#will emmie ever catch a break??!?!?

[head---ache]

this ask got me thinking👀

[laneywrld]

things lost and things found | Lewis Hamilton

part two

word count: 10k

warnings: smut, smut, more smut, fluff.

A man not made for commitment also doesn’t know how to communicate

It's safe to say that since that night in Cannes nearly two months ago, the lines have blurred.

Every night Clem spends with Lewis ends with her falling asleep nestled in his arms.

Some nights, they don't even have sex; he just calls her up to see him. 

Their outings are no longer limited to his bedroom or whatever hotel he's shacked up in. They're often found all over tabloids and fan pages, seen out at clubs or dinners or even on simple excursions such as shopping or taking walks.

Clementine tries her hardest to remember that Lewis was noncommittal. He would never ever even think about dating her or taking her seriously. That realization and his vocally telling her to not make things weird every time he can see that he catches her off guard keeps her on track. 

Clem knew what she signed up for; quite literally, the NDA she signed entailed every component of their relationship.

Besides the weird butterflies she got around Lewis, life was only getting better and better.  

Being around someone who understands her fully and allows her to completely unravel herself to them has really been good for Clem socially and career-wise.

She was less awakward around people, less reserved and she felt like hey, this man has accepted me for my every little flaw, why wouldn't other people. 

She was moving up in the world, and people loved her for who she was, and for the first time ever, she did too.

She's won an emmy for her netflix show, her movie was breaking records, and she was finally stepping out of her box and showcasing other skills she had.

Along with this new burst of confidence came new relationships. 

She's been trying to go out on dates to see if now was finally the time for her to try to settle down and find something serious.

That what she was doing currently, at dinner sitting across from some NBA players as he rambles on and on about different shots he couldve taken during the game, that he most definitely lost.

Clem hums, eyes feigning interest as he describes how he actually wasn't open when he tried to go for a three-pointer. Shocker, he missed.

When he excuses himself to run to the bathroom, she whips out her phone, seeing that Lewis texted her. 

Lewis 🏁

How's your date?

She shakes her head, typing out her response.

dense. how's silverstone? 

Lewis 🏁

Nerve-wracking, my car is still shit.

i'm sorry 😞  

Lewis 🏁

I'm going to need you tonight.

Lewis, i'm on a date.

Clem scoffs, but the smile on her face as she presses send is misleading.

Lewis 🏁

Is he getting lucky tonight?

NO!

Lewis 🏁

So why can't I?

Clem feels the familiar tingle in her core and places her phone face down on the table just as her date takes his seat in front of her again. 

She can't help the incredulous eyebrow raise she gives him as she sees a powdery substance painting his nostril.

"Yeah, it was nice meeting you, love." She smiles politely as she stands and motions for him to wipe his nose. He lifts his camera just as Clem drops enough money to cover her bill and tip the waitress generously. 

She hops into the black SUV, thanking her driver for helping her into the back. She unlocks her phone and sees another message from Lewis.

Lewis 🏁

My jet will be waiting for you.

That is precisely how Clementine ended up in Lewis' hotel room, waiting for him on the bed as he took a quick shower. 

When he emerges from the bathroom she can only offer him an uplifting smile, he looks so tired and so stressed. 

It helps, it always does which is why Lewis wanted her here in the first place. She was like sunrise after the darkest of nights.

"Hi," she coos, opening her arms for the muscly man.

He falls into her arms, his torso bare and his bottom half swaddled in a towel. He lays his head in her lap as she sits against the headboard. He looks up at her face as she stares down at his, and she physically pouts as she brings her fingers up to massage the stress lines from his face.

"That bad?" she whispers as his eyes flutter closed. Lewis sighs, grumbling out a faint "Yeah."

"You don't have to go through it much longer, at least." She tries and she knows it does nothing to take the heavy weight of mercedes off of his shoulders.

"You feel like you're carrying the weight of the world." She hums, her hands traveling down to rub the tension out of his neck. Her fist rubs up and down from the sides of his neck to the crook of his shoulders.

Lewis lets out a relaxed sigh, letting her work on him. 

She doesn't know how long she sits there with him snuggled into her lap as she kneads the tension from his body. 

After a while, she connects to his speaker and plays music. She has Lewis turn over onto his stomach as she slips from underneath him.

She hums as she sits on his bottom and begins massaging his back. "Your back is bruised."

"I was bouncing around like crazy in that fucking car." He curses.

Clementine bends down, pressing kisses around his back on the purple and red marks adorning his skin. 

Lewis closes his eyes, relishing in the comfort she gives him.

Lewis has noticed it, too, the turn their dynamic has taken. He is aware that he has given slight leeway to the emotional part of their relationship. 

He finds himself thinking about Clem plenty throughout the days. Buys things he thinks she'll like. He's grown accustomed to placing delicate pecks on her lips and face randomly throughout their time together; he can't help it.

Something about her has him wanting her all of the time, not even in th physical way. He just wants her to be with him.

"Can you come out to the race tomorrow?" He rasps.

She sits up, her legs still encaging his body. "Hmm, I don't think your publicity team will like that, people are already speculating about us."

"I don't care." Lewis argues, "It's about time you come to a race, wanna see you immediately not wait to get to the hotel and then see you."

His words make her heart thump harsher, and suddenly, all of the warnings from her publicist dissipate.

"Okay." 

Lewis didn't initiate sex between them that night. He simply turns over with her still on top of him and places his hands on her thighs.

"Come here," he whispers, reaching up to tug her head down to his face.

Their lips lock and it's not rushed or leading to anything. It's like how he kissed her in France. It's just sweet?

She can feel his heart against her chest as she is pressed against him, beating rampantly. "Thank you for showing up for me." He mutters against her lips. She grins against him as she remembers the words she scribbled onto the note she'd given him with her gift.

"Always." she breathes, diving back in to kiss him. One hand travels to her waist, and the other has a soft grip on the back of her neck. 

She feels his member poke against her thigh, and she sits up as much as she can with his hand on her neck, ready to free him from the towel, but the hand he had on her waist stops her actions with a grip on her wrist.

"I just want to lay with you tonight, if that's okay?"

Just when she thought she was safe from her tom-foolish thoughts, she felt her suppressed feelings for Lewis take light again. Don't make it weird, she thinks to herself. "Okay." 

Lewis sits up, his hand returning to her hip; she is sat in his lap, legs folded, and his body pushes her slightly back as he tugs on the comforter. He falls back taking her with him and pulls the thick comforter over her body which lays against his chest.

"What's one thing that surprised you about me?"

Clem traces her fingers on his chest in deep thought, "that you don't do relationships."

"Why that?"

"You're a lover boy at heart." Clem chortled, "Literally just a sweetheart. Most men who can't see themselves being with someone don't act as affectionate with women."

Lewis lets out a hmm sound, his hand still gliding up and down her back beneath his t-shirt that she wore.

"Is that a good thing or a bad thing?"

"Good, there's nothing wrong with being a sweetheart; bad if someone gets the wrong idea; I have a feeling you're an easy man to fall in love with."

Lewis presses a kiss to her hairline, butterflies doing summersaults in his belly. 

-

They wake up the next morning in the same position, with Clem's face nestled in the crook of his neck. Lewis smiles as he reaches over to turn off his alarm.

"Gotta get up, Clem." He soothes, rubbing up and down her back. 

"Mhmm." She moans in denial, cuddling deeper into him. "No."

"Come on, beautiful."

He sits up, forcing her up with him.

She flutters her eyes open and wraps her arms around his neck. 

He chuckles at her defiance, throwing his legs over the side of the bed and standing. He taps her thigh and she gets the message, wrapping them around his waist.

He walks her into the bathroom and sits her down on the bathroom counter. "Sit here, be careful." He orders, unraveling her from his body. He almost gives up and tucks her back into bed as she whines at him.

He leaves the bathroom and returns with a small bag of hers. She slumps against the mirror as she hears him rustling about. When she hears the faucet turn on and then feels his big hands massage circles into her cheeks, she opens her eyes.

There, she sees Lewis standing there with a cheeky smile, his hands lathered in her face soap as he massages the suds onto her face.

"Going to have to get my girl ready myself, huh?" He questions.

She only smirks at him and closes her eyes, letting him work through her skincare routine step by step, laughing as he inquires about every product.

When he finishes, he washes his own face and then passes her toothbrush to her. He stands between her legs as they both brush their teeth. Both of them stare at each other with googly eyes, laughing as foam bubbles from their mouths. When she leans over to spit into the sink, he follows shortly after and then pours a capful of mouthwash for her and them himself. And again, they stare into each other's eyes, giggly and gleaming, as they swish the liquid between their puffy cheeks.

This is where Clementine struggled with the status of their agreement. These weren't the actions of a man who didn't intend to be in a relationship. But she had heard of Lewis and his many flings and "friends" and she knew that he was a very affectionate person so once again she willed away the thought that there was any chnace of Lewis ever straying away from his bachelor lifestyle. 

She pats his shoulder beckoning him to step away, when he does she hops down and releases the last of the contents from her mouth into the sink and stepping aside so Lewis can do the same. 

"I'm going to grab my clothes." She informs.

As she lays her outfit options across the bed, she hears a vibration beneath her shirt, and she leans over the bed, patting until she finds the culprit. When she feels the device, she pulls it from underneath and sees that it's not her phone but Lewis'.

The screen lights up with notifications. 

One catches her eye from, Natalie.

Lewis did feel comfortable enough to disclose his other flings to her, and she nearly shit herself when he associated them all with cities. She remembers the way he laughed when she asked if she needed to get tested. Then she asked if he had referred to her as Clementine, NYC.

Natalie, Silverstone. She recalls.

It wasn't like she was intentionally snooping, but as the screen lit up in her hand again, she couldn't help but read the message as it appeared.

Still on for tomorrow?

At first, she feels a pang in her chest, but then she remembers her place, and she gently sits his phone on the nightstand, allowing the screen to turn off.

"Hey, you okay?" Lewis questioned, poking his head from the bathroom, realizing that she had stopped responding to him. 

She is stood facing the bed with her hands on her hips, scanning her oufits. "Yeah," she smiles though it doesn't quite meet her eyes. 

He eyes her quizically, but when she chuckles at his facial expression, pulls her outfit from the bed, and saunters into the bathroom with him, he relaxes.

Clem is in her head, and she hopes it's not obvious to Lewis.

But she can't help but wonder why he would fly her out just to make plans to sleep with another woman in the span of two days.

She's hurt, and she's jealous, and she knows she shouldn't be, but a part of her wants to slap the shit out of him. 

Instead, she refrains and plays into whatever sick bullshit he was playing with her heart unintentionally.

-

She arrives to the paddock with Lewis and she tries not to grimace as he tells a journalist that he brings friends with him to races all of the time, as they pass by.

He opens the door to the Mercedes motorhome like the proper gentleman he is and directs her into his room.

"I'm just going to change into my suit, and then we can head to the garage, okay?"

She nods and pulls out her phone. Already, she sees that they are trending. 

Lewis steps out of the room and leaves the door open. A few minutes pass before she hears an audible gasp.

When she looks up, she sees a bright-eyed George Russell.

"Hello, Hi! I'm George, I'm a big fan." He enters the compact room, his hand outstretched before him. She stands from Lewis' bed and accepts his hand.

"Hi, George, I'm Clem."

"I know who you are. What are you doing here?" He wonders.

"I'm a friend of Lewis'. I wanted to see you guys race today."

George stutters out a wow, beginning to ramble on before he is interrupted by a throat clearing at the door. There stands Lewis, with a burning look on his face that makes George immediately drop her hand.

"Lewis." He gasps, "How do you literally know everyone, man?"

She smiles, raising her eyebrows behind Lewis as George rambles about her.

Lewis claps his hands against George's shoulder before speaking, "I love you, kid. But we've got to get going."

And then he reached his arm around George and latched onto Clem and pulled her from behind him.

George stammers out a quick bye, and Clem waves sweetly at him as Lewis pulls her from the motorhome and towards the garage.

"He's so sweet," Clem coos, and Lewis only grunts out a "yeah."

"He looks like a literal prince charming." She extends.

Lewis doesn't want to hear her call his teammate any more kinds of cute, so he opts not to respond.

When they finally reach the garage, he is sitting her down beside Toto, who introduces himself with a warm and welcoming smile.

She accepts his hand, gently shaking it, and in return, Lewis gets whisked away.

She enjoys her time in the garage, whilst Lewis talk to his strategist she is sat beside Toto and a few engineers and she feels like she is on a field trip as they explain the many different parts of their setup. Finally Lewis appears at her side again, beckoning her to follow him. She accepts his hand, lifting from her seat and walking hand in hand with him to his car.

"Wow." she gasps as she studies the racing car.

"You want to get in?" Lewis questions. She turns to him with wide eyes, and Lewis can see the excitement in her dark orbs.

"You don't like people in your car." She reminds, peering back down at it.

"I said I don't let just anyone in my car, are you just anyone?" He is staring at her so intensely it has her body on fire.

She felt shy underneath his gaze as he stepped closer to her.

She stands tall, looking up at him through her lashes. He's nearly bumping chests with her as he looms over her.

"There's an entire team in here, Lewis, and cameras." She whispers only loud enough for the two of them to hear.

He doesn't care. He leans down, his mouth near her ear, "Are you just anyone to me, Clementine?"

She swallows nervously as he takes a step back, "No."

"Then get in the fucking car."

Toto watches on from his seat in amazement as Lewis lifts her frame into the car. He then turns and looks into the camera with his eyebrows raised as to show his impressment. 

He put two and two together that she was a personal guest for Lewis. It was obvious since Mercedes had already planned for Tom Cruise and Damson Idris' arrival for the race today.

Lewis leans into the car as he motions to different parts on the inside of the automobile. 

Clem honestly couldn't give two fucks about the car, but she was relishing in how passionate Lewis looked and sounded as he spoke about every aspect of it. She hadn't moved her eyes from his face not once, and Lewis froze as he turned to face her and saw the wanting look adorning her features.

It has him hard instantly.

"Behave." He warns, turning his head to survey their surroundings.

"You're fine as fuck when you're talking cars."

Lewis chuckles, and a blush comes up to cover his cheeks. He lifts his hand, his knuckles skimming along her jaw.

"I want to kiss you, but people will see."

She drops her face against his hand, puckering her bottom lip out at him.

"Aw, too bad." She whispers seductively, and Lewis whispers out a quiet "fuck." as she tugs her bottom lip between her teeth. His thumb reaches up and drags it back out.

"Gotta be nice to me right now, Clem. Hmm?" He hums, not bothering to remove his thumb from her lip. He smears his finger across, watching as it pops back into place. 

"Help me out of this car." She smirks, lifting her arms, "Before you do something you'll regret, there are cameras around."

"I don't give a fuck about the cameras." He rasps and breaks out into a grin when she bursts into a fit of laughter. He smacks his teeth, standing up straight, preparing to get her out.

"You like fucking with me." He declares.

Lewis helps her from the car, his hands probably lingering on her lower back for far too long once she's back on the ground.

"Lewis." He hears, and when he turns around, he sees Tom and Damson.

He pulls Clem with him, introducing her to the pair. He instantly regrets it when he sees the way Damson eyes her down like she's a refreshing tall glass of water.

 Tom starts up a conversation with Lew about the business they need to handle for his upcoming movie, but his eyes can't leave Clem's frame, and how Damson brings her hand up to his lips. 

He feels like a suicidal maniac when he watches her laugh and smile at whatever he is saying.

He'd met him before, and trust, whatever he was saying couldn't possibly be that funny.

Lewis wants to rip Toto's head off as he directs the two of them into a set of empty seats. He was less than present during the conversation with Tom, and he hoped he hadn't noticed. His arms are folded over his chest, and his foot is tapping the ground anxiously. He tries not to make it obvious when he directs Tom to his spot and takes his in order to keep an eye on Clem.

When the time for the start of the race gets closer he is thankful to see Tom take his place beside Toto. 

He saunters over to the still chatty pair and stands in front of Clem. He waits for her to notice him, and when she doesn't, he clears his throat rather dramatically. 

She stands when she notices him, shooting Damson an apologetic smile that has him ready to drag her off. Which he does.

He pulls her to a corner of the garage and up the stairs into a random office and locks the door. 

"You okay." Clem questions, stepping towards him and placing her hands on his waist. "Lewis." she tries again when he doesn't answer.

He looks stressed and zoned out.

"I- uh yeah." he coughs and suddenly he feels better having her away from Damson. "i'm fine, pre-race jitters." He lies.

Her hands slide up his chest until they settle on the sides of his head.

She tilts his head so that he's staring into her eyes. 

"You sure?"

"Yeah."

"Okay."

"I'm regretting this." He admits and her eyes squint, "bringing you here, I mean."

That does nothing to alleviate her hurt expression, so he continues, "My car is still shit, I don't want you to watch me lose."

She scoffs, gently slapping her hand against his shoulder before returning it to its place caressing his beard. "Would’ve watched you lose at home too, what's the difference. I'm going to support you all the same."

Lewis leans down and presses a short, soft kiss to her plump lips.

Her eyes flutter closed as he stares down at her, and finally, his hands raised to her hips, pulling her into him. "I don't think that I tell you thank you enough for all of the ways you help me, Clem."

"You don't have to," she whispers, dropping her forehead against his chest. He rests his chin on top of her head, putting his arms over her shoulders as hers wraps around his torso.

Lewis likes this. He thinks he can start every race for the rest of his career like this. When he hears a knock on the door, he groans but shoots Clem a warning look as she chuckles at him.

"Big baby." she teases, moving around him to unlock the door. He maneuvers behind her, reaching to open it, and when he does, he sees Toto there with a knowing smirk.

"Time to race, Lewis."

She allows Lewis to pull her from the office hand in hand, and she knows her publicist is probably in New York and stressed running through cigarettes. She always joked that this Lewis rendezvous would result in her smoking her stress away.

Lewis knows something is wrong with him for sure when he realizes that he doesn't care about the camera or who's watching him show Clem his affection. He knows they're going to be the main topic of every tabloid tomorrow, and he just doesn't care.

She stands in front of him beside his car as the crew bustles around them.

When it's time for Lewis to finish his preparation, he motions his head towards Clem, and suddenly, her hands are stuffed with a balaclava and a pair of gloves. 

She turns to the man who handed them to her and he offers her a small smile. 

She turns to Lewis, and he can tell she's trying to fight off the grin that desperately wants to appear.

She reaches for his right hand, tugging the glove onto his hand gently, she checks each finger and pulls to make sure the fit is snug. She repeats her actions on his left hand and then Lewis firmly places his hands on her waist. He's looking at her with those sparkly eyes and a loving smile.

She turns the balaclava in her hands, trying to figure out which way to pull it over his head. When she sees the opening, she lets out an "Aahh" that has Lewis chuckling at her.

She stands on her tiptoes, freeing his braids from the ponytail and pushing them back. She hums to herself as she pulls the balaclava over his head. 

She settles back on her feet, and she can only see his eyes, but it does something to her. 

She reaches between them pulling the upper half of his suit up his body, giggling when he grunts realizing he's got to let go of her to push his arms through the sleeves.

