently too slow for Aemond who unexpectedly detached himself from you and began to take off your blazer in a swift motion before tossing it to the side, your now silent phone with it.

Without wasting a second Aemond had grabbed you again and was kissing you more passionately than before, making you back off to collide with the table behind you and wrap your arms around his shoulders in order to respond to his eagerness. You tangled your fingers into his hair, enjoying the silkiness of it and making him groan into your mouth slightly, holding on to you tighter.

“I’m starting to believe that this whole reviewing thing was only a plan in order to get me alone with you,” you said.

He smiled against your skin, one of his hands travelling from your shoulder to your waist as he began to trace small kisses along your neck. “Maybe it was... In any case, I’ll still need that article published, positive or not. I don’t even care at the moment.”

You felt his mouth reach the junction where your neck met your shoulder, and you bit your lips at the delicious sensation.

“I’m afraid that I’m too… biased to write anything bad about it now,” you managed to breathe out.

His low chuckle resonated into your very being before he moved to your face again, his smirk hovering over your lips.

“Mh. And here I was, thinking that you were the very definition of professional.”

You gave him a fake offended look, smiling at his words as he leaned into you again. His kiss was growing more insistent, keen and you felt your body heat up.

“There aren’t any… cameras in here, right?” you asked timidly between two hungry kisses, thinking about the attendant in the next room.

“No, there are not,” he laughed, coming back to brush his nose against yours. “Why, afraid to cause a little scandal?”

You considered your position, stuck between the man you desired and the low table, one of your clothes on the floor and pretty aroused. It didn’t help that Aemond had taken hold of your hips and flushed you against him.

“The only thing I’ll cause is that if you don’t start kissing me again right now I’ll write the most scandalous article about you you’ve ever seen. Even your brother’s acts won’t be able to match.”

He was stunned for a moment before finding his composure again, his demeanour shifting into an intensity that was not there before and whispered:

“And we don’t want that…”

When he kissed you again, you concluded that now, it was you who owed Mathilda a favour. A big one.

I really liked writing this. I have some ideas for another part but I like how this one ends, and I have a million of other Aemond Oneshots ideas so we'll see!

@khaleesihavilliard@dollfaceyourfear@cecespizza01@julczimozart@missusnora/ @bb-swift@cbfvip / @depressedperson88 / @nitimurinvetitumsposts@this-is-a-bad-idea / @issshhh /@virginslut08 @boofy1998 / @tssf-imagines / @theeddiebrainr0t

[peaky-shelby]

NEW ROMANTICS | MBAPPÉ [10]

» summary: in which an arrogant and talented football player (the best of his time as some say) and a focused and harsh critic of a journalist are gonna have to find a way to co-exist.

» chapter 10: we need love

» writers note: this chapter turned out differently from what I envisioned but the heart of it is the same, so enjoy, sink with them and I'll meet you on the other side

» Taglist: @moonchildohh @formulahoe @princetongirlll818 @mavieesttriste16 @kiwisa @godessstela @hummusxx @kodzuvk @pink-manz @corbyns-smile @ippid @jayruiewo265738 @blueanfield @mrs-bellingham @sorceresski @sooblovebot  @okayymochi @army7g @j-rbps @heli991113  @markhyucksmells @chaotic-taco-collector-blog @i0veless @photmath @http-isabela @rainytelevisionfilmwagon @formula101x @neymarloverxxx @cepolar @freespirit-51  @marialikescherries @superswaggycooch @lunasmindinwriting

@shadysandwichghoul @contrastedfandom @alexxcorona113 @951am @jinsoulorbitzen12 @mati09 @books-loverss @l0verl4ne @kypostsblog @bluberrycheezk @hottieluvr @calcaneous @444jodie @dudde-44 @neysgf @wallflowerjournal @p4rkyonce @toclic @kyliannnkkk  @mad-die45 @tlk-duskwood @mentalbaddie @karotland

» playlist

She didn’t sleep. Maybe it was because of the way her body would react to his breath and his touch. Maybe it was guilt for her actions or maybe it was disappointment. Maybe all of those things combined kept her up at night but every time his hand reached for her exposed skin, the last two would fade away. Regret and guilt would be replaced by the need for more and so when he’d move even a bit away from her, those feelings would grow again. Like fire in the rain, that grew and lit off repeatedly. Caught in between a need and a sin.

She’d check the time, numerous times during the night. It was at 5am that she found the strength to roll away from his hold. She didn’t want to be in this room when the sun took it’s place on the sky, that would make it all too real for her. She changed into her clothes, somehow even as a shirt, he fit perfectly around her. She was cursed to have him on her back, whether it was metaphorical or literal. It didn’t take long before she saw his figure getting up, his hands pulling her back on his chest. She looked in the mirror, seeing clearly for the first time the crime she had committed. Why did she like it?

She was scared that if she said anything, she’d ruin it. They’d fight and they’d hurt each other. So she said nothing, she kissed him. One last taste of her favorite drug and she left his room like a thief. She almost made it to her room but as she made a turn on the hallway, she heard an odd laughter coming and she was met with an even odder sight. Neymar, On the floor, pale and half asleep with a very joyful Verratti by his side.

She approached them slowly, pulling down her hoodie. Neymar looked like death, while Verratti was laughing like a teenage boy.

“What’s going on here?”

Neymar moved a little in the sound of her voice. Verratti’s eyes beamed with excitement, his finger pointing at her. “IT’S MISS COACH!”

Taylor looked at Neymar, who seemed to be regretting all his life choices, she knelt beside him “ney?” she tried but he wasn’t really responding. Just humming. Verratti started pulling on her arm to get up but she wasn’t strong enough to hold both and she was more worried for Ney. He was completely out of it. She reached in her pocket for her phone and called Kylian.

“Miss me already—”

“I need help. Now. Neymar’s room.”

Kylian hanged up and went to find her. A few minutes later he was by her side. They gave each other a knowing look and he tried to get Verratti up while Taylor searched Neymar’s pockets for his key card. She found it and used it to open the door. Neymar, whose back was laid on the door fell backwards “SHIT” She yelled and bowed down to keep his head from hitting on the floor. She put his one arm around his neck and tried to get him up with all the strength she had. Kylian had already laid Verratti on the couch so he came to help her. They put him on his bed, taylor even tucked him under the covers while Kylian was taking of his shoes. She looked around the room, found a big bowl with pop corn next to the TV. She threw the pop corn on the garbage and left the bowl on the floor by his side. She Helped him lay on his side.

“when you throw up do it on the bowl. Last thing we need is for the maid telling stories of cleaning your puke.”

“I was mean to you.” Said Verratti from the other corner, lazily pointing at her. Kylian went back to him.

“What the ‘ell happened?” he asked, giving him a light slap.

“hey we were just drinking man! By the way don’t worry about the issue, I spoke with Ann—” Kylian stepped on his foot. Verratti screamed in pain. She looked at them for a moment before her eyes returned back to Neymar.

“Ney, are you sick?”

He nodded “JW gonna write about this, hm?” he poked her nose. His eyes half open. She took hold of his hand.

“JW won’t be writing about anything for a while.”

“I missed the penalty.”

She shook her head “is that why you’re like this?”

Neymar didn’t get to answer, his expression changed completely as he leaned forward, ready to puke. She lifted the bowl up to him, helped him hold it while his system was letting go of everything he had drank that night. She was looking away the whole time, her eyes finding Kylian’s. He rushed to her, replacing her hands on the bowl with his own.

“You don’t need to be here for this. Go to bed.” He said. But she refused. When Neymar was done she went and threw the puke on the toilet, flushing it down. Kylian joined her there. Taking the bowl from her hands again. “ill take care of them! Go!”

“Kylian, I got this. I just needed you to help me carry them.”

“This is not the first time one of us is cleaning each other’s shit. Junior has done the same for me, so has Marcus.”

“Taylor!” that was Neymar calling. She rushed back to his bed. Ignoring Kylian completely. When she knelt by his side again, he looked at her like a puppy “im sorry.” He mumbled. She wanted to cry just by seeing the pain in his eyes.

“It was just a penalty Ney. It doesn’t define you. Messi has missed lots, he is still the goat.”

“Why are you two together?” asked Verratti suddenly. Referring to Kylian and Taylor.

Kylian looked threateningly at him “Why aren’t you asleep yet?” he asked but it was more of a threat. Taylor on the other hand just kept her eyes on Neymar. Stroking his back. He started drifting of the way drunk people do. She could hear Kylian and Verratti bickering behind her.

“People are writing articles about you, you know!” said Verratti. That’s when she finally looked at him, narrowing her eyes.

“what articles?”

“Dunno.” He mumbled, getting more comfortable on the chair. “m sorry I was mean to you. I’ll make it up.”

She scoffed and returned her attention back to Ney. He looked like a kid. Kylian knelt behind her, placing his hand on her shoulder.

“ill stay here, go to your room.” He whispered and she twisted her head to look at him. Their faces so close to each other. He gave her a comforting smile. He squished her shoulder, holding himself back from kissing her head. “he’ll be fine. Promise.” She very subtly leaned back on him, both of them giving what little they could give to each other without being too obvious. His lips brushed on her hair. He helped her stand up and showed her to the door. She lingered there for a while, her eyes darting between Verratti and Neymar. They were both asleep now.

“Call me if anything happens.”

“I will.”

“make sure he doesn’t choke on his puke.”

“yes Ma’am”

She tried to look at Neymar again behind Kylian but he stepped in front her, blocking her view. He looked down her and then looked at the door, motioning for her to leave. She nodded, Kylian brushed his fingers with her before she turned around and left them alone in the room. Kylian rubbed his face with both hands and went to check on Neymar, who had started coughing again.

He tapped on his shoulder “you ok man?”

He nodded. Opened his eyes. Kylian got up, but his entire body froze when he heard him speak again “don’t fuck with her” he mumbled, His face half molded on the pillow. Kylian looked at him. Even in his state, his sentence came out as a terrifying warning. He didn’t continue the conversation. He laid on the other side of the bed, his head laying back on the wall. A heavy breath leaving his nose. Making a mental note in his head to talk with Verratti in the morning about the articles.

AIRPLANE – NEXT DAY

They tried to avoid each other as much as they could in the airport, usually caught up in conversations in different and separate groups. Taylor had her eye on Neymar the whole time, he’d barely look at her. When they got on the plane, Taylor went to put her handbag on the cupboard over her seat, suddenly she felt Kylian’s front on her back. His hands reaching for hers, as he helped her place her bag there. He gave her a little unnecessary push with his front on her ass, bringing them closer together, and let out an unnecessary breath on her hair. Meanwhile his fingers lingered a little too long on hers.

“thanks” she whispered.

“no problem.” He said and moved away from her. She took the seat next to the window, watching as the team members walking in the small hallway. She put up her head when she saw Ney and called for him.

“sit with me!”

Neymar seemed hesitant at first but sat next to her, getting comfortable. There was an awkward silence between them. She started tapping her leg on the ground, making sounds with her mouth to fill it.

“rough night?” she asked.

Neymar snorted, looking down like a guilty kid. She smiled and nudged him on the shoulder. “are you embarrassed of me?” she asked. He shrugged his shoulders. “Junior, come on! You know how many times Trish had to drag me home after drinks?”

He looked at her, raising his eyebrows “zero?”

She opened her mouth to seem offended. But closed it again because there were really not that many times. She looked away. “ok fine maybe not that many.” He laughed, laying his head back. “but that’s not the point.” She returned her gaze to him “I may be your Coach but I’m also your friend. You’re allowed to be drunk around me. I’m not Galtier. And… you know… the reason you decided to drink. It’s not worth it.”

He scratched on his nails. “it’d be a good article. Neymar jr. Fails again.”

“Don’t do that to yourself please.”

“What would JW say? Would he celebrate the win?”

She laughed, leaning on the window “I’m sure he’d find some things to complain about. A team much below yours got 4 chances and scored. We could have ended this match 5-0. We still lack connection and yes, we were good but only cause they were weaker. So, what are we really celebrating? There’s still a lot of work to be done.”

Neymar smiled. “there she is.”

“point is the blame isn’t yours Ney.” She made sure to look in his eyes while she spoke “a penalty is a 50% chance. Anyone can miss and anyone can do it depending on the circumstances. Losing penalties is the least of this team’s problems. You and Kylian worked pretty well Together.”

He nodded. There was something else on the tip of his tongue, she could see it.

“You two are getting better along too, aren’t you?”

She nodded, keeping a straight face “yeah. He’s more cooperative now.”

All he did was smile and put his headphones over his head. Somehow she knew exactly what he was thinking but pretended not to.

Taylor got up in the middle of the flight to go to the bathroom. Her eyes met Kylian’s as she walked passed him and behind the curtain that led to the bathroom. There was a small space people could wait in case there was someone else inside. The lock was green, so she opened the door and went inside. She bowed in front of the sink, threw water on her face.

He started cracking his knuckles. Contemplating whether he should go behind her. Everyone seemed to be occupied with other things. Hakimi was watching a movie next to him, most of the others were as well. He stood up and went to find her. If anything, he loved seeing her trying to hide his affect on her in front of everyone else. He waited for her on the small space, hiding his figure behind the curtain and hoping no one would come along before she was done. And done she was, a few minutes later, her eyes widening when she saw him in front of her as she opened the door. “hi” he smiled. His body blocking the exit by the way he was laying on the door. She looked at him up and down, tried to squeeze passed him but he kept moving his body in the same direction as her. Two times was enough to annoy her.

“not the time.” She warned.

“don’t worry. Wasn’t gonna fuck you on the sink.”

She scoffed, pushing him on the chest to make space for her to leave. He stood in front of her again. Leaning his head down, she locked eyes with him, only until his gaze diverted to the level of her lips, licking his own.

“Come sit next to me.”

“are you crazy?”

“I’ll get Hakimi to sit with Ney.”

“No!” she said quickly. Then she looked away from him, tapping her foot on the floor “I think Ney knows. I don’t know how much or how but he has started picking up on things. I shouldn’t have called you last night.”

“if you didn’t, we’d have a story on our heads about a drunk Verratti and Neymar on the hotel hallways.”

“Better than assistant coach fucks star player—” there was a turbulence, causing her to fall flat on his chest. He gripped on her arms, to keep her straight and leaned harder on the doorframe to keep them both up. She let out a shaky breath, her fingers cycling around his arms, able to feel his veins, same way she had last night. He made a step forward, pushing her deeper in the bathroom, leaning in to kiss her. Their lips ghosted over each other’s, an invisible string pulling them closer together. One of his hands dropped to her hip, she could feel his touch too well over her skinny leggings.

