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new-sandrafilter · 3 years

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How Timothée Chalamet Channeled The Blockbuster Pressure of Leading Denis Villeneuve’s ‘Dune’ Back Into His Role – Venice Q&A

DEADLINE: In a few days Dune will premiere at the Venice Film Festival. You first met Denis Villeneuve about the role in May 2018 and started shooting in the early half of 2019. It was always going to be a long journey, but the pandemic stretched it even further. How does it feel to have finally arrived at this moment?

TIMOTHÉE CHALAMET: You know, I like to think that with every film I’ve done, whether it’s Call Me by Your Name or Beautiful Boy, The King, or Little Women, the character you play is almost a piece of your flesh. And that’s always true, but simply from the perspective of how long the shoot for Dune was, and also the arc that Paul Atreides is on, as well as the huge love and almost biblical connection that so many people have for the book and the original film, it really felt… tectonic, if that’s the right word for it. Just getting to this finish line feels like: phew.

And independent of what the film is now, and what it has become, the experience of making it was I was put in such a safe environment, which you can never take for granted as a human, as an actor, but especially when you’re just starting your career, and when this is the first film of this size you’ve ever done.

To get to work with Denis on it, to get to work with someone of his caliber, let alone on a book that he considers the book of his youth and one of the things he has connected to the most… When he would have it in his hands on set, his body language would become that of a fan; of a kid who had fallen in love with the book at home in Montreal. And when all the kids around him were wearing hockey jerseys with their favorite players’ names on the back, this was a kid wearing a jersey that said ‘Spielberg’ on the back.

For it all to come together, especially with the added challenge of the pandemic, it has all combined to make this moment feel especially spicy [laughs].

DEADLINE: The entire ensemble will show up in Venice.

CHALAMET: Right. And I just can’t believe it; Jason Momoa has the number one film on Netflix right now with Sweet Girl, which I just watched. And since we shot, Zendaya has had all this success with Euphoria and Malcolm & Marie. Just to be part of this cast, period, let alone as one of the title characters, it’s really the shit you dream of.

And let me not forget, too—and I know I’ve told you this before—that The Dark Knight was the movie that made me want to act. That movie had a score by Hans Zimmer, and he has done the score for Dune. And it’s almost not what you’d think. It’s totally appropriate and excellent for the movie, but he has somehow managed to do something subversive, in my opinion. It’s a pinch-me moment all over.

DEADLINE: So, take me back to the start. Is it true you had a Google alert set up to track the latest news on this project before you were ever cast?

CHALAMET: Yeah, it’s true [laughs]. Not right away—Legendary had the rights and was developing it—but as soon as Denis got involved, I set up a Google alert and that’s when I got the book.

In total honesty, I think my understanding of Dune at that point was from a graphic novel I’d seen at Midtown Comics when I was shopping for Yu-Gi-Oh! cards when I was about 10. The year you and I first met, when I was there at Deadline Contenders with Call Me by Your Name, that would have been 2017 or early 2018, and Denis was there with Blade Runner. I remember I was trying to put myself in front of him as much as possible and set up a meeting with him. We had a night at the BAFTA where one of my good friends, Stéphane Bak—who’s also an actor—saw Denis across the room and was like, “Hey buddy, he’s right over there.” So, we went over to talk to him. I kept trying to put myself in front of him, but I didn’t really get a sense of the possibility [of working with him].

I was about halfway through the book when I got the call that he was going to be the president of the jury at the Cannes Film Festival, and I was in London prepping The King. He asked me if I could come out there, so I quickly busted through the second half of the book as best I could. So, like, the first half of my copy is properly annotated and full of my thoughts, and then the second half I just raced through. And then I had that meeting with him, and it was such a joy.

I’m struggling with this even now, as I’m working with Paul King [on Wonka], because he’s another guy I have huge respect and admiration for, and it’s hard to feel on a level. Not that you ever are, because as an actor you’re a cog in the machine, and you’ve got to be humble to the vision of the director. But with Denis, he was pacing around the room, throwing ideas around, in some fancy suite in Cannes, and all I could think was that a year before I was just sat on a stoop on 9th Street in the East Village or something.

DEADLINE: Was that your first time in Cannes?

CHALAMET: Yeah. Well, bizarrely, my sister would do dance camps growing up. Ballet intensive programs in a town called Mougins, which is nearby Cannes, so I spent a lot of time there growing up, but never during the festival, and not on the Riviera. To get to be there for the festival was just nuts. I went to see the Romain Gavras movie, I think, and it was just a huge joy.

I got attached [to the role in Dune] a couple of months after that, and it was nerve-wracking from the announcement, because like I said before, the fans of the book, and the fans of David Lynch version, the computer game, and everything, there’s so much love and strength of feeling. And so much of our pop culture and films and books have been derived from Dune, and all the philosophy the book. I’ve been shocked to learn how many people have a next-level connection to the book. I compare it to how our generation grew up with Harry Potter, and that one makes sense to me. But it’s cool to see with Dune also, when you actually sit down and read it… It’s not that it’s a quote-unquote “hard read” or anything, but it’s not made to be consumed easily, I think that’s fair to say.

So, I was grateful to be working on something of this size not only with Denis Villeneuve leading it, who between Polytechnique, Incendies and Prisoners had nailed the smaller indie film across languages, and then had nailed Arrival and Blade Runner, but who, in his own words, he didn’t feel he’d made his greatest film yet. But also, to be working with this cast. I don’t know if there’s some nightmare version of a film where a young lead is not supported by the rest of his cast, where every one of them had been the leads in their own huge projects. But on this, everyone was there to support, and I think it’s because we all wanted to be foot soldiers for Denis, and I think we understood the potential, based on the script by Eric Roth, Jon Spaihts and Denis, that this could be something really special.

DEADLINE: I don’t have a connection to Dune; this movie is really my first experience of the story. What strikes me is this is clearly an enormous universe—a broad canvas being painted with various families and factions and politics and mythos—but that ultimately it comes down to very elemental, human themes, and we feel them through this character you play, Paul Atreides. Did those themes help ground the experience for you?

CHALAMET: Yes, and I would give the credit entirely to Denis. He would constantly say on set that he had some opposing drumbeat or something. In my diminished intellectual standing, I didn’t understand it, but it was like some vision for the movie based on how biblical the book is that tries to tackle so much that it doesn’t tackle anything. I think he felt the need to be close to a character in it, and Paul is that guy in the book. He’s a character that is still in formation, like a lump of clay, which makes him a great figure for the audience to mirror off.

It speaks, I think, to Denis’ premonition and his directing ability that there were times when we’d move on from a shot or move on from a scene, and I swear, literally, we’d go back because Denis wanted to get something over my shoulder, or push in on my reaction, just to make sure [it stayed on Paul].

And again, it’s something where I’m pinching myself. I had the best time on Interstellar, and that was one of my favorite films I’ve ever worked on, but it was very much something where I was aware of when I had the opportunity to do real acting. And on a movie like Dune, again, one could think it would get lost in the scale and scope. But I felt every day like my plate was full.

DEADLINE: One of those themes is fear, and Paul must overcome his to become the person he needs to be. When you are number one on the call sheet on a project of this scale, and the cast list reads like an address book of Hollywood in the 21st century, and Legendary has injected hundreds of millions of dollars into this production, and it’s all falling on your shoulders, I have to imagine fear is a theme you can readily relate to.

CHALAMET: Oh yeah, and they can bleed into each other for sure—not to diminish the other work that goes in. It’s great when your life experience can inform the role. That’s not at all to say I’m on some crusade in the universe or anything, but definitely… And I had that same good fortune with The King I think. My life is not nearly as significant or as exciting as Paul or Prince Hal, but we all share an unwitting needle in the haystack feeling. On The King that feeling was because I was so new to having a career. On Dune it’s because of, as you say, just feeling the pressure of the hugeness of the project in all those different ways. Those things can absolutely inform each other.

And then there are the moments of glee that come, too, like seeing Jason Momoa running at you at a hundred miles an hour, or just getting to shoot the shit with Josh Brolin, or getting to do a scene with Oscar Isaac. I felt so supported, whether it was Rebecca Fergusson or Charlotte Rampling. When Zendaya came, it was a total breath of fresh air, and she’s one of my favorite parts of the movie. I just got really lucky, and I can’t wait to see them all in Venice.

Denis split the book in half, and the hope is a second movie will get a greenlight. That’d expand Zendaya’s role in the story.

CHALAMET: Definitely, Chani will play a huge role in the next film. I don’t know if there’s a script yet, but just based on the book, along with Lady Jessica [Rebecca Fergusson], they have a lot to do together, let’s put it like that. And Zendaya was incredible in this movie; the moment she pulls the mask down, it felt properly showstopping and powerful. I was hiding behind the camera, counting my lucky starts, because I was there in month two of the shoot and here was a total powerhouse just coming in for the first time.

And as I said before, this was before I’d seen Euphoria and Malcolm & Marie. She’s doing such incredible work and is just trailblazing her own path, and she’s so, so cool. She also happens to be in the most-watched trailer of the moment, too, for Spider-Man: No Way Home. I cannot wait for that movie, and I was there, by the way, with everybody else, clicking through the trailer frame by frame looking for clues [laughs].

#timmy #timothee chalamet #dune movie #dune 2021 #denis villeneuve

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lightsovermonaco · 3 years

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His Good Sweater: Chapter 13

Masterlist

Thanks to @acollectionofficsandshit for being my bestie and beta reading! This would have never happened without her ❤ Make sure you read Roman Profile, set in the same universe!

Word Count: 6.7k

Recommended song: "Cupid’s Chokehold/Breakfast in America” by Gym Class Heroes

"I have to go."

"Can't you stay five more minutes?"

"I wish."

"Come on, just a few more minutes to cuddle." Pierre flings back the fluffy duvet and holds out a hand. "Please?"

"I have an exam," you say with a sigh but bend to press a kiss to his upturned palm. "I can't skip."

Pierre groans and slings an arm over his eyes. "What am I supposed to do all day?"

"I don't have a sim but I have an old PlayStation you're more than welcome to use. I think I still have one or two games."

"That won't keep me busy."

"I'm sure you'll find something. Just stay out of trouble okay? I'd like to get my security deposit back when I finally move out of this hellhole."

"Okay," Pierre grumbles, sitting up to give you a quick kiss. "What time are you getting back?"

"Four. We can go out to dinner or something." You smooth a hand over his hair, smiling lightly. "Or we can go for a picnic and take a walk through Saint James Park."

"Sounds like a plan." He turns his head to kiss your palm. "I'll be counting down the minutes."

You roll your eyes but your smile contradicts the sass. "I'll be home before you know it. Love you, champion."

"I love you too, mon coeur."

He was endlessly grateful for how easily the two of you had fallen back into each other. When he had shown up at your doorstep he had expected there to be awkward pauses and minutes of tense silence, but there had been blissfully little of either. As the days bleed into each other, your relationship only gets steadier, closer and closer to what it used to be. Maybe it was because you had been the one to break the silence or maybe it was because he had thrown himself into his career into someone's bed- whatever the reason, it didn’t matter. He was simply grateful to be welcomed back into your life. He didn't plan on leaving any time soon.

Pierre allows himself a half hour of lounging in bed before forcing himself to get up and shower. Off weeks were hard; all he wanted to do was rest and recharge but he still had to follow his workout regimen and sleep schedule or he risked falling out of the habit, making it that much harder to get back in the groove come race week.

First order of business: clean the clutter you had shoved in closets and the spare room prior to his arrival the day before. Folding the three baskets of clean laundry took an hour, washing dishes another thirty minutes, and vacuuming the entire flat took twenty. Once the counters are spotless and there isn’t a stray sock to be found, he takes stock of your pantry and notes what staples you were running low on.

Two hours later he trudges back up the three flights of stairs to your apartment, arms laden with reusable bags packed to the gills with food. His legs burn and he's slightly winded from the excursion; at least that could count as his work out for the day.

He's just about to start slicing vegetables for dinner when his phone chimes with a text from his PR agent, Sylvie.

You're supposed to be in an interview now. Where are you?

"Oh shit." He scrambles for his laptop which of course was dead. He manages to plug it in at the dining room table and angle it so the background is mostly neutral, just a band poster framed behind him. He checks his hair before logging into the interview.

"There's the star," the interviewer says, far too chipper to be entirely genuine.

"Sorry, I was having connection issues." He queues up his signature sweetheart smile that gets him out of any squabbles. It works, the woman's irritation melting into a more easy expression.

"Let's just get right into it. Since we're low on time I'll jump right in, if you don't mind."

Pierre leans back. He had an inkling where this was headed. "By all means, please."

"We just saw news of your deal with Christian Horner- if you take seventh in this year's drivers championship, it looks like you're at Red Bull Racing next year. How does that feel after being publicly demoted mid-season in 2019?"

A smirk tugs at Pierre's lips. He had known this exact question was coming. He had debated how to answer it without starting waves and still remaining truthful. If there was one thing he prided himself on, it was his ability to be diplomatic when others may have let their egos get in the way.

"Obviously I'm grateful that Red Bull has recognized the hard work I've been putting in at Alpha Tauri," he starts. "I think I've been able to push the car as far as I can but I still have pace in me, personally. So moving into the Red Bull would let me loose, so to speak, and give me a chance to prove that Red Bull is where I belong."

"Right, you have had quite a spectacular season so far with a race win under your belt and a few podiums for good measure. What do you attribute that success to? Why is it so different now in an Alpha Tauri versus that coveted second Red Bull seat?"

Pierre purses his lips. The answer he was expected to give wasn't one he was willing to voice. Instead he opts for neutral. "I've been able to focus and hone my driving this season. I've found a groove that works for me and with it has come an insane amount of confidence, which is something I struggled with for awhile after going back to Torro Rosso. I think it's really just that I'm finally comfortable in the car and with my team and that makes a huge difference."

"Thank you for that," the journalist says and Pierre nods. "Shifting gears, I have a few questions about your personal life if you don't mind."

This was the part he always dreads. Questions were often prying and he had to subtly skirt around them in a way that offered a satisfying answer without giving away too much. It was an art he liked to think he had perfected over the years but still didn't enjoy.

"As long as you don't mind me staying silent if I don't want to answer."

The woman laughs, the sound sharp and grating. "Of course. Unless I can bribe you into giving me an exclusive."

"Likely not. But you ask the right questions and we'll see."

"You've been seen hanging around a certain London neighborhood lately- that wouldn't have anything to do with you and your lovely lady, would it?"

He had been waiting for that one, too. When the two of you had returned from Red Bull headquarters he had noticed the man taking pictures across the street. He hadn't said anything to you at the time because really, there was no point in getting you worked up when he had a plan to handle it.

The question played right into his hand, in fact.

Pierre sits forward, folding his hands in front of him. "Actually yes. We recently got back together and if you'll let me, I would like to make a request."

The woman leans back and checks her notes. "Well it's not quite what I had planned but please," she gives a flourish with a hand, "you have the floor."

"I know driver's personal lives are something that a lot of people are interested in and that's great. I don't mind sharing things with my fans or letting them get the inside scoop, but there's some things I would rather be left alone. My relationship is one of them. I know you all took note that she hasn't been around the past couple months and if I'm being honest, it's because of comments and press coverage that invaded her privacy. I think some people forgot she was more than just a name on a screen."

Pen poised to take notes, the interviewer prompts, "You said you had a request?"

He doesn’t stop to assess the damage he had already undoubtedly done. Sylvie was probably already on the phone doing damage control with every news outlet she could get her hands on, if her muted and black square at the bottom of the screen was an indication.

"All I'm asking is that you leave her alone. If you have questions or comments you have to make, just direct them at me. Don't follow her around asking about me. Don't comment on her posts unless you're capable of being a decent human. Just… let her live her life in peace."

Maybe he was a love sick fool, but honestly he didn't care if he lost some support from fans. If they had such strong opinions on his personal life, he would be better off without them anyway. And his team could cut him and even if he was unable to secure a seat in Formula 1 after next season, he would survive.

But if he lost you again, he would be broken. It had taken being apart from you for him to realize it and he'd be damned if he was ever disconnected from you like that again.

"That's quite the speech."

Pierre shrugs. "It was. She's the most important thing in my life, right up there with racing.” Now that he had started down the road of truth, he found it impossible to hold his tongue. “I lost her once because people couldn't be bothered to remember that their words have consequences. I won't let it happen again."

"So you see yourself with her for a long time then?" The woman's eyes glitter with the potential of getting an even juicer tidbit from him.

Pierre’s jaw sets, muscles feathering. "That's not something I'm prepared to discuss."

The woman purses her lips and tips her head to the side. There was clearly more she wanted to say. "Well, I have to thank you for what you've given me here. My boss is gonna love the exclusive. I won't push any further. Thanks for your comments, Pierre."

"Thanks for actually being respectful."

“We aren’t all monsters.” The woman shrugs. “I can’t say I haven’t had my moments but I try to be straightforward.”

“Right, yeah. I get that you have a job to do.”

“Anyway. I look forward to seeing what you can do the rest of this season. Good luck.”

He signs off and instantly anxiety washes over him. If she twisted his words he was screwed. Sylvie would be on the phone as soon as the article was printed, no doubt trying to soothe sponsors and investors. She'd give him an earful about being respectful and not poking the bear but he'd tune it out like he always did.

The sooner he got away from Red Bull, the better.

Instead of dwelling on it he busies himself with cooking. It was one of his guilty pleasures. He always requested a full kitchen when he was staying anywhere more than a few days so that if he had the chance to make a home-cooked meal, he had the option. For tonight he had selected his favorite recipe. Parmesan-Cesar chicken wasn't normally something you would ever touch with a ten foot pole but as long as he was making it, Pierre knew you'd at least give it a try.

Music blasting in the background, Pierre sings along quietly as he unpacks the rest of the ingredients and gets to work. He does a little spin between the island and the sink, rinsing the dishes and putting them right in the dishwasher as he uses them. A clean kitchen is the mark of a great chef, his mom had told him, drilling the phrase into him when he was young.

In the middle of cutting potatoes Pierre gets a call. He only has an hour until you're home so he doesn't bother stopping, just puts it on speaker and continues measuring spices.

"Hey Daniel."

"Heard you're in London," Daniel says, Australian accent thick. "And a little birdie told me you and your lady got back together."

"We did," Pierre says, a smile splitting his face. "Finally."