His hands are back on her in an instant, like by not physically touching her he'd fly away.

Clem reaches between them again; this time, her fingers latch onto the zipper, and she tugs it up from his pelvis all the way up his chest until it's set in place. 

"I don't know, Lew. I think we've at least got a podium." She whispers, accepting the helmet.

She steps back, allowing his hands to fall, and then hands him the helmet.

"I can feel it in my bones." 

"Oh," Lewis laughs, "Can feel it in your bones?" He sticks out his free hand, tickling at her.

Clementine laughs, stepping back and gripping his arm, "Stop!" 

He listens, pulling on his helmet and looking back at his car.

"Well, that's me."

Clem feels like a lovesick puppy as she watches his eyelashes flutter with every blink of his eyes.

"Podium." She reminds him, lifting her pinky.

"Podium." He declares, wrapping his own against hers. He lifts their conjoined hands and places them against his helmet where his mouth would be, and she swoons.

"Get in the car, Hamilton."

She's a giddy mess as she steps away from him and finds herself accepting a seat from one of the crew members.

She sighed while watching the screen as Lewis started in P5. He is quickly into P4. She feels her adrenaline kick in as the crew cheers excitedly watching him overtake into third. When he overtakes two other drives all in the same lap the garage erupts in shouts of excitement, just for that to be taken away just as fast when they see a car barrel through off od the track and into the fence.

Clem gasps, her hand coming up to cup her mouth.

She knew Formula One was a dangerous sport, but watching a wreck like that happen in real-time has her mind reeling on just how much danger Lewis puts himself in.

"Is he okay?" She hears as the crew all talk amongst themselves.

"George is out of the race. The other driver is okay." Toto announces, "We're restarting."

Lewis is back in the garage, and he is irritated.

Clem stays back and out of his way as she watches him angrily rant. "That is not right, Toto." He snaps, "back in fifth?"

She watches as Toto nods at him, and Lewis turns to his assistant, rolling his eyes. He looks so frustrated as he throws his hand out, "fucking fifth."

Clem knew that when she was angry that she didn't like to be bothered, so she stayed in her seat. She feels a body plop down beside her, and she turns to see Damson.

"Intense, yeah?" He questions.

"Most definitely." She sighs, "My adrenaline is off the charts right now."

"First time coming to a race?"

She nods, returning the question, "Nah, this is like the NFL to Brits."

She laughs, "Right."

The two chat whilst the rest of the garage is in shambles, and Lewis watches the two with slits in his eyes. 

He knows he shouldn't be jealous. Clem was nothing to him but a friend who he enjoys fucking. It's what he tells himself as Damson passes his phone to her. She was just his friend. He'd even encouraged her to get out there and find her person.

But that was before he realized how differently she made his heartbeat.

Lewis doesn't bother going over to her before the race restarts, he can feel her lingering eyes as he manuevers around the garage, avoiding her.

Lewis feels a bit enraged. Initially, it was just the FIA and their stupid fucking rules, then it was the car, and now it was Clementine and the stupid British actor drooling over each other in his face.

It was all piling on top of him, and he hadn't felt so unsettled ever before a race. 

He hops back into his car, not sparing Clem a glance, and rolls out into P5.

This time the only thing on his mind is how fucking mad he is. 

That anger got him P3. 

He doesn't know why he doesn't approach Clem as she waits for him patiently in her seat. He goes around and thanks the crew and the engineers and has a brief talk with Toto and Tom. And then he leaves to go to the podium, all without even glancing at her.

Clem, always aware, remains silent and tries to keep the pout from taking place on her face.

She tries not to take Lewis' actions personal, it's obvious he's wound up. She doesn't know if it's something she did or if he's still frustrated by the race restart. Logically it's the second, she's learned that not everyone's behaviors have to do with her. It's taken years of her enternalizing other people's moods to realize that 9/10 people are just feeling things. She hasn't done anything, she's sure of it.

She is directed into the motorhome whilst Lewis handles other business and she sits in his room on his bed waiting patiently.

When Lewis had brought up the idea of bringing her to the race yesterday, he raved on and on about how she'd be able to walk the track, wait with his team whilst he's on the podium (if he got one), and get the classic guest experience. She hadn't gotten that, which was a letdown since she really wanted to experience Lewis' world, but she understood why that wasn't possible today after seeing Lewis' mood.

But still, it would have been nice not to sit in his motorhome and then the garage all day, just to end up back in his motorhome alone for hours. 

When Lewis emerges into the tiny room he is clean and dressed in comfortable clothes. He had been on the phone in the office preparing a few arrangements for the past hour. He sighs as he sees her frame sprawled across the tiny bed. 

There are soft puffs of air escaping her, and her phone is clutched loosely in her hand.

He can tell she fell asleep scrolling through her phone.

He sits on the foot of the bed at her feet and drops his head into his hands.

He doesn't know what he's doing. But he does know he can't keep going on like this. Lewis didn't like relationships, he didn't like being tied down, it wasn't fair of him to only want Clem to himself when she would never get all of him. 

"C'mon Clem, let's get you back."

Like the sleepy girl she is, she whines as Lewis pulls her body from the bed, placing her on her feet. 

"Can you walk?" 

She only nods, reaching over to grab her bag and her phone. She doesn't speak to Lewis quite yet, still unsure of his mood. She lets him direct her from the motorhome, his hand tight in hers as he leads her through the paddock. It is so late at night that there are rarely any people hanging around. When they exit and get to his car, the flashes from the cameras wake her up even more, and she uses the back of her hand to block the lights. 

Lewis walks her to the passenger side, waiting for her to slip in before he closes the door gently and goes around to his seat.

He pulls out cautiously and begins their trek to the hotel.

Clem forces herself to stay awake, knowing that it's only a short drive.

Still, she is waiting for Lewis to speak, but he doesn't. 

"I had fun," she announces.

"I'm glad."

"You got podium." She cheers lowly.

Lewis only offers her a small smile, and uncertainty settles in her gut. Something's not right.

She gives up trying to talk to him after that. 

The car is filled with tension and awkward silence. It's so unlike them.

When they pull into the hotel, Clem doesn't wait for the valet to open her door. She clambers out and thanks god as the night breeze fills her lungs. She's never felt so suffocated around Lewis.

As Lewis exchanges formalities with the man she rushes into the hotel and onto the elevator, when she reaches the room she unlocks it with the secondary key taking a moment to gulp down a glass of water.

Lewis follows in behind her shortly after, paying her no mind as he goes to the bathroom and emerges with his shirt and jewelry off.

"You got an attitude?" Lewis questions, standing in the doorframe.

"No, I don't." 

"I know you, Clementine." Lewis rasps, coming to stand over her as she sits on the bed.

"You're the one with the nasty ass attitude." She huffs, reaching up to nudge him away from her. He doesn't budge.

"Lose the attitude, Clem." He orders, and she rolls her eyes. 

"Or what, Lewis?" She pushes.

Lewis' hand is at her neck in a second. His grip is not tight at all, just holding her in place as he ravishes her mouth. Just as frustrated as he is, she returns the kiss.

"Got something for that attitude," Lewis grunts, pushing her onto her back.

She gasps as he roughly pulls at her pants.

He has them off before she knows it, and his hand lets go of her neck and travels down to pull at her panties. He rips them off of her with a hunger in his eyes like no other. 

"Gotta fuck it out of you, Clem?" He asks. 

He doesn't give her time to answer as he sinks down to his knees at the end of the bed and pulls her down with him. He lifts her legs over him and wraps his arms around her thighs. His hands settle on her thighs, keeping them apart, and he stares up at her one last time before connecting his mouth to her clit.

She jumps, but his hands hold her in place.

He removes his lips from her bundle of nerves, his tongue traveling down to swipe through her crease. She moans lightly as she fists at the sheets. His fingers travel up to replace his mouth, and he digs them deep into her core, his tongue flicking against her clit before he presses it flat and moves up and down.

Clem gasps as he curls his fingers inside her and suckles extra hard on her. Her hand shoots down to push him away, but he catches her wrist in his free hand, holding it against the mattress. 

He stares up at Clem, the whole scene naughty and erotic. He lets her other hand come down to rest in his hair. 

Lewis moans into her, his mouth sending a wave of vibrations through her body. Lewis never took his eyes off of her, watching as she writhed above him. He was showing her no mercy as the gushy sounds filled the room. 

She tasted so good.

Lewis worked his tongue around her clit, teasing her only for a minute before he smushed his mouth over it again and suckled just the right amount, his fingers still thrust in and out of her, driving her absolutely insane. He moans into her pussy and trails his mouth down to swallow where she is oozing. 

Lewis lets her captivating moans egg him on as he devours her like a starved man. He can feel it when she comes when her tight, spongy pussy constricts around his fingers. He happily licks up the juices she releases as she comes undone. 

He pulls his fingers from her core and stands, quickly turning her body over. She lands on her stomach with a slight "oomph" noise and turns to look back at Lewis.

He wastes no time hammering into her from behind. He grabs her arms pulling them behind her back and crossing her wrists; with one hand, he holds them against her back, and with the other, he swats at her ass. Groaning as he watches it ripple.

"Fuck."

Clem can do nothing but pant underneath him and let out pathetic mewls as his hand repeatedly strikes her ass. It hurts so good.

Lewis keeps pounding into her hard, his heart racing as he chases his own orgasm. He sees her phone light up beside him, and a message from Damson appears. 

When he sees this, he speeds up his thrusts, gliding his thick member in and out of her suffocating walls. 

She can only blubber out useless moans as he plummets in and out of her.

He lets go of her wrist, pulling her up onto all fours. 

"You get a thrill out of pissing me off?" He grunts, his hand going up to grip her hair.

"No!" she whines, gripping the covers.

"I think you do." 

His other hand is gripping her waist, pulling her back to him every time she falls forward.

"Nuh-unh." He orders from behind her, letting go of her hair and holding on to her waist tightly with both hands now.

"Don't run from it, baby. You wanted this, huh? This what you want?"

Clem rasps out a choked yes, her head falling at the intense pleasure running through her veins.

Lewis sounds like a beast behind her, all strangled up and growling out praises at her. 

He feels so possessive as his hand lifts and smacks at her ass again. "Fucking, mine." He growls, and Clem falls forward. He doesn't stop as her legs give in, and she drops to the bed again. He climbs behind her, still keeping his pace, and throws his head back as she quivers around him like a candle on fire. 

He can feel the heat building in his core, and it eggs him on as he places his hands on her ass, holding her in place.

Clementine spasms beneath him, never experiencing an orgasm like this before. Her heart feels like it's beating outside of her chest as her ears ring and her eyes roll to the back of her head. She can only curse over and over as she feels Lewis drag out of her and return again with much more force. 

This was the best sex she'd ever gotten in her life.

Her walls clenched around him, her breath hitching as he moved aimlessly in and out of her.

Lewis shuddered at the feeling, sucking in a sharp breath at the sensation. She is face down, panting into the mattress as he pants above her.

She can't count how many times she has come undone underneath him, but as she feels another orgasm approaching, she can't help the way her thighs tremble underneath Lewis. 

Lewis is an incoherent, mumbling and moaning mess above her as he allows himself to succumb to her squeezing cunt, clamping over him. Lewis falls into the abyss, pleasure washing over both of them as he spills into her.

He pulls out with a hiss, shuddering at his sensitivity, and falls over beside Clementine, who rolls onto her back.

"Woah." she pants.

Lewis feels her phone vibrate and he watches as she scambled down the bed to get it, he feels green as he watches her smile at the screen.

Just as she moves to lie beside him again, he speaks up with words that make her feel dismayed.

"I booked you a room."

He turns away from her, staring at the ceiling.

"I- What?" She stutters, turning to face him.  

"It's just a floor below, suite 909."

Clem is distraught, and it shows on her face as she jumps away from the bed as if Lewis has burned her. "Lewis, what-"

Her words are cut off as her phone vibrates in her hand. Lewis chuckles dryly, finally tilting his head to face her. Suddenly Clem feels like a little girl again, wondering why her parents never made an effort in her life, wondering why it was so easy for them to push her aside like they didn't care that she existed.

"What's the matter? Are we okay?" She rambles.

Stop talking, Lewis. He thinks to himself as he watches Clem's eyes flash with wetness. Even sad, she has doe eyes, still shining, but this time, there are tears in her eyes and an intense sadness. 

"Yeah," he should’ve stopped there, but he kept going. "I'll probably see you tomorrow. If not, it'll be the next time I need you." He motions to the bed.

Clem frowns, letting out an exhale as she bends down to tug on her pants. As she maneuvers around the room collecting her suitcase, Lewis calls out to her. "I put the room key beside your toiletry bag."

She slips into the bathroom, picking up her small bag, and sure enough, the keycard is there. She grasps it in her hand and walks out. She wants to scream at him, tell him how big of a dick he's being, but she's not that kind of person.

She is graceful. But it's taking everything in her to channel the lessons her grandpa has taught her when she is this mad, this hurt. 

Clem avoids looking at Lewis as she latches onto her suitcase. 

 "Maybe you should start considering finding someone who's serious, Clementine."

Is this what this is about? She knew the blurred lines would come back to bite her in the ass eventually.

She freezes, her back turned to him as her hand pauses on the door handle. And her body shakes slightly as a her frown deepens, she feels a stream of tears flow down her cheeks.

And just when Lewis thinks that Clem is going to turn around and argue with him, probably throw something at him and shout at him, she doesn't.

She lifts one hand, swiping at her face, and then softly opens the door and leaves without so much as looking back at him. The door clicks shut behind her, and she walks on down the hallway towards the elevator. 

The words don't react, echoing over and over in her head, but as she hears the wheel rolling on her suitcase, she can't help but feel the trembling in her body. She presses her lips together, stepping onto the elevator, and as the doors close, she lets out a gutwrenching sob. 

She sniffles as she steps into the suite. Rushing to the bathroom to shed her clothes, she showers wiping all traces of Lewis Hamilton from her body the way she wishes she can erase him from her mind. She scrubs harshly, eyes still full with tears, between the scorchingly hot water, steam and the tears she can barely see anything as she scrubs severely.

For the first time since agreeing to this arrangement, she feels used by Lewis. She's never felt so dirty in her life. As she sank down to her knees, feeling the wails rip through her body with force, she realized why exactly his words and actions hurt her so much. 

It didn't matter how much she showed up for him or how much she allows herself to be his shrink and him hers, it'd always be a bad religion, loving someone who'd never love you back.

Lewis is in the same position he has been in since she left, flat on his back with his hands covering his face. His body is quivering as sobs rack through his body.

It was a tough decision, but it was one that had to be made. He could never give Clem what she deserved; he wasn't a committed person. Seven years on and off with the same person is proof of that. He could never be okay with putting her through that.

-

Lewis wakes up the next morning with a pounding headache and lingering loneliness. 

He always felt like this when he woke up without Clem in his arms. As he sits up and swipes his hands over his face, his heart aches when he notices her ripped panties thrown on the floor.

He regrets his actions. 

He wishes he would've sat her down nicely and explained how things were getting too deep for him. It's Clem, she would've understood. 

He realizes just how bad he fucked up when her giddiness to lay beside him last night flickers through his mind like a clip from a movie.

"What if we lay in bed after every meetup and we just talk?"

He feels like he's been shot when her hurt face replays over and over. He treated her like shit last night, all because he was scared of what she made him feel. 

He was a mess during yesterday's race; all he could think about down every straight and around every curve was how much he liked Clem, how good she made him feel, and bad she could make him feel just as easily.

He realized that the woman had too much control over his heart yesterday, and he couldn't take that. This was supposed to be fun, casual fun. He never inteded to catch feeling for Clementine Russell, but she was the kind of girl who made you drop to her feet.

He never stood a chance against her charm.

He scrambled from the king-sized bed, rushing to his phone.

-

When he hears a knock on his door, he opens it in a rush; he sees the butler there and offers him a finger to signal to hold on. He rushes to his table, picking up the bouquet of flowers, an array of red, yellow, and orange orchids, dahlias, and marigolds. 

"Can you take these down to suite 909?" Lewis pants pushing the boquet towards the man, there is a note nestled between the pedals.

The man tilts his head, pushing the flowers back towards Lewis.

"I am sorry, Sir Hamilton, Ms Russell has checked out already in the early hours of Midnight."

Lewis feels his heart crumble as he steps away from the man, the giant bouquet firm in his hold.

Lewis says nothing as he closes the door and walks away. 

-

Clem had left that night, not long after leaving Lewis' room. After her shower, she was on the first flight home, and she hadn't spoken to Lewis since. 

Lewis misses Clementine. It's a realization that he came to rather quickly but refused to admit.

Lewis pulls himself out of the leggy woman he picked up at the end of his race. She drops down beside him in heavy pants. 

"That was fun." She exhales.

He doesn't know why when he turns his head, he expects to see Clem staring back at him with her dark eyes and cute smile. 

This woman is no Clementine, and that's for sure. 

He doesn't know why he tries it, but he does. "You can go anywhere in the world under one condition. You'd have to stay there forever; everything is unchanged, and nothing new will ever come. Where do you choose?"

He watches as her eyes scrunch momentarily in confusion.

"I don't know. It's probably Paris. I'm obsessed with their lifestyle, honestly."

Lewis turns his head back to the ceiling.

He wants her to leave. And he wants Clementine to be in her place.

It's quiet and awkward, and she doesn't even try to ask him. 

He already knows his answer. He'd be with Clem in his bed, hands connected as they lie naked underneath his covers, heads turned to each other as they talk. He'd watch on as the moonlight supersedes the darkness and the moonbeams are replaced with sun rays. And he'd listen to her feel things like she made him. And he'd be happy and content with spending eternity like that.

Everything unchanged, nothing new.

Lewis begins to think that maybe casual sex isn't for him anymore. Perhaps he's taking Clem's absence extra hard because he yearned for the other form of intimacy, the emotional aspect of being with a woman.

So he tries dating. 

And he comes to the same conclusion, date after date.

Their eyes don't gleam like hers.

They don't understand his humor.

They don't care about why losing his favorite toy as a kid was an integral part of the man he became.

They can't carry on discussions like Clem or even talk like Clem.

They don't have her precious smile and her deep dimples. They're not gracious and benevolent.

They aren't Clem, no one ever will be.

Lewis craves Clem; he misses her with every fiber of his being.

And he regrets letting her up from his bed. He regrets telling her to pursue another man. 

When Lewis returns to New York, his thumb lingers over the send button.

clemmy 🪂

I need to see you, where are you?

He doesn't send the message; he drops his phone with a sigh, knuckling at his eyes. Why was it so fucking hard? He'd never felt this troubled in his life, especially over a woman he'd never even dated.

He sighs in distress, picks up his phone, stares at the message begging to be sent, and clicks off of the app. Instead, he opens his Instagram. As he goes to search for Clem's name, he sees that she is still his top search, and he feels like a loser as he enters her profile.

He'd take any sight of her he could get.

-

Clementine wouldn't say she was necessarily religious. Her grandpa would probably drop dead of a heart attack if he heard that. But it was the truth. She thought it was fairytale-like sometimes. Yes, she had faith, but she wasn't as devout as many people. 

