#Yes I know I could have taken the train to and from Belgium but the times really sucked | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

junedenim · 6 months ago

Text

not shy of a spark

part 2 part 3

one day with a stranger in a foreign country

word count: 16k

Alex notices her for the first time on the other side of the train's aisle. She's wearing a blue bandana around her head, tied under her chin, and looks like she belongs in a Godard film. Her dirty blonde hair peeks through and she's wearing sunglasses, like him. She's got wired headphones on and is staring out the window, just like him.

He's looking for too long. He knows it. She's going to catch on at some point. His eyes aren't hiding his infatuation but he can't help but look. There's no one sitting beside her and there's no one sitting beside him. She only has a saddle bag with her that's sitting on the empty chair.

He can't think of an opening but he can't stop staring. He tries not to look too suspicious but he's locked in looking at her during the train ride.

When they arrive in Brussels, she leaves before he can get out of his seat. Then, Alex spots the book sitting on her seat. All he can think is how big of a fool he must be if he wastes this chance to talk to her—a shy idiot who stares at a girl for the whole train ride and says nothing.

Once he gets off the train, he sees her by the escalator. She's looking through her bag and he assumes she is looking for the book. His heart feels heavy and he inches slowly toward her, not wanting to spook her.

"Excuse me," Alex says. She looks up at him. She's taken her sunglasses off and he can see her blue eyes. They're a calm ocean wave crashing into him. It takes him a second to spit it out. "This your book?"

She looks at the book in his hands and smiles up at him. Alex feels pride like he's achieved some Herculean task by giving the book back to her. "Yes, yes." She grabs the book from his hands and returns it to her space in her bag. "Thank you."

Alex can't let her walk away so he asks, "Is it any good?"

"The book?" She questions. He nods. "I like it so far. Have you read it?" He notices her French accent for the first time. It's light, not as strong as his English one, but it ebbs into the pronunciation of her words. It makes sense she's French. The book was in French. Haute Fidelite.

He shakes his head. "No, no. I saw the movie years ago."

"Oh, with Jack Black, right?" She giggles. She has a good laugh, an infectious one that courses itself through Alex.

He chuckles. "Yeah. You like Jack Black?" He wants to slap himself in the face and he thinks the wincing shows on his face. She laughs again, almost like pointing a finger in his face and saying Ha ha!

"I love Jack Black. Do you like Jack Black?" She turns the question on him with laughter.

Alex quails. "Who doesn't?"

She's about to say goodbye. Alex can feel her floating away from him and he can't let it happen. He doesn't want to be a creep but he doesn't want her to disappear forever without giving it a try. "Have you been here before?"

She nods and he exhales in relief that he has an in. "My mother is from here. When my grandparents were still alive we came."

"Do you think you could show me around a little? Point me to a good cafe or summat." He shoves his hands in his pockets. He must look nervous. He has to. Alex is sure his antsy behavior is creeping her out and the fact that he is breaking a sweat isn't helping.

But then she smiles and he thinks everything will be alright. "I could stop for pain au chocolat."

Alex grins. "You say it so French."

He's a dimwit English man because "Well, I am French." She smiles at his charm, which he would label stupidity. "I'm Charlotte but everyone calls me Lottie."

"Alex." She takes his hand and shakes it. A jolt runs through his arm like a nerve has been hit.

"Follow me? Yeah?" She instructs and he follows as she travels out of the station. Her dress, a simple white one, flows behind her and she looks as though she has the keys to the gates of heaven.

When they make it out of the station, she asks him, "What brings you to Belgium?"

That's when he starts lying to her. "I've never been before. I've always wanted to but kept putting it off."

"What about you? Why were you in London?" Alex asks.

She smiles at him. "I've got friends up there."

When they enter the cafe, Lottie takes the scarf off and he sees her full head of hair, glowing and cascading down her back like a rushing waterfall. "What would you like?"

"Oh." He forgot about that part. "A coffee, I guess, and a croissant." Relief comes when she orders for them.

They sit at a table outside. The air is breezy but not windy and the temperature sits firmly in no-need-for-a-jacket weather, even if he wears one still. "Do you mind?" She plucks a cigarette out.

"As long as I can bum one," Alex says.

She hands him one and a flame bursts between the two of them. "Do you usually ask strangers to be your tour guides in foreign countries?"