"Thank god, now I don't have to listen to your drunk woe-is-me rambling anymore."

Pierre laughs and sets aside the measuring spoons. "It's not that bad."

"Oh please." Pierre could practically hear the eyes rolling. "The number of times I had to send an uber to a bar after a grand prix is insane. Charles and I should be entitled to financial compensation with the amount of babysitting we've been doing."

"I can handle myself!"

"Not after a martini you can't."

He was right there. "Is there a point to this conversation?"

"Oh right- I'm actually in town today too, got some stuff to shoot for McLaren before we head to Austria for the race next week. You guys wanna come out with us tonight? We're heading to a bar or two."

"I actually had something planned-"

"She already said she's coming!" Dan's girlfriend shouts in the background.

“Well then why even ask me?”

“To be polite,” Daniel offers with a laugh. “We’re meeting at the rooftop bar at the Trafalgar hotel at seven. That give you enough time to do whatever you had planned that’s apparently more important than seeing your best mates?”

“We’ll be there,” Pierre says and hangs up. He finishes seasoning the potatoes and pops them in the oven, finally getting a chance to sit while they cook alongside the main course.

He's on his feet a few minutes later, decluttering the last bits of mess around your flat. It was clear it hadn't had a decent cleaning in quite awhile- hopefully you'd keep it tidy now that the effort had been made. The guys would tease him endlessly if they found out he was acting like a housewife.

You arrive home just as he’s setting the table. “God, it smells amazing in here.”

“Salut, mon amour.” Hands full with hot dishes, he settles for a kiss to your cheek. “I made dinner.”

“And you cleaned,” you observe. “You were a busy boy.”

“Pyry would kill me if he found out I was laying around all day. I had to do something.”

You hang your backpack on the hook behind the door and take a seat at the table. “Well remind me to thank him again when I see him. This looks delicious.”

Pierre grins over his shoulder at you. “Me or the food?”

You throw your head back and laugh, loud and unrestrained. “The food, you goof.”

Pierre quirks a brow. "Is that the honest answer?"

"Okay, maybe both."

The meal is filled with your ramblings about your exam and your new hobby- this month it was hiking. You went into detail about all the few trails in the city you’d been on as well as the more challenging ones that dotted the countryside. Pierre just nods along as you talk, already planning on staying up late to learn what he could about the topic so he could be a better conversation partner.

The pair of you work together to tidy the kitchen and put away any leftovers. “Did you bring something semi nice to wear tonight or do we have to make a quick trip to the store?”

“I’ve got some Tauri stuff I can wear. And not just team gear,” he adds when you groan. “You know that cream sweater you love? The one with the logo debossed on the front? I’ve got that.”

“Oh,” you say before biting your lip. Your eyes trail down his frame and back up like you’re imagining it on him. A tingle travels up his spine under your assessing gaze. If you kept that up, neither of you would make it out of the apartment tonight. “My favorite. Yeah, wear that. It’ll be on my floor by the end of the night.”

Pierre places his hands on your waist and grins. “Will it? And what will be on the floor from your closet, hm?”

“Your favorite dress.”

“The orange one?” He realizes half a second too late that you would never know how much he adored that dress from the gala. It had hugged your curves in all the right places and left your back exposed, which would leave him free to trace patterns on your soft skin whenever he pleased. He had missed out on worshipping you in it that night and he wouldn’t mind the opportunity to do so now.

You roll your eyes. “I can’t wear that to a bar.”

“Says who?” Pierre nuzzles his face against your neck, breathing you in. A light undercurrent of sweat from your walk home from classes mingles with the usual bright scent of you, only serving to rile him up further. Never in a million years would he have guessed that a simple scent could do him in, and yet here he was, completely wrapped up in yours.

“Says me.” You sigh, tipping your head to the side when Pierre’s nose grazes your skin.

His lips follow until he reaches your jaw before he pulls back. “What one are you wearing then?”

“Does it matter?” You cross your arms, the smirk playing on your kissable lips tempting him.

“I have to mentally prepare myself.” And if whatever you chose was too sexy, he would need to get his handsiness out of his system before the pair of you met up with Daniel and his girlfriend. The last thing he needed was to be on the front of some seedy gossip column when his plan was to ease back into it.

You smile up at him, broad and unrestrained as if knowing your answer would affect him greatly. “The cobalt blue one that makes you stutter.”

The dress in question was just as form fitting as the orange one, but shorter and decidedly more distracting. It fell mid thigh and the spaghetti straps left your shoulders exposed, which coupled with the low back displayed a downright sinful amount of skin. You had worn it at a Torro Rosso event a couple years back and he had scarcely been able to get a full sentence out around you all night.

“That one’s a close second.” He follows you to your room, leaving you to hunt through the closet while he digs through his suitcase, thankful that he had the foresight to check out of his hotel on the way back from Red Bull and bring his things here.

Because there was no way in hell he was missing a second of being by your side while he was in town. Every moment had to count when he had no idea when he would be able to sleep next to you again, not when the season was nearly over and there were two double headers between now and winter break. When so many variables stood between him and you, he had no problem prioritizing you over a routine workout or a full night’s rest.

Pierre changes into the sweater and a pair of dark skinny jeans well before you emerge from the bathroom. He doesn’t bother responding to Dan’s text that includes an address and reminds him to be on time, instead opting to scroll through his instagram feed. He likes a handful of posts from his fellow drivers, including one of Max actually smiling at something off camera.

“Well?”

Pierre’s head snaps up at the sound of your voice. The phone falls from his hand when he drags his eyes over your body, head to toe and back again.

Oh, he was so fucked.

Maybe it was selfish, but with your hair done like that, the barest brush of makeup lining your eyes and in that stunningly blue dress, he didn’t want any other man to have the privilege of laying their eyes on you.

No, you were all his.

The moment you’re within reach, Pierre places his hands on the back of your thighs, just beneath the curve of your barely covered ass. You chuckle and tap your fingers under his chin. “Close your mouth; you’ll catch flies.”

“Just so you know, if you wear that dress I can’t be held liable for my actions.” Up to and including scaring off anyone that wasn’t Daniel or his girlfriend. No one else deserved to be blessed with your radiance. Hell, he didn’t deserve it, and yet here you stood.

“We’ll see about that.”

**********

Daniel and his girlfriend had already made their way through a round of drinks by the time you arrive. It wasn’t Pierre’s fault he couldn’t keep his hands off you and wound up getting distracted on the drive over.

"Late as always," she greets, kissing your cheek. "Dan got us here fifteen minutes early because he wanted the table with the best view."

"Like our names wouldn't have gotten us the table if we asked," Pierre says, wrapping Daniel in a one-armed hug before kissing his girl’s cheek in a traditional French greeting. "The view is pretty great though."

You were already leaning on the glass partition, hands curled over the edge and undoubtedly leaving behind fingerprints on the pristine surface, completely unfazed by the fact that the other patrons were staring. You had eyes only for the London skyline and Trafalgar square lit up below. The bar with its white marble tabletops and strict dress code was absolutely not a place that you should be standing on your tiptoes for a better view, but there was no way he could condemn you when your face lit up like that.

Pierre just places a hand on the small of your back and shoots a look at the bartender currently glaring in your direction, daring the smartly dressed man to say anything. He only raises a brow and resumes filling drink orders.

"You guys know how to pick a place," you say, "I could stand here all night."

"Right," Daniel's girlfriend says, rolling her eyes at Pierre who shrugs as if to say what do you want me to do? He was powerless to deny you anything that brought you a semblance of joy; your smile was everything to him. “Love, why don’t you come tell us about uni? You’re the only one of us currently enrolled, and I’m sure the boys would love to hear about all the drama.”

You and Pierre share a secret grin. You shake your head but allow him to guide you back to the cocktail table. “Drama? I’m an engineering major. The closest thing we have to drama is someone grossly miscalculating a structural load.”

Dan shoots Pierre a mischievous grin. “I heard Stroll might be moving next year-”

Both you and Daniel’s girlfriend groan at the same time. “No racing talk when we’re around tonight,” she says. “I’ve heard enough lately.”

“What’s new in the publishing world?” You ask, leaning into Pierre when he wraps an arm around you. He only half listens to her explain the so-called “top secret” project she’s currently working on, instead opting to get drunk on you.

The light breeze filtering through the surrounding buildings ruffles your hair. You lift a hand absentmindedly to tuck it behind your ear in an attempt to keep it out of your face. Everything you do is amazing to him, snagging his attention even when he should be listening to whatever it was his friends were saying. Your gravity was simply too strong to bother resisting.

“Enough talk,” Daniel’s girlfriend says, waving a hand. “You need a drink, and I want to dance. Let’s go.” Before Pierre can protest, she’s dragging you away to the glass top bar. You throw an apologetic glance over your shoulder and Pierre just winks. He was fine watching you from afar for now.

Pierre’s gaze drops to your perky ass when you lean in to let the bartender know what you want, likely shouting to be heard over the music, your dress riding up a bit with the movement. For having such a strict dress code, this place sure did feel like an upper class club.

You hook your thumb over a shoulder, the bartender’s gaze darting to Pierre before the man nods. The only explanation you offer is a wink, followed by a note on a cocktail napkin and a beer delivered a few minutes later by a server.

This is supposed to be the best beer they have. Just try it.

Leave it to you to constantly push him outside his comfort zone. Pierre tentatively sniffs the foamy glass and shrugs before taking a sip. Not bad, but he still preferred his usual whiskey.

Setting the glass down, Pierre turns back to Daniel. “Congrats on extending your contract with McLaren by the way. Should give you a decent shot at keeping up with the big boys and landing some serious points.”

“Seems like most of us are moving around, doesn’t it? Sainz to Ferrari, Seb to Aston Martin... The only one with any sort of long term commitment is Max and now me I guess.”

“And Charles,” Pierre adds. “He’s stuck in that red monstrosity for the foreseeable future.”

Daniel laughs, taking a swig from his glass. “And you’re moving too, huh? Austria should be interesting,” Daniel remarks, watching the girls at the bar nursing their own drinks. “What with the news of your new contract breaking and all.”

“Potential contract,” Pierre corrects. “Not for sure yet.”

Daniel scoffs. “Come on mate. You won’t have any problem getting up to seventh by the end of the season. Perez is slipping and the news that his seat is in jeopardy will only help your cause.”

Pierre takes a sip of his amber beer and nods. “I’m sure Perez doesn’t appreciate it, but he’s always been a good sport.” You catch Pierre’s eye and lift your fresh flute of champagne in a mock salute. Dan’s girlfriend drags you out on the dancefloor and immediately spins you. Your laugh is nearly audible, the memory of it fresh in Pierre’s mind as he watches you.

“Mate, have you been listening to a word I’ve said?”

“I’m sorry, what?”

Daniel shakes his head and drains his drink. “I really don’t know how it took you two this long to come together. You’ve been dancing around each other for years but neither of you would admit it.”

“I could say the same about you two.”

Daniel shrugs. “Fair point. At least we got it all worked out in a weekend though.”

Pierre rolls his eyes and shoves his friend’s shoulder. “Whatever. Not all of us can have a perfect love story.”

The grin Daniel shoots Pierre is pure sunshine. “How long are you planning on waiting before you ask her to marry you?”

“What?” Pierre sputters, nearly choking on air. “Who said anything about marriage?”

“Oh come on,” Dan says, rolling his eyes. “We all know it’s coming eventually.”

Pierre would be lying if he said he hadn’t thought about it. But he wasn’t sure if it was the time for a proposal, not when you had just gotten back together. The last thing he wanted to do was go through the pain of losing you again because he was too forward.

“One day at a time,” Pierre says finally, dragging himself back to earth. “I just got her back a few days ago. I don't want to scare her off by proposing just yet.”

“Right. Well you might want to get a ring on that hand sooner rather than later,” Daniel notes, gesturing to the two men who had approached the girls. “How long are we gonna let that go on before we step in?” Neither of you paid the men any attention, instead enjoying each other’s company, but the men’s eyes roaming over your body sets Pierre on edge.

“They can handle themselves,” Pierre remarks, shifting on his feet. The weak attempt at self assurance didn’t do much to negate the red tinting his vision. “They’re fine.”

“Her sharp tongue will hold them at bay,” Daniel says, winking at his girlfriend. “For a while at least.” Props to Daniel for possessing inhuman amounts of restraint, but Pierre’s muscles were coiled and ready to interject at the first sign of trouble.

He has to pause to remind himself he doesn't own you. You could make your own decisions about who you spoke with and who you entertained as long as he was the one to take you home. He didn't care if you wanted to flirt; he knew it meant nothing and if you got a free drink out if it then so be it. But those were the rules: flirting, no touching. He'd step in if need be if someone took it too far.

But that didn't mean he had to enjoy it.

Pierre watches tight lipped as you politely chat with the man, your body language closed off and dismissive. Pierre hates that you even speak a word to him. He knows it shouldn’t bother him because he trusts you, but the stranger is a wild card. Pierre watches like a hawk as the man inches ever closer, slowly interesting himself into your personal space. He waits for you to take a step back, to grant him that silent permission to come over and insert himself in the conversation and get his hands on you, this proving you weren't on the market.

One of the men shouts something at you over the music and you leer back at him, clearly disgusted at whatever he had said. Whirling on him, you open your mouth, likely to snap out a profanity lined retort, when his hand latches onto your arm.

"Oh, fuck no."

Half a second later, Pierre is stalking across the dance floor, no thoughts other than teaching the asshole a lesson. His hands are already curled into fists, ready to swing if the man hadn't moved by the time he arrived. Tolerating someone hitting on you was one thing, but blatantly ignoring the clear dismissals and laying a hand on you? No way in hell was he standing by and letting that happen.

The resounding crack of your open hand hitting the man’s face has pride swelling in Pierre’s chest. That’s my girl. You’d solved the problem before he’d even arrived. You jab a finger in the man’s face, Daniel’s girlfriend right there with you to back you up.

“Fuck off,” you were saying as Pierre approached, “or do you need to go back to kindergarten and learn to keep your hands to yourself? Maybe next time you’ll think twice before laying a hand on a taken woman- or any woman, for that matter.”

Driving your point home, Pierre slips an arm around your waist and pulls you in until your back is flush to his chest. You crane your neck up, the tense muscles beneath his fingertips and the fury contorting your features confirming just how rattled you are.

The lines creasing your brow are soothed away when you realize who holds you. You open your mouth to say something but Pierre places a hand on your throat, thumb and forefinger framing your jaw as he cuts you off with a kiss, his eyes locked on the guy still standing off to the side holding his cheek.

You taste like the champagne you’d been sipping all night. It’s the only thought in his head outside of the jealousy licking through his veins like wildfire as he claims you then and there in front of the crowd. Mine, his heart sings. He flexes his fingers, taking advantage of your surprised gasp to slide his tongue against yours. Mine, mine, mine.

Pierre lets you be the one to break away, lips curling in a smug, kiss-swollen smile as you address the men. “In case you still don’t get the picture, I’m not interested. And neither is she.” You jerk your chin, indicating your friend and Daniel, who had indeed followed Pierre and since mirrored his possessive stance, one arm wrapped tightly around his own girlfriend.

The two men reluctantly slink away after mumbling something unintelligible but undoubtedly indecent. It had been a week and a half since he had been on track and he had plenty of pent up aggression to get out. He didn’t normally opt for using someone’s face as a punching back as a stress reliever, but rulers were made to be broken. Your hand splayed on Pierre’s chest is all that stops him from following and asking them to repeat themselves.

“Just let me hit him,” Pierre says, voice far more level and put together than he had expected it to be. “Just one punch. That’s all I would need.” His knuckles smart like he had already connected them to the man’s face.

“And let you throw away your contract? I don’t think so. The last thing you need is a blurry photo of you knocking someone’s teeth in hitting the front page of every gossip mag in the country. I’m fine, so you can cut the bravado.”

“Yeah, I hear you.”

“I was wondering how long you were gonna leave us out here,” you say, trying to regain Pierre’s attention. When it doesn’t work, you grasp his stubbled chin and force him to look at you. “I didn’t expect to be stranded for so long.”

The eye contact is what finally calms his racing thoughts. Seeing the trust reflected in your face is enough to have his grip on your waist loosening to allow you to face him. “Someone convinced me you could fend for yourself. And while it seems that’s true, I couldn’t stand it anymore.”

Your satisfied hum is swallowed by the pounding bass but Pierre feels it rumble in his chest. “Sometimes even a queen needs saving.”

Though his point had long since been proven, Pierre’s hand slides down your back to rest on your ass nonetheless. “I knew you going out looking like this would cause trouble.”

You tip your head to the side, feigning innocence as you press your hips to his. You grin, noticing the hard on that had been bothering him all night. “Looking like what?”

“Drop dead fucking gorgeous,” he says, accentuating his point by sliding his hand up your thigh and under the hem of your dress. “You know I’m tearing this off you the second we get home, right?”

“Why do you think I wore it?”

The sound that escapes him is primal and possessive. The presence of bystanders does nothing to prevent him from palming your ass and kneading the flesh. He presses his lips to your neck and mumbles between kisses, “To torture me.”

You push lightly at his chest, laughing although your eyes dart around the space in search of cameras. Old habits were hard to break. “That may have been part of my motivation. But you’ll have to wait. I haven’t seen Dan in forever and I would actually like to have a conversation with him before we sneak off somewhere.”

At least you knew he wouldn’t be able to wait until you got home to get between your legs. “Fine,” he grumbles, hands settling on your hips. “Only because I love you.”

You beam up at him. “Love you too.”

Arm still slung around your waist, Pierre nods at Daniel and follows the other couple back to the table.

After two more drinks, you and Daniel's girlfriend are singing along to the music in lilting, off key voices, simply enjoying the night air. A stray breeze catches your hair just as you turn to look at Pierre and his heart damn near leaps out of his chest.

To his credit, Pierre’s cheeks are rosy from more than just the charged glances you throw at him as the night wears on. He was on his fourth beer, far more than he usually drank these days, and the buzzing in his head was becoming increasingly hard to ignore. When he has to squint to tell the time on his watch, he figured that was enough.

"I should probably get going mate," Pierre says, turning to Daniel. "Early flight."

Daniel laughs and beacons for the girls. He kisses his girlfriend's cheek when she returns with you in tow. "Are we leaving already?" You pout, and Pierre had half a mind to stay simply have your smile make an encore appearance.

