#Amsterdam fashion week
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Max Zara Sterck
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Countess Eloise of Orange-Nassau poses for a picture as she attends the Amsterdam Fashion week 2023 in Amsterdam, Netherlands -August 31st 2023.
📷 : Olivia Witmond.
#countess eloise#dutch royal family#netherlands#2023#september 2023#amsterdam fashion week#amsterdam fashion week 2023#royal children#my edit
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Aisha Musse January 2022
Photographer Nikola Lamburov
Fashion Editor/Stylist Sebastiaan van Heusden
Source
#newest cool#newestcool#adidas#balaclava#balaclavas#headcover#headpiece#Aisha musse#somali#somali model#dutch model#dutch fashion#fashion editorial#Amsterdam fashion week#nikola lamburov#Adidas knitwear#Adidas x
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Day 1 of Amsterdam Fashion Week, and there's...nothing of interest to report.
In other words, the photo examples are slim to nonexistent, and what I saw didn't really excite or interest me yet.
Still...this is the first day, after all, so hopefully I can warm up to this over time.
Somehow.
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instagram
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AdelMamish
The most beautiful boots in the world.
This year I participated in Paris Fashion Week and the Diversity Fashion Show in Amsterdam.
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n 8th February 2021 the outgoing government apologized the children that has been kidnapped through an illegal adoption. I am one of the victims who was kidnapped in 1984 while staying with my family in Haiti for 2 years. My autobiography “Thriller betrayal” and “Thriller the dark side of the Netherlands”. #booktok #michaeljackson #english #france #spanish #chinese #bookrecommendations #portuguese #transition #dutch #german #ebook #paperback #bookworm #artist #god #humanity #me #children
#bookseries#bookcovers#americanmedia#american#paris fashion week#books#amsterdam#rockwithyou#rome#spain#bookreviews#bookclub#bookrecommendations#book#bookworm#lifequotes#lifestyle
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On Boxing Day pro-Palestine demonstrators met customers at the Zara sale in the Westfield shopping centre, in Stratford, east London. They were not there to wish them the compliments of the season.
‘Bombs are dropping while you’re shopping,’ they chanted, as police stood by to make sure the protests did not turn violent. ‘Zara is enabling genocide,’ their placards read.
Quite what they wanted bargain hunters to do about the Israeli forces bombing the Gaza Strip, they never said. Lobby their MPs? Politicians are on their Christmas holidays. Join the Palestinian armed struggle? It was unclear whether the shopping centre had a Hamas recruitment office.
But on one point the demonstrators were certain: no one should be buying from Zara. Even though the fashion chain has not encouraged Israel’s war against Hamas, earned income from it, or supported Israel in any material way, it was nevertheless “exploiting a genocide and commodifying Palestine's pain for profit”.
Zara, in short, has become the object of a paranoid fantasy: a QAnon conspiracy theory for the postcolonial left.
The Zara conspiracy is an entirely modern phenomenon. It has no original author. Antisemitic Russians sat down and wrote the Protocols of the Elders of Zion in the early 20th century. There was an actual “Q” behind the QAnon conspiracy: a far-right activist who first appeared on 4chan message boards in 2017 to claim that a cabal of child abusers was conspiring against Donald Trump.
The Zara conspiracy was mass produced by social media users: an example of the madness of crowds rather than their supposed wisdom. The cause of the descent into hysteria was bizarre.
In early December Zara launched an advertising campaign featuring the model Kristen McMenamy wearing its latest collection in a sculptor’s studio. It clearly was a studio, by the way, and not a war zone in southern Israel or Gaza. McMenamy carried a mannequin wrapped in white fabric. The cry went up that the Spanish company was exploiting the suffering of Palestinians and that the mannequin was meant to represent a victim of Israeli aggression wrapped in a shroud.
The accusation was insane. No one in the photo shoot resembled a soldier or a casualty of war. Anyone who thought for 30 seconds before resorting to social media would have known that global brands plan their advertising campaigns months in advance.
Zara said the campaign presented “a series of images of unfinished sculptures in a sculptor’s studio and was created with the sole purpose of showcasing craft-made garments in an artistic context”. The idea for the studio setting was conceived in July. The photo shoot was in September, weeks before the Hamas assault on Israel on 7 October.
No one cared. Melanie Elturk, the CEO of fashion brand Haute Hijab, said of the campaign, ‘this is sick. What kind of sick, twisted, and sadistic images am I looking at?’ #BoycottZara trended on Twitter, as users said that Zara was ‘utterly shameful and disgraceful”’.
To justify their condemnations, activists developed ever-weirder theories. A piece of cardboard in the photoshoot was meant to be a map of Israel/Palestine turned upside down. Because a Zara executive had once invited an extreme right-wing Israeli politician to a meeting, the whole company was damned.
Astonishingly, or maybe not so astonishingly to anyone who follows online manias, the fake accusations worked. Zara stores in Glasgow, Toronto. Hanover, Melbourne and Amsterdam were targeted.
What on earth could Zara do? PR specialists normally say that the worst type of apology is the non-apology apology, when a public figure or institution shows no remorse, but instead says that they are sorry that people are offended. Yet Zara had not sought to trivialize or profit from the war so what else could it do but offer a non-apology apology? The company duly said it was sorry that people were upset.
“Unfortunately, some customers felt offended by these images, which have now been removed, and saw in them something far from what was intended when they were created,” it said on 13 December, and pulled the advertising campaign
That was two-weeks ago and yet still the protests in Zara stores continue. On 23 December activists targeted Zara on Oxford Street chanting , 'Zara, Zara, you can't hide, stop supporting genocide', even though Zara was not, in fact, supporting genocide. On Boxing Day, they were at the Stratford shopping centre.
Zara has apologised for an offence it did not commit. There is no way that any serious person can believe the charges against it. And yet believe them the protestors do. Or at the very least they pretend to believe for the sake of keeping in with their allies.
Maybe nothing will come of the protests. One could have argued in 2017, after all, that QAnon was essentially simple-minded people living out their fantasies online. Certainly, every sane American knew that there was no clique of paedophiles running the Democrat party, but where was the harm in the conspiracy theory?
Then QAnon supporters stormed the US capitol in January 2021. Will the same story play out from the Gaza protests? As far as I can tell, no one on the left is challenging the paranoia. I have yet to see the fact-checkers of the BBC and Channel 4 warning about the fake news on the left with anything like the gusto with which they treat its counterparts on the right.
To be fair, the scale of disinformation around the Gaza war is off the charts, and it is impossible to chase down every lie. But when fake news goes from online fantasies to real world protests, from 4chan to the Capitol, from Twitter to the Westfield shopping centre, it’s worth taking notice.
Sensible supporters of a Palestinian state ought to be the most concerned. No one apart from fascists, Islamists and far leftists believes that Israel should not defend itself. And yet the scale of its military action in Gaza is outraging world opinion. Mainstream politicians, who might one day put pressure on Israel, remain very wary about reflecting the anger on the streets.
They look at the insane conspiracy theories on the western left and see them as no different from the insane conspiracy theories that motivate Hamas, and they back away.
The Palestinians need many things: an end to the Netanyahu government, and an end to Hamas. But they could also use allies in the West who do not discredit their cause with dark, gibbering fantasies.
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small acts | dr3
this was written while listening to zach bryan's new album hence the title "small acts" after track smaller acts... this is an entirely self-indulgent fic focused on comfort and cute after the news of today's crash and daniel's injury :( i hope he's recovering well and as quick (and safely) as possible
check out the end for a little instagram au <3
summary: helping daniel after an injury (and making sure everyone knows that, yes, he's still alive) (1.8k words)
warnings: none really, dutch gp crash, mentions of broken bones and x-rays, sex jokes but no sex
The week had been going too well — perfect weather in Amsterdam, no issues on flights, a date lined up for after the race, an extra day to explore the city together. I should have known something was bound to interrupt the weekend with luck like Daniel’s and mine. It’s like I watch the incident in slow motion. The orange car I was still having to remind myself wasn’t him skidding into the wall and resting right at the racing line Daniel is taking. I watch, knowing he is too close to clear it, and my stomach falls as he veers into the wall, narrowly avoiding the car only a few meters away from him. The impact is harder than I anticipate, but his voice over the radio makes me hold the headphones tighter against my ear.
He’s hurt. My heart aches as he apologizes to the team, explaining he saw the McLaren too late, but I hear how his breath is sharp through his nose. I look to his trainer, my frantic eyes must give something away, and he heads toward Daniel’s race engineer in the garage. There’s silence on the radio besides Daniel’s labored breathing, and his race engineer looks to me, following his trainer’s pointed finger. He begins again.
“Are you okay?”
The hesitation feels like it lasts forever, but when Daniel answers, my stomach drops.
“Fuck, my hand,” he says, and in the corner of my eye, I see his onboard footage as his ungloved hand shakes. “Fuck.”
I tug the headphones off my ears, pinching between my brows and attempting to calm the nerves in my stomach. It’s not long before I’m whisked away from the garage to the medical center, and race staff escorts me into the center where Daniel sits. A doctor prods at his hand as he discusses exactly what happened, and when I walk into the room, he looks to me with a soft smile, “Hey.”
My heart tugs as he sucks in a sharp breath when the doctor’s hands touch a particular part of his hand, and I head toward the chair next to where he’s seated. I sit, brushing his knee with mine as I smile back, “How are you feeling? Honestly?”
Another sharp inhale as the doctor lifts one of his fingers, “Pretty fucking bad. Better now that you’re here, though.”
Even the doctor chuckles at his shameless flirting, and I roll my eyes with a laugh. He reaches his free hand toward me, lacing our fingers and squeezing my hand, “Thank you for coming, babe.”
I nod my head, squeezing his uninjured hand back in return. It’s comfortable — our fingers interlaced and my thumb tracing the delicate bones in the back of his hand — and we sit in this silence as the doctor continues his evaluation. It’s not long before he fashions a sling around Daniel’s neck, our hands separating so he can work, placing his injured hand carefully in it. When he directs Daniel to visit the local hospital for x-rays, the injured driver lets out a groan as he mutters an are you serious? We thank the doctor who wishes him well as he goes to inform the AlphaTauri staff and Daniel’s immediate team. I reach for his free hand, finding comfort in his warm palm against mine.
“You had me scared, you know,” I say quietly, thumb rubbing along his hand. “It looked like a hard impact, and I could hear you breathing over the radio. I knew something was wrong.”
“I’m sorry,” he whispers, kissing the top of my head before standing from the exam table. “I didn’t think it was that bad until I tried to get out of the car. What if it’s broken?”