If she was being honest, she thought religion began as something beautiful, putting your complete trust and faith into another person, with the idea that they were quite literally the holy grail. Over time, it's been skewed and manipulated, some for great purposes and others for very wrong reasons. 

She thought most religious people were hypocrites. Lewis was a hypocrite for sure, giving her an inch and then taking a mile. Now that she has had time to ponder over it, Lewis Hamilton is actually a sick man. Pouring affection into her and poisoning her heart. 

How did he expect her not to fall for him when he treated her the way he did? She feels like a fool herself, too, thinking back to the conversation she had with him the night before it all went to shit. 

"You're a lover boy at heart." Clem chortled, "Literally just a sweetheart. Most men who can't see themselves being with someone don't act as affectionate with women."

Lewis lets out a hmm sound, his hand still gliding up and down her back beneath his t-shirt that she wore.

"Is that a good thing or a bad thing?"

"Good, there's nothing wrong with being a sweetheart; bad if someone gets the wrong idea; I have a feeling you're an easy man to fall in love with."

Lewis was a hypocrite, and she was too. 

But the truth is religion gave people purpose. She'd never felt it firmly in a spiritual sense, but she had experienced that strong urge to follow someone's every command. She's believed every word that tumbles from his mouth. Given the opportunity, she would surely drop to her knees at his feet. She's only ever felt the need to praise and put her limited faith and her secured trust into one person. Sure, she had faith, just in a bad religion. She admired one man, Lewis Hamilton, but there was one problem, she could never make him love her the way she loved him.

Clem took his advice. She branched off, presented herself in new ways, made new friends, developed herself, and found someone who would take her seriously, though that didn't last long at all. 

clementine

liked by feliciathegoat, pharrell, and 12,898,465 others

clementine so, they've helped me make an album? Clementine, NYC out now on all streaming platforms !! 

view all comments

feliciathegoat Cool kids doing cool shit 🏌🏿

clementine the coolest 😎

lilyachty ALBUM OF THE FUCKING YEAR

clementine 🤸🏾‍♀️🤸🏾‍♀️🤸🏾‍♀️🤸🏾‍♀️

user no bc who did my girl like that

clementine no really, it's okay though builds character 😃

user builds character my ass, go beat his ass

user A MOVIE AND MUSIC IN THE SAME YEAR ASVJHKHK WHEN DO WE GET SEASON 2???

clementine yk im filming girl 🙄

clementine

liked by danielricciardo, justinbieber, and 10,898,465 others

clementine two post in one day bc why not, what's everyone's favorite song from Clementine, NYC?!?

danielricciardo In your hands slaps

clementine you sir, have great taste 😘

user daniel what are you doing here 😭

user No really, weird ass crossover episode

user the blue hair to match the album cover the movie * chefs kiss*, your creativity is unmatched queen

clementine you noticing the small details >>>

justinbieber posting us arguing over the order is killing me

clementine no bc we both look so over it 😂

user I love her and Tyler's friendship sm

feliciathegoat i love my bestie

clementine and I love u T 🥹

-

Lewis instantly throws in his airpods and starts the album, one by one he listens to each song. Sure enough every song has small anecdotes about their time together that only he'd know.

He was aware that he was blurring the lines between just benefits and true feelings, but he didn't know that he wasn't the only one feeling strongly about it. He never took her feelings into account.

Just when he thought he couldn't feel any worse about the situation, that realization dawned on him. Clementine Russell loved him and he threw her to the curb like a bag of trash. 

He's throwing on whatever clothes he sees first as he rushes from his door. 

He doesn't bother calling his driver as he treks block after block; he has one destination in mind, Clem's townhome. 

He's there before he knows it, his fist urgently banging against her door. 

He sees a light flicker on through the window, and then her door swings open.

She's in her nightshirt with her hair wrapped in a scarf, and her eyes are puffy from sleep. When she sees Lewis, she begins to swing the door back closed, but his hand pushes against it.

"No, Lewis." She snarls, swinging the door open again. She is looking at him like he's the devil himself. "I don't want to see you, I don't want to talk to you, I don't even want to think of you."

"Clem, please." He begs, "Please, I can't take it."

She pauses at the door, taking her time to study the man in front of her. He looks bad, simply put.

His eyes are bloodshot and droopy with bags, his braids are disheveled and clearly in need of a touch-up, and he just looks all around miserable.

She almost gives in until she thinks back to the last eight months where she had been miserable herself. She smacks her teeth swinging the door closed until she hears Lewis shout out three words that take her back to when the roads got foggy, Cannes. When she realized the difference in how she actually felt for Lewis.

"I love you."

She peels the door back open and stares at him intensely. "What did you say?"

He looks like he's watched his whole world get taken away from him as he repeats himself, "I love you. Don't shut the door, please."

"It's not fair, Lewis." She fumes.

"I know." He whispers, and his voice cracks.

"You don't get to do this to me." Clem snapped. "You can't just make me feel things for you and then push me away. You can't make me love you and then hurt me and tell me you love me when it's too late."

"I'm sorry."

"Sorry, isn't enough." She hissed angrily, approaching him and poking his chest. 

He reaches up and grabs her hand, holding it close to his chest. She feels him shudder underneath her touch, and his body begins to shake.

"Clem, I'm sorry." his voice is hoarse and thick as he peers down at her, and she cracks when she feels a teardrop against their connected hands. "I'm sorry."

Her forehead drops against his chest, and he wraps his arms around her. "You didn't deserve that; I should have just told you; I was scared; you broke all of my walls, Clem; I didn't know what to do. I didn't want to hurt you in the end."

"But you did, " she cries.

"I know, I did; I was scared of commitment, was scared I would ruin us further down the line." He presses a kiss to the top of her head, "I'm not scared of commitment, Clem, not anymore. I just don't want to be committed if it's not to you."

"You don't mean that." Clem breathes. 

"I promise I do, Clem."

She steps back from him, letting his arms fall to his side. "You made me feel dirty."

He opens his mouth, and she puts up her hand, "Let me talk. I let you disrespect me, Lewis. I should be done with you. I should be over you. I don't care how much I feel for you; if you ever, and I mean ever, speak to me that way or treat me like I'm nothing ever again, all gracefulness is out of the fucking window."

"I understand." He breathes, "I will never, Clem, and I mean never treat you like that again."

It's ironic, the two of them standing infront of each other as the sky illuminates in yellow and orange hues. 

"It's six in the morning." Clem sighs.

"I couldn't stop thinking about you."

"I wasn't supposed to be here today; you almost missed me," Clem informs.

"I would've found you. Lost you once already. I didn't know how much I cherished what we had until I no longer had it. Until I lost it. I don't want to lose you forever, too."

"It's almost spring," Clem announces. 

"Gonna take you to that mountain, Clem." He promises, pulling her into his arms again.

"I've missed you so much. There were so many things I wanted to talk to you about. I missed talking to you." She admits and Lewis holds her tighter.

"I missed listening to you. Swear I did." 

"Are we still friends?"

"No, we're more than that. We should’ve never been friends. Always meant to be more." 

"I wrote an album about you." She sighs.

She feels Lewis hum against her. "It's beautiful."

"I talked so much shit about you, I'm sorry."

"Don't be sorry for feeling Clem, I was a shit person to you." 

"My hair is blue." She announces, and he chuckles; there she was, his Clem talking his head off.

"Starting over, right?"

"Yeah, starting over."

Although they weren't laying in bed on their backs hands connected and staring through the ceiling like it was their sky. Things felt familiar to the two as the sun rose and light beamed around them.

Lewis was her sunset, the beauty that comes after a hard and blaring day. To him, she was the sunrise. After the darkness, it will always be light again. She was his light source, and he knew that now. He could never lose something that's always shining. 

"Thank you for showing up for me."

Not proofread

the album:

bad religion - frank ocean

in your hands - halle

i think- tyler, the creator

saturn- sza

broken is the man- jorja smith

everything is gonna be alright- infinity song

everything- kehlani

mine- beyonce ft drake

poison- beyonce

are we still friends- tyler, the creator

eternal sunshine- jhene aiko

<3

[greynatomy]

unexpected

katie mccabe x reader

this was requested from wp

kinda made caitlin as the ‘bad guy’ but it’s for the plot

i also updated my rules for requesting and added the footballer who i’ll take requests for

———

Another day, another training done for the Arsenal women’s team. Katie sat on the sidelines, catching her breath and winding down from the scrimmage. As she’s drinking from her bottle, a shadow casts over her.

“Hi, Katie.”

“Caitlin.” She acknowledges the Australian.

“Uh, well, I was wondering if you wanted to try this restaurant I found last week?”

“Oh?”

“Yeah. They have really amazing food. So?”

“Yeah, sure. I’ll tell the team.”

“No, wait.” She tries to clear up her intentions, but Katie already walked away. “Great.”

Two hours later, the whole team had met at ‘Sapori’ and waited at the front of the building for everyone to show up.

“Hey.”

Looking to her left, she see’s Caitlin shuffling closer to her.

“Hi.”

“This is a really great restaurant. The ambiance is amazing so I’m glad you’re here to try it out.” Caitlin breaks the moment of awkwardness.

Katie’s lips form a tight smile. “Yeah, I’ve only heard great things.”

“Alright, let’s head in.” They heard Leah say as everyone that could make it has finally shown up.

It took a while for everyone to figure out where ghey want to sit, but they made it work. Katie took her place at one end of the table, Caitlin taking place on her left side.

Conversations were flowing freely, everyone with a smile on their face. Katie was chatting it up with Beth and Viv when she feels a hand delicately going up and down her arm, making her flinch her arm away.

“What’re you doin’?” Katie snaps, eyebrows furrowed.

“Sorry, just wanted your attention.” Caitlin frowns.

“Okay.” She slowly nods. “Just don’t do that again.”

The food came out soon after, everyone hungry and diggin in.

“Sorry, excuse me? We didn’t order these.” Leah spoke up when extra dishes were placed on the table. Katie didn’t care, she dug into all that she could reach.

“These are just some dishes that the owner would like you all to try.”

“Well, please thank her for us.”

Everyone was in their own little groups talking about anything and everything at the same time. A couple of moments go by when Katie feels small hands on her thighs. Looking down she sees a little girl who seems to try and get onto her lap. So what does she do? she helps the girl up, getting her comfortable on her lap and wrapping an arm around her.

Said child, once content on Katie’s lap, grabs the fork and starts eating the food in front of her. Katie occasionally wipes her mouth with a napkin, the child unbothered by it.

Too occupied in helping the kid eat, she doesn’t see the looks on her friends’ faces. The group silently observes Katie and the kid, seeing how comfortable they are with each other.

The kid turns in Katie’s lap, hands going on both cheeks pulling her close. Katie thinks she’s going for a kiss so she leans down, except instead of a kiss, the gnocchi that was once in the kid’s mouth, was now in Katie’s.

“Ugh, Em! Not again.” She spits it out, wiping her mouth after. All Emmy does is laugh and goes back to eating. A couple of throats can be heard clearing, making Katie look up to see all her friends staring at her. “What?”

“What do you mean ‘what?’ You’ve got a child on your lap.”

“Ye’ and?”

“Who’s child is that?”

“Completely hers.” A voice speaks up before Katie could answer. “She’s a menace and gets it from her mammy.”

“Mamma! Io mangio!”

“I can see! You’ve got sauce all over your face.” You wipe her face with a napkin. “How are you guys enjoying everything?” You ask the group.

“Oh, it’s amazing! Best thing I’ve ever eaten!” Beth exclaims.

“Who are you?” Caitlin asks.

“I am the owner of Sapori, Y/N McCabe. So nice to meet all of you. And yes, I know the last name isn’t Italian, but I just so happened to fall for an Irish.”

“Oi! Don’t make it seem like that’s a bad thing.”

“Oi!” Emmy echos.

“Wait!” Kyra says very loudly. “McCabe? So does that mean Katie’s your—”

“—Wife? Yes, unfortunately.”

“You’re beeing cheeky. Stop it.” She boops your nose.

You start to pick up some of the empty plates, giving everyone a smile.

“Hey, hey, hey! What’re you doin’?”

“I’m gonna take these back?”

“You’re not allowed to carry anything!”

“Katie, babe. I’m pregnant, not crippled. Plus, I’m barely even showing.”

“Aww, you’re pregnant?” Kyra goes to touch your stomach, but her hand gets smacked away by Katie.

“Katie! Be nice. And yes, I am.”

As the rest of the team fusses over Emmy and your belly, Caitlin decides to speak to Katie.

“So, you’re married?”

“Yup.”

“Why’d you make it seem like you were interested in me.” Katie didn’t know if she was being serious or not, but started laughing out loud.

“I don’t know what you’re on about mate. Probably just a figment of your imagination.”

[ai-megurine]

HOTD S2 episode 2 "Rhaenyra the Cruel" reaction

• This OST! Djamin Rawadi is a god

• Can we appreciate Aegon's friends? Staying with him despite the state of madness he's in and closing the door to make sure he has some privacy

• oh so that shot of Aemond was him realising that he was the target!!!!

• I'm sorry I'm not that sympathetic to Alicent's tears? I just wish we could see more of Helaena grieving. I love the dress though

• ALICENT B&C IS NOT ABOUT YOU

• Otto shut up.

• Get Tom an Emmy, an Oscar and every single award in the world. His "what?" of disbelief to Otto stuck with me, dunno why

• In love with Larys' entrance. No one notices him until he speaks, he's in the background. Perfectly suits him

• "Bitch Queen of bastards" lmfao

• Love that the Council is shutting up and just letting Aegon rant. They're all scared of him in a way

• Who knew I'd ever be happy to see Larys?

• "I'll kill him myself" feed him to Sunfyre pls. Or Shrykos

• Aegon losing it every time Otto speaks is such a mood

• Jasper Wylde has a lign! Who knew.

• "We know our enemy!" with the little hand thingy was funny, I'm sorry

• Tyland!!

• "you're already seen as weak" oh fuck you Otto

• Why would anyone think that Rhaenys committing mass murder means Rhaenyra should be Queen???

• Aegon "my little son's body" broke me.

• Alicent calling Aegon "my darling" was sweeter than I thought.

• oh so Helaena can be a spectacle but not you??

• HELAENA MY LOVE

• LET ME HUG YOU

• DAEMON WHEN I CATCH YOU

• BALERION HIMSELF COULDN'T PROTECT YOU

• Oh my lord she's holding Jaehaerys' clothes 😭😭😭

• She's grief personified I can't breathe

• Phia is an angel

• THE TEAR ON HER CHEEK

• AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH the "I don't want them closer I don't know them" breaks me. She's my angel, I will fight the world for you

• ALICENT WHO CARES YOU'RE BANGING COLE. IT HASN'T BEEN 24 HOURS SINCE JAEHAERYS DIED

• "This is for my boy" AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH.

• The toy horse 😭😭😭😭

• The music is so good

• (when did they have the time to make all the uniforms and banners??? Sewing ladies have been doing overtime)

• Blood IMMEDIATELY giving up all the information was low-key funny but it really showcases who he is. A big bully who uses his strength to hurt people weaker than hip (women and children) but the second he's caught? He folds like a coward.

• Lmfao Larys' face. Even he was like "damn dude I didn't even start"

• Who the fuck is the herald? I thought Otto would be the one doing this

• OH MY GOD THEY SEWED THE HEAD BACK?????

• ANGEL, BABY, I LOVE YOU

• DAEMON I WILL KILL YOU MYSELF

• The little circlet on his bead 😭😭😭😭

• why barn owls on the shroud? I mean it's Helaena and she's flawless so I like it anyway

• So the death of Jaehaerys has FINALLY been acknowledged as kinslaying as well

• Blood's face when he understands that Aegon is coming and that it's going to be painful

• Noooooo, I wanted more pain for Blood

• Oh no my girl being so overwhelmed. She's in pain 😭😭😭

• Oh Rhaenyra's reaction to B&C

• I mean why wouldn't they accuse you? Like? Bestie? Who would it profit to kill Aegon's heir?

• Is Daemon actually smirking???? This man istg

• Rhaenys immediately knew, this woman is too good for these people

• Rhaenyra's realisation

• "Killing it"??? IT???? WOMAN.

• DON'T YOU FUCKING LAUGH. If you felt any ounce of remorse, you would be screaming in rage about it

• "you have wounded me" BESTIE A CHILD DIED WE DON'T CARE ABOUT YOUR STANDING

• JFC the way she reacted when he broke that glass!!! She's obviously scared, it's definitely not the first time.

• Emma the actor that you are. Rhaenyra looks ready to rip Daemon's head with her bare teeth (which she should do, it would be iconic)

• You are a monster dude

• Oooh that silence

• "because of your virtue" hshshsjsj

• Bestie Viserys named Rhaenyra heir out of grief and guilt

• "You're pathetic" is so iconic, love it

• Baela exists! That coat is atrocious though

• So no risking Jace but Baela is fair game huh? Bitch (and I don't even like Baela). Good scene though

• Behold, Daemon runs away from his family

• HELAENA STILL DOESN'T HAVE A GUARD???? WHAT???? AEGON HAS TWO HE COULD SPARE ONE

• Oh god her and Aegon. Grieving, broken, but unable to connect. I feel like she wanted to reach out in the stairs, but he runs away because he's on the verge of breaking down and be can't have that in public.

• The nodding???

• NOOO THE BED

• I mean, I know it's better but

• Oh god the mattress covered in blood

• The juxtaposition with Rhaenyra being with her son is heartbreaking. The way she realises that this is what Helaena lost, that Jaehaerys was that age

• ALICENT STOP THINKING ABOUT YOU BANGING COLE NO ONE CARES

• Also Cole should be guarding Helaena and Jaehaera

• The religious trauma of consensual sex

• I wished the Alicole storyline would take less screen though, I mean good for them but that mess of a relationship shouldn't overshadow Helaegon's doomism and greek tragedy right now

• Cole needs to stop beefing with the rest of the world, Arryk isn't responsible for it

• Love Arryk for calling out Cole

• LMFAO THE OTHER KINGSUARDS NOPPING OUT. Valid ngl

• YOU'RE MAD SER. Love him

• Cole's hypocrisy is a delight. He's a terrible person, but he's so interesting

• Why don't they use poison though

• Laenor being mentioned? Neat. Him teaching the boys about fishing and Sea Shanty is pretty fun

• Damn that scene is actually good!! A shame I couldn't care less about Baela and Rhaena

• Oh so that's the famous brothel scene?

• Aemond's mummy issues on fill display 🙏🏻

• I love the relationship between him and the madame ngl. Like I know he pays her for it but her gentleness with him seems to be at least partially genuine. Her facial expression when he doesn't look at her are pretty telling

• Hugh Hammer the return! Fuck if I care but hey, I'm not against them developing the Dragonseeds. I wish Nettles was around too. I guess Hugh will join TB after his family's death? Or he'll be a spy for TG? Dunno

• So we know Baela ends up with Alyn, and he looks so much bigger and older than her 😭 Like it makes sense but DAMN

• I genuinely cannot begin to care about Corlys to save my life

• WAIT RHAENYRA DIDN'T KNOW WHO MYSARIA WAS???? THIS IS SO FUCKING FUNNY

• Mysaria being a good character wasn't on my bingo card but I don't dislike it

• Seasmoke following Addam around like a lost puppy is so funny to me. Also his sounds are so cute. I guess Laenor died off screen?

