#celle ramos

[paulodybaeeela]

Sergio Ramos pairing a PSG training video on TikTok with Miley Cyrus’ song Flowers is unbelievably funny to me.

[brazilianhotmales]

Thiago Ramos 🇧🇷

Social media has done to men what magazines used to do only to women: they have turned them into pieces of meat.The pose of a shirtless man with his cell phone pointing at the mirror has become common in our reality. Every man's dream is to be admired for his body, to have a legion of fans drooling over him.

[jiubilant]

cw: horror elements

He’d been a scrib of three, sticky-fingered and clinging to his sister’s skirts like an anther-burr, when first he saw a war-wasp of the Dres. In less than seven years they’d be extinct: their cliff-hives burnt, their grubs smeared across singed flagstones or speared wriggling on An-Xileel pikes. But it had been a bright morning—the dust had glittered in the air like motes of kanet, like the specks the goldsmiths blow off their tables—and the messenger from Bal Foy had circled his glorious mount three times above the marketplace, like a victorious chap’thil, before landing her in the middle of the street.

“Give her a pat,” he’d said, laughing, to the children clustering round—and the adults, too, a few merchants and house-servants whose stern faces broke with smiles. “She’s polite, my Khes.”

He ran, that scrib of three—not towards the great wasp grooming her feelers in that circle of hands, as oblivious to her admirers’ attentions as Benitah, but to a basket of comberries abandoned at a fruit-seller’s stall. The first fistful he stuffed in his mouth. The second he stretched above his head, high as he could reach.

“Khes!” he’d called, his voice shrill and garbled with fruit. He remembers the moment even now. Juice dribbling down his wrist. Dust in his throat. His little heart surging upward with that cry, as if on jeweled wings. “Khes!”

The wasp turned her alien head, broad and shining as a bonemold shield. Her feelers whiskered over him. Out flicked her wings once, twice: sheer and strong as wevet, fluted like stained glass into a thousand fiery panes.

“Hold your hand out flat, hla!” the messenger called.

He did. The mouthparts that could crush a Nordling breastplate descended to meet it. Delicately, like a lady reaching into a bowl with finger and thumb, the wasp took a single berry from his palm.

* * *

He wakes in his cold dormitory cell feeling stiff, sore, and improbably cheerful. Mzulft and its horrors, the Synod included, are behind him; it’s up to Mirabelle, now, to decide what to do with what they’ve learned. A magic staff in Hjaalmarch—perhaps the first item of import, he thinks with amusement, to ever come out of Hjaalmarch. And the Thalmor know nothing about it. And he’s rising late from a bed, not a bedroll, with the fading idea that he’d dreamed something pleasant.

“She’s stung me to the heart,” he sings in soft Velothis over his washbasin, scraping off the journey’s stubble with his shaving-knife. The ancient song comes to him in snatches, like the dream. “She’s stung me, jewel of the sky, armored queen of the valleys of the Shir”—someone raps on his door, probably one of the prentices with a question about a translation, and he takes some smiling liberties with the next line—“one moment, per favore, s'il vous plaît—”

“Break it down,” says a curt voice.

The door crashes open. He makes a startled, absurd swipe with his shaving-knife at the first of the intruders—black robes, beaky buttons that glint gold in the firelight—before a burst of magic shivers through him like heat-lightning. He hears a thump. Himself, he realizes with belated surprise, hitting the chilly floor.

“Is he immobilized?” the voice asks pleasantly.

A chorus of subordinate voices, at least three: “Yes, Secretary.”

They’ve never gone this far, thinks the man on the floor, struggling to budge limbs that have gone rigid and heavy as kedge-anchors. Something’s emboldened them at last. A heavy-gloved hand dips into the neck of his nightshirt and fishes out his Company chain.

“Justiciar Ancano was right!” the young Dominion agent attached to the hand exclaims. He dangles the pendant in the light. “East Empire Company. A factor’s clerk. A pleasure, Master”—he squints at the inscription on the copper, above the tarnished ship—“Ramo, to properly make your acquaintance.”

That’s right, the clerk thinks. They’d bungled his name on the thing. Probably in the records, too. A laugh escapes his spell-sealed lips as a stifled huff.

“Kick him,” the pleasant voice suggests. “Oh, cousin. To scribble and scrape for the mayfly enterprises of men!”

Someone does kick him. He finds himself facedown on the hearth, seeing nothing, hearing creaks and thumps and curses as the Thalmor toss his room. One rummages through his sea-chest, takes something out, slams it. His ewer shatters. Floorstones scrape in protest as they’re pried up; the thieves’ Altmeri chatter grows excited, then. They must have found his papers. The clerk scrabbles through his mind for what little Altmeris he knows—

“Closer to the fire,” says the pleasant one in Cyrod, perhaps for his benefit. The clerk’s heart petrifies like his limbs. “He fell. A terrible accident. Put his cane—yes, there. As if he’d been trying to reach it.”

Someone drags him closer to the hearth. Flings his arm into it like a peat-brick. The heat bakes his hand. “I can seal his heart-valves to be sure—”

“Don’t be a fool,” snaps the pleasant one. “That shrieking cat who heads up Restoration would notice. Let us defer, out of respect for our cousin, to Velothi custom—”

The click of the closing door.

The silence.

He can breathe, the clerk thinks, breathing fast. He can blink. Involuntary motions, then, are not suppressed by the spell—only those that he wills. Sitting up. Crying out. Smothering the fire nibbling, with increasing interest, at his sleeve.

It was once said of the war-wasps of the Dres, he recalls with faint amusement, that the venom of their stings worked much the same. One was advised, perhaps as a way to bide one’s time before the end, to battle the enervation in increments: try wriggling a finger. A toe.

Something pops in the fire. The cell begins to smell of smoke and singed hair. He wonders whether the jerk of a limb exposed to flame, to that sharp, betraying sting, is involuntary—no, it seems not. The pain scourges his arm, his ear, the side of his head.

A finger, he thinks, concentrating all his awareness of his body into the palm of his lifeless hand. A toe. A terrible accident, they’ll say when they find him. Don’t think it. Hold your hand out flat, hla—

A strained rap on the door. “Magister?”

Relief crashes through him where the magic holds him fast. His thumb twitches free of the spell. It makes less noise than a crumb of peat shifting in the hearth.

“Magister,” calls the voice, dear and strangely small, “the—the Master Wizard, she wants you in the quadrangle—”

“Brelyna,” a familiar brogue interrupts, “J’zargo does not think he’s in.”

Her voice rises nearly to a wail. “Where is he, then—”

They’re going, the clerk thinks, gripped by a panic more searing than the flames climbing his sleeve. His hand jerks. It hits his cane, which the Thalmor had propped so tellingly on the fireplace-jamb.

The cane wobbles. He holds his breath.

Then, with a magnificent scrape, it clatters to the floor.

A silence.

“Is it unlocked?” asks Brelyna.

The creak of the door. A gasp. The panicked squeak of boots. Then someone throws the contents of the washbasin on him: a shocking blue chill, like a plunge in pack ice. He breathes out. His shaving-knife swirls past his head on a runnel of suds.

“Turn him over.” J’zargo’s voice, sharp as claws. “Is he dead?”

“I don’t think so.” Magic crackles in the air above his head. “I, I think he’s—didn’t Master Neloren show us how to dispel this? Let me try—”

Something heavy and sluggish evaporates from the clerk's bones. He stirs with some difficulty, blinking soap from his eyes, and finds himself in a circle of worried hands: J’zargo lifting his head, Onmund buffeting the last of the fire, Brelyna slapping his ridiculous half-shaved face.

“Hlai,” he rasps, laughing, trying to raise his arms to fend them off. They’ll beat him to death. Ai, a terrible accident. “Hlai, I’m not a rug—”

“You look a rug,” snaps Onmund, terse as ever. The clerk recalls that he’s wearing the nightshirt patterned with fleurs. “What happened? Who spelled you?”

The less they know, the better. The clerk flexes his hands, then his face, breathing with great care around the boot-shaped ache in his side. “Shouldn’t you”—the fire’s ghost gnaws his arm when he bends it, and he winces—“be in class?”

“In class?” Onmund sits him up so roughly that they nearly knock heads. The boy’s hands, the clerk realizes with a start, are shaking. “We were in class. Don’t you know what’s happening outside?”

Brelyna sits back in the mess of hearth-ash and washwater, rubbing her crumpling face with both hands. Her voice wavers like a shrill flute. “I thought you were dead, too.”

“Too?” The clerk, blistered and dripping, stares at his pupils. “Who’s dead?”

A muscle jumps in Onmund’s ashen face. J’zargo flattens his ears and looks away. It’s Brelyna, choking on overwhelmed tears, who answers.

“The Archmage,” she sobs. Outside, muffled by the dormitory walls, a scream pitches above the cries of gulls. “The Archmage.”

[peaky-shelby]

New Romantics | Mbappé [4]

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

« previous chapter

» chapter 5: everyday is like a battle

» Writer's note: every chapter will be separated in three parts (sort off). And every part will have each own song to listen to while reading. It's an attempt to get y'all in the emotion hehe. Enjoy reading xx

» Taglist: @moonchildohh @formulahoe @princetongirlll818 @mavieesttriste16 @kiwisa @godessstela @hummusxx @kodzuvk @pink-manz @corbyns-smile @ippid @jayruiewo265738 @blueanfield @mrs-bellingham @sorceresski @sooblovebot @okayymochi @army7g @j-rbps @heli991113 @markhyucksmells @chaotic-taco-collector-blog @i0veless

I was scared of pretty girls and starting conversations...

FRENCH BAR - NIGHT

“They are always using the same starting 11” she drew on the napkin, the paper getting slightly torn apart as she’d write on it. She had a made a sketch of what looked like a small field and drew 22 small circles on it, 11 on either side, representing each team. Then over the circles she’d write the names of the players. “That makes it easy to know how the game will play out.”

She was in the middle, sitting in between Ektike, Ramos, Burnet, Neymar, Hakimi and Kylian. Everyone was looking at her sketches, especially Ektike who was sitting next to her. Kylian was sometimes glancing at it but he was trying to look like he didn’t care much about what she had to say. “They are weak at defending their set pieces-“ she made an arrow from on circle to another “which allows you guys to move freely on the field-“

“But they foul a lot. And they foul hard.” Jumped in Neymar who was sitting on her other side. He pointed at one of the circles “He’s ruthless.”

“So, use that in your favor. They have a habit of fouling on dangerous areas.” She explained. “That alone creates a lot of chances for you.”

“You expect us to stay there and let ourselves get fouled then?” asked Kylian, leaning forward on the table. He was testing her. Hakimi was observing, expecting another round of comebacks and insults to begin.

“I expect you to be smart. If they want to be reckless and stupid and foul you right outside of the box then that’s on them” she smiled “it’s what I did to Verratti today. He could have chosen to pull back, pass the ball over to his teammate but he wanted to go against me so instead his chose to kick the ball on his right leg- he didn’t calculate his injury. Reckless and stupid.”

Kylian didn’t answer but he kept his eyes on her as the rest of the boys continued to listen to her pointers. She turned the napkin the other way, writing down all the weaknesses she had supposedly journal through the season about ANGERS and their approach. Most of the boys seemed to humor her, even agree with her. That’s when he realized two things. First was that she and her boss hadn’t analyze only his career down to the tiniest of detail but she was like a hard disk. She knew the stats of all the players, ready to answer with numbers at any question. How had she memorized all that information without burning her brain cells? Second thing was that the girl had written and sketched out the strategy for an entire match on a napkin. A freaking napkin that someone would come and throw away. It didn’t surprise him anymore that JW had sent her in Paris instead of coming himself. He started seeing her true potential, the reason Marcos and Galtier trusted her as much as they did and he was even more intimidated by it. So, he kept his mouth shut and casually observed the way she was slowly adapting around the members of the team. Even Ektike had began taking a liking at her and Ramos was more friendly than the others.