"Car coming," he murmurs, dipping his head to give you a proper kiss. God, you were stunning in that dress- he might not be able to string together words coherently, but he knew that much.

"Fine." You cross your arms for a split second to convey your feelings on the matter before wrapping your friends in a hug and saying your goodbyes.

Pierre's hand is already on your ass before you're in the uber. Get a few drinks in the boy and he let his guard down. You laugh and pull out of his embrace to usher him into the sleek black suv. If he had been coherent, he probably would have chatted with the driver about the specs of the engine or maybe even racing if he was a fan. Instead the ride is filled with stolen touches and sloppy, wet kisses to your neck.

"I can't wait till we're home," he mumbles. "You're gorgeous. How did I snag you? You're so far out of my league. No way should you be with me."

"I have a thing for guys that go fast in circles on the weekends."

"Really?" Pierre frowns. "Should I be worried?"

"No. You're the only one I have eyes for." His head is fuzzier than when you left the bar but your laugh breaks through, his stomach flipping at the melody of it. "And we are home."

Pierre blinks, realizing he does indeed stand in your kitchen, with no recollection of climbing the three flights of stairs between the street and your flat. "Oh. When did that happen?"

"After I half dragged you up the stairs." You bend over to undo the straps of your heels, giving him the perfect view. He lets out a whistle that ends in a hiccup.

"Take me to bed, lover," he says in what he thinks is a husky voice. It should be impossible for you to resist.

You roll your eyes and wrap an arm around his middle. "That's the plan. I'll take you to bed, strip you out of that sweater, and you'll be asleep before your head hits the pillow."

"Nnnnnno," he protests, hand sliding down your exposed back to settle at the base of your spine. "I wanna make the most of tonight. I leave tomorrow."

"You don't leave until noon," you point out. "Plenty of time to nurse your hangover and have fun before then, after you drink some water and get some sleep."

"But baby-"

"No buts. Do as I say or I'll send you off tomorrow without a goodbye kiss."

Even in his half drunken state he knew it was a swiss cheese lie, spotted with holes and completely stale. You'd never let him leave without a kiss goodbye because neither of you knew if it would be the last time. He was a race car driver after all, and that came with risks.

But he sighs anyways and slips off the cream sweater, letting it fall to the floor. At least one of you kept their promises.

After confirming he was settled into bed, you retreat to the bathroom. His heart aches at the absence, even though you're mere feet away with nothing but a thin door separating the two of you. He registers the sound of the tap turning on and your soft, off key humming of the last song he remembered hearing before getting out of the uber.

"Mon amour," he croons when you re-emerge in a set of silk pajamas. He reaches out his hands for you and you slide under the covers, immediately slotting your body against his. A leg hitches over his hip, tugging him closer until your middles touch.

"Mmm," he mumbles, nuzzling into your neck. "Je t'aime. Tu es l'amour de ma vie et nous vivons d'amour et d'eau fraîche."

"I have no idea what you're saying," you whisper, running your fingers through his hair. "But I like it. Feel free to keep going."

"Tes baisers sont du feu et je fond à ton toucher." He presses his lips to your neck before resuming his mumbled French. "Je pense toujours à toi. Je veux être avec toi pour toujours. Tu as mon cœur et je ne voudrais pas qu'il en soit autrement."

"I like the sound of that." You press a soft, sweet kiss to his forehead. God, that tenderness was why he loved you. That, and your personality, and your eyes, and your… everything. "Dormir, my love. I'll be here to listen to your pretty words in the morning."

The single word of his mother tongue on your lips has him smiling. "Oui, tu le feras. Parce que tu es à moi et je suis à toi."

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angeli-marco-writes · 3 years

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⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ Tom Holland - Just Friends? ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆

A/N - posting for the first time in forever, this time with a Tom Holland imagine that’s already been on my wattpad for a loooong time. Go check that out though, angeli.marco because I have whole ass collections on there rather than just the odd few one shots.

Warnings - drinking, very light mentions of drugs, swearing. Also its like 5k words so it’s long as well.

Summary - you and tom have been best friends for a long time and inseparable for just as long. The boys welcome you as one of their own, and you’re basically a part of the family. That’s your main issue, because when you begin to harbour feelings for your best friend, you’re not sure if he feels the same.

YOU AND TOM HAVE AN INTENSE FRIENDSHIP, there’s no denying it. In fact, the intensity worries his family, it all happened so fast.

The two of you met about a year and a half ago at your local supermarket. You were just going shopping for some food as you moved to London, and you saw Tom there. You recognised him, but you of course didn’t want to be a bother, so you began to hyperventilate in the bread aisle, thinking you were alone, just when Tom poked his head around the corner.

“You okay, Miss? You sound like you’re dying.” Those were his very first words to you, and you couldn’t even look him in the eye when responding.

“I-I’m fine, tha-thanks Mr Holland.” Could you have been any more awkward?

However, Tom, thankfully, found it endearing, and to this day he still does. A day hasn’t gone by for the last 18 months that the two of you haven’t spent together. Within a week of meeting, you were on first name terms with all of his family and friends, and every second of your lives are spent in each other’s company, simply platonic though - at least for him.

He spends his time with you on pranks, swiftly followed by an apology cupcake (never handmade, at least not by him), and in the evening, he hauls you up to the roof of your apartment building or a spot on his house to get drunk and look at the sky. It’s what you love about him, he incorporates everything the both of you enjoy into your daily lives and it creates this brilliant, inescapable routine of happiness and hangovers, and almost every morning that you wake up with him on the other side of his bed or yours, only to find him half hanging off it, you feel this intense happiness in your chest. That feeling is immediately shut down when you realise that to Tom, you’ll be nothing more than his friend. And in a few months, your whirlwind friendship will be over and he’ll be a stranger to you, a big star you stalk on Instagram, he’ll never be your Tom.

Today, you’d planned to go over to his house as soon as you woke up after spending one of your only ever nights apart, since his parents were out with Paddy, meaning it would only be you two and the boys, whom you also got on well with. He left his door unlocked when he knew you were coming over, something else that confused you, and why would he want you over whilst his parents were absent? Yes, he’s a 23 year old actor, but he’s still a mummy’s boy. You trusted that nothing would happen even though you secretly hoped it would.

On your walk to his house, you text him and get a reply almost immediately, though not what you expect.

YOU - Nearly there :)

TOM - I nicked his phone baby, see you at the door. Harry x

You smile in spite of yourself, shutting your phone off and shoving it in your back pocket with the elegance of a hippo, stumbling over his drive before you even reach his front door. You take a heavy sigh while gathering your dignity, looking up at the house. In the attic, Harrison’s sitting in the window seat, his head in his hands while holding his phone between his shoulder and his ear, another fight in paradise apparently, Sam is in the front room, Tom’s in his bedroom (more precisely in his wardrobe), and Harry is nowhere to be seen. That can only mean trouble.

You open the door and kick your shoes off in the porch, closing the front door as you cautiously open the second, only to be tackled and restrained. Your hands are held behind your back with a strong arm winding around your waist and hot breath fanning your ear.

“Surrender your sweets, baby, or I’ll text your mum from Tom’s phone.” Chirps a voice, cracking a little because you know he’s trying to keep a straight face. How does he always know?

“My back right pocket, be careful or Tom will kill you for laying a hand on me.” You say, and the smirk in your voice is obvious. Within seconds, you’re freed but pulled to the ground by a laughing Harry, laughing so hard his cheeks are a magnificent red and his breathing laboured. “Lovely to see you too Harry.” You say, passing him the packet of skittles that you always carry with you. He takes them gratuitously and stands up first, pulling you up off the floor much to the disappointment of a scowling onlooking Sam, and you race up the stairs to Tom's room.

“Knock knock,” Upon entering, a childish grin is all over your face.

“Did you get my phone off Harry on my way up here?” Tom asks solemnly, not moving from his position virtually inside his man-sized wardrobe. You flop down on his bed which just happens to be far more comfortable than your own, and sigh.

“No, Harry threatened me with it but he loves me enough to hand it over if you want me to get it.” You grin, your eyes glued to him, but he just doesn’t move. “You okay?” You ask and he nods.

“Yeah course baby, why wouldn’t I be?”

There’s something up that you can’t place, so to snap him into action you mention something guaranteed to get Tom riled up. “Your brother trapped me on my way in, if I hadn't made him laugh he would’ve been grabbing my arse to get hold of my sweets.”

Tom spins on his heel, leaping onto the bed beside you. He starts to trace a calloused finger down your face and neck, only stopping at the neckline of your jumper. “He didn’t hurt you, did he?”

A lump forms in your throat. His touch electrifies your body, making your mind go lax, but you can’t be complacent. You’re just friends, right?

“Of course he didn’t. Now what are we doing today?” You roll off the side of the bed and away from Tom, folding your arms secretively across your chest. You look out the window at the houses across the street, watching cars go by and seeing the leaves flying in the gusts of wind that come every so often, London really can be pretty.

Tom stands up and follows you, his eyebrows knitted together in concern. He places a hand on your shoulder and tilts your chin up to meet his eyes. “Did Harry hurt you? Tell me, please.”

You smile sadly, shaking your head. “He didn’t, he never would, I promise, I just don’t feel great today,” This ends up being the wrong thing to say, because Tom proceeds to place his hand on your forehead and then the sides of your neck, followed by a chaste kiss to your head which makes your whole body feel weightless. His lips are so soft.

“You haven’t got a temperature, maybe Sam’s lunch will make you feel better.”

For the next two hours, the two of you sit a little too much of a respectable distance apart on the sofa while watching your favourite show, LOST. You don’t talk much, but you find his baby brown eyes looking at you and his mouth gaping like a fish every so often, making a fiery blush heat your face and neck. Harry decides to sit in the empty space between the two of you, shortly followed by Harrison who sits on the arm of the sofa with his arm around your shoulders, only leaving when called to help with the lunch by Sam.

“Harry, can you piss off please?” Tom says after a string of continually failing attempts to push his brother from the sofa space between the two of you.

“Why, so you can sit with your girlfriend?” Harry teases, once again making the wrong choice with an already aggravated Tom. The pair leap to their feet, neither wearing slippers, and start legging it around the house.

You can hear the painful thuds of the pair no doubt slamming into walls and leaving dents, the harsh skids of the tiled floor when their socks fall down their heels, the shrieks and yells of disdain between the brothers, and finally the crash, crack and groan sequence of them piled on the floor, with Harrison entangled in them - you can tell from his posh sounding squeak of despair.

Begrudgingly, you stand up and leave the comfort and warmth of your sofa crease and make your way to the kitchen where Sam is blatantly ignoring the existence of his brothers and their imbecility.

“Smells good Sam, sorry about them, it’s my fault.” You say absently, crouching down to untangle the pile of tangled limbs.

“Yeah,” Sam responds with a snort, “it is your fault, they keep fighting because they’ve fallen so madly in love with you and can’t decide who should have you.”

His words make you stop dead in your movements and cause an eerie silence to settle over everyone. For a solid, lengthy minute that feels like an hour, no one moves or speaks or breathes, and you’ve never been so confused in your life. Slowly, you stop trying to help the boys and you stand up.

“I- um, he was joking baby.” Tom stammers, watching you stand up to leave. What is it with that nickname making you feel things?

“Yeah, slip of the tongue love.” Sam adds, leaning over the stove to catch your hand on your way out. You turn to face him, only to have him shoot you an apologetic glance.

“Yeah, whatever. I’ll be upstairs, come find me when you’ve grown up.” You say finally, closing the kitchen door on your way out.

As soon as you’re securely in Tom’s room, you clasp your hands together and release a long held groan of desperation, sliding down the back of the door. Circumstance is killing you, why can’t life just be simple? You look around Tom’s room at all of the framed pictures of the two of you hung from his walls, propped up on his window sill, and a special one in a heart on his bedside locker. Since you met, he’s been your one and only. You haven’t even thought about another boy, well, man. What Sam said has to have been a coincidence, Harry can’t like you, or so you tell yourself. It’d be far easier to date Harry than Tom, but it'd ruin your friendship with them both. You let out another groan and sprawl yourself out on Tom's bed. It’s so familiar to you - the duvet, the mattress, the smell that can only be described as Tom, your makeup stains on the pillows, just everything, including a dress of yours in the wardrobe in case you need to get ready at his house.

Your eyes flutter closed and your mind spirals back to the day you met. Even then you were surprised at how laid back he was, until it came to his brothers.

──⭒─⭑─⭒──

You look all around your new apartment for a snack, but there’s nothing. Literally nothing except for frozen rice. With a disgruntled moan, you grab your coat and walk down the five flights of stairs to get out of your new building, and walk in the cold London weather and wind to the nearest supermarket. You look inside before entering, and it thankfully seems to be relatively empty, so you shrug off your hood and go inside, only to be met with the sight of your favourite actor, the gorgeous new Spider-Man, Tom Holland. You suffer an internal debate of whether to talk to him or not, and decide against it when your lungs and mind decide to conspire against you.

You quickly run into the bread aisle and think of anything possible to calm you down, but your lungs still don’t want to work, causing your every breath to come out as a laboured whistle. You begin to browse the loaves in an attempt at normality - wholemeal to white, rolls to wraps, but your overdriven brain won’t stop reminding you that your celebrity crush is literally feet away, scrap that, about one foot now since he’s come around the corner.

“You okay, Miss? You sound like you’re dying.” he says to you half jokingly, smiling crookedly at you.

“I-I’m fine, tha-thanks Mr Holland.” you stammer back, immediately face palming and turning away from him, but he’s just laughing at you. “I was hyperventilating because I saw you, even more suave and gorgeous in person.” You say as an attempt to recover, and he seems flattered.

“A fan then. Nice to meet you, now let's shop because this place closes early on Sundays. '' he laughs and swoops up your basket that you’d forgotten about and left strewn across the aisle.

You follow wherever he walks, watching the way his calves tense when he leans up to the top shelves, the way his arse clenches when he’s deep in thought, the way he smiles at you like a newly rehomed puppy whenever you compliment him or try to be humorous.

Towards the end of your shop, you haul him to the alcohol aisle and pile spirits and mixers into your basket by the gallon. “Game recognises game. Wanna get pissed and watch the stars?” He asks, examining a strawberry vodka that you threw into your basket that just so happened to be mainly alcohol with only a couple of essential food items.

You’re more astounded and taken aback than you can ever remember being, but with one look at his beautiful face you agree with a little too much fervour, subsequently knocking your hair free from its bun and making Tom laugh again. You get the urge to elbow him but withhold in order to preserve this new friendship. While you pay, Tom texts his brother who parks outside and collects the shopping from Tom, but not without warning you that he can be a little tactile. You brush him off with a smile and lead Tom back to your apartment.

He insists on carrying all of your shopping bags into your building and convinces you to take the lift up to your flat, wherein you dump everything but three bottles of alcohol before he’s dragging you up the roof and unscrewing a bottle of echo before you even have the door open.

He collapses through the door and out into the fresh air, taking your hand in order for you to follow suit, though a little more gracefully. He passes you the wine and finds a dry piece of roof, upon which he places his jacket down and crashes onto it.

“How come you’re not treating me like a celebrity?” He asks, pulling you down to sit beside him. You think for a moment and eventually shrug, your eyes trailing back to the sky.

“Because you don’t act like a celebrity I suppose.” You respond, taking another swig from the dreadful bottle of wine. “You act like a normal guy, doing grocery shopping, helping me shop, bringing a minging fan such as myself back to my flat and insisting on drinking with me. You act like a nicer version of every other lad our age.”

He leans over you, engulfing you in a hug and grabbing for the vodka and coke. “I think we’re going to be very good friends.”

The next morning, you find the two of you hungover and fully dressed on top of your bed, glass liqueur and wine bottles decorating your floor. All you remember is going shopping, meeting Tom, and getting incredibly drunk while stargazing. Too drunk to viably do anything besides sleep and throw up, the latter of which you hope to god did not happen.

Tom stirs soon after and just hugs your stomach while groaning and rubbing his head, complaining that he’s never going to drink again - which you know will last approximately twelve hours.

You proceed to eat a make-do breakfast, followed by a heavy dose of paracetamol before Tom walks you to his house. He helps you up the step and just shouts, “this is my new best friend, we’ll be in my room!”

You see his family's scepticism from down the hall, but Tom doesn’t seem bothered about them or calling you his new best friend, and that's how it all begins.

──⭒─⭑─⭒──

“Lunch!” Comes Sam’s voice from outside the door, snapping you out of your reverie, followed by a click and some footsteps. He sits down beside you on the bed, stroking your hair. He doesn’t need to ask if you’re okay or not, he’s just exceptional at reading people, and he really genuinely cares about everyone. He sits you up and hands you a plate with the kindest smile. You don’t need to tell him how you feel, he can tell that you’re confused and tired and in love with his brother - that happened fast.

“They’re locked in the dining room with Harrison. Honestly, forget about them, my brothers are complete dickheads.” He says, sliding you a plate.

“Trust me, I know. They’re worse than that, I think that's why I love you and your family so much.” You sigh deeply, a tear forming in your eye as you rest your head against Sam’s shoulder and he wraps his spare arm around you. He’s a friend to you, one that isn’t messing with your feelings.

A rap on the door breaks your and Sam's discussion, and Tom enters with his back hunched and frowning. “Hug?” Is all he says. Maybe it's best if you don’t discuss it and go back to normal with both your Tom and Harry, maybe the intensity will die down and you’ll be able to go five minutes without each other.

“Hug.” You say, clambering your way off Tom’s bed and subsequently melting into his grip. He hugs you tighter than ever before, borderline crushing your shoulders and temporarily preventing you from breathing, but hearing the steady thrum of his heartbeat inside his chest is enough, feeling his chest and arm muscles tense and release around you makes you forget what this was all about, it just makes you crave his smell to be all over you, makes you crave his kisses on every inch of your body and not just your cheeks; being this close to him makes you crave the parts of him that you’ve been denied, flaws included.

“I’m gonna leave before something worse starts, catch you downstairs baby.” Sam says, collecting your plates and leaving you chuckling into Tom's chest, still reluctant to let go of him, and he seemed to feel the same. You tilt your head up a little so you’re at the perfect angle to examine every feature of Tom’s face - everything from a tiny part of his face that he missed while shaving, the twinkles of his eyes, his decidedly haywire eyebrows. You lose track of the time that you remain in his grip, but it feels right, with this being quite probably the longest you’ve gone without speaking and your first form of disagreement.