“We’ll figure it out,” I answer, bringing our entwined hands up to kiss the back of his. “We always do.”
It’s a long afternoon. They load Daniel, myself and his immediate team into the car bound for the hospital, and with another round of doctors poking and prodding and Daniel sharing everything, they take him for x-rays to confirm his suspicion. Broken, the doctor says, metacarpal four. I sit with him as they put a cast on him, hiding some of my favorite tattoos of his from my sight. He makes jokes about it as they do, searching for some humor as Blake calls the team to confirm he won’t be able to race the rest of the weekend. With his hand in a cast and a real immobilizer on his arm, we’re left alone in the room. He still has his race overalls around his waist, his team polo on and fireproofs cut up and long forgotten in the corner of the room.
“So much for our perfect weekend,” he mutters, squeezing my hand.
“We’ll make it work,” I whisper, standing up to give him as much of a hug as possible with his immobilizer. He leans into me, my chin resting on his curls, and he sighs contently as his good arm wraps around my waist to pull me as close as he can without aggravating his injury. One of my hands rubs his back gently, a comforting habit the two of us had picked up, “I was excited just to spend time with you, Dan. Sitting in a hotel room watching movies is just as good as whatever surprises you had planned in Amsterdam.”
“You know I love you, yeah?” he asks, head pulling away from me to meet my gaze. His eyes look tired despite the soft smile on his face, “When this is over, I’ll make it up to you.”
“All you need to do is whatever the doctors tell you so you get better as soon as possible,” I answer, leaning down to peck his lips gently. “That’s enough for me.”
“No I love you back?” he grins, pouting his lips.
I laugh, kissing his lips again, “I love you, too. We should get you back to the track to prove you’re alive. There’s been no update, so people have been asking. Even my mom texted me.”
“She loves me,” he grins, letting me help loop his good arm through his team jacket and drape the other side over his shoulder. “Must run in the family.”
“Full of yourself much?” I laugh, walking with him back toward Blake.
We load into the car back toward the track, and while Daniel isn’t quick to admit how much pain he’s really in, it’s all over his face as he grimaces with every bump in the road. I let him squeeze my hand with his good one the entire ride, clasped hands hidden in his lap, and his team talks about potential next steps and timelines. Walking back into the paddock is tough with sympathy and condolences written on everyone’s faces and resting on the tips of their tongues. Daniel does well to navigate it, answering a few questions about eventually being alright. I walk just behind him, focusing on how his uninjured hand clenches occasionally at his side. He heads into the team hospitality with everyone to meet with Franz and Christian, and he thanks me as I offer to head back to the garage to gather his things from his driver’s room. By the time I arrive back in hospitality, I have his backpack slung on my shoulder and a large bag of stroopwafels in my hand with a note attached from the marshals who helped him out of the car. He’s talking to Max when I come in, and the two drivers interrupt their conversation as I approach.
“Mate, I think she could replace you at this point,” Max grins, giving me a quick hug. “How are you holding up?”
“Ready to play nurse and enforcer if I need to,” I answer, and Max and Daniel both laugh as the latter wraps his good arm around my waist gently in an unusual display of public affection. “I’m most concerned he won’t actually take it easy. You know him, Max.”
“Have a little faith,” he laughs quietly, leaning into me.
I pass him the bag of stroopwafel, and he smiles and laughs as he reads the note from the marshals. I let him continue his conversation with Max in private, stepping away to update my family and Daniel’s family who had begun texting me due to his amount of typos with just one hand to type. After he makes his rounds, he comes up to where I sit on the couch, nudging my knee with his, “I’m sorry, babe. You ready to head back?”
I nod my head, standing and grabbing his backpack, “No need to be sorry. Just glad it didn’t end any worse.”
I yawn repeatedly on the way to our hotel, bidding Blake goodnight as he exits the elevator on his floor. We stumble into our room, exhaustion from the day finally catching up to both of us, and we immediately collapse onto the king-sized bed. We lay there for a few moments, basking in the quiet and alone from the whirlwind of the day.
“I can’t believe I’m about to do this, but I’m going to ask you to undress me and have absolutely no sexual motives,” Daniel groans, and I let out a loud roar of laughter. Tears prick at my eyes and I clutch my stomach, and he groans as he huffs that he’s serious.
“Is this a glimpse into my future?” I joke with him, helping to carefully free his arm from his immobilizer just enough to slip his team polo off.
“Talking about our future now,” he teases, and I stick my tongue out at him as I help him shimmy his race overalls off. He sits on the bed in his boxers and cast on his left wrist, and I can’t help but giggle at the sight. He laughs along with me, flopping back onto the bed as I change into one of his t-shirts before following his movements.
“You know, I’m too tired to even shower,” I yawn, curling into his side.
His injured arm lays next to him as his right arm curls around me, and he hums quietly, “Shower together in the morning? I’m going to need your help anyway.”
“You can’t wait, can you?” I can’t help but laugh at the ornery look on his face knowing he’s been caught.
He shrugs, “Well, we have to be at least a bit productive, yeah?”
“You’re unbelievable,” I groan, reaching for my phone.
He watches me scroll on it, commenting on some of my friends’ posts as I scroll past. Daniel laughs each time another text from any of our friends or family appears at the top of my screen. After the eighth text, I turn to him, huffing as he clears hair from my eyes.
“Do you think if I just post that you’re alive they’ll leave me alone for the night?”
He kisses my forehead, “I think it’s cute they know you’re my keeper, but if it gets everyone to leave you alone, go for it, babe. Plus, I need everyone in the paddock to know I have a cast so they’ll sign it tomorrow.”
“Oh my god, you really are unbelievable.”
“You love me for it!”
INSTAGRAM
yourusername
liked by danielricciardo, redbullracing and 548,908 others
yourusername getting used to switching what side we usually stand on to hold hands 🤍 dan-o is okay considering everything, and we're just grateful it isn't worse. as you can see, he never stopped smiling, and he has lots of treats that will absolutely not go to waste (sorry to his diet).
thank you to all the medical staff, lovely marshals and everyone checking in!! it's time for me to play nurse now 🫣
—
landonorris is playing nurse code for something you freaks
user1 mother is mothering guys (for real now)
danielricciardo think we can do this whole in sickness and in health thing together?
maxverstappen1 did you really just propose to her in her comments
yourusername leave him alone right now he's fragile (but the answer is yes we can)
danielricciardo get him sweetheart (I'll start working on the ring)
alphataurif1 glad to see our guy so well taken care of (we'll pretend we didn't see the sweets)! 💙
user2 the update we've all been waiting for 🥹
oscarpiastri looking forward to seeing you back on track mate 👊
yourbestfriend this feels like karma for uni when I had to drive you around with that bum ankle
danielricciardo why have I never heard about this?
yourusername no reason
yourbestfriend three too many bevvies
natalie_pinkham my favorite duo 💗 can't wait to see you both back at the track
#formula one imagine#formula 1 imagine#daniel ricciardo#daniel ricciardo imagine#daniel ricciardo fluff
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Pairing ೃ⁀➷ 𝐄𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐡 𝟒𝟐! 𝐌𝐢𝐥𝐞𝐬 𝐌𝐨𝐫𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐬 x Fem! Reader
Summary ೃ⁀➷ Lovers have secrets of their own, no matter how much they come to trust each other, whether it be a past mistake or an unspoken trauma. For you and Miles, however, your secrets came in the form of hidden identities— one being a masked vigilante, and the other a mastermind.
Genre ೃ⁀➷ Forbidden love, mutual pining, angst♡
Tags ೃ⁀➷ Both are artists, reader is from a very wealthy family, both are living double lives, underaged smoking, reader is female and uses she/her pronouns, forbidden love (ish?), swearing, daddy issues, mommy issues, reader is unhinged, both are mentally unstable, lots of flirting.
Author's Note ೃ⁀➷ SO SO SORRY for the late chapter! I was going through a lot these past weeks, and I was drained as hell, but I think I’m a little fine now.
Tag list ೃ⁀➷ @sakura-onesan @coffeeandtealol @luvjunie @noetophat @proudgojofucker @depresssedcowboy @adorefavv @l0starl @your-girl-mj @nyumeii @iheartamajiki @yoluv-tiannaaa--212 @bakauwu
𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟏𝟏: 𝐏𝐨𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫𝐬
Summary ೃ⁀➷ You discover the gruesome extent of your powers. You open up to Miles once more— and Montrell makes a devious introduction. Inside your household, another catastrophe unfolds.
⚠️WARNING⚠️ This chapter consists of harassment and gruesome display [The reader is Venom], if you want to skip past it, scroll until you see a purple line. Reader discretion is advised.
FIC MASTERLIST
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“.. Never call me again.”
Beep.
… No, the proposal wasn't approved.
Your father called it a weird choice of an investment, and after hearing that you seriously wanted to buy the store, he hung up on you without the need of another explanation. So you stood by the gasoline stand, outside of the local bodega, with a blank phone in between your fingers, not a single connection to be found.
"Shit, I am so fucked." You sighed, pulling a palm across your face. "I am never going to financially recover from this, ever."
"You're a conglomerate heiress, you’ve got all the money in the world.”
"Strictly in name," You corrected of the symbiote. "As much as I am inheriting a lot of the money, I am not going to control over anything since that is Montrell's right, and my grandfather and father's will."
With that, you press your head against the flat of the glass door, a long and tiresome sigh dragging out your throat. ".. If only I were a boy."
"You're living in modern society, your father can't possibly be that old fashioned."
"Well, he isn't." You mumbled. "The only difference is that Wilson Fisk had a son, not a daughter. If I were a boy, or rather, if Wilson Fisk had a daughter— it would've been Antonne's problem, both mine."
"Then.. Do you think running away can fix all this?" Emerging from the bones of your back, a black matter materialized beside you with its white, dead gaze and spiky grin gleaming from the light of the street lamps. Though it unsettled you, nothing topped the hard glares that came from your parents. "As cunning as you are, when the people get angry, they won't leave you alone."
That was a well-made point— you weren’t free from the sins of your family. You indulged yourself in the wealth they stole from poor, and you chose to blind yourself from the truth. It doesn’t matter how much you try to make up for all the lives lost and all the money stolen now, it’s all too late.
But there was something about trying.
"They can find me in Amsterdam, I guess." You looked at the glass windows, pulling out your lipgloss from the pockets of your jeans and swiping it across the plump of your brim. "Once I leave this place, I'm never coming back."
"Then what about Miles?“
As you placed the gloss down, the alien's question made you think.
What about Miles?