“You don’t have a favorite player?” Neymar stretched his hand behind her on the booth, leaning closer. Kylian watched them getting closer from the corner of his eye. Taylor put her hand on his face to push him away from her personal space.

“Hoping to hear your name junior?” The boys laughed. Neymar admitted defeat and pulled back. “I don’t because my job is to not be biased.”

“JW taught you that?” Asked Burnet. She got nervous at the question and nodded quickly.

“Yes. That and everything I know.” She motioned at the napkin. Kylian caught her expression changing like she was anxious about something all of a sudden.

“Looks to me like you know a little more than him” Hakimi said while snatching some chips from the middle of the table. Kylian gave him the side eye, was he warming up to her as well? “I mean you’re basically a walking Wikipedia. Does he even pay you enough for what you do?”

She laughed to hide her anxiety. No one else was laughing though, so she choked it, coughing to regain her composure. “Um... he’s- I wouldn’t be half of what I am without him.” In a way it was true. JW was someone she used to be, someone that wasn’t fainting after the first half and that could get brutal if she wanted to. JW was who she would have been if she hadn’t been cursed by life.

“Does he even play ball the way you do?” Ramos asked. She scoffed again, looking away, avoiding making eye contact with any of them.

“He’s a great player. Better than me.” She answered, keeping her voice steady. She looked up, her eyes finding Ramos “He’s… he used to play professionally, like you. He was a great talent.” She smiled weakly “but life happened and unfortunately, he had to let go of the sport. So, he tried to find a different way to be involved.”

“A very annoying way.” Said Ektike, drinking his beer. They started laughing again, complaining about the articles that JW had written about then in the past. Kylian didn’t, which his own friend, Hakimi, thought was very weird of him. When everyone else was occupied paying the bills or trying to at least because Ramos wasn’t gonna let Taylor pay for her drinks, Hakimi leaned closer to Kylian who was focused on his beer bottle. He kept scratching on the label, taking the sticker out.

“You know, You’re the one that invited her.” He told him, low enough so only he would hear. Kylian raised his eyes, he glanced at Hakimi and then at the girl who was getting up, getting ready to leave. He never answered to his friend’s comment. He got up as well, wearing his jacket, he neared Taylor, his hand touching the small of her back. She flinched at the contact, turning to face him and he pulled his hand away quickly, instantly regretting touching her. She examined him, suspiciously. He slipped his hands in his pockets, clearing his throat.

“You need a ride?” he asked but his tone was cold despite the offer like he wanted her to refuse.

“Ramos already offered” she answered. A sudden relief washed over him but at the same time… regret?

“Actually-“ Ramos was looking at the GPS on his phone, tracking the way to her house “Ky’s house is on the way to yours. I’d have to go out of my way.” He explained “maybe its best.”

Kylian looked down at her, accepting his fate. She seemed to accept it as well, nodding. After everyone said their goodbyes, Kylian and her made their way to his car. She felt weird just by sitting on the passenger seat. It was an expensive car, just like the bar she had spent the last couple of hours in. She wasn’t used to that, she never made big money from football, never had this sort of life and it began to dawn on her how her life was changing. Hanging around millionaires and basically celebrities. More than 10 people had come up to their table tonight, asking for autographs and pictures, especially from Kylian. The same Kylian that was now driving her to her apartment and who had deliberately turned the music on the radio so he wouldn’t have to talk to her. Every time she thought that he was warming up to her, he would shut her out in seconds like he was blaming her for all his insecurities. She tried to find a subject, something that had nothing to do with football, maybe about Ann. But she stopped herself before she said anything, every time. She didn’t try to make a conversation, she didn’t want to have another fight with him, she was too tired for that and no matter their relationship he was still driving her home. That was decent of him. Although she did wish he’d let her learn more about that side of him, instead of always getting so mean and abrupt.

Kylian was thinking the same in a sort of way. He wanted to make conversation, he wanted to follow the plan that he had set with Verratti and get close to her but he didn’t know how. He couldn’t stop himself from getting defensive around her, especially when they were talking about football. So, silence settled around them, an uncomfortable kind of silence that not even the radio could make better.

He stopped at a red light. His eyes scanning the roads and the stores on the sidewalks. That’s when he saw a pet shop, he looked away quickly but the idea had already gotten in his head. He tapped his fingers on the steering wheel, thinking about it. He looked at her, she had no idea. She was staring out her window but she hadn’t seen it. He smiled, why was he smiling? He forced his features to get serious. He failed, after a few seconds he was smiling again. He looked at the store, biting is lip as the idea in his head was getting louder. When the light turned green, he started the engine and drove, stopping in front of the store. The sudden stop made her worried, she gave him a weary look while he was unbuckling his belt. He nodded at the store behind her, signaling her to look. She did but she glanced back at him just as quick, still confused.

“Promised I’d get you food, right?” he explained and got out of the car before she could stop him. She laughed at his actions in disbelief. She observed as he entered the store, taking out his wallet, picking out a bag with cat food and giving it to the cashier, then he paid and picked it up again. Coming out and back to her. He entered the car, sitting next to her and handed her the bag. All she could manage to do was stare at him, her mouth open in shock as she held the bag in her hands. She kept glancing back and forth at him and the cat food. Her scoffs turned to chuckles, the corners of his mouth turned up when he heard her laughing like that and he started the car again.

She drew her lower lip between her teeth, shaking her head. “You’re unbelievable.” She leaned back on her seat and he laughed. He glanced quickly at her, then back at the street. “Is this some sort of peace offering?”

He pouted his lips, his hand falling on the side as he thought about it. “Is it working?”

“I mean it would have gone terribly wrong if Luna wasn’t actually a cat-“ she tried but he started laughing before she even finished the sentence.

“Somehow I never feared that-“

She smacked him on the shoulder. The way she’d smack her friends. He pretended to be hurt by the contact, pulling away from her. Silence returned to the car after a few more giggles but this time it was sweeter, it was easy. She gazed at the streets of Paris, she was slowly accepting that this would eventually be her new home and the guy sitting next to her was her co-worker, someone she’d spent hours on end with.

“I don’t hate you; you know?” he said and she wished she had recorded it. At first, she thought that she heard wrong and she wanted him to say it again but then he said something that sounded more like him “I really don’t like your boss-“ She sneered, looking away. The irony was too much for her but she didn’t say anything. “But I think you’re smart… sometimes.”

She scrunched up her face, almost smiling “Good to know”

He stopped the car as they reached her apartment building.

“Thank you for the ride and you know… not driving me off a cliff” she said, earning another laugh from his.

“Thank you for not poising my drink, even though I’d deserve it.”

“Truth is I tried, Hakimi just stopped me multiple times.”

That cracked him up, he leaned his body forwards as his chest vibrated with laughter. She laughed along with him. They had to take a few deep breaths before they both managed to collect themselves. They would still let out small laughs, that were coming out as whispers, unable to hold back their smiles. He turned his head to face her, his eyes falling on her. He noticed she had a tiny mark of a scar just over her eyebrow. He noticed small things about the side of her face, her sharp cheekbones, her lines. He looked away when she gazed at him, he didn’t want her to know he had been staring. She reached for his shoulder, a move he didn’t expect but he looked at her tiny palm on his board shoulder before connecting his eyes with hers.

“Can I give you an advice without you lashing out at me?”

He thought about it but eventually nodded.

“Be more of yourself on the field. Don’t let insecurities take over you. You don’t have to prove you’re great, we already know you are. You just have to play.” She raised the bag he bought for her and smiled “thanks again” she said and exited the car.

But the secret is still my own. And my love for you is still unknown

TAYLOR'S APARTMENT - NIGHT

She ran upstairs to her apartment, the cat coming and curling at her feet the minute she got inside the small apartment. Taylor smiled down and knelt to pet her, rubbing he ear as she poured in her palm “Got you a surprise.” She sang and shook the bag in front of the little kitten. She put a handful of the food on the cat’s bowl and saved the rest on the cupboard under the sink. She had a shower, washed her face and drank her pills. She poured herself a bowl of cereal and sat on her bed, eating them while staring threateningly on her computer screen. She had opened a blank page, a blank page that she was supposed fill. She started multiple sentences after setting down her ball on the nightstand but she kept erasing them. Starting over again and again and again. She tried to use music to get her mind working, listening to Jennifer Owens. The song “Alone” played on the background, and she started tapping on the keyboard, hoping to get her inspiration flowing but it was worthless. It was like she couldn’t gather her thoughts on one paragraph. She didn’t even know where to begin. Was she supposed to write about today’s training game? Talk about her encounter with the young fan? She just stared on the blank box, waiting for an article to write it’s self. Time would pass and the page would remain empty. Why was she struggling so much? She huffed and laid her head back on the pillow, rubbing her eyes together. Luna crawled up in bed and up to her chest. Pouring in between her chest, taylor uncovered her eyes to see the cat and pouted.

“I think I’m in trouble.” She admitted but the only thing the cat did was lean closer and down to her neck, closing her eyes and sleeping on her skin. She petted the cat, her fingers diving in her black fur. She smiled. “Yeah, you don’t care, do you? Of course, you don’t. you’re just a cat.” She laughed, remembering her discourse with Kylian. She could feel her cheeks burning up, turning red but she waved him off her mind and got up to start writing while everyone else in Paris was asleep, the way lonely people do.

KYLIAN'S HOUSE / BEDROOM - NIGHT

Kylian on the other side of Paris, in a whole different apartment, wide and modern, he sat on the edge of his bed. The view from his window was beautiful, the city lights, the streets, the houses, everything seemed so small from where he was. Even the Eiffel Tower looked small in the distance. He kept replaying the last thing she told him on his head. Surprised at himself that he never responded to her. He laid backwards, closing his eyes. His phone buzzed and the screen lit up next to him on the mattress, showing his father’s face appearing on his screen. He picked it up.

“Oui papa?”

“Kylian, es-tu prêt pour demain?” [are you ready for tomorrow?]

Kylian closed his eyes, his expression saddening. What happened to asking people if they were ok when calling. “Oui.” He answered.

“Tu t'es suffisamment entraîné?” [did you train enough?]

He sighed, moving the phone away from his ear while his father went on and on about every single thing he did wrong on the last match and how he should avoid doing the same mistakes again. A part of him wanted to hang up. Maybe even throw the phone out of the window “Kylian? Kylian? Tu m'écoutes?” Kylian moved the phone back to his ear, his eyes remaining closed.

“Oui, papa. Mais je suis très fatigué. Nous parlerons demain, d'accord?... Oui, moi aussi, Pa. Bonne Nuit.” He threw the phone across the mattress the minute his father hanged up. The usual silence filled the room, the silence of lonely people. He covered his face with his hands, dragging them across his face and he fell asleep after a while his body giving in that silence and the soft mattress. He fell asleep with his clothes, with his worries on the back of his head, with her laugh echoing in his mind and his father’s pointers. You know, the way that lonely people do.

They both woke up at the same time by their alarms, in different bed and different rooms. Taylor had fallen asleep with her computer on her chest and when she woke up, she already had a headache. Kylian woke up in the same clothes, with a slight neck pain because he never moved to lay his head on the pillow. No matter the differences and the miles away from each other, each in their bedroom as they opened their eyes the same words slipped out of their lips “It’s game day.”