“I love you baby.” He murmurs, squeezing you momentarily tighter before holding you at arm's length. Baby, the nickname that all the Hollands and Harrison insist on calling you, but it ignites a raging fire of longing in your veins whenever Tom says it, especially when it follows those three words.

“You too, T” You reply with a faint hint of sadness tugging at your heart, so you jump up when his back is turned and scruff his hair. “Piggyback please.”

Tom proceeds to give you a purposefully bumpy piggyback down the stairs and out to his garden, where the other three are huddled suspiciously close around a collection of golf clubs. You climb down from Tom’s back and glance up at the winter sunshine, making Tom look borderline ethereal with his smile illuminated by Sol, Norse Goddess of sunlight. He looks perfect, and that's what kills you, you wouldn’t deserve that level of perfection anyway.

You waste the afternoon away by playing back garden golf with a twist, if you miss three shots in a row then you take a shot, it does not end well. The boys swiftly get too competitive and have to drink, leaving you the only sober one between four tipsy lads in their early twenties, and their level of intoxication makes it easier for you to continually beat them.

Early evening comes by, and Harrison seems on edge, making him run upstairs to the attic to answer a phone call, no doubt from his girlfriend. The four of you watch him from the garden - his sighs turn to yells, and his yells soon turn to crying into a pillow.

“Who’s turn is it?” Tom asks, and you raise your hand. You turn to take one last look at the three brothers, all with the same sad smiles and fretful eyes, and you run up all the stairs to the attic where Harrison is now just standing blankly, staring at a wall. Instead of asking or making him talk, you do what Sam did for you, just hug him.

──⭒─⭑─⭒──

You wake up in Tom’s arms after a long nap on his sofa post-golf, the other three boys asleep on the sofa beside yours. You smile at the sight, gently nudging Tom awake despite your not wanting to stir him. He looks so peaceful when he sleeps despite his snores. His eyelashes always flutter and his nose twitches while his hair creates all sorts of patterns on the pillows he lies upon.

“Let’s go to the roof, you grab the wine.” you say, watching his perfect brown eyes open and a smile instantly grace his lips upon the sight of you.

You grab some blankets and make your way to the second floor bathroom window where you leave the window propped open for Tom. Just outside is a patch of flat roof that permits the two of you to sit or lie there, stargazing and getting drunk, you’ve even fallen asleep there once or twice, not to mention the mildly illegal substances that you’ve smuggled in.

Tom arrives minutes after you just as night is properly settling in. The stars twinkle in the sky as far as the eye can see, certain stars shining brighter than others and those are the ones that you and Tom have studied over the past year.

“Nigel’s on fire tonight!” He exclaims, pointing towards a star just south-west of Sirius. You stifle a giggle, looking at Tom who passes you a bottle of nice red wine, a rarity for the two of you.

“It's Rigel and you know it.” You return, laying your head on his broad shoulders. He lies his head atop yours, placing kisses to your hairline. You involuntarily let out the faintest hum of agreement, turning your focus away from the longing that’s filling every pore of your body and returning it to the stars which you worship so profusely. You take a swig of wine, handing your bottle back to Tom who just places it down and turns to you.

He looks solemn, business like, this is a Tom that you’re not a fan of at all. “What Sam said earlier…” He starts, but you turn away from his gaze to trace the whole Canis Major constellation with your eyes, focusing on Sirius to will yourself away from crying. Just the thought of what Sam said being true makes you simultaneously joyful and sullen, it makes you want to reach for the stars and cry, but most of all, it just makes you sick, and you know it's not the wine talking.

“Don’t say it, Tom.” You begin. “Don’t you dare start to talk to me about that when I’ve been so painfully in love with you since the moment we met, don’t act like you can brush off what he said as a joke, because if you don’t want me then maybe Harry does.”

You know it’s wrong to be saying all of this, so wrong, but all of a sudden, your mouth stops doing what your brain tells it to, and your heart takes over.

“God. And for a second there I had hope as well, maybe that's the worst part. Or maybe the worst part is that we haven't been able to spend a second apart, and the only time we did was when you were too embarrassed to follow me after Sam had a slip of the tongue. You can’t blame your brothers, Tom, the same way that I can't blame the alignment of stars and planets for us never being together when it’s my fault for not being enough. But none of that even scrapes the level of longing I have for you when you kiss my cheeks, when you hug me, when we play fight, when we sleep together, when you just do something as simple as calling me baby. I can’t talk about this anymore, so leave or tell me to go, or you can stay here and we really can act like this never happened.”

Unsurprisingly, he chooses the latter, but there’s a certain rigidity and tension in his movements, made worse by the dark cloud looming over the two of you after your unladylike outburst. You want to apologise, go back in time and take it all away, but you surrender in the only way you can, you cry. Just a single tear cascading your cheek before Tom wipes it away and lays his pinky finger just over yours on the roof, pressing down a little to let you know that it's okay and he doesn’t love you any less, at least that’s how you interpret it .

You remain on the roof, unmoving, side by side, staring at the stars for what feels like hours. You finish the wine in silence, barely brushing each other’s fingers with every touch and too full of scepticism and fear to meet each other's eyes despite how much you crave getting lost in Tom’s very own chocolate rivers.

It's getting late now, really late, and no doubt the boys are all awake inside and curious as to where the two of you are hidden, no doubt assuming that you’re up to something forbidden. You dare to turn your neck and look at tom, only to see him staring at you longingly, his lips slightly parted and his cheeks tinted rosy, and that’s not just from the cold night air

You smile in spite of yourself, but it's a shy smile, one full of uncertainty, but nonetheless you take one deep breath, your eyes fluttering shut, and you turn to face him again, only to find his eyes still trained on you.

In a sudden leap of faith, you reach your arm across his body to grasp the side of his stomach and you turn him full bodily facing you. The stars reflect in his eyes, dancing around and twinkling, almost as though they’re cheering you on, so you do it. You tilt your face slightly and lean towards Tom, capturing his lips in the most intense kiss of your life. His hands grip your waist and pull you closer to him, chest to chest so that you can feel the gradual synchronisation of your racing hearts. He only has to nudge your lower lip with his tongue for half a second before he’s granted an enthused access. His tongue sweeps your mouth, dancing with your own in a fight - not of dominance, but of passion.

Your kiss extends and passes through so many emotions and the pressure and urgency of it changes so often that it's hard to keep track. Lust switches to desperation, then do admiration and candour before returning to a long denied flame of passion, and finally, love. The way his lips massage your own is magical, the way he tastes fills your senses with a satisfaction that gets swiftly replaced with a yearning for more, the way he loves you drives you crazy and relights the longing that you feel in his arms.

His lips slow down and apply less pressure to yours, allowing the two of you to gasp for air however subtly it may be, but only for a second before he kisses you one final time, filled with nothing but a deep and unrequited adoration, until you told him, and it became true.

You stay perfectly still while gathering your bearings and breath, your nose nudging Tom’s and your clammy foreheads pressed together. You daren’t open your eyes for a while, not until his mouth gently ghosts over yours in what can be described as nothing less than an exchange of breath. Now you know what he tastes like, you never want to stop tasting him.

Before you can even open your eyes though, you hear a round of applause and cheers from down below. You look at Tom with terror etched on your every feature until he squeezes your waist a little tighter, and just that gesture screams trust me. So you do. You look down to the garden to find Tom's parents, Sam, Harry, Paddy, and Harrison all applauding the two of you - even Tessa is there, barking and howling at you.

You let another tear escape while a burning blush prickles at your cheeks and ears. You move your hand from Tom's waist to his shirt and pull him closer, one final kiss before you settle your head in his chest.

“You really love me then?” He asks incredulously, though part of you can tell that he’s joking. You nod your head and hear his heartbeat increase in his chest.

“I’m in love with you too, since the day I first laid eyes on you.” he whispers, holding you as close to him as possible. You don’t even need to look around to know that the stars are twinkling in their own form of applause for the two of you, and your instincts tell you that both Harrison and Mrs Holland are both probably crying while the others pretend to be sickened by you, but they’re secretly happy you got together.

“Not just friends?” You ask tiredly.

“Never just friends. I love you, I promise.” You smile at his words

“I love you, T.”

#tom holland #tom holland imagine #tom holland x reader #peter parker #spiderman #peter parker imagine #harry holland #sam holland #holland twins #harry holland imagine #sam holland imagine #harrison osterfield #harrison osterfield imagine #tom holland fluff

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tranderas · 3 years

Text

My email to Failbetter Games

I rarely see a reason to hide my motivations or actions. I don’t have a lot of regrets in life, because as I got older- I’m 34 now- I came to understand that it’s pointless. Try to learn, grieve things like lost friendships and loved ones as best you can, and be the best person your emotional and physical state allows you to be.

Anyway

To that end, I thought I’d air out my grievances to FBG in a rather long email. It was a long time coming as I wasn’t convinced emails would do anything. Elias on the Failbetter Community discord server suggested I at least try, and I spent a week of proofreading to make sure I was as courteous as I could manage to be despite my feelings. I’m angry, angry because this game was so dear for me for so long and it feels like the current team has taken it in a direction so much in the opposite of what I find fun.

That anger is unhealthy, of course. Art evolves. Bands change their sound because they get bored or they want to make money tapping into a new audience. Painters refine and improve their style. Writers improve the range of their vocabulary and change tone. Everything shifts in this world. The healthiest thing to keep in mind is the fact that the thing you loved was there for that point in time and nothing can take that away from you, from your favorite game as a child to your favorite bands in your teenage years, you’ll always have those moments of joy.

I want to hold onto this moment of joy that I experience with Fallen London as long as possible, so I wrote this email in the hope of convincing them to alter their direction so I can enjoy it a little bit longer. Except for the signature that contained my real name at the end- not that it’s hard to find if you care, as my facebook url is /tranderas- the text is unmodified. Hopefully this shines light on what I want.

What I don’t want is discussion about my needs. This is my place to explain, to vent, to point people to instead of typing everything out every time someone asks. But enough stalling.

___

Hello, I was encouraged in a Twitter interaction to write in and expand on my thoughts on the game so I figured I would do so now. Since I started writing this email before reading the December balance announcement, I'll address that at the bottom. The sparknotes version of what I'd like is as such: More content in London itself (especially socials), more Zee destinations, a profession uptuning, a fundamental rework of the deck that goes beyond favors, and a non-docks favor buff. From most to least important, the things I'd like to see addressed are:

1. The lack of endgame content within London itself is concerning to me for two reasons:

a. I play FL because it is a social electronic game, and I want to stay in zones in which I can continue to do social interactions. This is the reason I stay in London rather than going to Iron Republic and Port Carnelian, my first and second favorite zones respectively. If I wanted a story rich solo game I'd play Sunless Sea; if I wanted an analogue experience I'd play Blades in the Dark or read one of the books that influenced FL's style.

b. I simply don't like the mechanics of lab or parabola or how they gatekeep content. Because of this I haven't had any free content to pursue since the release of the new heists, and for a much longer length of time before that.

2. I'd love to see the remaining tier 3 professions given something they can do at lodgings. In general I prefer buffs instead of nerfs, especially in story games, and think it would be silly to nerf midnighter/correspondent/crooked-cross downward. Instead, give the others roles, perhaps in special options in the 4/5 card lodgings.

3. With the changes to Paramount Presence and the BDR power creep Notability has been significantly de-emphasized. I'd like that changed. To me the notability grind had the best balance of difficulty to cost-benefit analysis to end reward in the game, and while overcapping removed that, I would like something to use it again to make going above 10 worthwhile more often. Recent BDR items should make going even beyond 15 possible for very lategame players.

4. In addition to more endgame content within London, I'd like more midgame content at Zee. Sunless Sea got me especially interested in Frostfound and Irem, and a roleplay point for my OC is that she'd like to quite literally punch Mt. Nomad to death. Please don't feed us to spiders, though. The ones in London cause enough sorrow.

5. I would enjoy more free spouses that are not seasonal, and more ways to interact with player spouses. Again, it's a social game, and it makes sense to reward a desire to be social with the community. On the other hand, the NPC spouses in the game are limiting in their roleplay potential to the point that I've created a character around the Esoteric Accomplice for one of my OCs to get involved with between one roleplay relationship and another. Now allow me to take a deep breath while I discuss the proposed balance pass. The short version here is that I think it's wrong to release a deck refresh nerf without a fundamental change to what cards appear in the deck, and that the nerf to docks favors and yet another nerf to revs favors is misguided.

Here's the long version: I actually support a removal of the deck refresh mechanic. I got in trouble for calling flash lay resets an exploit on a private Fallen London fan server, and refused to use it until the lab convinced me it was a mechanic intended for use by FBG.

The widespread use of deck resets isn't a problem in its own right; rather, it's a symptom of how fundamentally broken the deck is in its current state. You have cards that are so bad that the narrative acknowledges they're awful and the mechanics give you a way to get rid of them at the cost of objectively worse lodgings. You have story signpost cards that clog up space held by desired cards. It can be nearly impossible to get Portly Sommelier (before deck refreshes i was getting one a month playing 60 actions a day) and dream qualities (my PoSI-ready SMEN alt has DbW3 playing every dream card that comes around). And most lodgings have cards that are objectively bad in a way that no new player can know without reading the wiki or asking someone- the exact problem you claim a desire to address in your announcement.

It's telling that players will do SMEN- a quest chain ostensibly about how much you're willing to sacrifice to some faceless maybe-god- in order to get rid of bad lodgings. I personally only bought back salon (Notability grind), rooftop shack (3 epa wine option), and bazaar premises (5-card potential plus good certifiable scraps/money option) after Trand got St. Beau's Candle, and JanieS only ever got the bazaar premises, her Remote Lodging, and the Orphanage. Even the other 4-card lodgings are only good under specific circumstances, and the rest of the 3s have worse cards with no endgame benefit.

Tranderas and JanieS both use remote lodgings. Trand is stuck with the Advertisements of a New Venture and Devices and Desires cards in his hand. Advertisements is an Abundant-rarity card. Since I have no intention of doing railroad due to disliking its mechanics the card simply sits in my hand. If I discard it, its rarity means it pops back up quickly. I think a way to opt out of story signpost cards such as aunt and railroad would be good progress toward solving the deck problem. There could be a large action or monetary cost involved with both removing it and reactivating it to balance, but without a way to get rid of these story hooks I need to keep refreshing to draw other cards around them.

As for the favors, I consider that part of the change mostly good. However, the docks favors -> Silk expedition doesn't really compete that well with other endgame grinds at the moment. Further, the Revolutionaries favor turn-in was already reduced dramatically this year, and I don't think it needs further tweaking. Rather than tuning docks and revs down, I would prefer to see the other factions tuned upwards, and the cost of earning favors eliminated from their cards (no 10 rostygold donation to the Church, for example). I'd still like to see the faction cards remain in the deck after they're given storylet sources, but made more rare, with the conflict options getting a boost to remain attractive in line with my proposed buff to payouts as they are good for London from a flavor/narrative perspective. In closing, it feels like the current FBG's team has a vision for the game that doesn't mesh well with how I see it and want to play it. Content has consistently moved away from what I want to do, leaving me with only SMEN and cider as goals to pursue (and as mentioned, I've run two characters- Samia R and Tranderas- through the quest chain to its completion). I obviously care about the game enough to want more things I like or else I wouldn't bother writing and proofreading this post or discussing and debating changes on the community discord, so I hope you'll take these opinions and suggestions into consideration moving forward. Regards,

Tranderas

#fallen london #tranderas #writing #game #game design #browser games #failbetter games

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slippinmickeys · 4 years

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The Countess (2/4)

She did one country dance with the Duke before dinner was called, and she was forced to sit next to him during the meal. Food and spittle came out of his mouth at regular intervals as he spoke, and when she tried to converse with him of books and science in an effort to find a shared interest, he informed her that he thought women had no place reading, much less discussing topics like science.

She grew more and more depressed as the meal wore on, and when Missy tried to catch her eye from across the room, she couldn’t take it anymore and excused herself awkwardly, rushing off down the nearest hallway, just needing to get away from him.

She rounded a corner into an empty corridor and leaned back against the wall, taking large, heaving breaths, her breasts practically spilling out of the top of her dress as she did so. She hated this dress. She hated this place. She hated the Duke and her father and all the choices made in the world that led to her current situation.

After a few deep breaths, she began to calm a bit and felt cool air on her face coming from further down the corridor.

She knew she shouldn’t be on her own anywhere in the house without a chaperone -- the very last thing she needed was to ruin her reputation and thereby her chances of an advantageous marriage if she were discovered. In London Society all it took was a word in one person’s ear and any woman’s prospects could be shattered. Her family would be ruined and so would she. Nevertheless, she welcomed the feeling of the cool air on her hot skin, and rather thought a breath of fresh air might help her to center herself so she could return to the party.

She rounded the corner and found a door that led to the garden. She stepped through it gratefully.

The garden smelled of roses and jasmine and was blessedly deserted. She stepped under an arbor dripping with wisteria and found a bench in front of a small fountain. She sat.

She wanted nothing more than to loosen her corset and fling it away, but she leaned back instead, trying to take as deep breaths as she could. It was hopeless. Everything was hopeless. She felt the sharp sting of tears at the corner of her eyes and finally let them fall.

She wept for what felt like an hour but was probably only a matter of minutes, before she heard what she thought was a footfall from the doorway through which she’d come. If her mother found her out here, she’d be furious, and Dana had no doubts that she’d noticed the empty chair next to the Duke and would come looking for her. She needed to get back to the dinner -- and the Duke. There had to be another way back into the house.

She stepped around the fountain and under another arbor, and when she turned the corner, there sat the Earl of Wexford, sitting on a twin of the bench she had just been occupying.

They both started at the presence of the other and then the Earl shook himself and stood politely.

“Lady Dana,” he said, squinting at her, no doubt seeing the tracks of tears on her cheeks, “are you all right?”

Dana quickly wiped at her cheeks then smoothed her dress. Finally she raised her eyes back to the Earl.

“I’m fine, thank you.”

He nodded once and reached into the inside pocket of his coat, pulling out a crisp white handkerchief that he handed her without a word.