• The focus on the smallfolk is great. It reminds me of Varys' quote about the smallfolk always being the one to suffers.

• Cheese didn't suffer enough and I wish that dog a very nice "find a better owner"

• "Oh, I had them hanged" is so fucking funny.

• Otto is right, though. Like, this was a terrible idea.

• Ooooh mentioning Jaehaerys was a dumb move. You should Aegon isn't going to be rational about it

• Aegon, you can show strength by, you know, USING YOUR DRAGON. Honestly a public execution of Blood would have been better

• Otto's "wtf" face is so funny. I love him. Tom and Rhys are carrying this entire episode. Phia too, but she's less present

• Otto, do you REALLY think Aegon gives a single fuck about Viserys???

• Otto being fired for upteenth time is so funny. This man files for unemployment every three weeks

• Otto's last act of defiance was great

• Yeah, Mysaria isn't exiting the show

• Oh, that's how she'll stay

• Elinda Massey exists!

• I'm glad they didn't make Rhaenyra fight Arryk like some believed. It makes much more sense for her to be genuinely scared for her life. Like, Arryk is a grown ass man in armour and literally one of the best knights of his time

• They deserved better

• Otto unknowingly dissing his daughter's bf right in front of her was peak irony.

• "Petty revenge"? A FOUR YEAR OLD CHILD WAS DECAPITATED

• FUCK YOU ALICENT. Your son isn't "valuable", he's YOUR SON

• DAERON MENTION!!!!!!!! VICTORY!!!!!!!!

• The generational trauma of zero communication 🙏🏻

• Aegon sobbing and breaking down

• Nooooooooooo

• My love

• Let me hug you

• He's so beautiful

• A fallen angel

• CRISTON LEGIT SITTING ON HER BED WAS SO FUNNY LIKE WHAT

• HOW LONG HAVE YOU BEEN WAITING

• ALSO WHO IS GUARDING HELAENA

Conclusion :

Tom is a god, Phia is an angel, I will start a cult for Ramin Djawadi. The acting in general was top notch, but Tom and Phia have ascended to god-like.

Helaegon's doomism and Greek tragedy will be my death, I love them your honour.

The focus on the smallfolk was very good, and I hope they do it for both sides.

[warrior-cats-rewritten]

will emberdawn ever find silverhawk and lynxfire (i don't remember if it was you or another person who had this name for the son, i follow a lot of rewrites 😅)?

if so, how do they react?

Okay!

1. Yes I am the Monster Emberdawn person! You remembered correctly!!!

2. Well... Yes.

Part of the reason Emberdawn agrees to help Bristlepaw is Bris' promise to assist Emberdawn with finding her family.

Silverhawk is the first to see her, and at first, he almost doesn't recognize her as she towers over a large boulder, swiping her massive hooked claws at bat flying around the Dark Forest. (Someone with a fear of bats is nearby, I didn't send a bat to hell)

And... I forgive him for that. For goodness sake, she looks like a monster! 7 feet tall with a jaw that hangs open... She hardly resembles a cat anymore.

Then, he hears her voice. It's raspy, croaking, but familiar after all these years.

He steps up towards her, standing in front of the murky, still lake. Softly, he calls Emberdawn's name. Emberdawn, focused on catching the little bat, puts a massive paw onto the boulder, stretching up higher to try to reach it.

"Emmy? Is that you?"

She freezes. Her large head swings downward, jaw brushing the forest floor.

"Emmy, it's me. I'm here."

"Sil... Silverhawk..."

"I'm right here, Emberdawn. I'm not going anywhere."

He reaches out a paw, touching the one she has set on the ground. His paw is barely the size of one of her toes now.

"You... You've gotten into some trouble, haven't you? Kept looking for me for so long, you... Oh, my poor Emmy..."

She lowers herself down, and touches her nose to his. Her huge paw comes down and one of her claws gently traces a scar he recently attained from fighting with another demon.

"Hawwwk. Silverhawk. Lynxfire..."

There's a moment of quiet, before Silverhawk resolves to guide Bristlepaw and her gaggle of Dark Forest demons (and her dad, and a few kittens) to the deepest part of the Dark Forest, to break through the barrier into what lays beyond it all.

Unbeknownst to them, another group of angels is coming, with bared teeth and claws.

One of those angels is Lynxfire.

He and the other angels, ordered by Npui Gmjhiu to chase down the cat who intends to upset an ancient hierarchy undisturbed for as long as Starclan has existed.

He charges through the slick undergrowth, ignoring the roaring hounds and ferns that seem to cling to his sparkling pelt. When Npui Gmjhiu gives an order, it is to be followed.

Important to note: Silverhawk and Lynxfire met during the Great Battle, and Lynxfire made Silverhawk realize that the entire plan was stupid.

The angel crashes face-first into Mapleshade, toppling the fat tortie over and making her kittens squeal with fright.

At the sound of the kittens, a hulking huge paw slams down near him, smacking his fellow angel and sending them crashing into a massive tree, sparkling white blood flecking the ground.

The monstrous creature snarls, its claws hook under Lynxfire as it pulls him up, higher and higher, until he's staring into its pitch-black eyes, the orange pinprick pupils staring at him.

The shade of orange is all too familiar.

"...Mom?"

She stares at him, before placing him down onto her bony shoulders and smashing her paws and subsequently massive claws down onto his fellow angels, each movement she makes jostling him heavily, yet Emberdawn keeps her shoulders stiff enough to keep him safe on her spiny back, like he's a kit having a Badger-Ride, not riding on the back of his monstrously mutated mother in the depths of The Place of No Stars.

Truth be told... She'll never go back to how she used to look. She'll probably be able to speak again, but the damage has been done. You can't undo years of trauma and pain, and the effects it had on her body as she warped and twisted through the effects of The Mist are indeed permanent.

But... She can be happy. They all can.

[ilikethisacompletelynormalamount]

In the true story, BAFTA winner Scott, also coming off rave reviews for All Of Us Strangers, is set to play Group Captain James Stagg, the Allies’ Chief Meteorologist whose job it was to inform Supreme Commander General Eisenhower of weather conditions that would make-or-break their Normandy invasion. The decision-making was critical in the fate of the war and the course of history.

Anthony Maras (Hotel Mumbai) will direct the ticking-clock thriller, which is due to start shooting in the UK this September. Additional casting is underway, with Studiocanal handling world sales.

Olivier award-winner David Haig and Maras wrote the screenplay based on Haig’s critically lauded play, which ran in London’s West End before going on to be performed for the late Queen Elizabeth II and world leaders to mark the D-Day 75th anniversary in 2019. The official synopsis reads: “In the seventy two hours leading up to D-Day, all the pieces are in place except for one key element—the British weather. Britain’s chief meteorological officer James Stagg (Andrew Scott) is called upon to deliver the most consequential forecast in history, locking him into a tense standoff with the entire Allied leadership. The wrong conditions could devastate the largest ever seaborne invasion, while any delay risks German intelligence catching on. With only his trusted aide Captain Kay Summersby to confide in, and haunted by a catastrophic D-Day rehearsal, the final decision rests with Supreme Allied Commander Dwight D. Eisenhower. With only hours to go, the fate of the war and the lives of millions hang in the balance.” Haig’s play explores the personal and military stresses on Stagg and how tensions grew between the teams with different weather forecasts for the date of the proposed D-Day. The film will concentrate on the pressure-cooker of the decision-making but also capture the scale of the landings. Studiocanal previously had commercial and critical success with WWII story The Imitation Game while Working Title similarly scored box office and Oscar recognition with WWII film Darkest Hour.

[hmserebusadjacent]

Little moments

Just a story that I wrote during my lunch break at work today. A story about Emmrich appreciating the little unique moments that happen in his relationship with Rook.

Emmrich Volkarin/Trans Male Rook (Established Relationship, Longing, Fluff)

Word count: 593

AO3

Life is so often very fleeting. With the world to save and danger lurking around every corner, Emmrich was beginning to feel that more than ever. Now he had someone to live for and a cause to fight for, every moment seemed infinitely more precious.

Oftentimes Rook would catch Emmrich staring, and sometimes he would just offer his lover a smile and blow a kiss in his direction or he would ask Emmrich if something was wrong if the mage looked very lost in thought.

On the latter of those occasions, Emmrich Volkarin found himself lost for words as to how to describe his feelings. He knew Rook would understand, and indeed did seem to do exactly what Emmrich did in those quiet little moments. 

On the other side of the coin, sometimes Emmrich felt like words wouldn't be able to describe the intensity of those feelings.

Like when he had just found himself watching Rook get stuff ready for their shared bath one day. Emmrich had meant to have been choosing the oils that would perfume the waters but instead he had become thoroughly distracted. Even the sight of Rook laying their clothes out just so on the bed filled the old necromancer with such a keen sense of longing that he almost felt himself go weak at the knees.

That precious little moment was entirely unique. Their clothes would never lay on the bed in exactly the same way again, and the bottle of oil Emmrich held in his hand wouldn't last until the next time they shared a bath together. The little tune Rook was humming might never have the same sense of whimsy to it that it did now, and the fire in the hearth might not crackle or splutter in the same way it was doing right now.

Rook might gain a new scar within the next week that would alter his face, or Emmrich might even gain a new scar too.

The intensity of life and the sense of fleeting time within those moments felt so extraordinary, and sometimes a bit frightening. But Emmrich would never allow himself to not appreciate every moment he had with Rook to the fullest. He'd wanted someone like Rook to come into his life for so, so long, to have someone who understood him and accepted him perfectly be a part of his little world.

No, Emmrich would never take Rook or the circumstance of their meeting and getting together for granted.

So the next time Emmrich caught himself staring at Rook wistfully as he prepared their shared bath, the mage decided to do something about it.

The little noise of surprise Rook let out as Emmrich slid his arms around him from behind was delightful, as were the smaller hands that quickly came to settle on top of the mage's own.

"Everything alright, Emmie?"

Emmie. He loved that nickname so much.

"I'm just enjoying you whilst I can, my love. Enjoying the little moments."

The necromancer sensed more than saw the grin his lover sent his way. To make everything that bit more special, Rook just leant backwards and allowed Emmrich to take a little bit more of his weight, holding them both in the embrace.

"I do adore you, Emmrich. Every moment with you is a treasure."

As Emmrich felt tears begin to bead in his eyes, his smile bright and hopeful, he sent a wish up to the stars that they both had a long shared life ahead of them that could be filled with equally precious moments.

[statelysapphic]

Letters to Emily

Emily Prentiss x Reader

Summary: When Ian Doyle takes away the one person you love, you find solace in writing her letter.

Warnings: Typical talk of Emily being dead. Hurt. Let me know if I missed something<3

A/N: Hi friends! It’s been a while. I’ve been working on this for a while, and idk how I feel about it. I very lightly edited this. Feedback is appreciated as always. Ao3 Link. Enjoy!<3

July 26, 2011

Emily,

I accepted the job. I’m not sure what would piss you off more though: the fact that it’s a desk job or the fact that it’s in Phoenix and I’m leaving Quantico. Leaving the team. I know you’d tell me that I’m making a huge mistake but it’s just too painful.

JJ brings me coffee every morning, just like you did, and even though I know she means well, it’s a painful reminder that you will never bring me coffee again. When I look up from my desk in the bullpen to see the empty one across from me, I’m reminded that I won’t be able to watch you work anymore. I loved watching you pour over files, watching the gears turn in your head. Putting the pieces together and catching the bad guy. You were brilliant.

Emily paused as her vision blurred, the burning sensation of tears threatening to spill catches her attention and shifts her focus. She was angry. Angry at Doyle for forcing her into this mess. Angry at JJ for not telling her that you transferred. Angry at Hotch for even approving your transfer request. Angry at Derek, Spencer, and Penelope; Did they even try to convince you to stay? She took a deep breath, and then another. As she felt her heart rate return to normal, she wiped the tears away from her cheeks and continued reading.

Everything here is a painful reminder of you. Everything. I walk past a framed photo of you every single day and it guts me. Every single time. I can’t keep doing it, so I’m running. I know you’d be so disappointed in me. Virginia isn’t home without you, Em. It stopped feeling like home when JJ told me you “never made it off the table.” I don’t think I’ll ever find your feeling of home again.

I’m not sure how to tell the team about the transfer. Maybe I’ll buy them a round after this case and break the news to them then. Booze and karaoke should soften them up, right?

I don’t think they’re going to take it well. I just hope they skip the guilt trip.

I hate to end this on a sad note, so I will say that I think Arizona will be good for me. Lots of sunshine and wide open spaces. New people, new experiences. I actually think I’m excited, even though I feel guilty for it. I suppose that will get better with time. I don’t know if I’ve told you this, the one item on my bucket list is to go rockhounding out west. Maybe I’ll treat myself once I get settled.

I miss you so much, Em. But I love you even more. Always.

Emily refolded the letter and slid it back into its envelope. As she placed it on the coffee table in front of her, she finally allowed herself to cry. She had done everything in her power to protect you from Doyle and her past. Although you were physically safe, it was clear from your letters that the emotional toll was severe. She was only about halfway through the stack that she found in your bedside table, and she still had three months worth left to read. She knew she wouldn’t finish by the time you got home, but that was okay.

The raven haired woman sighed, picking up the next letter in the pile.

August 12, 2011

Emmy,

Fuck I miss you today. I wish you would’ve been here to ground me though that. Or kick some ass for me. The movers were nice enough to break my bed frame while bringing it up the stairs and then denied doing it. I watched him drop it, babe. I wasn’t even mad until he denied it. Don’t worry, I called the manager and received a full refund for the trouble.

I wish you were here to cuddle on this couch with me. I miss the way you’d hold me. I felt untouchable when I was in your arms. I think you’d like this new apartment though. The master bedroom has a killer view AND a balcony. It also has plenty of south facing windows for my houseplants, and room for many more. My collection has grown exponentially since you’ve seen it last. As odd as it sounds, they’ve helped me through this.

Sorry for the short letter today. Who knew moving halfway across the country would be so tiring? Could’ve fooled me. I love you, Emily. Always.

Emily chuckled lightly at your sarcasm, but soon felt the tears return.

Sadness began to fade within Emily, and anxiety soon took its place. She was unsure of how you would react when you came home after a long day at work to find your not-actually-dead partner sitting in your living room, reading your private letters, no less. Sure, they were technically addressed to her, but she knows you never thought anyone would read them. Maybe this wasn’t the best way to do this, but Emily vehemently rejected all help that the team offered. Hotch offered to call your Supervisor to have them sit you down to talk you through it. JJ nearly begged Emily to help in some capacity, already feeling immense guilt over the situation. Though, she almost let Rossi accompany her when he offered, and she was beginning to regret not doing so.

The regret faded almost instantly as Emily heard a key in the front door. Her heart rate increased and her chest became tight. The reality of the situation had settled in for Emily, and the uncertainty was paralyzing. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, a sorry attempt to calm her nerves, as she braced herself to face you. She heard the door shut, followed by footsteps that grew louder and louder until there was silence. Emily didn’t dare look up. Even as she heard the loud clatter of what she assumed were your keys colliding with the hardwood apartment floor.

“E… Emmy?”

~

[riveriafalll]

OC smash or pass tag

thank you to the ever wonderful @sableglass i love you dearly and I promise one day to catch up with all my missed tags lmfao

Rules: Describe one of your OCs and make a poll to either smash or pass

Emmy Campbell (previously known as Emmy Winchester)

Emmy is my supernatural oc, Sam's twin, and as such she strongly resembles him. She's 6"3, (not as tall as Sam, but taller than Dean, which is all that really matters), and is very toned from years of working out and running from various life-threatening things.

Canonically, she's a raging lesbian, (so while she might be your type, you might not be hers ;) ), who has a rather diverse sense of fashion ranging from summer dresses and mini-skirts to basically Sam with longer hair.

She's a very guarded person, with so many different personalities she uses with different groups that she herself finds it hard to differentiate between *her* and the woman everyone thinks she is, but she's 95% of the good decisions that are made in the Impala, and most of the impulse control. She can be very playful with the right people, and is openly affectionate with those she trusts, not to mention a awful flirt with basically anyone who shows her some attention/boobs.

If you have her love, you'll have it for life, but if you break that trust, if you hurt her family, she'll hunt you to the ends of the earth and watch your corpse burn. Morally grey is probably the nicest way to describe her alignments (lawful chaotic leaning chaotic neutral)

so-

adding my tag list (lemme know if +/- ) and an open tag!

@hyperfixation-tangentopia @pippinoftheshire @cherrybombfangirlwrites @glasshouses-and-stones @deanscherrypie420 @agirlandherquill @lillybaaaka @late-to-the-fandom @toodumbforusernames @damageinkorporated @aquadestinyswriting @druidx @supercimi @creative-author @27paperlilies @avocado-frog

[denimbex1986]

'Andrew Scott’s success did not arrive overnight. His has been a slow and steady ascent from supporting player to leading man. But his status is now assured: at 47, the Irishman is among the most talented and prominent actors of his generation, on stage and screen.

Dublin-born and raised, Scott first took drama classes at the suggestion of his mother, an art teacher, to try to overcome a childhood lisp. At 17 he won his first part in a film, Korea (1995), about an Irish boy who finds himself fighting in the Korean War. By 21, he was winning awards for his performance in Eugene O’Neill’s Long Day’s Journey into Night, for director Karel Reisz, no less, at The Gate. He arrived in London, where he continues to live, at the end of the 1990s, and worked regularly, with smaller parts in bigger TV shows (Band of Brothers, Longitude) and bigger parts in smaller plays (A Girl in a Car With a Man, Dying City). By the mid-2000s he was well established, especially in the theatre. In 2006, on Broadway, he was Julianne Moore’s lover, and Bill Nighy’s son, in David Hare’s Iraq War drama, The Vertical Hour, directed by Sam Mendes. In 2009, he was Ben Whishaw’s betrayed boyfriend in Mike Bartlett’s Cock, at the Royal Court. He won excellent notices for these and other performances, but he was not yet a star. If you knew, you knew. If you didn’t know, you didn’t know. Most of us didn’t know; not yet.

That changed in 2010 when, at the age of 33, he played Jim Moriarty, arch nemesis of Benedict Cumberbatch’s egocentric detective, in the BBC’s smash hit Sherlock. The appearance many remember best is his incendiary debut, in an episode called “The Great Game”. When first we meet him, Moriarty is disguised as a creepy IT geek, a human flinch with an ingratiating smile. It’s an act so convincing that even Sherlock doesn’t catch on. Next time we see him, he’s a dapper psychotic in a Westwood suit, with an uncannily pitched singsong delivery and an air of casual menace that flips, suddenly, into rage so consuming he’s close to tears. Such was the relish with which Scott played the villain — he won a Bafta for it — that he risked the black hat becoming stuck to his head. In Spectre (2015), the fourth of Daniel Craig’s Bond movies, and the second directed by Sam Mendes, Scott played Max Denbigh, or C, a smug Whitehall mandarin who wants to merge MI5 and MI6, sacrilegiously replacing the 00 agents with drones. (If only.)