Taylor jumped out of her bed, the cat getting scared and tangled in the sheets, the computer almost falling on the ground before she dropped herself and reached her hand to stop it from crashing “oh my god” she mouthed to herself and put the computer back on the bed. She ran around her small apartment, bumping on the walls and stuff that she had left on the floor. It was a messy apartment to say the least. in the bathroom, washing her face and her teeth and then went to her kitchen to make coffee. While the coffee was brewing and her the bread was getting toasted, she grabbed her jeans, putting them on quickly and stumbling, falling on the ground. She got up fast, looking in her closet for a shirt. “What am I supposed to wear-“ her phone began ringing. That’s when she realized it was under the sheets so she started throwing them around, looking under them in panic until she found it under her pillow “Yes?” she answered. “Yes, coach I’m on my way.” She reassured him. From the corner of her eye, she caught her cat getting near the Kettle, smelling it. She tried to keep her composure until Galtier hanged up, her eyes opening wide and she ran to pull the cut away from the burning machine “You’re gonna burn your mustache!” she yelled. The cat meowed, asking for food. She leaned her forehead on the cat, shaking her head. “What’s the worst thing that can happen right?” Luna meowed again.

Kylian’s morning was calmer. He moved around his large apartment slowly, from his bathroom to his kitchen. Everything was on their rightful place; the floors were clean and the white color on the walls and the minimalist decorations were a huge contrast to Taylor’s space. He sat on the table, slowly sipping on his coffee. The slight domestic sounds were the only thing you could hear. He’d scroll on his phone, see a couple of tweets, like pictures on Instagram, answer a few messages. He was calm, used to these mornings. The calm before the storm he called them.

TRAINING CAMPUS / OFFICES – DAY

Taylor rushed up to Galtier’s office, holding all her folders and her papers in her arms and her laptop hanging on it’s bag from her shoulder. When she came in Galtier was on the phone so she looked around awkwardly, wondering if she could leave the folders on the chair or the table. She slowly tried to place them on his desk before the fell over but Galtier stood up, yelling on his phone, which scared her and she pulled back quickly, tripping and falling on the chair behind her, hugging the papers so they wouldn’t fall off her hands. She pretended like she actually meant to sit down, trying to look composed. Galtier threw his phone on the table when he hanged up, cursing in friends. He sat back down like nothing had just happened and looked at her. It took her a while before she got the memo and placed all the papers on his desk.

“These are from yesterday’s conference with ANGERS. I tried to gather everything they said in a couple of pages-“ she handed him two papers. He took them, scanning them back and forth but he wasn’t reading them. “They are certainly trying to provoke but I think it’s because they are scared. They have the same starting 11 as we expected-“

“Were you at the conference?” he asked, looking at her. Her shut in a tight line, she thought about his question, then started shaking her head slowly.

“No sir. I got the interviews online.”

“I want you to be on every conference from now on.”

She nodded “Yes sir.”

“What else do you have for me?”

“I made up my suggestion for the starting 11.” She slipped a paper towards him “An analysis of the approach I think we should follow-“

“You’re nervous.” She stopped, her eyes getting bigger. She didn’t respond. “I can promise you the boys are more nervous than you are. If you wanna do this job you have to learn to be brutal not just on paper but on the field as well. You can’t be looking like you’re going to throw up.”

She gulped, tried to calm her features and her expression to look calmer “I’m sorry sir. It’s just the nerves of the first match.”

“The players will get here at 5, the bus will leave at 6 so we can be on the stadium by 7. I expect you to have gotten your nerves under control until then.” He said and waved for her to get out of the office. She wanted to crawl and hide in a hole. Instead she jut founded the nearest corner and leaned her body against the wall, closing her eyes.

“What am I doing?” she whispered to herself, rubbing her eyes. She looked at her clock, realizing she only had a few hours to finish her pregame article. She went to the kitchen, opening the laptop and began writing. Pregame articles on her website were one of her favorite things to do, she’d write about where she saw the game going and making her predictions. She started writing a sentence about her low belief in Kylian, how she hoped that he would finally get back to the great player he was before the world cup but began feeling this regret in her chest. Like she was doing something wrong. And she didn’t feel that only for Kylian but for all the boys she had grown close to in the last couple of days. She read the whole article ones; she wasn’t happy with it. She wasn’t as harsh with the boys as she should have. Why had she let herself get as close to them? a few seconds later Neymar and Hakimi came in.

“Ola Princessa” called Neymar when he saw her and walked over to her, leaning on the table to peck her kiss in a teasing and flirtatious way. She pulled back quickly. He frowned at her reaction but didn’t say anything. He went to the fridge to get himself a water bottle. Hakimi sat next to her while she tried to keep her distance from him.

“What are you writing?” She closed the top of her computer before he got a glimpse of her writing. Hakimi raised his eyebrows. “All good?”

“Perfect.” She answered and got up, getting her computer with her. She headed for the exit of the kitchen when she bumped on Kylian who was walking in at the same moment. He reached for her arms to stop her before the crashed on each other.

“Careful where you going, can you?” She looked up at him. Ignored his comment and walked past him “Your boss won’t post his pregame predictions?” she stopped on her tracks, grasping on the computer “I was excited-“ Kylian got an apple from the basket taking a bite. “Stayed up to read it last night.”

She turned her body to face him, forcing a smile on her lips “he’d tell you it’s very unprofessional to stay up late before a match. I truly hope it doesn’t influence your playing.” His face fell, he kept the apple in between his teeth while glaring at her. She gave him another smile, turned back on her way. He finally bit on his apple swallowing the piece aggressively.

“What did you do?” Asked Hakimi, standing next to his friend.

“Nothing!” Kylian defended “I even bought her cat food” Hakimi’s eyebrows drew together and Kylian was quick to explain “she actually has a cat- it wasn’t for her. I wasn’t trying to be an asshole.”

On the ride to the stadium Taylor was sitting alone at the front, while the boys were basically throwing a party on the back. She could feel Galtier’s eyes on her, studying her. It was making her skin itch. She still hadn’t posted that article. Before the game the team gathered on the locker room, Galtier was in the middle making on of his speeches and motivating the team. She was standing by the door, arms crossed on her chest as she listened. Kylian gazed at her while she wasn’t looking, he got so carried away at some point he stopped listening to Galtier, he was just watching her. When the motivational speech was over, she left them to get dressed.

“Do you have a spare bottle?” asked Hakimi, looking inside Kylian’s bag.

“Yeah-“

“Dude what is this?” Hakimi pulled out a napkin. It was the napkin Taylor had made her notes on. Kylian grabbed it and threw it back on his bad, picking out a water bottle for his friend and zipping the bag closed. Hakimi laughed and grinned at his friend but didn’t say anything.

Taylor sat on the benches watching at her team. Her team. God that sounded weird but they were in a way, weren’t they? The game started, figures running and chasing a ball or chasing each other. She wanted to run in there and help the team as well. When she saw Neymar shooting an awful pass at Burnet she yelled and jumped up from the benches.

“HEY! LOOK WHERE YOU ARE SHOOTING JUNIOR”.

Galtier looked at her outburst and she was expecting him to tell her to shut up but he smiled. That made her feel better. Ektike scored at the first 10 minutes, giving them a head start. She jumped in excitement and threw herself on Galtier. Galtier remained still and she pulled back quick, looking away. She was starting to get really into the game and she wanted to yell even more but she had to hold herself, reminding herself that the team still saw her as just a journalist. It was when she started giving pointers at Marquinhos that Messi gave her a confused look, watching her from the other side of the field. She realized she was getting out of control so she sat back down and put her hand over her mouth. Then she saw him. He was running with the ball in his feet, kicking it towards the opponents, he was going to score. She leaned forward in excitement, ready to jump and celebrate until he was tackled on his ankle, twisting it and tumbling on the grass right outside the penalty area. She got up rushing as close as she could get, her feet almost crossing the white line. She tried to see him but he was crowded by the rest of the team and the medics. Meanwhile Marquinhos was discussing with referee, arguing about whether it was a penalty or not. Half the stadium was yelling yes and the other half was yelling no. Her eyes were stuck on the man in yellow, waiting to see him signaling and whistling in favor of her team but-

“ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME?” She yelled when the penalty was denied “THAT WAS CLEARLY ON THE AREA”. She made a step forward and was pulled back immediately by Ramos. Who wrapped her arms around her and basically picked her up to keep her out of the field.

“You don’t wanna do that chipmunk-“ he warned. Marquinhos and Messi were still arguing with the referee. She could feel her blood boiling- she took a deep angry breath, her entire face pouting. She walked back at the bench, biting on nails. Kylian was escorted out of the field for his injury. She didn’t go up to talk to him but she saw him with his father. Like his dad was reprehending him and he had this look in his eyes, like he was giving up. She felt heart getting heavy on the sight. She looked away.

At some point during the final minutes another foul happened, this time at Neymar and close to her side of the field. But the opponents were never given a card, this time she didn’t hold herself, stepping forward over the line and yelling-

“FUCKING PAID IDIOT OF A REFEREE-“

The man in yellow turned to look at her confused and offended. “Excuse me?” he questioned.

“Two wild fouls and you do nothing about it-“

“Settle your tone young lady-“ oh no he didn’t-

Ramos was now next to Taylor, standing in between her and the referee “Taylor get back” he warned.

But taylor looked over his shoulder on her tip toes and pointed at the referees. Things got quickly out of hand “DON’T YOU FUCKING TELL ME WHAT TO DO WITH MY TONE YOU PIECE OF SHIT-“

Kylian saw the chaos unfolding before his eyes. He got up and along with the rest of the team got near her, swarming around her like ants. Half of them were trying to reason with the referee while the other half was pulling her back. But she would slap their hands off and kick her legs to be let go while she cursed and yelled. Kylian squeezed himself in between the other, trying to hold her arm because he knew what was coming and sure enough a moment later the referee raised a yellow card at her for her attitude and creating trouble in the middle of the game.

“WHY DON’T YOU TAKE THAT CARD AND SHOVE IT UP YOUR-“

“WILOCK ENOUGH!” Galtier yelled. She stopped immediately. The referee glared at her while walking backwards to get back on the middle of the field. Her eyes burned with anger while all the players returned to their position. When everyone was gone Kylian tried to get close, he reached for her arm, she slapped it off so he raised his hands up in surrender. He wanted to laugh. She looked like a little girl who had just been stolen her favorite doll, it took his mind off the chaos in his mind. The regret of getting injured and the anger. She turned her back on him and walked back on the benches sitting as far away from him as she could. She put her elbows on her legs, balanced her face on her hands and puffed.

He tilted his head, taking a note of how her cheeks and nose got red when she was angry and how messy her hair was now. Her lips shaped in a angry pout. She looked… cute.

This house no longer feels like home.

STADIUM LOCKER ROOMS - NIGHT

Despite the incident with the referee the team won and they all celebrated in the locker room. Hugging and cheering for each other. Everyone commented about Taylor’s outburst, laughing at her.

“Thought we had a second coach there for a while.” Messi said while she was pouring herself another glass of champagne. Taylor gazed up to his, her mouth slightly opening. She wanted to tell him the truth.

“Would you like that? A woman as a coach?”

Messi laughed. She immediately regretted her question but then “Greatest coach I had in life was my mother. Why not?” he smiled at her, poking her shoulder and walking away. She thought about what he said, getting some encouragement. She let down the champagne bottle and turned around. Marquinhos had been standing behind her, a smile on his face. She felt embarrassed. He game and sat next to her both leaning on the edge of the table behind them while the watched at the rest of team. They didn’t say anything for a while, she wasn’t sure if she should apologize or not.