Fooling him, lying to him, with the highest risk knowing he'd one day learn all about your secrets, you still managed to question: What about Miles?
How far would you go for your own survival?
You exchanged glances with the sight of New York. Without Miles, and being there all alone, made you notice the ultraviolet themes puckering out from the crevices of the darkness, a sort of dystopian hue of green-blue and pink-purple lying beneath the wicked façades of tall buildings and withering carcasses of what could’ve possibly housed hundreds of people.
There is no more ‘New York, New York’. It didn’t make you think of tall, slim rockettes with their shiny legs and glittery uniforms of gold and red, nor did it make you think of bussing bentleys with rich bachelors inside them, waving the fifty-star flag of blue, red, and white outside of their windows.
New York was desolate.
But Miles only made it warmer. Tolerable, you think. Through Miles, you managed to slip on a pair of rose-tinted glasses in the midst of this decaying city, and through him, you earned a sense of hope— or patriotism for a country you’d only ever really seen the worst of. You wanted to think you were capable of being compassionate for other people’s lives aside from your own, but there was only so much you could do, so much you could consider.
New York has warm places, was your conclusion.
And without Miles, New York would be a black hole.
And in a sparing state of delusion, you pondered about running away with Miles to Amsterdam. Married and settled in a home by the waterfront, where the both of you could walk to work everyday while taking in the sights of the tulips every spring. You wanted, needed to feel his hands entangle with yours every morning. For him to embrace you from behind every after frustrated sigh during every artistic block.
You were tired of being little Miss Americana. Perhaps you’d find a more loving life away from New York and in the heart of Europe.
ＳＬＡＭ.
“Hey, pretty.” A dirtied, damp palm slams against the glass before you. “What’s a girl like you doin’ out here all alone?”
The symbiote crawls right back into your skin as you processed the sudden rude disruption. Before you stood a couple of men with their yellowing teeth, grinning and laughing at your reaction. Instinctively, you tossed your head to the side out of fear of getting caught. Still, they knocked in intervals of three, knuckles pressed against the fogging wall of glass.
“You come here often? Got a man?” The man asks. “Don’t be so shy, baby. We don’t bite.”
ｏｈ、 ｂｕｔ Ｉ ｄｏ.
“Leave me alone.” You grumbled in between seething grit, refusing to look at any place other than the ground. You couldn’t count how many men there were, but they were a group of rusty late-twenty aged drunks. Something pulsed inside you, aside from a heart, it twisted like this beast-like gluttony that made your mind simmer.
Ｈ Ｕ Ｎ Ｇ Ｒ Ｙ.
“Wow, ain’t you sassy?” They cackled, reeking like cigars and axe cologne. You turn to leave, but they easily block your way with their brick-like bodies. “Hey, hey, where’s you going? Can’t just leave me like this, baby, smile for us a lil’ bit more.” He cooed as though he were talking to a toddler. That only irked you even more, hearing the men’s devious giggles as you struggled to stride past him.
“I’ve got a boyfriend.” Was your attempt of a defense, the man only grinned. “Why don’t you call him then?”
“I will.” You choke, knowing you wouldn’t. “If you continue keeping this up.”
He lifts his hands up like a captured criminal, still amused— annoyingly. “Alright, I’ll leave you alone mami.”
Mami. It only sounds nice when Miles says it.
You swiveled your way to leave, prancing past their prying eyes.
ｓｌａｐ.
You jolted at the hit of your posterior, their cackles following right after like a mockery of your shame. Without even processing the amount of your anger and embarrassment, your hand finds itself latching onto the man’s neck without another word uttered.
The coarse flesh of his skin pricked at your pretty fingers, a growing stubble you hadn’t noticed as you were too busy ignoring him earlier. What stared right back was terror in his quivering, dark, and wrinkled gaze. It’s as though he could see his life flashing before his eyes.
Your arm was enveloped, rather, your whole body was enveloped by the wrath of what boiled inside you— dark and slimy, it growled with white eyes and spiky teeth.
You could hardly remember the flash and swiftness of how everything went off. You heard muffled screaming, and thundering footsteps— growing fainter with each passing second. The man struggled like a bird within your grasps, begging you to let him go. The thing was, he wasn’t all too knowledgable of what ‘no’ meant, and at that moment, you didn’t feel like teaching him what it meant.
You could hear it so faintly, his begs and curses tossed forcibly at you like a hurricane before silencing itself after a crack and a rip.
Suddenly, you weren’t so hungry anymore.
And along with the cracks of shattered glass, your little apparition of European folly broke too.
“.. I wonder what’s taking her so long.”
Peering from the aisles, the group searches for you in all throughout their long walk. Mostly, it had been Miles’ worries thwarting every question. Monique hummed, similarly turning her head. “Ain’t no way she’s lost. She ain’t ever been here before?”
“Ion think she’s been here before seeing as how she went straight to the exit. You sure your date didn’t just ditch you, Miles?”
Miles couldn’t reply, he was too busy dialing the hell out of your number.
“I can go check on the second floor bathroom, if ya want.” Monique suggested, earning an earnest and somewhat thankful stare from Miles. “Yeah, can you go check? M’getting worried, dios mio.” His occupied hand shifts downward, the other arm hugging both of your costumes’ bags close. He figured to pay for the both of your costumes, being the gentleman that he is.
Monique excuses herself from the group, making it her personal journey to search for little lost you.
Amadi and Voshon were the only ones next to him by the queue.
“.. You know when you first told me ‘bout how pretty she was, I didn’t expect her to be.. Like that.” Amadi chuckled, arms crossed before her chest. “To think she can afford to maintain looking like that.”
Miles raised a brow.
“You don’t see girls like that everyday.”
“Yeah, you don’t.” Miles managed to pluck out a smile. “I’m so lucky to have her, man. I can’t wait for our date tomorrow.”
Amadi nodded, seemingly getting gist of his excitement, until.. “Miles, I’m going to be honest with you.” She maneuvers the plastic bag into her other arm just to lean a little bit closer. “Your girl’s lookin’ like she hasn’t touched a spec of dirt her whole life— with a silver spoon in her mouth since the day she was born. And I’m worried for you, considering your whole thing with your Unc Aaron.”
Amadi, who’s completely like a sister to Miles, knew about him being the Prowler. They’ve been there for one another since they were kids, since her first coming out, since his dad’s death, and through thick and thin. Amadi, when she’d first heard about you, didn’t mind much initially. It was great for Miles to have a first love— he drowned himself too much in expectations he had for himself, when he could only do so little for the world. But the more he talked about it, the more her suspicions arose.
“Why’d she suddenly change her mind?” Was her first question. “Kissing you and then suddenly running off and then coming back to say yes.. Does your girl not know a thing ‘bout social cues or what?”
“She’s going through a lot.” He snaps back immediately. “Her family’s putting a lot of pressure on her. Ionno much ‘bout what’s going on in her home, but I ain’t judging her for being confused ‘bout her own pace. But I respect her decisions, and I ain’t going to say anything ‘til she tells me herself.”
Amadi took a step back, acknowledging that it was her mistake for speaking beyond her grasps.
“I’m just worried, Miles. Ion have a problem with her in particular— she seems sweet, kind even, but Ion want you getting hurt. No todo lo que brilla es oro.”
He cringes a bit after hearing the same words his mother would always tell him.
“No quiero hablar más de esto.”
Amadi shrugged. “Bueno, then let’s talk ‘bout something else.” She rocked forward along the line. “Who’s Tiya Rio going to be voting for?”
“She’s a hard Christine Brown.” Miles quickly replies, relieved at the sudden change of topic. “Better off than that nepo-shit, Barlowe.”
Christine Brown was a candidate for the upcoming election— an economist, hailing from the Bronx, with a mind bright enough to light up a room. Despite her popularity amongst the youth, however, the older people were less than willing to place their bets on her.
“Good for you. Papa’s goin’ full Barlowe.”
Miles snaps his head in distaste. “Que? Por que?”
“Said he couldn’t trust the any other candidates. Brown’s proposals are too good to be true, so he gotta go with whoever everyone else is going for.”
“Only thing special ‘bout Barlowe was his father’s legacy, but even then, a lot of people died all throughout his father’s bullshit doings— and don’t ever forget, Barlowe helped the Chávez’s cover up the media when the collapse happened.”
“Well, for the lot of us, that’s still a theory.” She mumbled. “Not everyone has access to sensitive information like you, Miles. A lot of us have lost hope, because either way, no matter who we vote for, we’re all going to be stuck working for the rest of our miserable lives. Papa said that maybe, Barlowe might actually do something like his father.”
With a furrowed brow, Miles snaps back. “Barlowe is riding off of his father’s achievements— man’s got nothing to his name other than his dad’s legacy.”
“Well we don’t know yet. He might be a good president.”
“Amadi, we can’t say ‘might’ when we’re voting for a great president. We need someone who will become a great president. Politics ain’t trial and error. Barlowe’s as good as a puppet for the elite.”
Realizing his heightened tone, Miles looked around to check if anyone was listening into their little talk. Amadi attempts to search for a rebuttal, but she fails miserably, leaving her only clutching onto the plastic of her costume with a gap in between her lips.
Ring. Ring. Ring.
Without another second wasted, Miles picks up the phone, hoping to hear your voice. Instead, what rang was this haggard breath and a worried shrill.
“Miles, we’re at the second floor bathroom— [Y/n]’s sick, she’s been vomiting a lot. Can you get her some— some, I don’t know, water?”
And Miles bolted off.
Oh, God, you ate someone.
ＷＥＬＬ, ＴＥＣＨＮＩＣＡＬＬＹ Ｉ ＤＩＤ.
Shut up.
“Hurk!—“ And there goes the last bit of dinner, straight into a bowl. Beside you, Monique gently tugs your hair farther away from your mess. “Oh, God. I’m so sorry.” You incoherently babbled. “I just ate something really, really bad. I’m usually not like this, really, just— hurk!”
You are being dramatic. I was the one who ate the damn thing, not you.
Same fucking difference when you’re literally living inside of me!
“Don’t worry, babe, I called Miles. He’s going to arrive soon.” Monique cooed like a teacher informing her student that her parents were on the way.
That just makes everything so much worse!
“Thank you.”
You suddenly decided, you were feeling better. You picked your head out of the bowl, flushed everything away, and rinsed your tongue by the sink, only to realize that water tasted bad, and whatever was left inside your stomach threatened to resurge again, so instead, you stood there and stared at yourself in the mirror. Your hair was all over the place, a bit of your mascara was running down, and your lipgloss was gone.