“Star player knew exactly what he was getting himself into. It’s fine.” He whispered in her lips.

“I was talking about Neymar.” She said, keeping a straight face. But she broke into silent laughter when she saw his eyes darkening, his expression stiffening. She grinned, slapping his hand off her ass. Her shoulder bumped on his as she finally walked passed him. Proud of herself for his reaction. He bit on his tongue, twisting it in between his lips.

She went back to her seat, but the one next to her was empty. She searched around for Neymar. Found him to Hakimi’s side. Deep conversation with him, Messi and Ramos who were sitting on the seats behind them. Neymar was sitting his knees on the chair, facing Messi. He waved at her “ill be back in a sec” he said. Taylor thought she had gone numb. She didn’t respond. She just went and sat in her seat, searched out of the window for a way out. Sitting on the wing seemed like a better choice now. She took her blanket and covered herself with it. Laid back and closed her eyes. Maybe if he thought she was sleeping, Kylian wouldn’t annoy her. She heard him seat beside her, even chuckling but she didn’t move and he didn’t speak which was good. For a moment she thought he’d actually let her be. Be decent for ones.

Then her entire body shivered. Her eyes opening wide. Her breath getting hatched on her throat. His fingers crawled on her thigh. His hand hidden under the blankets that they had very comfortably lay over them. She didn’t look at him, she couldn’t even blink. She was scared that any reaction would lead to dangerous sounds coming out of her mouth. She didn’t have to look at him to know that he had that smug expression on his face. He didn’t stop of course. His hand continued going higher and higher, pinching on her skin a few times, stroking it others. She liked it. When it got too close she dropped her hands where his was but over the blanket. She looked at him. He was looking on his phone, unbothered, like there was actually zero connection between the two at that moment.

“are you out of your mind?” she hissed. He didn’t respond. But his hand moved down, closer to her knee now. He gave it squeeze, it felt more caring than his last touches but she knew he must be laughing on the inside. He slipped his fingers under her knee, holding her like any boyfriend would hold his girlfriend in the drive home. He finally looked at her, an discreet smile on his lips. Her phone buzzed a few seconds later and she turned it over to look at the screen. A message from him.

She shook her head, scoffing. Closed her phone screen and ignored the message. He squeezed tighter on her thigh. She closed her eyes, trying to fight the urge to hold his hand under the blanket. Truth is she liked it, and as long as his hands remained on safe distance from other parts of her body, then she didn’t want him to let go. He was counting on that. She put her hand under the blanket searched for his while looking at the clouds outside the window. When she found it, she let her fingers wrap around his. He accepted it, too quickly, turning his hand, so he’d hold her better. No one knew. No one could see. But he was drawing circles with his thumb on her palm and she was enjoying it.

The reached Paris in the afternoon. Everyone had a different car waiting for them to drive them home. Before Taylor got into hers, Galtier came up to her.

“We need to talk.”

She hesitated “everything ok sir?”

“Come by my office tomorrow morning. 10 am.”

Logically speaking there was no reason for him to know and there was no reason for her to he worried. But she was terrified. “Is it about the match against Pays De Cassel?”

“Not really. But we’ll discuss that as well. I’ll wait for you.”

She nodded as he left to go to his car. She watched him leave, her eyes falling on Kylian among everyone else. She smiled at him and got in her car. They drove her to the animal-sitting center she had left Luna at first. God, was she happy to see that little angel. Luna head bummed her on the hand when she went to pet her the first time, get warmth reminding her of the only thing that felt like home in this city. She took the cat back to her house, the driver helping her carry all her stuff before leaving her alone in the small apartment. Luna ran across the familiar floors, jumping on the desk and the bed, making herself comfortable on the pillows. She laid beside her, telling herself that she’d take care of the suitcases in the morning. She petted Luna with her finger, Luna in response started biting it and scratching it playfully. She smiled.

When she looked at her phone she was met with Kylian’s message again. She hadn’t deleted the notification so it was still there. The invite was still open. She was tempted. Tempted to feel his Temperature on her body, on her mouth, on her… she closed her eyes.

Kylian unpacked all his stuff. He had nothing better to do anyway. When he was done he dropped himself on the couch, hand hanging over his head as he laid back. He thought about texting her again or calling her but he didn’t want to push it. He was scared that any wrong move would bring the paper house they had started building, down. He doubted she was going to come to him, so he was prepared to go to sleep alone.

Then his phone buzzed. Her name popping on the screen. He picked it up, looking up at the ceiling, while answering.

“Can I help you, coach?” No answer. He smiled “just calling to hear my voice hm?”

Another moment of silence.

“Galtier wants to talk to me tomorrow.” He could hear the worry in her voice, even from the phone.

“Its probably nothing.” He tried to reassure her.

“Hm…”

He wished he could find the right words. He wished he could be by her side.

“Come here.” He whispered lazily on the phone. Too lazy to plead and also half knowing he doesn’t have to. His invitation not at all suggestive. If anything it came out as a solution to whatever was worrying her.

“can’t.” She whispered back “need to stay with my child.”

He smiled knowing it was just an excuse. “bring her with you.”

Silence.

“that’s too much work, just to see you.”

“I can come”

Taylor was on her bed, laying, same way he was. She bit on her thumb, his suggestion sinking in. Maybe if she kept allowing him taking the initiatives, she could pretend there was nothing she could do about it. Maybe if he came over to her, she wouldn’t really be doing anything wrong.

“been running out of cat food actually.” She said innocently. Heard him laughing on the other side

“Can’t go out walking in this cold.” He said.

“no.” she hummed. But it was more of a yes.

Taylor kept typing and erasing the same message that said that she had changed her mind. She did it about 10 times, until it was too late to send it because she heard him knocking on the door. Sitting on the edge of the door, she looked at her door. Her body frozen in her position. Another knock and she knew she didn’t have a lot of choices. She left her phone on the bed and made her way to the entrance of her apartment. A heavy breath leaving her chest as she opened the door. A tired Kylian, leaning on the frame with his arm while holding a full bag of cat food on his hands. She laughed, it seemed like the only right response because they were tragically funny. He smiled, looking down at her. She met his eyes with anticipation. Suddenly all her worries replaced by his perfume, by his whole demeanor and his presence. A light opened in the hallway alarming them that someone was coming up the stairs. She snatched on the threads of his grey hoodie, pulling him in her house and pushing the door closed. They both stumbled on their owns steps, only stopping when taylor, crashed on her desk, his head falling closer to hers and all she could look at was his lips.

“Such a small apartment.” He mumbled, grinning.

“Shut up” she shot back, realizing she was still holding on the threads. She pulled him down, her lips crashing on his, he dropped the bag, letting it crash on the floor. Didn’t hesitate to kiss her back, deepen the kiss. Hold her hips to pull her closer and she could feel him in between her thighs. Her hands crawled under his hoodie, taking it off and throwing it, somewhere in the room. Then they crawled under his shirt, coming in contact with his skin. He hissed at the coldness of her hands, biting on her lips. Both of them realizing that they should probably take a breath. They looked in each others eyes, heavy breaths and knowing stares. He smiled, cause he had never seen her like this before. His fingers traced on her skin under her shirt. His bottom lip hooking on hers and pulling it upwards. Then kissing the area under her eye, then her nose. Her hands moving up to his arms, stroking his veins, his biceps, like she was making a memory of how he felt. His lips went down to hers again, this time kissing her softer. It was gentler. it was more honest than any kiss he had given her before. His touch changed. Any other time he would have picked her up, thrown her on the bed and hovered over her.

Tonight, was different, she could feel it. He wanted to take his time, so did she. He held her more carefully, he didn’t rush it. She stood still while he was taking control, giving in to him as he pulled the shirt over her head, only thing she had to do was raise her hands, bring them on his shoulders when he was done. He lowered his head to her neck, the spot he knew would make her, his for the night. And surely when he kissed on it, she let out a moan, a beg for more. He made a few steps backwards, taking her with him and sat on the bed, while she stood in between his legs.

He kissed her stomach, she felt his tongue on her skin, his teeth almost biting her on the same spot. His kisses continued on a straight line. While his hands pulled her skinny leggings off, he pushed her hips to him and she sat on his lap, legs and hands tying around him. Her breast on the most comfortable level for him to leave kisses now. Under and over her bra, on her collar bone. Her head dropping back, as she accepted all of his gifts for the night. She leaned forward, his knee scraping the space in between her thighs. Her hands, held his entire face, she pulled her head up again, looking in his eyes and leaning her forehead on his. He pushed her hair behind her ear, his hands holding on her face the same way she was holding on to him. Their noses touching, their breaths synchronized.

She pulled off his shirt, threw it on the floor behind her and moved closer to his know bare chest. Her hands circling around his shoulders and her head bending, hugging him as tight as she could, to feel every single curve in his body against hers. To feel his heartbeat. His fingertips, caressed her spine, moving up and down her bone while his mouth made a home in her neck and shoulder. She tilted her head to kiss the back of his neck. It seemed this night, this moment could last forever. She hoped it would. Hoped she could stay down this rabbit hole with him for the rest of her life.

When he laid her on the bed, she started playing with the chain round his neck. His eyes staring deep in hers, while her other hand reached for the threads of his sweatpants, untangling them.

And the night burned warmer, their bodies getting as close as humanly possible. When they were done, they gazed at each other’s eyes for what felt like hours. His fingers getting tangled in her hair, hers tangled in his chain. She never minded being on her own but this… this felt nice too.

He woke up by her voice, speaking words in a language that sounded like French but could swear wasn’t French by her accent. Her voice was followed by a ticking sound. He opened his eyes, the sunlight cutting through his eyes.

“THAT’S NOT WHAT I SAID!” She yelled from inside the bathroom. He raised an eyebrow, confused. He got up, putting on his sweatpants and walking over to the bathroom door. He could listen more clearly now and yes she was actually trying to speak his language. Random words, speaking them to her phone. He opened the door, to find her sitting cross-legged on the cap of the toilet. He shit his mouth in a thin line so he wouldn’t laugh.

“une table pour deux personnes, s’il vous plait” she said in the microphone.

“Wanna get me out on a date?”

She jumped up on her feet, her phone almost dropping from her hands. “stop doing that—”

He grinned, pushed himself off the door and walked over to her. “tell me in French and I might.” He shrugged, approaching her in a threatening way. His hands snaking around her back, she was already dressed and ready to leave.

“je…”

“hm?” he prompted. How did her murdering his mother tongue sound so blissful in his ears.

“Je veux tu—”

“moi?” he asked, pointing at himself and pretending to be surprised.

She narrowed her eyes “oui?”

He smiled, leaning down to her lips. “Que veux-tu de moi, Taylor?”

She snorted, already confused by his accent but she played along “stop. Je veux tu… stop?”

He laughed, she blushed, her fists bumping on his chest. He kissed the embarrassment away. “La nuit dernière était incroyable.” He whispered in her lips “On devrait le refaire. Un peu plus souvent.” She pushed him away.

“You’re doing it again.” She reminded him, a little annoyed.

He smiled “do you want me to drive you at campus?”

“Hilarious. I’m getting an uber.” She walked passed him, out of the bathroom. He watched her and mirrored her.

“I used to drive you before this was a thing.” When he stepped out of the bathroom, Luna jumped on his sweatpants, trying to catch the threads. He hissed when claws cut through the fabric on his skin and knelt down to pet her.

“You have to go back to your house and change.” She looked at the desk for her keys. “catch” she said and threw them at him. He caught them before they hit his face. “lock the door before you leave. Bring me the keys back at campus.”

“because that’s not at all suspicious”

“Is it too optimistic of me to think that you won’t do it in front of everyone else?” she walked to her bed, checking that she had everything on her bag.

He smiled, getting up and coming up behind her. “You’re anxious.” He whispered.

“I don’t wanna be late!” she said, slapping his hands off her and hanging her bag around her shoulder. She turned around to look at him.

“Are you always rushing out like this after sex or is it just because of me?”

“im not rushing.”

“Yeah you are. You rushed out in the hotel. You’re rushing out now because your appointment is not for Another 2 hours.”

“I don’t wanna be late.” She repeated.

“You’re always late.” He reminded her, looking in her eyes. She gulped. Funny, how he could see right through her in the morning. He leaned in, about to kiss her under the morning light, when there was no darkness to hide, when everything was true. Her fingers trailed on his abs, she pulled away quickly, looking up at him.

“Lock the doors.” She whispered in his lips “feed the cat. Make sure no one sees you leave and be at campus at 11 sharp.”

“Or what?”

“ill figure out a punishment.” She smiled and slipped away from him. He bit on his tongue when he heard the door close. It was followed by a meow, the little kitten in between his feet, begging for food. She scratched on his legs again, making him kneel down.

“You scratch as deep as your mother.” He mumbled, petting her under her neck.

GALTIER’S OFFICE — DAY

Taylor waited outside. Her feet tapping on the floor until Galtier’s tall figure appeared in the hallway. She got up, greeting him quickly and he motioned for her to get in his office.

They say on their usual positions. An intimidating Galtier on his big chair behind the desk and an anxious Taylor on her tiny chair across from him.

“the win against Al Nssr was good. It seems things have started to work out.”

“I hope so.”

“The boys seem to get used to you.”

“Most of them, yes.”

“we need to talk about your salary.” She didn’t answer to that. Nothing seemed appropriate enough. “If you decide to stay.” Her eyes remained expressionless. Keeping any sort of emotion for herself. “PSG would be happy to keep you around.”

That was it. What she had been waiting to hear. To be one of the coaches or an analyst. Whatever position they decided to give her. She had made it through. It seemed almost like a lie. Too good to be true and yet, it felt like a theft too.

He passed over to her a document with her monthly salary, details of her hiring and her position. She could barely follow him. She was lost in her thoughts. The pros and cons. She had her ticket back in the game. But was she really in the game? There was this tickling sensation in her stomach. Happiness and fear mixed in one. Was the decision hers now?

“We can sign the contracts by the end of the week. I’ll need some time to speak with the big boss.” She looked at the document. There was a number on it, a long number with high digits… that couldn’t be hers. She’d never see that amount of money with her writings, not even if she worked on the highest paid sports magazine “Meanwhile you can think about it, run it over with your lawyers if you want.”