There were other decent roles in movies and TV series, as well as substantial achievements on stage, and he might have carried on in this way for who knows how long, even for his whole career, as a fêted stage performer who never quite breaks through as a leading man on screen.

But Scott had more to offer than flashy baddies and scene-stealing cameos. His Hamlet, at The Almeida in London, in 2017, was rapturously received. I’ve seen it only on YouTube, but even watching on that degraded format, you can appreciate the fuss. Scott is magnetic: funny, compelling, and so adept with the language that, while you never forget he’s speaking some of the most profound and beautiful verse ever written, it feels as conversational as pub chat.

Another banner year was 2019: a memorable cameo in 1917 (Mendes again) as a laconic English lieutenant; an Emmy nomination for his performance in an episode of Black Mirror; and the matinée idol in Noel Coward’s Present Laughter at London’s Old Vic, for which he won the Olivier for Best Actor, the most prestigious award in British theatre.

The second series of Phoebe Waller-Bridge’s phenomenal Fleabag, also in 2019, proved to a wider public what theatregoers already knew: Scott could play the mainstream romantic lead, and then some. His character was unnamed. The credits read, simply, “The Priest”. But social media and the newspapers interpolated an adjective and Scott became The Hot Priest, Fleabag’s unlucky-in-love interest, a heavy-drinking heartbreaker in a winningly spiffy cassock, and an internet sensation.

Fleabag began as a spiky dramedy about a traumatised young woman. Scott’s storyline saw it develop into a bittersweet rom-com, brimming with compassion for its two clever, funny, horny, lonely, awkward, baggage-carrying heroes, lovers who can’t get together because, for all the snogging in the confessional, one of them is already taken, in this case by God.

It was the best and brightest British comedy of the 2010s, and Scott’s fizzing chemistry with Waller-Bridge had much to do with that. The ending, when she confesses her feelings at a bus stop, is already a classic. “I love you,” she tells him. “It’ll pass,” he says.

Over the past 12 months, in particular, Scott has piled triumph on top of victory, and his star has risen still further. At the National, last year, he executed a coup de théâtre in Vanya, for which he was again nominated for an Olivier. (He lost out to an old Sherlock sparring partner, Mark Gatiss, for his superb turn in The Motive and the Cue, about the making of an earlier Hamlet.) For Simon Stephens’s reworking of Chekhov’s play, Scott was the only actor on stage. On a sparsely furnished set, in modern dress — actually his own clothes: a turquoise short sleeve shirt, pleated chinos, Reebok Classics and a thin gold chain — and with only very slight modulations of his voice and movements, he successfully embodied eight separate people including an ageing professor and his glamorous young wife; an alcoholic doctor and the woman who loves him; and Vanya himself, the hangdog estate manager. He argued with himself, flirted with himself and even, in one indelible moment, had it off with himself.

It’s the kind of thing that could have been indulgent showboating, a drama-school exercise taken too far, more fun for the performer than the audience. But Scott carried it off with brio. In the simplest terms, he can play two people wrestling over a bottle of vodka in the middle of the night — and make you forget that there’s only one of him, and he’s an Irish actor, not a provincial Russian(s). An astonishing feat.

For his next trick: All of Us Strangers, among the very best films released in 2023. Writer-director Andrew Haigh’s ghost story is about Adam (Scott), a lonely writer, isolated in a Ballardian west-London high-rise, who returns to his suburban childhood home to find that his parents — killed in a car crash when he was 11 — are still living there, apparently unaltered since 1987. Meanwhile, Adam begins a tentative romance with a neighbour, Henry (Paul Mescal), a younger man, also lonely, also vulnerable, also cut off from family and friends.

Tender, lyrical, sentimental, sad, strange, and ultimately quite devastating, All of Us Strangers was another potential artistic banana skin. At one point, Scott’s character climbs into bed with his parents and lies between them, as a child might, seeking comfort. In less accomplished hands, this sort of thing could have been exasperating and embarrassing. But Scott’s performance grounds the film. He is exceptionally moving in it. He was nominated for a Golden Globe for Best Actor, losing to his fellow Irishman, Cillian Murphy, for Oppenheimer. Earlier this year, he made history as the first person to receive Critics Circle awards in the same year for Best Actor in a film (All of Us Strangers) and a play (Vanya).

Finally, last month, the title role in Ripley, a new spin on the lurid Patricia Highsmith novels. That show, which unspools over eight episodes on Netflix, was a long time coming. Announced in 2019, it was filmed during the pandemic, at locations across Italy and in New York. Scott is in almost every scene and delivers an immensely subtle and nuanced portrayal of Highsmith’s identity thief, a character previously played by actors including Alain Delon, Dennis Hopper, and Matt Damon in the famous Anthony Minghella film The Talented Mr Ripley, from 1999.

The fragile almost-charm that makes Tom Ripley such an enduring antihero is there in Scott’s portrayal, but so is the creepiness, the isolation, the fear and desperation. His Ripley can turn on a smile, but it quickly curdles. Filmed in high-contrast black and white, Ripley is a sombre, chilly work by design, but doggedly compelling, and not without a mordant wit. Again, critics swooned.

So the actor is on a hot streak. Later this year he’ll appear in Back in Action, a Hollywood spy caper, alongside Cameron Diaz and Jamie Foxx, above-the-title stars with dazzling, wide-screen smiles. But could they play Chekhov single-handed? They’ll need to be on their toes.

Before our shoot and subsequent interview, in April, I had met Scott briefly on two previous occasions, both times at fancy dinners for fashion brands. Compact, stylish, dynamic, he is impishly witty and charismatic: good in a room. Also, obliging: the second time I met him, he took my phone and spoke into it in his most diabolical Moriarty voice for a wickedly funny voice message to my son, a Sherlock fan.

At the Esquire shoot, on an overcast day in south London, Scott again demonstrated his good sportiness: dancing in the drizzle in a Gucci suit; generously sharing his moment in the spotlight with an unexpected co-star, a local cat who sauntered on to the set and decided to stick around for the close-ups; and entertaining the crew — and hangers-on, including me — with rude jokes. At one point, while for some reason discussing the contents of our respective fridges, I asked him where he kept his tomatoes. “Easy, Tiger,” he said.

At lunch the following day, upstairs at Quo Vadis, the restaurant and members’ club in Soho (my suggestion), the actor arrived promptly, settled himself on a banquette, and we got straight to business. It’s standard practice now for interviews published in the Q&A format to include a disclaimer, in the American style: “This conversation has been edited for length and clarity.” (Well, duh.) In this case, we talked for close to three hours. Inevitably, paper costs being what they are, and Esquire readers having busy lives, some of that verbiage has ended up on the cutting-room floor. But not much! I’ve tried to let it flow as much as possible, and to keep the spirit of the thing, in which we toggled, like all good performances, between light and dark, comedy and tragedy.

In early March, a month before this interview took place, Scott and his family suffered a terrible and unexpected loss: his mother, Nora, suddenly died. He went home to Dublin to be with his dad, Jim, his sisters, Sarah and Hannah, and their family and friends.

As an interviewee and, I suspect, as a person, Scott is thoughtful, convivial and solicitous: he doesn’t just answer questions, he also asks them. He is not above the occasional forearm squeeze when he wants to emphasise a point. He seems to possess a sharp emotional intelligence. Perhaps one should expect empathy in a great actor, but in him it seems particularly marked.

Before we began talking, there was some studying of the menu. Scott wondered, since I eat often at Quo Vadis, if I had any recommendations. I told him I had my eye on the pie: chicken, ham and leek. “Why would you not have the pie?” wondered Scott. A good question.

So, how was your morning? Where have you come from?

This morning I’ve been at the gym, Alex.

Are you working out for a specific reason or are you just a healthy man?

Just trying to keep it going. Exercise is so helpful to me. I don’t know if you know, but my mum died four weeks ago.

I did know, and I’m so sorry.

Thank you. So, yeah. Just trying to keep it going. They say your body feels it as much as your mind.

The grief?

Yeah, the grief. My friend said a brilliant thing last night. She’s been through grief. She said, if you think of it like weights, the weight of it doesn’t decrease, but your ability to lift the weights does. So, if you go to the gym and you’re completely unpractised you won’t be able to lift the weight. But the more you get used to it, the more you can lift. There’s a slight analogy to grief. I’m just learning about it.

Have you been through grief before?

Not really. A little bit, but not to this extent. And it’s a strange thing because, obviously, I’m in the middle of having to talk a lot [promoting Ripley] and making that decision of whether to talk about it or whether not to talk about it. I’m finding myself talking about it, because it’s what’s going on, and without giving away too much of it she was such an important figure. It feels right. It’s such a natural thing.

Is it helpful to talk about it?

I think it has to be. I feel very lucky with my job, in the sense that, all those more complex, difficult feelings, that’s what you have to do in a rehearsal room; you have to explore these things. So strange: a lot of the recent work that I’ve done has been exploring grief. With Vanya, and All of Us Strangers. So it’s odd to be experiencing it this time for real.

I wasn’t planning on making that the focal point of this piece, so it’s up to you how much you feel comfortable talking about it.

I appreciate that.

Was it unexpected? Did it happen out of the blue?

Yes. She was very alive four weeks ago. She just deteriorated very quickly. She got pneumonia and she just… it was all over within 24 hours.

What sort of person was she?

She was the most enormously fun person that you could possibly imagine. Insanely fun and very, very creative. She’s the person who sort of introduced me to acting and art. She taught me to draw and paint when I was really young —that’s another big passion of mine, drawing and painting. She was amazing with all of us. My sister Sarah is very talented in sport, she’s now a sports coach. And my sister Hannah was very artistic and she’s an actor now. So, she was really good at supporting us throughout all our different interests. What I say is that we’ve been left a huge fortune by her. Not financially, but an emotional fortune, if you know what I mean? I feel that really strongly. And once this horrible shock is over, I just have to figure out how I’m going to spend it. Because I think when someone else is alive and they’ve got amazing attributes, they look after those attributes. And then when they die, particularly if they are your parent, you feel like you want to inhabit them, these incredible enthusiasts for life. She just made connections with people very easily. I feel enormously grateful to have had her. Have you had much grief in your life?

My mother died, during Covid. She had been ill for a long time, so it was a very different experience to yours. But I think they are all different experiences, for each of us. I don’t know if that loss would be in any way analogous to yours. But like you, I love art and books and music, and that’s all from her. Last night, I watched a rom-com with my daughter, who is 14. And I don’t know if I would like rom-coms so much, if it wasn’t for my mum.

Love a rom-com! What did you watch?

Annie Hall.

Did she like it, your daughter?

She absolutely loved it. She was properly laughing.

Oh, that’s great!

And she’s a tough one to impress. But she loved it, and my mum loved Woody Allen. My mum can’t recommend Woody Allen to my daughter now, but I can, and that’s come down from her. So it goes on.

That’s what I mean. Your spirit doesn’t die. And I’m sure you went to bed going, “Yes!”

I did! It was a lovely evening, it really was. Tonight we’ll watch something else.

Are you going to watch another Woody Allen? Which one are you going to watch?

I thought maybe we’d watch Manhattan? More Diane Keaton.

Or Hannah and Her Sisters? That’s a good one. Insanely good. Yeah, it’s amazing that legacy, what you’re left with. My mum was so good at connecting with people. She was not very good at small talk. She was quite socially bold. She would say things to people. If she thought you looked well, she’d tell you. She’d always come home with some story about some pot thrower she met at some sort of craft fair. Being socially bold, there’s a sort of kindness in it. When someone says something surprising, it’s completely delightful. My mother sent me something when I was going through a bad time in my twenties. It was just a little card. It said, “The greatest failure is not to delight.” What a beautiful quote. And she was just delighted by so many things, and she was also delightful. And like her, I really love people. I really get a kick out of people.

I can tell.

But there’s a kind of thing, if you become recognisable, people become the enemy? And it’s something I have to try and weigh up a little bit. Because people are my favourite thing about the world. I think it’s part of my nature. My dad is pretty sociable too. And so it’s weighing that up, how you keep that going. Because certain parts of that are out of your control: people treat you slightly differently. But this phase, the past four weeks, it still feels so new. Just thinking about legacy and kindness and love and the finite-ness of life. All that stuff.

Big stuff.

Yeah, it’s big stuff. And it’s very interesting, talking about grief. Because it’s not all just low-energy sadness. There’s something galvanising about it as well. I don’t know if you found that, too?

One of the things about someone else dying is it makes you feel alive.

Yes, exactly. Even though we have no choice, it does that. It’s that amazing thing, the year of magical thinking.

[Waiter approaches. Are we ready to order?]

We are.

I think so. Are we two pie guys?

We’re two pie guys!

We’re pretty fly for pie guys.

Are we salad guys? Tomato, fennel and cucumber salad?

Yeah.

And chips, maybe?

Listen, you only live once.

So, the year of magical thinking…

You know, when you’re walking along, are you allowed to have a surge of joy? Or are you allowed to just stay home and… It’s extraordinary when it gets you.

Like a wave of emotion?

I had one on the rowing machine today. I’m glad of it, though.

That was sadness.

Just loss, yeah. Just loss.

So, there’s two ways to do this. You can choose. We can do the usual interview where we start at the beginning with your childhood and go all the way through to now. That’s totally fine. Or, I can throw more random questions at you, and see where that takes us?

Random!

Shall we random it?

Let’s random it.

OK. That means I might sometimes read questions off this piece of paper.

Reading takes just slightly away from the randomness of it, Alex…

That is a very good point. You are quite right. But I don’t read them out in order! They’re just prompts.

[Sardonically] Oh, I see!

Talk me through what you’re wearing.

Oh, this is so old. What does it say?

[I peer at the label on the inside of his shirt collar. It says Hartford.]

What colour would you call that?

I’d call it a bit of a duck egg, Alex, would you?

I’d go with that. And it’s like a…

Like a Henley?

And these [pointing to trousers]?

Mr P trousers. And a pair of old Nikes.

And sports socks.

When I am off duty, I think I dress slightly like an 11-year-old. You know, when you’re just plodding the streets, I wear, like, a hoodie and trainers.

And you have a chain round your neck.

This is a chain that I bought in New York. No, maybe I bought it in Italy. It was a replacement chain. I’ve worn a chain for years. Sometimes I like to have it as a reminder that I’m not working. When you’re in character, you take it off. Because when you’re in a show or a play, they sort of own you. They own your hair.

They own your hair!

Or sometimes you have to walk around with, like, a stupid moustache. Or, worse, chops. Actors fucking hate that. Like, nobody suits that, I don’t think. Right? I’m trying to think of someone who suits that.

Daniel Day Lewis, maybe? He can carry it off.

He’s got the chops for chops!

What’s something about you that you think is typically Irish?

It goes back to that people thing. When I go home to Ireland, I’m aware that people talk to each other a lot more. And I think there’s a sense of humour that Irish people have that I love. And I suppose a softness, too, that I love. Those are the positive things. And then the guilt and the shame is the negative stuff.

Catholic guilt?

Catholic guilt. I feel very strongly, though, that I’ve worked to emancipate myself from it. There’s a certain unthinking-ness to guilt. Your first thought, always: “What have I done wrong? It’s gotta be me.” That doesn’t benefit anyone. And with shame, I don’t feel shame anymore. I think I probably did before. But in a way, it’s an irrelevant thing for me to talk about now. The thing I prefer to talk about is how great it is not to have that anymore. Rather than how horrible it was. The thing I feel enthusiastic about is how there are so many beautiful and different ways to live a life that aren’t centred on the very strict, Catholic, cultural idea of what a good life might be. Namely, 2.4 children and certain ideas and a very specific life.

Are there positives to be taken away from a Catholic education?

The rituals around grief, I think, are really beautiful, having gone through what I’ve just been going through. And the community that you get in Catholicism. Because that’s what Catholicism is about, in some ways: devotion to your community. The amount of love and support you get is to be admired. It’s the organisation that has been the problem, not the values. Random question number 16!

When’s the last time you were horrifically drunk?

Good question! I was in New York doing press recently for Ripley. And I met Paul Mescal. He had a negroni waiting for me. Love a negroni. And then we went dancing.

Are you a good dancer?

I’m pretty good, freestyle. Slow on choreography but once I get it, I’m OK. I love dancing.

I love dancing.

Do you really? Do you do, like, choreographed dancing as well?

No! But I’m a good dancer.

Do you have moves?

Oh, I have moves.

Ha! I love that!

It’s so freeing, so liberating.

It totally is.

And it’s sexy and fun.

Exactly! It’ll get you a kiss at the end of the night.

It’s sort of showing off, too, isn’t it?

But it’s also completely communal. It connects you with people. Also, you can learn so much about someone by watching how they connect with people on a dance floor. How much of communication do they say is non-verbal? An enormous amount.

If you didn’t live in London, where would you most like to live?

I suppose Dublin. I do live a wee bit in Dublin. But one of the things I feel really grateful for is that I have sort of been able to live all over the place. I lived in Italy for a year, during the pandemic.

You were making Ripley?

Yeah, we were all over. Rome, Venice, Capri, Naples… A bit of New York. I’d love to spend more time in New York. I was very lucky recently to have my picture taken by Annie Leibovitz. We were outside the Chelsea Hotel, and this woman came up. [Thick Noo Yawk accent, shouting]: “Hey, Annie! Why don’t you take a picture of this dumpster? It’s been outside my block for two months! Take a picture of that!” There’s something about that New York-iness that I love. It still has such romance for me.

How old do you feel?

Really young. I don’t have an exact age for you. Thirties?

Some people feel in touch with their childhood selves, or almost unchanged from adolescence. Others seem to have been born an adult.

That’s really true. I think of playgrounds for children: you’re actively encouraged to play, as a kid. “Go out and play!” And I hate that at some point, maybe in your mid-twenties, someone goes, “Now, don’t play! Now, know everything. Now, turn on the television, acquire a mortgage and tell people what you know.” I have to play for a living. It’s so important, not just in your job, but in life. It’s a great pleasure of life, if you can hold on to that. Talking about my mum again, she had an amazing sense of fun.

She was a funny person? She made people laugh?

Absolutely.

That’s important, isn’t it?

It’s really important. I think having a sense of humour is one of the most important things in life. It’s such a tool. And you can develop it. My family were all funny. Laughter was a currency in our family. Humour is a magic weapon. It separates us from the other species. Like, I love my dog. I think dogs are amazing. And he can have fun, but he’s not able to go, “This is fucking ridiculous.” He’s not able to do that! So it’s a real signifier of your humanity, in some ways.

Also, being a funny person, or someone who can connect with people through humour, that’s how we make friends.

I think actors make really good friends. Because you’re in the empathy game. And because you’re making the decision to go into an industry that is really tough, you need to have your priorities straight: “I know this is tough, I know the chances of me succeeding in it are slim, but I’m going to go in anyway.” It shows a sort of self-possession that I think is a wonderful thing to have in a friend. Also, actors are just funny. And a lot of them are sexy!

Funny and sexy: good combination.

I know! Not that you want all your friends to be sexy, that’s not how you should choose your friends.

Oh, I don’t know. It’s not the worst idea.