But hey, your highlighter didn’t budge. That’s one great brand.
I actually agree with you on that one.
From afar, you hear Miles calling out your name. Hurried and rushed. Monique heads right out.
“Hey, is she aight?” He immediately asked of her.
“Well, she’s better now. Stopped vomiting and all that.”
There was a small silence. You pondered whether to fill it in, but you were lost with hoping to hear Miles’ answer. Similarly, you were in a battle with your own wit; In a battle with the damn being inside of you. It was enough to drive you into madness— everything and everyone. You were used to going along with the pace of everyone else’s plans, but right now was like ricocheting you to the moon without as much as a warning, a suit, or a mathematical equation.
You heard a gentle swish of a bottle.
And when your gaze travels sideward, Monique appears before you with a bottle of water between her pink acrylics. Sealed and cold. Misty and likely just bought.
With a hushed thanks, you received the drink and swished it inside of your inner cheeks— the bitter aftertaste of whatever exited your body leaving after each spit. You washed your hands and washed your makeup off too— a few clumps of mascara remaining beneath your bags.
Miles calls out your name.
You don’t answer in a fit of embarrassment.
“I’m gonna buy our costumes now, I’ll pay for it, aight?”
Oh, but that was even more embarrassing.
You rushed out to greet him, messy mascara and all. “I can pay for my costume, darling, thanks for holding it for me.” And you snag it out of his hands, kiss his cheek, and beeline right out.
Miles blinked, and he looked at Amadi who shrugged. He didn’t know whether to think about the kiss or the way you stomped right out without warning.
Oh, she really doesn’t know what social cues are, huh? They think.
But that wasn’t the case, truly. You of all people would know you’ve been infinitely and unbearably awkward, but you had a deal to make. You didn’t want their pockets to hurt, so you forged a plan. Measly, small, nothing too grand of a plan. Something along the lines of using a black card and all of those things— attempting to falsify a coupon while insisting to charge your account rather than their money. This wasn’t a restaurant, so you couldn’t demand for a paycheck and pay the bill for everyone in advance, so when Miles and the others got back, you got this.
“Nathan?” You faked-recognized the cashier. A similarly blond, tall and ragged boy with calm leisure on his shoulders.
“[Y/n]? What’s good mama, long time no see!”
And within three minutes, you managed to stage a whole script with Nathan, the part-timer.
A little bribe was nice enough to let him in the job.
“You two know each other?” Miles asks, evidently piqued and disturbed at the idea of him calling you mama. “Yeah, he’s one of my older brother’s friends. Nathan, long time no see, indeed.” You ushered the costumes forward, plucking out the one from Amadi’s grasps and placing it by the counter.
Nathan plants a smirk in his lips, a hand on his hip. “How’s he, by the way? Haven’t caught up with him for months.” He asks, obviously not knowing who your brother was.
“He’s doing great, actually. All of us have been, and you?”
“Great,” The blond smiled. “Took up this part-time job to get ahead of my student loans. Thanks to your nice tip months ago, I managed to re-arrange a few parts of my fucked up life.” Well, that tip was non-existent. He was likely talking about the three-hundred dollar bribe you offered him just minutes ago. “Really, you’re.. The sweetest.”
Miles didn’t like that. He didn’t like that at all.
“Well, Miles and I were just buying our halloween costumes for tomorrow. We’re going to be celebrating halloween together, you see.” Your hand creeped up against his arm, and Miles eases. “We have a date tomorrow.”
Nathan’s smile twitched. “Oh, really? Damn, good for you.”
Miles’ chest huffed up in pride. Fuck yeah, we’re dating, what’chu gon do ‘bout it?
“Your brother know all ‘bout it?”
“Oh, not yet. It’s our first date.”
Nathan starts scanning your stuff, keeping up the small talk while Miles listened in with a half-bored expression on his face. It was a façade, evidently. He wanted to know everything about this Nathan dude, and why he was smiling so weirdly with his crooked teeth.
“You know, I can get this for you.” Nathan suggested. “I owe you a lot. I’ll pay for your costumes.”
Good work for following the script.
“Really?” You airily asked. The blond shrugged. “Yeah. I can pay for your friends too, my treat.”
“Nah, keep yo money to yo self, big man.” Miles narrowed his gaze, slamming his wallet atop the counter. “I can pay for our costumes.”
“Miles!” You whispered at him.
“Oh, don’t worry ‘bout it, man. Your girlfriend’s done a lot to help my family. Hell, I met Alicia through her too.” Nathan improvised. At the mention of another girl, Miles gradually lightens up. “So, really. This is hardly even enough. Let me just thank her this one time.”
You turn to Amadi, gesturing her a thumbs up and a wink.
.. Were you even aware of how much of a mess you looked right now?
Either way, you were somehow.. Still presentable in a way that it was enviable.
After wrapping up the prices, paying for everything, and sneaking your black card away from the man, all of you managed to depart and bid your farewells to your new friends. If you could even call them that yet. The tension was unnerving, and you could almost sense that they likely found you weird.
And you were weird. You have been acting weird, even you could admit that.
There was a fucking alien inside of you who fed on humans. It wasn’t the potential of cannibalism that irked you the most, it was the fact that you devoured a vile man who likely ate cigarettes for morning and tequila for dinner— if he could even afford it. You’ve seen a million gruesome scenes, before, so the latter of ripping someone’s head off from their body was hardly the worst of your memories.
In fact, there may have been more blood on your hands than anyone else would think.
But it did shake you. It left you trembling and silent. You were already thinking about demolishing the camera and having Liv take care of all the evidence.
Liv, yes, Olivia Octavius. You wanted to trust her for a short while, given her eccentric desire to run tests on you. She can find the answers to get rid of this disgusting piece of murky tar inside of you—
ＹＯＵ’ＲＥ ＮＥＶＥＲ ＧＯＩＮＧ ＴＯ
ＧＥＴ ＲＩＤ ＯＦ ＭＥ.
You could almost snicker.
Fuck you.
“Hey, you feeling better?” Upon hearing Miles’ voice, you’re plucked away from whatever sour memories ingrained your mind. With a hopeful smile, you nod. “Yeah,” The reply came out a little raspy. “I’m doing a little better. I’m a bit dizzy, but I’m better now.”
He pauses in the midst of the street, facing you entirely. You pause along with him, evidently confused.
Gently, Miles lifted a finger and tucked a strand of your hair behind your ear. “How can you look so messy and still be so pretty, huh?”
Unlike the encounter you had earlier, this made you feel utterly warm and safe. It’s like you could melt into the base of his palm and mark it as your home. His finger grazes beneath your lashes, likely wiping out all of what’s left of your mascara.
“Only you can pull off something like this.” Miles decided. “You can start trends with that face of yours.”
“And here I thought you’d start teasing me.” You laughed.
“Well, it’s a good thing I’ve got the plague doctor costume just in case you start spreading your bubonic germs all o’er again, I can just bloodlet the hell outta you.”
You smacked his arm. “My blood’s precious as hell, thank you.”
“Said no hospital, ever.”
And there goes that heavy laugh of his, ringing in your mind. You adored it. The way he’d tilt his head and shift his eyes into crescents. You like how he crinkled his nose and stepped away from you as if to sink in your comedic and obviously pissed off side-eye.
You could stay there forever.
“I’m fucking leaving you here.” You attempted to stomp off. Miles hurriedly catches up with you in bated breath, interlacing his fingers with yours.
“Nah, you ain’t going nowhere, my girl, you’s stuck w’me til’ we both drop dead when we’re eighty.”
You giggled at his statement.
“What? You don’t plan on doing that w’me?” He pouted.
“No, no. It’s not that, just..” You looked away. “Ionno if I’ll even live that long.”
Miles took the hood of your jacket and placed it over your head. “Well if you keep yourself out in the cold too much, ya prolly won’t.”
It’s not that, Miles. You think. I can’t live a day without feeling like I’m falling apart.
“You know, I don’t get why I’m so weak ‘round ya.” You kicked at the pebbles you came across the pavement. “I’m a fighter, y’know. Got it from my daddy, actually. I’m pretty strong, but when I’m around you I sneeze a lot… Prolly has sum to do with how anxious you make me feel.”
You paused. He paused.
The both of you stared at each other. Seeing that stupid smug smirk creeping up his lips made you want to bolt away in shame.
“So I do make you nervous.”
“You make me physically ill.”
“Cause I make you nervous.”
“Shut up.”
Miles looked like the happiest boy on earth. You wanted to deep-fry yourself in oil.
“Speaking of which, you never told me much ‘bout your brothers.” He suddenly mentioned. “You told me ‘bout you being the only girl, and I’m an only child but that’s nothing alike. What’s it like?”
“Well— I’ve got three brothers, actually.” You thought about calling them by their other names. Miles gulped. “The one who drove me here was Mon. He’s.. Like a big, fluffy, teddy bear. I think, out of all of us, he’s the most approachable one. He’s my dad’s favorite. He’s like the golden child of our family. He never has to study just to get good grades, and he’s always so smiley and smart.. But at the same time, he can be such a pain in the ass.”
Hearing you talk about him made Miles sense a sort of jealousy lingering behind your teeth and atop your tongue.
“How ‘bout your other older brother?”
Without missing a beat. “He can go fuck himself.”
Alright. So you had a sibling you were jealous of, and a sibling you couldn’t stand.
“The third one?”
And you softened entirely.
“Oh, his name’s Malachi.” You said his name with such sweetness and warmth, it melted even Miles. “He’s my little brother. Six years younger than me. I know kids his age are usually brats, but I love him to bits. He was my mom’s favorite. She used to read him bed time stories and bake him snacks.. Now, I’m the one who does all that for him.”
Was. Used. Now.
Miles wondered why you never spoke about your mother. The topic seemed.. Fraught, initially, but now that you’ve mentioned her, it sparked his interest.
And, ever so cautiously, he piqued.
“I thought you were your mom’s favorite.”
Miles eyes the way you subtly flinch, your smile faltering so slightly. As the both of you pause before a stoplight, you fish your vape out from the corners of your pockets.
“What made you think that?”
He shrugged. “I thought moms usually favor their daughters ‘cause they see themselves in ‘em.”
You parted your lips and spoke before taking a hit. “If my mom ever saw herself in me, I’d be traumatized.” As you blew, the smoke lingered in the air a little longer than it usually did. Must be the cold. “.. To which, I already am, because everyone talks about how much I look like her.”
Before you could take another hit, Miles softly latches his fingers on your wrist, bringing the gadget away from your lips.
“If you don’t mind me askin’, what was your relationship with her like?”
