#brits: no were not european

[linogram]

its all "follow the local customs" until it comes to tipping in the us

[sobashahzadi]

so here’s a recording of me and my bro talking about ie

I am so sorry to anyone that watches this

[farawayfromthemoon]

cmon Berlin you can do better 🥲

[feminariden]

I was talking with my mom about Gandhi vs Ghandi i just told her "yeah the english decided to spell it that way"

[the-best-bagel]

i think most of the white ppl feeling like they have no culture stuff stems from a lack of connection to their communites. if you go nowhere and talk to no one then yea youre not really participating in the culture of your area. eat produce grown by ppl in your area go to county fairs check out the annual things in your area, thats your culture. like to give an overly simple answer if you live in america then americana is pretty likely to be part of your culture

[adascore]

The Missed Swap

pairing: alexia putellas x england!reader

warnings: swearing. reader receives a push. jealous alexia. mentions of alexia doing her acl.

author's note: finally finished this!! love writing about the complexity of their rivalry!

part 1 | masterlist

•••••••

The press conference room was filled with all sorts of journalists; Spaniards, Brits or just avid women's football researchers who were hyped about the upcoming friendly between Spain and England.

Between Y/N and Alexia rested only a few metres, their respective coaches accompanying them. Sarina and her captain sat composed waiting on the start of the conference, while their opposition exuded a calm confidence that would have intimidated any other pair.

Despite the heartwarming interaction at the Champions League final a month prior, there was no evidence of any kind of friendship as the two star players avoided each other's eyes, and any traces of the camaraderie from Turin seemed distant.

In an attempt to break the ice, Alexia discreetly sought a glance from the striker, hoping for a sign of recognition or acknowledgment, but the Spaniard was only met with a polite smile from Sarina.

The midfielder felt almost stupid for having looked forward to this, seeing her again after Turin. She'd hoped it was the start of a change, one where they could talk to one another without the forced formalities and could even become friends.

Yeah, she felt incredibly stupid.

The moderator signaled the start of the pre-match press conference. ''Good morning, everyone. Welcome to the press conference with Spain coach and captain Jorge Vilda and Alexia Putellas, as well as England coach and captain Sarina Wiegman and Y/N Y/L. We are going to start with the questions.''

The first few minutes were standard; asking about the expectations, main thoughts about the opposition, how they were all feeling about the upcoming European Championships, etc. The four of them answered all the questions directly and in a diplomatic manner.

However, it was a certain Spanish journalist that decided to shake things up. ''Hello, everyone. This question is for Alexia,'' the man spoke up in his native language, ''after the Champions League final, we witnessed, what seemed, an emotional interaction between you and Y/N. Would you say your relationship has changed since then? Or was it just a moment for the camera's? Will it have any impact on the game tomorrow?''

Alexia maintained her diplomatic tone, carefully choosing her words. ''Good morning. The final in Turin was an intense and emotional moment for both of our teams. With Y/N, we share respect for football, the game. Now, we are here to represent our countries in preparation for the Euro's.''

The reporter, undeterred by the captain's media-trained answer, pressed with a sly smile. ''But is there a good relationship between you two? There seemed to have been a connection of some sorts.''

''I understand there might be interest in our personal relationship, but I want to focus on our match tomorrow.'' She answered with poise, not entertaining the controversy he was trying to stir.

Y/N couldn't help but smirk at the journalist's persistence. Despite not understand their language, it was clear Alexia hadn't given him the satisfaction of actually answering his question.

The moderator urged for someone else to take the microphone, quickly wanting to move on before it became more of an issue. The word was then given to an English journalist.

''Hi, for the Daily Mail,'' he greeted them, Y/N having to fight the urge to roll her eyes at the mention of for which news outlet he worked for, ''for Y/N, uh, many of the players of the Spanish team play for Barcelona, and we all saw what happened last month. Do you think their defeat had something to do with your presence or maybe that the rivalry between you and Alexia Putellas was a factor in that?''

Y/N raised an eyebrow at the loaded question, but remained composed. ''Every match is different, and Spain is also different from Barcelona. Football is a team sport, and the outcome of a match depends on a lot of different factors. I don't think it is fair to attribute the result of a match to the presence or absence of a single player. I mean- I'm a footballer, not a witch.'' She concluded her answer with a lighthearted joke, relieved it caused some of the tension in the room to disappear.

''A question for both the coaches,'' the conference moved on again, ''how do each of you feel about another meeting between Alexia and Y/N? They're not just the star players of your teams, but also of women's football. Does it add any excitement or pressure to the match?''

Sarina responded first. ''Well, every match is a great opportunity to have good battles, as a group or as individuals. They're both exceptional talents so it will be a treat to watch for all of us, but the main focus is on the team performance and preparing for the European Championship next month.''

Jorge nodded, seemingly agreeing. ''Individual matchups add excitement, but the success of the team remains a priority.''

The press conference concluded not much later, the four of them alleviated they could get up and leave.

As they exited, Y/N and Alexia found themselves walking side by side, albeit a bit awkwardly. The corridor felt like a neutral ground, free from the scrutiny of the media.

“They're always searching for stuff…” Y/N broke the silence, still somewhat frustrated over the questions about their personal relationship.

Alexia nodded in agreement, her expression reflecting a similar feeling. “Yeah, so stupid.”

The quietness returned, both women unsure of what to say.

“Congrats on winning the league again, by the way.” Alexia rambled, the words leaving her mouth like a speed train.

Y/N smiled, appreciating the attempt to continue the conversation. “Thanks, you too.”

“Thank you.” The midfielder hesitated, a subtle struggle visible on her face.

Alexia sighed, searching for the right words. “Look, about Turin…”

Y/N raised an eyebrow in curiosity. “What about it?”

There was a pause as they walked, the weight of unspoken words hanging in the air.

“I wanted to talk more, you know, after the match.” She admitted, a hint of vulnerability in her voice.

The England captain slowly nodded. “Ah, yeah, it looked like that, but then your coach whisked you away.” She awkwardly laughed.

“I don't know why he did that, it probably felt as weird to me as it did to you,” Alexia responded, “but I just wanted to thank you for your words, cause… you didn't have to come up to me, but you did.”

Y/N smiled warmly. “You really don't have to thank me. I know what it's like as captain, it's tough. It just felt like the right thing to do.”

“What you said about our growth and stuff, it means more than you think, you know, to the team.” The Spaniard quickly added the last bit, not wanting to get too sentimental.

“I'm glad if it brought a bit of comfort to your team. I meant it, you guys have really made a great transition.” Y/N wasn't by any means a great loser, but she would always give a team credit when it's due.

Alexia nodded appreciatively. “Thanks. I'm, uh, excited about tomorrow.”

The England captain grinned, feeling a subtle shift in their dynamic. "Yeah, it should be a good game.''

“Yes, it should. Hopefully it goes my way this time.''

Y/N loudly laughed at Alexia's words, taking the Barcelona midfielder by surprise. ''I didn't know you were this funny, Putellas.''

Alexia chuckled, a genuine smile breaking through.

“Y/N…”

The striker turned back to where the call of her name came from, and she was met with the hesitant face of Sarina.

She gave her coach a hand motion that said ‘I'm right there, let me wrap this up'. The Dutchwoman seemed to understand as she gave both players a nod.

“Uh, I gotta go- team stuff, but I'll see you tomorrow then.” Y/N bid goodbye.

“Yeah, tomorrow.”

Alexia watched her rival leave, eyes roaming over her athletic figure that was adorned in an England training kit that seemed to highlight every curve of her body.

The Spaniard had to shake herself out of her daze, not knowing what came over her.

As she turned to head in the opposite direction, she refocused herself on the game ahead and realized she had to put aside the emotions and complexities that seemed to find her every time she encountered the England captain.

It had already cost her one match, she wouldn't dare let it happen again.

The score wasn't reflective of how exciting and high-pressing the match actually was. Neither side had scored, but there had been plenty of great chances.

It also included a lot of fouls, specifically on the English captain by the Spanish players.

Y/N found herself on the receiving end of another rough challenge, this time from Carmona.

As the referee's whistle pierced through the stadium, signaling the foul, Y/N couldn't contain her frustration. “Fucking cunt.” She muttered under her breath.

The Real Madrid defender, catching wind of the insult, didn't take it lightly. “What did you say?” She exclaimed, responding with a push.

The striker didn't budge, simply giving her an unimpressed look. “I said you're a fucking cunt.” She repeated her words, not one bit intimidated.

The tension escalated, and the players from both teams rushed to get involved.

More of the Spanish players stepped in to defend the young player, throwing insults at Y/N. While the England players tried to form a protective barrier around their captain, not shy of vulgar words themselves.

Amidst the chaos, Alexia took a step forward, signaling to her Spanish teammates to calm down. “That's enough.” She told Olga, placing herself in-between the Brit and the defender.

“Let it go, it's just a friendly. No need for this.” Her authoritative tone resonated, and she managed to diffuse the situation.

Olga, still visibly upset, reluctantly stepped back, but mumbled some more Spanish swear words that had Patri giving her a light push.

Alexia, with an apologetic look, turned around to address Y/N, but Rachel intervened, pulling her captain away from the aftermath of the chaos.

“We need to take more advantage of the counterattacks, we're just giving everything away.” Rachel immediately focused back on the game, whispering her thoughts.

Y/N caught Alexia's intention, but let it go, redirecting her attention to the unfolding match.

In a retaliatory turn of events, Georgia committed a foul against Alexia.

The England captain didn't want it to escalate the way it had only a few minutes before, so she quickly addressed her teammate.

“G, tone it down!”

The midfielder gave a thumbs up and an apology to Alexia, which the Spaniard accepted.

The final whistle blew, ending the intense encounter with a draw. Both sides were disappointed not to walk away with the win, but the result felt right to the match.

As the players exchanged handshakes and words of sportsmanship, Y/N and Alexia found themselves facing each other once more.

“Good match.” They chorused, shaking hands with a content smile.

“I guess it didn't really go your way this time.” Y/N chuckled, recalling Alexia's words from the day before.

The midfielder laughed, relieved there was no tension between them anymore. “It was tough today. Great defense from your team.”

“Thanks, your attacks warranted it.” The Brit playfully rolled her eyes.

They walked together towards the officials to shake their hands, making small talk about the match.

“Hey… your shirt…” Y/N switched topics, pointing at the red Spain jersey.

“Yeah?” Alexia's eyes widened slightly, almost beaming at the fact that the striker would want to swap shirts.

“My teammate, Katie, she's quite the fan and would you do me a favor and like, ask her to exchange kits? She didn't get to play today and it would really cheer her up.”

A tinge of red colored Alexia's cheeks as she realized her misinterpretation. “Oh, uh, yeah, no problem.”

“You don't have to, if you want to keep the shirt.” Y/N noticed the slight expression change in the opposition's face.

“No, I really want to. I'll ask her, no big deal.” Alexia quickly brushed it off, embarrassed by her own thoughts.

“Thank you so much, it will mean a lot to her. Usually she's a chatterbox, but…” The striker trailed off.

Alexia nodded, finding it a sweet gesture of the rivaling captain.

“Uh, actually, could you do the same? One of the younger girls, Claudia, really looks up to you and would appreciate the shirt.”

The midfielder saw her younger teammate lingering not too far from where they were standing, not subtle in observing the captains' interaction.

“She's the small girl that's standing behind you.” Alexia smiled, laughing as Pina pretended to look at the crowd once she caught her Barcelona teammate watching her.

Y/N followed her eyes and gave Claudia a wave, which the girl shyly returned.

“I‘ll ask as well,” she softly responded, “uh, so I'll see you in the Euro's final then?” Y/N grinned, teasingly.

“Yeah, I'll see you there.”

As they parted ways, each player headed toward the teammate they had promised to exchange shirts with.

“ALEXIA PUTELLAS TEARS ACL BEFORE WOMEN's EUROS”

Y/N read the headline in utter shock, in disbelief that the Spain captain had tore her ACL in training, the day before the start of the tournament.

“You heard about Putellas?” Jill interrupted her thoughts, joining her in the lounge that had been set up for the team.

“Yeah.” She nodded, closing her phone.

“I feel for her.” The Manchester City player sympathized.

Y/N remained quiet, wondering how Alexia was doing- mentally then.

“Are you two friends?” Jill inquired, confused by the captain's silence.

She looked at her older friend, lifting her shoulders. “I don't know. We're not enemies.”

Intrigued by the cryptic response, Jill couldn't resist probing further. “You guys were laughing with each other after the Spain match.”

“Yeah, and?” Y/N chuckled, uncomfortable by her teammate's stare.

The midfielder raised an eyebrow. “What's the story?”

“There is no story, we just had a laugh.” The captain retorted.

“You used to shut down like a toddler whenever someone mentioned her, and now you're acting like buddies together. What happened, Cap?” Jill was properly confused on what the status was with the two football stars.

“I won, that's what happened.” Y/N opened her phone again, hoping her response was enough to satisfy Jill's curiosity.

The older one frowned. “Won what?”

“I won the final. Champions League. She lost.” It was a vague clarification, they both knew that.

“And that makes you friends?”

Y/N sighed, sensing the skepticism in Jill's tone. “You don't get it, Scott- be glad that you don't.”

“So what if you hadn't won?” Jill asked, a subtle gravity behind her question.

Y/N took a moment before responding, contemplating the hypothetical scenario. “There was no way I would have lost that final. Not in a hundred years.”

“So humble you are.” Her teammate sarcastically commented.

The captain dramatically winked at the older woman.

“But seriously… what is that?” Jill made a gesture with her hand, as if she was physically pointing between her and Alexia.

“Don't know, I guess she isn't as pretentious as I thought she was.” Y/N answered, recognizing the wrong perspective she had of the Spaniard.

Jill raised an eyebrow. “She probably thought the same of you.” She laughed.

“I guess so.” The younger player admitted. “Should I send her a message? Like wishing her well or something?” Y/N asked Jill, holding up her phone.

She looked at the striker's phone, considering the suggestion. “Why not? I can't think of one player who wouldn't be happy to get a message from you.”

“Alright…” Y/N mumbled, opening Instagram and pulling up Alexia's account.

Jill glanced at her screen. “You don't even follow her!” She scoffed.

The captain looked from her screen to Jill, and back to her screen. “Yeah, and?”

“Follow her, and send the message.” The midfielder instructed.

“Are you my boss?” Y/N playfully rolled her eyes, but followed up on Jill's instruction.

| Y/N.Y/L: hey, heard about the injury. hope you're doing alright, and know that a lot of people are behind you. take care ❤️

“Good enough for Miss Scott?” Y/N asked her teammate.

Jill nodded, approvingly. “Look at you, extending an olive branch.'' She teased.

''An olive branch? We never had any problems.'' The younger one frowned, as an olive branch usually meant for there to have been a conflict.

The Manchester City player chuckled at her confusion. ''Well, it's a nice gesture. I'm sure she'll appreciate it.''

Y/N shrugged. ''It's a serious injury, she's at least out for like 8-9 months. I can't imagine her not playing with Spain and Barca.''

Jill nodded, a similar sympathetic look on her face. ''Yeah, I just hope she comes out better of it.''

''She will.'' Y/N said, voice full of confidence.

It was still Alexia. La Reina. She would not be taken down easily.

Meanwhile, freshly arrived in her home country, Alexia finally unlocked her phone after a long and hectic day. A certain notification stood out, it couldn't be could it?

She could feel her heartbeat as she saw the message from Y/N. She hesitated for a moment, contemplating whether to open it immediately or not. Alexia edged herself, answering everyone else's messages before getting to the Brit's.

After an eternity, she decided to open and read it as her curiosity got the better of her.

Alexia's eyes softened as she read over the words. Y/N's DM was not something that anyone hadn't told her before, but her rivaling captain had taken the time to wish her well and that meant more than Alexia was ready to admit yet.

| alexiaputellas: hey, I am back home now so doing better! thank you for your words and good luck at the tournament! ❤️

The captain stared at her phone, pondering on how their relationship had changed so much- at least to the point where they were sending messages to one another. Yet, here they were, exchanging words beyond the constraints of the game.

She couldn't deny the intrigue she had towards the striker. The phenomenon that was the England captain was unexplored territory for the Spaniard. Everything she had though before about Y/N all seemed to fade as she got more and more glimpses of who her rival actually was.