She nodded, taking the document in her hands “thank you.” She smiled, keeping in all the excitement, she had. Galtier smiled back at her and she took it as an indication to leave. Her steps, slow on the hallway. She checked at her watch, 10:30, it was. Kylian would be here soon.

“Excuse me, Ms. Wilock?”

She turned around, a woman, seemingly older than her. Long blonde hair and dressed like she had somewhere important to be. She was a journalist. Taylor knew by the way the woman held a notepad in her hand. She felt caught between two worlds. Who she used to be and who she could be.

“You are Ms. Wilock, right?”

“Yes. That would be me.”

“I’m Annette.” She shook her hand “I was wondering if I could ask you some quick questions.”

“About what?”

“How are you adapting on the team? With the boys?”

She smiled “There’s respect from both sides.”

“As it should. But I heard there was chaos in the beginning, between you and the players. And of course, there’s the question of your website that brought a lot of pain on this team and other teams as well. Are you ever getting back to that? With champions league coming up, are you loyal to Paris-Saint German? Is it worth everything you are giving up?” Annette smiled. Taylor was at a loss of words, she didn’t know what to answer first.

“I don’t have time for a one on one interview.” She said “Gotta get down at training but I bet I’ll see you around, won’t I?”

“From one journalist to another, Ms. Wilock. You know you will.”

Taylor stepped away, gripping on the document in her hand.

Kylian never gave her back the keys that day. She only realized when she went back to her house and searched her pockets. During the day, they exchanged a few words and mainly it was her yelling at him to stop playing around and laughing. Kylian would shoot her a knowing look, only her could translate and they’d go back to business. She had a meeting with Marquinhos, making several attempts to ignore the chaos in her mind.

“Is it odd that I’m having doubts?”

“No. Of course not. It’s a huge change. One month was a short time. Now we are talking about permanent.”

“Permanent is long.” She sighed.

“No matter what happens you should be happy and proud of yourself.” He said, shooting her a smile and getting up to leave.

All she wanted to do was go home and write. That always calmed her. So when she realized her keys were missing, she wanted to hit her head against a wall. She didn’t even think about calling him, she just grabbed an uber and went to his house. She stood outside, hands in her pockets. There were doormen outside of the building. That’s how you knew important people were living there. She couldn’t just walk in, she was scared they’d recognize her. So she called him.

“I was wondering when you’d notice.” He said as soon as he picked up.

“I’m downstairs. Can I come in from the garage?”

Silence, then a scoff. “Sure, go around the building, I’m coming.”

She hanged up and did as she was told. The garage doors opened and his figure appeared behind them. She walked closer, holding her hand out, waiting for him to give her the keys.

“Oh shoot.” He said “left them upstairs.”

She cocked her head, annoyed “are you fucking serious?”

He smiled. She groaned and walked past him to the elevator. He followed behind her.

A couple snarky comments, unnecessary touches and a few minutes later they were on his bed. Wrinkled sheets and their bodies tangled like one because she couldn’t control herself around him. Not when she felt his touch on her body, not when he gave her that devilish grin and leaned down so slowly, that only made her want him to go faster. Because when he did all these things, she’d forget even her own name, her past, her doubts, her injuries.

Their routine didn’t change. After sex, they were silent, just like all the times before, words couldn’t explain why or how they ever got in this situation but she was in his space now. He had control.

She tapped on the space between his breast, her fingers making a walk up to his neck. The neck that she had left her kisses on, her smell, her touch.

“what did Galtier want with you today?”

“I’m hungry.” She said suddenly, completely ignoring he inquiry. Kylian narrowed his eyes, confused but she was out of his arms and dressed in his grey long hoodie before he could stop her. He rushed out of the bed, putting his pants on and chasing behind her on the kitchen. She was inspecting the fridge already, taking out things she needed. She’d let out gasps whenever she found somethings she could use. He watched as she laid out the ingredients on the counter. “can you get me a recipe for carbonara?” He was baffled by her. The way she moved around like she had been on his place more times than ones. Like she lived there. He looked around for his phone, finding hers first on the counter where she left it after he picked her up to take her to the bedroom. He opened the screen, a pretty picture of her, a little girl-which he imagined was her sister- and her father.

“what’s your passcode?”

“I’m not gonna tell you my passcode.” She said, while bending down to get a pan from the lower cupboards.

“Is it 1 2 3 4 5 6?” he asked, while typing it out. The phone opened to his surprise and he started laughing. She stood up, chewing on the inside of her cheek but saying nothing. “god that’s dumb.” He mumbled and she really wanted to hit him with the pan in that moment.

“Find the recipe!” she said.

“you need milk for carbonara!” he commented, googling searching for it.

“No you don’t.” she shot back and looking at him.

“That’s how I like it—”

“my god! You really suck at following orders! Don’t you?” she snatched the phone from him and placed it on the counter, looking at the recipe he had found. “it literally says, no milk!” she looked back at him “all this time I thought it was just me but god you really suck a following orders, don’t you?” she asked but he waved her off, opening the fridge, the light filling the otherwise cozy darkness. He grabbed a water bottle and closed it again.

“Do you always cook in darkness after sex?”

She didn’t answer him, just made one of her silly face and started cooking according to the recipe. He jumped on the counter of the kitchen, sitting there as she cooked. He smiled, because there was something very calming about seeing her in his space like that. He took a sip from his bottle, his eyes following her every single movement.

Kylian made sure to point out hoe he’d like for her to not burn his kitchen more than ones and taylor ignored him every time. He got of the counter when she asked him to get plates, he left them right next to her, his hand ghosting on the small of her back while she was stirring the pasta.

“I still think it needs milk.”

“I still think you are an arrogant asshole but I don’t make a big deal out of it every five seconds!”

He lowered his head to her neck, taking a big bite on her skin while she laughed and shook him away, elbowing him slightly so he’d get back.

They sat on the kitchen top, across from each other. Talking about everything and nothing, while they ate. The night would grow longer, their figures would move like shadows, tiny secrets that no one ever had to know about.

“My father always blamed himself. I got the condition from him, so he was convinced it was his fault when I had to give it up. Truth is, he did everything right.” She smiled “wouldn’t have want to spend the worst years of my life with anybody else.” She opened her phone, pointing at a picture of little Lily. “She’s my little monkey.” She said, her entire face beamed when she was talking about her, so many of her walls crumbling before him.

“is she as loud as you?”

“she’s louder.” She laughed “but that’s why I love her.”

“you miss them?”

“’f course I do.” There was bitter sweetness in her eyes now, the smile lingering in her lips but falling just a little. That melancholic look reminded him of his first question of the night.

“Gonna tell me what Galtier said?” The smile faded away completely. She shut her phone off, staring at the table. “it couldn’t have been that bad.”

“it wasn’t…” she admitted “it wasn’t bad at all.”

“Then?”

She looked at him “he wants to finalize my employment.”

“wasn’t that already settled?”

“Not really. I was given a month as a test run. If it wasn’t for the articles that leaked, psg wouldn’t have told the world until they were certain.”

He nodded, looking at his plate, playing with the last bit of pasta that was left there “and now its certain?”

Dawn wouldn’t come for hours yet in matters of the sky, but it was slowly creeping up on them both in matters of their future.

“yeah.” She whispered. The feeling of guilt had already began fueling in her chest, just like all the times before. Any normal people would talk, clear things out before it was too late.

“that’s good.” He smiled, looking up at her again.

Cause they weren’t normal people and this wasn’t a normal situation. The longer they spent not talking about it, the longer they could pretend it was alright. Whatever ‘it’ was.

She tried to leave right after they finished their food. She wanted to go home, breakaway from him as soon as possible but he was leading her to the bathroom before she could protest. And how could she protest when his aroma dripped from every corner of the bathroom, when he helped her in the tub and she laid on his chest, both of them naked and bare.

She played with his fingers absentmindedly while he marveled at the size difference of their hands.

“you were right” she whispered

“about what?”

“the rushing out part.” He brushed his nose on her hair. “I’m afraid if the sun finds us together. Like this. I’ll have to explain myself and I wouldn’t know what to say.”

“you don’t have to say anything.”

She grinned at his attempt to make her feel better, nuzzling closer to him and closing her eyes. Then it slipped out of her mouth, like air, like it was always meant for him to know. “I’m scared.”

To that he didn’t answer. Although he could relate a bit.

“And it’s not just because of you. Back then I lost football because of matters of the heart. Then I had to give up writing because I thought that I could get football back. Being away from my family, losing parts of my independence and now… now I could lose football again because of matters of the heart. A different kind. ” the last one was referring to him, he knew. “but what’s worse is that I don’t know what I want. I haven’t for a while. For years actually. I remember what I wanted before everything and I think is till want that… but sometimes I’m just scared of wanting.” Her voice trailed off. Realizing she had said too much.

“tell me something the world doesn’t know about you.” He lowered his eyebrows, thinking. It was difficult for him to come up with answer. She pinched on his arms, lovingly. “there has to be something.”

“I love my nieces and nephews, a lot.”

“everyone knows that!”

He laughed “I mean I guess it obvious but, they’ll never know how much. You will.” He stroked her arms, resting his head on hers while she played around with the bubbles. After a moment of silence he said “I love them so much I fear for them. My problem is similar to yours” He looked at the wall while speaking “I see it with Ney and his boy and the public relationships he has had in the past. It’s scary. To think that you will always bring discomfort to the ones you love. Sometimes it stops you from loving them enough.”

Their honest words echoed in the bathroom, only for them to hear and then sank on the water under them.

She twisted her body, so she could look in his face. Her legs wrapped around his waist and her arms settled on his shoulders. She smiled at him.

“you have to start by loving yourself first.”

“I think I’m pretty cool.” He joked, smiling. She cocked her head, her thumb brushing on his cheek.

“you admire yourself. That’s different. You’re full of yourself.” She shrugged “also different.” He scoffed, pinching the side of her stomach. She ignored it “I’m talking about loving your insecurities. All of it.” Her eyes examined his entire face, everything. Like she was memorizing it. “I’ve said it before. You’re worth it without having to prove anything.” She smiled.

And if he wasn’t so hypnotized by her beauty, by the moment itself and her words, he would have kissed her already. But she kissed him first, like she was making a promise. That she saw behind his façade. He kissed her back, like he was promising her he’d do better.

If they weren’t so afraid of loving each other, this could have been a love story.

AHHHHHH!!!! So many things to think about, so many emotions. So many choice. Such broken people. And the way to the end is near. Ones again thank you for being patient with me, these weeks are the hardest and updates will be slower but i promise I'm not giving up. Like always i can't wait to read your thoughts and comments. This chapter was supposed to end more dramatically butttt i guess 11 is where the peak is gonna happen. I love you all, forever and ever!!

[annasghosts]

Five Ways to Seduce a Wizard

@jilymicrofics written using the prompts Jam and Admiration. On Ao3

Lily looked up as Mary slapped the latest number of Witch Weekly on her bed. “That’s it. it’s 1977, a woman doesn’t have to wait for a man to make the first move.”

“Five ways to seduce a wizard.” Lily read. “What is this, Mary?”

“This, my friend, is the way to push our oblivious Quidditch captain to get his head out of his arse and his tongue into your mouth.”

“MARY!”

1 – Eating can be sexy, show him.

“Lily?”

“Yes?” She asked, smiling coyly at James. She couldn’t believe it had been that easy, but maybe the journalist had known what she was talking about after all.

“Is there something wrong with the jam?”

“No, why?”

James frowned at her, confused. “You keep licking it. I know you don’t like to waste food, but you shouldn’t have to eat it if it has gone bad.”

2 – Make him feel like your knight in shiny armour.

As she approached him at the end of the prefects meeting, Lily was feeling quite confident. Yes, the jam had been a slight miscalculation, but this was going to work, everyone knew James had a hero complex.

“Hi, James.”

“Hi, Head girl,” he said with a wink, “everything alright?”

“Yes, I’m ready for rounds, even if I feel a bit tired tonight.” She shrugged in a very casual way and looked at him through her eyelashes. “I might need someone to hold me up.”

“Oh, if you’re tired you should rest.” He looked at the list in front of him. “Fawley? Fancy switching patrol rounds with Lily?” Lily’s mouth dropped open as the Seventh year Hufflepuff nodded her agreement and James smiled back at her. “Problem solved.”

3 – Every man likes a home cooked meal.

Lily wasn’t much of a cook, but she still felt optimistic as she walked up from the kitchens with a fresh batch of homemade chocolate fudge. Everyone liked chocolate fudge.

“Oi, Evans!”

She turned and smiled as James approached her. Perfect. “Hi. I made some fudge.”

“Oh!” James’ eyes widened before his face broke into a wide smile. “You’re the best.” Lily frowned at his comment. Not exactly the romantic declaration she’d been thinking of but- “How did you know nothing cheers Remus up more after a full moon than fudge?”

“Oh. Well, everyone likes fudge.”

4 – Admiration is key.

Lily wasn’t sure if she should feel offended or not as James kept misunderstanding her attempts of seducing him, but she felt the forth advice on the list held some merit. James had always enjoyed admiration and there was no reason why he couldn’t appreciate it from her. With that in mind she leaned towards him, peering down at his Transfiguration essay. “Another O.” She said, smiling. “I’ve always been envious of how brilliant you are at Transfiguration.”

A loud silence followed her words as James looked at her, stunned.

“Are you sick, Evans?” Sirius interjected, pocking his head out from behind James’ shoulders.

“I feel perfectly fine, thank you.”

“You look flushed.”

“Ugh. You are such an obnoxious prat!” She said and turned back to her own essay. Bloody Sirius Black.

“Now I recognize you.”

5 – Touch can convey your interest like nothing else.

Potion was the one class where they shared a desk, no obnoxious mates of his to interrupt them.

“You should stir more gently.” She said, reaching out to hold and guide his hand.

“Oh, you can-” James reached awkwardly for her other hand and wrapped it around the wooded stick, taking his hand away as soon as she got hold of it.

Lily frowned, but didn’t say anything. As the class drew to an end with James carefully keeping his distance from her Lily was starting to feel more and more confused so, when Slughorn praised their work, she moved to grab his hand, thinking if he didn’t respond she could play it off as a friendly gesture, but as soon as her fingers grazed his wrist he jumped away from her, promptly pouring their potion all over the floor. “Fuck.”

“MR POTTER!”

+1 – Be yourself?

“Lily, I’m really worried about you.”

She turned to see James stare at her. There was genuine concern in his eyes and she sighed, he had to be that nice. No consideration for her silly crush at all.

“Why?”