She looked at it for a long moment before accepting it with all the dignity she could muster, wiping it delicately under her eyes and nose. She handed it back with a small smile.

“Can I escort you back inside?” he asked kindly, “it wouldn’t do to be caught out here alone together. I’m afraid I do have a bit of a reputation -- earned or otherwise -- and being out here with me is sure to get you one, too.”

She knew he was right but didn’t want to go inside just yet. The open sky and the fresh air lent her a feeling of freedom she knew she should revel in while she still could. She sat on the bench. He looked at her for a long minute then sat gingerly down beside her, giving her as much room as was possible on the small seat.

“Your reputation isn’t earned?” she asked him boldly. He leaned back and smiled at the ground in front of him.

“I suppose that depends,” he said.

“On what?”

“On what you’ve heard,” he looked back at her and she hoped he couldn’t see the blush she could feel blooming on her cheeks in the dark.

“I’ve heard you keep a fallen woman in a luxurious apartment in Mayfair,” she said, surprising both of them with her boldness. “Is it not true?”

He looked at her -- his eyebrows still up -- and then back to the ground.

“It is true,” he finally said.

Dana was shocked. She barely knew him, but he seemed a decent man and had treated her with dignity and respect. He didn’t seem the kind of man who would keep a whore.

“And you keep her there for your…” she wasn’t sure how to demurely ask it, but something inside of her really wanted to know, “...personal use?”

He threw his head back and laughed once, mirthlessly.

“That part is not true.”

“It’s… not?”

“She is a friend,” he said simply.

Dana didn’t want to pry further, but couldn’t keep the interest from her face.

He rested his elbows on his knees and looked at the flowers surrounding them.

“She is an old friend,” he went on, “who was met with an unfortunate series of events in her life. We were childhood friends. When I found out what became of her, I… did what I could for her.”

“So she now lives comfortably in Mayfair?” Dana asked, realising only after she said it how rude it sounded.

“Yes, and she no longer has to prostitute herself to do so,” he said curtly.

Dana felt the sharpness of the words in her chest.

“What is her name?” she asked quietly, and his posture softened. He turned to look at her.

“I don’t think anyone has ever asked me that,” he said. “It’s kind of you.”

She waited for an answer and finally he gave it.

“Her name is Marita.”

“Then I shall tell all who will listen that your reputation is unearned,” she said, sitting up smartly. “When I’m a Duchess, they’ll have to listen.”

“I pity the person who doesn’t listen to you,” he said softly. “Duchess or no.”

She felt tears well in her eyes for his kindness.

“I do hope we can be friends,” she said, standing and then holding out her hand for a shake, “after I’m married.”

He stood as well and clasped her hand warmly, giving it a firm shake. The hair on her arms stood on end from the contact. He let go after a moment.

“It is my hope as well,” he said, “though it would require your Narcissus of a future husband to permit you.”

“He had better,” Dana said, laughing a bit now with gallows humor, “for it sounds like he won’t permit me to discuss anything more exciting than the weather... I shall need someone to discuss Evanston with.”

Lord Wexford’s eyebrows rose.

“You read Evanston?”

“Evanston and a good deal more,” she said, proudly.

He smiled at her, impressed.

“I look forward to discussing his newest prose with you -- I admit I have a hard time picturing those elegant words emitting from the Duke’s flexuous lips.”

“Ugh,” Dana shuddered, thinking of the food that had flown out of the Duke’s mouth not an hour ago, “do not speak to me of his lips! And to think -- my first kiss will be to those.”

A look came over his face with her words.

“You have never been kissed?” he said, his voice taking on a rough quality. His eyes drifted from her eyes to settle on her lips and then flitted briefly, for the first time, to her bosom.

“I have not,” she said primly, for the first time feeling a bit nervous about being alone with a man in an empty garden.

He seemed to sense her change in comfort and put his hands behind his back as if to reassure her.

“Would you like to be?” he asked quietly.

“Would I like to be what?” she said dumbly, both hoping and not hoping that he meant what she thought he did.

“Kissed,” he said simply, and unconsciously licked his lips slowly, drawing her attention to his mouth, to his plump lower lip.

She felt something low in her gut, and before she realized she had said it, the word sat there in the air between them:

“Yes.”

He said nothing but took a slow step toward her, allowing her time to turn and run away if she had any second thoughts.

She was surprised to find that she didn’t. Not one. In fact the only thing she wanted in the world right now was to feel this man’s lips upon her own.

When he got close, as close as he had been when they had been waltzing, he reached his hands up to lightly touch her face, and her breath hitched in her throat.

“You will permit me?” he said as he leaned down slowly to bring his lips level with her own. She nodded once and her eyes slid closed.

She felt the light fan of his breath on her face, smelling a hint of honey and something else more sharply masculine. And then his lips were upon her own.

His first touch was gentle and light, the briefest whisper, like the touch of a butterfly’s wings. His second was more firm, the press of him becoming more insistent. She found herself kissing him back, leaning into his lips as he pressed into her. She felt one arm come around her waist to pull her body into his own, and she felt a thrill -- a frisson of energy running from her toes up to the top of her head and then settling, like the fizz of champagne, where their lips met.

When her body pressed into his further, she heard the lightest of moans from him and her heart thrilled at the power she felt -- like Aphrodite holding the golden apple. She tentatively put a hand around his waist and pressed gently.

It was all the encouragement he seemed to need, and she suddenly felt his tongue gently insisting on entry passed her lips. Surprised, she opened her mouth, and his tongue plunged inside, rubbing against her own. She felt her womb contract up into her body and a heavy feeling she’d never felt before settle between her legs.

She released a moan of her own and he moved his head slightly more to the side so that he could more thoroughly plumb the depths of her mouth with his tongue. Feeling a bit like a fencer, she parried with her own and he breathed in once deeply through his nose, moving his other hand into her hair.

She had never felt anything like this. Not once in all of her 20 years. All she wanted was to kiss this man for the rest of her life and never stop, not for sustenance, not for air.

Then in the haze of her desire and the ringing in her ears, she heard a noise and a sharp intake of breath from behind her.

She pulled her lips from the Earl’s as if in slow motion and turned just in time to see both her brother and her mother standing behind them, shocked looks upon their faces. Her brother’s face slowly turned to outrage.

“What is the meaning of this?!” he shouted, and took a menacing step forward.

#the x-files #AU #MSR #fanfic #my fic #The Countess

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kickassviv · 5 years

Text

Pernille Harder: "I first dared to say that I would be the best in the world when I got away from Denmark"

Danish national team leader Pernille Harder was only a fan of the women's soccer World Cup. However, due to her high profile on and off the field, she left her mark on the tournament. Berlingske has met her for a conversation about love, homophobia, the fight for equality and the ambition to become the best in the world. And about two parties that got the national team leader out of the chair.

Credit to @magdaerikssons for the article and disclaimer, google translate was used to translate into English.

Is there a Danish "Liebes-Spionin", a love spy who helps the Swedish women's team against a victory?

That's how the German newspaper "Bild" speculated about the Danish national team leader and Wolfsburg player Pernille Harder in the heat during the just over the World Cup in women's football in France.

The newspaper had noted that the "Bundesliga's best player with a good knowledge of Germany" was constantly found among the Swedish players because of the girlfriend and defender Magdalena Eriksson. Eriksson plays daily for the London club Chelsea.

Two days before Berlingske meets Harder in the French city of Rennes, a picture of her and her boyfriend, both wearing Swedish national team jerseys, went viral on social media, not least in South America:

“It's a little crazy. I've gained 10,000 new followers on Instagram and I haven't even posted the picture myself. Many are from South America. I don't know what it is about homophobia down there, but it obviously means a lot of two female soccer players openly dare to show their love, ”says Harder, who also notes that she has lost no followers because of the picture.

It's 38 degrees hot, and the blue-and-yellow fans are trying to hide in the shade of bars and cafes before heading out to the stadium where the double world champion Germany, with some of Harder's teammates, waits.

Commander's Tour de France as the roe Instead of just being upset that it missed out on Denmark's participation, Harder has been taken to the World Cup as a Swedish roigan. The qualification smoked on the floor, among other things, as Denmark, due to a conflict between the national team and DBU, could not place teams against Sweden in the fall of 2017 and therefore lost 3-0 at the desk.

Now, instead, she is undertaking her own personal Tour de France in cities such as Nice, Paris, Rennes and Lyon. To support her girlfriend, who otherwise beat Denmark in the World Cup qualification, and to become smarter in her sport:

“It gives me another perspective to be here as a fan. I sense what the football gives off the field to all the fans. When you play a final round, you don't think so much about it off the field. But now I realize how big it all has become with fan march, etc., and that makes me want to put even more heart into it on the track in the future, "says the 26-year-old star, while the Swedish fans agree a new kind of song.

Harder and Eriksson have been together for five years. The Dane has not been exposed to homophobia or hate emails herself, but decided in the spring of 2019 to go actively into the debate on homophobia. This happened after FCK star Viktor Fischer was met by homophobic calls.

In a broadcast on TV 2, Harder openly talked about how she had previously fallen in love with a guy, but fell for Magdalena when they both played in Linköping:

'I didn't really think much about it. It just came very naturally. You have to be with the one you love. I have always felt that if there is something I want, then I do it and do not go into what other people think. And then I also have a good family that totally doesn't care who I love, just like it is pretty normal in the women's soccer world, "says the Wolfsburg player.

According to Harder, in the men's football »a front figure is missing. There are certainly gay and bisexual men in men's soccer too, but they obviously dare not stand out because the tone is different in the dressing room and among the fans. That is a sorry trend. You have to be proud of the one you love '.

More edge in women's football Courage to step up in the homophobia debate, Pernille Harder shares with female U.S. national team leader Megan Rapinoe, who up to the World Cup declared that her team would not accept an invitation from President Donald Trump if they returned home with the World Cup trophy. In addition, Trump was too homophobic and condescending to women:

"There are several in women's football who dare to have an opinion, although that may not be the opinion that other people think one should have. And so it gives something more edge. After all, not one of the really big men's team players actually does. Maybe just with the exception of Zlatan, ”Harder points out. Swedish Zlatan Ibrahimović has, among other things, commented on the Swedish immigration debate.

A party in Basel In addition to the fight against homophobia, Harder's main theme is gender equality. And here we are approaching the canceled match against Sweden and the football conflict with DBU.

Instead of looking back at the conflict, Harder first takes a mental detour to Switzerland. In 2018, the FC Basel football club held an anniversary party that got Harder out of the chair.

Before the party, the club had decided that the gentlemen should attend a gala party with a three-course menu, while their female counterparts were asked to sell the ticket and were literally eaten off with a sandwich:

“It's incredible that it can still occur today. But that's why it's so important that we have enough self-respect to say. And that women know what value we have. If we don't, they just do it again. And that is exactly why we had to take that fight with DBU, 'says Harder.

Similarly, Harder and teammates from Wolfsburg said when the club in 2017 asked the women's team to postpone their championship party until it became clear if the club's men's team avoided relegation.

When the women's team won "The Double" again the following year, no-one was thinking of issuing a ban - even if the men again fought relegation.

The conflict between the national team and the DBU was primarily about the remuneration of the women's team players. A sub-agreement between DBU and the Players' Association was landed in October 2017. But negotiations are soon on a long-term agreement, so that the national team is in control if Denmark should be able to arrange the European Championships in 2025 at home.

And here too the national team leader is ready to make demands. However, she fully agrees that in the future there will also be a difference between women's and men's salaries and bonus schemes, simply because Denmark does not have a women's league that can afford to pay the domestic players sufficiently in salary.

This is why DBU has to step in with scholarships, and then "there is something else you can't get," Harder points out.

The decisive point, however, is not the money, but that the national teams - regardless of gender - must have the same conditions for all the matches:

“Now just take the planes. Now we have to go to Georgia soon and play the European Championship qualifier. It is such a match that we risk playing a draw and thus lose important points to qualify for the European Championships in England. So it's mega important. But we are definitely traveling over there with two stops where we have to get up at 05:00 in the morning. DBU should, therefore, charter an aircraft. After all, they do this to the gentlemen, and so does the German and Swedish Football Federation for their wives, ”Harder points out.

Of other differences, the leader mentions that, unlike the gentlemen, the women travel without a cook and only occasionally have a volunteer analyst who can help understand and illustrate the tactics of the opponents. According to Harder, it is also not OK that the national team has only 18, and not 23, players with:

"It's a problem when we have to play 11 against 11. Then the physical therapist has to get into the field. There, I think we can demand equality and that it must be completely the same regardless of gender. And it's not, ”Harder points out.

The conflict was not the main problem Although the conflict is still filling, it is definitely not the whole story of why Denmark is not on the field in France:

“We simply weren't ready physically after the summer holidays in 2018, when we were going to play against Croatia and Sweden. Before the two matches went well. But we have learned from that and have now got a new physical trainer in Peter Krustrup. "

Harder is also confident that Peter Møller's new director of football, Peter Møller, will address the women's case to the DBU board.

She is aiming for Denmark to qualify for the European Championships in England in 2021, just as she hopes that Denmark can secure the European Championships in 2025:

"It will be crazy for Danish football, but we can learn something from them down here about how to set up fan zones and use modern, hard-hitting discos rather than always horn music for the matches," the national team leader says.

Although the level in France is high, Harder is not intimidated on behalf of Danish women's soccer: “We have a good team, and now we work with physics. This is where we need to put in. We are already fully involved in the technical, football and tactical aspects. "

According to the leader, a number of new talented players are also emerging, such as Emma Snerle from Fortuna Hjørring.

Harder welcomes the high viewership of the World Cup, which has seriously given women's football its popular breakthrough. In England, the fight against the United States was the most-watched TV show of 2019:

"I also don't understand if people can't see the exciting thing in eg. the battle between France and the United States. There are 40,000 at the stadium, high pace, chances, and fighter will. Now I have also seen men's football at the stadium several times, so it is not because I think 'hold it up, where does it go 100 times stronger', 'notes Harder.

Football camp in Ikast As we speak, several fans pass by in national team jerseys with women's names on their backs and no longer just men's stars such as Mbappé, Messi and Müller.

As a child, Harder had only one possible role model, Brazilian Marta, but it was now United gentlemen David Beckham and Ryan Giggs who hung in the children's room. Back in the nineties and nineties, there was also no opportunity to attend a girls' soccer camp.

That's the main explanation that, a few years ago, Harder and her sister and cousin decided to start a girls soccer camp:

“I want to pass on some of what I have learned both on and off the field. I even train the girls some of the time and give presentations. And this year I also had my mental trainer who gave parents some tips on how to be good parents. "

The world's best is the goal In 2018, Pernille Harder was named the second best Danish footballer ever to be Europe's best. The first to achieve this honor was Allan Simonsen in 1977. But despite the lack of World Cup, the goal remains to be the world's best footballer.

“I know it might not be very Danish with the Janet Act and all that. And I also dared to say it out loud first when I moved away from Denmark. But why is it so dangerous to say that I want to be the best in the world? One must dare to put words into one's dreams. And the worst thing that can happen is only that I don't reach it, but then I have pushed myself to do my utmost. "

The dream, which she first put into words when she came to Sweden, was born in Ikast. “Recently, I found a style that I wrote when I was ten years old. And there I wrote that I would be the world's best in ten years, 'says Harder.

The road over there is provisionally over Wolfsburg, where this year the club has invested in five to six new players to be able to conquer the Champions League trophy, which lost after another defeat to Lyon.

But Harder, whose contract expires in 2021, is open to trying her hand at a new country and league - also to learn a new language.

"German is doing very well," laughs Harder and continues:

"Although I do not always have a say in whether the pronoun should come in the middle or at the end."

During the World Cup, there have been rumors that Real Madrid are looking for the striker. As one of the last major clubs in Spain, the "king's club" now also enters women's soccer. Before the World Cup, the women's match between Barcelona and Atlético Madrid set a spectator record in Spain with over 60,000 on the limbs.

“We must say that both Denmark and Germany are behind. In England and Spain, they are targeting a professional league, where big men's clubs also invest in women's soccer. It would be optimal if we also did it at home. But it is clear that e.g. FC Midtjylland does not have as much money as Manchester United, so it will cost in the beginning, 'says Harder, pointing to FC North Zealand as a men's club, which is now also focusing on women's football.

On the team with Magdalena? A new club change could also open for the girlfriend couple Harder and Eriksson to put an end to the long-distance relationship, which is, however, facilitated by a direct flight connection from Hanover to London:

“Right now we are each running our own race. But we are about to be where we can again play on the same team. Defenders are slowing down a bit, but Magdalena has become one of the key players on Chelsea's team entering the Champions League semi-final, "Harder points out.

If the pair are on the same club team, there will also be no danger of the relationship being put to the test in a Champions League match between Chelsea and Wolfsburg:

“None of us can stand to lose. I want to win everything. Also in ludo against children. And so will Magda. If she loses cards to me, she won't talk to me for the rest of the day, 'says Harder, laughing.

But in France, the couple both get something to laugh at. Magda and the other Swedish players secure a bronze medal at the World Cup. Yet another image of the couple kissing each other goes around the world. Although Pernille Harder has not been on the field, much has been noticed by the Dane during the World Cup.

#pernille harder #magdalena eriksson #denmark wnt #hardersson

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diningpageantry · 5 years

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Stew

Archive Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18672919/chapters/44928196

Chapter 5/13 of Proximity (The Collision of Lonely Men)

Word Count: 2384

Chapter Summary: Nostalgic meals, red wine, and hand holding.

Chilly, late fall nights have always been a favorite of mine.

I’ve always found myself inexplicably drawn to the harsh crunching of leaves and soft, wispy scent of their decay.

I get to wear those nice jumpers the Wellbeloves bought me for Christmas, and cooking doesn't feel as much of a chore rather than a comforting task. It’s feel warm all fuzzy--like the recipes were made for me to indulge in, rather than scarf down.

My favorite of all was always stew. Whenever there was stew nights at care home, I was always begging for seconds. It's hard to really mess up stew to the point beyond any recognition, and even with canned vegetables, it somehow managed to hold a home-cooked feeling.

It's so deeply ingrained into me that it's now one of the only recipes I know by heart. Probably only because I'd made it about 40 times over the course of one fall/winter. Made it so often that Aggie got sick of it while I was off memorized every little bit.