He guided you down the crossing lane with his hand still holding down your vape. You feel a little embarrassed, and you take the opportunity to place it back inside your pockets.
“.. Ionno if there’s even a relationship I can describe to you.“ You sighed. “.. Ionno what goes beyond a mother-daughter relationship when our relationship mostly revolved around my mama hating me for being her daughter. If that’s what being a mother is, then Ion want none of it.” You sense Miles grimace. “If that’s a dealbreaker for you, then I’m so sorry—“
“No, no, it isn’t.” He mumbled. “I once told myself that I’ll only go with whatever decision my future partner wants. If you want a kid, we’ll have a kid. If you don’t want a kid, then I can live with that too.”
“.. Well, why can’t you decide whether you want kids or not?”
“Because Ion want to force my future wife to have kids she don’t want.” Miles’ grip on your hand loosened. “A few things people do that I really hate is that they usually get kids because of baby fever, or they want to fix a marriage, or they just have it because they want to but not because they can afford to. Ion want my future kids to live on while I can’t or my future wife can’t handle ourselves financially and emotionally. That’s gonna fuck up the kid, and they’ll grow up to fuck up their kids, and so on, and so forth.”
“You know a lot about these kinds of topics, huh?”
“It’s ‘cause my mama taught me all ‘bought it.” He smiled. “My mama’s been through a lot, and when she and my dad had me, she wanted to make sure she won’t pass the pain she got from my abuela to me.”
You couldn’t help but feel envious.
What is it about me that my mother can’t stand to love?
My whole life, I’ve been homesick for arms that don’t even want to hold me.
Ring. Ring. Ring.
You wanted to curse a hundred curses, but instead you took out your phone and answered. “What is it?” You answered, inching away from Miles.
“Where are you? I’m coming to pick you up.” Montrell seethed behind the phone. “It’s an emergency, we need you back immediately.”
“Me?” You couldn’t help but dumbly point at yourself. “What did I do? It’s my free time today, plus I’m not the one managing the— the house anymore.”
You hear your brother pause. You took a moment to glance up at Miles who was waiting patiently for you to finish the call.
“Well, to further inspire you, you’re right, Antonne is a fuck up.”
“Okay, and? Is that supposed to surprise me?” You sarcastically replied.
“No, [Y/n], he fucked up really badly, which is why we need an emergency meeting and I need you back immediately because everybody is looking for you.”
You took the moment to pull away from your phone and block the speaker. “Miles, what street is this?”
He answers something along the lines of being a couple blocks down. You take the answer back to Montrell who tells you to stay where you are. Well, being the smarter person, you ended the call and told Miles to go.
“Why?”
“My brother’s coming to pick me up.”
“Oh?” He straightened his back. “Oh, shit— he’s coming? Why?”
“There’s an emergency.” Not that it was alarming. Emergency, you say, but Miles could clearly see that you hardly gave any flying fucks. “I need to get back immediately before the house blows up.”
“.. There’s a bomb in your house?”
“Yeah, I call him dad.” You turn and peck his cheek one last time. “Before he finds out I’m missing, I’ve got to get back now or you won’t see me ever again. Stay safe on your way home, aight? Don’t get hit by a car, and don’t die.”
The boy stumbles. “But what if he gets lost? Do you know your way around Brooklyn?”
“I’ve got photographic memory.” You joked. “I’m kidding. Mon can do it, he’s smart, and probably has a GPS, so go! Go! Go!” You hurriedly ushered him away. Miles scratches the back of his neck, hesitant to leave you alone out of fear you’d get hurt. Unfortunately for the both of you, a slick, gray car pulls up by the curb with an abrupt halt. You freeze, watching its thick, black window roll down in a glacial, intimidating pace.
“… Mon.”
Montrell stared, unimpressed.
“.. Call him back.”
“… Call who back?” Was your stupid attempt to get out.
“You know who I’m talking about.”
“… You told me there’s an emergency.” You headed over to open the door, only to find that it’s locked. You faced Montrell, only to find that the both of you were mutually irked.
“There is, but it can wait. Call him back.”
“Mon, I will crawl through this fucking window.”
“Now.”
“Mon!”
“Don’t make me count to three.” He warned you like a mother. You grimaced at the way he used that insufferable tone. “I’m not a fucking toddler.”
“ONE.”
“Mon.”
“TWO.”
“MILES!”
From the corner of your eye, you see Miles toss his head over with a widened gaze. “Yeah?”
With your head still facing Mon, you told him to come over. Miles hesitantly made his way back slowly but surely. It didn’t help that his legs were so long that every step imitated a stride. Finally, after swallowing the lump in his throat, Miles greets your brother.
“Evening, Sir.”
By the driver’s seat sat a man. His gaze sat behind a pair of glasses, scrutinizing Miles’ entirety in a second or less. He was broad-shouldered and thick-waisted, further accentuated by the fineness of his white, collared shirt and black vest. His features were sharp, but his eyes welcoming— quite softer than yours, actually. He looked clean, polished, and infinitely sophisticated yet it didn’t harm his charm. In fact, it made him look so gentlemanly that it made Miles insecure.
It’s like your whole family was genetically blessed.
“Nice to meet you, you must be Miles, yeah?”
“Yes.” Miles answered like he wasn’t aware of his own name.
“I’m Mon, [Y/n]’s older brother.”
“Nice to meet you too, uh— Sir.. Mon?”
Montrell looked at this boy, and he looked at his braids, his freckled nose, and his unrefined stature. He was slouched, and one of his hands was seemingly glued inside the pocket of his old, winter jacket. It didn’t look anything special. In fact, it looked unluckily ragged. The boy looked skinny too, seen clearly in the slight hollowness of his cheeks and dark bags beneath his eyes. Still, he was accommodating, like a waiter donning on his best smile. There was something attractive about him— maybe it was the way he appeared so grimly enticing.
Reminded him of you.
“How old are you?”
“Fifteen, Sir. I’ll be turning sixteen this December.”
“Ah, is that so?”
You and Miles felt equally uneasy at the fact that Montrell didn’t bother to tell Miles to stop calling him Sir.
“How long have you known my sister?” He asks, a warning tone seeping past his smile. “Recently, she’s spoken about how much she likes you, so I’m curious how long you’ve known each other for.”
“Oh, we—“
“We met three months ago.” You cut him off, clutching Miles’ hand as though to signal him not to speak any further. “Can we go? I’m sure I still have plenty to attend to.”
Montrell ignores you. “Do you live nearby here?”
Miles looks at you, but you weren’t looking at him. “Yes Sir, I live around two blocks away from here.”
“That’s nice, you’ve got a part-time job?”
“Used to work as a cashier for a record shop. It was closed down months ago since the owner moved out of the city. Been working to get another since then but, it’s hard tryna find a job close to my school.”
Montrell raised his brows. “A hard worker! Just like my sister. Has she told you anything about her work?”
Silence.
Your nails scraped against the window.
“Well, from what I know, it’s a family business, right?” Miles looked at you for approval. For the first time in three minutes, you finally looked at him and nodded. “Catering business in an inn.”
Montrell held back a laugh. “Right. That’s exactly it. Say, Miles, do you have any plans next week?”
He shook his head. “Ion think so, Sir.”
“Well, you see— our family’s hosting an event. [Y/n] will be there, and she’ll be dancing tango. I think it’d be nice for you to go.”
“That’s not happening.” You flatly decided. “Our relatives will talk if I bring Miles to that party.”
“Not unless he’s my guest.”
“Mon, Miles.” You looked at them alternately. “He’s not going— you’re not going to that party, Miles, I forbid it.”
“But—“
“No one will talk about him if he’s with me.” Montrell sighed. “It’s Aunt Claire’s event anyway. No one will be focusing much on you or him. To be fair, they’ll all mostly focus on me.”
You gulped.
“Come on. Once you introduce him to dad, surely you’ll be able to meet him more freely rather than whatever the hell you’re doing right now.”
Miles lightened up upon hearing this, looking over to you with hope.
You wanted this conversation done with, now.
“Fine.” You struggled to speak. “He’ll go.”
Montrell finally unlocks the car. You lazily drag the door open and slam the door shut. With the window still down, you placed a hand over and intertwined it with Miles’. “I’ll text you tomorrow, alright? Just tell me what time.”
Montrell piqued. “You two meeting up tomorrow?.. How unfortunate.”
You exasperated. “… What do you mean by that?”
“Well..” Montrell started the car. “It’s a pretty huge emergency, and it might take you days to fix.”
“That’s fine.” Miles straightened his lips. “We can move our plans next week. I can always make time for her.”
“No, I won’t allow it. I’ll go on with my plans, I don’t care how big this emergency is—“
“Dad’s wrecking the place.”
And that shut you up.
You looked at Miles apologetically. “.. I’ll text you, alright? Stay safe.”
“Okay, you guys too.” Miles softened. “It was nice meeting you, Sir.”
“Nice meeting you too, Miles. I’ll see you next week.”
“It’s as though none of my children are competent anymore.”
Along with the click of your heel, your father swishes a bottle of brandy above his head, pouring it over his glass. You try to keep your head high, while noting the fact that the meeting was largely based off privacy. Antonne sat by the corner, his curls frayed away along with his collar. His head hung low, hand cradling his bruised cheek.
“What took you so long?” Your father asked, hardly even sparing a glance for you and Montrell.
“I was out.”
“Where off?”
“At a café, to make use of my idle time.” You cleanly lied. You watched his grey brow wiggle, eyeing the competence of your stature. You could’ve been everything he ever needed, until you weren’t. Your father stood tall— taller than the rest of you. You try to ignore the shattered glass beneath your feet. You wore heels for a reason, after all.
He trudges towards you and Montrell, taking note of every flicker of your wrist and fluttering of your lashes.
“Do you know the reason why I’m training all of you to handle the family business?”
It was a simple question, capable of being answered with a simply answer.
Why would one family keep most of its secrets together?
“Answer me, girl.” Your father pried.
You gulped. “Because whatever power the family has should remain in the family.”
It was an average answer— a textbook one in fact. Why were royal families the way they were? Why did they marry each other? Why did they remain so closely intact?
For power.
Or so you think, but it wasn’t the answer your father was searching for. It was more.
Your father places a hand against your cheek, caressing it so softly. “... For someone who has her mother’s stupid face, you’re quite smart. My young girl, I know the way you’ve been, because you’re just like your mother but bolder. I know that naïve and emotional front you put up, but mind you, [Y/n], I’ve done whatever façade you’ve put up and better.” He squeezed your cheeks so tightly, you could feel your teeth imprint on your bleeding flesh.