As Alexia wondered about the new dynamics, her train of thought was interrupted by a new notification.

| Y/N.Y/L: that's great to her! too bad we can't meet in the final now

The Catalan smiled, her fingers swiftly moving over the screen to compose a reply.

| alexiaputellas: yeah, maybe another time!

| alexiaputellas: if you do play against Spain, I don't want you to win, though 😉

| Y/N.Y/L: ooooohhhh, im gonna play extra harder against them now :)

| Y/N.Y/L: are you coming back to England to watch them?

| alexiaputellas: yes, after I've had my surgery!

| Y/N.Y/L: good luck with that, btw

| alexiaputellas: thank you ☺

The messages continued on for a while, mostly staying on the joking side. Alexia appreciated the unexpected distraction Y/N provided for her, her torn knee having become forgotten for just a few moments.

Their next meeting came 2 weeks later as England took on Spain in the quarterfinals. Y/N was wary about meeting their team still quite early on in the tournament, but it would be a great test for them, and not having Alexia on the pitch could only be a benefit to the English- even if it happened due to unfortunate circumstances.

The match was intense, reminiscent of their friendly match the month before. In the 54th minute, England fell behind, conceding a goal. The pressure only intensified as the entire team and stadium looked at their captain, in serious need of a solution.

Y/N screamed more motivation at her teammates, applauding and praising every pass and chance they made. Fortunately, Ella managed to equalize, and Georgia had everyone going crazy as she put one extra in the net during extra time.

The striker jumped into the young midfielder's arms, yelling inaudible things as they celebrated her world of a goal. ''You're a legend, G!''

''Come on, girls! We can do this!'' Millie exclaimed, clapping her hands to hype everyone up to keep their lead.

''Keep pressuring them! It's in our hands now! You're doing amazing!'' Y/N joined in, her infectious energy working on the team as they all nodded and got back to their spots on the pitch.

The whistle blew and the entire squad could feel a huge weight leaving their shoulders, relieved this tribulation was over and they could focus on the semifinals.

In the post-match rituals, Y/N glanced towards the Spanish team. A bittersweet realization struck her- the victory was nice, but a part of the competition was missing without the direct face-off with the Spanish captain. She almost forgot her colleague would not be on the pitch to shake hands with, or to analyze the match with.

She tried finding her in the crowd, but Alexia must have already made an escape to the locker rooms. The Brit didn't blame her, she probably didn't want to stick around to see a rival team celebrating knocking their team out. 

Half an hour later, Alexia watched Irene stroll into their changing rooms- one of the last players to arrive, holding a white England shirt in her hand.

Her curiosity got the better of her and she approached her fellow captain on the other side of the room. ''Irene, who did you swap with?'' She asked.

Irene grinned, unfolding the jersey as Y/N's name and number was displayed in front of Alexia's eyes. ''Our favorite girl,'' Irene sarcastically said, the England player had caused a lot of damage to both of the women, on club and international level, ''she asked me. You just can't say no to that face, can you?'' The defender chuckled.

A subtle flicker of disbelief crossed Alexia's features as Irene continued chatting about the exchange. The realization that Y/N had chosen to swap shirts with the older woman stung a bit, sparking an unfamiliar emotion in her. Perhaps, it was a fleeting sense of envy for the seeming connection that her and Irene had. The Spaniard had played against the Lyon striker numerous times during her stint at PSG.

Despite her attempt to keep a neutral expression, Alexia's reaction was far from enthusiastic. ''Oh, that's great.'' She replied, her tone a bit more dejected than she had wanted.

Irene noticed the shift in her teammate's demeanor. She raised an eyebrow and shot a look at Alexia. ''Something on your mind?'' She questioned, a mischievous glint in her eyes as she sensed there might be more to the midfielder's reaction.

''No, nothing at all. Just… surprised.'' Alexia forced a smile, attempting to downplay the jealousy. However, her eyes betrayed her.

The defender raised an eyebrow, her grin only widening. ''Surprised? Why? We've known each other for a long time, played against her a bunch of times.'' She responded casually, enjoying whatever was happening at the moment.

''Yeah, true. Well, good for you.'' Alexia nodded, trying to mask her unease with a nonchalant tone.

The Barcelona player chuckled, starting to recognize what this might be about. She held up the England shirt, a teasing glint in her own eyes. ''You want it? I still have a Lyon one from a few years ago.'' She playfully extended the jersey towards Alexia.

The midfielder shook her head, again forcing herself to laugh. ''No, no. It's all yours, don't even want it, anyway.'' Alexia waved off the offered shirt with a dismissive gesture.

''Alright, whatever suits you.'' Irene smiled, placing the shirt in her own bag.

She left the blonde alone, walking back to where she had settled before the defender had waltzed into the room.

Alone with her thoughts, Alexia couldn’t shake off the uncomfortable feeling. Watching Irene prance around with Y/N’s shirt left her with a strange mix of emotions that she hadn’t dealt with before, or at least not when it pertained to her teammate and rival.

What puzzled her even more was why Y/N had never asked her for a shirt swap. She wondered if their rivalry and everyone’s comparisons of the two, overshadowed the possibility of something more- whatever that something more was. Did the England captain only see their interactions through the lens of competition?

Alexia grappled with a simple yet difficult question: did she want Y/N to ask for a shirt swap or did it bother her more that she didn’t seem to be considered for one?

[ickie]

ICKIE'S MAY '24 BLURB WEEKEND !

pairing: lando norris x reader song: talking body - tove lo summary: jealous!lando & what he does to make you realize that maybe you are his. warnings: 18+, talks of sex n alcohol consumption ! nothing super dramatic <3 notes: requested for my blurb weekend ! kinda strayed away from the request but ... hey it is what it isssss ! wanna join in on my blurb weekend !? click/tap here to learn more !

when will smith said 'party in the city where the heat is on' he really wasn't lying. the humidity combined with the body heat inside of the club had your hair frizzing, as well as your thighs sticking uncomfortably together as you walked aimlessly bumping into people that clearly weren't paying attention to their surroundings.

lips wrapped around the straw to your drink - a paloma - your eyes scanned the crowd, looking for a familliar face. well, most of the faces you were seeing were familiar ones, but there was someone in particular that you were looking for.

if you had asked any of the drivers, they'd gladly divulge in the gossip that is yours and lando's relationship. you two weren't together - far from it, actually... the two of you were constantly at each others necks, always finding something to argue about. but, on nights where it seemed everyone was keen on going out and partying, the two of you were attatched at the hip, almost exclusively leaving with each other. but then the two of you would be back at your usual antics. it was confusing, but it was definitely something that kept everyone entertained.

your arm reached out, letting out a laugh as you almost fell. "i'm so sorry!" you smiled up at the stranger before steadying yourself. you didn't know this man, he was probably one of the many influencers or the uber rich and famous that always seemed to show up to the miami grand prix.

"totally my bad," he flashed a smile. he was american - definitely not any of the people that you knew. "let me make it up for you with a dance?" before you could really think about it, you were on the dance floor, his hands over your hips as the two of you swayed to the beat of the song that was blasting through the club speakers.

feeling a pair of eyes searing into you, you looked up and locked eyes with a familiar pair of green eyes. lando was staring you down, a heat laced in his eyes as he looked you and the male over, which only egged you on as a smirk graced your features. you began to lay it on with the male, maybe a little too heavy. his hands were feeling up your body, your hands over his seemingly showing him where you wanted them.

your antics continued until the song ended, walking away from the male before he could try anything else. you eyed lando, batting your eyelashes at him as you finally walked up to him. "what? are you jealous?" you mused, head tilted to the side.

"no." his answer was simple, his teeth biting at his bottom lip as his eyes shamelessly looked you up and down. "i know that the only person here that is good enough to make you leave with them is me. i don't have any reason to be jealous." the brit smileed smugly, taking a sip from his glass.

"i wouldn't be so sure about that... mister american over there definitely had some game... maybe i was making a mistake by trying with europeans..?" you took his glass from his hand, finishing off his drink. "come dance with me?"

there was something about lando's hands on you, feeling you up, that could always get you going. especially when he was seemingly feeling possesive over you - which was new. but it was different when he began to whisper into your ear, musing about the things that he wished he could be doing to you.

"this dress is so tiny... all it would take is me hiking it up to be able to fuck you right here. is that why you wore it?"

"bet you don't even have any panties on, you're such a slut for me, aren't you?"

"trying to make me jealous? it worked didn't it?"

your breath hitched when his lips met your neck, before he spun you around so you were facing him his hands resting on your ass. "we're leaving, yeah? i believe i have a win to celebrate, and if there's anyone i want to celebrate it with... it's you." he whispered into your ear before grabbing at your wrist and tugging you with him.

who were you to tell him no?

[f1fantasys]

Why Me?

Summary - friends w/ Lando, wanting to be something more. He shuts you out...until he doesn't.

Pairing- lando x fewtrell/reader

Warnings - angst, smut, swearing, p in v, fingering, m and f receiving oral. I'M SORRY, Y'ALL ASKED FOR SMUT BUT I HAD TO THROW IN SOME ANGST!

5.4k words

You had known Lando for as long as you can remember. Being Max's little sister meant that the three of you practically grew up together, even though the two boys were 3 years older than you. Of course, over the years of your friendship with Lando slowly turned into strong, strong, feelings, but you wouldn't dare tell anyone. Not Lando. And sure as hell not Max. Max always made it clear to Lando that you, his little sister, were off limits.

But, who was Max to stop Lando from sending you flirty signals on your last holiday in Ibiza together. God, it honestly was the worst, yet the best holiday you'd been on yet. Lando was absolutely glowing, he'd had an amazing f1 season, and the success made him looking fucking hot. The sexual tension between you and Lando had reached new heights. Stolen glaces, stolen touches, flirty comments - it was all too much, but nothing at all.

Here you were 6 months later, the European races in full swing, meaning you got to tag along with Max to the triple header. The night you got to Barcelona, you found yourself alone on the balcony of your hotel room with Lando. You'd talked about everything and nothing, just catching up on each others lives. When he hugged you goodnight, you watched as his eyes lingered from your eyes to your lips - his own a mere few centimeters away. All he had to do was close the short gap. You longed him to. But he didn't. He pulled away and walked out of your room without saying a word.

The race had been a touch pill to swallow, for Lando especially. So close to another win but just not crossing the line. It hurt to see someone you care about beating himself up, but what you weren't expecting was for him to be so off and cold with you. You more-so than anyone else.

You were currently at the post race dinner that McLaren were hosting. Sat at a table with Max and Pietra, and Lando opposite you. He was obviously upset about the race but he still seemed to be enjoying himself and joking around and chatting with everyone, except you. Every time you said something, or tried to start a conversation with him, he shut you down.

It felt weird to have him act this was towards you, almost as if he didn't want you to even be in his space. By the time you reached the club, you decided to stay away him for a bit. Maybe it was just the stress of the race getting to him. But you won't lie, secretly, it was pulling your heart strings. You hated to be in a position like this.

A few shots and some dancing later, you and Pietra came back to the VIP corner where the boys and a few other drivers were chatting. Of course, there had to be a girl sitting on Lando's lap.

It never got easier seeing him with different girls every weekend, and seeing it in person physically made you feel sick. She was sat on his lap wearing a short dress, so it was to no surprise his fingers were toying with the bottom and trying to get past it.

They were whispering in each others ears, and when Lando saw you, he smirked, then kissed her. Hard and deep.

What the fuck was he playing at, you though to yourself. You knew that he knew there were some sort of feeling involved between the two of you, and for him to play that in-front of you was a low blow.

It took everything in you to hold your tears back, so you pulled Pietra to the bar to down some more shots to try and get the Brit out of your head.

A few minutes later, while you were still standing at the bar, you felt his all too familiar body next to your, eyes staring into yours as if it were the end of the world.

You eventually broke that contact and looked around.

''Where'd your girl disappear to?'' you asked. The alcohol in you giving the confidence to talk. You could see he was about to tease you of some sorts, but you didn't give him a chance to. ''Got enough of you already?'' you asked sarcastically, making a pouty face. His face changed, anger settling in.

''What the fuck y/n. She's gone to the fucking bathroom. At least I know she's gonna come back to me to let me fuck her til she cant walk, unlike you, who can't even get a guy to get in an uber with you, let alone take home for stuff.'' he spat.

You felt like your world stopped. Did Lando really just say that to you?Without realizing you felt a tear slide down your cheek. ''I-I'' you started but he cut you off. ''You what?'' he asked, but you couldn't talk, too afraid to have your voice crack in front of him. ''Yeah, I thought so.'' he said before the girl appeared by his side again, pulling him in for a kiss.

He wrapped his arms around her and looked at you, before walking away.

Just then Max was standing in front of you.

''y/n, fuck, what's wrong?'' he asked. You could see Lando watching and listening from where he was.

''I-nothing, too much to drink. Can we leave please?'' you said through glossy eyes.

''Of course, let's go'' he said, pulling both you and Pietra by the hand. You all walked up to Lando so Max could tell him you guys were leaving. Lando all the while looking at you only, murmured ''yeah whatever, I'm staying.''

The look he was giving you was heartbreakingly awful. You couldn't believe it was him who was literally throwing daggers at you and your heart, knowingly. You couldn't help but start sobbing the more you thought of it. So Max dragged you out the club and back to the hotel.

It was needless to say you couldn't sleep that night, and when you finally made it for breakfast in the morning, he was there, with her.

You tried to keep your distance, the both of you not even acknowledging each other, until Max noticed something was going on. ''What's up with you and Lando?'' he asked you. You just shrugged - ''nothing.''

And when he asked Lando, Lando simply said he should ask you. So Max tried, and failed to get either of you to tell him anything.

The plane back to Monaco was awkward to say the least. Just you, Lando, Max and Pietra, who were knocked out as soon as the plan took off.

Lando distanced himself from you once again, and went to sit at the back all by himself. But you needed to talk to him. Ask him where all those words he threw at you last night came from, and why he suddenly looked disgusted whenever you were near him.

You made your way to where he was sitting and as soon as he saw you he rolled his eyes. ''Not now'' he spat, tone the same as last night. You flinched, wrapping your arms around yourself, but you stood your ground and sat opposite him.

''Lando, please. Where is all of this coming from?'' you calmly asked, trying to hold the tears back.

His face turned cocky. ''Seriously, y/n, not everything is about you. Can't you take a fucking hint and leave me alone?''

''But why are you shutting me out alone? You're fine with everyone else so what did I deserve to get this treatment?'' you whispered, tears really threatening to slide down your cheeks any minute now.

''Y/n, I'm begging you. Leave me the fuck alone. I've just had a bad race, have another one this weekend which i need to concentrate on, and I don't need you wanting to have my attention and to be fuckin needy all the time.'' you exclaimed, face red with anger by now.

You didn't know how to respond, and by now the tears were flowing freely down your face. The old Lando would have hated to see you crying about anything, let alone be the one who caused these tears.

You heart broke as you looked at his face, contorted with anger and disgust, aimed directly at you. This wasn't the Lando you grew up with. This wasn't the Lando you fell in love with.

''I'm sorry'' was all you whispered as you made your way back to you seat, sobbing to yourself.

Obviously, you didn't end up going for the race in Austria. You just made up an excuse to Max about needing to be at work in Monaco, which he believed. You also hadn't spoken to Lando for well over a week now, which was honestly the longest you'd gone without speaking to him.

You heart was still healing from all the daggers he threw at it. Forget the part about being in love with him - he ruined you friendship. And you weren't sure if you'd ever get it back with him.

Silverstone was a tough one. You definitely didn't want to be anywhere near Lando, but it was also the best race of the year, and to give up a Paddock pass would be a waste. So Pietra eventually convinced you to go. She knew something went down with Lando, but she didn't push you for answers. You told her you'd talk about it when you were ready.

You managed to avoid Lando for the most part of the weekend, until a few minutes before the race. He was getting ready to jump in the car and take it to the grid when his eyes found yours. You swore you stopped breathing for a minute. He looked so devilishly handsome, but his eyes told you a different story. He wasn't happy to see you there. He just shook his head at you before putting his helmet on and getting into the car.

You immediately realized it was a mistake to be here. Why did you even come? He made it perfectly clear the last time you spoke that he didn't want you anywhere near him, so why the fuck did you think it was okay to be here right now?

You felt your throat closing up and you really needed some air, you really needed to get out of here. So you told Max you weren't feeling well and rushed to your hotel room, grabbed your bags, and got the first flight back to Monaco.