He chuckles. "Yeah. You get a translator and free cigarettes." Alex shakes his head. "No, no. I don't usually do this kind of thing."

"So, I'm the exception." Her smile sparks something in him. It implores him to be honest. He tells her that he's on a bit of a getaway, although he doesn't tell her what he's escaping. Brussels is the closest city by train from London and he'd never explored the city before. She tells him she's stopping her for the day before she heads back home for Paris tonight. She hasn't been here since she was a teenager.

After they've finished their pastries and coffees, she asks, "Do you want to see the peeing boy?"

Alex leans forward. "Pardon?"

She giggles and he feels like she's making fun of him. "You don't know anything about Brussels, do you?"

Alex bows his head shamefully. "I'll admit my research was lacking for the most part."

"Come on." She grabs his hand and drags him out of his chair. She lets go and he hates that she lets go.

On the walk over, she asks him what he does for a living. She must think he's a drug dealer or pimp by his evasiveness but he admits, "Oh, I'm, uh, a musician."

"What kind of musician?"

He's not helping matters. "I, uh, do a little, uh—I'm in a band."

"Oh, my ex-boyfriend was in a band," she says light-heartedly. "Do you like being in a band?"

It's oddly refreshing. It's not like everyone he comes across knows who he is but it's been a long time since someone has asked him what he does for work and doesn't know already. An especially long time since a pretty girl asked him.

"Yeah. I mean, I've known them—the guys—my whole life and it's a fun job to have."

"Not many people get to do their dreams for a living."

"What do you do?"

Lottie groans. "I'm a nanny but it's a temporary thing, at least, you know, for now. I'm kind of figuring the whole what I want to do with my life thing out."

Alex says, "That's perfectly respectable."

She scoffs with laughter. "Tell that to my parents. I think they would be supportive of me if they knew I had a passion for something. Like if I wanted to be a musician they would completely support me. I think they would, but I don't even have something like that."

"Well, what do you like?" Alex is fascinated and wants to know every little bit about her. Wants to understand what makes her tick. Wants to make her tick. He feels like a horny teenage boy but he can't help it. He swallows down his desires as best he can because listening to her talk is enough.

Lottie shrugs. "Euh, I mean, I have hobbies. I like to paint and I think I'm a good cook but...I don't want to do those things."

He nods. "I know what you mean. Music can feel that way sometimes. I don't know what I'd do if I couldn't do that. Probably be a teacher like me parents or something."

Lottie smiles. It's bright and she stares at him like looking at a star up close would do to you. "Both your parents teach?"

"Yeah, yeah. Me mum's a German teacher. Me dad's taught science and music and stuff." He feels like an awkward gangly teenage boy in front of her. She's strong and moving and just has a way about her.

"Is that where your musical ability comes from? Turn down here," Lottie directs as they round a corner.

He stuffs his hands in his pockets. "I suppose. It kind of came about in different ways."

"Do you speak German?" She's quite the interviewer.

"A little but not really."

"Huh."

Alex chuckles. "Huh, what? You making fun of me for being a dumb Brit."

She's giggling and he doesn't care if it is his lack of intelligence that is making her laugh because she's got a laugh that'll crack you in two. "No, never," she says but really means yes, totally.

"You're ripping on me because the British education system failed me. If I could learn another language I would," Alex tells her as they walk down the steps to the tram.

"What language would you learn?"

They're walking shoulder-to-shoulder and he feels something shutter in him by the way her shoes click along the tile. "French would probably help me out a lot right now."

Lottie had been sparked, smiling, she asks, "Would you like me to teach you?"

Alex, passing through the turnstile, smiles and answers, "I'd like that."

"Do you know how to say bonjour?"

Alex rolls his eyes. "I'm not that far gone."

Lottie throws her head back in a giggle. "I don't know how much the British education system failed you."

"Bonjour, je m'appelle Alex."

They hop on the tram waiting for them. Lottie nods her head in approval. "Très bien."

"That means I did good, right?"

She snorts a laugh and nods. "You're a right old Frenchie."

The tram is decently packed so they stand by the door, holding onto the same pole. He's not much taller than her but he still smiles down upon her. The top of her hair has fly-aways coming off of it from when she pulled her scarf down but she looks like she looks like the embodiment of divinity.