“I asked you for one thing, and it’s been three months. Why haven’t you brought it back yet?”
He spoke so condescendingly calm that it horrified you.
With a tiny whimper, you tried to lower your head to soften the grip of your father, to no avail.
“.. All three of you.” He seethed, calling out for Montrell and Antonne. “Do all of you want to end up like your mother?” He turns to you. “Do you want to end up like your mother, [Y/n]?”
“N-No.” You choked.
Your father shoved you right back, making you land down on the floor.
“… Then who did it? Who released the information about the warehouse to the black market?”
You winced at the glass shards that pricked your hands.
Ah, why do families keep their secrets together?
So that if one falls, all will fall along with him.
“Someone leaked the locations of the warehouses, and a few details about some of our deals with other families— if this gets out, we will lose credibility, and all the other families will drop us immediately like hot potatoes! All of us will get arrested, and everything we’ve worked hard for will diminish in a second. Now, WHICH ONE OF YOU STUPID BRATS DID IT!?”
His voice rang inside your ears. Helplessly, you try to help yourself off the floor when your father’s shadow darkens before you. With a step of his shoe, he stomps your hand back down on the shards. You resist the urge to yelp, tears pricking your eyes as you looked up.
“[Y/n]?”
“I’d have no reason to incriminate myself with something so stupid!” You cried out. “If I were to be in charge of the hotel and sell out information, I’d end up taking the most damage. Why would I do something so obvious?” Hesitantly, you dragged your bleeding hand away from the glass, only to find tiny bits of the symbiote plucking the shards away from your wounds.
It was one of your brothers. Montrell, maybe? Antonne, definitely.. Maybe even Malachi.
None of them uttered a single word.
Of course they couldn’t.
“Antonne?” Your father called out. Your brother didn’t speak, he simply stared on blankly. Montrell couldn’t bring it in himself to move or help. All of your father’s children were dead silent like mice.
ＣＲＡＳＨ.
Brandy and glass exploded onto the floor like fireworks.
“ＡＮＳＷＥＲ ＭＥ!”
“I don’t think it’s any of us.” Montrell finally answered. “There’s likely an outsider receiving information from an insider— it’s no wonder why we can’t track down the poster.” He looked at you, to be particular, he eyed you in a way that was so subtle but it sent a message you seamlessly caught.
And then it made sense.
Montrell was accusing Miles.

But you never told Miles anything. Hell, you’ve been hiding your identity for most of the time you’ve known him. If Miles knew, he wouldn’t have stood by you, he wouldn’t have allowed himself to fall for you— he would’ve crushed you into pieces.
But if he knew.
Ding.
Eddie Brock || Just now
hey
the warehouse is gone.
it’s all burned to the ground.
“Unc.” Miles jerked up from his seat, turning to his Uncle. “Eddie just texted. He told me the warehouses were burnt down.”
Eddie Brock, a journalist tipped by Miles and Aaron after the discovery of the Warehouse, was the only journalist who metaphorically had the balls to bring a camera and shamelessly enter the elite’s premises for the sake of unveiling the truth.
Most called him a hysterical theorist.
But he wasn’t a dead one.
“That’s fucking impossible.” Aaron couldn’t help but curse, uncontrollably snatching the phone off of Miles’ grasps. “They can’t just burn down one of their top investments— even if it was meant to cover up evidence, they couldn’t have had the time to burn everything so quickly.”
“Did we accidentally set it on fire because of the explosives?”
“A fire can’t go that large without gasoline.” Aaron tossed the phone back to him. “… It was likely an inside job.. And we were sent there to take the blame for the fire.”
Ding.
“Everyone else, except [Y/n], leave the room.”
Montrell flinched, eyes landing on you. Antonne finds the strength to pull himself together, limping his way to the front door. Montrell kneels down to lend you a helping hand, cautious of the broken glass, only for you to reject his notion and unsteadily stand up yourself. There, he marveled, how clean and uncut your legs were.
Huh.
Antonne cradled his cheek, his curls all over his nose. He tossed his head, spitting out a blotch of blood on the floor before wiping his busted lip with his arm. The both of you meet gazes, both similarly full of disdain and exhaustion.
The both of them left shortly after.
You could feel all of New York witnessing your misery like an audience— watching with prying and expectant eyes from behind your father’s large, glass window. Your old man had some stank in his eye. You wondered if that was the same look he had in his eye when your mother went.
“When will you get me that damn USB, [Y/n]?”
New York was glowing, but you wanted it to smolder.
“Give me two final weeks.” Your brow creased. “I’ll present you the USB on a fucking golden platter.”
Ding.
“Then what would they gain from burning down the building?” Miles fiddled with his phone, watching his Uncle pace around the room.
“If we think about the consequences, it’ll bring the Chávez’s the most harm. It’s a shared property funded by a lot of other people in the elite— that would mean a higher up sent us that information on purpose.. But who,”
+17479256640 || Yesterday
Do you recognize the girl beside him?
You closed the door behind you, eyes glued onto the floor.
There was this emptiness inside you. One that likely plagued your mother before everything that unfolded. You tucked your hair behind your ears.
You stared at your hands, watching as each shard fell off like leaves on an autumn day. Your wounds were healing so rapidly swift, that it was quite the show worthy of praise.
ＹＯＵ’ＲＥ ＦＵＣＫＥＤ ＵＰ．
That makes the two of us.
With a twist of your heel, you walked down the corridor to the drawing room nearby, finding your two older brothers with similarly calm exteriors. Antonne was sitting by the edge of one of the sofas, tending to his cheek with an ice pack. Montrell was the first to notice your presence. He was sitting by the make-shift bar, sitting down like a patron but hardly drinking anything at all. He gestured at the med kit atop the auburn coffee table, indirectly telling you to patch yourself up.
You pretended to need for it, unpacking some of its utensils and brashly pouring alcohol all over your limbs and wrapping it up with some bandages.
You watched Antonne glare at you.
“It’s fortunate that purple’s a good color on you.” You grinned at him. “Hopefully that bruise won’t make a guest appearance at the charity event next week.”
“Go fuck yourself.” Antonne spat.
You headed towards the remote to get the television noisy. It was enough to cause a migraine, but it was better off that way. None of your brothers commented on it, which was miraculous, in regards to Antonne.
“You guys care for a drink?” You tiresomely proposed.
Antonne took a second before looking at you. Montrell sat erect, his once crossed legs now uncrossed. Your sudden proposal likely surprised them, seeing how similarly perplexed and amused they were.
You gestured them to go to the balcony.
With each click of your heel, you made your way around the bar, grabbing the sweetest wine you could find and about three chalices. All three of you then hit the cold deck, the green bottle clamoring against the painted, metal table as you popped the cap open.
“It’s nice it ain’t a cork,” You rambled. “Might hit and break another damn window. Can’t be too sure.”
They only listened.
“Does it hurt?” You asked Antonne. “Where did his fist land this time?”
“Up my cheek.” He chewed, spitting out another at the trees. “Couple of mouth sores, might last me about a month.”
Montrell takes the bottle, holding up the title to his gaze. “Vietti Cascinetta.. Moscato d’asti.” He read in perfect Italian. “This was that wine we got from Veronica’s wedding. It’s still here?”
“Daddy hates sweet wine.” You poured him a glass. “Might take away all of what’s left of his masculinity, the sweets I mean.” After pouring yours, you held it up and gleamed. “Cheers.”
All three of you took consecutive sips off of your glasses.
This was an odd rarity. A moment where all three of you were siblings. You hadn’t had such a moment with them in about three years. Now, all of you were old enough to drink wine without coming off as classless bastards. Oh, how the times have changed.
Montrell took out a pack of cigars— new ones, considering how he had to peel off its shiny plastic cover. Antonne reached out for a stick and plucked, making you unconsciously go for one too.
“No.” Montrell warned, taking it away from your hands like a watchful sitter. You blinked at your vacant fingers. “You started smoking at sixteen, why can’t I do that too?”
Upon lighting up the cigar, Montrell casted one look at you, took a hit, blew, and handed you over the cigarette. “Alright, go try it once.”
And you did so, perseveringly, like how every little sister wants to impress her older siblings. You took a hit, and it burned your lungs stronger than vape could ever foster. Like lil ol’ Miles, it didn’t take three seconds before you started coughing up the smoke like an ill child.
“You’re as stubborn as ever.” They say. It was a nostalgic hearing. Stubborn little girl, a walking disaster.
“Perhaps that’s what’s so well-loved about my personality.”
You wondered where it all began— everyone thinking you were stubborn. Was it the insistent way you approached people whenever you had plans, or the way you’d do things out of spite?
“So stubborn about everything. The hotel, the upkeep, the warehouses.. Hell, even about that boy.” Antonne murmured, a gruffness in his sleepy tone.
You sipped.
“… That boy.. Is a hazard to our family name.”
None of them made a sound.
“Dad told me not to tell any of you ‘cause he feared someone else might know of what Miles possesses and they’ll take advantage of it.” You swished the glass. “And since I first discovered it, he placed me on the job.”
“What job in particular? What does that boy have?” Antonne impatiently snapped.
“.. When Mom betrayed us, she had a USB containing every transaction with the other elites, and each location of the warehouses and what they’re storaging. When we sent her off, we burnt everything in her room— including all her files and her electronics, but when I discovered she used one of my old phones to hide evidence, I discovered that.. Miles’ father, Jeff Davis, had a copy of those files.”
“Holy shit.” Montrell verbalized. “But why—“
“Why hasn’t that information been outed? Go place a bet. We even requested to have his corpse researched but he was cremated, which means if the USB was with him, it might’ve been in his uniform, but if it wasn’t— it’s in his house. And since all of us haven’t been arrested yet, father figured the USB is likely currently untouched.”
“… It’s not.” Montrell whispered. “It’s not untouched. The USB is with someone, and they’re releasing information about us bit by bit in the black market.”
“That’s right.” Antonne added. “And whoever it is, is likely watching us closely.”
“But why are you telling us this, [Y/n]? That’s a violation of the code of loyalty.”
You took a sip.
So I’d feel less guilty once you’re all dead.