“That was ballsy” he suddenly said and she looked up at him.

“You think I’m gonna be in trouble with Galtier?”

“No… I’ll talk to him.” She nodded, drank from her glass. “You’re already prepared to go to war for them. That’s good.”

“That or I just hate paid referees.” He laughed, his chest vibrating. “Possibly both.”

“They’re gonna warm up to you if you keep going like that.” He said “It’s a matter of time before they trust you. Even the cynics. Just remember your job is not just to go war for them or… push them to their limit in order for them to give you, their best. Galtier can do that…” His eyes fell on her and she looked in his “Sometimes you just gotta be there for them”

She studied around the room, counting her soldiers. There were two missing, the broken one and his loyal friend. Kylian and Hakimi.

STADIUM ROOF TOP – NIGHT

Kylian stood by the marble walls, leaning on them. He watched down at the now empty streets. A few hours ago, crowds were yelling for his team, now they were all gone. He looked at the sky and stars, while the chilling air hit his face. He never went downstairs with the rest of team to celebrate, he and Hakimi stayed on the rooftop and Hakimi had just left. So, he was alone. He liked it that way, he could run the game through on his mind, all the things he missed and did wrong. He glanced back when he heard the door opening, that’s when he saw her, dressed in a jersey and her jeans. He rolled his eyes and looked back at the sky “You’ll freeze to death.”

“Didn’t think you’d mind” she said, cuddling herself and rubbing her arms.

“you’re right I don’t.”

She ignored his comment “why don’t you come downstairs? We are gonna head back in a little while.”

“I’m fine up here.”

“You don’t wanna celebrate?” she went closer, standing next to him but he kept his eyes on the empty streets.

“Got nothing to celebrate.”

“Our team just won-“

“Our?” he asked, almost laughing “since when is it our team Ms. I don’t want to be biased-“

“That’s not fair. You know what I mean.”

“No, I don’t and frankly I don’t care. Half the reason I played shit today was you-“

“Excuse me?”

He motioned his hands, annoyed at her “you suggested we let ourselves get fouled in dangerous areas-“

“You have to be joking-“ she raised her voice.

“Why don’t you go tell your boss about that before he writes his next goddamn article-“

“What is wrong with you?” she yelled. Her body warming up just by the frustration “I’m reaching out for you- I’m trying to help and every time I think I’m getting somewhere you turn into a dick-”

“You bring it out to me, what can I do.” He shot back, his face holding a dark expression. She let out a bitter breath and decided to turn her back on him, heading towards the door then she stopped. No, she thought, he wasn’t getting away with this.

“You know the issue with you is that you choose to be an asshole. You could be a good person but you choose to limit yourself to other people’s opinions time after time after time- what happened to you?” she cried but he didn’t turn to face her, despite her tone. He bit on the inside of his cheek while she spoke, holding his hands in tight fists to control his anger “You played against 11 men by yourself. You played against Argentina by yourself while the rest of your team was sipping tea and looking at the weather-“

“Don’t talk about my team like that-“ he growled

“I’ll talk about them any way I want because it is the truth.” She got closer “you were by yourself in that game and You scored three goals in one fucking game-“

“Two of which were penalties as your boss and everyone else loves to point out-“ he yelled back, turning to face her and waving his hand “so don’t you fucking give me that speech because even that wasn’t enough to satisfy him- or them” she stepped back while he got closer, not because she was scared but because she was worried, he’d stop talking If went close enough and she really wanted him to keep talking. “I could score 5 goals against Messi himself and it still wouldn’t be enough no matter what I do. It’s never perfect and it’s the same thing over and over again ever since I got back from Qatar- the same articles, the same headlines, the same struggle to live up their expectations.” It seemed he had gotten everything out of his chest. She could guess who ‘they’ was and she knew one of them was probably his own father, who had coached him for most of his life. She caught herself feeling sorry for him, she caught herself wanting to hug him but she chose to stand still. Say nothing. Do nothing and she studied his face while his facial expression was turning from angry to regretful. Regret for telling her all these things. She didn’t know how long they had been staring at each other but she started trembling, shaking from the cold.

He noticed it.

“Get inside before you turn to ice.” He said, trying to look and sound like he didn’t care at all and turned his back on her again. Leaning on the marbles just like he had before, grasping his hands together, expecting her to leave. He didn’t even sense her getting closer, not until she placed her hand on his. Her cold, small hand on his. His eyes shot up to find hers immediately. Her eyes reflecting his sorrow, he thought there was more in them, hidden emotions and words that she wouldn’t say but perhaps it was all in his mind.

“Humans they do that. They see someone better than them, someone they fear and they try to humanize him by setting him up with impossible expectations. They did it to gods and they do it each other. It’s not about you, it’s about them.” Her hand gripped tighter on his just for a few seconds and he could feel it trembling against his skin, searching for warmth, just as she went to pull away, he looked down and put his other hand above hers, rubbing it to give it some warmth. When he gazed up at her face again her rosy lips had began to lose their color. He pulled away and unzipped his jacket, putting over her and her exposed arms, she tried to shake it off but he didn’t care.

He fixed the collar, her eyes studying him while he made sure she was appropriately covered by the cold and meeting his when he lowered his head. And then… silence. Stillness. Warmth. His hands settled on her shoulders while they stared in each other’s eyes. An unfamiliar itch on her throat. An unfamiliar feeling on his chest or maybe all too familiar.

“Go inside” he whispered. “don’t want you freezing to death before the next game.” He paused, she thought he was going to say something nice “seeing you getting a yellow card was really satisfying- “

She cracked up, laughing and he forced a kind smile on his lips. “I knew you’d enjoy that.” She said and his hands fell from her shoulders on her arms, rubbing them for a few seconds before he moved away from her. “If you stay here, you’ll freeze.”

“I’ll be down in a second.” He reassured her and she nodded. She went to take off his jacket but he raised his hand “You’ll give it to me downstairs.” He said and she smiled but she didn’t move. He scoffed, shaking his head “you wanna say something what is it? Another advice?”

“it’s my best one yet. Works on everyone.” She reached for his arm, giving it a squish “go on vacation before you drive yourself insane.” He laughed and she gave him one last nod before she walked away, getting inside the warm building. He returned to his previous position admiring the stars but his mind kept wandering back to her. He heard the door opening and he thought it was her again, a smile appearing on his lips which quickly faded away when he saw Verratti standing in front of him.

“How’s it going? Is the plan working?”

He wasn’t sure what he meant at first, then he remembered. He closed his eyes and nodded quickly “yeah bro, I’m getting close.”

“for a while I thought you started taking a liking at her.”

He laughed “no of course not.” Right? "

-

HE KEPT THE FREAKING NAPKIN 😭😭😭😭😭 so after everyone basically said that they prefer longer chapters i decided to give you what you want and chapters will usually he as long as this one. Especially now that things yk are getting heated. Kylian trying to hide his feelings like PLSSS. Im having so much writing this story and i hope you're all still following and enjoying it as much as mee. Pls pls comment your thoughts and your feedback, it Is always hiiiighly appreciated. I love Youuuu💜💜💜 do you like me adding the songs btw? Or do you think it's too much?

Next chapter »

[offender42085]

Post 1339

Eric Ramos, Nebraska inmate 217967, born 1990, incarceration intake (this time) February 2024 at age 33, sentenced to life

Murder, Use of a Weapon in the Commission of a Felony, Tampering with Evidence

In February 2024, an inmate at the Tecumseh Nebraska State Correctional Institution was sentenced to spend the rest of his life in prison after being found guilty of murdering a fellow inmate during a riot in 2017.

Eric Ramos was found guilty of beating, stabbing, and killing Michael Galindo. He was originally charged with arson for the March 2017 uprising after authorities said they found him starting a fire where they found Galindo's body. Galindo's death certificate listed "inhalation of combustion products" with contributing causes of "multiple sharp and blunt force injuries."

The trial for Arson was inconclusive with a hung-jury.

Before issuing his sentence, the Judge told Eric Ramos he agreed with the jury that found him guilty of murder earlier. Grainy video from prison security cameras provided sufficient evidence to identify Ramos as one of at least three inmates who beat and stabbed Galindo and participated in setting a cell on fire where the 31-year-old man was left to die.

"The evidence was clear you were involved in the crime," the Judge said.

According to the Assistant Attorney General, Ramos is the only person charged so far because he appeared to be the one identifiable prisoner most involved in what the prosecutor described as "the mob's actions."

Defense attorney Tim Noerrlinger filed a motion for a new trial, listing several reasons the guilty verdict should be reconsidered. The Judge denied the request.

Another inmate, Damon Fitzgerald, was murdered in a separate incident during the uprising. No arrests were made in that case.

4o

[compneuropapers]

Interesting Papers for Week 43, 2024

Children use disagreement to infer what happened. Amemiya, J., Heyman, G. D., & Gerstenberg, T. (2024). Cognition, 250, 105836.

Low rate hippocampal delay period activity encodes behavioral experience. Athanasiadis, M., Masserini, S., Yuan, L., Fetterhoff, D., Leutgeb, J. K., Leutgeb, S., & Leibold, C. (2024). Hippocampus, 34(8), 422–437.

Orthogonality of sensory and contextual categorical dynamics embedded in a continuum of responses from the second somatosensory cortex. Bayones, L., Zainos, A., Alvarez, M., Romo, R., Franci, A., & Rossi-Pool, R. (2024). Proceedings of the National Academy of Sciences, 121(29), e2316765121.

Working memory flips the direction of serial bias through memory-based decision. Chen, K.-W., & Bae, G.-Y. (2024). Cognition, 250, 105843.

Learning to express reward prediction error-like dopaminergic activity requires plastic representations of time. Cone, I., Clopath, C., & Shouval, H. Z. (2024). Nature Communications, 15, 5856.

Dominant activities of fear engram cells in the dorsal dentate gyrus underlie fear generalization in mice. Cui, K., Qi, X., Liu, Z., Sun, W., Jiao, P., Liu, C., … Yi, M. (2024). PLOS Biology, 22(7), e3002679.

Dopamine and acetylcholine have distinct roles in delay- and effort-based decision-making in humans. Erfanian Abdoust, M., Froböse, M. I., Schnitzler, A., Schreivogel, E., & Jocham, G. (2024). PLOS Biology, 22(7), e3002714.

Distinct neural mechanisms for heading retrieval and context recognition in the hippocampus during spatial reorientation. Gagliardi, C. M., Normandin, M. E., Keinath, A. T., Julian, J. B., Lopez, M. R., Ramos-Alvarez, M.-M., … Muzzio, I. A. (2024). Nature Communications, 15, 5968.

The effects of goal-driven attention on the acquisition of location probability learning. Holtz, E. C., & Lee, V. G. (2024). Journal of Experimental Psychology: Learning, Memory, and Cognition, 50(6), 845–857.

Biophysical neural adaptation mechanisms enable artificial neural networks to capture dynamic retinal computation. Idrees, S., Manookin, M. B., Rieke, F., Field, G. D., & Zylberberg, J. (2024). Nature Communications, 15, 5957.

Dynamics of spike transmission and suppression between principal cells and interneurons in the hippocampus and entorhinal cortex. Iwase, M., Diba, K., Pastalkova, E., & Mizuseki, K. (2024). Hippocampus, 34(8), 393–421.

Spatial updating of gaze position in younger and older adults – A path integration-like process in eye movements. Khosla, A., Moscovitch, M., & Ryan, J. D. (2024). Cognition, 250, 105835.