“You aren’t acting like yourself.”

“I feel fine, James.”

“Whatever it is, you can tell me.”

He looked so earnest Lily couldn’t help but laugh. “Here.” She dropped the article in his lap and watched as his eyes widened behind his glasses.

“This- you-”

“The jam? Yes. Asking you to hold me during patrol? Yes, again. And guess what? Admiring your Transfiguration skills? Done that too! Touching? You can blame our first D in Potion on that.”

James spluttered. “But you don’t fancy me!”

“Why would you say that?”

“Bullying toerag? Would rather date the Giant Squid?”

“James, that was almost two years ago.”

“Oh.” He said, a smirk slowly taking over his face. “And what does the article suggest if all moves fail?”

“Probably something about the oblivious wizard getting his head out of his arse and snogging the very patient witch that fancies him.”

[heartylunalys]

Cannes Film Festival

Austin Butler x black actress! reader

my masterlist || part 2

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genre: smut, tiny bit of fluff

words: 3k

warnings: well…smut, oral f receiving, slight spanking, a manager being annoying as fuck

notes : I loved writing this fic and I hope you will like to read it. I needed to write for Austin since he’s completely clouding my mind since I watched Elvis.

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Cannes Film Festival, an incredible and fancy place where everyone has nice dresses and tuxedos, a view of the beautiful southern French coast, journalists and fans all trying to take a glimpse at the many celebrities here.

You don’t really feel at your place here even if you’re glad to be here, with the big names of the industry. Being a young actress, it’s the first time you’re attending the event, the movie you played in was totally the genre of movie loved in the festival: intense, aesthetically pleasing, a little bit long… You were glad to be the main character in this movie as a black woman, you thought it was a way to show the versatility of black women and how they weren’t always meant to play aggressive, mean characters and conforms to black stereotypes.

The first night of the festival, even if you were tired, having too much spotlight suddenly, your manager begged you to go to the Elvis after-party, saying it will be a perfect occasion to meet new contacts and relieve the stress of the day. After almost 10 minutes of explaining your tiredness to her you understood that she wasn’t going to let you rest in your hotel room so you followed her to La Croisette where the party was at.

“Look at all these people,” she said excitedly, “if we don’t find someone to cast you in all these I don’t know what to do anymore.” She laughed and you forced a smile, clearly annoyed but you didn’t want to act disrespectful.

The party was something, there were a lot of people and you could easily recognize some faces that you already saw on the big screen. However you didn’t feel like talking or even approaching them, maybe because you didn’t feel legit to be in here, you were exhausted and not a very talkative person, so you just decided to take the drink one of the servers offered you, staying away from everyone. You were admiring the pretty landscape of Cannes, wishing you could leave to explore the city. The lights were bright, reflected in the Bay of Cannes.

As you lightly bobbed your head to the music, trying to ease your nerves a little bit, a figure was walking towards you with a little smile and you wanted nothing more than to disappear in the crowd of fake smiles and hypocritical laughs.

“Hey, I think I’ve never seen you before. You’re..y/n right?” The man with a deep voice and a slight southern accent said and you immediately smiled, seeing that the rumors about keeping his character voice were true.

“Yeah, I’m quite a newbie in this type of event, it’s my first time here.” You answered, still not looking at him, searching for a way to run away from this exchange.

“I totally understand,” he cleared his throat searching for something to say, “Did you like the movie ?” He asked with a little pride in his voice.

“Which movie?” It didn’t even occur to you that you were at a party for the movie Elvis, a movie that you watched just before and that you even liked.

“Well, Elvis, my movie.” He explained, a little amused at your question and you were glad that he wasn’t mad at you for this.

“Oh my god I’m sorry,” you quickly responded, clearly embarrassed by your mistake, “I loved it, a lot, it was wow, it was something.” You muttered and finally looked at his face and you wish you didn’t. His blue eyes felt like they were piercings your own dark irises, a smirk plastered on his face while he watched you attentively. “You were incredible.” You let out, almost like a whisper.

“Thank you, it was my job to mesmerize the ladies.” He joked and you laughed, feeling a little bit ridiculous to have a change in your attitude so obvious once you saw his handsome features. “Do you want another drink?” He asked sweetly and you immediately accepted.

You’re night was delighted with Austin. You drank all night with him, laughing and talking in each other's ears with sultry voices.

You were now feeling a little tipsy and clearly the man talking at you was partly responsible for your situation. Your bodies were pressed against each other’s, slowly swinging with the music. Austin’s hands found their place on your waist, going up and down almost cupping your breast.

“You wanna go somewhere else?” He whispered in your ear and you shivered from the sound of his deep voice in your ear.

“Where are you taking me?” You slightly teased him hoping he would announce that you were taking the way to his hotel room.

“Wherever you want, lead the way.” You could hear an almost innuendo in his sentence as his hand traveled from your waist to your thighs. His touch lingered on your skin.

“Well.” You took his hand ready to lead the way to your hotel room with a slight smirk, feeling hot and dizzy from the alcohol and the touch of the handsome boy behind you.

“Y/n! Where do you think you’re going?” Your manager hissed while taking you by the arm, she eyed Austin from head to toe, not impressed by him, “We’re going home, you have to rest.” She gave the two of you a death stare before pulling you out of the party to the car waiting for you to come home.

“Why the fuck did you do that?” You asked, clearly pissed off.

“Well, I’m keeping you from making a fool of yourself.” She strictly said, looking at her phone to message all the people she managed to find for the evolution of your career.

“Making a fool of myself are you kidding me?” You were clearly annoyed now, with a harsh tone in your voice.

“Look darling, I think, and it’s only for your well-being, that it would be terrible for you and your reputation to be seen as a whore fucking with anyone. It would be a shame wouldn’t it be?” She wasn’t really asking you a question, she was simply stating her mind with an almost mom tone, clearly looking down on you.

“I don’t accept that you think you can talk to me like that.” You harshly spoke and she simply hummed, not interested in this conversation anymore.

The rest of the ride was silent, an electric atmosphere lingered in the car. Once you arrived at your hotel, you quickly got out of it, ignoring the voice of your manager giving you instructions for tomorrow. You walked to your room, frustrated, feeling like you were 15 all again and people could feel like they had a word to say in your life. You’re sure you had at least an hour of nervous breakdown, all the pressure washing over you. Maybe it wasn’t meant to be your life, maybe you didn’t have the shoulders for it.

As you were wiping the mascara that runned, watching attentively at yourself in pity, your phone ringed, getting you out of your racing mind. The number was unknown and you were ready to freak out at the person calling you at this hour.

“What?” You harshly asked while picking up, not even letting your interlocutor speak.

“Is it y/n?” A deep voice asked and you couldn’t believe your ear.

“Austin? How did you get my number?” You murmured, a little bit taken aback by hearing him. He laughed lightly and you loved the sound.

“It was difficult but I did it finally.” He didn’t really answer your question but you couldn’t care less about that with how happy you were to hear him. “I’m sorry my manager is such a bitch, I wish I could have stayed longer.” You explained remorsefully.

“I wish you stayed too but hey,” he paused for a second and you waited for him, “Can I come by?” You could hear the malicious smile in his voice. How could you say no to that proposition?

“I’m texting you the info.” You informed him, trying to hide your excitement. After that you hung up, immediately texting him everything he needed to know to be able to come in. You sprinted to the bathroom to do your makeup, trying to accentuate the gorgeous features of your face. Then, you quickly changed yourself, trying to find something sexy but not too much, putting sexy lingerie under your silk dress. You unbraided your hair from the 2 braids you had done to go to sleep. You quickly picked your curls and coils, reshaping your hair like you wanted it. You plumped your lips one last time with your gloss and looked at yourself with pride.

Approximately 10 minutes after your rush you could hear a car pulling up to your hotel. You quickly looked from your window and you perceived the handsome figure of Austin going out of his car and walking nonchalantly in your hotel. You waited on your bed trying to swallow your nerves, you were not feeling as confident as before now that the effects of alcohol had faded. The knock on your door obligated you to stand up and open it, ready to face the beautiful boy.

“Hey.” He smiled and you step out of the way to let him enter your room.

“Don’t talk too loud, the witch is in the room next to mine.” You said while directing your gaze to your wall to explain to him. He snorted and looked at you from head to toes, letting his gaze stop at every parcel of your skin he could see.

“You’re gorgeous.” He stated while taking you by your hips, your dress slightly went up your thighs.

“And you’re handsome.” You answered and his lips found yours, kissing you passionately like he waited for it the whole night. You placed your arms on his neck while one of his hands was now gripping your ass. A soft moan came out of your mouth, Austin took advantage of it to let his tongue meet yours. Your hand was now pulling his hair, and the slight pain was making him even more hornier, pulling you right against him, feeling the bulge in his pants. The kiss was sloppy and wild, the two of you wanting to feel the other.

You pushed him on the bed, your legs encircling his thighs and his bulge right under your core. You attacked his neck, sucking, biting and kissing it. Your movements were making him even harder and he let out groans at the friction.

“You’re so sexy like that.” He stated, his blue eyes almost closed and his plumped lips slightly ajar. His torso was going up and down from his breathing.

“You should see yourself right now.” you murmured in his ear while unbuttoning his black shirt, caressing his hot skin.

His finger slowly lowered your dress straps, his touch felt like a feather on you. He finally exposed your red lace bra, his mouth traveling from your neck to your chest, his eyes piercing yours and his hips rocking slowly under you.

“Austin.” You moaned and he unclaimed your bra, replacing it with his hands while his hair was pulled by you.

He exchanged your positions and you were now on your back on the bed as Austin was above you, admiring your hair on the bed, your pleased face, your perfect chest and the rest of your body that was perfect for him.

“I want to please you,” he started with his hoarse voice, “to make you come before I fuck you.”

“Please do it.” You muttered as his mouth encircled one of your nipple, biting it slightly. His hand traveled to your panties, primarily playing with you by lightly touching you to earn soft whimpers from your mouth. You could feel his smile. He slowly lowered your panties and coated his fingers with your juice before drawing painfully slow circles on your clit. You pressed your nails into his shoulder and he deeply groaned before lowering his kisses and bites from your breast to your abdomen until he was in front of your pussy.

He looked at you to ask for your consent and you tiredly nodded. Austin kissed the inside of your thighs, letting a hot feeling in every spot his lips touched. He finally licked a long strip of your pussy, tasting you with pleasure as his eyes were still looking into yours. He lapped you like you were the most delicious threat on earth, sucking on your clit and licking it godly.

“You’re so fucking good.” He moaned and as your hand gripped his hair you saw him rutting against the bed trying to relieve himself.

“Fuck Austin, Austin! Don’t stop!” You begged and he added two fingers in your core that made you scream.

“I wasn’t planning on stopping, don’t worry baby.” He said, sending shivers down your core.

As he pulled his fingers in and out of you, eating you out wildly, you were now grinding on his face, chasing your high.

“I’m so close, fuck!” You cried and Austin deeply moaned with how hard you were gripping his hair. You felt your orgasm like the pleasure just exploded in you, you were screaming his name and your breath was ragged. He kept pleasing you until you gently pushed his face away, your legs shakingly encircling his shoulders.

“Fuck, you make me so hard.” Austin muttered and you quickly looked at his pants where the form of his hard dick could now be seen. “You’re gonna let me fuck you hard now, right?” He cockily asked and a horny yes rolled out of your mouth. “You’re so good for me, so gorgeous and sexy, I wish I could have you like that everyday, all day.” He scented your neck, addicted to your perfume.

“Can I make you feel good too?” You asked sweetly and he smirked at you before caressing your cheek.

“Just turn around and bend over for me if you want to please me.” You executed his orders, shivers running down your spine.

You heard him search for a condom in his pocket before unbuttoning and unzipping his pants before placing himself behind you, gripping your ass to make it wiggle a little bit while kissing up and down your back.

“You ready?” He whispered and you felt him rubbing his dick slowly on your clit.

“Fuck me Austin.” You almost moaned and Austin slowly entered into you, stretching you deliciously. Your breath hitched, biting your lips in pleasure.

“I don’t think I can control myself with you.” He groaned as he began to move, one hand on your back, pulling out completely before slamming into you. The side of your face crashed on the pillow, moaning all sorts of obscenities. Austin was fucking you wildly, moaning your name from time to time and slightly spanking your ass to hear you scream how much you loved it. One of his hand was on your neck to keep you in position so he could fuck you so deep and good, hitting you at the perfect angle, making your legs tremble and your mind go dumb.

“Austin, Austin, keep…keep doing.” You chanted, liking being used as a fuck toy by the boy. You could feel your core throbbing around Austin’s cock as the sensation of him in you was beginning to be too much to handle. You repeated his name like it was the only thing you could think off while creaming him, your mouth full opened, almost drooling from the pleasure of your orgasm.

“God, you’re making me crazy y/n.” Austin scratched your hips from how his nails were pressed on your hips as he felt his own high from your pulsating pussy. You understood he was coming as you heard the moans he let out and the way his movements were getting sloppier and even stronger.

He stayed in you a little bit more, catching his breath and caressing your back to your thighs softly.

“I’ll be right back.” He whispered as he pulled off of you to throw away the condom. You laid on the bed, watching him tiredly. He sat beside you, putting back on his underwear and your heart ached a little bit, you hoped he would stay at least for the night. When he took completely off his shirt and laid just beside you, taking you in his arms as he caressed your shoulder you felt relieved and content. The smell off his cologne lingered on the sheets and you smiled against his torso.

“What?” He amusedly asked, a smile plastered on his own face.

“Nothing, let me sleep.” You answered in the same tone and he laughed lightly. He peppered your hair with sweet kisses and at this moment you thought that you could get used to this.

The next morning you were alone in your bed, waking up to the voice of your manager at your door screaming at you to wake up before it was too late to go. You sighed, upset from this situation that contrasted completely with the idyllic night before.

“Stop shouting I’m fucking awake!” You screamed in the direction of your door. You then saw the little piece of paper beside you on the nightstand and saw that it was signed Austin.

I loved this night with you but I wish we could get to know each other. What do you think of a date tonight ? I’ll come pick you up at 10.

Austin.

*⑅*❀⑅*❀⑅*❀⑅*❀⑅*❀⑅**⑅*❀⑅*❀⑅*❀⑅*❀⑅*❀⑅*⳾

notes: So.. part 2 ?

I hope you guys liked it, I’m also preparing an Elvis fic so stay tuned.

I’m taking requests by the way.