Finally as you entered your penthouse could you breathe a little again. You were back in your own space, and nothing made you feel out of place, as you did earlier today.

After washing your hair in a well deserved long shower, you couldn't help but check how the race ended. P3 for Lando, he looked shattered. So you forced yourself to stop looking at your social media and just try and relax your mind. This was it - you weren't friends with him anymore, and you wouldn't let yourself wallow. It's his loss that he's shutting you out like this.

Since you knew you'd be home alone for the next 2 days at least, with Max and P only supposed to come back on Wednesday, you just threw your dressing gown on with nothing underneath.

You poured yourself a glass of wine to try and drink away at the heartbreak of losing both your friend and lover, even if he didn't know the latter feeling.

You were a few episodes deep into a random series on Netflix when your phone started ringing. You heart started racing when you saw it was Lando calling you.

You debated answering. You really didn't feel like talking to him right now. But you were also worried. Why was he calling you at 12.30am?

Reluctantly, you picked up.

''Hello?'' you said softly.

The other side of the line stayed silent for a few seconds until you called out his name.

''Lando?''

''Y/n, fuck'' he mumbles more to himself it sounded like. ''I-I'' he sniffled. Was he crying? You though to yourself.

''Lando'' you said firmly but calmly.

''I know I don't even deserve you answering my call after everything I've said and done'' he sniffled again, ''but I could really fucking use my best friend right now.'' he sobbed into his phone.

You were stunned. You didn't know what to even say. Yes you felt for the boy - it was a horrible race - but does he think he can just worm his way back with a few sobs?

''Lando..'''you started.

''Y/n please. Let me see you. I need to see you.''

''Where are you?'' you asked.

''Just landed in Monaco. Can i come over?''

''Ok'' was all you said before ending the call.

By now your mind was spiraling. You didn't know how to act in front of him, let alone what to say to him. A mere few hours ago he was looking at you like he hated you. And now he ''needed his best friend.'' ''Fuck'' you thought to yourself.

Not 15 minutes later and your door bell rang. You took a deep breath before opening it, revealing a devastated Lando. He looked tired, exhausted, sad. He looked so fricking sad and you couldn't help but pull him in and envelope him in a tight hug. You didn't know who needed the hug more - you or him. But it felt good to be in each others' space after weeks of tension and not talking.

You pulled away and walked to sit on the couch, he followed closely behind.

For a few minutes you both kept silent, neither saying anything.

''Lan,'' you started, but he cut you off.

''I'm so fucking sorry. I know saying that doesn't even begin to heal the wounds I've cut but y/n I'm so sorry for everything I've said and how I've treated you since Austria. I hate myself for ever putting our friendship in a position like that. In fact it's the last thing I wanted, but of course I had to go and fuck it up like I seem to be doing everything at the minute.''

You stayed silent, not really knowing how to respond. As much as you wanted everything to go back to normal, you weren't sure your heart could handle heartbreak like that again from him.

When you stayed silent he continued. ''The last thing I wanted was to push you away. It's no secret that we've been getting closer since Ibiza. Yes, you were my friend, first and foremost but you turned into something more along the way. You're the kindest, most passionate, most beautiful woman I know, and instead of showing you or telling you how special you are to me, I shut you out and hurt you. I guess it goes without saying that I like you, y/n. Like really like you.''

''Lan'' you stopped him. By now the tears were streaming down your face, a mix of emotions washing over you. Finally, he was saying the words you so desperately wanted to hear for so long, but you struggled to give forgive him for treating you like shit.

He scooted closer to you and took your hands in his before wiping the tears away.

''I don't get it though. If you like me, why the fuck did you push me away and treat me like that?'' you asked.

''I thought I didn't deserve someone as amazing as you and I sort of made up my mind that it was unfair to have you as mine if I couldn't be home everyday of the year, instead of going to a different place each week, where I know you have a stable job and wouldn't be able to follow me everywhere I go. But fuck that, we'll make it work if we're meant to be. I'll put in the hard work to make us work. If you want me, that is. Please, please forgive me.'' he pleaded.

''Lan I don't think its a secret that I do in fact want you. I've wanted you since fucking forever, but I don't think I'm ready to just jump into something after all that I've gone through the last two weeks. You really fucking hurt me.'' you all but whispered.

He took your face in his hands and pressed his forehead against yours. You could feel his breath on your face, and it took everything in you to not kiss him. ''I know,'' he said. ''But I'll wait for you, however long it takes. I don't want anyone else. Only you y/n.'' He kissed your forehead before you both jumped at the sound of keys and the door opened revealing Max and P.

You quickly separated yourselves and wiped your tears away.

''What the fuck'' Max was shocked to see Lando in his penthouse but he was more shocked to see that you had been crying.

He rushed over to you and glared at Lando.

''Mate why the fuck is y/n crying? What did you do?''

''I--'' Lando started but you cut him off.

''Nothing. It's not Lando.'' you suggested.

''Is there something going on with you two? Lando i thought i made myself fucking clear when i said y/n is off limits'' he shouted.

''Max fucking calm down, and I'm not a baby where you can tell me who I can or can't be with.'' you shouted back at him.

Max glared at Lando again. ''Just fucking get out before i say or do something worse.''

Within seconds Lando was out the front door. You were fuming with Max by now so you too bolted for your room before locking yourself inside.

You climbed into bed and tried to calm your racing mind. Every-time you drifted to sleep you awoke with Lando's words ringing in your ears. ''I really like you y/n'', and you couldn't help but smile to yourself.

AT 2am your phone buzzed and you saw it was Lando who'd texted.

You ok? he asked.

Yeah, I'm sorry about Max, but idgaf about what he says right now you replied.

Why are you still up?

You contemplated what to reply, not wanting to tell him that he was the reason you were obviously still awake because.

Thinking...about things... you vaguely answered.

What...things?

Fucker, you know I'm thinking about you!

Me, huh? you could practically hear the smirk in his text.

And why are you still up..mr norris?

Imagining what it'll feel like to have you next to me in my bed right now....

Fuck, you thought. Lan...

Shit, I know, I know..dw, I'm taking a step back...sorry.

That was it. You threw your covers off and slid into a pair of shorts and an oversized t-shirt, and tip-toed out the front door.

The drive to his house was nerve wrecking. You knew it was too soon to do anything, but your heart, and the ache between your legs were pushing you forward.

Open the door you'd texted as you waited in the cool air of the night.

You heard shuffling and the door flew open. There he stood, clad in only his boxers, eyes wide.

''Y/n'' he said, pulling you inside.

''We have so much to talk about, and I haven't forgiven you yet, but god Lan I've been waiting for this day for too long and i fucking need you.'' you whispered.

He didn't reply verbally. Instead he crashed his lips into yours.

This is so not how you imaged your first kiss to be. But fuck it, it felt incredible to finally feel his lips against yours.

It was messy and sloppy and very quickly turned heated. You moaned into the kiss and Lando took this as an opportunity to slide his tongue into your mouth, memorizing every inch of you.

You ran you hands up and down his torso and eventually to his hair, pulling at his curls.

''You're still wearing too many clothes baby'' he whispered between pecks on your lips.

He very quickly stripped you and was surprised to see you wearing no underwear.

''Fuck me what did I do to deserve you like this'' he mumbled, lips coming down to graze your neck, surely leaving purple bruises for tomorrow. You couldn't form any coherent words, so you just moaned in response.

He scooped you up and carried you upstairs before gently dropping you on his bed and hovering himself above you.

''You sure?'' he asked. As much as he wanted this he needed to be sure you were ready. Nothing would be the same after this.

''Lan you know I've been sure since forever. 1000 times yes. Please'' you squirmed under him.

He kissed you again, gently this time, lovingly.

His kissed moved back to your neck and in no time he found your sweet spot, sucking and biting at it, then shimmying lower down to your boobs. Your nipples were peaked stiff due to the cool air. He kept his eyes on yours as he took one nipple into his mouth and harshly sucked on it, making you a breathless mess under him.

''Óh Lan'' you panted, pulling harder at his curls. He continued his onslaught on both your nipples while massaging you boobs and fondling with them. He took turns to suck, nip, bite and sooth them until they were red and angry.

He could feel you clenching your thighs together so he moved further and spread your legs apart. You should have felt conscious to have him stare at your most intimate parts, but it only turned you on since he looked like he was ready to devour you.

Lando's eyes turned impossibly darker and a sheet of lust hovered over them. He didn't waste any time in leaning down and licking a strip up your cunt. The contact had you pulling at his hair and grunting through gritted teeth. ''Lan'' you shrieked.

''Such a pretty little cunt, all for me'' he whispered, more to himself.

He was ruthless. He found your clit so easily and showed it no mercy. Biting and sucking at it until your body was literally shaking underneath him.

''Lan I'm close'' you managed to say, unsure how much longer you could hold it in.

''Ask'' was all he said.

''What?'' you said, shocked he would demand it but so fucking turned on at the same time.

''You know. Ask'' he said, as he continued his activity.

''Fuck. Can I cum, Lan?'' you asked as politely as you could.

As much as Lando wanted to hear you beg some more, he was getting impossibly eager to feel you around him. So he let you.

''Fuck, cum y/n.''

''Oh Lan'' your juice came gushing out and into Lando's mouth in no time, body shaking uncontrollably, just the thought that it was Lando himself you sent you over the edge over-stimulating your body-and your mind.

He didn't even give you time to recover. He quickly slid to fingers into your cunt, thrusting them in and out at a brutal pace, while his tongue toyed with your clit. Your one hand was now scratching at his muscles on his neck and the other continued pulling at his hair.

''That's it baby, so fuckin tight for me''

In no time you felt the all too familiar warmth in your belly. Lando knew you were close, so before you even asked him, he gave you permission to cum again. And so you did.

As he licked all your cum, he leaned back up and let your cum-and his spit- dangle into your mouth before kissing you senseless.

You could clearly feel the tent in his boxers now, so you pushed him up and got on your knees. You slid his boxers down revealing his god damn huge cock. Red and angry, standing tall, with pre-cum already dripping out the slit at the tip.

You quickly wondered if he'd be able to fit in you. And he must have sensed your worry because he took your chin in his hands and said ''we'll take it a step at a time, ok?'' ''Hmm mm'' was all you could say.

You took him in your hands and started pumping him, fondling with his balls as well, before leaning forward and taking his tip into your mouth, sucking on the pre cum straight away. He hissed at the contact and bent forward to pull your hair into a makeshift ponytail out of your face.

You licked and sucked for a while before taking as much of him in as your could, your hand coming up to pump what you couldn't fit in.

You wouldn't lie - your cheeks were already starting to hurt and there were tears stinging your eyes, but you were on a mission to taste him, so you didn't care.

You deep throated him in no time and the moans he was letting out already had to dripping and desperate to feel him down there.

''Fuck y/n, how are you so good at this. Fuck me'' he moaned.

You pulled away and smiled, ''trust me Lan, I plan to'''you said, before resuming giving him head.

You could tell Lando was close - his legs were becoming like jelly as you held on to them, so you pushed him to sit down and you found a place on the floor between him, pumping him again and taking him into your mouth.

''Where do you want it?'' he asked, barely able to contain himself.

You didn't answer though - just continued with what you were doing and that gave him his answer. He came undone in your mouth. Squirts of hot, milky cum coating you as you swallowed everything you could before pulling off.

You were a right mess now. Spit and cum sliding out the corners of your mouth as Lando pulled you up and kissed you fiercely.

''Best fucking blowjob ever'' he said between kisses. ''That dirty little mouth of yours.''

''Need to feel you in me, please.'' you begged.

''You on birth control baby? Need me to wear a condom?'' he wearily asked.

''Yeah I am, and no you don't. Please just fuck me Lan'' you pleaded.

In no time Lando switched your positions again. He was hovering above you. Dick in hand and gliding it between your folds to lube up with your juices.

You were nervous - scared even. You'd never been with anyone that big before, and Lando, because he can read you so well, knew what you were feeling.

''Baby you'll be fine. We'll take it as slow as you need to. ok? And tell me if you wanna stop at any point.''

''Yeah, thank you Lan'' you said.

He gently pushed his tip in as you both held your breath. It stung for sure, but you were so desperate for him. You nodded at him to continue, and he kissed you as he slid in fully. You just kissed while he stayed station inside of you, allowing you to get used to the intrusion.

''You can move, Lan'' you told him, before he slid out again and thrust back in, setting a slow rhythm. Soon the pleasure started the overtake the pain and you told him it was okay to go faster.

''Please Lan, more, deeper, fuck me harder.'' you moaned as you pulled on his hair.

Then he started. Fucking into you relentlessly. Thrusting his dick in and out of your cunt as if there was no tomorrow.

''Fuck baby, so fucking tight, taking me so well. Fuck'' he slurred, bringing his mouth down to your boobs to suck on your nipples.

Words had long left your brain by now. All you could do was wrap your legs around him as tight as you could, and let out a series of moans and grunts, chasing that intoxicating feeling.

Within minutes your body was shuddering underneath him. It feels as if you've blacked out and are seeing stars, releasing all over his cock.

Lando, being Lando, didn't slow down again. Instead he mans-handled your body and flipped you over so you were now on all fours, holding onto the headboard for dear life.

He thrust back into you. The new position hitting you harder in all the right places.

''Fuck Lan, yes, please, harder, fuck me harder. Oh'' you said between breaths, getting a burst of energy suddenly.

''Babygirl if I fuck you any harder then we'll both be seeing stars.'' you stated, pulling you up by your hair so you were now leaning back on him. His hand snaked its way around your throat.

Feeling him do that turned you on so fucking much. It felt so good to feel like you were his. You were putty in his hands. He could do whatever the fuck he wanted with you and you'd still be happy. Fuck, he's gonna be the death of you.

With no warning you came around his cock again, you were sure it was probably the most intense orgasm you'd ever felt. Your body went limp in his arms so Lando had to lie you down again, and drag you to the edge of the bed so he could stand and finally chase his own release.

''Think you have one more in you baby?'' he asked, movements not slowing down.

''Uh huh'' was all you could form.

This time his pace was unmatched to anything you'd ever felt before.

''Lan, I can't'' you pleaded.

He slowed. ''Want me to stop?'' he asked? He knew what your answer would be, but he wanted to tease you anyways.

''Fuck. no. No'' you exclaimed.

''That's what i thought baby.'' and he set his pace again.

You could feel his movements getting sloppier by the second, and when you opened your eyes his face was contorted in pleasure, pure ecstasy.

He brought his thumb down and started rubbing harshly at your clit. Pinching and pulling at it. This quickly made you cum for...you lost count...you didn't care. It felt fucking amazing.

Lando looked down at where you were joined and seeing your juices spill around his cock and out of your cunt sent him over the edge.

He moaned your name loud and hard as he released his cum in your cunt, sheets and sheets of his milky cum painting your insides.

He slumped his body forward on yours, to kiss you gently. Both of you lacking energy to move to talk, instead just wrapping your arms around each other.

''You're fucking amazing y/n. So amazing.''

''Hmmm Lan, best sex I've ever had. Wow'' you said, still trying to catch your breath.

His dick was softening inside of you so he gently pulled out, making the both of you moan at the loss of contact. He bent down and gathers all the slick that was leaking out of your cunt and bought his mouth to yours, tapping at your cheek to open your mouth. You obeyed and he slowly let the mixture of cum drip into your mouth, before kissing you again. That had your groaning. He pulled back with a smirk. ''Gonna clean you up. Be right back'' he said, kissing your forehead and disappearing into the bathroom.

Once you were all cleaned up Lando pulled you into bed and held you close.

''Thank you for giving me the most incredible end to a shitty day'' he whispered. ''And thank you for giving us a chance. I promise I wont let you down. I really fucking love you y/n, so much.''

Now you had tears threatening to spill. ''I love you too Lan, more than you can imagine.'' you said, kissing the little scar on his nose.

''But please, please, stop being so harsh on yourself after races. You're the most talented person I know and I promise you the best driver on the grid. Don't blame yourself when things don't go your way. There are 1000 other people who are involved in the race outcome, so don't take it upon yourself to blame. You're amazing and so passionate, and you've won before, and I know you'll get so so many more wins. Be patient with yourself, and trust yourself. You are the most amazing person i know.''

Lando cupped your face and kissed you, hard and deep.

''Thank you. I know I'll bounce back, especially that i have you by side now.''