It’s not. But I think it’s something to do with empathy. And it’s a troupe mentality as well. You’re good in groups.

It’s a gang.

I love a gang. Do you like a gang?

I do. Magazines are like that. A good magazine is a team, a great magazine is a gang. And the thing we produce is only part of it: you put it out there and people make of it what they will. The process of making it is the thing, for me.

Oh, my God. That’s something I feel more and more. Process is as important as product. I really believe that. You can have an extraordinary product, but if it was an absolute nightmare to make then, ultimately, that’s what you’re going to remember about it. You make good things that are successful that everybody loves? That’s lovely. But also, you make stuff that people don’t respond to. So, if you have a good time in the process, and the attempt is a valiant one, and there’s a good atmosphere, if it’s kind and fun, that’s the stuff you hold on to. One of the reasons I love the theatre is you don’t have to see the product. You just do it, and then it’s done. It’s an art form that is ephemeral. There’s a big liberation, too, in discovering you don’t have to watch any of your films if you don’t want to.

Have you watched Ripley?

I watched Ripley once.

And?

It’s a lot of me in it! Jesus!

Is that a problem?

I find it hard to watch myself. I do. There’s something quite stressful about looking at yourself. Have you ever heard yourself on someone’s answering machine? Horrific! You’re like, “Oh, my God, that can’t be me. How do they let me out in the day?” It’s like that, and then it’s your big, stupid face as well. Mostly, I have a feeling of overwhelming embarrassment.

On a cinema screen, I can’t even imagine. Your face the size of a house!

The size of a house, and there’s 400 people watching you.

Nature did not intend humans to ever experience this.

That is so true. It’s not natural.

I mean, even mirrors are to be avoided.

Maybe looking in the sea is the only natural way?

Well, Narcissus!

Yeah, true. That didn’t turn out well. I’d love for that to be a tagline for a movie, though: “Nature did not intend humans to ever experience this…”

But equally, nature didn’t intend the rest of us to gaze upon you in quite that way. We sit in the dark, staring up worshipfully at this giant image of you projected on a screen for hours. Is that healthy?

Without talking about the purity of theatre again, when you’re in the theatre, you, as the audience, see someone walking on the stage, and technically you could go up there, too. There’s not that remove. It’s live. There’s a real intimacy. That’s why I feel it’s the real actor’s medium. Your job is to create an atmosphere. I always find it insanely moving, even still, that adults go into the dark and say, “I know this is fake, but I don’t care: tell me a story.” And they gasp, and they cry, or they’re rolling around the aisles laughing. It’s so extraordinary, so wonderful that it exists. I really do believe in the arts as a human need. I believe in it so deeply. During the pandemic, our first question to each other was, “What are you watching? What book are you reading?” Just to get through it, to survive. It’s not just some sort of frivolous thing. It’s a necessity. As human beings, we tell stories. Expert storytellers are really vital. No, it’s not brain surgery. But, “Hearts starve as well as bodies. Give us bread, but give us roses.” I love that quote.

Tell me about playing Hamlet. Was it what you expected it would be?

It’s extraordinary. Loads of different reasons why. From an acting point of view, there’s no part of you that isn’t being used. So you have to, first of all, have enormous physical stamina, because it’s nearly four hours long. Our version was three hours, 50 minutes. And you have to be a comedian, you have to be a soldier, you have to be a prince, you have to be the romantic hero, you have to be the sorrowful son, you have to understand the rhythm of the language, you have to be able to hit the back of the auditorium — there are just so many things about it that require all those muscles to be exercised. You know, it’s so funny that we’re talking about this today. Because at the beginning of Hamlet, it’s two months since his dad died. His mother has already remarried, to his uncle! What are they doing? I mean the idea that next month my dad might marry someone else is so extraordinary! So, Hamlet’s not mad. Of course he would wear black clothes and be a bit moody. The more interesting question [than whether or not Hamlet is mad] is, who was he before? I think he’s incredibly funny. It’s a really funny play, Hamlet. And it’s a funny play that deals in life and death: the undiscovered country from which no traveller returns. It’s about what it is to be human. And what it’s like to be human is funny, and sad. The language is so incredibly beautiful and it’s also incredibly actable. And it’s also a thriller.

And a ghost story. It’s supernatural.

It’s a supernatural ghost story. And because the character is so well-rounded, I always think of it like a vessel into which you can pour any actor or actress. So, your version, the bits you would respond to if you were playing Hamlet, would be completely different to mine or anyone else’s. It can embrace so many kinds of actors. So Richard Burton can play it or Ben Whishaw can play it or Ruth Negga can play it or I can play it, and it’s going to bring out completely different sides. Did you do much Shakespeare at school?

I did. I studied Hamlet.

I remember Mark Rylance said…

[The waiter arrives with our pies and we both take a moment to admire them before breaking the crusts… The following passages are occasionally hard to make out due to enthusiastic chewing.]

You were about to say something about Mark Rylance. I saw his Hamlet in… must have been 1989, when I was doing my A-levels. He did it in his pyjamas.

I’ve heard. He came to see [my] Hamlet. He said, you feel like you’re on a level with it, and then in week four, you plummet through the layers of the floor and you’re on a deeper level. He was exactly right. Something happens. It’s just got depth.

Does it change you? Do you learn something new about yourself, as an actor?

I think because it’s such a tall order for an actor, it’s sort of like you feel you can do anything after that. Like, at least this is not as hard as Hamlet. You know you have those muscles now. We transferred it from The Almeida on to the West End. So, we did it loads of times. That’s a big achievement.

How many times did you play him?

One hundred and fifty. Twice on a Wednesday, twice on a Saturday. Eight hours [on those days]. Even just for your voice, it’s a lot.

We keep coming back to theatre. Is that because you prefer it?

It goes directly into your veins. It’s pure. You start at the beginning of the story and you go through to the end. When you’re making a movie, it’s a different process. Your imagination is constantly interrupted. You do something for two minutes and then someone comes in and goes, “OK, now we’re going to do Alex’s close-up, so you go back to your trailer and we’re going to set up all the lights and make sure that window across the street is properly lit.” And that’s another 20 minutes, and then you try to get back into the conversation we’ve just been having… And so the impetus is a different one.

The Hot Priest…

What’s that?

Ha! I watched Fleabag again, last week. It’s so good. But The Hot Priest, he’s a coward. He gets a chance at happiness with the love of his life and he doesn’t take it.

Well, not to judge my character, but I suppose there’s an argument that he does choose love. He chooses God. That’s the great love of his life. Whatever his spirituality has given him, he has to choose that. Is there a way that they could have made that [relationship] work? Of course there is. We’re seeing it from Fleabag’s point of view, literally, so of course it feels awful [that Fleabag and the Priest can’t be together]. But I think we understand it, the thing that is not often represented on screen but which an awful lot of people have, which is the experience of having a massive connection with somebody, a real love, that doesn’t last forever. I think somebody watching that can think, “I have my version of that. And I know that I loved that person, but I also know why we couldn’t be together.” And that doesn’t mean those relationships are any less significant. It just means that they are impossible to make work on a practical level. Not all love stories end the same way.

Annie Hall.

There you go! La La Land. Love that movie.

The Hot Priest is damaged. There’s a darkness there. Journalists interviewing actors look at the body of work and try to find through lines that we can use to create a narrative. It’s often a false narrative, I know that. However, that’s what we’re here for! Let’s take Hamlet, and the Priest, and Adam from All of Us Strangers, and, I guess, Vanya himself, even Moriarty. These are not happy-go-lucky guys. Ripley! These men seem lost, lonely, sad. Is it ridiculous to suggest that there’s something in you that draws you to these characters — or is it a coincidence?

That’s a really good question. I think it can’t be a coincidence. Like, even when you said “happy-go-lucky”, right? My immediate instinct is to say, “Show me this happy-go-lucky person.” With a different prism on this person, there would be a part of him that’s not happy-go-lucky, because that’s the way human beings are. If we could think now of a part that’s the opposite of the kind of part [he typically plays], a happy-go-lucky character…

How about the kinds of roles that Hugh Grant plays in those rom-coms? Yeah, the character might be a little bit repressed, a bit awkward at first, but basically everything’s cool, then he meets a beautiful woman, it doesn’t work out for about five minutes, and then it does. The end.

[Chuckles] OK, yeah. I’d love to have a go at that.

Wouldn’t you like to do that?

I would! I really would.

Why haven’t you?

I don’t know! It’s weird. That is something I would really love to do. Because I love those films. There’s a joy to them. It’s something I would love to embrace now. When I was growing up, as a young actor, I did want to play the darkness. With Moriarty, I was like, “I’ve got this in me and I’d like to express it.” And, conversely, now I think the opposite. I know that’s a little bit ironic, given I’ve just played Tom Ripley. Ha! But I have just played it, and I have spent a lot of time in characters that are isolated. And I was in a play [Vanya] that was one person. I don’t feel sad doing those things. It’s cathartic. But I would love the idea of doing something different.

Also, you don’t strike me as a person who is especially morose.

No! No, no, no. I’m not. But again, we all contain multitudes. My mother’s legacy was so joyful. Not that she didn’t have her soulful moments, because of course she did. I mean this as the opposite of morbidity, but it doesn’t end well for any of us, it really doesn’t. So bathing in the murkier waters, it’s wonderful to be able to explore that side of you, but also the opposite is true, the idea of joy and fun and lightness is something I’m definitely interested in. Like a musical! I’d love to be in a musical. I’ve just done a cameo in a comedy that I can’t talk about yet. It was just a day, with someone I really love, and it just lifted me up. But of course, there’s the stuff that people associate you with, and that’s what brings you to the table.

You played a baddie really well, so you get more baddies.

Yeah. You have to be quite ferocious about that. You have to go, “Oh, wow, that really is a great film-maker, that’s a lovely opportunity…” But how much time do you have left and what do you want to put out to the world? I feel like I want to be able to manifest what I have within me now. That’s a wonderful thing to be able to do. It’s such a privilege. And I feel so grateful for the opportunities I’ve been given. But why not get out of the hay barn and play in the hay?

Ripley has been well received. Do you read reviews?

I read some of them.

Why?

I’m interested in the audience. You know when people say, “You should never care about what other people think?” Of course I care what people think.

Ripley is excellent, but it’s quite gruelling to watch. Was it gruelling to make?

Yeah.

Because you have to inhabit this deeply unhappy person?

Maybe not unhappy. But very isolated, I think that’s key. It was hard. There was a huge amount of actual acting. Doing 12-hour days for almost a year. I’m not necessarily convinced you should act that much.

Ripley is himself an actor. He puts on other people’s identities because he doesn’t like his own. He doesn’t like himself. Some people think actors are people who don’t like themselves so you pretend to be other people, assume other identities. Or maybe it’s that actors are hollow shells. When you’re not acting, there’s no one there. No you. Sorry to be rude.

No, it’s not rude at all. I totally understand it. But I find it to be completely the opposite of what I’ve learnt. The essence of acting, for me, the great catharsis of it, is that you’re not pretending to be somebody else, you’re exploring different sides of yourself. You’re going, who would I be in these circumstances? Some of the darkest, most unhappy people I know are the people who say, “I don’t have an angry bone in my body.” Then why do I feel so tense around you? People who have no anger… I remember I used to have it with some religious people when I was growing up. People proclaiming that they’re happy or good or kind, that does not necessarily mean that they are happy or good or kind. That’s the brand they’re selling. I’ve always liked that expression: “fame is the mask that eats into the face.” How do you keep a healthy life when you’re pretending to be other people? You do it by going, “I’m going to admit I have a dark side.” It’s much healthier to shout at a fictional character in a swimming pool [as Moriarty does in Sherlock] than it is to be rude to a waiter in a restaurant, in real life.

You find that therapeutic?

Yes, you’re still expressing that anger. I think it is therapeutic.

So playing Tom Ripley every day for a year, were you able to exorcise something, or work through something?

Well, that’s why I found Tom Ripley quite difficult. He’s hard to know, and a harder character to love. If you think of Adam in All of Us Strangers, you go, “OK, I understand what your pain is.” What I understand with Tom, the essence of that character, is that he’s somebody who has a big chasm that is unknowable, perhaps even to himself. We’re all a little bit like that, we’re all sometimes mysterious to ourselves — “I don’t know why I did that…” — but to have empathy for someone like that is difficult. You know the boy in your class who gets bullied, and it’s awful, and you try and understand it but he doesn’t make it easier for himself? That’s the way I feel about Tom Ripley. It’s a thorny relationship. Your first job as an actor is to advocate for the character. That’s why I hate him being described as a psychopath. Everyone else can say what they like about him, but I have to be like, ‘Maybe he’s just… hangry?’ So you have to try and empathise, try and understand. When we call people who do terrible things monsters — “This evil monster!” — I think that’s a way of absenting yourself from that darkness. Because it’s not a monster. It’s a human being that did this. You can’t look away from the fact that human beings, sometimes for completely unknowable reasons, do terrible things. And that’s why it’s interesting when people talk about Tom Ripley. They say, “Have you ever met a Tom Ripley type?” The reason the character is so enduring is because there’s Tom Ripley in all of us. That’s why we kind of want him to get away with it. That’s [Highsmith’s] singular achievement, I think.

I find reading the Ripley books quite unpleasant. It’s a world I really don’t want to spend any time in. I read two of them preparing for this. She’s a great writer, but they’re horrible characters; it’s a depressing world.

I agree. That’s what I found most challenging. Where is the beating heart here? How much time do I want to spend here? And when you do, well, it took its toll. It did make me question how much time I want to spend with that character, absolutely. That’s the truth.

The way you play him, he’s very controlled. You didn’t play him big.

I think it’s important to offer up difference facets of the character to the director and he chooses the ones he feels marry to his vision. And those are the ones [Steven Zaillian] chose. And he executed those expertly.

Are you a member of any clubs?

Yeah, I’m a member of the Mile High Club. No, no…

That’ll do nicely.

OK, that’s my answer.

What’s your earliest memory?

Do they still have, I think it’s called a play pen?

Sort of like tiny little jails for toddlers? What a good idea they were!

I remember being massively happy in it. My mother used to say she just used to fling me in that thing and give me random kitchen utensils. I don’t know, like a spoon. I’ve always been quite good in my own company. I really remember being left to my own imagination and being very happy.

Do you live alone now?

Yeah.

Is that not lonely?

Of course I’ve experienced that but, ultimately, no. I don’t know if that’s the way I’m going to be for the rest of my life. But I certainly don’t feel lonely. I’ve got so much love in my life.

Would it be OK if you lived alone for the rest of your life?

Yeah. It would be OK. One of my great heroes is Esther Perel.

I don’t know who that is.

Esther Perel. She’s a sort of love and relationships expert, a therapist, and she’s a writer. A real hero, I think you’d really dig her. She talks about relationships and the mythology around them. The difference between safety and freedom. She talks with real compassion about both men and women; she talks about this idea of what we think we want, and what we really want. And how there’s only one prototype for a successful life, really, or a successful relationship. Which is: you meet somebody, da-da-da, you fall in love, da-da-da, you have kids, da-da-da. And that prototype just can’t suit every person in the world. There are some people who live in the world who might see their partner every second Tuesday and that suits them. And to be able to understand and communicate your own preference at any given time is really the aim. To be able to say, “At the moment I’m happy in the way I am, but maybe at some point…” I’ve lived with people before, and maybe I will again, but at the moment it feels right to sort of keep it fluid.

The difficulty, of course, with relationships, is there’s another person with their own preferences. Maybe you’re OK with every second Tuesday, but they need Thursdays and Fridays, too…

But isn’t that the beauty of love? That you construct something, like a blanket. You stitch all these things together. One of the things about being gay and having a life that ultimately is slightly different from the majority of people’s, is you learn that you can create your own way of living, that is different and wonderful. A homosexual relationship doesn’t necessarily have to ape what a heterosexual relationship is. That’s a very important thing to acknowledge. I mean, of course, if you want to do that, that’s brilliant. But you don’t have to. To me, the worst thing is to be dishonest or uncommunicative or unhappy or joyless in a relationship. It’s much more important to be able to have a difficult conversation or a brave conversation about how you feel or what you want. So many of my gay friends, I feel very proud of them, really admiring of the fact we have these conversations. It seems very adult and very loving to be able to acknowledge that the difference between safety and freedom can be real torture for some people. How do I love somebody, and still keep my own sense of autonomy and adventure? That’s a real problem. That’s what Esther Perel says. It’s one of the biggest causes of the demise of a relationship. That people coast along, they can’t have that conversation, and then the whole bottom falls out of the boat.

I wasn’t necessarily going to ask you about being gay. One tries to avoid labelling you as “gay actor Andrew Scott” instead of “actor Andrew Scott, who happens to be gay”. But since we’re talking about it already: because you’re famous, you become a de facto spokesperson for gay people. People look to you for the “gay opinion.” Are you OK with that?

I’ll tell you my thoughts on that. If I talk about it in every interview, it sounds like I want to talk about it in every interview. And, of course, I’m asked about it in most interviews, so I’m going to answer it because I’m not ashamed of it. But sometimes I think the more progressive thing to do is what you’re saying: to not talk about it and hopefully for people to realise that if you had to go into work every single day and they said, “Hey, Alex! Still straight? How’s that going?”… I mean, being gay is not even particularly interesting, any more than being straight is. But I understand, and I’m happy to talk about it. I suppose it depends on the scenario. I just don’t want to ever give the impression that it isn’t a source of huge joy in my life. And at this stage in my life, rather than talk about how painful it might have been or the shame, or not getting cast in things [because of it], actually, I’m so proud of the fact that I’m able to play all these different parts and, hopefully, in some ways it demystifies it and makes people — not just gay people, but all people — go, “Oh, yeah, that’s great that it’s represented in the world, but being gay is not your number-one attribute.” The problem is it becomes your schtick. Frankly, I feel like I’ve got just a bit more to offer than that.

Two reasons I think you get asked about being gay. One is just prurience — you’re famous and we want to know who you’re shagging — and the other is that identity politics is such an obsession, and so polarising, and we hope you’ll say something controversial.

I think that’s right, I think that’s what it is. But sometimes people think there’s just one answer, in 15 characters or less. That’s something I resist, slightly.

All of Us Strangers is about loads of things, about grief, love, loneliness, but it’s also very specifically about being gay. To me, anyway.

Yes, it is.

I thought, in particular, that the scene with Claire Foy, where your character comes out to his mother, was incredibly moving.

Isn’t it extraordinary, though, that you, who is not a gay person, could find that so moving? There’s no way you’d find that moving if it was only about being gay. I always say that coming out has nothing to do with sex. When you’re talking to your parent, you’re not thinking, “Oh, this is making me feel a bit frisky.” Anyone can understand that this is about somebody who has something within them — in this case, it’s about sexuality — that he hopes is not going to be the reason that his parents don’t speak to him anymore. And I think we all have that: “I hope you still love me.” And the great pleasure about All of Us Strangers is that it’s reached not just a particular type of audience, but all types of people. And I love they’re able to market it to everyone. Usually they do this weird thing where they pretend the film’s not gay…

Right. There would be a picture of a woman on the poster.