[AN: Happy New Year everybody! ✨✨ I hope all of you are alright🫶 Take care of yourselves]
[Q&A open too if you guys have any questions in regards to the story]
#miles morales#42 miles morales#42 miles morales x reader#miles morales x reader#astv x you#miles morales x you#astv x reader#astv miles#astv x y/n#earth 42 miles x you#earth 42 miles morales x female reader#earth 42 prowler#earth 42 miles fluff#earth 42 miles morales x you#earth 42 miles x reader#miles 42#earth 42 miles morales x reader#prowler miles x reader#miles morales 1610#prowler miles#miles morales fluff#miles morales x y/n#miles morales prowler#1610 miles x reader
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New review of Miles Kane’s gig at the TivoliVredenburg, Utrecht - 17.02.2024
(pictures)
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FITFWT23: TOUR RECAP MASTERPOST
FASHION RECAP: NORTH AMERICA, EUROPE (Top Ten)
LITHOGRAPHS and PORTRAITS
OUTRO SONGS
IQ 123: Tour promo and production interviews
TOUR TECHNICAL SPECS [TPI MAGAZINE]
GROUP PHOTOS NA
Louis’ care for his fans
NORTH AMERICA
26 May - Mohegan Sun Arena, UNCASVILLE, CT
27 May - Bank of New Hampshire Pavilion, GILFORD, NH
29 May - Place Bell, LAVAL QC
30 May - Budweiser Stage, TORONTO ON
1 Jun - Blossom Music Center, CUYAHOGA FALLS, OH
2 Jun - Michigan Lottery Amphitheater, STERLING HEIGHTS, MI
FITFWT23: WEEK 1
3 Jun - The Icon Festival Stage, CINCINNATI, OH
6 Jun - Kemba Live! Outdoor, COLUMBUS, OH
7 Jun - TCU Amphitheater at White River State Park, INDIANAPOLIS, IN
9 Jun - Saint Louis Music Park, ST. LOUIS, MO
PORTRAITS, 1st set [10.6.2023]
IG stories and selfies [10.6.2023]
10 Jun - Starlight Theatre, KANSAS CITY, MO
13 Jun - BMO Pavilion, MILWAUKEE, WI
15 Jun - Huntington Bank Pavilion, CHICAGO, IL
16 Jun - The Armory, MINNEAPOLIS, MN
17 Jun - Harrah’s Stir Cove, COUNCIL BLUFFS, IA
19 Jun - Denny Sanford Premiere Center, SIOUX FALLS, SD
21 Jun - Red Rocks Amphitheatre, MORRISON, CO: CANCELLED 😪
24 Jun - Wamu Theater, SEATTLE, WA
26 Jun - Doug Mitchell Thunderbird Sports Center, VANCOUVER BC
27 Jun - McMenamins Edgefield Concerts, TROUTDALE, OR
29 Jun - The Greek Theatre, BERKELEY, CA
PORTRAITS, 2nd set [29.6.2023]
PORTRAITS posted 30.6 [x]
30 Jun - Louis Instagram recap
30 Jun - The Hollywood Bowl, LOS ANGELES, CA
1 Jul - The Chelsea at the Cosmopolitan, LAS VEGAS, NV
3 Jul - Arizona Financial Theatre, PHOENIX, AZ
6 Jul - The Pavilion at Toyota Music Factory, IRVING, TX
7 Jul - Moody Amphitheater at Waterloo Park, AUSTIN, TX
8 Jul - The Cynthia Woods Mitchell Pavilion, THE WOODLANDS, TX
PORTRAITS, 3rd set [9.7.2023]
9 Jul: Louis Instagram recap
10 Jul RTL Radio Interviews
11 Jul - St. Augustine Amphitheatre, ST. AUGUSTINE, FL
13 Jul - Hard Rock Live at Seminole Hard Rock Hollywood, HOLLYWOOD, FL
14 Jul - Yuengling Center, TAMPA, FL
15 Jul - Cadence Bank Amphitheatre at Chastain Park, ATLANTA, GA
18 Jul - Ascend Amphitheater, NASHVILLE, TN
19 Jul - Charlotte Metro Credit Union Amphitheatre, CHARLOTTE, NC
21 Jul - Red Hat Amphitheater, RALEIGH, NC
22 Jul - Merriweather Post Pavilion, COLUMBIA, MD
PORTRAITS, 4th set [23.7.2023]
24 Jul - MGM Music Hall at Fenway, BOSTON1, MA
25 Jul - MGM Music Hall at Fenway, BOSTON2, MA
27 Jul - TD Pavilion at the Mann, PHILADELPHIA, PA
28 Jul - Stone Pony Summer Stage, ASBURY PARK, NJ
29 Jul - Forrest Hills Stadium, NEW YORK, NY
PORTRAITS, 5th set [31.7.2023]
North America FAN EDIT
AUGUST 2023 GAP 1 recap
AWAY FROM HOME FESTIVAL
19 Aug - Parco Bussoladomani, LIDO DI CAMAIORE, Italy
AUGUST 2023 GAP 2 recap (including the 28 launch)
EUROPE
29 Aug - Barclays Arena, HAMBURG
31 Aug - Royal Arena, COPENHAGEN
1 Sep - Spektrum, OSLO [Bigger Than Me anniversary content]
PORTRAITS, 6th set [2.9.2023]
2 Sep - Hovet, STOCKHOLM
4 Sep - Ice Hall, HELSINKI
DORK MAGAZINE PHOTOS 2022 w/ links
5 Sep - Saku Arena, TALLINN
7 Sep - Arena Riga, RIGA
PORTRAITS, 7th set [8.9.2023]
8 Sep - Zalgiris Arena, KAUNAS
10 Sep - Tauron Arena, KRAKOW
11 Sep - Atlas Arena, ŁÓDŹ
13 Sep - Wiener Stadhalle D, VIENNA
14 Sep - Stozice Arena, LJUBLJANA
15 Sep - Budapest Arena, BUDAPEST
PORTRAITS, 8th set [16.9.2023]
17 Sep - Arenele Romane, BUCHAREST
18 Sep - Arena Armeets, SOFIA
20 Sep - Plateia Nerou, ATHENS w/ links to AOTV announcements
SEPTEMBER 2023 GAP recap
1 Oct - Bilbao Arena Miribilla, BILBAO (VIZCAYA)
3 Oct - Altice Arena, LISBON
5 Oct - Wizink Center, MADRID
6 Oct - Palau Sant Jordi, BARCELONA
PORTRAITS, 9th set [7.10]
8 Oct - Pala Alpitur, TURIN
9 Oct - Unipol Arena, BOLOGNA
11 Oct - Rockhal, ESCH-SUR-ALZETTE
12 Oct - Sportspaleis, ANTWERP
14 Oct - Accor Arena, PARIS
15 Oct - Ziggo Dome, AMSTERDAM
17 Oct - Lanxess Arena, COLOGNE
19 Oct - O2 Arena, PRAGUE
20 Oct - Mercedes Benz Arena, BERLIN
PORTRAITS, 10th set [21.10]
22 Oct - Olympiahalle, MUNICH
23 Oct - Hallenstadion, ZURICH
FITFWT23: LATAM promo begins [28.10]
Twitter spree: part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4 Hall Of Fame, [31.10]
IGTV [1.11]: transcript, gifs [x] [x] [x] [x] [x]
8 Nov - 3Arena, DUBLIN
10 Nov - Utilita Arena, SHEFFIELD
11 Nov - AO Arena, MANCHESTER
12 Nov - Ovo Hydro, GLASGOW
14 Nov - Brighton Center, BRIGHTON
15 Nov - International Arena, CARDIFF
17 Nov - The O2, LONDON
18 Nov - Resorts World Arena, BIRMINGHAM
FITFWT23 has come to an end!
ROLLING STONE UK 2023 AWARDS
23 Nov - Camden Roundhouse, LONDON
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Matvey Alexandrovich Lykov. Born on April 8, 1987 in Leningrad (St. Petersburg), in the family of actor Alexander Lykov. In 2007 he debuted as a runway model at New York Fashion Week, at the end of 2008 he entered the top 50 most popular male models in the world, and in 2009 - in the list of 10 most sought-after runway models. In the same year, he signed an exclusive contract with the fashion house Gucci, with which he continues to collaborate until now. In 2015, he made his film debut in the movie "I am Dragon"
August van der Holt is the owner of HOLT International, born in Amsterdam. He is a Dutchman with Japanese roots. One day he came to work with his father and ran to play in the experimental weapons department. He grabbed one of the prototypes, pressed a button and there was an explosion. The father had to use unique military developments to save his son. August regained consciousness in the hospital, with scars all over his body. A life-sustaining mechanism was embedded in his back. The mechanism in his back accumulates an electrical charge whenever August feels a vivid emotion. Holt has to get rid of the excess with physical blows. August Van Der Holt is one of the main villains of the comic book series Red Fury and its sequel Allies.
#major grom#major thunder#major grom the game#august van der holt#matvey lykov#matvei lukov#red fury#allies#bubble comics#bubble studios#bubble studio#i am dragon
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Wanna give an overview of Kelly and max as we’re going into the winter break.
From January till the Spanish gp in June, things didn’t look to well. It’s obvious that during new years/January Kelly fell out with both Sophie and Victoria, to which they seemed to not have forgiven her.
Starting from the Bahrain gp (when she told everyone on here that her and P were going and what hotel they were staying at 😭😭).
At Miami she’d been in New York for 2-3 weeks, had papz shoots outside her hotel and showed P without a seat belt on. She appeared in Miami to host a dinner and for the race all with the pageboy projects in tow. Then hang out with the family on a boat on the Monday.
After Miami, they come back to Monaco and Kelly goes to that wedding alone. Max says some questionable things on stream, that don’t add up first says he’s been practicing for weeks and then later says he was meant to be at a wedding.
Kelly spends a month in Cannes, daily mail papz shoots and red carpets. Then to Italy to the LV show.
Back to Monaco for the gp and stays with the LV team in the lounge there. At Monaco things still seemed shaky but her friends had come to stay so on the outside things looked good. Went to the gala and then partied after with all her new influencer friends.
She didn’t go to the Spanish gp but after there was a mini holiday with Martin, Stan, Nikki, piquet jr and patsy. Things look like a cute family holiday, apart from the boat papz shoot once again for the daily mail.
Kelly goes to Italy to celebrate Maria bachelorette party, then to Wimbledon to have another daily mail papz shoot. Then to Brazil with P for her cousins or nieces wedding. Back to Paris for two PFW shows and then to Italy with P for Maria’s wedding.
Back to Monaco and Julia, piquet jr and patsy come to visit. Go to a restaurant with max and the family. Then her friend from New York comes to join and they spend a day on the boat with the Lando and max.
P’s birthday party with it seems only adults. Everyone’s surprised Daniil is there despite him being the father 😭😭.
Doesn’t go to the Belgium gp, but does go to Tomorrowland afterwards. Still unsure if Vic and Sophie were with them or in a separate area.