You couldn't help but laugh. ''I've always been on your side, silly!''

''Yeah but now I can kiss you whenever i want. One problem though.''

''Hmm?'' you asked.

''What are we gonna do about Max''?

''Well fuck. But I'm happy now. We'll deal with him another day'' you said, kissing him again.

Authors note - not 100% feeling this one...but please let me know how i can improve and if you guys have any requests then send them through. Also enjoy this picture because HOT DAMN

[enkays-den]

Hermits as birds from where they live/were born!

note: my knowledge is centered around North American birds, so sorry if the european ones aren't super accurate

Bdubs: Northern Saw-Whet Owl. He's just a little guy with big eyes. Small and evil, love him

Cub: Common Starling. Skulk like-iridescence, incredibly friendly. Plus, with Cub running the horn store this season, he NEEDED to be the bird that can imitate pretty much any noise it hears

Doc: Bonelli's Eagle. Large raptor found in Germany. It's straight "brow" and hunched posture remind me of Doc

Etho: Common Loon. THE! CANADIAN! BIRD! Despite being "common", their pattern is simply EXQUISITE Plus, it has a red eye! Also listen to the noises these things make, it's literally stock nature sounds all in one bird. Also, I'd put Etho on my one dollar coin.

False: Barn Owl. Very elegant owl, I just feel it suits her, that's all. Very stately posture.

Gem (Season 10 specifically): Great Blue Heron. It's a fisher, it's blue, it's menacing, what more could you ask for?

Scar (Hotguy): Double-crested Cormorant: A waterfowl bc scar did competitive swimming, it's got a slightly funky shape which I feel suits scar's personality. It also has the Hotguy colors!

Grian: Eurasian Bullfinch. Parrot Grian will not reign supreme. Look at that little guy. He's mischievous, he's red, I do not trust him.

Hypno: Stellar's Jay. My provincial bird! I just think both have very chill and cool personalities

Jevin: Lazuli Bunting. Just a little blue guy!

Impulse: American Goldfinch. Black and yellow, need I say more?

Iskall: Booted Eagle. Something about a stout raptor just feels right. Look at that posture. Reminds me of when Iskall tries to copy the brits' accents.

Joe: Turkey Vulture. Although seen as odd or menacing, all vultures are integral to the local ecosystem and are in actuality, very elegant and gentle birds.

Keralis: Boreal Owl. Yes, I did make the two guys with big eyes owls, What of it? LOOK at him. Put a little hardhat on him, put a little hawiian shirt on him. Precious sweet face.

Mumbo: Avocet. It's basically a vibe check and a mustache joke.

Peal: Black Swan. Big 5AM Pearl vibes. Giant, beautiful, protective. Love that for her.

Ren: Giant Kingfisher. Obligatory King Ren joke, it's a South African bird, and it's kinda goofy looking. I think the speckled feathers look like a ruffled fur collar on a king's cape.

Skizz: Golden Eagle. Large, majestic, hella strong, and he's wearing pants :3

Joel: Tree Swallow. Very small, beautiful, agile bird. The swallow's wings remind me of Asian art styles.

Stress: Magpie. GOR-JUS and LOUD. Imagine her next to Iskall (they're very similar in size, bless them)

Tango: Swainson's Hawk. I fought every bone in my body to not make an Arizona Cardinals joke when I already made a Phoenix Coyotes one maybe half an hour before. The Swainson's hawk is on the smaller size, but still a deadly spitfire, which I think suits Tango

TFC: Brown Pelican. A solitary bird, definitely a rare sighting. TFC was always joking about how much he would eat, I thought a pelican was apt

Beef: Barred Owl. MY FAVORITE OWL. I literally call them 'round beefy boys' and they're just so sweet and I love them

Wels: American Kestrel. I LOVE these little guys. Simply the smallest, cutest and beautiful falcon there is. They're about the size of a pigeon. It's just got such a regal posture despite being a little cutie.

XB: Rock Pigeon. Despite being common and seen as a "dumb pest", they are pretty intelligent, there's a reason they were used to carry messages around. They're also a close relation to doves! The green collar also is like the jacket collar on his skin.

Xisuma: Semipalmated Plover. X and Mumbo were both chosen because of how those birds run on the beach. They're RIDICULOUS. This subspecies is exclusively because it look like he's wearing a little helmet.

Zedaph: Firecrest. Just the GOOFIEST little guy I found on the wiki of British birds. Look at that thing /aff. Also, Zed do be blowing up a lot

Cleo: Partridge. Beautiful bird, looks like they want to kill you in your sleep, just like Cleo.

[totaly-obsessed]

Revenge

Mary Earps x reader request

-> Meeting Mary for the first time after losing the Euros to her is far more interesting than you had thought.

➳ Masterlist

•─────⋅☾ ☽⋅─────•

Derby days were always a different kind of excitement. Old Trafford was filled to the brim – a sea of red as far as you could look. But every now and then a sky-blue jersey could be seen in the crowds, making their way to the visitor’s side where they formed a new hive. 

Excited chants filled the Stadium as the players warmed up on the pitch – the crowd's roar when the red devils walked out was nearly deafening. The season had been going on for a while until you had come to this point.

This was insane – just a year ago this had all been drastically different. The Lionesses’ winning the home European Championship and managing to include the media as well as they did, changed the games of Women’s football forever.

Coming home with a silver medal instead of a gold one hurt a little less once you saw how the game in England had changed.

Or rather how different it was to Germany. The change from Eintracht Frankfurt to Manchester City had nearly given you whiplash. But the players on your new team were nice and kept their teasing and gloating about winning to the minimum.

Standing in the tunnel you couldn’t help but eye up your opponents – Alessia Russo, Ella Toone, Nikita Parris, and Mary fucking Earps. 

Ella had scored the first goal in the final – but Mary had stopped three of your four strikes on goal – only letting one in. Maybe, if she had just slipped or miscalculated, you would have been the reigning champion of Europe.

But that didn’t happen. She didn’t slip or miscalculate – she was just too good.

It was as if she could feel your eyes on her, with a raised eyebrow she mustered you before her lips finally formed a cocky smirk. She didn’t need to hear you speak to know that she got under your skin. 

Mary relished in that feeling of your pure annoyance as both teams walked out to a deafening crowd of fans. This was her pitch, her goal, and her match – and she would make sure you knew that.

But when the goalkeeper went to shake your hand before the match, she was surprised by your composure. The last time the Brit had seen you was when you were crying on the pitch because of the loss.

You could see her confusion, brows still furrowed but it looked different – she looked curious. A little like a cat who just saw a little piece of string vanish around a corner, desperate to figure out where it went.

“Get ready Earps – no excuses today.” 

She didn’t really understand what you meant with ‘excuses’, but hearing the determination in your voice threw her off a little more – and you could see it. Shellshocked Mary still stood there when you had already gone past, running back to the sky blues for a team photo.

This was your game. And once she saw your smirk as you posed for the photographer, she knew it too. Today she would lose.

The game was brutal and you could swear you saw more of the ground than any other place on the pitch. But eventually, it was Alanna Kennedy who set a long ball through to you nearing the end of the second half.

After a nice little back and forth with your fellow striker Lauren Hemp, you finally managed to break through their middle field - only to be met with Ona Batlle who had made her way back. Annoyingly she was quite hard to get rid of. 

Old Trafford got noisier the closer you got to Earp’s goal. You could hear the boos and disappointed shouts from the stands as Ona landed on her bum, but they only motivated you even more.

The Manchester United goalkeeper needed a second to understand what had just happened – she conceded. And it had been you.

She could have sworn she had the ball in her hands. 

She did – for a second, before it continued on its path, into the back of the net. Much to her disbelief and the annoyance of the crowd.

Jess Parker was the first to reach you, abruptly jumping on your back, and taking you down with her. “What a fucking Power Shot!” 

You got up as quickly as possible, running to the goal. The plan was to grab the ball as quickly as possible, trying to ensure your lead. But when you pulled the ball, it didn’t move.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”

Mary’s accent was thick, laced with anger as she yanked the ball to her chest – pulling you even closer to her than you had been before.

No way would you let go of the ball.

“Use your brain should you have one. Let go.” Taken aback the goalkeeper actually let go of the ball, watching as you ran back to the middle line.

You could feel her staring, especially at your backside – once you looked back at her, smirk on your face, eyebrows pulled up, she blushed.

The Mary Earps was staring at your ass and blushed once she got caught. This was officially the best day of your life.

And it would continue to be a good day because just shortly after you slotted another one past her, this time you had just picked up one of Millie Turner's lost balls and sent the Goalkeeper flying in the wrong direction.

To no surprise making the round in Old Trafford didn’t take too long, seeing as their team just lost 2-0 to their city rival.

Just as you were entering the tunnel you were yanked backward, effectively cutting the conversation with Alessia Russo short. However, the blonde didn’t seem too sad, once she saw Mary was the one with a fist in your jersey.

“Have fun!” You couldn’t miss the shit-eating grin on Ella’s face as she tugged her best mate down the hallway.

Your shirt was now half up your back – and Mary didn’t say anything, her eyes didn’t even meet your eyes. They were caught on something else.

“If you wanted me naked you could have just said so – no need for violence.”

Mary had finally caught herself, letting go of your shirt and instead crossing her arms in front of her chest. It was kinda funny how she tried to look taller and buffer to intimidate you. 

“As if! Who would want that?” The goalkeeper's eyes flit from one direction to the next, acting as if she was looking for people who would want to see you.

In a quick motion, you stood shirtless in front of her, turning it right side around again – before eventually just throwing it in her face.

“Thought you might want the shirt of a winner - if you want the shorts too you’ll have to come find me!”

With your sweaty shirt in hand, Mary could only watch as you ran in the tunnel to a giggling Esme and Hempo – she didn’t even manage to tease you about losing the euros but before she could follow her team, you turned around to shout something in her direction.

"And I expect you to bring your shirt in exchange!"

Manchester wasn’t that big. She would find you - right?

[woman-respecter]

so gross when people call askenazim europeans in order to villainize them, as if they are no different from e.g. protestant brits, when one of the reasons 6 million of them were killed (well actually even more bc this goes beyond the holocaust) is bc they weren’t “european” enough.

[inthedayswhenlandswerefew]

Napoleonville [Chapter 3: The House Of Soup, Salad, And Breadsticks]

Series Summary: The year is 1988. The town is Napoleonville, Louisiana. You are a small business owner in need of some stress relief. Aemond is a stranger with a taste for domination. But as his secrets are revealed, this casual arrangement becomes something more volatile than either of you could have ever imagined.

Chapter Warnings: Language, sexual content (18+ readers only), dom/sub dynamics, Nintendo, smoking, kids, parenthood, all-you-can-eat breadsticks, wedding planning, mentions of birth trauma and abortion, a brief Greek lesson, Audi Quattros have very tiny back seats.

Word Count: 9k (someone take this laptop away from me!! I am out of control!!).

Link to chapter list (and all my writing): HERE.

Taglist: @marvelescvpe @toodlesxcuddles @era127 @at-a-rax-ia @0eessirk8 @arcielee @dd122004dd @humanpurposes @taredhunter @tinykryptonitewerewolf @partnerincrime0 @eltherevirr @persephonerinyes @namelesslosers @burningcoffeetimetravel-fics @daenysx @gemini-mama @chattylurker @moonlightfoxx @huramuna @britt-mf @myspotofcraziness @padfooteyes @aemonddtargaryen @trifoliumviridi @joliettes @darkenchantress @florent1s @babyblue711 @minttea07 @libroparaiso @bluerskiees @herfantasyworldd @elizarbell @urmomsgirlfriend1

Thank you so much for your patience and encouragement, I was really not doing well for a while but all your kind comments meant the world to me!!! I don't know when Chapter 4 will be ready, but hopefully early next week. My posting schedule is super wonky now. We'll get back to regular Sunday updates eventually, besties. 🥰🧁

It’s Thursday, late-morning, sunlight bending in through the open windows and a flock of blue-winged teals toddling through the backyard on their clumsy webbed feet. From the little pink Panasonic boombox pipes Whitesnake’s Here I Go Again. Your steps as you dart around the kitchen are airy and effortless; you’re humming without realizing that you are. You can’t seem to stop watching the clock, the second hand ticking endlessly, revolving like a moon around its planet. Olive Garden tonight! Olive Garden with Aemond!

“Knock knock?” your guest ventures tentatively as the front door creaks. You hear her heels click on the ever-so-slightly inclined floor and the bright jangling of keys and bracelets. Her accent does not surprise you; you were the one who answered the phone when she called in a panic yesterday.

Jade Dragon is a European company. I shouldn’t be shocked that Brits are descending upon Napoleonville.

You greet her from the kitchen, sight unseen: “Hi! Come on in!” Amir rushes over to set the very last cupcake on the glass serving tray, key lime with cream cheese frosting peppered with zest like flecks of emeralds. You have scrubbed the counter meticulously to make a space for your guest to do her cake tasting. There is an open wooden barstool for her, a yellow legal pad for you to jot down her selections. She steps into the kitchen—click click click, jangle jangle—and she is a stranger, surely, and yet something about her face strikes you as familiar.

“I really must thank you again,” the woman says, wringing her pinkish little hands, glittering with rings; she’s flushed all over from the heat, which she isn’t used to. She wears what for many women would be their Sunday Best: a modest organza dress patterned with sunflowers, gold jewelry and heels, and (oddly) a khaki overcoat that runs to her knees. Her hair hangs in thick, glossy, auburn waves. She smells like perfume, amber and roses, a brand you don’t recognize. “I was so distressed when I called, I must have sounded like a madwoman. It’s all just been so fraught. I know this is very last-minute, and I cannot tell you how much I appreciate you making time to see me today. I’m sure you’re very busy.”

“We are delighted to help!” Amir croons warmly as he swoops in to take her coat, which she surrenders with some bewilderment, her large dark eyes clever but innately vulnerable, anxious. Again, you cannot shake the sense that you have met her before. Amir’s hands sweep down the overcoat as he peeks at the tag inside, and he mouths to you, grinning, eyebrows raised above the tortoiseshell rims of his glasses: Christian Dior! He’s delighted to help this lady, sure; but he’s far more enthusiastic about the prospect of squirreling away more cash for his imminent exodus to San Francisco. Amir hangs the coat in the tiny living room closet and then goes to the stovetop to check on the Kentucky butter cookies that are cooling there.

“Amir and I love baking for any occasion related to a wedding. Everyone is cheerful and excited…and hungry too, of course!” You give your guest a reassuring smile and wave her over to the counter. She’s still tormenting her own hands, still glancing uncertainly around the kitchen. Amir is using a spatula to transfer the cookies from the baking sheet to a cake plate. “Remind me, ma’am, on the phone you said your name was…Allison?”

“Alicent,” she corrects, taking a seat on the barstool beside you and clutching a camel-colored leather purse. She hesitates before she adds: “Targaryen.”

Targaryen?! Jade Dragon?! You gawk at her. Amir drops a Kentucky butter cookie on the floor. You exchange a glance with him and can practically see the bills flitting through his mind: Washington, Lincoln, Hamilton, Jackson, Franklin.

“Please don’t make any fuss on my account,” Alicent pleads with those sleek, imploring eyes. “I’m just a customer, just an ordinary customer—”

“A VIP customer!” Amir says, beaming. He won’t work on their rigs, but he’ll take their money in a heartbeat. He considers it compensation for the inevitable environmental catastrophe, for the souls of all the places their dynasty bleeds dry.

“Ma’am…Alicent…Mrs. Targaryen…” you sputter. “What on earth brought you here?”

“My son is getting married.” She squeezes her eyes shut, an infinitesimal frustration, a self-reproach. “Our son, I mean. Viserys and I, our son is getting married, and we’re hosting an engagement party for him and his fiancée this Saturday, as I mentioned when I called. We had arranged to have caterers fly in, but now there’s some sort of visa problem and they won’t be able to make it in time. I found a company based out of New Orleans that is very well thought of for hors d’oeuvre and lunch, but the cakes I sampled…well…they left a lot to be desired. I was desperate, I tell you, utterly bereft, you know we have family and friends and all these industry representatives who will be in attendance, photographers, journalists, and I can’t ruin it, I can’t embarrass the happy couple, it’s not as if people get more than one chance at a wedding!”

Amir rolls his eyes at you from across the kitchen. Listen to this idiot, he means.