Exactly. Someone who’s playing the neighbour! But now you’re able to market a film with Paul [Mescal] and I, and the fact is that that’s going to sell tickets. I know there’s a long way to go, but that is progression. Before, that wasn’t the case. This time, no one gave a fuck. Nothing bad happened. The world didn’t explode. Family didn’t collapse.

Identity politics question: there’s an opinion now frequently expressed that gay people ought to be played by gay actors, and so on. What are your thoughts on that?

The way I look at it, if somebody was to make a film about my life — it’d be quite a weird film — would I want only gay actors to be auditioned to play me? I would say that I’m more than my sexuality. But there might be another gay person who feels that’s incredibly important to who they are and how they would like to be represented on film. How do we balance that? I don’t know. I don’t have an easy answer on that. I think it’s a case-by-case thing.

You’ve played straight people and gay people. You’re Irish but you’ve played English people and American people. I would hope you would be able to continue doing that.

The question I suppose is opportunity, and who gets it. It was very frustrating to me, when I was growing up, that there were no gay actors.

Well, there were lots of gay actors…

But not “out” gay actors. Now there are more. Representation is so important. So I think it’s complicated, and nuanced. And talking about it in a general way rather than a specific way is not always helpful. It depends which film we are talking about. Which actor.

You were spared the curse of instant mega-fame, aged 22. Would you have handled that well?

No. I think all that scrutiny and opinion, it’s a lot. Now I’m able to look at a bad review or somebody saying something really horrible about the way I look, or even someone saying really nice things about that, and go [shrugs]. Before, when that happened, it was devastating. But I survived and it was fine, and I got another job and I was able to kiss someone at a disco, so… Whereas if you’re 22 and you don’t have that experience behind you, you go, “Oh, my God. This is horrible, what do I do?” And also, there’s much more scrutiny now, so much more. I think that must be really hard. Social media is a crazy thing, isn’t it?

I think it’s a horrible thing, on the whole.

That thing you were saying about cinema, about how it’s not natural to see yourself, or other people like that… The amount of information that we’re supposed to absorb and process? Wow. You wake up in the morning and you’re already looking at it.

They used to say that the fame of TV actors was of a different order because they are in your home. People felt they knew the stars of Coronation Street in a much more intimate way, while movie stars, Cary Grant or whoever, these were much more remote, almost mythical creatures. People who are famous on Instagram or TikTok are in the palm of your hand talking to you all day.

And it’s so interesting what people on social media choose to tell you about their lives, even when nobody’s asking them any questions. Like, is that person insane? It’s a very dangerous thing. I find it troubling.

Do you think things are getting better or are they getting worse?

That’s such a good question. I have to believe they’re getting better. I don’t know what that says about me.

It says you’re an optimist.

I think I am an optimist.

What’s the weirdest thing you’ve ever put in your mouth?

Fucking hell. Do you know what I don’t like? Any food that you don’t have to put any effort into eating.

Give me an example.

Custard.

Yes!

I don’t mind ice cream, because it’s got a bit of texture. But I don’t like mashed potato. I don’t like creamed potatoes, or creamed anything.

Risotto?

Absolutely borderline. So if it’s got a little bite to it, it’s OK. But baby food. Ugh! Makes me feel a bit sick.

What’s your favourite of your own body parts?

Ahahah! What do I like? What have we got? I don’t mind my nose? My eyes are OK. Like, my eyes are definitely expressive, God knows. Fucking hell. I remember I was in rehearsal once, and the director said, “Andrew, I just don’t know what you’re thinking.” And the whole company started to laugh. They were like “You don’t? What the fuck is wrong with you?” Because I think I’ve got quite a readable face.

Which is a tool for an actor, right?

It can be a tool for an actor. But you have to learn what your face does, as an actor. On film, your thoughts really are picked up.

What’s your favourite body part that belongs to someone else?

I like hands. And I like teeth. Someone with a nice smile.

Are you similar to your dad?

Yeah, I am. He’s pretty soft-natured, which I think I am, to a degree. He likes fun, too. And he likes people. He’s good at talking to people. He’s kind of sensitive, emotional. He’s a lovely man, a very dutiful dad to us, very loyal.

Would you miss the attention if your fame disappeared overnight?

I definitely think I would miss an audience, if that’s what you mean. The ability to tell a story in front of an audience, I’d miss that. Not to have that outlet.

Before you got famous, you were having a pretty decent career, working with good people, getting interesting parts. Would it have been OK to just carry on being that guy, under the radar?

Oh, my God, yes. Absolutely.

Would you have preferred that to the fame?

The thing is, what it affords you is the opportunity to be cast in really good stuff. You get better roles, particularly on screen. And I’m quite lucky. I have a manageable amount of fame, for the most part.

Some people are born for fame. They love it. They’re flowers to the sun. Others should never have become famous. They can’t handle it. You’ve found you’re OK with it.

Do you know what I feel? I feel, if I was in something I didn’t like, if I was getting lots of attention for something I didn’t feel was representative of me, I think I’d feel quite differently. I feel very relaxed, doing this interview with you today. I feel like, whatever you’re going to ask me, I would feel self-possessed enough to say, “Alex, do you mind if we don’t talk about that?”

Shall we leave it there, then?

Thank you. That was lovely.'

[emmy-dekarios-bg3]

Heart of the Weave - A Baldur’s Gate fanfiction

CHAPTER 13 - IS IT A BOY OR A GIRL?

As each day passes, strange sensations within the brain continue to haunt me, though they aren’t consistent. I wonder if it’s just paranoia or trauma, though the feelings are oddly familiar. The baby is due any day now and the excitement and fear of the birth intertwine with one another like a thread. My belly has grown like a weed and it’s become very heavy to walk around with, though the feeling is hard to explain in the best way possible. Gale has been teaching at Blackstaff and having to come up with magic assignments for his students, so he’s been pretty hard at work. Luckily, he will have a month-long break soon enough, I think in two weeks.

My body aches have been pretty intense, so I’ve been on bedrest. Luckily, a doctor from Baldur’s Gate has been sent here to Waterdeep and has been keeping tabs on me. A new hospital has finally opened up after the high demands (some of them coming from me), and I am excited. I was worried to death I would not have any prenatal or postnatal care, but also that our little one would not have the support he or she needs.

I get up from the bed, feeling every ache and pain throughout my body, and holy mother of the Gods, I just want it to end. I can hardly walk. I need Gale home as soon as possible, because today might be it.

“Take it easy, Emmy,” Tara says. “Don’t you move around too much if you don’t have to.” I groan as I try to take a few steps, but I’m so thirsty; I definitely haven’t been drinking enough.

“I just need…water…” I’m nearly running out of breath as I try to make my way into the kitchen. A contraction so strong suddenly takes over my body, and I hunch over in pain as my water begins to break. I stare at the floor in sheer panic, my eyes wide in fear. “I need Gale!” My voice carries a strong tone of agony as I beg for him to come home, tears streaming down my eyes as I fall to the floor.

“Oh, oh no! Um, Shadowheart is closer. I’ll go grab her and then when she makes it here, I’ll grab Gale. Oooh! How exciting but scary. I’ll be back quickly!” Tara flies out of the house as quickly as she can; so quick, in fact, I could hardly see her. The pain continues to radiate through my body like nothing I’ve ever felt before. Could it really be much worse than being shanked by a rogue or whacked with a battle axe? I begin to scream as the pain gets worse, hoping and praying that Gale will be here soon, though who knows how long it could take?

“Sȇlune, please… Guide me, heal me, help me…” The contractions get worse, feeling like intense cramps while being shanked in the stomach. Shadowheart bolts through the door after only about five minutes, which means Tara is on her way to get Gale. Shadowheart notices me on the kitchen floor writhing in pain and begging for help. My eyes are moving side to side, hoping for some sort of interference that can help me. My heart is racing and the world around me spins as I try to stay calm.

“Ssh, I’m here. I’m not quite sure what to do, but let me see. Astarion and Tara went to grab Gale.”

“Great news! Um. I don’t know how much longer the baby will stay in there… Shar’s BONES!” I scream. I’m surprised my shrieks haven’t broken any glass.

“I’ll need to remove your trousers.” I nod, unable to say another word. She removes my pants and I can feel the baby coming, and I’m hoping Gale doesn’t miss the birth, though I’m sure he could live without seeing any of this disastrous mess. I continue to search around the room, wondering if I can spot a shadow or reflection of Gale, but nothing so far.

Each minute that passes feels like a lifetime, but after about ten more minutes, my contractions start to die a little and I feel more at ease. I notice the front door swinging open, and here comes Gale flying through the door in panic. He’s trying to catch his breath as he rushes to me and holds my head with his strong hand.

“I’m here, I’m here,” he says, smiling at me with the same one that caused me to fall in love with him. That smile. He knows damn well his smile keeps me calm. “Shadowheart! Will you grab her pillow off the sofa please?”

“Will do.” Shadowheart grabs the red velvet pillow – my favorite pillow that has our wedding date embroidered in it – placing it underneath my head. Somehow, this helps, and I can’t explain why. Then again, I don’t think anyone wants to willingly lay their head on a wooden floor for long periods of time. “I hope this helps.”

“It does. Thank you,” I say, trying to catch my breath. The contractions continue again, only this time I feel the baby moving and attempting to make a rapid appearance. Gale’s eyes widen and while he has an expression of discomfort, I can see a particular glimmer in his eye; the reflection of our baby making earthside.

“Um, yeah, I’m going to hang outside with the handsome vampire man,” Tara says. “Good luck!”

After a solid hour of lying on the floor, our baby finally arrives. Gale brings the baby out, holding a tiny body in his hands. He smiles at our child, completely content as his eyes are glistening with happy tears as he welcomes him – or her – into the world. The little cries can be heard and they’re ever-so gentle and the sweetest sign that our little person is alive. We did it.

“Oh…my gosh…” I say, closing my eyes as I feel my body relax. “It’s finally over.” It’s as if my body went from a sharp, piercing pain throughout every crevice of my insides to a feeling of the soft float of a feather, every inch of me ascending into a feeling of numbness and peace. My mind feels relaxed, and my chills are gone. Is it asinine that I want to take a nap now?

“The most adorable…”

“Don’t leave us hanging, Gale. Is it a boy or a girl?” Shadowheart asks. I lean my head back from exhaustion and while I’m extremely fatigued, I feel a sense of clarity in my soul as I notice strings of the Weave floating around the room. I feel alive again and so incredible.

“It’s a girl,” Gale whispers. “Our beautiful girl. Oh, but you know what? We never discussed names.”

A baby girl. I never expected to have a daughter, but I’m thrilled. Ecstatic. Joyful. A part of us has entered this world, and I’m so excited to experience every second of her life as she flourishes and becomes her own person. Gale hands her to me, and I stare at her sleeping face as she yawns, her tiny body stretching as I hold her close. As I admire our daughter, Gale kisses the top of my head so delicately and brushes my sweaty hair out of my face. This is probably the most human I’ve felt in months; sweat dripping, exhaustion, but feeling whole.

“I’ll go get a washcloth to wipe her down. Once she’s clean, I’ll get her dressed. Shadowheart, could you help Emmy to our bed please?” Gale asks. She smiles and nods.

“Of course I will.”

It’s been a very long, intense morning but I survived it, like I always do. Baby girl has arrived. Despite everything, it was worth it. I finally get to lie in bed now with Gale by my side and our newborn on my chest, soaking in this beautiful moment that I will never get to experience again.

“I love you,” Gale says softly. His words bring chills across my body like a sweet song I can’t get enough of. I wish I could just press ‘repeat.’

“I love you too. So much.”

“I’m so thankful for you. If I ascended into Godhood or used the orb to kill myself at the Netherbrain, we wouldn’t be in this moment together. We wouldn’t have her.” As he speaks, I can hear his words shake, as if he’s trying to fight tears. As much as he tried, the tears won. I wipe the tear drops falling down his cheeks with my free hand, smiling at this man I call my husband.

“Gale. You always saw my potential. You made me feel good from the very moment we met. Giving up what we have would have killed me. I could never let you die.” He leans his head on mine, staring admirably at our daughter.

“I don’t deserve you.” His warm lips press against the side of my head, which is still sweaty but he doesn’t care. It’s like he said when we were on our adventures: “I rather enjoy your musk.” From that moment, I knew I loved him and everything about him.

“Why don’t we name her Jenevelle? You know, Shadowheart’s real name?”

“That’s perfect. Oh, Shadowheart will cry.” At that moment, I hear a small gasp from outside our door, and I just knew she was listening. I smile; without a doubt, she will cry.

It took some major adjusting over a course of a few days, but after about two weeks, both Gale and I seem to be doing just fine and our baby is on a schedule now. I nurse her every two hours, she naps every two hours, and she gets changed every two hours. She doesn’t even really wake up in the middle of the night except maybe once or twice. Unfortunately, I have to wake myself up to make sure she’s fed and clean.

We’re now ready to introduce her to our friends. Today, we have a plan to have our friends come visit and say hi to our new addition. I’m a little nervous about it, simply because no one other than Gale and I have held her yet. I need to quit being selfish over my newborn.

“I give it a few minutes before Karlach shows up,” I say. “You know she’s been dying to meet her.”

“Karlach can be heard from a mile away. I’m sure we’ll know before she’s even here,” Gale says, shaking his head but chuckling. “Oh Karlach.” It was at that very moment, we heard her voice and I almost want to believe we summoned her. She always did have great timing.

“I CAN’T WAIT!”

“Can you keep it down, Karlach? We aren’t even at the door yet,” Astarion says. “Lord knows their child is asleep and gets woken up by an overexcited tiefling.” I head for the door and open it before anyone has the chance to knock. Gale is holding Jenevelle, who is staring directly at him with her dark eyes. Her hair is long, thick and very dark, and you can definitely tell she’s our child.

“Come on in, everyone,” I say, smiling as the group begins to walk inside. They either must have all met up beforehand or they conveniently showed up at the same time. Karlach is so hyped, I’m wondering how she’s even able to contain herself. I assume the self-control is at a minimum.

“Oh. My. Gods,” Karlach whisper-yells. “Look at that baby.” Jenevelle coos, looking toward Karlach as she enters the room. Her bright crimson tiefling skin must be catching her attention. She doesn’t look afraid but rather interested in Karlach; it doesn’t help that she has the energy of a Golden Retriever.

“It seems she already has a fascination in you,” Gale says. “Would you like to hold her?” Karlach turns around with excitement to look at Wyll, who is laughing lightly at her frantic behavior.

“Don’t be nervous,” he tells her. “I know how excited you’ve been.” Gale gently hands Jenevelle over to Karlach, placing the baby in her arms. Another blessing of not having that old engine is that Karlach will now not light herself on fire when she’s excited or angry. Jenevelle looks up at her in admiration, her mouth shaped in a circle as if she’s about to say “oooo” as she focuses into her flaming orange eyes. Gale wraps his arm around my waist and pulls me gently toward him as we watch our child and Karlach exchange amused gazes. If parenthood is enjoying your baby being happily entertained by the presence of tieflings, then I’m glad I’m living in this moment. It’s been a ride so far.

“So, how is it going as parents? Are you two doing alright?” Halsin asks. “I imagine it’s been quite the adjustment, being first time parents and all.”

“It’s not bad,” Gale responds. “I introduced the Weave to the baby and it keeps her soothed. That’s been a blessing. We have her on a set schedule now, thank the stars.”

“You’re doing great. I can tell you are very protective and care so much about your little one. May the challenges stay at a minimum and health flourishes within all of you.” Karlach’s eyes get wide and she stares directly at both Gale and I, immediately handing Jenevelle back to Gale as she spontaneously yet clumsily makes her way off the couch.

“Here you go, Gale. Fireworks? LET’S GO!” She takes Wyll’s hand and off they go, bolting out to our front yard to set off fireworks. I can’t help but raise an eyebrow, for the sky isn’t even dark yet.

“Karlach, what – Oh…” Gale sighs, looking at our daughter with a crooked smile, then glares playfully at Karlach as she runs outside. “I guess I’m changing her. I’ll be back.”

“And I’ll get the grill started,” I say, laughing lightly. “I’ll get the next one.” I kiss Gale’s cheek as I run outside with the others, getting the grill ready for some fresh meat and delicious sides for dinner. We’re long overdue for a get-together, and it feels great to be around the people I adore. I just wish Lae’zel were here. Maybe soon. With the tadpoles gone and evil has vanished for the most part, it seems life is full of normalcy and, in Karlach’s case, extra excitement since she won’t burn places down to a crisp. The question still remains: How is Astarion able to stand out in the sun?

{find my fanfic on AO3 here 👇🏻}

[purplesimmer455]

The next morning, Sunday, Emily heads over to her friend Kiran's house in San Sequoia. Emily said hi to Kiran's parents, and then she and Kiran head to the rec center. "Want to play simbles?" Kiran asks, and Emily nods. Kiran sets up the game, smiling at Emily. "Get ready to lose, Em." They say. "Excuse me, Kir. I'm the simbles champion." Emily grumbles but she smiles at them, trying not to blush as Kiran gives her a mischievous smile. Emily's still crushing on Kiran, and Kiran feels the same about Emily.

They play for a bit, and Emily laughs as Kiran dramatically holds up a piece and pretends to slam it down while placing it gently. "Ha! Take that." They say, and Emily snorts before placing down her piece. "Remember the tv jingle for the 2010s simbles commerical?" She asks. Kiran nods, their eyes lighting up. "For parents, kids, and everyone, simbles are simply fun!" They sing off key but enthusiastically. "Exactly, it's been stuck in my head ever since I saw a simtube compilation of nostalgic ads." Kiran grins. "You're such a dork, Emmy." They say. "Hey! I was bored and it seemed fun." Emily says and Kiran smiles at her. "No, I get it. I watch 2000s bollywood songs compilations for the nostalgia* too." Kiran says, pushing their glasses back up their nose. "Of course you do." Emily teases her friend, and Kiran makes a face before laughing.

They finish the game, and take a walk around the lake. Emily glances shyly at Kiran from time to time, and Kiran glances at Emily too, blushing and looking away when Emily catches them looking once. "I can't wait til I'm 13 too." Emily adds to Kiran. "You turned 13 this month, and so did Sara and Bilal and so many people from our class." Kiran grins. "Honestly, it feels the same as being 12.” They say. "I know, but I can't wait to be older and my moms can let me go to places by myself and watch pg-13 movies and dye my hair purple. It feels like March 25th can't come soon enough." Emily adds, grinning. "Take it from a wise older person, Emmy, it is not worth it to age up too quickly." Kiran jokes, trying to emulate like their grandma’s accent (a pleasant mix of Simlish and Indian**). "That's why my nani, my grandma on my mom's side, says. She says I should enjoy life now when I'm living at home and a kid which I guess I get." They add, and Emily nods. "My Po Po, my grandma on my mom’s side, says the same, she's always joking that she's old as heck and I'll be like her one day but for now just enjoy life as much as I can." She says, grinning. "So both our grandmas are the same." Kiran says, and Emily nods. "Yup." She says, stopping with Kiran as they take a break, and taking out an apple from her bag to eat as Kiran looks at some birds using their binoculars.