Onto summer break, Kelly papz coming off a private jet carrying a plastic water bottle days after doing a shoot for a recycled plastic ocean saving bikini brand. Goes on holiday with Kelly’s friends (no Vic, Stan or Victoria). Papz shoots come out of them at their private villa, all looks smiley and lovely.
Dutch gp, Kelly goes to Amsterdam to do an event with a Dutch pram company, for the first time since new years Sophie and Vic are actually spotted with her.
Goes to Monza gp and then to New York for fashion week. Lots of papz shoots in the street, unclear if she was actually invite to any shows. The to Paris and Milan for fashion week, back to Monaco to celebrate Maxs birthday puts herself and P once again on maxs cake. Back to Paris for the rest of PFW.
She goes to Qatar as max could win his third championship, then goes back to Monaco before Austin.
At Austin hosts an event for clarins and magazine company. Flies from Austin to Brazil, after Mexico gp max flies to join her at her dad’s place.
As always keeps a low profile in Brazil and isn’t spotted much. After goes back to celebrate her brothers wedding. Max flies back to Monaco Kelly stays in Brazil. She then spams us with the deadest vogue shoot from last year, as it’s the only real modelling she’s ever done.
Doesn’t go to Las Vegas stays in Brazil to go to her ‘best friends’ wedding. Some dodgy things surrounding this whole situation.
Kelly flies from Brazil to Abu Dhabi, makes sure to let everyone know she’s dragging P across 3 time zones in the span of 2 months.
Her and max actually look kinda happy and in love after the race. But idk if that’s just cause he’s happy the seasons over and she’s getting attention.
In my opinion when things start going downhill in the relationship Kelly leaves and goes to work or Brazil and then by the time they meet up again they’re good again.
And Kelly’s has only been to one or two races where there wasn’t some direct benefit for her, like an event or dinner for her to go to.
For the immediate future I don’t see them breaking up, but with everyone around her getting married she might start pushing for more and with her on bad terms with now all his family I don’t think he would actually propose and it might set off a chain reaction of him pulling away.
Also it’s so obvious she leaves P for days and weeks at a time, and you can’t even call it for work cause you don’t get paid to go and sit at event or at fashion shows. You’re invited to the show for free and are meant to make content off of them something Kelly doesn’t do so hence doesn’t make any money, just like her papz shoots don’t either. But selling her 200 pieces of clothes does
Like someone once said here, you can’t break up if you don’t see each other 😭
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— Tamino for Behind The Blinds, Issue 13 / Fall/Winter 2022 (x)
Tamino: The In-Between State
Antwerp, July 2022
Interview by
MARTIN ONUFROWICZ
Photography by
ZEB DAEMEN
Fashion by
JONATHAN HUGUET
For Tamino, the title of his new album, Sahar, reflects his mindset while working on the record. “The literal meaning of the word is “just before dawn” and I think that perfectly captures the feeling of being in this in-between realm that I felt at the time,” explains the Belgian-Egyptian singer. Having catapulted him to fame in Belgium just after turning 20, Tamino’s debut album Amir also earned him fans from all over the globe, leading to non-stop touring for years. With instant popularity — and responsibility — at a young age, Tamino oscillates between adolescence and adulthood; this very in-between state being at the core of his latest record.
With Sahar, the musician continues to express the melancholy and vulnerability that became a signature of his artistic language. The key tool in creating the record was the Arabic lute known as the oud — an instrument that takes center stage in a ballad titled A Drop of Blood. “With this song, I wanted to accompany myself with the oud as the main instrument, just like my grandfather and father did in the past,” says Tamino. “It was very important for me to have at least one song like this on the album to honor the traditions of Egyptian and Arabic music.”
MARTIN ONUFROWICZ: Why did you decide to name your new album Sahar? What is the meaning that this title holds to you?
TAMINO: The literal meaning of the word Sahar is ‘just before dawn’ and I think that perfectly captures the feeling of being in this in-between realm that I felt at the time of creating the album, and still feel a bit right now.
MO: Where is this feeling of being in an in-between state coming from?
TAM: It has a lot to do with what my life has looked like in the last couple of years. I went from moving to Amsterdam to study, where I felt so out of place, to moving back to Belgium and my music career taking off, and starting to tour almost immediately for years. It felt a bit like tunnel vision — my life started to just revolve around one thing. I’m still very young, and feel like a child on so many levels, but I'm working very much like an adult.
MO: The album was written during the solitary times of the pandemic. How has that period affected you?
TAM: I was always planning on having a break because my team saw that I was feeling a bit burned out. So when it came a bit earlier than expected, I was quite happy about it. That said, I always imagined that when I will have my rest, I will be able to integrate into the world again as a regular person who's not traveling all the time, but then that wasn't the case either because everyone was at home, and life as we knew it was on hold. I think that period has definitely contributed to that feeling of in-betweenness as well, and was also a very transformative and important time for me personally.
MO: You're starting touring again later this year. Having this perspective now, how are you going to try to avoid the burnout you had a couple of years ago?
TAM: That was the one thing I kept saying to myself during the break, “I’m going to learn from this and take this zen feeling that I found into the busy life that awaits me again." Of course, I’m not sure how well I will do, but it definitely already affected how I approach work. For example, I’m now in New York for a couple of weeks and not just packing all the promotion stuff into one week because I thought, "I don't really have that much to do in July, so let me spend some time here and see what it’s like." I wanted to be here long enough to be able to ground myself, get to know some new people, have fun and be inspired.
MO: That sounds like a really good idea! What are your favorite places in the city so far?
TAM: I’m staying in Williamsburg, which I really like. I also really enjoy the Lower East Side. I went to Central Park yesterday, which is always amazing. But I have yet to discover a bar or a restaurant that I really love — I’ll know when it will happen because I’m a creature of habit, so when I find it, I will want to return there every day. [Laughs.]
MO: Which of the songs on the album was the easiest to write and which one was the most challenging?
TAM: The one that I wrote really fast was The Longing, the first song on the album. I first came up with the guitar-picking sound that I recorded on my phone and the next day while being in bed, I listened back to the recording and started humming the melody. Then, all of the verses came in one go! I was stunned because that rarely happens, so that was a very cool moment. A Drop of Blood was probably the song that was the biggest challenge for me because it was the one that I knew I wanted to write — all the other ones were improvised while I was trying out sounds with the guitar. With this song, I knew that I wanted to accompany myself with the oud as the main instrument, just like my grandfather and father did in the past. It was very important for me to have at least one song like this on the album [to honor] the traditions of Egyptian and [more broadly] Arabic music.
MO: Looking back, do you remember having a clear moment when you realized that music was something that you wanted to pursue as a career?
TAM: Music was always something I did, but I never really thought about making a career out of it — I remember that while I was growing up, I never really worried about how l am going to make money later and I'm very thankful for that to my mom. We didn’t have a lot growing up — she was a single mom with three kids — but she never put pressure on us to earn a lot or anything like that. I do remember clearly writing my first song when I was fourteen and the feeling of ecstasy that I got from it — for me, it was one of the best feelings in the world and something I've been chasing ever since!
MO: What's a music album that changed your life?
TAM: There’s been so many, but one that comes to mind immediately is one by Radiohead that I got when I was also around fourteen. I don’t think it was even a specific album, but rather The Best of Radiohead — I just remember being so inspired by their music when I first heard it. Now, my favorite record of theirs is In Rainbows.
MO: That's so cool! It must be a totally dream-come-true situation then for you to now be able to work with Colin Greenwood [one of Radiohead's band members] — I saw that you collaborated with him for Sahar.
TAM: Yeah, it's amazing! It sometimes still feels so surreal when I think about it, but now, Colin has really become a friend to me — we have played a lot of concerts together and he did seven songs with me on the new record. He's a lovely person and it’s a dream to work with a musician of his caliber.
MO: How did you guys first meet?
TAM: We had mutual friends in Antwerp — they took him to one of my shows and that’s how it started.
MO: Let’s end with a throwback question: who was the first musician you saw playing live and what impact did that make on you?
TAM: It was Lenny Kravitz at Sportpaleis in Antwerp. Also, his song I’ll Be Waiting was the first song I deliberately learned by heart — I performed it at a school concert. I love Lenny, he's such a good performer!
#tamino#tamino amir#behind the blinds#article#interview#english#2022#with photoshoot#original text#Huge thanks to taminodaily on twt and an anonymous source for sharing these photos!! :D#i can be at peace now#edit: HUGEE THANK YOU to zita @maneskinglows on twt for sending in these updated photos!!! theyre a bit clearer than the prev ones :))#also i was going to edit out the glare for all the photos but im sorry i cannot bear it anymore i had to edit out their thumb#and if i have to do any more cutting and pasting and warping and shifting and colour matching i'm going to lose my Mind#as it is i used the smudge tool to edit out the glare just dont look too closely thank you 🫶#maybe one day i'll come back to this and be more professional about it but umm until then
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What do you think the inner circles (ACOTAR) preferences are for a perfect vacation ?
Eg.
Feyre- big city to see art and architecture! (Paris in the spring?)
Hi nonnie!
Such a good question. Okay, let me think about this...
Feyre: Feyre has a bucket list of art museums all over the world that she wants to see, so she picks one to visit and makes a vacation out of it. The Louvre Museum in Paris, The Vatican in Italy, etc.
Rhys: Rhys, much like his mate, has a bucket list of museums for his obsession with space and the universe. He'd go to the Smithsonian National Air and Space Museum, but he really wants to take Feyre to see the Northern Lights.
Elain: Elain is 100% going to the Tulip Fields near Amsterdam. Her dream is to frolic in the flowers and then tour different parts of Amsterdam and the Netherlands.
Azriel: Azriel just wants to take Elain on every adventure her heart desires. He doesn't care where they end up. But his perfect spot is an isolated cabin in the woods, away from the hustle and bustle of the city where he can just relax in peace. With Elain, of course. 😉
Nesta: Nesta is like a scholar and always wants to explore different ruins and historically rich sites. The great pyramids in Egypt are at the top of her list. She may also tag along with Cassian to check out some of the ancient ruins of Europe.
Cassian: Cassian is obsessed with warriors and gladiators of ancient times, so he spends his vacation time touring the Colosseum Arena in Italy and other similar architectural pieces of Italy and Greece.
Mor: Mor is spending every vacation at fashion week in Millan. Or she's shopping in New York. Wherever she goes, she's always coming home with a new wardrobe.
Amren: Amren is jewel shopping. That's it. That's the vacation. Buying large, ostentatious pieces from around the world.
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