There's a lull of silence as the tram moves. She breaks it by telling him, "In Ypres, where my bomma, my grandmother, is from, they hold this festival where people dress up in cat costumes and throw cat stuffed animals from a tower."

Alex chuckles. "Why?"

She throws her left hand up in the air, talking with it. "It's symbolic, I think. They used to throw real cats from the tower to rid the town of evil spirits and bad luck."

"So, it's probably for the best they just do the stuffed animals now."

"I think so," she agrees. "What about you? Where in England are you from?"

"Sheffield," Alex answers.

Lottie leans her head on the pole, gazing up at him. He gets lost in her eyes. Could stare at them for an extended period of time that some might consider staring or stalking but definitely creepy. "What's Sheffield like?"

Alex doesn't know how to answer. He's always felt where he was from was plain, especially in comparison to what this Parisian girl has experienced. "I don't know. I mean, I like it."

She giggles at him. "Do you still live there?"

"Yeah, technically I still live with my parents. That sounds a bit lame, doesn't it?"

She's nice about and shakes her head. "I don't think so. I live with the family I nanny. Not exactly luxury."

"A live-in nanny sounds luxurious," Alex comments.

"For the family maybe but they stuff me in a closet."

"Like Harry Potter?" He questions.

She hums, "Mhm?"

"You know, how he lives under the stairs," Alex explains.

"I've never read Harry Potter."

He throws his head back with a groan. "You're making me sound like a geek. I thought it was a general knowledge thing."

"Maybe." She shrugs. "I never read Harry Potter. I was geekier in other regards."

"Like?" He wants to know everything about her. Wants her to expose her insides to him like a game of Operation and poke around, find her heart, and keep it for himself.

She bites her bottom lip and shakes her head. "I'm not going to scare you off yet."

"Oh, come on, I'm sure it's not anything as embarrassing as an unnatural obsession with The Strokes."

"I like The Strokes." She is the perfect girl. He delusional thinks that if she knows the Strokes she must know him but her eyes don't hint at that.

"You have to have one irredeemable quality, Lottie."

"Well, I don't know. I have this problem with my therapist."

He's taken aback. "Your therapist?"

"Yeah, I mean, that's a whole other bag of worms."

"Can of worms," he corrects the error with a chuckle.

"Right," she acknowledges. "We got into this disagreement over my ex-boyfriend. You know, he was a certifiable psycho and he had—this is our spot—he had this problem with, well, he was a porn addict."

Alex stills and doubles over in laughter and she has to drag him off the tram so it doesn't leave with him.

She furrows her brows. "What?"

"I just wasn't expecting you to say that."

Lottie sighs, "I don't pick the best men. That has been abundantly clear and my therapist has agreed with that for the past decade—"

"You've been going to therapy for a decade?"

She squints at him, "Are you sure you're not French? You're very judgy."

"Sorry, sorry." He doesn't want to upset her in any way, especially something he should probably be doing too. "I just don't know anyone who is in therapy let alone for a decade."

"I'm of the opinion everyone could use it otherwise they'll be spontaneously getting on a train to Brussels." She can read him like street signs. He says something and she knows exactly where he's headed.

"Hey!"

She grins at him. "Who said I was talking about you?" She continues walking straight. "I think everyone should be in therapy but my therapist is a certifiable nutjob but that's why I think she fits me. She's had a problem with everyone of my boyfriends, even the good ones. But my last one, who I broke up with because of the porno addiction, she told me that I give up too easily and I should work it out with him. I'm like 'You've told me to break up with my last 5 boyfriends but you want me to get back with the guy who has VHS tapes of porn under his bed."

"VHS?" Alex laughs.

Her head nods with amusement. "Yes, it was bad."

"Do you think you'll get back together with him?" Selfishly, he wants the answer to be no. He also wants her to say "Never, I want to be with you now." That's when he really feels like a foolish sad sack.

Instead, she says, "Uh, no. I'll just hop on a train to Amsterdam or something and continue to avoid my issues in Paris."

"You think you're going to keep traveling?" How's a world tour sound?

"I'd like to but I've got to head back to Paris for my job. They gave me the week off to visit my friends in London but they're expecting me back tomorrow morning. What about you? You off on a European tour?" Unknowingly, she's right.