There isn't much in life I pride myself on, and stew is one of my top things. While I'd taken the recipe from a classics cookbook, I call it my own now. I've added some flair here and there to the point where it feels like it should be mine. Aromatic and thick--I feel like it could entice anybody with it.

Hell, it somehow even got Basilton in a shock.

I hadn't heard the door open, but I hear it fall shut, taking notice of the tall man standing at the door with his eyes fallen shut.

I turn down my music respectfully, raising both brows at him as I wipe my hands on the drying cloth. “Office hours over?” I ask, half expecting no answer (per usual). He treats me to one anyway.

“Mhm,” he hums, eyes still not open as he visually inhales. “Are… you actually cooking? In that shitty little kitchen?”

“Yeah. Of course I am.”

He finally takes a look at me, back straightening as his hands hover over his jacket buttons. “Oh. My apologies for intruding. You're probably expecting someone. I can leave--”

“Bullshit I’ll make you leave your own flat,” I shrug. “I don't have anyone coming over. I've got who in my life, Penny? That's about it. You're fine, come in.”

He stays put, not seeming convinced.

I exhale. “They're not serving dinner. Unless you plan on paying someone else or starving, I'd expect you to stay here. Take a seat, I'm nearly done.”

He runs his eyes over me and hesitantly slides out the top, thick black button of his coat. I stand at the small kitchen's entrance (it really is ridiculously tiny), hands on the towel as I watch him slip out of the jacket and his shoes.

He approaches slowly, one foot falling in front of the other almost like a skittish animal’s would.

I let him step closer on his own, heading back into the kitchen and eyeing my leftover wine. Enough for us to split a good bit.

Wordlessly, I settle a glass in front of him at the table and pour it up about halfway before settling the bottle in the middle. His gaze follows my hands, lips pursed hesitantly as I step back from him. I feel like a hovering parent, watching him somewhat nervously as he lifts the glass and brings it up for a taste.

He cringes slightly, frowning. “Tastes like cooking wine,” he mumbles, still going for another sip.

It makes me smile. “Wine is wine,” I shrug, walking back over into the kitchen. I can't see him, but I hear his tiny scoff. Still, there's the short scrape of glass behind me, roughing up against wood as he picks it back up. Soon enough, I'm sure he’s emptied it because I peek at him pouring another.

As I’m cooking, the creeping familiarity of the sense of being watched falls onto me. Like I’m his prey now, and his eyes are closely locked and not letting me go. And, as unnerving as it is, it’s harshly too regular now. It seems like every time we’re in a room, he’s watching me when I can’t see.

I pop the cast iron pot into the oven and silently go to fill my own glass. For now, I’m trying to stay focused on my own tasks, rather than Basilton’s concentration on them. Well, somewhat. I'm thinking about him thinking about and watching me, but that's completely different than thinking about him just watching me (isn't it?)

We're silent, but much closer than we usually are. As I lean against the table, he sits and blinks up, sipping at his own wine. Our eyes catch briefly, staring back at one another as the timer in the room over clicks rhythmically. I feel myself hold my breath, shoulders squaring out as I take an extended drink.

His head drops, index slowly tracing the rim of his glass as I struggle to find anything of use to say.

“How have your classes been going so far?”

He seems a bit shocked by the sudden interaction, snapping back into reality and staring up at me. “They've been manageable. The class average for my highest class was exemplary, but the papers of my fourth period class make me want to strike them from the gradebook, given how horrendous they turned out. It's like they learned absolutely nothing.”

I nod slowly, glass settling against my lips as I chat. “How's the students? Your schedule?” Easy enough talk, especially since he seems loosened up in the slightest from his drink. He's even got a small drop in his shoulders.

“Students themselves are fine. There's one student who wishes to be called ‘The Behemoth’, since that's what his rugby mates call him, and he might be the most obnoxious arse I've ever met.”

“Behemoth?”

“I'm assuming it's all in irony, given how short he is. He's not scrawny, but definitely not the biggest kid you've ever met.”

I feel myself chuckle, watching the downturn of his lips as he speaks. It makes me fight the impulse to simply reach out and rub my thumbs over the corners, smoothing them out to a more tolerable expression. “Well then, why is The Behemoth a nightmare?”

His head lazily tips back, eyes falling shut. “I can't begin--it's everything. Incessantly rude, impulsive and disruptive, no sense of respect for the classroom. I caught him trying to carve another dick into the table, and when I sent him off for it, he said ‘Thought you liked those’. It's a wonder I can't get him expelled.”

“Students can just… say that you?” I ask in a bit of a shock. He seems a bit amused by my surprise, raising a brow at me.

“With the amount their parents pay, they can call me a fag if they want to.” He simply stares up at me, glass reflecting spots of light down his wrists as we keep a shaky eye contact. I don't know what to say, if there's even anything left to he said.

“Fucking hell.” That's all I can manage from that. “Bloody fucking--have any students said that to you?”

He shrugs, soothing my anxious gaze by glancing out the window across the room. I listen to the settling of his glass against the table, making note of his uncharacteristic response. Does this mean I should comfort him? How the hell do you react to the person you like the least feeling like shit?

He finally speaks after what must be at least a full minute of silence. “Once. I gave the class a history on the word, and made it so tedious that nobody ever wanted to say it again, since they'd have to sit through another lecture.”

That's funny to me. I don't know why, but I'm laughing. And, suddenly, as if by a miracle, he's chuckling along. A quiet, hand-covering-face chuckle. One that, if he had his usual composure, would've never slipped out. It's stunning--soft and melodic. So much of him, yet so foreign and new to his usual reactions that it's making me smile openly.

We stop ourselves short to the beeping timer, signaling me to grab the pot.

We're calmed by the time I carry two bowls over. We sit adjacent to one another, hands only at reaching distance. The tiniest, cowardly part of me wonders what it'd feel like to push his skin against mine. To know what his hand feels like is to empathize, and to empathize is to bring that compassion we lack.

I don't know if I really like our fighting. I've never been a fan of pointless bickering or condescending arguments. If he was more like how he is now, a few glasses in, he'd be a lot more tolerable.

He polishes off that second glass and goes for a third, eyes blinking heavily as he stares down into the cheap drink. “How has your first quarter gone?” His voice is near-silent; a quiet chirp over the clinking of our bowls and spoons. I nearly could've missed it.

“Can't particularly complain. Boring, frankly, but it's temporary.”

“Temporary?” I suppose that's the best of a conversation spark as I'll get from him.

I shrug mindlessly, watching my carrots push around in the bowl. “Only a few years, then I wanna move back to the city. I miss the people being around me. It's far too quiet here.”

He raises his brows briefly before they drop back down. “Back to London then?”

“Back to London.”

The look on his face makes it seem like he has something to say, but nothing comes out. I let the moment between us pass in a safe silence, finishing my first bowl and going back for seconds.

As I sit, I allow myself to break the space again. “Thank you, Basilton,” I say, letting him meet my eyes quizzically before continuing. “I'd never properly thanked you for letting me come to your meeting a few weeks ago. It was really nice, and I never really go a chance to say that.”

He takes a moment between us, eyes traveling over my face and focusing on every little detail before he silently relents. He nods, eyes soft and a very faint blush spread over his cheeks. The light rosiness, of course, he can't really hide.

No matter how much I may want for it to be progress between us, I'm really sure it's entirely from the wine.

I find myself nodding back to him, a smile creasing my cheeks as we hold an equal gaze. One second, two seconds, then it's done. He drops his face, focusing on finishing up his dinner.

I start to do so too, barely able to enjoy it from the distraction of his closeness. Part of me says to not get too close--a dog may not have rabies, but that does mean it won't leave a nasty bite.

Although, the smallest part of me wonders whether or not his bark is far worse than his bite.

He finishes his food as I do, and I make the quick move to clean up after finishing my second glass. He doesn't make to stand, watching me go take them to the sink. There's an odd comfort in the feeling of him studying me now. In it gives an equal peace of mind to where he is (so he can't really sneak up on me). And yet still, there's an equal concern to where his mind is. Plotting a rude snap, trying to get me to move out faster. Something. Anything evil.

I quickly look at him while I'm wrapping the leftover container, and he immediately turns away, finishing what must be his third glass. Innocence doesn't fit him well--it's like a cheap suit. Stressed.

He stands once I'm done, following me nearly side-by-side as we step off to our bedrooms. He halts right as I'm reaching for the door, and I feel the flashing grip of his hand closing around mine, holding my skin to his. My breath catches, mind melting into a confusing puddle as he simply gawks at me.

He stays silent for a full moment, jaw hanging as he searches for something clear to say. Hesitantly, I turn my palm around, comforting him with a soft squeeze back. It does nothing but stun him further. It's a long minute before he speaks, chin tipping up as he finally manages out, “You're welcome to come to meetings anytime.” It's barely choked, and comes out in a quiet rushing flow of words. He exhales slowly, looking down upon me as I stare. “And… don't call me Basilton. Makes me sound sixty. Baz is just fine.”

I relax a bit, nodding a bit as we keep our eye contact, and I keep hold of the soft hand of his. It's warm at the palm, and cool at his fingers, making me worried briefly for the state of his health. Still, it's a mindless comfort of knowing right where he is, looking back at me.

Seconds pass, and then minutes. It starts dragging onto a staring competition--one where I feel set to win as I'm now stuck on the sight of his strong grey eyes. They're less harsh now, softened by the night and the alcohol in his blood. They're nearly human. Like I could do this forever.

I contemplate doing so briefly, but the touch of his hand and gravity of his gaze keeps me longing for such an odd moment.

It finally breaks when I yawn, noticing how flushed his cheeks are now. I bet they'd be warm to the touch. “Tired,” I mumble, eyes finally falling shut. I feel his hand loosen. “I think I'm gonna get ready for bed.”

His hand drops mine fully, and as I'm opening my eyes, he's already retreating to his room. I can't help but feel empty, watching the door of his swing shut and closing him away. As if there was a missing touch there, or a final word, before we let this night rest.

I'm too tired to fight it, and just slightly buzzed enough to respect it. So, I take my leave to my own room, letting our moment pass us by.

#carry on #snowbaz #fanfiction #fanfic #fic #mine #simon snow #tyrannus basilton grimm pitch #tyrannus basilton grimm-pitch #baz pitch #simon #baz #proximity (the collision of lonely men)#p(tcolm)

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britesparc · 5 years

Text

Weekend Top Ten #380

Top Ten Favourite Moments at E3 2019

I have to concede it was a slightly disappointing year. Maybe I was just too excited and had set unrealistic expectations. But most of the big games were already announced, and Microsoft didn’t really say anything we didn’t know regarding their next console. But there were at least one or two really cool moments – one of which is probably going to be held up as one of the big E3 moments of the modern age. And so, with no further ado, here’s my list of favourite E3 moments. Nowt much to add, let’s get onto the list!

Keanu! Yeah, this is it. At the end of a pretty but very grim trailer for Cyberpunk 2077 (which, sadly, seemed to be a cutscene that failed to show anything about how the game played), all of a sudden a character appears talking to the player, and it’s only bloody Keanu Reeves. Then the doors parted, smoke billowed, and he is come among us. “You’re breathtaking!” someone shouted (less weird than it sounds in context). He was suitably hyped, seemed to have a vague idea of what he was talking about, and really just cemented his position as the grooviest, coolest, nicest guy in showbiz. It was during the Microsoft conference, and managed to steal all the thunder from Microsoft’s other reveals before they had time to make them; arguably, it even stole all the thunder from Cyberpunk, too. Who cares about violent Blade Runner homages when here’s Ted Theodore Logan to tell us that we’re breathtaking, too?

Game Pass Ultimate! I love Game Pass. I think it’s a really good deal. I also think it’s not really for me, not in the medium term; I have too big a backlog of bought games, not enough time, and, frankly, not enough money. I get my Gold and that’ll do for now. But Ultimate, which rolls in Game Pass for both PC and console, as well as Gold, sounds like it’s probably the future (especially once they roll in xCloud too). But really this is here just because they did the best deal I think I’ve ever seen in gaming. Try Game Pass Ultimate for £1, they said; cool, I said, gives me an opportunity to check out Void Bastards and get back on Crackdown 3. What they didn’t say is that, for £1, they convert your existing Xbox Live Gold to Game Pass Ultimate for the duration of your subscription; in my case, next May. So – having already paid for Gold – I’ve now essentially got eleven months of games for £1. £1. That’s crazy. Thank you, Microsoft.

Star Wars! They’d sorta shown Star Wars Jedi: Fallen Order before E3, but the extended gameplay that they demoed during both the E3 presentation and the MS one has made me quite excited. I like both Titanfall games so I’m already fond of Respawn, and I’m a long-standing fan of Star Wars games. I’ve seen some sniffing at this, but I think it looks terrific; sufficiently like Jedi Knight (or, more specifically, Jedi Knight II and Jedi Academy) to whet my appetite. It looks more fun than Force Awakens; faster, frothier, brighter, and with better combat. In short: I have a good feeling about this

LEGO Star Wars! In a way, even more exciting, even if I’ve already played a LEGO version of two-thirds of this game. But my understanding is that this is all-new, a journey through nine films retold through the medium of LEGO. My near-religious adoration of LEGO games, plus Star Wars, plus the fact that LEGO Star Wars was the game that started this crazy franchise in the first place, means this will be a must-have next year.

Animal Crossing! I guess we all knew it was coming but it was simply delightful to see: the Switch version of Animal Crossing. Not being a fundamentalist Nintendo fan, I’ve not played a Crossing since the DS, but I am a big fan of the games (I remember insisting one December 31st that I ring in the New Year with my DS open, just to see what it was like over partying with the Animals). The new one looks gorgeous; beautiful, cute visuals, a really nice semi-tropical setting, little touches that I can imagine will just make day-to-day gameplay more appealing, and some great multiplayer options. I know everyone else is disappointed that it’s been pushed back slightly to next Spring, but that fits in better with other games I’ve got to play (including Fallen Order at Christmas) so job’s a guddun as far as I’m concerned. Roll on 2020.

Zeldas! Plural! I never had a Gameboy (or a NES, or a SNES; technically I never had an N64 or a GameCube either, although I did live with people who had them at the time); I never played the original Link’s Awakening. Everyone goes on and on about it but it holds precisely zero emotional attachment for me. But I do like Zelda games; even if I’ve never spent a phenomenally long time with any of them, really, I do like them, and I’d love to really sink my teeth into Breath of the Wild. The art style of the Awakening remake is phenomenal; it doesn’t look like it’s revolutionising the gameplay but it’s simply beautiful to behold. And then at the end, a darker-tinged Breath sequel? Even I find that exciting, and I’ve barely played Breath as it is. I suppose one of the true game announcement surprises this E3.

Watch Dogs! Yes, I know! I’ve never played a Watch Dog. They look a bit generic, if I’m honest. And dense. Another big open-world game for me to sink time I have into. The new one being set in London is quite nice, although prospect of playing a post-Brexit London just feels depressing, if I’m honest. However! The video they showed looked really good fun. True, the London they showed did not look recognisably London-ish, but the gameplay looked crazy. Helen, the geriatric assassin, flopping over barriers and tasering people? Yes please. More ninja grannies in games. And the lady who fought like John Wick, kung fu-ing mofos before shooting them once in the head? Incredible. I want an entire game of that. Will I get Watch Dogs Legion? Probably not. But I’d like to play it.

Scarlett! I know, I know. It’s not what I predicted, and not what I wanted. But when I think about it, I was being a bit unrealistic. I suspected, based on what I know about the industry and what I read about available technology, that in al likelihood the next Xbox console would be coming out Christmas 2020. So how much were they likely to show eighteen months prior? No name, no box, no price. Figures. So in that respect, I guess it was disappointing, but it was really nice to hear them talk about the future of Xbox. It’s interesting that, from what we know so far, it appears identical to the PS5. but, really, it’s the confidence of Microsoft in the future of the brand and the consoles we’ll play in years to come that’s reassuring. Bit bummed out that Nintendo didn’t offer any new hardware either, mind.

Double Fine! Microsoft’s rampant acquisition of companies continues apace, which reassures me when approaching a new console generation. It’s still too early, really, to see the fruits of these developer purchases: incoming games from the likes of Ninja Theory will have been well underway before they saw juicy MS dollars. Buying Double Fine is a surprise, and a welcome one for me; I’ve been delighted by so much of their output (Brutal Legend, Costume Quest, underrated puzzle game Scurvy Scallywags); and I’ve loved Tim Schafer since his LucasArts days. It was Schafer’s hilarious onstage appearance that most appealed though: claiming he’d do anything MS asked, “Halo stuff, Forza stuff”. A self-deprecating wit so rarely seen on an E3 stage.

Devlolver Em-Effing Direct! The Devolver Digital “press conferences” are a witty riposte to the earnestness of E3. Foul-mouthed, hyper-violent spectacles that lampoon sacred cows of the videogame industry and dare to ask questions of the way in which things are done – as well as actually announce cool new stuff – they serve as an amusing if throat-stinging chaser after days of corporate doublespeak. This year they turned their bloodshot gaze onto “Direct” videos; apt given the number of big publishers who eschewed a showfloor presence in favour of a tailored YouTube stream. A steady flow of deep-cut RoboCop references was the order of the day, along with some surprisingly dense continuity and another cliffhanger ending. Can’t we do these more than once a year?

There we are; not necessarily a banner year, given that it was the last gasp of a fading generation. But plenty to like and a few surprises. I guess it’s a bit weird that it’s not really the news of individual games that I will be taking away from E3 2019; rather, it’s moments and services and promises of the future.

So was I right about any of my ridiculous predictions? Well, a bit. Microsoft and Nintendo didn��t divulge any concrete details on their consoles; nor did Ninty really pull a classic out of their hat. But there was a second Star Wars game alongside Fallen Order (LEGO Star Wars: The Skywalker Saga); there will be “xCloud shenanigans” this autumn, if not quite in the way I predicted; there was a “Big game on Switch”, but it was The Witcher 3; no “Minecraft 2” but there was Minecraft Dungeon. Most of the other predictions didn’t really happen, however. I nearly suggested something big would end up an Epic Store exclusive, but I was trying to be positive, and I didn’t really want that to happen; lo and behold, here comes Shenmue 3. So – considering it was more of a wishlist than a realistic prophecy – I’m pretty pleased with how it turned out.