“But then I asked around town, and I got the same recommendation over and over again,” Alicent tells you, smiling now. “Everyone said that I just had to stop by Hummingbird Bakery.”

And now you know exactly where you recognize her from. She looks so much like the drunk man from the holding cell; his hair was blonde and his eyes were that sad swirling blue, but nonetheless he was a Targaryen the same as Alicent, and they share so much of the same bones, blood, innate defenselessness. That boy is getting married? His poor goddamn bride. “Well I am thrilled that you found your way to us, Mrs. Alicent Targaryen. And I think you’ll taste at least a few cakes that you’d be proud to serve at the engagement party.”

“And you can have them ready by Saturday?” Alicent asks fretfully.

“Absolutely.” You won’t sleep much between now and then, but the business matters more. And if you can recruit the Targaryens and some of their associates as regular customers…well, you might actually be able to start saving up for that new house Aemond asked you about on the night you met. You gesture to the glass tray on the counter. “Amir and I have baked twelve cupcakes for you to sample today. I’ll write up a list of the flavors you like best, and we can make any customizations. You can choose one flavor and have multiple cakes made, or four cakes in four different flavors, or any other arrangement, you just let me know and we’ll see that your wishes are granted.”

“These are all for me?!” Alicent says, surveying the cupcakes.

“Yes ma’am. Vanilla bean, triple chocolate, coconut, red velvet, carrot, white chocolate raspberry, key lime, lemon, peanut brittle, cherry chocolate chip, blueberry jam and cream cheese, and hummingbird. But don’t get overwhelmed, you only have to eat one bite of each.”

“And whatever you don’t finish we’ll let Cadi throw to the gator,” Amir says.

“Gator?” Alicent is alarmed.

“She lives in the tree row,” you explain. “She doesn’t bother anyone.” And you almost add: Except Aemond, of course. He hates her.

“Oh. Fascinating.” Alicent blinks a few times. “And who is Cadi?”

“My daughter. She’s ten, she’s at school. She’s…” You glance at the clock. “Learning about fractions and decimals at the moment.”

“How wonderful! And what does your husband do for work?”

“Terrorism,” Amir says, and Alicent Targaryen’s jaw drops.

“He’s the sheriff of Assumption Parish,” you swiftly amend. “But he’s my ex-husband now.”

Alicent doesn’t know how to reply. She stares at the cupcakes instead of at you. After several long, awkward seconds, she says: “My, do these look delicious! Where should I start?”

“Wherever you’d like.”

“This one is hummingbird cake, you said?” She picks it up. Her hands are fidgety; she doesn’t seem to ever stop moving. “I’ve never heard of such a thing. Did you name the bakery after it, or did you name the cake after the bakery?”

“Oh no, the cake existed first. It’s been popular around here since…what, Amir? The 60s? Something like that. My mom taught me how to make it when I was seventeen. Hummingbird cake was my favorite dessert for years.”

“It’s from Jamaica originally,” Amir notes. The Kentucky butter cookies are displayed on the kitchen table, and now he’s beginning to peel vivid green Granny Smith apples for dumplings.

“It has bananas, pineapple, cinnamon, pecans…”

“Mmm!” Alicent sighs as she takes a bite. “Oh, it’s fantastic! The different fruits add such dimension of flavor! And the texture too, so interesting. Very substantial, almost like a fruitcake. Yes, I think that is a strong contender.” She continues on to the next cupcake. As she nibbles on each one, she chats nervously, almost compulsively. “She’s a darling girl. Woman, I mean. My future daughter-in-law.”

You get up to pour Alicent a glass of sweet tea. “What’s her name?” you ask politely. You are actively trying not to let your thoughts drift to Olive Garden: soup, salad, breadsticks, Aemond licking blood-red marinara sauce from his lips as he smirks at you from across the table, acting like he doesn’t want to be there.

“Christabel.” Alicent sets down the carrot cupcake, opens her purse, and digs through her wallet for a photograph. It’s small and rectangular, and the girl trapped inside the frame—a girl, truly, if she’s twenty you’ll eat your white denim shorts—looks like Teri Copley: billowing platinum hair, squarish jaw, pink cheeks and red lips, large dollish blue eyes. She reminds you of Barbie; she reminds you of something that belongs in a box on a shelf somewhere. “Her father is a marquess.”

“She’s gorgeous! And is that…is that a job…?”

“It’s a title,” Alicent Targaryen says with a demure, apologetic smile as she tucks the photo back into her wallet. She has spoken of things she should have known were above you. “Like a duke or a baron. Christabel is from a noble family back in the United Kingdom. Milford Haven, more specifically.”

Amir gasps, elated, waving his paring knife around in the air. “She’s just like Princess Diana!”

“She’s very young,” Alicent says, a bit wearily. She takes a bite of the lemon cupcake. “But then again, I was even younger when I got married, seventeen. That’s just the way it was back then. None of my friends even thought of going off to school for years and years, or playing the field, or getting a serious job. In our eyes, there were no other options. You found a good man from an acceptable family and you settled down and started having babies.” Alicent sips her sweet tea, ice jangling in the frosted glass. “Oh, that’s dreadful! Cold tea!” She shudders. “I suppose that’s how you all keep from getting heatstroke down here. Cold drinks and no clothes.”

“Sorry.” You glance self-consciously down at your shorts.

“No no, it’s quite alright. I’m in your jungle, I can’t expect you to conform to my idiosyncrasies.” This is a word you don’t know, although you try not to show it. Then Alicent winks. “Now, if you ever find yourself across the pond…”

I’ll never visit another country. Nevertheless, you chuckle as Alicent expects you to. “I understand what you mean about not having options. I got married at seventeen too.”

“Did you?” she asks, somber now. Her large umber eyes are uneasy, searching.

“Yeah. I was way too young. And unfortunately, the only way to know you’re too young is to not be young anymore. And by then you’ve already made such a mess of things.”

Amir looks over at you; this is not recruiting-a-customer conversation. Alicent nods, slow and thoughtful, studying you with those vast eyes like a dark mirror image of that Targaryen boy in the holding cell. She nibbles on the peanut brittle cupcake to avoid having to respond.

You pivot. “How many children do you have?”

Now Alicent brightens. “Four.”

“That many! I can’t even imagine. They must bring you so much joy.”

“In between the chaos, yes,” Alicent says, sampling the key lime cupcake. “Daeron is my youngest, he’s so sweet-natured, so encouraging, always offering to help with my projects around the house. He never complains. He hasn’t been gobbled up by the company yet. My only criticism is his obsession with his godawful parrot. I’d have it murdered, but tragically Daeron already knows it’s supposed to live 50 years. Helaena reads a lot—about gardens and insects and other planets, all sorts of things I can’t make heads or tails of—but she’s kind and gentle, and she still lets me fix her hair and take her shopping once in a while.” You think, smiling: If I tried to touch Cadi’s hair, I think she’d claw my face off. “And then my son who’s getting married—”

The front door bangs open and heavy footsteps race across the floor. He appears in the kitchen: greased-back black hair, a single gold earring, tan skin, white suit, a bold Hawaiian shirt—sapphire blue water, green palm trees, hot pink flamingos—underneath. He’s breathing heavily and his forehead gleams with perspiration. Alicent appears stunned to see him.

“Criston? What’s wrong? I said you could wait in the Lexus.”

Amir asks the man: “You’ve been in the car this whole time?”

“Don’t feel too bad for me. The Lexus has air conditioning.” The man, Criston, turns back to Alicent. “There’s a lizard out there!”

Amir sighs impatiently. “It’s a gator. And she’s perfectly harmless.”

“I just watched her maul a duck to death! There’s blood all over the grass!”

Amir is unfazed. “To humans, I mean.” He resumes peeling apples.

You tell Amir glumly: “I might have to get Willis to shoot her.”

“Only if it’s a murder-suicide.”

“Criston, help me choose,” Alicent says. She has a gift for ignoring unpleasantness, you’re beginning to notice. “I suddenly feel so overwhelmed.”

He walks over to the counter and begins taking a hefty bite out of each cupcake, eating after Alicent without any trepidation. They confer in murmurs, nods, shrugs, their own language that is threaded with a distinct and curious familiarity. Alicent catches you observing.

“He’s my bodyguard,” she explains hastily, then titters. “And my personal assistant, and my driver…”

“And your babysitter,” Criston says, grinning, crumbs all over his face.

“Yes, they never seem to outgrow the need for that, do they?” Then Alicent addresses you. “Could you manage to have six cakes ready by Saturday, do you think? They’re all so lovely. I don’t think I can narrow it down to less than that.”

Amir casts you a petrified glance. Notwithstanding that, you reply: “I suppose we can handle six.”

“Brilliant.” And you think: Aemond uses that word a lot too. “Then we’d like one vanilla, one chocolate, one blueberry, one coconut, and one hummingbird. And a key lime. I just adore the color, don’t you? A gorgeous, vivid green. It reminds me of the moors back home.”

“Yes ma’am.” You scribble her order down on your legal pad.

“And how much do your cakes cost?”

“$10 each,” Amir tells her.

“$10!” Alicent exclaims, looking at Criston. “Can you believe that? We’re certainly not in Knightsbridge anymore.” She takes $60 out of her wallet and hands it to you. “And you can deliver it to the house if I leave you an address? Around noon on Saturday?”

“Of course, no problem.”

Alicent gives you an address to add to your notes—you don’t recognize the street name, it must be in a new development—and then checks the clock on the wall. “Oh, is that right?! Christabel will be landing at the airport any minute. I’ve got to rush back to the house to make sure everything is ready for her. I can’t be a subpar host.”

“Where’s your coat, Ali?” Criston asks.

“In that closet over there.”

Criston fetches her coat and drapes it over her shoulders. Amir flashes you a salacious smirk. You wiggle your eyebrows back.

As Alicent and Criston cross the kitchen towards the living room and the front door, they pause by the table where an assortment of baked goods, different every day, is displayed for walk-in customers. Criston points to a cake plate piled high with Rice Krispie Treats. “You know who likes those,” he says softly.

“They’re very popular!” Amir announces, ever the salesman. “And we can make them with any kind of cereal you could imagine. Fruity Pebbles, Frosted Flakes, Cocoa Puffs…”

Alicent says, a bit randomly: “Cap’n Crunch?”

Amir doesn’t hesitate. “Absolutely!”

“Alright.” She has a faraway look in those dark oil-drop eyes, always a little shimmery, always a little sad. “I’ll take two dozen of those as well.”

“I’ll add it to the list,” you say.

“Thank you. Cheers.”

“Cheers,” you echo, perplexed.

Criston and Alicent depart. You hear the front door swing open and then close again. Outside, Criston reminds Alicent to leave plenty of space between her and the gator. An engine rumbles and gravel crunches as the Lexus rolls out of the driveway.

“If they’re not fucking, I’m Tom Cruise,” Amir says. “Speaking of fucking, what time is Scarface coming to pick you up?”

“5:15.” You nod to where Alicent was sitting. “She’s not bad for a robber baron.”

“Oh, please. She would grind your bones into flour if that’s what it took to have cakes ready for her child bride engagement party. I hope that Christabel girl knows what she’s getting into.”

What is she, eighteen? Nineteen? “She doesn’t.” The phone rings and you scramble for it. “Hello?!”

It’s not Aemond. “Hey, sugar.”

Ugh. “Hi, Willis.” Across the kitchen, Amir mimes slitting his own wrists with the paring knife.

“Listen,” Willis drawls in his familiar, I’m-about-to-deliver-bad-news tone. You can hear noise wherever he is: sirens, shouting. He must be using his car phone. “I’m all tied up down here on Route 90, we got a hell of a wreck, ten cars and an 18-wheeler. Had to close all the goddamn lanes in both directions. I don’t think I’m gonna get home until late, really late, maybe not ‘til 9 or 10.”

“So you have to switch nights. You can’t pick Cadi up from school.”

“Tell her I’m sorry, will ya? And that I’ll take her fishin’ this weekend to make it up to her. I’ll keep her Saturday and Sunday, if that works for you.”

“She’ll love that,” you say distractedly. No Olive Garden. No Aemond. Not tonight, anyway. “Anything outside and with animals. Anything that lets her get filthy.”

“Thanks for understandin’. I gotta run.”

“Bye.”

“So long, sugar.” Willis hangs up. So do you.

“Oh no!” Amir waves his knife around threateningly. “No, not a chance, that gremlin does not get to ruin the first real date you’ve had in…what…ever?!”

You smile; you can’t help it. “It’s not a date. Aemond is fancy and kinky, I’m a mom covered in frosting, people like us don’t date. Besides, his personal ad was very clear: Single and not looking to change that.”

“He’s not acting very single.” Amir begins chopping the peeled apples.

“It’s fine. It happens. We can go to Olive Garden some other time. I’ll try to call Aemond, and if he doesn’t answer I’ll tell him when he gets here. Maybe we can at least chat on the front porch for a while or something. Watch the lightning bugs come out as it gets dark.”

“I’ll hang out here with Cadi,” Amir offers.

“What? Really?” Olive Garden might be back on the menu! “You will?”

“Yeah, ho. I can’t in good conscience just stand by while you are deprived of traumatized war veteran dick. I need a break from Grandma anyway. She’s gotten really into Unsolved Mysteries and that shit gives me the creeps. I don’t want to hear about missing or murdered people. I’m already scared I might end up like that.”

“I’d find you. I’d rescue you. My and my pet gator.”

Amir laughs, his eyes sparkling behind his glasses. “Sure you would.”

“I’ll give you $10 out of my share of the bakery profits this week. For watching Cadi, I mean.”

“Deal,” he says. “Now help me with these dumplings so we can get started on those six cakes for the motherfucking Rockefellers.”

~~~~~~~~~~

It’s 5:13 p.m. when Aemond arrives at what Cadi named the Fall-Down House when she was in kindergarten, toting in her Chewbacca backpack sheets of homework about shapes and seasons, things you could help her with. You wonder what you’ll say when she gets to her senior year of high school and starts asking about calculus, physics, Shakespeare, college applications. It’ll be like she’s trying to talk to you in a foreign language. It’ll be like trying to explain colors to a blind man.

You’re almost done wiping down the stove and counter; Amir and Cadi are singing along and dancing to Kyrie by Mr. Mister: the Moonwalk, the Electric Slide, the Wop, the Sprinkler. Aemond wanders in and hovers on the border between the living room and the kitchen, his neon teal duffle bag hanging from one shoulder, staring with this profound, childlike puzzlement on his face. He looks like he’s never seen people dancing before; it’s some exotic ritual, some rite of a religion he doesn’t practice. He wears dark jeans, a black button-up shirt, black Converses, and his trusty Marlboro jacket. His fists are buried deep in the pockets like he’s holding something precious there, treasure, wisdom, secrets.

“Wassup, Scarface?!” Amir yells over the music, pretending to be reeling Aemond in like a fish. “Show us your best moves! Do the Worm! Do the Robocop!”

Aemond raises an eyebrow, drops his duffle bag, and—after a moment’s hesitation—glides across the tilted wooden floor to you. He takes your hands, spins you around, something like a clumsy, out-of-practice waltz, something real and enchanting beyond measure. And when was the last time you really danced with a man? Willis’ senior prom? Aemond sings as Amir and Cadi do the Running Man:

“Kyrie eleison down the road that I must travel,

Kyrie eleison through the darkness of the night,

Kyrie eleison where I’m going, will you follow?

Kyrie eleison on a highway in the night…”

Aemond releases you, sweeps his blonde hair off his forehead, and guzzles your frosty glass of sweet tea that you left on the counter in an expanding pool of condensation. You are reminded of how Criston devoured the cupcakes with no concern for the fact that Alicent had already tasted them.

“Such a weird song,” Cadi says as it fades out, as the cicadas and nighthawks grow louder through the screens of the open windows. “What the heck is a kyrie eleison?”

“It means Lord have mercy,” Aemond tells her. “It’s Greek.”

“Willis got stuck cleaning up an accident about a half hour south of here,” you explain. “But Amir and Cadi are going to have some nice couch potato time together.”

“Can we watch Unsolved Mysteries?” Cadi asks Amir excitedly, clinging to his arm. Amir groans.

“I might have an alternative,” Aemond says. He returns to his duffle bag, unzips it, and produces—not blue silk scarves, fuzzy handcuffs, a riding crop, or any other tokens of depravity—but a Nintendo game console.

Cadi screams and sprints to Aemond, unable to rip it out of his hands fast enough. “No way! Really?! I can play it?!”

“You can keep it.”

“What?!” She ogles the tannish rectangular box, the two handheld controllers. “This is the most epic day of my life!”

“I’m glad I could deliver it in person. I was just going to leave it with your mum.” Aemond starts taking cartridges out of the duffle bag. “I have Commando, Super Mario Bros., Star Force, the Karate Kid, Kung Fu, Burger Time, Donkey Kong and Donkey Kong 3, Alpha Mission, the Legend of Zelda, and Golf, which I honestly would not recommend. I used to have Top Gun too, but my brother spilled Tang all over it.”

“This is better than Christmas!” Cadi shrieks. “This is better than my birthday!” She dashes to Amir and starts hauling him off towards her room. “Let’s go, let’s go, let’s go!”

“I’m being kidnapped,” he tells you, feigning distress.

“Cadi, chill. Do you know how to hook that up to your tv?”

She reluctantly surrenders Amir’s hand. “Yeah, Michelle has one.”

“Okay. You can get it ready, I have to talk to Amir for a sec.”

“Fine,” she grumbles, and vanishes into her bedroom with the Nintendo and a precarious armful of game cartridges.

“Thank you,” you tell Amir quietly. “Seriously. I know I owe you.”

He grins. “Anytime. You’re helping to pay my way to San Fransisco, I really can’t complain.”

Aemond perks up. “You’re visiting San Fran?”

“I’m moving there,” Amir says. “And as soon as humanly possible! Sun, sand, and Speedos, here I come! Why? Have you been?”

“I have, actually. It’s a great city.”

You turn to Aemond; this is new information. “Did you go to school there?”

“No, I went to Imperial College in London. But I flew to San Franscisco to interview someone I was writing a term paper about.”

Amir squints at him. “Imperial paid for you to fly across the world for one interview?”

Aemond shrugs, hands back in his jacket pockets. “I got, uh, a research stipend.”

You ask: “Who did you interview?”

“I don’t think you’d recognize the name, but he was a really incredible guy. He was a nurse and the first person to ever come out publicly as having AIDS. Then he spent the rest of his life educating people about the disease. Bobbi—”

“Bobbi Campbell?!” Amir is awed. “Of course I know who he is! You actually met Bobbi Campbell?!”

“Yeah, we had lunch together. Wine and cioppino. His partner was there too.” Aemond is somber, reflective. “It’s probably the most worthwhile thing I’ve ever done.”

“Well you just get better and better, don’t you, big boy?” Amir says. “Have fun at Olive Garden. Don’t hurry home or anything.”