Hyperpolarization-activated currents drive neuronal activation sequences in sleep. Mehrotra, D., Levenstein, D., Duszkiewicz, A. J., Carrasco, S. S., Booker, S. A., Kwiatkowska, A., & Peyrache, A. (2024). Current Biology, 34(14), 3043-3054.e8.

Statistical learning shapes pain perception and prediction independently of external cues. Onysk, J., Gregory, N., Whitefield, M., Jain, M., Turner, G., Seymour, B., & Mancini, F. (2024). eLife, 12, e90634.3.

Toddlers strategically adapt their information search. Poli, F., Li, Y.-L., Naidu, P., Mars, R. B., Hunnius, S., & Ruggeri, A. (2024). Nature Communications, 15, 5780.

Prediction of sensorimotor contingencies generates saccadic omission. Pomè, A., Schlichting, N., Fritz, C., & Zimmermann, E. (2024). Current Biology, 34(14), 3215-3225.e4.

Distinct feedforward and feedback pathways for cell-type specific attention effects. Spyropoulos, G., Schneider, M., van Kempen, J., Gieselmann, M. A., Thiele, A., & Vinck, M. (2024). Neuron, 112(14), 2423-2434.e7.

Mixed selectivity: Cellular computations for complexity. Tye, K. M., Miller, E. K., Taschbach, F. H., Benna, M. K., Rigotti, M., & Fusi, S. (2024). Neuron, 112(14), 2289–2303.

Beta activity in human anterior cingulate cortex mediates reward biases. Xiao, J., Adkinson, J. A., Myers, J., Allawala, A. B., Mathura, R. K., Pirtle, V., … Sheth, S. A. (2024). Nature Communications, 15, 5528.

Inductive biases of neural network modularity in spatial navigation. Zhang, R., Pitkow, X., & Angelaki, D. E. (2024). Science Advances, 10(29).

[kavalyera]

For your Manila by Night characters: what are their clans? Also I want to know about their Embraces, for the ones you haven't answered that for already :3

haiii omg thank you so much for asking AAAA i couldnt talk about them to my pcs because they’d know some things that’d spoil them</3

So the Prince; Alejandra Miriam Salvador de Silva or just known as Prince de Silva or Ms. de Silva is a seventh generation Ventrue. When Manila was under the control of the Sabbat during the 1800’s, she diablerized her sire and step-father so she wasn’t originally this low of a generation number. She was born in the early 1800’s in Intramuros, the walled city of Manila into an aristocratic family. She went through an arranged marriage, leading her long plan of trying to kill her husband without it making it seemed she did it. Eventually after years of misery and anger, Alejandra managed to do it—though she was accused of being guilty of it a year later due to her dearest “friend” not being able to keep her mouth shut. During her arrest, her step-father came in and pried her out of her cell by paying off the guards. She was then, of course, embraced leading to nearly three decades of soul crushing, mind numbing, head twisting training as her step-father never had a son and decided “fuck it might aswell embrace my step-daughter she seems ambitious enough.” And yeah that’s kinda the reason why she’s such a power hungry, insanely driven politician now x

Next is Professor Rudy Aquino, born on 1852 and embraced on 1888, and unlike the others he’s not actually from Manila. He’s from much further north (Baguio). He was a professor that studied medicine and human anatomy and a person who was greatly passionate about surgery. He endured a lot of shit such as being outcasted from his village for not adhering to the rigid culture that he believed was weighing him down from his full potential and started to travel to seek out teachers and fellow doctors. Eventually, he ended up in Sabbat-ruled Manila in 1872 when he was 20. The chantry of Manila, at the time, was lacking members and didn’t want to fall to the hands of the Sabbat which is why most of their kindred became professors who secretly imprinted occult knowledge into their human students’ lessons. Eventually, Aquino would be ghouled by a member of the Manila Chantry and would study under him before being embraced! After that, Aquino would prove himself to be a worthy one to have been embraced.

Samuel Isaiah Fernandez, on the other hand, was a sort of…different story. They were born to a pretty wealthy family in comparison to pretty much most of the Filipino folk in the mid 1800’s, but they were born different in comparison to the rest of their siblings. Samuel had a bone growth abnormality which basically made it dangerous for them to be out of the watch of their parents and governess as any wrong move especially in a violent environment could lead to a deadly situation. Samuel became caged in their home, seeing the same maids and the same siblings everyday, yearning to see the world outside and well, they thought hey! It’s boring in this house, why not have some fun? Samuel was constantly infatilized by everyone in their life due to their condition, and they used this to their advantage by taking information out of people when they least expected it. Though, when their parents eventually succumbed to their deaths, Samuel’s siblings didn’t want to take care of them and they ended up being homeless. After this, they were embraced by a Nosferatu.

May Fernando, born Marianne P. Santos was your average girl in Manila. Actually no, she wasn’t normal to be honest. She was an outsider to her peers; constantly exploring, building ties with nature, and honestly just being filled with wanderlust. She dated her childhood bestfriend David Ramos when they were in junior year of high school, and this relationship lasted until they parted ways for college. May, funnily enough, studied to become a veterinarian! Though when she learned David had “died” in a fire, she returned back to Manila from Laguna after she had graduated. She remained in Manila afterwards, continuing to be a veterinarian before she was embraced by her sire, a guy she quite frankly didn’t know all that well but frequently saw. Now she’s a Gangrel anarch, and technically a stand in Baron of Tondo. She still uses her veterinary knowledge though!!!

There’s a LOT more to it but yeah here’s a rundown of them all🫶 thank you so so so so SO much hahshshshdhdh

[pastelwitchling]

If you're still doing this... can I request a sequel for chapter 12 of part one? @brittz-2123

Sequel to this fic.

***

                For all the enemies Alex had made over the years, some through his military work and most through his fight against Project Shepherd, it was surprisingly difficult to figure out who would want to kill him.

                “Run it by me again,” Eduardo Ramos sighed, eyes closed. “Before you got in the car.”

                “I already told you,” Alex said, rubbing his eyes from where he sat at his desk, his computer open in front of him. He felt like he’d been watching the satellite footage of the bar on a loop, and if he had to watch this cowboy and his girlfriend make out against the back wall one more time . . .

                “No one was watching me, no one lingered in the corners, no one spoke to me. I don’t know anyone that plays tricks like this, if someone wanted to come after me, they’d use a gun or smother me in my sleep. Military or tactful. This feels . . . desperate.”

                “Therein lies the crux of the problem, Alex,” Eduardo said, taking the steel chair beside him, eyes boring into his. “I’d understand a double agent coming after you, and I’d understand a soldier. But this mess,” he shook his head at the photos he’d pulled of Alex’s soaked car seats. “What amateur is trying to hunt you and why?”

                “I don’t know,” Alex murmured, fingers interlocked against his brow. He had a migraine that had been thumping steadily in the inner corner of his right eye for the past fifteen minutes, the first vestiges of dawn peeking out outside his office window.

                And the worst part was that he knew it had very little to do with the attempt on his life and almost everything to do with the way he and Michael had left things several hours ago. He rested his chin on his folded arms and sighed. Did Michael really think so little of him that he thought Alex would fall apart without him?

                And what did that say about Michael? If Alex was supposed to be shattering to pieces, was Michael just fine? Was only Alex supposed to be the one breaking? Was Michael that indifferent to them not being together?

                “All right, what’s going on?” Ramos huffed. “You’ve sighed twice in the last minute alone.”

                “Well,” Alex rested his head on his arms, looking away from him, “someone is trying to kill me.”

                “Yeah, but that’s a normal Tuesday for people like us, isn’t it?” Eduardo dismissed and Alex’s lips quirked despite himself. “I know that look, Alex. I’ve been studying you long before you joined us.”

                “You do realize how creepy that is, right?”

                “I take special interest in my best agents,” he shrugged a shoulder. “And I know everyone’s weak spot here. Yours . . . is Michael Guerin.”

                Alex shut his eyes at the mention of him. “He saved me last night. Got me out of the car. Then proceeded to scream at me for drunk driving. Apparently he thinks he was my only brain cell and since we’re not together, I’m losing my grip on my sanity.”

                Eduardo pursed his lips and nodded wordlessly a moment, then he clicked his tongue. “Someone thinks highly of himself. But he’s not wrong.” Alex looked up at him and he smirked. “Is he?”

                Alex deflated, cheek squished against his forearm. “No,” he murmured. “He’s not. But if I’m dying every day without him, how can he just . . . keep going?” He heaved another sigh and hid his face. “It’s just a real hit to the ego,” he said, voice muffled. “Realizing that I love him more than he loves me. It’s not a great feeling, to be honest.”

                Eduardo chuckled, and Alex felt his hand on his hair, ruffling it. “Oh, son. There might be more here that you’re not seeing.”

                “Yeah?” he grumbled. “Like what?”

                “I don’t know,” he admitted. “I’m not Michael, so I couldn’t tell you what he was thinking. But I do know this. I’ve been watching him almost as long as I’ve been watching you, and you know what I noticed?”

                “What?”

                Eduardo smiled at him. “No one watches you like he does.”

                *

                Michael couldn’t sleep after Alex left. He paced instead, eyes drifting to Alex’s car every so often. The seats were soaked in alcohol and he could almost smell them to here, a constant reminder of the night he and Alex had had.

                “If it’s just a part, then why didn’t you show up?”

                The way Alex had looked at him, like Michael was just someone else he’d hoped would love him and ended up betraying him instead. Like he really believed Michael didn’t think much of him.

                He took a swig from his bottle only to find it empty, and sighed, letting it fall onto the sand beside him and rubbing his face. When he’d gotten that call from Alex last night, his heart had felt like it was about to leap out of his chest. He’d almost gotten in his own truck and raced to find him before he could crash, the fear in Alex’s voice still echoing in his head and taunting him over what could’ve happened.

                He thought he was going to die, a voice in his mind told him, and he wanted to talk to you.

                Michael had been all but ready to take him into his arms the second he’d climbed out and kissed every inch of him to make sure he was unharmed. But then he’d smelled the drinks and fear surged like he’d never felt it before. It had settled the day Alex had insisted on staying at Caulfield with him, and turned heavier since the moment he’d confessed to Michael in that bunker that he needed a reason to stay. And once the very idea, no matter how small and unlikely, that Michael had driven Alex—his Alex—to that edge had taken root, it had blossomed into something too frightening for Michael to think past.

                It didn’t matter that he knew Alex was brave, that he was strong. Just a hint of a possibility had been enough to make him shudder and say things he shouldn’t have said. Things that he knew hurt Alex a lot. He smirked bitterly against his palms. It seemed all he did these days was hurt Alex.

                The sound of tires on gravel tugged Michael out of his thoughts and he looked up to find a car parking in front of the junkyard. For a second, he wondered if the driver really was drunk because the sun had just dawned and he himself was far too sleep deprived to have any patience for someone trying to force open the auto shop first thing in the morning.

                But then Alex stepped out of the passenger seat and raised his hand in goodbye to the driver who Michael could see through the open window was none other than his boss, Eduardo Ramos. He stood, staring, not quite believing the scene in front of him. Even as Alex approached him, his shoulders scrunched and his hands in his pockets.

                When he was close enough and before he could speak, Michael blurted, “I—I fixed the brakes, but I can’t get rid of the beer smell. I think you’re better off just getting a new—”

                “I will,” Alex nodded, avoiding Michael’s eyes. “I’m not here for the car.”

                Michael looked him up and down. He had changed out of his clothes from last night, so he didn’t reek of alcohol anymore. Looking at him now, how focused his eyes were even as Michael knew he hadn’t slept a wink either, his anger at Alex for getting in a car while drunk seemed ridiculous now.