[stolencrownsofplenty]

@dcynight

"Emmyyyy!!!" Sun tried his best to announce his arrival this time instead of just jumping up in the poor lamb's face like the last... Several times... He was learning! Slowly-- But nonetheless, his voice rings out for only a moment, before he hops over to them with something in his hands. "I made you something today during arts and crafts time!!! Look look!" Once he was in front of the other, he proudly held out some kind of paper crown for them. "We were making hats and crowns and- I thought you'd look really pretty in a crown!! So I put lots of glitter on it, and these little plastic jewels and- and-- Do you like it???"

For his attempt at considering on drawing their attention first, their ears easily perked up at his energetic declaration, they recognize his call with the following whirl to turn towards him upon their stage. Always often did the entrance door to their theater had normally been a bit slow to alert them by several seconds behind whenever someone came walking in; an old feature the company never gotten around to updating since their installment (and one of these days they might have to fix it themselves upon the other piling tasks for the hours ahead). Yet alongside the repetitive ding that tickled against their heightened nerves, the familiar light jingles of the solar bot's bells were quick enough to catch all of the sheep's undivided attention this time around.

In that the instant they jumped from their stage to meet the other upon the ground floor, their focus is clearly caught the moment Sun proudly presented them with a newfound gift. Their eyebrows raise with a dash of surprise, their eyes seeming to light up from underneath the orange flares of their curly bangs. During all of their time being spent in this pizzaplex, where they often had to interact with all sorts of characters that came and went, and sometimes to never return despite all their best efforts to draw people in, they could not recall upon the vastness of their memory ever receiving a genuine gift from another being; much less even from the children they often looked after in all their work. Their motors clicked and whirred, their processors being slow to take in the delicate paper creation that'd been quickly placed into their hard hands. The Lamb's tail flicks, their brows now drawn together and furrowed. Emmy leans in and takes a cautious sniff at the faint scent of mildly sweet glue.

Upon their hooved fingers there sat a crown made of yellow construction paper, cartoonishly cut in the shape of a jagged rays similar to that of Sun's plastic triangles. Various colors of the tiny plastic jewels children often liked to play with cling to its tipped spikes, shining just a tad underneath the overhanging theater lights. The shining golden glitter only complimented the strange beauty of the daycare attendant's creation, even if some of it swiftly stuck to their wool near their wrists the moment it came into contact with them. Despite how crude it must've looked to some degree, Emmy couldn't help the long awaited smile that took to slowly form upon their features. However how small these gesture might've been coming from the openly friendly Sun, Emmy couldn't help the gentle flutter of their heart swelling a tad at this sudden warm gesture.

In one quick moment with a hearty laugh that rumbled out from their chest, the smaller sheep swiftly embraces the other in a near tight rib-breaking bear hug (while taking extra care to not crush their first ever present in the process). Their tail is sent a wagging in rapid fashion. In their swift burst of energy, Emmy bumps foreheads with the other in an affectionate attempt at a friendly headbutt. It could not be helped that they were feeling every types of their programming overloading with their senses of joy. "Rahaaha!" Their joyously laugh fills the room with its welcoming air.

"Do I like it? Like it??" They lift the other up into a off balancing spin before dragging the other down to the ground with them in their clumsy fall. "I absolutely just adore it, my friend!" They laugh. "We definitely need to show this off during one of our shows today, and I know the kids are going to LOOOOVE it as much as I do. Haha!"

[angelbellelc2]

I'm finally done with Azran Legacy which means I completed the prequel trilogy. Azran Legacy was shorter than Miracle Mask which was something that I was hoping it wasn't. Even though it was shorter than it's predecessors in chapters I still enjoyed the story. Learning about Aurora as a character and how she bonded with the others got me attached to her dynamics with everyone. It was nice to see how she grew close to everyone but then at the end watch her go.

Seeing Luke cry for her as she begins to fade away was really heart breaking. Another thing besides from Aurora is Emmy who ended up leaving our puzzle duo at the end. I really enjoy her dynamic between herself with Professor Layton and Luke as she added something special making it feel like the three of them as a family of sorts. I watched the episode that had Luke with Emmy where he didn't want her to leave as he didn't understand why. Poor Luke loosing people he care about so close after one another.

One last thing is that if Descole ever comes back he should reconcile with his brother. It would be a wonderful thing thing to see Professor Layton and Descole being together as both brothers and fellow archeologists.

I'm now working on the original trilogy starting with Curious Village. I haven't fully played either Curious Village or Pandora's box so I have more to catch up on.

[cocoapeaches]

merry-men

i. bill withers and earthquakes

When her head hit the end of the bunk bed roughly, it meant either of two things. A) a monster had decided to say hi in the middle of the night, trying against all odds to break through the barrier around camp or B) one of her siblings was seconds away from clashing two bronze plates near her ear as a 'wake-up' call. 

Emmie didn't know which was better.

A soft pillow was smothered against her face, and she was smacked with it twice. "Gods, get up, you snoring pig!" 

Emi blinked to clear her hazy vision. A multitude of groans rang out in the dark and the faint buzzing, like that of radio static, grew louder until she could distinctly recognize Lovely Day covered by her father playing in her mind. 

"Bill Withers?" Victoria shrieked. "That man has no taste! Zero, zip, nada!"

You are a daughter of Apollo, they said. It'd be fun, they said. 

See, that was the catch about having Mr. Sunshine as a dad, they did not have a choice to wake up with the Sun. Either that or bleeding from your ears. Most preferred the former.

Will had beaten Yan to the bathroom and peeked his head out with a toothbrush stuck in his mouth, mumbling, "Be grateful it wasn't a sonnet. I don't think I'll ever recover from the last one."

Ah, the one with the naked grandmas having bird poop for hair.

It was still dark when Emmie stepped outside, knowing full well that she would not get a chance to freshen up before all twelve of her siblings had. Pulling the zipper of her jumper down, she took a deep breath.

For all the chaos the campers created in broad daylight which lasted till a couple of hours into midnight, the quiet camp was eerie in a sense. No Hermes kids looking for trouble, no Aphrodite children tweaking the campers' appearances for the summer. Not even the Ares kids had energy to pick fights this early.

A chime from her wristwatch pulled her out of her trance. May Fifteenth aka beginning of stress month for Chiron and Mr. D. It marked the start of week when the handful of demigods who went home after summer's end started arriving. Year rounders like Emmie looked forward to the day, too, eagerly awaiting their friends, siblings and all sorts of gossips they carried with them. It was their only link to the outside world, especially for the less experienced fighters and the young ones—she was also lumped in that category—who were not allowed past the border.

The last time she had stepped outside was when Aunt Calliope had taken her to meet her newborn brother—her half-sibling. As if there weren't enough of those already.

Someone whistled behind her. "Your turn", Austin called out.

Kayla was yelling at a smirking Felicity, threatening the older girl with a strangely lavender shampoo bottle, when Emmie went back inside. "You did it! And don't you dare deny it, Felicity Jake! I see right through you. You purposefully went before me and swapped the shampoo with the dye!" Oh, yeah, Kayla's hair was blue instead of the normal ginger with green highlights.

Felicity sat on her bed, arms behind her to support her weight. "Oh, come on. Blue suits you. Alright, watch this. Everybody who agrees raise their hand up!" More than ten hands shot up. Kayla grumbled but didn't argue."

"Hey, who's in-charge of which cabin again?" Emmie asked. She took her bathrobe and the coconut-scented soap from the toiletry cabinet, stepping into the foggy shower.

Lee scrambled for his list that they referred to as their version of 'chore distribution'. "Let's see. . .Vic with the Aphrodite bunch, Jerry with Demeter, Ellis gets Hephaestus, Emmie you'll handle Hermes and Gracie gets Athena."

The remaining paled while the already chose ones cheered. "And I'm proud to introduce today's victims—Michael and Tessa. Apologies in advance, my dear siblings. You tackle the Ares kids."

Safe to say, the two had some choice words to hurl at their Head Counselor.

It was sort of an unspoken rule for the occupants of Cabin 7 to wake up the rest of the campers. Albeit without a choice, they woke with the Sun and some crazy sibling of Emmie's from possibly decades ago had decided to sentence them all to being human alarm clocks. Too tired to argue, having spent majority of the night flipping through a new find from the library—an adventure following a poorly mixed crew of six who attempted and succeeded in breaking into some super-jail for witches—Emmie walked up to the Hermes cabin without putting up much of a fight.

From there on, it was a routine job. She flipped over the 'Not you again!' doormat and dragged out the silver master-key. The lights were off when she managed to get in. For being children of the literal god of thieves, they weren't very good at countermeasures. Tiptoeing past the lengthy rows of snoring sleeping-bags, she took the vinyl she had carried and placed it on the player.

Gangnam Style blasted out.

"Who the fuck?!"

From her perch on the wooden dresser pushed against the far corner of the cabin, Emmie smirked. "Good morning to you too, cousins."

--------

"Morning, Emmie", Luke mussed up her hair as he exited the Hermes cabin with his siblings and too many unclaimed or children of minor gods and goddesses in tow. "Don't be late for practice later."

"Aye, captain." She smiled up at him, imitating a nymph. Her eyes were fixed on the two astonishingly similar individuals for not being twins. They caught her eye and gestured toward the secluded area behind the Zeus cabin. "Did you get it?" she asked once they were out of the others' earshot.

The Stolls smirked in unison and Travis fished out an obnoxious pink snow-globe from his pocket. "Top quality product. One smell and you'll be bleaching your nose for the rest of the week."

She shrugged, passing them a ten-dollar bill. When she went to pat her pocket, it was empty. Narrowing her gaze, she tried to snatch back her wallet only for Travis to hold it up higher. Curse him and his ridiculous height. If only she had a heckin' ladder. "Give it back boys."

"For another ten, sure", Connor replied, scouring through the worn-out leather item and dropped it in her hand. Emmie huffed, pocketing it and followed them to the dining pavilion.

Breakfast was always something everybody looked forward to. With the plates spawning every kind of food someone craved, the aroma mingled to form a mouth-watering scent.

Emmie slipped in to sit beside Kayla who was seated at the end of the table, opposite to Lee. The now bluenette quirked a brow but did not question her tardiness.

Their older brother, however, noticed. "And where have you been, Parker?"

Emmie hung her head and shoved a piece of bacon in her mouth after dumping her offering into the hearth alongside a quick prayer. "Tending to some business."

"What business?" Instead of letting the matter drop, he prodded further. "I don't suppose it's got something to do with the huge ball in your pocket?"

Victoria gasped, clamping her palms over Will's ears with mock exasperation. "Mind your tongue, Fletcher. There are kids present!"

Will snorted. "I'm seven, not stupid."

"I did not mean it like that!" Emmie cackled with the rest of her siblings while Victoria continued riling Lee up.

Finally, Michael sighed and tapped the tabletop thrice. "Alright, gutter rats. Some of us are trying to eat h—" He smiled, pursing his lips. Victoria giggled and all hell broke loose. Soon, everyone was guffawing, chuckling or laughing like a maniac. "Not a word."

Camp Half-Blood was like summer camp that lasted for a whole year. Naturally, teenagers with ADHD needed a lot more than food and familiar faces to keep them occupied. That's where the activities came into play. From climbing-walls with dual modes to simple old school arts and crafts, every day was filled to the brim with recreational activities.

The last time she tagged along to deliver strawberries to the local market, Emmie had experienced a massive culture shock. Most kids her age were glued to a screen for the better part of their day while she barely knew how to work one. Chiron claimed they were like magnets to monsters and demigods were better off without them.

First came 'Sword and Sheild' with Clarisse La Rue. Let's face it, Emmie sucked at it, and the big and daunting daughter of Aeres made sure to drill it into her head with "You cannot leave your left side vulnerable like that! ", "The shield is there for a reason, Parker, use it!" and "What part of 'dodge and hit' do you not understand?!"

Emmie worked best with a bow, even better if it was a crossbow. As such, archery with Chiron went nice and smooth. No hollering mentors and no threat of being hanged upside-down by her ankles looming over her.

By the time she had made it past horseback riding with the Demeter cabin, her arms felt ready to fall off. 

Luke greeted them with a large bone-like object that looked like it could very well belong to a megalodon as the sluggish swarm filed into the arena once more for Monster Assault Technique class. "Can anybody guess what today's topic is?"

Annabeth's arm was up in the air before Emmie could get herself seated in the very back of the class with Valentina. "That's an Ethiopian Drakon's tooth. They are known for their deadly claws and can be traced rather easily by their feeding habits."

Luke smiled, setting the tooth down on the low table with a missing led that he had snagged from the store. "Very good. Annabeth's right." The blonde daughter of Athena gave a pleased hum and Valentina chuckled. Apparently, her 'love senses' were acting up again.

"Today we'll be covering Ethiopian dragons. Now, our good ol' Director wants a five-page essay on this topic so I will humbly suggest that those who think being here is a waste of time, please pay attention. Clovis, buddy, your pillow should've stayed in your bed. Can someone sprinkle some water on his face? Yeah, thanks, Katie."

--------

Emmie had almost made it up to the Big House without drawing unwanted attention to herself. If only the Stolls has mentioned that the bomb needed a trigger and that being a drop of wine. And the only place one would keep alchohol - besides the infirmiry - amidst a bunch of impulsive teens was inside a cabinet in the baby blue HQ.

"Emmie? I thought lights out was an hour ago. What are you doing up?"

She jumped, clutching the front of her t-shirt. "And I hoped you would be asleep, Mister Chiron. But we don't always get what we want, do we?"

"Luke gave me a heads-up about the Stolls and Valentina dropped by earlier to reveal your scheme. Now, go back to bed."

Emmie sighed, clenching her fists. "Those two will get it in the morning."

Chiron smiled knowingly. "So will you. Expect extra tasks tomorrow. Off you go."

"Dang it!"

Before she made to leave, Emmie caught sight of the resident God of wine and lunacy who was sound asleep on the recliner, a goblet tipped over his stomach. "Mr. Chiron, can I head to the kitchens? I can do with a late-night snack."

He seemed to contemplate it. Big mistake, Mr. Chiron. "Yes but bed immediately after. I can barely deal with one sleep-deprived powerhouse, two is pushing it."

"Okay. Good night, Mr. Chiron."

Just as her hand grasped the doorknob, thunder rumbled in the distance, sending tremors through the ground.

Usually, the weather in camp was always pleasant. Therefore, when it came to sudden thunderstorms, it could only mean one thing.

Zeus was throwing another temper tantrum.

But judging by the look on Chiron's face, it was a lot deeper than that. She followed the Director out into the night.

"Did something hit the barrier?" Emmie asked as they hiked down the hill and towards the entrance. "What in Holy Hera is that!"

Down on the ground, a boy about her age was lying unconscious, one arm wrapped around Grover the satyr and the other clutching a huge bull's horn close to his chest. Chiron ran to them and pressed his fingers under the boy's nose. "Alive."

Emmie felt the sinking feeling dissipate before noticing the trail of blood that went down the boy's face. "We need to get them to the infirmary!" Chiron seemed to agree as he slung the two on his back effortlessly and away he went.

"Well, scoot." Chiron laid the raven-haired boy one of the beds while she took her place on a stool beside the bedframe. Drawing a long breath, she started a slow hymn to Apollo, hovering her hand over the boy's chest. Looking closely, it was no doubt he was a demigod - tanned skin with a fluff of jet black hair and sharp features. He was fairly good looking, better than half the camp's boys even.

But who's kid? Hopefully not Dad's, that would just be weird.

Soon, the wounds on the boy's face and arms began to glow faintly and disintegrated into mended skin.

Emmie looked up at the centaur who was totally lost in thought. "You're hiding something", she said. It came out stingier than she intended but Chiron's attention was gathered all the same. "Who is he?"

Chiron frowned but did not answer directly. "Emersyn, I want you to keep tonight's ordeal to yourself. If anybody asks, let me handle the talking." He paused to glance at the knocked-out ravenette. "He can turn out to be a crucial part in deciding where demigods stand today."

Well, geez. That was very informative.

Emmie had finished her healing and turned her stool to face Chiron. She had just registered the newbie demigod's spoil of war and couldn't help imagining how he had ripped it off. "That's Minotaur's horn. Did this kid really beat him?"

And got tossed around like fried rice in a wok, she guessed by his wounds.

"Likely. Can I take your word for it? That you will keep this between the two of us?"

That you will co-operate, went unsaid.

Emmie studied Chiron's features intently, noticing every frown line on his face. The man was as older as the camp itself and no doubt he had much to worry about. She decided against messing with him anymore.

Emmie disliked being stuck on a puzzle as much as she hated quick and breezy games. Perceus Jackson was the former in the category. After hushed agreements and exhausted goodbyes, Emmie stayed back in the infirmary, feeding nectar and ambrosia cubes to Grover before returning to the cabin. It would be morning in a little while anyway.

As she lay wide awake, twisting and turning in his sleeping bag and listening to the cicadas chirping outside, Emmie felt intrigued if anything.

Maybe this summer would not be as uneventful as the last. Perhaps she would annoy Clarisse into a re-match on the lava wall tomorrow.  

Maybe, maybe. . .there were endless possibilities.

[withsunlight]

the bar was just a short walk away from the philosophy building after class --- close enough to stumble to ( or from ), but far enough away from the campus where they couldn’t get in too much trouble for being the place students tended to flock to most nights of the week. tonight’s meant to be a celebration; a release --- finals officially completed, and a class content to never have to worry again about the intricacies of transcendentalism ... until the spring semester starts up.

most would probably find it difficult to carry on a conversation with everyone else around them buzzing with the prospect of a few weeks off for the holidays, or the possibility of moving to a second bar after this one --- but somehow they’ve managed. ( choosing to cozy up together in one of the booths away from the main bar helps — having his arm draped around her so all either of them have to do is lean in ever - so - slightly to find the other’s ear when they do talk helps even more. ) they might be here in the spirit of comradery with the rest of their classmates, but at least for emmy, it feels like it’s just the two of them.

@withdread / "i hope if everyone leaves ,  you choose to stay ."

it’s still fairly early by college standards — there’s barely been a chance for a third round of quarter - bought pitchers of watered down beer to make their way around and ( re ) filling up glasses, but she can’t blame him for already looking forward to the end of this part of the evening.

staying out late tonight wasn’t an issue for her; she certainly didn’t have anywhere to be the next day, or the one after that. she’d be staying state - side for the winter break this year, the compromise being her promising to come home for a few weeks in the summer instead when there’s better weather. ( by british standards ... which really means summer rain instead of the winter kind. and while london all done up for christmas is something out of a postcard, there’s someone else doing a fine job of keeping her attention here instead. ) but stephen’s watch would be going off soon enough for that last bus back, and based on the continued enthusiasm of some of their classmates, waiting the lot of them out seemed like quite the task, and the probability of a bus missed.

“or, maybe we beat the rush,” an eyebrow piques conspiratorially to match her grin as she tips back her glass for the last sip of cheap beer, the sleeve of her shirt stretched over the meat of her palm blotting idly at the corner of her mouth when she sets the glass back down onto the overly lacquered table. “what if," she leans back, her forehead resting against the angle of his jaw. “we go, instead? five minute walk back to my apartment, much less shouting... and you won’t have to worry about catching your bus if you don’t want to.”