~~~~~~~~~~

You are beaming, serene, warm all over, bewitched by the magic of liminal spaces, doorways between realities that rarely touch. Frank Sinatra—Fly Me To The Moon—floats through the restaurant speakers. The table is cluttered with plates and bowls: breadsticks, salad wet with Italian dressing, zuppa toscana, minestrone, main courses. Families in nearby booths are chattering; wine glasses clink, stories are recalled. You always wonder when you see cheerful married couples surrounded by children: Are they really happy? Is it worth it? Or do they go home after these displays of fairytale adoration and ignore each other, argue, brawl, crack open the Bud Lights, crack knuckles, crack bones like glass? Does true love exist at all? Or is it a lie we’re taught so the species can live on? “I’m in Italy.”

“You’re not in Italy, Cupcake. You’re in Gonzales, Louisiana. I can glance out the window and see a Doller General and a Burger King.”

“I’m basically in Italy.” You gesture to your plate, large and oval-shaped. Your entrée is divided into thirds: chicken parmesan, lasagna, fettuccine alfredo. “I got the Tour of Italy. I’m now an expert in all things Italian.”

Aemond smiles at you, the way he usually does: amused, teasing, craving. “In Italy, the pasta is always al dente. And they use very little sauce, not like here where everything is drowning in it.”

“I personally love my ocean of sauce.”

“And in Italy the bread is served plain. No butter, no olive oil, no…” He scrutinizes a breadstick. “Whatever this is. Assorted soy products, probably.”

“Don’t ruin my dinner or I’ll tie you up next time.”

Aemond laughs: crinkles around his eyes, pure boyish radiance. “Go ahead. I dare you.” He eats a bite of his herb-grilled salmon. “I looked into your Saint Honoratus of Amiens. He’s the patron saint of bakers.”

You roll your eyes like this is obvious. You like knowing something Aemond doesn’t, Aemond with his vocabulary and his high-powered career and his petroleum engineering degree from Imperial College in London, England, a place you have never seen and never will, a city that might as well be located on one of Saturn’s rings. “Yeah, clearly.”

But you never feel like the clever one for long. “And of oil refiners.”

“Is he really?”

Aemond grins. “Yeah. So we’ll have to share him.”

“Did you ever think about doing something besides engineering?” You already know the answer. You saw it in the way he talked about Bobbi Campbell.

“I did,” Aemond admits. “The engineering thing…it was expected of me. It wasn’t really my choice. It’s fine, I’m okay with my job, I’ve come to terms with it. But when I was a kid, I wanted to be a historian.”

“People get paid for that? To study history?”

“Not a lot. But I love the stories. When I was at Imperial, I’d fill every extra space in my schedule with history and anthropology courses. I interviewed Bobbi for my Microhistory class.”

“Micro…history? Tiny history…?”

“You learn everything there is to know about one individual, or one town, or one product, whatever, and through it you can get a better sense of the bigger picture. Like…you could catalogue what specific pieces of furniture were in George Washington’s house to study 18th-century trade routes.”

“Or you could use Ketchikan, Alaska as an example of the dangers of oil rigs and the corrupt, greedy company policies of modern-day robber barons.”

Aemond stares at you. “Yeah. Sure. You get it.” He wastes no time changing the subject. “Where did you go to college?”

“College?” This is preposterous. “Aemond, I never finished high school.”

“You’re joking.”

“No, I’m not,” you say. “I dropped out. I don’t have a high school diploma. I definitely didn’t go to college.”

He’s utterly bewildered. “But…you aren’t stupid.”

“Yes, Aemond, a lot of not-stupid people don’t go to college. And I’d imagine the opposite is true as well.”

He sighs, long and deep, rubbing his scarred forehead with his fingertips. “I’m sorry. I could have worded that more sensitively.”

“Willis is a year older than me. I got pregnant the night of his senior prom. I never went back after summer break. I figured…you know…what was the point? I didn’t need Calculus or World History. I needed money. I needed baby clothes and a crib and a car. And my high school wouldn’t have let me in anyway.”

Now Aemond glares, though his wrath isn’t for you. “They kicked out pregnant girls?”

You smile wryly, chomping on a breadstick wet with marinara sauce. “They still do. They have to make cautionary tales out of us. The weak and the lustful.”

“Well then how the fuck is someone like you supposed to provide for yourself?”

“By marrying whoever got us pregnant and never leaving them.”

“Medieval,” he snaps. He stabs at his salmon, loses his appetite, slams the fork down on the plate. The waitress had just been approaching to ask about dessert; she does a 180 and vanishes again.

“Aemond,” you say gently. I don’t want to ruin tonight. “Please don’t be angry.”

“There are specific things that make me angry.” He rests his chin on his knuckles and peers out the window. Seconds tick by; Frank Sinatra sings about New York, another city you’ll never visit. Then Aemond looks at you again. “What is it like to be a parent?” he says, in the same reverent and mystified tone that someone might use to ask what it was like to flatline on an operating table before being brought back to life. Did you get a glimpse of the gates of Heaven? Did you feel the heat of Hell?

“I can only tell you how it feels to me.” You are wistful; you are painfully honest. You’ve never told anyone this before. No one has ever asked. “It’s…wonderful, and terrifying, and exhausting. You love them more than anything, but that doesn’t mean you don’t get tired, irritated, impatient, resentful. One minute you’re laughing hysterically with them, the next you’re begging them to go to sleep so you can have a half hour to yourself, or just ten minutes, or just five. And then as soon as they’re gone you miss them. You’re too strict or too lenient, never just right. You sacrifice—money, time, your body, your soul—but it’s never enough. You accidentally hurt their feelings and then tie yourself in knots to fix it, but you can never show them when you’re sad, or frustrated, or afraid. They can be so sweet and then so inadvertently cruel. They’re too young to understand that they’re being ungrateful. They ask you questions you don’t want to answer. They’re your reason for living, they’re a burden, they’re the best thing that ever happened to you, they’re your closest friend, they’ve trapped you somewhere you don’t want to be. There are all these emotions that come in waves, they go around and around and never stop. It’s like a tire spinning in mud.”

Aemond considers you for a long time before he speaks. “I think you’re doing a good job. Cadi seems happy. She’s…uh…spirited. But happy.”

“She’s a little wild, but that’s my fault. We grew up together. I didn’t draw many lines, and now it’s too late. And she’s getting old enough to notice things she didn’t see before. Most of her friends’ parents are still married. They might not be in love, but she doesn’t understand that part yet. What she understands is that we’re broke and her dad lives in a different house, and I’m the one who made that happen.”

“You’re doing a good job,” Aemond insists. He starts to reach across the table for your hands, then stops, reconsiders, grabs his duffle bag that’s squeezed next to him in the booth instead. He unzips the small pocket on the side and pulls out a toothbrush, a travel-sized tube of Crest, and a miniature bottle of Listermint. “I’m going to go brush my teeth in the bathroom, and then I’m going to fuck you in the back of my car. Okay?”

Your smile has returned. The magic has too. “Okay. You don’t want dessert?”

“I don’t need tiramisu. I already have a Cupcake. Unless…do you want tiramisu…?”

“No, I don’t like coffee.”

“I think they have other things too, cannoli, cheesecake…”

“Aemond,” you say. “I want to leave now.”

“Got it.” He leaves $30 for the waitress on the table—he always pays with cash, you notice—and bolts for the bathroom. Fortunately, you’d had the same thought; shortly before Aemond arrived at the house two hours ago, you’d packed your pink toothbrush and a tube of Ultra Brite in your Valerie Barad rainbow purse…just in case. By the time you get back to the table, Aemond is waiting and looking uncharacteristically anxious: biting his lower lip, clasping his hands together behind his back. He’s relieved when he spots you. “I thought you might have ditched me.”

“What, and walked 25 miles home?”

“Forget it. Let’s go.” And he shoves his hands into the pockets of his Marlboro jacket before he can reveal any more of himself with them.

~~~~~~~~~~

You’re flying down Route 70 with all the windows down, warm twilight wind flooding through the gaps between your fingers, centuries-old southern live oaks and flowering dogwoods passing by in a blur, an Eddie Money tape in the Audi Quattro’s cassette deck. Under the bridges you cross, brackish bayou water ripples lazily, thick with cypress trees, duckweed, spider lilies, salvinia, wading great egrets and lurking alligators. The seats are tan leather and spotless. Aemond rests a palm on your bare thigh, just below the hem of your shorts. His blonde hair whips in the breeze. From the passenger seat, you can only see the right side of his face, the unscarred side. It’s almost like he’s whole again. He puffs on a Marlboro Red, smoke escaping through the open windows, tobacco and tar and nicotine, chemicals and earth.

“We better stop before we get into Assumption Parish,” you tease. “You don’t want one of Willis’ deputies to stumble upon us.”

But Aemond is particular; he wants the perfect spot. Just a mile before Ascension Parish gives way to Assumption, he finds an overgrown dirt pull-off used for fishing. He parks the Quattro just out of sight of the highway, rolls up the automatic windows, blasts the icy air conditioning.

“Get in the back,” he orders, unclicking his seatbelt. The intro of Take Me Home Tonight thunders through the speakers. You obey, climbing into the (very not-spacious) back seat. Just seconds later, Aemond follows.

You giggle when he pulls you into his lap to straddle him. As you toss away his Marlboro jacket and unbutton his shirt, Aemond yanks off your orange tank top, unhooks your bra, accidentally breaks the tab of the zipper off your white denim shorts with his strong, frantic hands. He needs you; he needs you all the time, everywhere, and he’ll never get enough. He’s kissing you deeply, roughly, nipping at your lips and tongue, breathing his smoke into you. His fingers slip into your shorts and under the silk that you bought for him, blue like his eyes, blue like the sky before heavy rain. You’re moaning, grinding, impatient; he’s helping you shimmy out of your shorts, he’s tugging down his jeans. And now you realize that he wants you to stay on top. “Aemond, no, I’m not good at it…”

“Shut up. You’re good at everything.”

That’s a lie, you know it is; still, Aemond makes you believe it. He grabs your hips and shows you exactly how to move them, and soon the rhythm feels effortless, soon you are wet and relaxed enough for him. At the last minute, he gets a condom from the pocket of his jeans, rips it open, and rolls it on. And again, you are struck by a strange but unmistakable disappointment that you cannot have all of him, that you cannot experience what it’s like to be as close to him as humanly possible, this man that you hardly know, this body that unleashes ecstasy in yours.

It’s quick: your arms linked around the back of his neck, Aemond kissing your throat and the slope of your jaw, his hands and murmurs guiding you, delicious fullness and friction. You’re amazed when he comes—I made that happen?? I did that??—and a tidal wave of extraordinary pride, lust, power surges through you. Aemond helps you finish with his fingers, only a few vigorous strokes, and then he drags you down onto the Quattro’s back seat with him.

“Careful,” you say as you lie on top of Aemond’s chest, both of you breathless and slick with sweat, goosebumps springing up in the chill of the air conditioning. You’re all tangled up in each other; there’s no room to get away. “You’re not going to be able to get rid of me.”

“I’ll accept the risk.” The last rays of sunlight fall across his damp skin, turning him to amber, tiger’s eye, gold. “What happened when you had Cadi?”

You turn your face to look at him. “Huh?”

“You said you were unconscious for a few days after she was born.”

“I told you that?”

“Yeah. The first night I came over. And you’ve been on the pill ever since. You never wanted more kids?”

“No,” you say quietly. “No, I didn’t. I still don’t.”

“So something happened.”

“It’s not a cute story. It’s not sexy.”

“I’ve surmised that.” Another word you don’t know.

“I don’t really ever talk about it.”

“Because you don’t want to, or because people don’t ask?”

You’re amazed by how much he sees, like you’re a clean window, like your skin and skull are made of glass. “My water broke and I went into labor, but I wasn’t progressing fast enough,” you tell Aemond. “I mean, the nurses told me I wasn’t progressing. I didn’t really understand what that meant. It felt like something was happening. There was a lot of pain and pressure, and it was intense, definitely, but it was bearable, I still felt like myself. I was actually really proud of how calm I was. But I guess it wasn’t enough. So the doctor started me on something called Pitocin, and then the contractions weren’t bearable anymore. They were…I can’t even describe it. It was like this bone-breaking twisting, but also sharpness, razor sharpness. I imagined knots of barbed wire. It’s the only thing I could compare it to. And I wasn’t in control anymore. I wasn’t myself at all. I was this animal being trapped, being tortured, and there was no break between the contractions, they happened over and over and over again, one right after the other, and it went on for hours. I kept telling everyone that I couldn’t do it. I needed an epidural, laughing gas, pills, anything. I was begging them to knock me out. I was trying to rip the IV with the Pitocin out of my hand. But no one listened. The nurses acted like I was being dramatic. Women have babies every single day all over the world, why couldn’t I just shut up and deal with it? My mom was around, but she had pretty straightforward births, and I don’t think she could comprehend what it was like. Willis told me I was doing a good job. That’s all he could say: Good job, sugar, you’re doin’ just fine, sugar. But I didn’t want mindless encouragement. I wanted somebody to help me. I thought I was dying.”

Aemond’s hand smooths your hair. He’s watching you closely.

“When Cadi…when she was finally born, I wasn’t excited to hold her. I didn’t even care. I was just relieved the pain wasn’t so bad anymore. I told my mom to take her. I could hear the baby crying, and I remember thinking: Who is that? I almost died for that? I felt nothing for her, absolutely nothing. And then I heard…it sounded like someone had turned a sink on, because there was water running. But then the nurses were yelling and the doctor rushed back into the room. I was hemorrhaging, and it wasn’t water that I’d heard, it was blood, my blood, gushing all over the floor. I passed out and I needed transfusions and I woke up three days later. The very first thing a nurse said was that she was so happy to tell me that they’d been able to stop the bleeding without doing a hysterectomy, so I’d be able to have more children. Can you believe that? It was like I didn’t exist. I was just a vessel. As if I wanted to go through that again. No, never, no thank you. I got attached to Cadi, but it took months. Obviously, now I love her. But I was empty for a long time. Just empty, and sad, and in pain, and hopeless.”

“And your useless fucking husband named the baby you almost bled to death having.”

“He didn’t mean for it to be hurtful,” you say. “He thought he was helping. And it’s a hell of a name, I have to admit it. Arcadia Dove, like a Star Wars character or a superhero. It suits her.”

But still: Aemond shakes his head, incredulous, outraged on behalf of your long-gone teenage self. “When you found out you were pregnant, did you ever consider…you know…not having it?”

You give him a small, guilty smirk. What kind of mother could admit this? “Yeah. Yeah, I did. That was my plan, actually. I called a clinic in New Orleans and made an appointment. Cleared out every penny of my savings to pay for it. Cheaper than a life sentence, right? Amir offered to go with me, but neither of us had a car or a license, and I could never let my mom know. So I asked Willis.”

“And he wouldn’t drive you.”

Worse. “He told me that if I went, I’d be a murderer.”

Aemond jolts upright, furious. “He actually said that to you?”

“Aemond—”

“No, hold on, he actually said that?! He said that you could drop out of high school, you could throw all your dreams out the window, you could become a mum at fucking seventeen years old and marry some guy you barely knew, and if you wanted a way out that would make you a murderer?!”

You offer weakly: “Willis is really, really Catholic. A lot of people down here are, and—”

“He’s a coward, that’s what he is. He was willing to sacrifice your future to soothe his conscience. His life didn’t change. Yours did.”

“I love Cadi. I don’t regret her.”

“But you should have had a choice.”

You study Aemond: his glinting right eye, the deep stormy furrows in his brow. “Why are you so angry?”

“Because you deserved better. You could have been something more.”

Something more? Something more? “I’m not horrified by how I’ve turned out, Aemond. I made the best of my circumstances. I have a job I enjoy, I keep a roof over our heads, I have people to live for.”

“You deserved better,” Aemond repeats, soft and low.

“So did you.” You touch your palm to his scarred cheek and ask in a whisper: “What happened? Who hurt you?”

“Stop,” Aemond says, flinching away from your hand. And that’s the safe word; you have to listen.