                “Why are you here, then?” Michael asked.

                Alex shrugged. “You know that thing Ramos does when I can’t focus and he tells me what he thinks I need?”

                Michael swallowed. For some reason, the idea that Alex was here because his boss had told him to come and not because he’d wanted to see Michael himself left Michael feeling hollow.

                “So you’re here because Ramos ordered you to?”

                “He . . . suggested it,” Alex pursed his lips.

                “Were you allowed to say no?”

                “Sure.”

                Michael glanced at him, then, wanting something to do and somewhere else to look, took his seat again in front of the dying embers. “What can I do for you? The last I saw of you, you didn’t want to be near me.”

                “I always want to be near you,” he confessed, and Michael looked up. “That’s the problem.”

                He smirked bitterly. “Loving me’s a problem now?”

                Alex’s entire body seemed to deflate with exasperation before he took the seat next to Michael’s and interlocked his fingers. “Isn’t it usually a problem,” he asked, rocking restlessly back and forth on his chair, “loving someone who doesn’t love you?”

                Michael clenched his jaw, tapping his thumb on the armrest for a moment before he said, “If you say I don’t love you one more time, Alex, I swear, I’ll split Roswell in half.”

                Alex wouldn’t look at him, but he leaned back in his seat, slumped and staring through the bonfire. “Fine. Maybe you do love me. But not like I love you, and to me, that’s just as bad.”

                “What does that even mean?” Michael demanded, desperate, turning to face him. “That I don’t love you like you love me?”

                “It means that you really thought I would break if we weren’t together,” Alex said, “even when you seemed to be doing okay. It means that you believed I would have nothing left to live for if I didn’t have you, but you didn’t have me and nothing had changed—”

                “I was ready to kill whoever cut your damn brakes!” Michael snapped, and Alex, startled, finally met his eyes. Michael stood. “I was going to hunt them down, Alex! I know you wouldn’t have gotten in the stupid car if you were drunk, but I don’t think straight when it comes to you! I get angry, and—and so scared, and I say things I shouldn’t and I do things I shouldn’t because no matter how freaking smart I am, I’m a complete dumbass when it comes to you! You’re my weak spot, you always have been, don’t you get that?!”

                Alex, wide eyed, stared as Michael panted. Then he stood, shaking his head, a sad look on his face as he said, “I don’t want to be your weak spot. I want to be . . . I want to be the reason you’re strong.”

                The crack in his voice cut through Michael’s angry haze.

                Alex swallowed. “Being who I am . . . and having the life I’ve had . . . you have to cut your heart out for a lot of it. If you want to survive, you can’t feel, you just can’t. But you’re what I fight for, you are. Just knowing you pushes me to lead with my mind and my heart, and no matter what happened to me out there, if I thought of you . . . even if I ever came back to Roswell and you weren’t here, it gave me power.”

                He shook his head, his eyes turning glassy. “And now you’re telling me that instead of giving you that same power . . . I take it away? I wouldn’t have been able to survive without you there, Guerin, and it turns out, you can’t survive because I’m here with you.” His shoulders fell and he whispered, “This is exactly what I mean. Love shouldn’t shackle you down and hurt you, and you always make it feel like that’s what loving me does to you. That’s what I do to you.” Alex shook his head, moving to walk past him. “I won’t do it to you anymore.”

                Michael, shaking, caught his wrist. “Stop it, damn it, just stop leaving me! You think being my weak spot is a bad thing? You’re not my weak spot because your hurt me, Alex, you’re my weak spot because I stop caring about hiding my identity when you’re in danger! I stop thinking right when you need me! My life is nothing but being a disappointment to everyone around me, and I’ve never cared, and sometimes I think that makes me stronger! But . . . damn it, I want to impress you! I want you to like me, not just love me. I want you to think I’m the greatest thing you’ve ever seen, and it scares me what I would do to make that happen!”

                He huffed. “I care about what you think, and I hate it. I hate that you love me because every minute is a reminder that I don’t deserve it, and then I’m fighting to earn that love and when I can’t do it, I hate myself more. So yeah, Alex, you’re my weak spot. But it’s not because you hurt me. It’s because you’re the only one with that power and I feel like I’m waiting for you to do it already and you just won’t!”

                Alex stared, shocked, and Michael’s grip on his wrist tightened painfully. “I don’t know how to act around you,” he confessed. “I don’t want to mess up, but I know that I will, and that terrifies me. And I know that’s pathetic and I’m a coward, but—”

                Alex silenced Michael by cupping his jaw and closing the distance between them, pressing their mouths together in a quiet, soft kiss. Michael whimpered against Alex’s mouth and Alex swallowed the sound, leading Michael’s hand down to his waist where Michael instinctively hugged him tightly against him. Alex’s clothes were warm and soft against Michael, his chest strong, his heart hammering as hard as Michael’s own.

                Alex pulled back and Michael chased his lips, his eyes half-lidded. Alex traced Michael’s bottom lip with his thumb. “I’m scared, too, Guerin . . . so what if we just agreed not to be? What if I was just me, and you were just you, and . . . we were just together? I don’t want you to be anybody else, Michael, I fell in love with the angry cowboy that lived out of his truck, you’re it.”

                Michael, nervous, put his other hand on Alex’s cheek, and Alex covered it with his own. “I love you,” he said. “I don’t want anyone else. I’m the one who wants to deserve you. So let me.”

                Michael swallowed, watching his own thumb brush Alex’s cheekbone. Part of him still couldn’t believe Alex was this close, that Michael had his stubbled jaw beneath his palm. He wanted to feel more. So much more.

                But he managed enough coherent thought just to say, “You can’t leave me. You can’t, Alex. I can’t handle it.”

                Alex leaned in until he was nuzzling Michael’s cheek. “I never will,” he breathed, and that was all Michael needed to tilt his head back and slot their mouths together, using the arm around Alex’s waist to pull him in tight against him and carry him a few feet.

                “Whoa!” Alex wrapped his arms around his shoulders. “G-Guerin, I still have to find who—”

                “Later,” Michael breathed, lifting Alex’s thigh so that his legs were wrapped around his own waist. “I’ll do it all for you later. Just let me touch you, Alex, I need to.”

***

Happy malex Monday ❤

[ecologieeteconomie]

France-Afrique du Sud : une défaite au goût amer !

Des actions de grande classe, un suspense haletant, des joueurs exceptionnels sur le terrain, deux équipes qui se rendent coup pour coup, un arbitre à la ramasse et à la fin la défaite, l’amertume, les regrets. Décidément au rugby, la Coupe du Monde n’est pas pour l’hémisphère nord (sauf pour l’Angleterre, ne me demandez pas pourquoi). 

Une première mi-temps relativement bien maîtrisée.

Nos joueurs ont démarré cette partie en attaquant pied au plancher et après quelque temps de jeu, il plante un essai dès les premières minutes du match, Cyril Baye concluant une belle action collective. Engagement des Sud-Africains et les Français repartent à l’assaut avec du jeu structuré, des passes au cordeau. Le danger est de nouveau dans les vingt-deux sud-africains, mais Etzebeth tente l’interception. Il commet un en avant et reprend le ballon sans que l’arbitre ne dise un mot. Quelques passes plus tard, les Sringboks inscrivent un essai en contre. Une action qui aurait dû nous rapporter 3 points minimum et qui nous en coûte sept.

Mais le XV de France a du caractère et il l’a prouvé à maintes reprises. Menés par un Antoine Dupont casqué, jouant sobre, mais juste, le XV de France continue à attaquer tous azimutsc et cherche à trouver la faille dans une défense Springbok vraiment bien en place. Petit coup de pied par-dessus, ballon porté, conquête en touche, tout y passe et sur une pénalité rapidement jouée par Antoine Dupont délivre une passe tendue en bout de ligne à Mauvaka qui plonge dans l’en-but.

Sur la transformation à suivre, Chelsin Kolbe a jailli hors de sa boîte et contre Ramos. La règle dit que les défenseurs peuvent monter sur le buteur à partir du moment où celui-ci a lancé sa course. Le joueur sud Africain avait déjà parcouru la moitié de la distance quand Ramos lance sa course. Et à nouveau, l’arbitre ne constate aucune irrégularité.

Le score est donc de 12 à 7 et quelques minutes après de 12 à 12 suite à un magnifique cafouillage de mal défense bleu sur une chandelle des gazelles vertes. A ce niveau, toute erreur se paie cache. Le jeu se poursuit, les temps de jeu se multiplient et Cyril Baye inscrit un doublé, malheureusement les Sud-Africains égalisent dans la foulée. Juste avant la mi-temps, les Français obtiennent une pénalité qu’ils décident de tenter au pied pour rentrer au vestiaire avec l’avantage au score. Ramos ne tremble pas et le score à la mi-temps est de 22 à 19. Au vu de la physionomie de cette première mi-temps, les Français semblent bien partis pour accrocher la demi-finale. 

Un carton jaune, mais pas de dégât

Au cours du match, Uini Atonio se retrouve un genou à terre, voir le géant d’origine néo-zélandaise se masser la pommette fait grincer des dents. Le colosse français à trouver à qui parler en la personne d’Etzebeth lors d’un contact tête contre tête. 

Alors que le Springbok rate un peu son plaquage, sa tête entre en contact avec celle de notre Winnie nationale. Fort heureusement pour le Sud Africain, sa pommette ne heurte pas l’épaule de son vis-à-vis en tombant.

Suite à cette action, il est toutefois obligé de sortir du terrain avec un carton jaune. À la vue des images, les arbitres bunker décident logiquement de ne pas transformer le carton jaune en carton rouge. Après 10 minutes d’exclusion, la XVᵉ gazelle peut donc revenir gambader dans le pré.

Pendant leurs dix minutes d’infériorité numérique, les Sud-Africains se sont employés à empêcher les Français de scorer et ils l’ont très bien fait. 

Une seconde mi-temps compliquée

Alors que les Sud-Africains continuent à contenir nos différentes attaques, ils parviennent eux à trouver la faille et marque un essai. Le buteur passe la transformation. Le score est désormais en leur faveur 25 à 29. 

Suite à une énième attaque française, le XV du coq obtient une pénalité. L’équipe décide de prendre les points aux pieds, cela nous permettrait de revenir à un petit point de nos adversaires mais pas de leur passer devant. Ramos ne tremble pas et les Sud-Africains sont sous la menace de n’importe quelle action permettant d’inscrire des points.

Les dix dernières minutes sont suffocantes avec des Français qui se jettent comme des beaux diables dans la bataille. C’est parfois assez mal maîtrisé et il y a beaucoup de perte de ballons. Mais il y a toujours un joueur pour récupérer la gonfle et nous remettre dans l’avancée.

Les minutes s’égrènent. Les temps de jeu s'enchaînent. Les gazelles multiplient les fautes au sol sans être sanctionnés. Les Français continuent leurs offensives en se jetant à corps perdu. On sent toutefois qu’ils sont de plus en plus agacés d’être contrariés irrégulièrement dans leurs actions sans que l’arbitre bouge le petit doigt pour faire respecter la règle.

Les Sud-Africains obtiennent une pénalité, fin du match. La France perd d’un point contre le cours du jeu avec un arbitre incompétent et aux abonnés absents.

Les Français nous font rêver depuis quatre ans et ils vont continuer. Le mandat de Galthié cours jusqu’en 2028, il pourra donc s’envoler vers l’Australie avec une équipe plus expérimentée et on l’espère encore plus maître de son sujet. Les plus belles pages de l’aventure de la bande à Galthié restent à écrire, c’est une certitude. Rendez-vous en février 2024 pour un tournoi des VI Nations que nous pourrons peut-être gagner. La Coupe du Monde était un rêve et la France a besoin de rêver malheureusement tous les rêves ne deviennent pas réalité. 