Likes, reblogs and comments are well appreciated!

I created this blog to allow black girls to feel more comfortable with reading x reader, as a black person I saw how much we weren’t really represented in the fanfic community

* ° 𐐪𐑂 ♡ 𐐪𐑂 ₒ 𐐪𐑂 ♡ 𐐪𐑂 ° * ° 𐐪𐑂 ♡ 𐐪𐑂 ₒ 𐐪𐑂 ♡ 𐐪𐑂 °

This is my work, please don’t repost it, translate it or take it without my permission.

04/07/2022

[damonjuicyscock]

Playlist- Chapter 13: Dont look back in anger (90s Noel Gallagher X Reader)

Pairing: 90s Noel Gallagher X Reader

Warnings: language, a few spelling mistakes, maybe.

Words: 1950

Summary: Dublin incident and Knebworth in 1996. Or more like you deal with these events.

A/N: Heya Y'all ! Here's chapter 13, I hope you'll like it, as per usual. Gave this chapter the name of this famous song because I thought it went well with this chapter and also because yesterday this song tunred 28 years old already. Hope you had a nice weekend, sending love and strength to you all for this week !

Love y'all, take care of yourselves !

Enjoy !

(I've been waiting to put this Gif for so long OMG)

“And so, Sally can wait She knows it's too late as we're walkin' on by Her soul slides away But "Don't look back in anger," I heard you say”

March 22nd 1996- Dublin:

After a gig in Dublin, we were back at the hotel.

We decided to have an afterparty at the bar, with a few friends, and members of our families.

Indeed, Peggy, Paul and my mam came to see the band play and spend some time with us. Everything was fine and going super fine. Peggy and my mam left around midnight and a half and 01:00. Yes. Everything was fine and going super fine, we were happy.

Until we saw an older man approach us with journalists. I immediately recognised him, even before the boys did. So I stood up in front of Noel. I would have taken a bullet for him. He didn’t even to ask me to if it meant protecting him. Protecting him from his past.

Don’t you fucking dare! I shouted to the man who almost arrived to us

Liam eventually recognised the man as well, and stood up, ready to beat the shit out of him. That’s when Noel recognised him too and stood up as well but to protect Liam and prevent him from doing a big mistake. It’s what he wanted. Paul did so as well.

Y/N! Noel shouted, afraid the old man would do something

Ah, the one and only Y/N! Ye grew up into a fine bird but ye didn’t change, not even a bit.

No, but I’m even worse than I was as a child. Get the fuck out of here before I punch you in the face Gallagher.

Yes, you guessed. It was Tommy Gallagher, the boys’ father, aka wife and kids beater. I was happy Peggy wasn’t here to witness that.

He laughed. He fucking mocked me.

Oh me dear Y/N… Ye’re a bird, I would beat yer little arse in a few seconds and ye would be back to London.

Don’t ye fucking touch her! Liam said, pissed off and ready to jump on him and rip out his carotid artery with his teeth

Don’t fucking react, it’s what he fucking wants! Noel said, holding Liam’s arm with all his strength

But I was even more pissed than Liam. So I approached Tommy.

Try me, you fucking wife beater.

He laughed again.

Be a nice lass and sit yer arse down Y/N.

Oh ye shouldn’t have said that ye bastard. Liam said, laughing like a psycho

And he was right. He shouldn’t have. No one tells me what to do.

I stood proudly in front of Tommy, giving him a psycho smile before spitting to his face.

The boys were shocked. Liam was ready to attack and Noel to protect his brother and I. As if their father would react.

Get. The. Fuck. Out. I said, sternly

The man brought his hand to his face to remove my spit and threw a dark look at me.

Good evening gentlemen. He said before leaving

Noel collapsed on his seat as if he was fainting. So did Paul. But Liam stood standing, calling the waiter to order another bottle of champagne. I sat down and turned to Noel and Paul. Noel’s eyes were sparkling. As if he just saw an angel.

Are you boys okay? I asked

They both nodded.

Fuck… I love ye so much, ye know that? He said

I think I guessed, yeah. I answered before kissing him.

He kissed me back.

How do ye do that? He asked

I smiled.

He doesn’t scare me. I could even have done worse, but I didn’t want to cause a scene. It’s what he wanted.

Woman, ye’re something. Noel answered, admiring me

I’m your shieldmaiden Noely. Your warrior.

Goddamn right ye are.

*

March 24th 1996- Germany:

We arrived a day before in Germany for Noel to rest a bit. At least, that’s what we both wanted. When we woke up, Noel went to buy a newspaper. And I knew he came back even without him being back in the hotel room. Why? Because I heard him yell his brother’s name in the corridor. Oh, this wasn’t good.

Shit! I said, getting up and putting on a bathrobe

I took the room’s keys and ran to the corridor to find him.

And I didn’t, until I saw Liam run fast in the corridor.

RUN Y/N, RUN! He shouted

What have you done this time?! I answered

I didn’t think it would be that serious! He answered, disappearing in another edge of the corridor

Then, I bumped into Noel, who was ready to go after his brother again, but I stopped him.

Let me go after him! He shouted

What has he done? I asked calmly

Tommy called him after the bar incident, and Liam told him he was going to break his legs and now it’s all over the papers!

I won’t let you run after him for that!

Y/N, it’s a fucking private matter!

Yes, and Liam isn’t responsible. It was your old man who spoke about it, not him!

He should have held his fucking tongue!

You know he wouldn’t be Liam if he did. And you can’t hold him responsible for everything!

Noel looked at me, and I saw Liam hide in the corner of the corridor.

I…

Do you really hate him this much? I mean… look at him, you scared the shit out of him, he looks like a goddamn innocent child! You’re projecting your violence onto the wrong person Noel… He’s not your father, and Liam’s not your scapegoat and certainly not a punching bag.

Noel realized I was right. I gave him the keys and he went back to the room. Liam came out of hiding and came to me.

Thank ye, ye saved me life… again.

It’s okay Li’, I know he’s not angry at you. What happened in Dublin shook you both. I got the situation under control.

*

August 10th 1996- Knebworth:

I was sick. I couldn’t keep anything I ate. I didn’t know how I got this flu, but I couldn’t seem to get rid of it. It had been almost two weeks I got it, and I was mad at myself. Because it was one of the most important days of Noel’s life. I almost didn’t come with him to Knebworth.

What if I vomit in the helicopter, huh? I asked

I’ll take some barf bags with us, but there’s no fucking way ye’re not coming with me. I need ye, ye’ve really got to see this and live this. Without ye it won’t be the same. Please love, oh, and ye’ll be able to rest in there, I promise.

I sighed.

I trust you. Hope I won’t throw up on you.

So when the time had come, we got in the helicopter. I didn’t vomit in there even if the smell of cigarettes and perfumes mixed together didn’t help.

But at the minute we landed, I ran towards the first bushes I found and literally emptied my soul. Noel ran to me and held my hair up while I did so.

*

After the gig, I had the possibility to rest a bit, when the others were at the afterparty. A lot of people were there, famous one included, but I just couldn’t. I was woken by Patsy, Liam’s girlfriend, who wanted to know how I was doing.

Hi… She said, with her sweet voice

Hey! I answered, opening my eyes and smiling at her

Are you okay?

Could be better.

How did you get this flu?

I don’t know, but you know me, I really hate myself when I’m sick and I can’t move. It’s been two weeks now.

Have you seen a doctor?

Not yet, didn’t have the time to with the gigs and all that. Even if I’m Noel’s girlfriend I’m a roadie you know, so I’m working.

maybe you've been working yourself too hard and your immune system has finally given up on you.

I don’t know, but I don’t think so. Because I’m not vomiting 24/24. It’s only during mornings, evenings and late at night, as if someone was sparing me during daytime. And except throwing up I feel fine.

During mornings you said? huh… wait a minute. I’m no doctor but I think I’ve been through that so I’m gonna ask you some questions.

Huh…okay… I answered, unsure

Are there particular smells that makes you want to vomit?

That means?

I don’t know, like perfume or food?

Yeah.

Sensitive breasts?

Yeah! I answered, starting to feel reassured

No period?

Huh no, sadly I still have to go through this shit.

Doesn’t mean anything. Heartburn, abdominal bloating, bleeding gums?

Yup to abdominal bloating and bleeding gums but no heartburn.

Well… as I said I’m no doctor, but it really looks like what I’ve been through with James when I was pregnant. I mean the first months.

I chuckled.

Oh no no, it’s not possible, I’m on the pill. I’ve been for years now.

It's never been 100% sure, so you should do a test anyway. I'll buy you one or go with you to buy one tomorrow if you like.

I swear Patsy, that’s absolutely not possible.

Do it for Noel. These events can be beautiful surprises but can sometimes be absolute disasters. And especially for us, women.

I rolled my eyes, I was sure of myself, but I knew she wouldn’t let go of it as long as I didn’t do it.

Alright alright. We’ll go tomorrow. If we can find a pharmacy that’s open in this shithole since it will be Sunday.

I’m sure we’ll find one. With Knebworth happening and all the people coming here they might have been forced to open at least one. For the medics as well.

*

August 11th 1996:

It couldn’t be. I couldn’t believe my eyes. I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. No, it couldn’t be. And yet it was. I had the proof, right under my eyes. Patsy was right. But how could it be? I had my period, I was on the pill… How could I get pregnant? I never forgot any pill. I was shocked. And I didn’t know how Noel would react. It clearly wasn’t the right moment. Should I tell him at this right moment? Should I wait?

It couldn’t wait. Especially if he told me he didn’t want to keep it. And with what happened with his father when he was a child, did he even want to become a father himself?

It was all about doubts. And I couldn’t keep them to myself. Should I at least wait for him to get off stage?

And yet, you know me. I’m like Liam. I can’t hold my tongue. So a few minutes before he would go on stage, when I had my moment with him, knowing there would be the afterparty after that, was the only chance I had. And he knew me by heart. He knew something was off.

Hey, are ye okay? He asked, taking my face in his hands

Mmmh, yeah, still sick. But I think I might have understood why… I’m…

Ye’re?

I’m pregnant Noel.

[sonicblueartist]

Operation Crimson

Part 1, Part 2

Masterlist

Summery:

"Sonic, this is Tails–"

"Yeah, I know; what's up, little guy?" Sonic should have instantly known who he had been calling for; if anyone were to call him at such late hours, it could only ever be from his best bud.

Tails didn't even question why Sonic had been awake at this ungodly hour, for Tails had known Sonic's day-to-day schedule by heart by now, "We have a case..."

Sonic exhaled deeply, knowing that regardless of what he says, he had no doubt he would be unable to escape this situation. Pausing his game, he finally rubbed at the corners of his eyes, trying his best to wake himself up a little more than before, knowing that this would be a rather lengthy conversation. "Straight to the point, I see. Not even going to say 'Hello' to your big bro?"

"First of all, it's 5 am Sonic, and secondly... I was just informed of a murder- Espio called. He asked for my opinion, and now I need yours... You need to see this."

'....Shit– If Espio called Tails, and Tails specifically, then this must be an important case....'

Tapping along the controller, Sonic merely closed his eyes, giving himself a moment to simply sit there with himself and his thoughts, for he knew that if Tails was telling the truth about Espio being the one to report this crime scene, then there was no possible way for him to ignore this. Anything Espio related was immediately of his concern, and that, unfortunately, was all under his own doing, regrettably. Taking a deep breath, he soon opened his eyes and gained the courage to respond to his friend, unwillingly agreeing to be there for the investigation. "Alright... Alright, fine, I'll be there in a few minutes."

❝𝐓𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐢𝐬 𝐡𝐨𝐰 𝐢𝐭 𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐬 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐲𝐨𝐮.

"𝐘𝐨𝐮'𝐥𝐥 𝐛𝐞 𝐬𝐢𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐈'𝐥𝐥 𝐛𝐞 𝐠𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐝𝐚𝐫𝐤," 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐭𝐡𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐞𝐝 𝐚 𝐯𝐢𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐦 𝐨𝐧𝐜𝐞.

𝐎𝐩𝐞𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐝𝐨𝐨𝐫. 𝐒𝐡𝐨𝐰 𝐮𝐬 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐟𝐚𝐜𝐞.

𝐖𝐚𝐥𝐤 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭.❞

『Warning; Blood, violent acts, cursing, description of ending someone's life, maybe some gore, a murder case』

𝐇𝐀𝐕𝐄 𝐅𝐔𝐍❕️

╔═══════════════╗

The young man inside the newsstand eyed Mila Lamia, who was approaching him. He had recognized this distinctive gait from afar, as he did every evening: cautious and calm steps that were almost demure, even appealing to him.

That evening, as always, she would pass close enough to show the young man the color of her eyes and make him feel her perfume...

For a moment, he had the impression that she was looking right at him, even if it was an illusion.

A few seconds later, the girl had already passed the journalist, and the young man was left to watch as she inserted the key into the large door of the building where she lived.

The young man could not have known that other eyes were watching Mila. And that this was the last time he saw her alive...

╚═══════════════╝

𓆩⫯𓆪 Their hands stood trembling for a long time as if suspended in the air.

In the mirror, they could see their face damp with water and the reflection of their hands waving at their sides. They don't remember how often they washed their face, for it had become such a repetitive rhythm, even they struggled to see the pain they inflicted upon themselves.

They looked into their fiery eyes; there wasn't much time left, after all. Did they have to feel a different excitement or energy that would wake them? Or should they be feeling a little scared? A fear carefully concealed amid this excitement but resembling a violent fist blow.

There was nothing; however, they didn't feel any of it.

They found themself constantly rechecking their plan. It had become a pattern, a constant repetition within them, like a ritual that had lost its potential meaning. They felt it suppressed their emotions, like a veil obscuring reality.

In the first move, the pawn follows the path destiny had intended; in the next, a recurring cycle, a direction easily predicted by a mere instrument; then, it's final, leading directly to its unavoidable fate. A repeating sequence, which had always become oh so predictable as time went on for this particular individual, every one of their pawns had always followed in the same strides as the last. pawn from E2 to E4, a corresponding response as the counter, a solid E7 to E5. White king from D1 to G5, Black queen from E8 to E7, white king from G5 to E5... rookie mistake... Just like a game of chess.

They stopped washing and rinsed their face with a towel, wandering around the house's walls like a shadow; they looked out the window towards the brilliant night sky that stood before them, admiring as the light shun gracefully through the rusted window frames. Finally, they dropped themself into a chair and slowly relaxed in the dark. They slowly removed the watch from their quivering wrist, placing it carefully on the arm of the chair before them. There was very little time left.