~~~~~~~~~~

At home, Cadi and Amir are chatting at the kitchen counter with a late-night snack of apple dumplings, warmed in the microwave, and Breyer’s vanilla ice cream. Blue Bell is cheaper, but Breyer’s tastes real; it’s one of the few things you won’t compromise on.

“Mom, guess how many levels I beat in Super Mario Bros.!” Cadi doesn’t notice that your tank top isn’t quite covering the brutalized zipper of your shorts. Amir definitely does notice; he mouths to you: Baby Jesus is so sad.

“Um, I don’t know…how many levels does it have?”

“Thirty-two,” Aemond informs you.

“Seven?” you say.

“Try ten!” Cadi grins triumphantly.

“Radical! Amazing!”

Aemond applauds. “No way! You’re a prodigy!” You don’t have to ask if he wants to stay. He scoops two apple dumplings into the same bowl and then pops open the microwave, like he lives here too. “How long should I heat these up?”

“About 45 seconds,” Amir says. He yawns and puts his dishes in the sink.

“Thanks again for entertaining Cadi.” You give him a tired, repentant smile. “I would tell you to take tomorrow off, but we both know that’s not an option. I’m going to set my alarm for 3:00 a.m.”

“I myself will most certainly not be awake at 3:00 a.m. But I’ll try to get here by 7:00.” Amir gives Cadi a hug that she pretends not to appreciate. “Goodnight, slayer of Bowsers.” Then he waves to Aemond as he breezes out of the kitchen. “Goodnight, destroyer of zippers.”

Aemond covers his mouth to keep from laughing. “Cheers, Amir.” He brings the bowl of apple dumplings from the microwave to the counter, adds several heaping mounds of vanilla ice cream and two spoons, and slides it over so you can share. Outside, you hear Amir’s Ford Escort pull out of the gravel driveway. “You have a lot of baking to do, huh?”

“Oh my God, I completely forgot to tell you. You’ll never believe who showed up—”

“Mom, can we go shopping tomorrow?” Cadi asks, derailing your train of thought.

Cadi? Shopping? This is an unusual request. “Shopping for what?”

“For my riding boots,” Cadi says brightly as she finishes her apple dumpling, and you think, sinking in ways you can’t let her see: Oh fuck. Here’s the conversation I’ve been avoiding for weeks. “Michelle and Erica are both going to that horse camp in July. Breanna and Sam are going too. Kristen might even go, and she’s a total freakazoid! I can go, right? I’ll need boots, and a helmet, and I want to ride an Appaloosa. They have all kinds of horses, but Appaloosas are my favorite, and if they don’t let me ride one I’m going to go nuclear.”

“Honey, I don’t think it’s going to be possible this year.”

“But I have to go. Everyone else is going.”

“I tried, I really did. But I just can’t swing it right now. Next summer I’ll have more money saved up, hopefully, and then you can go to horse camp, and maybe we can even go to Biloxi for a week too—”

“I don’t care about Biloxi.” And now she’s lashing out, because she’s realizing the answer might really be no. Aemond is silently picking at the apple dumplings, looking between the two of you but not knowing what to say. “I care about going to horse camp when literally all of my friends get to—”

“Cadi, I’m so sorry, I really am. But sometimes things just don’t work out, and that’s okay, that’s a part of life. We’ll still have fun this summer.”

“I’m not going to have fun if I’m just stuck here at home all day!”

Stuck here with me, stuck here in the life I built for her. “Cadi, please—”

“I’ll give up my birthday presents,” she pleads, her eyes turning misty. “You can just not buy me anything for my birthday, or Christmas either, and you can use what you would have spent on that for—”

“I’m sorry,” you say gently, a hand on her little shoulder, her tiny breakable bones. “I wish I could give you what you want. I really, really do. I’m trying to make things better for us.”

“Can’t you ask Daddy for more money?”

And you remember what Willis said at the Assumption Parish Sheriff’s Office: Tell her if she grows her hair back out, maybe she can go next year. “Daddy wants to help too, I’ve already talked to him about it. We just can’t make it happen right now.”

“Daddy always says he’d have more money if he didn’t have to send you so much every month!” Cadi blurts out. Aemond is watching you, but you shake your head. He can’t say anything. It’s not his place. “That’s why I can’t go to horse camp, isn’t it? Because we don’t all live together?”

“No, Cadi, that’s not what this is about—”

“Erica’s parents live together and she gets to go! Michelle’s mom and dad are always taking vacations!”

“Every family is different,” you say, fighting to stay calm while your throat is closing up and the blood in your face is hot enough to scald.

“Sam’s mom just bought her riding boots and gloves!”

“I’m not your friends’ mothers, I’m sorry, I’m just not.”

“Well maybe you shouldn’t have kids if you can’t afford them!” Cadi screams, tears streaming from her bloodshot eyes, and then she storms off to her bedroom and slams the door.

You and Aemond are left alone in the midst of humming florescent lightbulbs, long-eared owl hoots, the ambient shrieks of cicadas. The apple dumplings and ice cream have dissolved into a soup. Your lips are trembling; a single blistering tear escapes down your cheek. You refuse to break down. You learned years ago that there is nothing to be gained from it. Aemond studies you, seeking and worried. You avoid his gaze. His hand reaches for yours, stops short, retreats to drum his fingers against the counter.

At last, Aemond says: “How much is the horse thing?”

“Too much. Way too much. It’s over $300, I won’t be able to make rent.”

He sighs; not a frustrated sigh, you think, but a sigh of incredulity, maybe even of pity, which is the last thing in the world that you want from him. Aemond takes his wallet from his jeans pocket, leafs through it, and counts out $400 in twenties and tens that he stacks on the countertop.

You are mortified, horrified. “Aemond, no—”

“Look, next time I see you, we need to talk. We need to talk about my situation, and your situation, and what we’re going to do going forward. And it’s…fuck, it’s, it’s complicated. You’ll see. But we have to get it sorted out, because this is…” He gestures to you, to him, to what you’re building between you like a bridge linking islands. “It’s different than what I expected it would be. And that’s a good thing, but…there’s just a lot we have to discuss.”

“Aemond, I can’t accept this much money from you.”

“The money doesn’t matter. $400? That’s nothing. The money’s not real to me. But it is real to you. So please just take it. And next time I see you we’ll…we’ll decide what happens next.”

It’s complicated, Aemond said. You’ll see. See what? How bad could it possibly be? “We can’t talk now?”

“No, I can’t do it now. I just can’t.”

He’s not just uneasy or distracted. He’s fucking scared. “You’re married,” you say.

“No. No wife, no kids. I swear to God.”

“No girlfriend either?”

“No.”

“You’re divorced.”

“No.” He combs his fingers through his short blonde hair, stares blankly at the wall behind you. “You’re free Saturday, right?”

“Yeah. I think Cadi will be with Willis all weekend, actually. He’s taking her fishing on Lake Verret. If Jade Dragon hasn’t blown it up by then. I’ll be busy with work Saturday morning and early afternoon, but after that I’ll be around.”

“I’ll come over around dusk, probably,” Aemond says, hands in his Marlboro jacket pockets, thoughts miles away. “I have something going on Saturday afternoon too.”

And he leaves before you can thank him for the stack of cash on the counter, or for any of the rest of what he’s given you.

[superstar49]

my hot take (it’s really more lukewarm tbh) is that drivers of color are judged significantly harsher than any of the white drivers on the grid, by both the media and the fan base

yes, 100% true. there’s always been a bias toward british drivers and european drivers in general, but i’m not sure everyone is aware of the bias toward white drivers. and people really only seem to think it happens to lewis, but that’s because he’s the only one who talks about it. the rest of the non-white drivers on the grid kind of get overlooked because they haven’t spoken up about it, largely because they probably feel like they can’t.

nobody talks about how it’s funny when max or kevin or whoever else is swearing a lot on the radio, but when yuki does it it’s excessive and immature. and it‘s ridiculous how people seem to forget that the country on alex albon’s super license is thailand as soon as he starts doing well. historically, when alex has started performing well, articles and publications stop describing him as a thai driver and start saying thai-british or just british, like it must be the brit in him that makes him do well. people always say that guanyu only has his seat because he’s a pay driver, but literally everyone is a pay driver. you don’t get an f1 seat if you’re not bringing the team sponsors and money. i saw loads of fans saying that the only people who cared about checo’s contract renewal were mexicans, which is absolutely ridiculous.

even with lewis, who has spoken up repeatedly, i still barely see anyone talk about some of the really disgusting things that fans and others in the sport have said about lewis. the xenophobia and racism in this sport is sickening and it‘s actually ridiculous that people just ignore it because this is f1 and that’s how it’s always been. the best driver in history, the face of the sport for the better part of a decade, is facing mass discrimination along with so many other people of colour in the sport, and people in the industry have absolutely nothing to say about it.

[hailmaryfullofgrace55675]

“Ashkenazi Jews don’t actually have Levantine genetic ancestry” has been floating around lately among naïve and conspiracy minded anti-Zionists, a problematic claim that undermines actually correct anti-Zionist principles and defense of Palestinian rights. This claim is

absolutely irrelevant, as “blood” originating on the “soil” does not grant anyone any right to an ethnostate on any land. Using area-native ethnicity to justify discrimination and mass killing is bad when it’s Yamato Japanese discriminating against Korean, Mainland Chinese, and Taiwanese minorities in Japan and it’s bad when it’s Celtic-Germanic descent Brits oppressing Celtic-Germanic descent Irish who they’re genetically undifferentiatable from. It was bad when it was Hutus killing Tutsis and it was bad when it was the Khmer Rouge killing Chinese and Vietnamese Cambodians. The actions of the Israeli state in immiserating and slaughtering non-Jewish Palestinians would be equally harmful and wrong if the diaspora had never happened and every Israeli could trace their resident lineage in an unbroken line back to the time of the Second Temple, because it is bad to destroy people’s homes, burn their crops, imprison them, and kill them.

incorrect, at least according to current scientific consensus. Most genetic studies seem to indicate that Ashkenazim are of majority European descent and also have ancestry in the Levant, that is: the Ashkenazi population had some Levantine founders and there’s been significant amounts of intermarriage over the hundreds and hundreds of years of the diaspora into Southern Europe and from there across Central and Eastern Europe.

irrelevant again because even if, through a combination of conversions, adoptions, intermarriage, and adulterous and out of wedlock pairings between Jews and local gentiles, the diasporic European Jewish population had become completely genetically indistinguishable from local gentiles, those Jews would still have been the children of Israel. They still would have learned to read the Torah and celebrate its festivals. They still would have learned, from their families and communities in an unbroken line, to pray “Sh’ma Yisrael, Adonai eloheinu, Adonai echad” (Hear, Israel, the Lord is our God, the Lord is one) as the rabbinic sages of Roman Judea observed in the Talmud that they were commanded to do. They still would have spoken languages with Hebrew and Aramaic elements, and they still would have written them with letters recognizable in the Dead Sea Scrolls. They still would have had the same interests, affirmed daily and yearly, in the land that their people left so many hundreds of years ago.

One formulation of the claim is “Israel bans direct to consumer genetic testing because it shows that (Ashkenazi) Jews don’t have Middle Eastern ancestry”. The Israeli government does ban DTC genetic testing as part of a genetic information privacy and nondiscrimination law passed in 2000, before companies like 23andMe existed. DNA testing for ancestry can be interpreted and presented many ways, and the ancestry breakdowns given by DTC GT companies just do not correspond to the question “where, how, and through what migrations did this population originate?”.

Once again, Zionism is not bad because people residing in places their ancestors are not from is bad. That is fine. Zionism is bad because from its beginning the Zionist project has been one of violent dispossession and because that violent dispossession continues in and through this very present moment.

[alonetimelover]

M A S T E R L I S T

hello!

welcome to my full masterlist. i hope you'll find something just right for yourself, and maybe you'd like to stay for more.

have a nice time reading,

mila xx

♡ Fade To Black ~7,3k words

YN loved Joel more than anyone ever. Joel was selfish and scared. They both made mistakes. It all led them to Bill's town and aftermath of what had happened, understanding something very important - love isn't always forever.

♡ ...deserved to experience ~4,3k words (part 2 to fade to black)

YN, Joel, and Ellie try to settle down in Jackson. Over the years, they have navigated their lives through all happy moments. Family expanded, and new feelings and roles were accepted. Joel has never been happier. Or is it just a movie?

♡ 10 essentials - social media - photographer!reader

Over the years YN did several photoshoots of Andrew for different magazines. When the pandemic began fans started to speculate. Finally, Andrew spills the tea during the '10 essentials' video and let people inside his life - very changed life.

♡ BRIT awards - slavic!reader ~7,2k words

After years of being together, six months of being engaged - YN and Harry are letting people know they're in love - it just happens to be BRITs 2023 award show.

♡ Easter Monday - slavic(polish)!reader ~1,3k words

Harry and YN spent their first Easter together. He wants to surprise YN with celebrating it the way she does in Poland - but Harry gets his knowledge from the internet, not the best source.

♡ Warsaw show - social media + blurb - slavic(polish)!reader

Harry plays one of the most important shows during the European leg of HSLOT - show where YN's granny is in the audience.

♡ to feel fulfilled - polish!reader ~ 3,6k words

During the day of the last Love on Tour show Harry intends to do three things: satisfy his fiancée, make granny's dream come true and put on the best performance for his fans.

♡ ...marry me? - polish!reader ~ 1,2k words

Harry is drunk and YN is the angel that he dreamt of.

♡ Let's play tennis! - social media - tennis player!reader

Harry's dating WTA no. 1 tennis player - YN YSN.

♡ Can't hear haters when you're slaying - social media - tennis player!reader

Harry and YN (WTA no. 1 tennis player) are still going strong despite all the bullying they receive.

♡ BLURB - YN and Harry go for a run in London - tennis player!reader

♡ My love, we were in Paris - tennis player!reader ~ 1,7k words

Harry surprises YN after her third win in French Open.

♡ Wimbledon - tennis player! reader ~ 0,9k words

YN lost at Wimbledon, but Harry is still proud of her.

♡ Winning - social media - tennis player!reader

In which YN won Wimbledon, people think they broke up and internet breaking.