[oflgtfol]

Okay same venom 2003 anon again. I dont have anything else to add to what ur saying as again i didnt read venom 2003 So im just nodding respectfully and wisely to everything your saying but re ur tags is the artist you mean Humberto Ramos? Bc if it is if it helps he's a pretty unpopular artist amongst people (though usually for criticisms about his art being “too cartoony” instead of anything meaningful like the objectification of women which i personally despise when people do that. No more realism sexy super models i want hyper stylisation ONLY in my comic books just to piss those people off). I also personally do not care about him as an artist no hate nor respect towards him but again the bar is so low 😭 ive seen so many genuinely boring deeply misogynistic artists who treat women the exact same awful objectifying way but who get passes in comic book spaces because their art is more Conventionally Likeable. Like if im gonna be forced to see a woman be drawn as only one body type and face and breasting boobily id much rather take the uglier style or the more stylised style just to have something Interesting To Look At then Another Boring Generic Guy Drawing Semi Realism with Soft Shading Based off 1950s Pin ups but thats just me personally as a lifelong comic book guy

YES HUMBERTO RAMOS. i hate the venom 2003 art but in the past two hours i've come to realize that humberto ramos is my real enemy here and the only real fault of venom 2003 is its resemblance of ramos's art (of course in addition to its own home brewed sexism).

i really love stylized art and i hate realistic styles. i love the classic ASM look because it struck a nice balance between the two: the 1960s-80s need to depict the human form in a standardized, realistic way (likely due to toy sales, at least if its caused by the same phenomenon of 80s cartoons, a la he-man, having that same look to them), but the flat colors, limited color palette, and cell shading were so so wonderfully simple and sleek in a really fun way. gave such a distinct Look to the comic, and the simplicity of the colors also made the realistic lineart not too realistic. it just felt very intentional, very careful, very creative with their technological limitations, and it's such a timeless look that has aged so well even still to the 2020s

so while i love the classique look, i also love when comic styles go even further to really break the mold and stylize further!! herrera in venom 2003, and ramos's whole *gestures broadly* COULD be good, if only they were done a little bit more purposefully, and yknow, minus the outrageous sexism

and yes sexism is overall so entrenched in marvel comics and i wouldn't be surprised if it also infected literally all other comic companies out there, considering We Live In A Society. anyone who dares to argue that misogyny doesn't exist needs to go become a comic geek and read hundreds of marvel comics and see

1. how utterly shallow women are characterized compared to their male counterparts

2. how female characters so rarely get to exist on their own outside of a male character; ie. female characters who are only side characters for a male hero, or superheroines who are literaly just "female version of xyz popular male character!", etc etc etc

3. the way women are visually depicted compared to men. men, especially the superheroes, are still subject to white patriarchal standards of beauty of course, but the huge muscles they're drawn with are a form of power, a "look how cool i am." you will never get that with a female character. they are only ever depicted with the same fucking face, the same fucking body type, the same fucking curves and tasteful cleavage and pouty lips and cat eye makeup.

4. and while the men have these like insane muscles that do not exist irl, they at least get to POSE in ways that are not sexualized. the women characters, even if their designs are not objectifying, will still be posed so that their butts face the camera, they have a pretty side profile to show off the silhouette of their breasts, etc. if you really pay careful attention to the way women are placed in comic panels compared to men it's so insane. so fucking insane

but yknow, all of those things tend to manifest in subtle ways, ways that you really can only pick up when you've read so many comics over a decent amount of time, and when you're otherwise prepared to read for and pick up on sexist elements. so i guess i REALLY draw my line and get pissed the fuck off beyond belief when comic writers and/or artists then begin to just be, blatantly, fucking sexist. a la those terrible panels from ASM spider island. a la that one she-hulk issue. a la spider-man/red sonja. when it's blatant it means you give NO fucks, it means you don't even believe women are people because you don't expect them to be engaging your works and thus you don't expect any sort of audience outcry from your blatant sexism, it means you literally only see women as objects for your male audience to oogle over, it's beyond frustrating

[ashes-in-a-jar]

The Sheridan Tapes episode 91

Sam and Ned exploring the city, love me some bonding time for the boys (even if Ned is unwilling to let Sam admit to it)

Sam is really pulling an apocalyptic Jonathan sims here by narrating the trapped citizens' experiences in their cells/apartment

Also oof to Ramos for saying "I'm one of you" to join Morrison's soldier troup. We thought you were better than that dude.

Sam feels their pain so much his anger radiates out of him and gives them away- I love you soub for that Sam but goodness keep it together

Lara! Good to see you!

[bettercostume]

i reread ur neymessi space AU probably 10 times a month and i’m so serious it’s so perfect i love it sm

thank youuuu i am plowing through trying to finish the main story but here's a treat lol:

“Can someone please explain the point of this, again,” Neymar says. He’s surly, antibacterial slime from the tank still dripping from the ends of his dark curls. 

“The Last Hope of the Americas would like to lodge a complaint,” Geri says, “He thought being a point member of an elite squadron meant all the pussy he could ask for, not the torture of being entrusted with lightspeed accelerated alien technology."

"You an Leo are out here tooling around in Lambo 4440s and we're stuck on bikes,” Luis says.  Leo supposes this is an accurate assessment; only he and Ney have ships that are part of them, wired into their brains and being.

“Yeah, yeah,” Neymar says. “That doesn’t mean I like bathing in this shit every day. I mean, I thought wetware was illegal.”

“Where, earth?” Rafinha laughs from the showers.  

“Hey, no more mission debriefs,” Geri says, toweling his head off. “You should be happy, I’ve seen you doze off in enough of them.” 

“I’d rather be flying,” Neymar says, and Leo turns away before Ney can catch his eye. The way they’ve been looking at each other recently feels like the ramp-up to a fight. Or something. Leo feels strange all over, when he’s caught in Neymar’s gaze. 

He showers quickly, sloughing off the ooze from the training tank. It’s a cell-rich slime that contains genetic information from their ships.v It's supposed to allow the two of them to focus their mental power on the program.

Everyone says he’s the best at it, but he has his doubts. Ramos started the rumor that his long-term treatment with the neuro implant is a cover, that he has some kind of extra xenomorphic advantage.  

The truth is, lately, Leo has trouble revisiting his training memory. It’s a simple one implanted when he was ten. He easily sets the necessary time points, but then something goes awry. Instead of going back to his childhood interview with Pep, he returns to these showers. Neymar usually is one down, his coconut conditioner and the various oils he uses to keep his hair healthy in the dead air of the station creating a pleasant cloud of scent. If he looks to his right, he’ll see Neymar soaping up. Neymar will ask him something and he’ll look over and his skin will be wet and his face will be beautiful and then someone clangs on the tank and pops the connection to reset it, making Leo’s head ring. 

He’s supposed to go for a debrief with Pep. He gets the feeling that the conversations he has with Ops are different from the others. Pep came to visit him after the first treatment in lieu of his parents, with a package of retro-flavored jelly that Leo thought no one knew he liked. It had mattered. Back when he was still expecting weekly messages from his folks, back when he’d thought homecoming was a when, not an if. 

But the thought of sitting in Pep’s office and hearing him say, it's not like you to lose focus, Leo; I know this isn’t the best of you, is interminable. He pauses in the bustling vee that splits command from the service quarters. For some reason he can’t bear it, the trip up the levels between him and Pep’s quiet consideration. So he does something he’s never done before: he skips.

They have one rec room for their squadron, a big open space with a conversation pit, holo table, and privacy booths for calls home or movies or gaming. Leo gets a tablet and tries to avoid as many people as possible and hones in on the booth at the farthest end of the room, behind the lemon trees that Xavi is trying to cultivate. He sets up his mate and his thermos and adjusts the chair and the headset, as usual. He has two hours before lights out. He pushes his hair behind his ears and presses BEGIN.

The sim he likes is the basic, no-frills mission challenge. He usually prefers computer challenges, sensorless or with engine failure, but his weekly stat check revealed a player named Joker was doing as good as he was, so they’ve been PVP battling in their free time, dogfights so intense that he sweats through his shirt. 

Joker is there, waiting, and without wasting any time he blasts past him, battering his ship with gravity waves. 

“Show off,” Leo mutters, and executes a dive toward the planet below and its needlepoint mountains. 

It takes what feels like hours but finally, the target lock noise sounds: he’s caught Joker in a blind corner. He smiles and pulls the trigger. 

He hears a string of Portuguese curses just as Joker explodes. Leo pops off his headset and listens closely. It’s coming from the cube next to him.

Curiosity getting the better of him, Leo stands on his chair and looks over the privacy wall. There, legs splayed on the table and gesticulating at the screen where his ship is smoking, is Neymar.

“Neymar?” Leo says.

Neymar whips around and tries to bring his feet down from the table at the same time. His controller goes sprawling, and his chair almost tips over. When he rights himself, he looks guilty. 

“Uh, yeah,” he says, and laughs nervously. Leo hangs further over the side of the partition, hair falling into his face.

“You little fucker,” he says, grinning. “I thought you were DiMaria from Group P.” 

“Come on, I have more style,” Neymar says.

“I even bitched him out over internal comms last week for the back-brake maneuver you pulled,” Leo says. “Shit.”

Neymar still looks a little guilty, fidgety. 

“Why didn’t you say anything?” Leo asks.

Neymar shrugs. 

“Didn’t want to make it weird,” he says. 

Neymar is the least weird person Leo has ever met, effortlessly popular and easy to talk to. People gather around him in the cafeteria, jog to catch up to him in the walkway, his laugh pealing through any quiet room. In contrast, Cesc used to just tell people that Leo was mute, back when they were in the same squad. It’s not that he didn’t like people, or like talking, it was just that he could never figure out how to make it happen naturally. 

Natural progression, though, as his youth spent in hyperbaric chambers and injecting modified GH into his spine had taught him, was overrated.

“Do you want to get dinner?” Leo asks him. 

Neymar hides a smile in his hand and yawns. 

“Sure,” he says, stretching, faux casual. His hair flickers pink. “Let’s hit it.”

[giveamadeuschohisownmovie]

Pitch for the third installment in the Until Dawn/The Quarry trilogy:

1) The title: META

(reason: double entendre since the game is a meta-take on horror gaming and a reference to the Metaverse)

2) The plot

In 1984, a mysterious serial killer known as The Gravedigger murders a sibling pair who were on their way to visit family.

In the present day, a group of people vacationing in the same spot as the Gravedigger murders realize they’re being stalked. But as the night goes on, the vacationers realize there’s something else to fear aside from the killer. Something…supernatural-

Wait…why does this feel familiar? Isn’t this the same plot as Until Dawn? Also, this doesn’t feel too different from The Quarry. Something feels wrong with this set-up…

As the game goes on, the main characters start to feel that there’s something off about their world. They feel like they’re just following a script and that they have no control over their actions. That’s when we get the big reveal; they’re trapped inside a virtual world that was developed by Supermassive Games. In reality, the main characters are gamers who were brought in by Supermassive to test a new virtual reality game. However, a rogue programmer hacked the game, resulting in the gamers losing their memories, being stripped of their free will, and becoming trapped inside.

You, the player(s), are an actual character in the story. You’re a Supermassive employee trying to save the gamers by playing the rogue programmer’s script and making choices for the helpless gamers. It’s up to you to stop the rogue programmer, who is making the virtual world more and more nightmarish as the story goes on.