First move, second move, third move... Checkmate!

That's what it was all about, what their conquest had always turned out to be, a combination, a set of moves that leave the opponent no alternative to defense and result in a runaway victory, checkmate!

Checkmate... Checkmate... Checkmate...

That was how it would be that night.

Checkmate!

🍀

Sonic popped his last bit of chilidog into his maw, chewing more than he could swallow. Yet, that hadn't seemed to phase his vigorous devouring of the savory meat, wanting the delicious tastes of each burning sensation within its delectable spices to stay however long he could maintain the discomforting yet the welcoming feeling of the blistering warm heat that resided from within his meal. The aroma satisfied him alone, easing his nerves, but the taste... now that was a whole new adventure. It was the last chilidog in his fridge left that night, a clear reminder that he shall invest in obtaining more the following evening.

As he whipped the remains of grease along his sides, he grasped for his console remote once more, ready to reboot the paused game he had been playing mere moments before his well-needed snack, but before Sonic could give in to the temptations the blue rays from his screen had produced, his communicator began to buzz uncontrollably, warning him whoever had called him during such an ungodly hour must have wanted to speak with him upon something he hoped to be considered utterly important.

He sighed as he tapped his finger onto the little green button, swiping it over to the right, answering whoever had been calling, not even caring enough to glance at the screen to see who exactly it was contacting him. Uncaring for the conversation that was to happen, Sonic immediately started his game as he listened to the caller, only now realizing who it had been given the sudden grumble from the other end, subconsciously throwing his annoyance aside.

"Sonic, this is Tails–"

"Yeah, I know; what's up, little guy?" Sonic should have instantly known who he had been calling for; if anyone were to call him at such late hours, it could only ever be from his best friend.

The nickname didn't amuse Tails in the slightest, but he was used to being called in such ways since the moment they met; a mistake on his part, for he should have corrected him upon meeting, but it was far too late now to fix his problems. Sonic could tell just by the sound of his little buddy exhaling through his nose wearily by Sonic's choice of words; at first, Sonic honestly thought nothing of this call; in the beginning, he merely figured this was just Tails way of possibly annoying him about another set of questions about stuff he doesn't even understand, but upon hearing the many distant and near arrays of sirens from the receiving end, Sonic couldn't help but to frown. Something serious must have happened if Tails was physically at the crime scene.

Taking slow strides out from his workshop, Tails stared at the photo they took together from the times they first met; Sonic was grinning at the camera with his hand around his neck as he took the picture, while Tails was smiling nervously, showing a peace sign. Glaring at Sonic's ridiculous smile plastered across his screen, he scoffed, finding the image rather irritating at that particular moment, especially with how their current conversation had been going. Was it really twelve years since he first met him? Time moves so fast, doesn't it? Like Einstein said, time is merely an illusion... God, he is exhausted.

Tails didn't even question why Sonic had been awake at this ungodly hour, for Tails had known Sonic's day-to-day schedule by heart, "We have a case..."

Sonic exhaled deeply, knowing that regardless of what he says, he had no doubt he would be unable to escape this situation. Pausing his game, he finally rubbed at the corners of his eyes, trying his best to wake himself up a little more than before, knowing that this would be a rather lengthy conversation. "Straight to the point, I see. Not even going to say 'Hello' to your big bro?"

"First of all, it's 5 am Sonic, and secondly... I was just informed of a murder- Espio called. He asked for my opinion, and now I need yours... You need to see this."

'....Shit– If Espio called Tails, and Tails specifically, then this must be an important case....'

Tapping along the controller, Sonic merely closed his eyes, giving himself a moment to simply sit there with himself and his thoughts, for he knew that if Tails was telling the truth about Espio being the one to report this crime scene, then there was no possible way for him to ignore this. Anything Espio related was immediately of his concern, and that, unfortunately, was all under his own doing, regrettably. Taking a deep breath, he soon opened his eyes and gained the courage to respond to his friend, unwillingly agreeing to be there for the investigation. "Alright... Alright, fine, I'll be there in a few min—"

"Good. I'll send you the coordinates. See you there." Listening as the fox had abruptly ended their conversation through the communicator, Sonic merely sat there for a few moments, trying to contain his annoyance with the younger individual for his abrupt rudeness.

Sonic takes a deep breath to suppress the nerves that start to surface. Calm down, Sonic; maybe it was a very stressful day— night for him. Like everyone else, he wants to sleep in his warm bed instead of going on a corpse hunt on these cold ass streets of New York.

Sighing to himself, the hedgehog soon stood to his feet, stretching his limbs as he did so, hoping it would help him feel a little more motivated to take on this obnoxious challenge of solving this unsolved murder for that very evening... 'Or I suppose this early morning.'

Popping his joints, he sighed in relief, "Okay, Sonic... let's just go get this whole ordeal over with already..."

🍀

Mila Lamia fell to the ground with the force of such a sudden blow.

Though she didn't solely pass out, her mind began to function in a dazed and anxious manner. She struggled to blend in and understand what was transpiring all around her. It appeared as though everything was harmoniously vibrating amid the gong sound of a hammer blow.

Though time kept moving past her familiar borders, she could not fully grasp how much time had passed. Her battle to remain in the waking world made it difficult to gather her thoughts. She had a vague urge to let herself sink into the alluring pull of her frazzled mind's darkest recesses, but her fear of the worst kept growing as the menace of the black abyss continued to loom before her. She made every attempt to get rid of the oppressive presence that triggered her survival instinct, yet it was proving to become rather difficult.

A hot, crimson liquid saturated her pounding skull, disturbing her comfort and beloved appearance.

Oh great! While riding her new bike around the garden, she fell, of course. Now, it would be only natural for her mother to become incensed, with her garments coated in dust and splattered with blood—possibly oozing from her elbows and knees. She remembered the fragrance of fresh laundry when her mother pulled the clothing out of the closet, a white frock embroidered with bright small floral designs.

Her mother had come rushing to help her as the girl noticed a shadow moving past her.

But God forbid! It couldn't be her mother, so who was that perplexed shadow before her?

She suddenly realized that it had been approximately six years since her mother's passing.

The truth shocked her as much as the terrible blow she had experienced. She could see them coming at her, with something bright pointing at her.

She wanted to yell and flee.

She was only able to cry,

"Please, please..."

Then came the second blow.

It was entirely different from the first; this time, she was indifferently inconsistent and incoherent. She felt the way the tip of the blade had slid so effortlessly within her chest, right to the very hilt, stretching the same fibers of her being with newfound energy, inevitably tearing through her very flesh; she could feel as every little piece of flesh and muscle would pull in such an infuriatingly unpleasant way.

She hadn't had the time to be surprised at what had happened, for she could hardly feel the pain as her brain began to fight off all of her pain receptors, canceling out any hopes of being able to respond to such an extremity. Soon after, she took another blow, and then another and another... Until her chest had finally torn apart completely.

Her responses were numb, and her brain was uncooperative; the last thing she could remember saying before she took her final few breaths was repeating the words which had no meaning as the deed was finally done.

"Enough... Enough..." The last possible thing she could capture before she died was the heavy scent of her blood as it caked her most prised dress.

🍀

They took a deep breath, listening to their heart beating intensely, trying to find the breath they had frantically searched for. They lowered the blade to their side as they admired their handy work. This assassination took only 30 minutes to eliminate, and there they were, seated beside a lifeless body as though it were an average occurrence.

The plan was working smoothly.

One down...

One to go...

🍀

; NIGHT ELECTRICITY FAILURE ;

About two-thirds of the city was without electricity for more than two hours due to a malfunction in the complex system of the leading electrical redactors within the main powerhouse of the electrical facility at exactly twenty-two past midnight. The eastern and southern districts remained in darkness, while the rest remained intact. In one swift moment, the televisions across the city were reformed to static; the elevators began to malfunction, and people's power within their homes began to falter just as the traffic lights and signs across the city have now started to fizzle out of existence. What a rather odd inconvenience for the poor misfortunate people within the municipality...

You sighed as you watched the same boring information that continued to display itself on repeat across the screen. You had been watching the news for a few hours now, and nothing new had ever portrayed itself to you. Deciding to turn the television off altogether, you simply slumped within your seat as you threw the remote somewhere beside you, uncaring whether you missed the couch or if it merely fell onto the floor.

You were aware of the recurring news... well, to begin with, your friend had technically been the one to inform you of what had been happening all across town, and they were also the only individual who had ever been capable ever of convincing you even to turn on the damn television, to begin with; you weren't much of a fan for the news channels, or broadcasted channels. Besides, you were living in that same city, so of course, these matters were unfortunately crucial to you as well. As imperative as it was, you knew that the same things could happen to you, which unfortunately means you were responsible for whether or not you were to salvage the remaining food stored within your fridge and freezer.

God, you wish you had the time and care to try to do something other than lounge around before your overly exaggerated shift at the nearby coffee shop.

Although, thankfully you were able to convince a coworker to take it that very evening, meaning you finally had one less thing to worry about that same evening, giving you the time to truly enjoy a well-needed break with a friend you hadn't seen in person in such a long time.

Upon noticing your friend emerge from your kitchen with the cups of tea in her hands, you offered her a welcoming smile as she sat beside you, being sure to avoid placing your glass near the board games, in fear that the moisture of the come will somehow spread onto the cardboard itself.

"Which one should we play now?" She asked uncertainly, being sure to take the seat across from you in the hopes of a better gameplay experience; feeling as though the two of you had reverted to your childish ways once again upon noticing the pile upon your wooden table; you had both loved playing board games ever since you were little and now, every night the two of you would hang out, you would make it a point always to play at least three board games before your friend would live. It has become a habit for you both at this point.

You hummed in thought as you gave the wide selection before you a considerable glance. "What about we play Murder Mystery?"

"Ooo... Interesting choice." Kiera leaned on her knees, Giving you that all-knowing smirk as she asked you her eternal question. "Would the queen of board games wish to tell the crowd why, oh why! The sudden change of board game interests?"

You shrugged with a knowing smirk, grabbing for the game you chose as you side-eyed your best friend, "Oh no reason, I've recently been introduced to it and found the concept rather fun. Besides, we haven't played one of these games for such a long time! And we play these board games all the time; never once have we touched this one. Don't you think a little change of atmosphere would be a nice change of pace?"

Placing the new game neither of you had ever played on top of the coffee table, you quickly brushed off the others, carefully pushing them off to the side and onto the carpet. Once comfortably situated in your seat, you grabbed your cup of tea and took a curt sip.

Glancing at your friend in question, you couldn't help but quark a brow at her absence of interest towards your reasonings. Giving your drink one last taste, you carefully placed it onto the crochet coaster you had made for yourself a while ago, being sure to turn your full attention to your friend in question, wanting nothing more than to figure out why Kiera seemed so out of it. "Sooₒₒₒ... What do you say? You in or not?"

It was silent for a moment... Too quiet even, in truth, it had incredibly conflicted you, for within that brief moment, you had felt rather uncomfortable, but upon noticing your friend and how quickly her neutral face soon switched to that of something far too mischievous, you knew instantly of what Kiera had been doing. She was merely trying to get inside your head, and by God, was it working. "Girl, you are in for a ride. Your friend here always solves mysteries."

Subconsciously rolling your eyes at the display before you, you quickly picked up the glass before you once more and drank half of what was in the glass, being sure to exaggerate how hard you had set it back on the counter in the hopes of being intimidating. Giving your friend a confident smirk, you soon gave your friend a rather silly pose as you refuted a comment of your own. "You're not solving anything, Kiera. You serve politics and other unuseful topics."

She scoffed, "Oh, please. I'm a literal reporter for this city's news; I am the one who sees these murder cases first-hand and must inform the city's people what is going on in grime detail. It's a tiring job but a rewarding one in the long run. My work is fascinating; people find interest in what I do! Do you know how hard a job that is? I must be at the crime scene, forced to endure the grueling things displayed. On television, everything is blurred, but I am not given that privilege. I must state the facts; I have to provide accurate information if I want to be the first to report it. Even then, I have to be there when the detectives arrive and speak with police twenty-four-seven. I hate talking with them because they're so disrespectful. They are the people who will push you away and spit such awful words just to get you to leave the crime scene, but that's my job! I always present first. Not anyone else. Everyone's eyes are on me. Whoever presents first gets the money and the viewer's attention, don't forget that, dear. Money is power, and I want all of it."

God, you hated when she got like this; sure, she deserved a friend who would be willing to sit and listen to her rambling, but then again, once the conversation switches to her depriving herself of what Keira truly believes in and of how it makes her feel, it could be rather exhausting besides, you had a rather hard time trying to understand others emotions, and by the way Keira was ranting, you couldn't tell if she was mad, glad or simply just venting random statements. Rolling your eyes at your friend's annoying display, you ignored your inner thoughts as you slumped back onto the couch, already finding this whole evening somewhat of a mistake. "If your self-praising is finally over, can we start playing now? Also... that still doesn't prove you can solve a murder case. You may just be a reporter, but that doesn't change anything, love."

"Let the case begin then...." she chuckled darkly at your remarks; leaning forward in her seat, she placed her elbows against her knees with her chin resting against her wrists as her face contorted into a devious grin. To say you were intimidated was truly an understatement, for never had you seen such a discomforting expression spread across her features.

🍀

"Alright, tell me everything you know about this case, Es'," Dragging the other away from lingering eyes, Sonic gave Espio an uncaring glance as he crossed his arms and leaned heavily against his right side. He has gone through the whole trouble of simply being there, standing in the cold street, where the sound of sirens echoed in an uncomfortable environment where in an apartment a person brutally murdered, in the hour he was supposed to be asleep. Even the thought of it causes Sonic's blood to boil. He wished he had bought a sweater or something before he left the house. So this case better be something good, or else this was all just a waste of his time.

Knowing how irrational this friend of his could be, he merely sighed in annoyance at the sheer display of disrespect Sonic had been perceiving. He was expecting this, unfortunately, but that was beside the point; this was a severely serious case, and Sonic had nothing to do with it. "For the millionth time, Sonic, it isn't about you; you have no business in being here–"

"Yes, I do, Espio! It's my job to save everyone, AND IF SOMEONE IS KILLED WITHIN MY CITY, THEN IT NATURALLY BECOMES MY BUSINESS—"

"Okay! Okay! Just... be quiet." Surprised by the sudden change of tone, Espio gave the surrounding area a nervous glance, wanting nothing more than this interaction alone to be kept quiet, but with Sonic's sudden outburst, he heavily doubted his concerns would be nullified.