#top ten #e3 #e3 2019 #microsoft #nintendo #keanu reeves #games #gaming #devolver digital #double fine #project scarlett

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sknews7 · 4 years

Text

Tottenham v Everton: Premier League – live! | Football

4.36pm BST16:36

6 min Kane lobs a go over the defence in direction of Son, who’s properly tracked by Coleman. Kane is such an underrated passer.

4.34pm BST16:34

5 min On the different finish, Richarlison tries a shot on the flip however misses his kick and falls over.

Up to date at 4.34pm BST

4.33pm BST16:33

Three min Kane flicks a stunning go out to Son on the left. He cuts infield, makes use of the overlapping Davies by not utilizing him and drives a low shot from 20 yards that’s comfortably saved by Pickford.

4.31pm BST16:31

1 min It appears like Everton are enjoying a 4-1-4-1 with James on the correct wing and Richarlison the left. Allan is barely deeper than the opposite central midfielders.

Up to date at 4.31pm BST

4.25pm BST16:25

It’s a stunning sunny afternoon in north London, and the gamers have their enterprise faces on.

4.24pm BST16:24

“This Everton lineup is a far cry from the crew that beat Sheffield United 1-Zero again in July, am I proper?” says Matt Burtz. “ Cautious optimism is all the time the secret prior to each season, however I believe it’s truly justified now. If nothing else, Allan can fill the Idrissa Gueye function that was sorely unfilled final marketing campaign. In fact, in the event that they lose 3-Zero at present, please fake I by no means wrote this.”

4.22pm BST16:22

“Very a lot a facet notice to the brand new signings and excessive profile managers on this conflict, however is that this the primary assembly between Son and Gomes because the unlucky harm?” says Duncan Edwards. “Whilst high execs and respectable blokes I ponder what each are considering.”

They performed towards one another in July as properly. I doubt one thing like that ever leaves you, thoughts.

4.14pm BST16:14

“That is what’s nice concerning the Premier League,” says Mary Waltz. “The brand new signings have lifted this Everton’s fan conventional pessimism. For at the very least one recreation I can ignore my groups multi-year sample of soul-crushing mid-table mediocrity. James will regain his Colombian World Cup kind. All is properly on the planet, at the very least for the subsequent half hour.”

4.13pm BST16:13

“Night Rob, thrilling recreation at present with 1-Zero written throughout it,” says Yash Gupta. “As a Spurs fan I discover the media has downplayed Mourinho and Spurs this season. The place do you see Spurs ending?”

A lot is determined by Harry Kane. If he stays match and will get again to his 2016-18 finest they might end third; if not, someplace between fourth and seventh I suppose.

4.09pm BST16:09

In defence of Jose

“I actually don’t perceive the blatant racism positioned on Jose Mourinho by Guardian newsmen,” writes Pedro Maia. “Had this been directed to every other individual with such wonderful outcomes it might be greater than sufficient cause for public outcry however with Mou evidently being extraordinarily competent at his job permits so that you can abuse the person.

“I hope this may be averted by having honesty introduced up into the dialogue when speaking about Mou. He’s each a beautiful human being and an incredible strategist. Pelting him is simply deriding the accuracy that’s the watermark of most the Guardian sections.”

I like Mourinho lots, and would sincerely love him to win the Premier or Champions League with Spurs after which inform the world what time it’s. I agree that he isn’t judged pretty or rationally and that he’s an distinctive strategist/analyst. However in the previous few years he hasn’t received near both of these massive prizes and has fallen out with a helluva lot of individuals at varied golf equipment. I hope I’m unsuitable, however I believe the likeliest situation is that it’ll occur once more at Spurs. Loads of nice managers – and Mourinho was clearly that – lose their manner within the second half of their careers.

Up to date at 4.10pm BST

4.04pm BST16:04

“‘The massive summer season signings for either side all begin’, eh?” sniffs Matt Dony. “No signal of Joe Hart in that Spurs line-up…”

3.35pm BST15:35

Workforce information

The massive summer season signings on either side all begin. We’re not sure what formation Everton will play, although I reckon it’ll be a midfield diamond.

Spurs (4-2-3-1) Lloris; Doherty, Alderweireld, Dier, Davies; Hojbjerg, Winks; Moura, Alli, Son; Kane. Substitutes: Hart, Sanchez, Aurier, Lamela, Sissoko, Ndombele, Bergwijn.

Everton (doable 4-D-2) Pickford; Coleman, Keane, Mina, Digne; Allan; Doucoure, Andre Gomes; James; Calvert-Lewin, Richarlison. Substitutes: Virginia, Kenny, Sigurdsson, Davies, Walcott, Bernard, Kean.

Referee Martin Atkinson.

Up to date at 4.28pm BST

3.23pm BST15:23

Preamble

Whats up and welcome to dwell protection of a gathering between the Premier League’s everlasting optimists. Regardless of perpetual disappointment, Spurs and Everton all the time come again for extra with a hopeful manner and an open chequebook. This time the optimism stems from the very fact it’s their first full season underneath two of probably the most profitable managers of the fashionable period, Jose Mourinho and Carlo Ancelotti. Everton, too, have made some intriguing signings, notably the darling of the 2014 World Cup, James Rodriguez.

It’s an enormous season for each golf equipment. This is perhaps Mourinho’s final likelihood to point out he’s nonetheless appropriate with the fashionable footballer. And if Everton’s refurbished squad can’t enhance on final season’s 12th place, they are surely in hassle.

Kick off 4.30pm.

Up to date at 3.30pm BST

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believeinwinxofficial · 7 years

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World of Winx 2 Review

After spending my time watching World of Winx 2 yesterday, I have to say that I have quite enjoyed my time watching this season. The series begins by showcasing the Winx in silver outfits (love them by the way!) playing their gig at Gardenia with Annabelle and Louise before heading on a worldwide tour as a musical group.

I will divide my review in several parts. Feel free to read the entire review for the full experience or whichever section that catches your eye:

~The Nemeses~

As the season progresses, each Winx will have to fight and defeat her own nemesis created by Tinkerbell in order for the Winx girl to overcome her fears. Bloom was facing Vertigo, who was infesting Bloom’s head so only she can see her. Vertigo played Bloom’s weakness - her friends - in an attempt to hurt the Winx.

Stella’s nemesis, Obscura, went on to manipulate Stella with illusions and mimicry of her friends and children from Stella’s past. It was revealed how Stella’s gravely hurt when everyone mocks her. This really hits Stella deep, as she’s always optimistic and Obscura managed to tap into Stella’s childhood when she used to be bullied by others.

On the other hand, Aisha’s nemesis, Sinka, takes advantage of Aisha’s impulsive and hasty nature in order to charge up her energy using Aisha’s attacks to to overpower her.

Flora’s nemesis Stoney, Tecna’s nemesis Virus, and Musa’s nemesis Banshee, take on a much different approach; especially Banshee. Those nemeses rather exploit the Winx’s physical weaknesses as a battle tactic. Banshee shot energy blasts that seem to be wind-based while Stoney destroyed all the nature around Flora, leaving her helpless for a while. Virus was able to take control over the Winx’s brains (except Tecna’s) and played with the girls as puppets in the sake of destroying Tecna.

Overall, the nemesis were solid enemies. Their only problem is, despite all of the power they’ve got, the key to defeat each one of them was simple. Bloom and Stella had to believe in themselves and their friends, Musa had to play some soothing music, Aisha had to patiently wait for her nemesis’s power to wear off, Flora simply tapped into her powers to counterattack Stoney, while Tecna had a little help from Matt (who would’ve thought!) as he telepathically spoke to her, telling her to let go of logic and to follow her instinct; in which she did, and was able to defeat Virus using Peter Pan’s sword as a weapon.

I guess the logic behind the slogan of “the bigger they are, the harder the fall” applies in this case. I wasn’t really impressed by how the nemesis were defeated, but at least the girls put up a decent fight. The appearance of each nemesis was striking and scary to say the least. They were fit for such ruthless enemies. The designs were well thought-out and they really highlight what Rainbow’s animation department is capable of. But enough talking about the nemeses, I’ll move onto the next part of my review.

~The Plot~

The season revolves around the Winx trying to find Peter Pan’s son, Matt to make Tinkerbell good again all while trying to perform their concerts around the world and helping troubled allies in Neverland. It was fun to watch the Winx travel to London to meet Wendy Darling (Surprising to see her an old lady, isn’t it?) in hopes of finding a clue about Peter Pan. It felt refreshing to see the Winx take guidance from someone older than them once again. One thing I disliked in the early parts of the season, however, is that in one of the episodes, Smee tries to kidnap Matt based on Jim’s order, although it was later revealed that Jim betrayed Smee and pretended he had nothing to do with the kidnapping. In fact, almost an entire episode was spent chasing after Smee! It felt like this was never utilized very well, leaving me daunted.

Once Matt was safe, Aisha had no issues being verbal about her disliking of him. She was tasked into training Matt to be a real warrior in order to help him face the queen, but soon finds out that she lacks the patience and faith in Matt to complete the training. The Winx ask Jim for his help in training Matt, but he also wasn’t able to assist Matt in his disconcerting task . As a final spark of hope, Jim suggested taking Matt to Tiger Lily; the best fighter in Neverland. Jim mentions that Tiger Lily will be able to help him train to be a true warrior, but once the Winx were able to locate her, even she admits she cannot help him.

However, one surprising twist of events takes its toll to reveal that Tiger Lily is in contact with the spirit of the World of Dreams, disclosing a prophecy that Matt will save the realm with his father’s (Peter Pan) sword. I did not expect Matt, the blabber mouth and braggart, to be prophesied into saving Neverland. I found this to be a clever twist, as we never really saw the Winx relying on someone else in order to defeat a villain in the finale.

To be blunt, I am unfortunately not a big fan of the plot. I expected to see more of Neverland and its wondrous areas, but we ended up discovering it’s all deserted and barren of all life and colors to the point it was not an interesting element anymore. Matt had fallen in love with Tinkerbell by simply staring into a constellation that aligns as her face, and Tinkerbell shared the feelings after meeting him for three minutes. The Winx never transform to aid themselves even when nobody’s around. I was also annoyed by how the Winx wanted to give Tinkerbell a second chance even though she destroyed Neverland, kidnapped talents, banished Jim, and other heinous acts after she simply apologized.

Matt ends up saving Tinkerbell from the hands of Jim, who banished the Winx and ordered the mermaids living in Neverland’s lagoon to keep an eye on Tinkerbell. Once she was freed, she turned good again and helped the Winx in the final battle against Jim. Jim basically turned Neverland’s own version of the Tree of Life into a giant flying battleship, opening a portal to the World of Nightmares in an attempt to cross it to rule both worlds. He was eventually trapped inside the WoN as Smee had previously stowed away and pushed Jim off of the ship.

As I said earlier, I am not very pleased with the plot. Although it was entertaining and original as it took surprising turns, I feel it could have been a lot better. There were no brilliant magical tricks, not enough transformations, and certainly no glamour. The season felt it lacks the magical element and sense compared to the other seasons of Winx, as the girls have never showcased their abilities in a way that left me feeling astonished or at least visually impressed.

~The Transformation~

There isn’t much to say about Onyrix, as its requirements were ... none. The spirit of the World of Dreams simply gave the Winx the power of Onyrix to help defend the realm from danger, and its transformation sequence made me chuckle at times. It still doesn’t beat Butterflix’s cheesiness, but it sure felt like it was another fashion show cough Tynix cough. The Winx were dressed in what resembles jumpsuits that look elegant at the top, to hilariously end with what resembles 70′s disco pants’ bottom.

Aisha’s wings were resampled from her Harmonix, while Bloom’s hair and wings were taken from her Butterflix. Not to mention that Tecna’s Onyrix feels no different from her Dreamix. If no one has noticed yet, every girl is wearing her secondary color as her main one, except for Musa and Stella. There has been some frequent pink, dark lime, purple, and green in Bloom’s, Tecna’s, Aisha’s, and Flora’s clothing colors respectively. Those colors weren’t exactly always present in the Winx’s transformations, but they did play a theme of their own as secondary colors. In Aisha’s case, it was mostly a mix of blue and green, but we’ve seen Aisha with some purple as a complementary color at times.

~The Secondary Characters~

I have to say, the show really conveyed the side characters very well this time. They didn’t feel useless or out of place like we’re used to, and they all played important roles to help the plot further evolve. The pirates were ill-mannered yet loyal, Tiger Lily was harsh yet supportive, and I couldn’t believe my eyes when I saw that the Crocodile and Alligator Men were actually on the same side as the Winx!

I quite enjoyed how the secondary characters had a spunk to them; they all had an aura of fight and zeal I couldn’t help but to love all of them! On a final note, the fact that each character remained an indispensable part throughout the show throughout felt like a huge improvement from Rainbow’s part. It was just like Flora said in the sixth episode: “A single snowflake looks so fragile, but we all know what they can do when you put them all together!”

...Though one thing was left unexplained. How did the pirates lose their magic in the first place?

~The Plot-Twisted Ending~

Okay, so Venomya is actually a witch whose name is Baba Yaga, inspired from the Slavic folklore of so many stories. I have no idea why did the witch wait until the end to reveal her identity, and in the midst of a concert as well. Baba Yaga flat out chased the Winx from a country to country to write bad reviews about them, until eventually revealing she wants to summon a coven of witches.

Though I guess it was an anticipation mechanic by Rainbow to further raise the anticipation (although it seems to make little sense to me.)

I’m not sure what to make of the end. Will there be a third season of WoW? Will the live action movie be based on Baba Yaga? Will the eighth season be based off of her even? So many questions aroused in my mind, and the cliffhanger ending of the season left me hooked and definitely hyped for what’s more to come!

Overall, I am impressed by this season.

However, I can’t help but feel disappointed that the Winx did not use any spectacular magical spells. The show obviously was a great entertainment for me with its diverse characters and engaging story, and the plot certainly feels darker than ever (even more than season 7.) You have the mermaids manipulating Tinkerbell to commit suicide, a deep yet naive concept of love at first sight, creepy-looking villains, and ruthlessness showcased by Tinkerbell’s actions in the past and Jim’s sadistic future vision.

In spite of all of this, the experience felt less magical than ever before. Don’t get me wrong, there was plenty of action, just not enough magic and sparkles to give me my daily dose of Winx fantasy. WoW2 was great if you want to watch Martin Mystery or Totally Spies with a twist of magic, just not enough to give me the usual fairy tale vibes.

#winx #winx club #world of winx 2 #world of winx #worldofwinx #winxclub

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strayraccoon · 7 years

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End of Unchanging Days pt.4

part 1 [link] part 2 [link] part 3 [link] part 4 [link]

Last part of this fic. I might write more crossovers in the future. If you’re curious, be sure to try playing Fallen London or Sunless Sea ^^

Tight alleyways of the Fifth City was something you're familiar with. It's a good method of travel when one wishes not to mingle with overzealous fans or annoying personae. Wet cobblestone under your feet, occasional crates and makeshift furniture used by homeless individuals, mixture of ammonia and coppery odor which would render one's nose numb, bloodshot gazes from individuals spending their idle days within maze-like alleyways. Should one walk about carelessly, they'll fall victim to a bucket of waste thrown out from nearby window.

'SHIIIIIT!!!!' Zapp exclaimed a second after a bucketful of human waste thrown onto him.

'Yeeesh…' Leonardo added as he pinched his nose and made some distance between him and the unfortunate man.

'Ewww!' Chain performed the same action with Leonardo, only more liberal with expressing her disgust. 'Now you're double dirty, stupid monkey'

Zed simply inclined his head and said 'Oh, I can fix that quickly' before forming a huge ball of water above his hands and submerged Zapp into it. He then absentmindedly made Zapp roll around inside the water ball before releasing him. The unfortunate man plopped onto wet cobblestone face down. Zed beamed in glee as he explained, 'Once I saw human using water in a box to wash their clothes, interesting contraption indeed. There's even wringer on it too'

Zapp quickly rose and choked Zed angrily, 'You idioooot! I'm not some dirty clothes!'

'Knock it off kiddo' K.K interjected, she didn't relent her gaze the moment Zapp glared at her. It was obvious who won in the staring contest. She looked at you before expertly changing the topic, 'We're close to the Black Horse. At this time he should be inside. How do you want to approach this?'

You looked at Leo putting an effort to separate Zapp and Zed for a second, then replied, 'Quiet, if possible. But, that's pretty much impossible is it?'

'No, Pearce would be in the gambling den at this time. He has a clay man with him too. So direct approach would be suicidal' Chain pondered as she leaned her back against alleyway wall. Yard siren blaring throughout the city. Despite so, she made an effort to remain calm.

'If direct and quiet don't work, we'll just have to make it a blast' Leo said confidently, grinning widely yet there's a hint of nervousness behind his cheerful nature.

Leo's plan included Zapp, Zed, and himself playing decoy at the Black Horse gambling den, mingling with the guests for a while before throwing select insult words at Pearce, deliberately starting a fight inside the gambling den. The fraud writer himself was not a problem, but his escort might. Both Zapp and Zed are confident in taking him on, though the latter worries about the den's security interference. Leo, who was supposed to be a lookout, was accidentally involved in the fistfight. He caught a couple of fist into his face but retaliated using whatever power his unique eye granted him. Several people were instantly stunned or imbalanced. That's when both Zapp and Zed mop the floor with them.

Pearce himself was hiding behind the den's bar, constantly barking order at his clay man. Other patrons of the gambling den simply cheered on the fistfight. Several guardsmen threw themselves at the trio, but sheer number couldn't even the odds. In fact, a couple of supporting shots from a Hawkeye added the trio's odd. There were electrical current running through each shot which added to the absurdity of the fight.

You and Chain sighed at the same time, witnessing the absurd scene. Nevertheless, with everyone's attention was aimed at commotion down in gambling parlor, the two of you managed to reach Pearce's apartment on the upper floors. There were a small number of guards which Chain incapacitated quickly and effectively. In fact, none of them realized it until too late. Chain wasn't keen in having you following her, but an alleyway is far more dangerous compared to a gambling parlor.

'Oh, wow, are you sure I'll fit in your group?'

'That's for Mister Klaus and Starphase to decide. But, there are a lot of us who don't actually fight' Chain answered as she dug her arm into a man's chest, incapacitating him effortlessly.