So, while chapters 1-6 play out like a typical Supermassive game, chapters 7-10 become more of a surreal nightmare due to the rogue programmer fighting back against the player.

3) Inspirations (to get a feel for how I imagined the game would turn out):

The Backrooms, The Cell, Doki Doki Literature Club, Harvester, Don’t Worry Darling, WandaVision, Too Many Cooks, Wes Craven’s New Nightmare, Danganronpa V3, Black Mirror: Bandersnatch

Sword Art Online and The Matrix, for non-horror inspirations

Squid Game, sorta kinda. It’s mainly the concept of this evil overseer watching over these people who are being forced to take part in the overseer’s game.

4) The main playable cast:

* Sean Parker (INTOLERANT, ARROGANT, CONFIDENT): A men’s rights activist/Andrew Tate-type gamer. He is played by Gregg Sulkin.

* Kim Myung-seok (BRAVE, RATIONAL, STOIC): An esports player from South Korea. He is played by Wi Ha-joon.

* Sameer Patel (INSECURE, RELAXED, DEFENSIVE): A gaming journalist from the United Kingdom. He is played by Dev Patel.

* Luis Santos (FOOLHARDY, CHARMING, BRASH): A gamer from Los Angeles and Melissa’s love interest. He is played by Anthony Ramos.

* Melissa Ramirez (AMBITIOUS, ADVENTUROUS, SELFISH): A gamer from Texas and Luis’ love interest. She is played by Leslie Grace.

* Donna Smith (COMMANDING, KIND, ADAPTABLE): A gamer who becomes the de facto leader of the group. She is played by Zazie Beetz.

* June Greene (REBELLIOUS, DETERMINED, WITTY): An e-girl streamer who is the first to realize something is off about the world. She is played by Erin Kellyman.

* Katrina Mason (NAIVE, ANTI-SOCIAL, FEARFUL): A NEET-type gamer who reluctantly joins the group. She is played by Kaitlyn Dever.

(Romance paths: Luis x Melissa, June x Katrina, Donna can choose between Myung-seok and Sameer. Sean is the only one without a romance path, for obvious reasons.)

5) Other characters:

* The Player, a gender-neutral Supermassive employee who, from the real world, is guiding the characters to safety (or getting them killed).

* Dante Connors: The rogue programmer responsible for trapping the gamers. He is the main villain of the game. Dante is played by David Tennant.

* The CEO of Supermassive, who fulfills the same role as the Curator, the Therapist, and Eliza Vorez. To make this as meta as possible, he is played by the actual CEO of the company.

[krankittoeleven]

I would love to hear more about The Ballad of Lonesome Gods!

Sure thing! This is my AC Valhalla Cowboy AU that takes place shortly after the American Civil War, Featuring Eivor, Vili (and eventual Eivor/Vili relations), Ubba, Randvi, Ivarr, Soma & Rollo. Plus Halfdan who is sort of the silent partner/bankroll of the group, and is slowly going insane. They all straddle, toe or completely jump over the line of "morality" in varying degrees, but the only outright scoundrel of the group is Ivarr (because of course he is). There is an underlying vein of Norse mythology woven into the main story that connects to the mythology in AC Valhalla, but mostly its intended to be a fun romp through the wild west while also touching on things like war, slavery, human rights, family, love...you know, the usual.

The snippet below is taken from one of the opening scenes where Eivor is trying to break Ivarr out of jail while pretending to be a Texas ranger (he is NOT a Texas ranger lol).

"You're here for el sin huesos?" the deputy asks before taking a quick look back to the cells behind him.  Eivor tries to see around him, but the back room is not well lit.

"Sin huesos?" Eivor repeats, confused.  He knows what it means, but not how it applies.

"Yeah, you know,"—the deputy makes an awkward waving gesture with his hand, like a fish, or maybe a snake, swimming through water—"boneless like the slippery, slimy snake that he is."

"Ah," Eivor replies, still skeptical of the application, "I hate to be the bearer of bad news, deputy, but last I recall a snake does, in fact, have many bones.  And I’m afraid they aren’t very slimy either."

An amused snort makes its way to Eivor’s ears from somewhere in the back room.  Ivarr can hear them, of that he has no doubt.

Deputy Ramos glares at Eivor from below the rim of his hat. “What are you, some kind of nature specialist, too?”

“No, I’ve just eaten my fair share of rattlesnake over the years.  Picked my teeth clean with many-a rattlesnake bone.” Eivor takes one, two, three steps, each marked with the sound of boot heels and the jangle of spurs, and sits on the corner of the Deputy’s desk. “You ever eat rattlesnake, son?”

“N-no sir,” stutters Ramos as he drops the letter on the table, Eivor’s proximity already having an effect on the poor deputy.  

“I thought not,” Eivor says, grinning, as he takes out a pocket knife and slowly pulls out the blade.  He already feels bad for him, he’s going to be in a world of trouble when they are through. He lets the silence build around them for a moment as he examines his fingernails, then begins to pick them clean with the tip of the knife.  “Now what do you say, son?  How about you get me my prisoner so I can be on my way?”

“I’m sorry sir, but I can’t do that.” For his part, the deputy did sound remorseful.

“And why is that?” Eivor asks, his attention still on his fingernails.  When he hears Deputy Ramos take a deep breath, Eivor looks up at him.  It’s like the kid is trying to suck his courage back in.

“Sir, this is the great Territory of New Mexico, and not a Texas Ranger, nor a Governor of the United States has any real authority here.  You can speak to the Sheriff, but it will take more than a fancy letter to convince him.  The prisoner has committed crimes here, too.”

“I’m sure he has,” replies Eivor as he slips off the desk and back to his feet.  He folds the pocket knife and puts it back in its place on his belt in one smooth, quick motion. He takes a single step towards Ramos and the deputy seems to step back to preserve the scant distance between them. “Where I come from, his wanted posters are as long as my horse’s...well, I’m sure you know what I’m getting at.”

Deputy Ramos laughs nervously and takes a step back and then another.  Eivor matches him step for step before reaching up to remove his hat.  He holds it against his chest, as if in reverence.

“He is a felonious little vermin, deputy, and I wish to see him brought to justice.”

“Y-yes, sir.”

They each take another step, Eivor’s voice raising just the slightest bit.

“He stands accused of arson…”

Step.

“...fraud…”

Step.

“...assault, battery, horse theft…”

Step step step.

“...and among other things: murder, most foul.” The last words drip slowly from Eivor's mouth like molasses drips from a spoon.

Deputy Ramos takes another step back, the dawning realization that he’s taken his last slowly creeping across his face as his boot heel clangs against steel.  He reaches for his gun but a hand catches him around the wrist as another slips between the bars, fingers wrapping around his throat.  The deputy struggles, his free hand going to the wrist of the hand that chokes him, his feet kicking out weakly at Eivor, so weakly he doesn't even bother trying to avoid them.  The Deputy's hat falls to the floor as he starts to go limp.

“I hate being called boneless,” Ivarr growls, like the caged animal that he is.

[ao3feed-berlermo]

body and soul // tokyos tale

body and soul // tokyo’s tale https://archiveofourown.org/works/47839624 by bluehearts2x

Growing old in a prison cell wasn’t for me. I’d rather be on the run. Body and soul. And if I can’t run with my body, at least let my soul be free. The full story of Silene Oliveira told from Tokyo’s POV.

Words: 1619, Chapters: 1/?, Language: English

Rating: Not Rated

Warnings: Major Character Death

Categories: Multi

Characters: Tokyo | Silene Oliveira, Rio | Aníbal Cortés, Nairobi | Ágata Jiménez, Denver | Daniel Ramos, Stockholm | Mónica Gaztambide, Professor | Sergio Marquina, Lisbon | Raquel Murillo Fuentes, Berlin | Andrés de Fonollosa, Palermo | Martín Berrote, Helsinki | Mirko Dragic, Oslo | Radko Dragic, Moscow | Agustín Ramos, Bogotá | Santiago López, Manila | Julia Martínez, Marseille | Jakov (La casa de papel), Alicia Sierra, César Gandía, Luis Tamayo, Arturo Román, Alison Parker (La casa de papel)

Relationships: Rio | Aníbal Cortés/Tokyo | Silene Oliveira, René/Tokyo | Silene Oliveira, Nairobi | Ágata Jiménez & Tokyo | Silene Oliveira, Nairobi | Ágata Jiménez/Tokyo | Silene Oliveira, Denver | Daniel Ramos & Tokyo | Silene Oliveira, Denver | Daniel Ramos/Tokyo | Silene Oliveira, Professor | Sergio Marquina & Tokyo | Silene Oliveira, Lisbon | Raquel Murillo Fuentes & Tokyo | Silene Oliveira, Berlin | Andrés de Fonollosa & Tokyo | Silene Oliveira, Palermo | Martín Berrote & Tokyo | Silene Oliveira, Helsinki | Mirko Dragic & Tokyo | Silene Oliveira, Tokyo | Silene Oliveira & Moscow | Agustín Ramos, Tokyo | Silene Oliveira & Stockholm | Mónica Gaztambide, Tokyo | Silene Oliveira & Manila | Julia Martínez, Denver | Daniel Ramos/Stockholm | Mónica Gaztambide, Lisbon | Raquel Murillo Fuentes/Professor | Sergio Marquina, Berlin | Andrés de Fonollosa/Palermo | Martín Berrote, Helsinki | Mirko Dragic/Palermo | Martín Berrote, Bogotá | Santiago López/Nairobi | Ágata Jiménez, Helsinki | Mirko Dragic & Nairobi | Ágata Jiménez, Nairobi | Ágata Jiménez & Stockholm | Mónica Gaztambide, Tokyo | Silene Oliveira & Alison Parker (La casa de papel), Tokyo | Silene Oliveira/Alison Parker (La casa de papel), Rio | Aníbal Cortés & Alison Parker (La casa de papel)

[dangermousie]

Their first night in the cell and they have no blankets so the youngest and weakest Bilal is shivering. When Ecevit gives him his sweater, my heart!

All of this starts because Ecevit asked for blankets but it’s clear that if it wasn’t that, it would have been something else. In a cell run by a psychopath and the warden who is the same, something anything would have caused that.

But the other thing is - Irfan is a teen here. Any of the four grown up guys in the story could take him out. But that is the reason this is so horrible - this is not some super powerful evil, he (and even the warden) only have so much power because Ecevit and co are so weak - they are kids who are early teen or younger. It’s not about power but power differential. Most Turkish shows with jail that I have seen involve bona fide mobsters and so the vibe is different - imagine Ramo or Vartolu from Cukur or Ferhat from SBA not being a top dog in any jail - they have kills well into three digits, they ARE the big bads. And even the rest of the ones I’ve seen have at least adults who can try to brawl. This is so horrible because they are kids.

Yeah, that is gonna end well.

But of course this is a set-up, he sent his buddies to tell the warden.

And then he gets kicked into the floor and the last hope for some sort of sane world evaporates. But what strikes me is his refusal to give up Bilal’s blankets.

Oooof this show!

You know what is so interesting? If you watch the childhood portions, Ecevit is the ringleader and the protector and the fearless one and Bilal is the fragile one, the baby, the one who needs to be protected. But when you see them as adults it’s basically flipped. Bilal is one terrifying mfer with a violence problem and Ecevit is one walking hesitation. And as I was telling @academyofbrokenhearts​ it’s like their trauma flipped them both 180degrees from their starting point. Because clearly subconsciously they think if I wasn’t the way I was back then maybe it wouldn’t have happened to me, I should have been different somehow.

Aaaaaa

And the warden shuts the viewing window and starts a beatdown of Bilal...