Tapping his foot impatiently, he gave Espio an unimpressed look before continuing to ask his repeated question. "Now, explain what you know."

Finding that he had no other sibilance of a choice, Espio merely sighed before leaning closer to Sonic, sure to be quiet enough not to entice people or spike a random passerby's interest, "The victim's name was James Logan; he was in his early twenties. It's a homicide, and his assassin used a some kind of knife to kill the man before hitting James in the back of the head with... something. We couldn't find any clues about the exact manner of this murderer, for whoever had done this erased all their tracks completely, it was almost as if James had committed suicide, but by the way, this was all... displayed, it just... It cant be as simple as that. Whoever had done this must know what they were doing and with such professionalism... I can guarantee you; this wasn't their first time. We will compare and review this case with previous cases and see which of them could give us a possible lead, but—"

"Oh please, I crack eggs with my white glove-covered fists; this should be a piece of cake; I mean- how hard can it be? I bet I could find this son of a bit–"

Trying desperately to hush the other from his sudden outbursts, Espio flailed his arms before him, being sure to grab the other's attention in the hopes of calming the other down, "Are you crazy?! This isn't one of your messed up games, Sonic, and you know it! We can't just wait around and hope for a miracle; we HAVE to find whoever did this soon, or else, this won't be the only misfortunate body we'll find hidden in the depths of some random ally in the city!"

Sonic merely rolled his eyes at Espio's statement, finding it ridiculous. Placing his knuckles against his hips, he simply turned to the side, giving the random people who passed by an observant glance, not truly focusing on who or what walked by. "Tch, cowards. If they had the balls, they would show their faces upfront... Hiding isn't going to do anything for them... No matter what, we will find them and never give up, regardless of what they throw at us, RIGHT, LITTLE BUDDY!!?" He shouted again, leading Espio to grunt in frustration at how absurdly loud Sonic had been that night. What was this guy on anyway?!

Tails slowly turned in their direction, halting with the questioning season he displayed with one of the fellow officers who arrived at the scene, as well as questioning the suspects who were in the area. His ear was crooked at the sudden mention of his obscure nickname, questioning what Sonic was doing and why it had to include him.

"We have a serial killer running rampant in the city, Sonic! This isn't the sort of situation we should be reckless about!!"

"You think I don't give a damn about this, Es? I'm just as worried about this situation as you are! But sometimes.... Even in such ... grime situation, you just... need to fake a smile instead of worrying so much. It's not healthy being so negative, you know..."

"Yeah... if smiling could help us find the killer, then I would have been smiling since the beginning...."

Sighing upon the silence, Espio gave his friend a remorseful smile; he knew Sonic meant well; it just... wasn't displayed or issued at the right time. "I know you mean well, Sonic; excuse my stressed behavior, but I must return to work. I would love to chat with you, but I must return to headquarters and report what I've witnessed to my boss. Don't stay here too long, okay? And be sure to tell Tails that I need all the information he can gather from the suspects, we'll interrogate them later in more detail, but I need his opinion." He pats Sonic's back, giving the other a friendly smirk as he walks away. "Maybe next time we can talk at a more... appropriate time... See you soon."

But before Espio could take another step, something he had forgotten to mention suddenly popped into his mind as he turned to face Sonic again, "Oh, right... Knuckles and Rouge said they're stopping by; you two can handle them for me, yeah? Great." And before Sonic could even state a remark, Espio had rounded the corner without even giving Sonic a chance to respond, leading to the last thing Sonic saw of him was a simple wave being thrown over the shoulder.

Grumbling within the hand that slid across his face, he soon replaced his arms across his chest, mumbling absent words about how ridiculous he must've appeared if Espio was willing to sympathize with him somehow.

Tails soon appears beside him; without looking up from the folder he is holding and examining, Tails immediately questions him out of curiosity, "Rouge's coming? I thought it was Shadow who stated he'd be here... must have been some last-minute call or something. Typical of him, he is pretty busy."

Sonic hummed in response; he wasn't listening as Tails spoke; in fact, Sonic's mind was currently stuck with this strange swirling question that constantly came to mind, "Hey, little guy..."

Unimpressed by his nickname, Tails acknowledged Sonic's voice as he glanced in the other direction, "What is it, Sonic?" His was blank at first, but upon witnessing the all-knowing cocky smirk Sonic had displayed across his features, Tails himself had changed into a somewhat nervous expression, for nothing good ever comes from a face like that. Ahh... he knew that look better than anyone. It always meant there would be trouble. And if Sonic had an idea... Nothing good was bound to happen.

"Let's solve this case ourselves and show that no good sour-faced chameleon that we can do this on our own!"

Tails hissed, "I don't know, Sonic. We already have our hands full with keeping Dr. Robotnik contained and in line... We should leave this case to the professionals–"

" Oh, Come on! That guy will never again see the light of day on that forsaken prison island! Nothing he could do about it. The man can starve for all he wants; even his corpse will never escape that place. Everything he owns is scrapped and trashed anyways; the man has nothing in his name, not even his HQ."

"Yeah... all those beautiful treasures are long gone- without giving me a chance to examine them...."

Sonic quickly wrapped his arm around the other's shoulders, pressing a finger over his chest as Tails looked towards him with a surprised expression, "And with Eggman no longer around to control his pesky minions to order around and cause trouble, all there is to do is to catch criminals stealing money from banks, or buildings catching on fire, etc. and... that's becoming very boring pretty quickly...."

He quickly added, seeing Tails' face change with an unimpressed display. "I can tell that you're also bored just sitting around in your workshop all day. Wouldn't it be a good excuse for you also? Exercise your mind a little; I know you like solving puzzles. You need to move your limbs sometime, stretch them out and junk. Come on! Let's do something different for a change! You know I'm not the best at... sitting still... I can't just... wait around while someone out there is getting hurt... or worse! I don't want to just sit around knowing I could make a difference! I'm tired of sitting around as these events keep happening; Espio and Shadow, in particular, are getting in my way! In... Our- way!"

He turned to the fox before him, gripping at his shoulders with such an intensity that he could hardly refrain from shaking, subconsciously using Tails as his anchor to prevent himself from doing anything reckless, "Please bud... Let me have this... Let us do something for a change, at least... just this once! We need to try and catch this perp, with or without the other's help! And if we can't... I promise I'll stop pestering you about this! And if I- we do solve this mystery, then you gotta promise me this won't be the last time we ever do this sort of crime-finding cases. This is what we were meant to do! We are heroes, Tails!! And besides, do you know any other amazing duos who could possibly solve this case any better than the two of us?!"

Sonic gave his pall a playful wink as he continued on, "Besides, I know you like murder mysteries~ You're a Sherlock fan, after all, am I right?"

Gently pushing his hands that were placed along his shoulders, Tails merely sighed for this entire situation; he should've known Sonic's persistence would get to this extreme. There was no possible way for him to refuse the blue fur ball, not after witnessing that embarrassing display firsthand.

Giving Sonic a playful smirk of his own, he swiftly turned around to face the other with as much enthusiasm as he could possibly muster for the night. "Finnnnne. But you'll be my Watson."

Sonic cheered silently to himself as Tails stood off to the side and merely watched, shaking his head at Sonic's ridiculous display of childish joy as though they were still the same kids from the past; while some of the police officers nearby sent a judgmental glance their way.

─────

Word count; 5641

A/N

─────

[Edited!!!]

This series is a side project. I was inspired by various things, including The Murder Of Sonic The Hedgehog. (But I had this idea even before the game came out)

There will be a lot of mentions of cases like this. And there will be a lot of references for anything practical. Such as memes, etc. And not only for the Sonic franchise.

We'll write the story as realistic as possible.

This also takes place in a different kind of environment, unusual. This is an AU of our own, after all. It has its canon version of things. Everyone is above 18 years old.

We'll add a part where we tell you specific things about what's canon in this story and what's not. Such as; heights/weights, favorite sweets, foods, part of their lives, habits (maybe we can add some lgbtq+ also who knows👀), phobias, scars, clothes, skills, cooking/building/cleaning/shopping/driving, relationship status, etc. Not only for the Sonic cast but also for the reader and some background characters we created for the story's sake! Don't forget this may change or take a long time to publish.

We would be happy if you tell us what you think about the series :) If you guys have any questions, leave them here. We'll answer for you. ♡

Hey, Hey! Editor here, (Honey).

Just wanted to say that I am excited to help be a part of this amazing story, and I can not wait to see how it turns out!

I don't really have much to say given that our Lovely Author has already said basically everything, but I will say, If anyone wants to ask us personally any questions, individually if need be, then feel free to ask! We are more than happy to answer!

Thanks for reading Babes! <3

[mortemoppetere]

TIMING: current LOCATION: outside something wicked news PARTIES: @stainedglasstruth & a mysterious man… SUMMARY: after getting nowhere with wynne, our mystery man decides to approach arden in search of answers instead. CONTENT: none!

The neighbor was, perhaps, the most logical dynamic the man had observed in the new life of Emilio Cortez. It seemed he’d set himself up as an investigator in this town — whether this was a genuine passion or a simple means of making cash remained unclear — and an investigator working side-by-side with a journalist certainly made sense. The relationship clearly wasn’t one that was strictly professional, though. There was a certain back and forth between them, a banter that implied some form of friendship. It was the kind of thing that could be made useful.

Approaching as the hunter’s friends left their places of employment seemed the most effective method. There was little chance of running into the hunter himself, and leaving work for the day tended to leave people relaxed enough to be a little more open. So the man waited outside the newspaper (newsletter? Was that what they were called online?) office for the journalist to exit. When she stepped out, he stepped forward. He held his hands up, palm out; she struck him as the paranoid type. “Excuse me, miss.” His accent was thick, heavy. English wasn’t something he’d practiced, and it showed. “I am hoping to speak with you on something. Is very important.” 

—

Arden liked her job. She didn’t always love it, but she liked it, the process, the research, the editing. It was satisfying work, and she had spent the last several years of her life focusing almost entirely on her career as she avoided facing herself. So it felt strange to notice that she was obsessively checking the clock these days, eager to get back home to Teagan and the cats, or to go catch up with Metzli or drop in on Leila or hang out with Wynne or whatever it was she happened to be doing on any given day. 

That day, she was just ready to get back to the cabin, and curl up in bed and take a damn nap– preferably with Teagan. As she stepped out, though, she almost immediately found her path blocked by a man stepping forward. Despite the winter gear and the poor posture he was clearly rather buff, and he was taller than her for sure. Judging by his appearance and the slight wrinkles, she’d guess he was Latine, probably somewhere in his late 40s or 50s. And, man, he had a mean look on his face. 

It was clear he'd been waiting outside the office to approach whoever was leaving, which made her feel slightly wary, but wasn’t alarming enough to set off alarm bells quite yet– though the raised hands almost felt more suspicious than a normal approach. A precaution, maybe, to counteract the resting bitch face? Either way, if he was hanging around the office, it was likely business related to the paper. 

“And what would that be?” Arden asked, looking up at him, brow raised. 

—

There was no greeting, no hello, but he supposed that was to be expected. Americans had a reputation of rudeness, after all, and the man had approached with little warning. Besides that, he suspected that anyone who spent a considerable amount of time around hunters were bound to inherit some of that patented paranoia. (Did she know, he wondered? Did she have any idea what her neighbor got up to in his free time? The things he’d done, the things he likely continued to do now… Was she ignorant, or complacent? Either way, he thought, it was sure to say something about her.) 

He tried for a smile, but it was an unpracticed thing. Clumsy and unnatural, like it had been carved onto his face by force. If anything, it looked like more of a grimace. Most expressions did, these days. It was difficult to manage anything else. The last few years had been especially hard on him, after all. 

He made no move to get closer to her. The last thing he wanted was for her to run, to have to chase her down or to have her call the hunter and end all of this before it could begin at all. He needed her — and the rest of them — unassuming. Or, as close to it as he could hope to make them. The man had never been particularly good at coming off as nonthreatening; it wasn’t in his nature, and it was difficult to sell such a monumental lie. Still, he made some attempt. He allowed the distance to remain between them, allowed that grimace of a smile to remain on his face. “Is about a friend you have,” he said. “A neighbor. Emilio Cortez?” He watched her expression carefully, waiting to see if there was any shift there, any change. Even the smallest details could give him more information than he had now, and information would be helpful during the inevitable confrontation to come.

—

He seemed to be trying to appear non-threatening with the raised hands and pitiful attempt at a smile, but it only served to assure that she would not be lowering her guard anytime soon. He surprised her, though, with the mention of Emilio. Her brows furrowed slightly as an uneasy feeling settled in her gut, the situation immediately feeling more suspect, more dangerous. 

The man wanted to talk about Emilio. Emilio, who had a knack for finding trouble, making enemies–especially the undead– and pissing people off. (Distantly, Arden remembered Teddy mentioning something about goons.) He knew they were friends, which, granted, they did have public conversations online from time to time, and he knew that they were neighbors, which would’ve been clear had he gone looking for their addresses, regardless of their current living situations. But it meant he’d clearly done at least the bare minimum of looking into them both. He’d even sought her out at work.

She didn’t like this.

“Can I ask what this is about?” she asked, trying not to let her nerves show. She was hyper aware of the knife in her coat pocket, the familiar weight of it a slight comfort. It would be ballsy to try to attack her immediately in front of the paper offices, but, well, she was just human, and the man was large. There was only so much she’d be able to do about it. 

—

He saw it happen. He saw her guard shoot up even further, saw those already impressive walls grow in magnitude. He hadn’t gotten much from the kid, but he felt like he’d at least walked away with a little more than he’d had before that conversation. But here? With her? The man had a feeling he’d be getting nothing from this. It wouldn’t dissuade him from trying, of course. The stakes were too high to walk away without so much as an attempt. Even if the reporter was closed off and unwilling to share, there was always an attempt she might let something slip unintentionally, between the words. The man was good at picking up on those things.

So he kept that forced, unnatural smile firm on his face, he shrugged a shoulder. “Not very interesante, I think. I knew him back in México. Would like to catch up with him here, but, ah…” He trailed off with a hapless shrug. “He is… hard to approach, no? Best to know what… state he is in before trying to say hello.” He’d yet to actually lay eyes on the hunter as of yet — he wasn’t sure how he’d react, even from a distance — but he’d gathered a few nuggets of information here and there. After what happened in Mexico, the hunter was bound to be on edge. It would do the man no good to ignite his plans half-cocked, with no information on his side. If he wanted this to go his way, he needed to know everything he could.