You entered Pearce's room, it is amusingly similar with yours. Small modest apartment room with papers and books strewn about its wooden floor. Inkwell and fountain pen on similarly modest wooden worktable. The only difference was the waft of cheap perfume and smoke instead of old books. Which is considerably makes sense, since Pearce is living inside a gambling den instead of bookstore. Nevertheless, you weren't expecting to find your unknown rival room to be so modest.

'You looked like you're taken aback, poeta' Chain called you back into reality.

'That name is going to stick, isn't it' you sighed, and continued 'Yes, I expected his room to be more…grandiose? Filled with velvet and Turkish carpet, perhaps. A hookah on the corner of the room. High quality furniture, bed with post and curtain. Cheap musk, maybe, and select alcohols he snitch from the bar downstairs'

'Then this makes this a case of simple jealousy. Not a conspiracy. Pretty boring, isn't it? Chain added, crossing her arms idly. 'Why bedpost though?'

'Uhm…there's a lot of things you can do at a bedpost. ' You answered vaguely, in endeavor not to divulge too much in front of polite company.

'Oh my. You have questionable tastes'

"Sue me. Let's just plant the…hold on' you were about to suggest for Chain to start planting 'evidence' inside Pearce room when you saw a couple of books under his bed. You reached towards it and dusted it. There were trace of golden letters on the front and the side of the hardcover. You skimmed the book for a minute. The content made you grin. 'We probably don't need our own 'evidence''

'Why? What's that book? Is he a revolutionary member after all?'

'No, it's a romance book' you grinned at Chain, and she made a small 'o' with her mouth before she started giggling.

It is a known fact that romance literature is banned in the Fifth City, any possession of such contraband would be enough to send someone to Tomb-Colony. Or at least heavy fine from the Yard with right connection and amount of money. Unfortunately for Darcy Pearce, a constable raid on the gambling den uncovered his contraband possession. As he has neither connection not monetary advantage, he was shipped off to Tomb Colony and his charges against a certain poet was waved off as mere literary jealousy.

In turn, the unfortunate poet received a pardon from the Duchess directly, as well as an invitation to perform in one of her salon. The event of at the night of incident was recreated inside a novel, which involved a Master of Criminal World whisking away the poet and a series of action packed scenes in a magical way. Obviously, the readers enjoyed the added flair from the writer's part and waved it off as a mere story. While in fact it's not in the slightest.

'So there you have it' Steven said in satisfied voice, closing his filer and putting it on nearby desk.

You were sitting on a sofa inside Libra's headquarters main room, serving both as office room, meeting area, and lounge for the member. The floor was a black and white checkered akin to chess board. Huge windows were behind executive director's desk. Various potted plants were placed strategically which enhanced the room's atmosphere. Unlike the Royal Bethlehem which boast luxury, this office room felt like home and more comfortable.

The trio sat beside you, each of them had bandages on various part of their body. The fight from the other night left some wounds on them. Despite so, they were smiling. You remembered Klaus was fussing over the three when they returned with wounds all over their body, especially towards Leo who is not used to fighting. You found it funny for such a composed gentleman to lose his composure due to his subordinate's condition.

K.K and Chain came out of the fight unscathed, with their respective ability not requiring them to confronting their enemies upfront. Chain did snitch one of the books from Pearce collection for 'research purposes'. Steven and Klaus had minor injury which took less time to recover compared to the trio.'

Steven giggled as he lifted your novel, 'Master of Criminal World, is it? You do have amazing imagination'

'Hey, who doesn't want to be whisked away like that?' you replied, grinning. Despite your recent literary success, you decided to stay in the bookstore. The melancholic owner did worry about your sudden disappearance and constables barging in all of sudden, screaming accusation about your allegiance to the revolutionary party. He was relieved when you returned almost unscathed, grossly sobbing on your good suit.

'Oh, my. That would be a dream' K.K added, 'But I already have hubby and children…*sigh*'

The supposedly 'Master of Criminal World' scratched his neck shyly, before declaring, 'Operation success, I suppose. One last thing is presenting our poeta to the Duchess. I'll be escorting you for the salon'

'Hitting the high society, eh? Good luck with that, poeta' Zapp said casually as he leaned his head against the sofa. 'I ain't interested'

'Well, you have none of their refined manner, monkey' Chain muttered under her breath.

'Say that again! She-dog!' Zapp caught her mockery.

'Not again, you two!' Leo snapped, avoiding just in time before Chain landed her heels on Zapp's face once again. Zed dragged you out of the way quickly as Zapp lost his balance and dropped on the sofa where you and Leo had sit seconds before. It would have been a domino of human should the two of you remained there.

'If you need better outfit, I can give some suggestion. Our poeta here does need a new one. Can't go to the Shuttered Palace without proper attire after all' K.K suggested, completely ignoring the youngsters breaking into a fight.

'Ohohoho, I can arrange that with young master's permission' Gilbert suggested as he handed you a cup of warm tea. The aroma was similar to your savior the night you escaped the bookstore.

'Please do, Gilbert'

'Once you're ready, master Poeta, I'll need to measure you' said Gilbert. You can tell from his eyes that he's smiling beneath the bandages. He then proceeded to prepare more tea expertly for everyone in the room.

'I knew it's going to stick' you groaned as every Libra members present had already calling you poeta as a nickname.

'Ahahaha' Steven laughed, definitely not apologetic as he's the one who accidentally nicknamed you. 'Speaking of which, you don't have to worry about our Pearce ever again. We made sure he's not coming back to Fallen London ever again'

All's well that ends well, you thought. Then you caught Klaus looked at your way, you swore you saw a hint of admiration in his gaze. Whatever it was, it was gone in a second. He approached you and once again extended his hand towards you. A similar scene played out, only the word was different and you couldn't be more confident of your answer.

'Welcome to Libra' Klaus said as he shook your hand firmly.

#kekkai sensen #rinn writes #I said might write more #but I got plots in my head already #if I know this going to happen I'd choose better name for Pearce damn it #he's going to be Dio #I wanted this to be neutral but apparently turned to be Klaus-centric aaaaaaa #bear man why

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culturalhealing · 5 years

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The serpent in the garden of Islam

A week on from the Easter Sunday terror attacks in Sri Lanka I went with my neighbour to her church to pay my condolences as a Muslim for the attack on Christians. It was a spontaneous decision stemming from the impulse to reach out with a heartfelt gesture of sympathy and solidarity.

It’s a small church, tucked away on the bend of a leafy East London residential street with big Victorian mansion houses. We got there midway through the service and we sat in the back pews where there was a cosy play area. A couple of children played with a soft ball and others were busy assembling a jigsaw puzzle while their parents listened to the sermon. The topic was angels, the vicar was cautioning the congregation not to fall into the mistake of worshipping angels instead of the one God, reminding them that there are also fallen angels like Satan ready to confuse them and take them off the path of goodness and God. As a Muslim, I too needed to hear that message.

At the end of the service my neighbour introduced me and I presented a bouquet of condolence flowers to the vicar. She invited me to say a few words. I said, I’m so sorry for the attack on churches in Sri Lanka, I’m Muslim and I’m bewildered and heartbroken that these people who also claim to be Muslim did this and that as a Muslim I was brought up to love Jesus and respect the Christian faith. Afterward, people were coming up to hug me and my son and to thank us for reaching out. One woman was crying, a young man came up to me and said , you don’t have to apologise we have extremist Christians too.

As news of the terror attacks in Sri Lanka broke on Easter Sunday I prayed, please let it not be Muslims who did this. But, our worst fears have of course come to pass, it is the monster called Islamist extremists that has struck again. Worst still some of the perpetrators of the carnage are not poor, persecuted or oppressed but the privileged sons of a spice merchant. Why would they do such a thing, walk into a sunny and cheerful breakfast room full of families and detonate themselves? What a pointless and cowardly act! Perhaps they felt guilty for all the interest accumulating in their fat bank accounts and wanted to wash away their sins with a fast track ticket to paradise. What a selfish, narrow, perverted idea of absolution. Their actions, if political have certainly been a complete and utter waste. What they did can only make life worse for their community and fan the flames of fear and hate toward Muslims everywhere .

As peaceful law abiding Muslims we do not understand nor recognise our faith in the actions of these unmerciful terrorists. I can understand why the idea that these terror attacks, in particular the 9/ 11 twin tower attacks were in fact not by Muslims but red flag operations by agitators masquerading as Muslims or, that ISIS’s leader Al Baghdadi is in fact a Mossad agent are so popular . But, turning to conspiracy theories or denial will not help us address the problem from within. With Al Baghdadi appearing in the media after a 5 year absence to promise more attacks we as Muslims can no longer stand on the sidelines and say, the actions of extremists have nothing to do with us. It is time to face the fact that as Muslims we are tainted by the actions of these extremists. It is not a question of apologising but of making loud and clear the distinction in thinking, in values and beliefs between us as peaceful law abiding Muslims and the extremists.

I think of Islamist terrorism as the serpent in the garden of Islam. Neither apologising for the serpent, condemning it every time it wreaks havoc or ignoring it will be effective. The serpent has to be expelled, rejected entirely. Those of us who have a beautiful, tolerant, gentle, life affirming understanding of our faith must come together and raise our voices as one. We have to challenge the narrow, austere and intolerant interpretations of our faith. In the same way that we protect and raise the awareness of our children and young people against drugs and other bad influences we must protect them from extremist interpretations of Islam. Our children need to understand that what the extremists do is misguided, that in fact it is the work of Satan rather than a martyrdom, that there are better and more effective ways for addressing legitimate political concerns.

Going to the church taught me, we have to go out into the community, reach out to our neighbours and meet them half way. We can not afford to simply distance ourselves from what extremist Muslims do in our name, we must strive to be part of the solution. If we stand on the sidelines our insularity will be mistaken for arrogance or indifference. As Muslims we are not homogenous nor institutionally organised but we must find a way to speak with one voice against all manifestations of Islamist extremism. Ignoring, denying or tolerating the serpent in the garden of Islam will undermine the integrity of our faith as well as our place in the communities we live among.

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cynthiajayusa · 6 years

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Keira Knightley Werks the Queer Narrative, Talks ‘Colette’

You know what’s to love, actually? How Keira Knightley has now played enough feminist roles to know her character, Juliet, in the bubbly holiday classic Love Actually doesn’t exactly fall into that category. In the Christmas rom-com, Juliet is the object of not one but two men’s desire, and copious close-up shots insist on telling us what we’ve already known: Keira Knightley is breathtakingly beautiful.

The 33-year-old actress was just 17 when 2003’s Love Actually was filmed. Since then, Knightley’s genre-spanning roles throughout her 23-year career have often positioned her as a heroine in girl-power period films, women characterized by their liberated state of mind (2008’s The Duchess) and patriarchal-defying genius (2014’s The Imitation Game, as Alan Turing’s mathematician-fiancée Joan Clarke). Real-life bisexual novelist Sidonie-Gabrielle Colette, who ghost wrote for author-husband Henry Gauthier-Villars (known as “Willy” and played by Dominic West) until she reclaimed her autonomy and byline, is right within Knightley’s wheelhouse of women smearing their male oppressors. Take Colette, whose 1944 book Gigi was adapted into a movie musical that won nine Oscars in 1959, including best picture.

Written and directed by out director and fellow Englander Wash Westmoreland (Still Alice), Colette is a tribute to his late husband and collaborator, Richard Glatzer, who died from the progressive neurodegenerative disease ALS. In the hospital before he passed away in 2015, Glatzer, who could not speak, typed “C-O-L-E-T-T-E” to Westmoreland on an iPad to communicate that his – but in many ways, their – next project should be “Colette.”

Recently, Knightley called to talk about her special connection to gay directors such as Westmoreland (and James Kent, who directs her in the forthcoming The Aftermath), her enthusiastic response to a Bend It Like Beckham sequel where best friends Jules and Jesse are lesbian lovers, and her desperate plea to drag queens.

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You’re so good in this I wouldn’t be mad if all you do is play period bisexuals for the rest of your career.

Well, thank you very much! I’ll quote you on that.

Is there a special relationship between gay directors and female actors such as yourself that helps in telling a story like this one?

That’s an interesting question! Yes, I think so. I think that there’s that quality of having to fight for your space and fight for your right to be who you feel you are and fight for your voice. So yes, I think there’s a similarity in those two aspects, and one I think, probably, Wash identified with in the story of Colette.

When it comes to the male gaze, is there a difference in having a gay director direct a sex scene?

Yes and no. He did actually turn around when I think it was me and Eleanor (Tomlinson, who portrays bisexual American heiress Georgie Raoul‑Duval) and he was like, “You know, it’s really great ’cause there’s no male gaze here,” and I’m like, “Wash, there are only men in this room!” (Laughs) He’s like, “Yes, no – you know what I mean!” (Laughs) So yes, because sex is sort of taken out of it in a way, because obviously he doesn’t find me attractive, and that’s great (laughs). But I still think male sexuality in all of its forms is probably slightly different from female sexuality, so there are probably still subtle differences. But it is very nice to know that when I took my clothes off he didn’t get off on it at all.

Are there any other films you’ve worked on where you felt having a gay director helped in doing the story justice?

Yes. I worked with… oh my god… my brain’s just literally gone blank and I’ve forgotten every single other person’s name that I’ve ever worked with before. Wait, what the f*ck? He directed Aftermath. I can see his face. Oh my god, this is really annoying because literally I just spent eight weeks with him and he’s the loveliest man in the entire world.

But I don’t know whether it’s sexuality that does it or just – I think it’s the individual. Possibly gay men, because of their fight for their identity and to be accepted and accepting of themselves, understand that there’s a level of emotional intelligence, which often – not always – a heterosexual man will simply try to shut down. So I think that helps if you’re dealing with emotions, which you are when you’re making a film. It helps to have an emotional vocabulary and intelligence and openness. And look, I’m a heterosexual woman, so maybe I’m completely talking out of turn, but I do feel, because there is still a process of acceptance that gay men go through, that emotionally they can be very, very intelligent and open and accepting.

Did Colette’s approach to sexuality speak to you in any profound or personal way?

Yes, because she was entirely natural to herself and she acted without shame. What a wonderful, positive way of looking at your sexuality and the people that you fall in love with. I really respected that about her. I loved that she was herself and that any rule that didn’t fit she just broke and made the life that she wanted to live. I think that’s a wonderful, empowering story, both from a feminist point of view and from the point of view of her sexuality.

Speaking of feminism, I have a feeling Colette wouldn’t love your character in Love Actually.

Probably not. (Laughs)

The men in that movie seem to have all the power, while your character is silent, cute; lots of close-ups of you looking pretty. How do you reflect on that role and what it says about women?

I hadn’t really until you just said that! But yes, I can see that. I was 17 when I played that one and I was so excited about just getting a role in a Richard Curtis film. You know, I think there were some pretty good strong women in that. Not that one, but the Martine McCutcheon character and the Emma Thompson character, which is so heartbreaking. I don’t know. I’d have to look at it again with that frame of my mind. I do, however, know Scarlett Curtis, who is Richard Curtis’ daughter and a radical-feminist activist, so he’s done something right there.

As for Emma Thompson, she sobs to Joni Mitchell. And her story doesn’t have the happiest or even most empowered of endings.

But strong people are allowed to break down; it doesn’t mean you don’t have emotions. You just have to then pick yourself up and stand up again. See, the problem is, I haven’t actually seen it since it came out, which was over 10 years ago, so actually I don’t remember quite enough to be able to argue either way. You really, really know it, so I feel like I’m just gonna have to go with whatever you say. (Laughs)

You played gay computer scientist Alan Turing’s fiancée in Imitation Game. Have you ever fallen in love with a gay man before?

No, luckily. I feel very fortunate in that, ’cause that would be tricky!

Rumor has it that Bend It Like Beckham was originally written as a lesbian love story?

I never read that version of the script! I mean, not as far as I know. But you might have information that I don’t have. No, the only version of the script that I ever read was the one that we shot, so it was as it was.

A lot of people in the LGBTQ community wanted Jess and Jules to be a couple in the end.

Fuck yeah! That would’ve been amazing. I think they should’ve been too. I think that would’ve been great. We need a sequel.

You’ve worn some fabulous period wigs over the years – is that your real hair in Colette?

No, I don’t think so. I think we had wigs, always through. Because there were so many different styles, and short, long. I think when it’s long we used some of my hair with some extensions, and then when it was short, it was a wig.

Do you realize how many drag queens are gonna be jealous of the one you wear in your role as the Sugar Plum Fairy in your forthcoming film The Nutcracker and the Four Realms?

Oh, dude, yes. Hell yes. You know, we actually designed it with them in mind. I was so pleased. It was my first time where I could actually be like a drag queen, and I was so excited. We were all talking about it at the time; we were like, “Come on, this is the most amazing drag outfit,” and honestly, I was really excited because normally you have to be so subtle in films and I got these really long, fake eyelashes – I can’t remember whether we used them – but with bits of glitter over them, and we were all like, “This is perfect drag queen attire.” It was so amazing, and I think there are some amazing drag queens out there who are gonna wear it even better than I did. I hope that this film inspires some amazing costumes.

You sound like you could be an avid watcher of RuPaul’s Drag Race.

Everybody’s a fan! Yeah, there’s a bit of Drag Race watching. And then there’s a great drag night in East London, which I used to go to when I could go out before I had a child, which was always fun. So can I just put that out there: Please, please let there be a drag queen somewhere who will be in a Sugar Plum Fairy outfit.

As a teenager, you were told your kiss with a gay female friend you went to prom with wasn’t appropriate. What did that experience teach you about LGBTQ discrimination, and how did it influence you as an ally for the community?

I thought it was bullshit at the time. Bullshit… bullshit! Our picture was not put up (on the event’s photo wall) because it was deemed not appropriate. I’m not sure it was that particular experience that influenced me; I just remember thinking that was stupid and I think I’ve thought that – always along the line – any discrimination against people because of their sexuality has been utterly ridiculous. It was the way I was brought up, and so I’ve never questioned gay rights. So yes, that was one of them; but no, I don’t think that was my sort of awakening. I’ve always had family with many gay friends, and people in the LGBTQ community have always been around me all my life and have been wonderful friends.

source https://hotspotsmagazine.com/2018/10/04/keira-knightley-werks-the-queer-narrative-talks-colette/ from Hot Spots Magazine https://hotspotsmagazin.blogspot.com/2018/10/keira-knightley-werks-queer-narrative.html

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demitgibbs · 6 years