♡ Daylight - social media - equestrian!reader

For filming Daylight MV, Harry needed some horse riding lessons.

♡ 'The Higgs professor' - social media - physicist!reader

After being sent a video of Dr YN YSN, explaining Higgs mechanism with Harry's music, Harry finds himself infatuated. Then he meets her at Oppenheimer's after party, and the rest is history.

♡ Dispersion - social media - physicist!reader - part 2

NYC is welcoming one of the most famous physicists, and things seem to look great. More physics in pop terms and more of the sweet couple. For some time.

♡ Fired? - social media - physicist!reader - part 3

The leak is hard on everybody, especially YN. Internet wants to fire her from Oxford. And Harry, Harry is like always there for her.

♡ Recommendations - social media - booktuber!reader

The new series on ynrecommends channel on YT caught Harry's attention. After some time, they are joined at the hip. As friends. Right?

♡ If he doesn't have books, don't sleep with him - social media - booktuber!reader - part 2

The rumours are swirling around Harry and YN on whether they are together. In their usual style, they are confusing, so nobody knows. Till, YN posts that one picture on her IG.

♡ Music videos - social media - famous!reader

Harry and YN have been together since 2013. And from the moment Harry started his solo career, YN is there, in the music videos, or behind the scenes. And if it's not her, it's one of their two babies. Soon to be three.

♡ Third baby - social media - famous!reader

Harry and YN have their third baby and some people still don't know how to behave around a breastfeeding person.

♡ Daddy's house - social media - famous!reader

New Pleasing drop comes with new ambassadors - quite little ambassadors.

♡ Love language - boyfriend!Harry

Harry's love language is physical touch, especially kissing you. Here are just a few types of them. !contains suggestive content!

♡ Kisses - boyfriend!Harry

After establishing their love language, YN and Harry are not shy about it. And YN loves smothering Harry in kisses after his first LOT show.

♡ Popstars - social media - popstar!reader

YN and Harry have been together for years. The problem is, even after being spotted kissing, they won't admit it at the beginning. Oh, there also is Judie and Teddy - their cute, little kids.

♡ Goldie - social media - swimmer!reader

Harry follows a competitive swimmer, YN on IG, and (lies you can imagine) it breaks the internet. YN attends his shows and their relationship just grows.

♡ Happy birthday, rockstar - social media - director!reader

YN's social media posts over the years wishing Joe a happy birthday. (part of an Action! series)

Harry x (ex)director!reader x Joseph Quinn

A story, where Harry and YN fall in love at Sign Of The Times music video set, challenge their relationship over the years, eventually fall apart and the aftermath of that break-up.

social media:

part 1 part 2 part 3 part 4 part 5 part 6

written parts:

▪︎ first date ~2,8k words

A short story about two people being nervous on their first date.

▪︎ tolerate it ~3k words

YN sees how much Harry is distancing. Confrontation happens, unfolding cascade of events and feelings YN has buried within herself. Is this the end?

▪︎ champagne problems (part 2 to tolerate it) ~3k words

YN thinks Harry wants to save their relationship after the argument they've had. He thinks that, too. But the definition of saving can differ.

▪︎ heartbreak anniversary ~3,4k words

Harry holds an emotional conversation with his therapist, and then his family. If it wasn't heart-wrenching enough, Anne and Gemma have some news to share - something to tip the scales at the breaking point.

a/n: headers are made by me. if use, please give credit.

[adascore]

The Awarded Silence

pairings: alexia putellas x lyonnais!reader / lucy bronze x lyonnais!reader / mary earps x lyonnais!reader / sarina wiegman x lyonnais!reader + mapi and ingrid cameos!

warnings: very awkward. angst. swearing.

author's note: lucy meddling with her two captains... nothing good can come of that, can it? hope you all enjoy this third part! also I’m aware the gif is not the right award ceremony, but couldn’t find a better gif.

part 1 | part 2 | masterlist

•••••••

With the end of a season also came the prestigious award shows, something both Y/N and Alexia were all too familiar with. Although it was different this time around; it would be the first time they would actually go up against each other in the big categories.

It was clear to everyone who would be walking away with each one of them. Not only had Y/N walked away with both the European Championship and the Champions League title, she'd been named the MVP of both those tournaments. Some of the media were trying to hype it up as another competition between them, but even Alexia was aware she had no chance of walking away with anything as long as Y/N was nominated for it as well.

First one up had been the UEFA Women's Player of the Year, which Y/N had taken home, alongside Sarina who had won for Women's Coach of the Year.

That was followed up by the Ballon d'Or. It was a big deal as they were the clear frontrunners, and whoever won would become the first player to win the accolade for a second time. Again, Y/N made history and had accepted the gold award. Alexia hadn't gone to the ceremony, citing illness as the reason why.

The England captain had been upset by her absence, she hadn't seen nor spoken with Alexia in months and had hoped the ceremony in France would have been an opportunity to catch up. She'd smiled when the midfielder sent her a congratulatory message, along with a shout-out on her Instagram story- stating how she was deserving of the award.

It would take a few more months before they'd see each other, at ‘The Best FIFA Football Awards' in Paris. Along with being nominated for Best Women's Player, they would both be featured in the Women's World 11.

The first interaction came when they were hastily put next to each other as they received their trophies. As the cameras clicked, Y/N and Alexia exchanged smiles that masked the tension between them.

''I think it would be difficult for anyone to beat this team.'' Lucy grinned, speaking into the microphone that was attached to her cheek.

The women received another applause and made their way off the stage, handing over their trophies that would be handed back to them at the end of the ceremony.

A few winners later, Kylian took the stage to present ‘The Best FIFA Women's Player' award. They showed a pleasant montage of Alexia, Y/N and Alex- a compilation of their season's highlights.

Y/N felt a mix of excitement and nervousness. She knew the PSG player would call out her name, but you never knew if they wanted to stir up some controversy.

The England captain was sat on the first row, meanwhile some of her teammates and fellow female players were scattered in the other rows. Alex sat right behind her, while Alexia sat on the other side of the room with her Barcelona teammates.

The room hushed as Kylian unfolded the envelope. ''And the Best FIFA Women's Player is… Y/N Y/L.''

Applause erupted, and Y/N nervously got up from her seat. On the pitch, the striker was confident, but making speeches in front of a full room filled with people in power and fellow players, was not something she had gotten used to.

The Brit turned around and reached her hand out for Alex to take, a silent sign of respect for the season the American had had. She would have done the same if Alexia had been seated there, but walking to the other side of the room would have taken too much time.

Y/N carefully walked up the stairs, trying not to fall as she was wearing heels. Kylian noticed, and made his way over to offer his arm to her. She smiled, and accepted, holding onto the striker's arm.

He congratulated her, pressing three celebratory kisses on her cheek. ''Félicitations, Championne.'' (''Congratulations, Champion.'') Kylian said.

''Merci.'' (''Thank you.'') Y/N grinned, and she took her place at the microphone.

''Uh, thank you so much to all the people that voted. It's a big compliment to have your fellow players and coaches vote for you, so thank you so much.'' She started off, her voice a bit shaky as her eyes darted around the room.

''I, also, quickly want to acknowledge Alex and Alexia. It's an honour to be nominated alongside you, and I want to thank you for all the contributions you have made so far and for the great football we get to see from you. Thank you.'' Y/N glanced at both of them, giving them a nod as the crowd applauded them.

The camera panned to both women. The American striker mouthed a ''Thank you'' to the younger player, once teammates at Lyon. Alexia clapped, but maintained a composed facade.

She had also clapped when the Brit's name was announced, concealing any type of disappointment she felt. While she had anticipated the outcome, the sight of Y/N claiming the award instead of her was something hard to swallow- in the same way it had been hard to watch her rival lift the Champions League trophy the previous year.

Her applause was genuine, and deep inside she knew that Y/N deserved it more than her, but Alexia would never admit that out loud. As the striker continued her speech, the midfielder struggled with being happy for her colleague, while dealing with her own unspoken desire for recognition.

Lucy, seated beside Alexia, offered her a knowing smile. The Barcelona defender had seen it from close by, how everything was a competition for them. She'd noticed it at her new club, where the lost finals against Lyon served as reminders for the team to do better, and to not let that happen again. She'd noticed it in her England teammate, and how tense she had been before the friendly against Spain.

On the other side sat Mapi, concerned over how her friend was handling it. ''It's okay, Ale.'' She whispered in their native language.

''I know, it's just an award.'' Alexia replied, not taking her eyes off Y/N.

The Spanish defender dropped it, giving Ingrid a look before focusing on the winner as well.

''… cause I couldn't have done it without them. Uh, yeah, congratulations to all the other winners as well. Thank you.'' Y/N concluded.

The audience applauded one last time, and she got off the stage. She hid her face in embarrassment as Mary whistled loudly, feeling hot as her friend hyped her up.

After was seemed like forever, the ceremony was done.

Most attendees got up from their seats, but didn't leave the main hall as they walked over to catch up with people they knew or to get to know other people.

Y/N got up after about a minute, deciding to go talk to Christiane and Wendie, her Lyon teammates. However, the universe or someone called Lucy Bronze had better ideas.

''Hey, Captain.'' She heard the defender greeting her.

As the striker turned around, she was met with a surprise. There stood Lucy, accompanied by none other than Alexia Putellas. The Brit wore a smile, her eyes gleaming with mischief.

''Hi, Bronzey.'' Y/N responded, slightly caught off guard.

The English internationals shared a hug, Lucy whispering a congratulations in her ear. ''Thanks, you too.''

As the two parted, Y/N's eyes fell on an awkwardly standing Alexia.

''Y/N, meet Alexia. Alexia, this is Y/N.'' Lucy said, her eyes darting between the pair.

The two captains exchanged an uneasy glance. ''Uh, yeah, we know each other, Luce.'' The striker stated, feeling very uncomfortable with the situation.

Lucy chuckled, completely unfazed by the discomfort she had purposely created. ''Oh, I know. It's just that fans online were saying that they wanted me to have you guys become friends, so I'm just keeping my promise to them.''

Y/N and Alexia forcibly grinned at the admission, both aware of what people said about them on social media. The latter cleared her throat. ''Uh, congratulations again. You really deserve it.''

The Lyon player nodded, a somewhat more genuine smile appearing. ''Thanks, I appreciate. You as well, with the, uh, World 11.''

''Thank you.''

Another pause hung in the air, the atmosphere thick with awkwardness. It was as if their shared teammate had conspired to make this encounter as uncomfortable as possible.

''Oh, there's Sarina, excuse me, ladies.'' Lucy swiftly escaped, using their Dutch coach as part of her scheme.

That left the players facing each other. The tension was uncomfortable, and neither seemed eager to break the silence that had settled between them.

After a moment, Y/N was the first to give in. ''So, how is your knee doing?'' She asked, noticing the Spaniard was no longer holding onto her crutches.

Alexia's eyes briefly flickered towards Lucy, who was signing with her hands to keep going. ''Uh, good. Yeah, if everything goes to plan, I should be ready by the end of the season.'' She replied, a small smile present.

''So… World Cup ready then?''

The Catalan shifted on her feet at the mention of the tournament. ''That's delicate right now.''

''Oh, how, uh, is that situation going at the moment?'' Y/N had momentarily forgotten about the mutiny going on in the Spanish national team. She knew Alexia supported the girls that had made themselves unavailable, but they'd never had any conversations about it.

Alexia shrugged her shoulders. ''It's being worked on, it's… a lot.'' From the way she was speaking, her colleague could sense it wasn't a topic the midfielder wanted to happily chat about.

''I understand. I just want to say that a lot of people are behind you guys, and want to see change happen,'' Y/N softly spoke, ''me included.''

''Thank you.'' Alexia sounded genuinely grateful for her words.

Y/N has been a huge advocate for women's football ever since she became a professional player, so her acknowledging the Las 15's stance meant more to Alexia than she could express.

''Sorry, could I get a picture of you two?'' One of the official FIFA photographers interjected, pointing at the two of them.

The pair shared a look, seemingly asking without words if the other was okay with it. They nodded at each other, and hesitantly put their hands on one another's back, posing for the camera.

''Thank you.'' The man thanked them, walking over to another group of players.

''It was nice talking to you. I'm, uh, gonna see what my teammates are up to.'' Y/N politely excused herself. The conversation was turning out more bearable than how it started, but she still wanted nothing more than to leave.

''Same. Um, good luck with your matches, and maybe we see each other in the semifinals?'' Alexia hinted at a potential Champions League clash.

The Lyon striker chuckled. ''We'll see, Putellas. Have a nice night.''

As Y/N made her way to her teammates, Alexia watched her departure with mixed emotions. Yes, she was happy that they'd had a conversation. But, it was frustrating that there still seemed to be a wall between them, and a big one at that.

What was it that always held them back from truly opening up to one another?

''You know she's going to kill you once she's finished with that conversation, right?'' Mary said to her fellow Lioness, subtly taking a glimpse at Alexia and Y/N.

Lucy smirked, her eyes barely leaving her two captains. ''Who? Y/N or Alexia?'' She laughed.

''Both.'' Sarina and Mary chorused, laughing now as well.

''Nah, they'll have to work together for that. Never gonna happen.'' She continued joking.

The England coach shook her head. ''Why are you doing this again?''

''Because I wanna have fun, and although I am happy with my little trophy, this show is super boring. Just want to spice things up,'' Lucy explained, ''besides, fans will love it. The Queens of football talking together. La Reina and La Reine.''

Sarina and Mary exchanged skeptical glances, unsure of how either players would react. ''I'm not so sure Y/N will appreciate your idea of fun.'' Mary commented.

''Oh, what could go wrong?'' The defender genuinely did not see the problem. ''See, they're even taking a picture together.'' Lucy pointed out, seeing the pair in front of the photographer.

After the picture, Y/N gracefully excused herself and began walking towards where Lucy, Mary, and Sarina were standing. She joined the trio with a forced smile, attempting to suppress any visible signs of annoyance.

''Nice reunion there?'' Sarina tried to lighten her captain up, noticing her gloomy expression.

''We talked.'' She answered. It wasn't a proper response, more like a factual statement.

Y/N wasn't sparing Lucy a glance, the defender, however, remained unfazed. ''That's nice.''

''Congrats, by the way, darling. No one deserves this more than you.'' Mary tried to deflect, not a fan of the tension. Sarina smiled at the reminder of all the awards her team collected. ''Yeah, congratulations.''

''Thank you, you too, Mearps. You almost made me cry with your speech. Sarina, you didn't make me cry, but yours was really nice as well.'' She turned to her coach, managing to still make a teasing comment.

Sarina laughed. ''Well, thank you.''

''Uh, I'm gonna say hi to my, uh, other teammates.'' Y/N nodded her head towards where Wendie and Christiane were standing with some of the Lyon staff.

She then glanced at Lucy. ''Or you want to set that up for me as well?'' She sarcastically chuckled.

''Hey, come on. I thought you guys were friends now.'' Lucy said, a lame attempt at defending herself.

''Who said that?'' Y/N frowned.

''Jill.'' The defender retorted.

''What a source,'' the captain scoffed, ''we're not friends, and I don't need you to make us friends.''

''How bad was that conversation that you're this pissed at me?'' Lucy asked, not expecting her friend to be this irritated over her actions.

''Just don't do that ever again. It was fucking embarrassing.'' With that, she made her way over to her Lyon teammates.

Mary and Sarina slowly glanced back to Lucy, whose smirk had been practically smacked off of her face.''What could go wrong, aye, Bronzey?''

On the other side of the room, Alexia carefully walked over to Mapi and Ingrid after Y/N excused herself from the conversation.

''You look like you need alcohol.'' The Spanish defender noted, taking in her friend's expression.

Alexia sighed, smoothing her hair down. ''Neither of us enjoyed that.''

''Lucia really did you dirty there.'' Mapi responded, glancing to where her teammate was speaking with the England camp.

Ingrid offered a sympathetic smile. ''I think she had good intentions, she meant it well.'' She chimed in.

The Barcelona captain nodded. ''I know, but it was so awkward.'' Alexia grimaced, cringing at the reminder of how the two football stars had just uneasily stood in front of one another.

''You'll be fine,'' Mapi caressed her back, ''one day you'll be able to laugh about this, trust me.''

Alexia gave her an unimpressed look. ''I'd rather not.''

The defender glanced at her girlfriend. ''So oblivious.'' She whispered to Ingrid.

''What was that?''

''Nothing.''