It started here. With the reporter, with the kid, with whatever friends or acquaintances the man could approach without giving himself away. Tangaroa wasn’t the threat he would have been years ago, but unapproachable all the same. The man didn’t particularly want to tangle with the rangers the hunter seemed to have been spending time with, either, or the other slayers. Keeping to humans for now, the kind with no enhanced senses to speak of… That was his best bet. Even if those humans were as guarded as the reporter seemed to be. “I’d just like to know… what state he’s in these days. How he is doing.” He heard the hunter walked with a limp now. It seemed to track with the massacre. It seemed like it could be useful, if it needed to be. But emotional state… that would be handy to know. That was the sort of thing you could only learn by asking. 

—

There was something about his tone, his phrasing, that didn’t sit right with her. Maybe she was just being paranoid, but it felt like he was trying to play this off casually, keyword: play. The explanation didn’t really make sense, either. If he was a friend– a word he hadn’t said, she noted– why wouldn’t he just go say hello? Why come to her? And why would he need to know Emilo’s state?

She really didn’t like this. 

Her mouth twitched at the ‘hard to approach’ comment, so she leaned into it, allowing it to grow into a smile that she hoped seemed somewhat sincere as she back on how she had confidently strode into Axis so many months back. “Oh, are you an old friend, then?”

Someone from Mexico, though… 

Emilio hardly ever mentioned his home, his past. Arden hadn’t heard the entirety of the confrontation he’d had with Teagan at the cabin months ago, but it was her understanding that hunters had killed his family, same as the nix. They hadn’t spoken about it, though, and she knew nothing of the details, didn’t know what had happened or when, or if there was even more tragedy in his past. All she knew was that Rhett was the only family he had left …and she had caught him fidgeting with a ring a few nights when they’d had too much to drink. Other than that, though, she just knew he’d left two years ago. There certainly hadn’t been any mention of friends. 

“How nice of you to check in on him,” she continued. After a moment, she cocked her head to the side. “You know, I don’t think I caught your name.”

—

It felt like a game between the two of them; a chess match that he doubted either of them was entirely prepared for. How much did the reporter know about the hunter’s past, he wondered? It was unlikely he’d go into detail, if his patterns over the last two years were to be taken into account. The hunter stayed in a town only as long as he needed to before moving on to the next. But Wicked’s Rest was already an outlier, wasn’t it? He’d stayed here long enough for the man to catch up with him, put down enough roots for there to be reporters and kids and friends to approach with questions. Maybe he’d broken his usual pattern in other ways, too. Maybe the reporter knew more than he’d assumed she did. That was an answer all its own, wasn’t it? The hunter had people here. 

It was a good thing to know.

“Friend, yes. Something like that,” the man replied, his smile tightening around the edges just a little. It would have been easier if these people were only associates, he was realizing. Friends asked too many questions, had protective streaks. But the hunter didn’t seem to have gathered a good deal of casual associates; he was inspiring a loyalty in this town that was surprising to say the least. The man hadn’t thought him entirely capable of it. 

More unwelcome inquiries. The man shrugged again, noncommittal. “I didn’t say it,” he replied. “You know, the last time I saw Emilio, he was in… ah… a state. Bad. Not easy to talk to. All I want to know is if he is still so… voluble. If you can’t tell me this, maybe I just go on my way, no?”

—

Arden had seen that look far too many times to miss the way his smile tightened. She was annoying him. He didn’t like her asking questions, clearly, but he should have thought of that before approaching a journalist– this was literally part of her job description. 

Something like that. Like that wasn’t super fucking suspicious. Her lips curled up at the next words out of his mouth. It was almost funny, he didn’t even try to give her some bullshit name, he just wasn’t giving her anything. It hardly seemed fair when he clearly knew hers– he’d come looking for her, after all. She was tempted to say just that, but she didn’t want to anger this stranger. She was already annoying him, and she didn’t know not what he was or what he was capable of. It wasn’t the time to be a smartass, though, she had no doubt that Emilio would disagree were he there.  

Voluble, that one wasn’t in her vocabulary. Damn her terrible Spanish. She was fairly certain she got the gist of it, context clues and all, but she tried to file it away to look up the moment she had the opportunity.

She really wanted to push, wanted to see if she could turn the tables on the man and get him to spill some information, but it was a risky move. There was too much she didn’t know, and the more she spoke the more she risked spilling information herself. Not to mention she would possibly be putting herself in danger. 

No, she needed to be smart about this, quit while she was ahead. 

“I think that might be for the best,” Arden agreed, still in that polite tone of voice. 

—

He was a little surprised at her response. He’d expected her to push more — to try to get more out of him, and to unintentionally give him more in return. But she was smart, it seemed; smarter than he’d given her credit for. Too smart to be running around with hunters, isn’t she? What was someone like this doing associating with a man like Emilio Cortez? There was more to the story here, more to the relationship. There were pieces the man didn’t have, and there was a part of him that wanted to push for those, wanted to take things apart bit by bit until he held more of the puzzle than she did. 

But doing this would mean giving her something in return. She was too smart to walk away with nothing, and he was too desperate to give up anything that he had. He wanted the upper hand when he finally approached the hunter firsthand; giving away too much here would mean losing it. Nothing was worth that. Not even satiating his desperate curiosity. 

So, hating it a little, the man nodded his head. “Perhaps there are others I can ask, then.” Doubtlessly, the journalist and the kid would put two and two together that the same person had been in contact with them both; the man remembered uncovering a shared address between the two when he was in the earliest stages of his fact-finding mission. He wondered if they would approach the hunter separately or together, or if the kid had told him already. Would the next person he approached see him coming? Time, he thought, would be the only thing to tell.

He took a step backwards, not taking his eyes off the journalist, not turning his back. A hand in her pocket — would she go for her cell phone, or a weapon? He was confident he could take her in a fight, but it would be a bigger mess than he was hoping to leave behind here. It would almost certainly expose him to the hunter with less doubt than he had working for him now. Not worth it; best to avoid.

“It was nice to be meeting you,” he said politely. “Maybe next time, you’ll have more to say.” Let her take it how she wanted — a threat, or a friendly goodbye? It served the man’s purpose better to confirm neither option.

—

He hadn’t expected her to agree, it seemed. She took a bit of satisfaction from it, the way his eyes narrowed in response. But of course he wouldn’t just approach her, would he? And if he knew about her, he likely knew about Wynne. The thought both worried her and pissed her off, however Arden tried her best to keep it from showing. 

When he moved, her hand went to her pocket, clutching the hilt of the knife in her hand as she watched him slowly back away, staring right back at him. 

“Likewise.” Though, her grip only tightened as he offered his goodbye. A threat. Excellent. “Maybe so,” she replied, offering him another fake smile. 

She didn’t look away, watching his retreat until he disappeared out of sight. And even then, she gave it a moment before turning around and heading back into the office. It was only once she was safely back inside, back pressed to the door, that Arden allowed her face to fall. 

She needed to talk to Emilio.  

[sixfoottwo0119]

Writing Beth Mead’s autobiography: ‘I dreamed about her every night for three weeks. By Katie Whyatt

I wonder if Beth Mead would be alarmed to learn that I dreamt about her every night for three weeks solid. I had been warned that would happen. One of the first things I did when I found out I would be ghostwriting her memoir Lioness: My Journey To Glory was to call the handful of colleagues I knew who had worked on sporting autobiographies. Mike Calvin, co-author for Joey Barton and the Welsh rugby union player Gareth Thomas, had told me I would end up dreaming about — maybe even as — Beth Mead. I never experienced the latter, but the former? Several times each night.

The anxiety behind all this was understandable. The need to meet the Christmas market meant we had just three weeks to come up with in excess of 80,000 words. That’s close to 4,000 words a day on top of my research, fact-checking, visits to Beth’s family and conversations with her friends and former coaches. Beth had just returned from a training camp in Germany with Arsenal and our writing schedule overlapped with two England matches, one of which was abroad, as well as games for Arsenal. As the Euros’ top scorer and player of the tournament, Beth also had scores of media commitments with everyone from McDonald’s to Battersea Dogs and Cats Home. The deadline could barely have been tougher.

And what if Beth didn’t have anything to say? What if we didn’t click? What if neither of us could find the words for a life that included England’s first major trophy since 1966, Arsenal’s first league title for seven years and, more significantly, the 27 years of off-field moments that shaped one of the country’s most defining sporting icons of the past decade?

When the opportunity to work with Beth arose, I did not hesitate for an instant. I would later learn that she, her mum June and Beth’s agent Mags Byrne had met in London with countless publishers — each had prepared a presentation on why they wanted to be the ones to distribute Beth’s book — and Beth had insisted that I was the ghostwriter she wanted. It had reassured June that a journalist Beth knew and trusted would be taking the reins, even if it was my first full-length book. Beth had told one member of the publishing team that the book was “like her baby”. I, too, wanted the final draft to be one that we could both be proud of. I really, really cared.

Thus, the dreams began. The most vivid — and disconcerting — one came first. England were playing in a World Cup and I was staying in a leaky tent in snow-covered woodland, trying to snatch moments with Beth as animals circled behind the trees. Beth and the Football Association kept cancelling our meetings, then Beth could manage only 15 minutes, didn’t say anything of note when the time came and the old-school Dictaphone I was using didn’t work. The tent flooded, the books I’d been using for research vanished and the conversations with Beth’s family and friends revealed an extensive history as a child actor that I’d completely forgotten to ask Beth about.

Happily, those were irrational worries. There was no career as a child actor — a short-lived one as a ballerina, granted — and no snow or World Cup to work around. More significantly, Beth knew she had to approach this project with candour and jump all in if it was to be worthwhile.

In that first video meeting — me in my front room, Beth in her hotel room at St George’s Park — Beth opened up about the impact of being left out of the Team GB squad and her frustrations with the then-England manager Hege Riise. The second part of the conversation was more uplifting. This was Beth’s first England camp since the Euros win and she had opened the door of her hotel room to find piles of gifts and congratulations messages, which she held up to the camera to show me. She talked of a team meeting earlier that week in which the England manager Sarina Wiegman had asked the players to recount the strangest things that had happened to them since the final on July 31. We were looking back, but there was a freshness and an immediacy to many of those conversations, a sense that we were documenting Beth’s post-Euros life in real time.

It helped that Beth was enormously self-aware — of her feelings, her strengths and her flaws — and through our conversations, I was able to begin to see the world as she does. There were moments I was struck by the similarities between us, such as when Beth and her parents spoke of the crippling homesickness Beth experienced on England camps as a teenager. That reached its nadir when Beth moved from Sunderland to Arsenal in 2017. Their words chimed with me because of my own experiences of being away at university. Beth’s memories of the key moments of Euro 2022 are startlingly vivid and she took me behind her eyes on the pitch. She handled the conversations around her mum’s illness — detailed also in The Athletic Women’s Football Podcast — with courage and strength.

Instinctively, Beth understood that crucial storytelling technique of “show, don’t tell”: don’t tell me that Sarina Wiegman is the best manager you have ever played under or that Lucy Bronze pushed you to reach the next level, but how and why. Her anecdotes from throughout the tournament bring us into that summer with a new intimacy.

We managed 20-something hours of conversations, Beth based everywhere from hotel rooms in England and abroad to the home she shares with Vivianne Miedema, who once caused havoc resetting the WiFi router. I visited Beth’s family at their home in Hinderwell — they are the kind of parents who have kept everything, including Beth’s first football boots, bought from a car boot sale for 50p — and we saw her old primary school, ballet school, teenage bedroom and favourite sports field. Her dad Richard knows all there is to know about his daughter’s football career and was invaluable in piecing timelines together.

You quickly learn that the kind of quote that makes for a detailed article or interview does not necessarily make for a detailed passage of a book. Take, for example, Beth’s relationship with her Arsenal team-mate Miedema. They began dating in the days after Beth’s England beat Miedema’s Netherlands 5-1 in a pre-World Cup friendly. They made it official in Manchester, where the Netherlands squad had stayed during their time in England. Those are nice details, but not enough to build up into a story with mood and atmosphere. Where, specifically, did Beth ask her? What did they say to each other? What were their thoughts? Who instigated the first kiss? How did they feel? Once I’d written most of the book, Beth and I combed through each chapter, adding in new details.

The memories of Beth’s former coaches, including Phil Neville, supplemented Beth’s and made for the most complete story we could tell. Ian Wright wrote the foreword himself — my heart soared when his Word document dropped into my inbox and I saw the care he’d put into it — and Jermain Defoe, Beth’s friend from their shared days at Sunderland, needed little convincing to come on board for the afterword.

Miedema, who has her own series of children’s books, read some of the earlier drafts to see if I had captured Beth’s voice. Viv’s feedback was that one section, which jumped from topic to topic, read more like the interview it had been than a chapter Beth had written. Finding Beth’s writing voice was one of the most crucial aspects of the project. The temptation, in the face of such a demanding deadline, could have been to revert to my own voice to save time, but I was not about to take shortcuts.

What that meant was long days of writing — clocking off at midnight to wake up again at 4am — subsisting almost entirely on the Greggs menu. There were moments I panicked I would never get the book finished. At one point, I needed to hit 8,000 words a day and all I could see was the 30,000-odd words I still needed to write. I couldn’t see the next step forward: I still needed to write up her time at Arsenal, and all those Euros chapters, and re-do the one on Wiegman. It was Calvin who told me to “eat the elephant one bite at a time”, and Stuart James (my The Athletic colleague who worked on Jamie Vardy’s autobiography) helped me to bring some order to the tens of thousands of words I had on the Euros on a day when I’d barely written anything.

Then it was time for Beth to read through the final draft. She would read it at home or on planes to Champions League games. Her parents would read copies and send over corrections or clarifications. Days before our first deadline, Beth sustained a concussion in Arsenal’s Champions League match with Ajax, meaning she could not look at screens or concentrate for long periods of time. She showed real persistence to finish reading the book and I was relieved when, with Beth satisfied, I could press send on draft one and flop into bed.

We submitted the redraft a few weeks later and Lioness: My Journey to Glory will be available in hardback on November 10. To say I am nervous for the world to read it is an understatement. I’m almost as anxious, in fact, as the moment I emerged from my snow-soaked tent to learn that dreamworld Beth Mead would only deign to give me 15 minutes of her time. Almost, but not quite.