"Nah, I have to get back to London for work too." Recording a second hit album more accurately.

"So, one night in Brussels?"

"That was the plan."

"Except you had no plans. Well, other than to prey on an unsuspecting French girl." She's simpering and he supposes that means she is fine with him preying on an unsuspecting French girl.

"I'm not preying on you," Alex insists. I just want to kiss you.

"You are totally taking advantage of me. I had plans too, you know. Now I'm stuck walking with you to look at a little boy piss."

Alex needs to know. "Is it seriously a little boy pissing?"

She giggles, "You'll see. We're only a street away."

"What were you planning to do here?" He doesn't want to drag her away from her plans and, if she'll allow him, he'd tag along with her anywhere.

"I didn't really have any plans. Reminisce. I haven't been back in so long I fear I made Brussels up in my imagination." She's reflective looking, eyes darting around the art nouveau buildings for answers.

"How does your memory compare to how it is now?"

"Not too far off." She points her finger. "Here's the pissing boy."

Alex sighs and closes his eyes in both relief and amusement. "It's a statue." A little boy elevated above a fountain basin, holding his penis, water sprouting into the bowl. Alex is an idiot.

Lottie throws her head back in a cackle. "Did you think I was taking you to watch a real boy piss?"

"I don't know what they get up to in mainland Europe. You're throwing cats off of towers here!" He's slightly embarrassed but her laugh, even if it's at him, relieves an ache of this being a moment he looks back on in regret. No regret with that laugh.

"Manneken Pis. He's a hero."

"If every man who whipped out their dick in Britain got a statue, I don't think there would be any room left in the country."

She giggles. "The story goes he saves Brussels by peeing on a fuse that was lit by enemies to explode the city walls."

"The moral is public urination?"

She clutches her stomach. "I guess." He can't help but join in.

They set off walking to nowhere in particular. They don't even discuss where actually their feet are taking them. They just use it as a pathway for conversation. She holds her hands around her waist and she talks in a hushed manner but clear. His hands are stuffed in his pockets and he's sure his mumbling can't be easy to understand but she never asks him to repeat himself.

"Do you travel a lot?" He asks her.

Lottie replies, "More when I was younger. Mainly just in Europe but I went to New York once."

"My grandma took me to Disneyland once."

"Really? No one in my family would ever do that."

"Why?"

"They all hate amusement parks. Really, they all hate amusement." It shocks him considering she seems so amused by everything. So amused by him. The first to crack a smile, burst into laughter, and encourage him to do the same.

"Not the most wild bunch?"

"No, they're wild. My brother's personality takes up enough space for 4 people. My maman has this laughter you can hear from 3 towns over. But they're, euh, more sophisticated to say." She says it so delicately and intently, he can't but think there is more to the story.

He jokes, "Oh, us Brits are just rolling in the mud."

"Eh, eh, I'm not saying that! My family is uptight. I'm not saying I don't love them but I'm not the biggest fan. I'd like to go to Disneyland." She thinks for a moment. "No I wouldn't."

He laughs. "Why? Why the sudden change?"

She scoffs, "I hate lines. I have the patience of a masturbating boy."

Alex fears she's reading his mind and that she's calling him out like I know what you're thinking and you can't have it. He's also choked up in laughter. "What?"

"Oh, well, you know, I'm sure you know. It's quick and they have to have it now and god forbid maman walks in on you with the laundry so you have to get it down now and fast."

"You're crazy-sounding, Lottie." He shakes his head and catches his breath.

"Maybe but I'm not wrong. Do you want to go in here? You like records?" She points to a shop, a little off the way.

He mocks, "Do I like records?" Alex follows her head first into the record store. She greets the shop owner for them and heads straight to scouring her way through the records.

They stand side-by-side, throwing spare glances at one another, but the other never catches them. He embarrassingly sees one of his records in the eye and is eternally grateful the band made the right decision to not put any of their faces on the cover.

They make it to the Gs when she turns to him. "I have to be honest. I don't even have a record player."

Alex snickers. "You're missing out."

"I like the idea of it. We had one growing up but I don't even have a CD player. The family I nanny, they like music but they don't like loud things. They're the type that they gather around the piano every night."

"So it's not like they're for modernity, in fact, they're more old-fashioned than a record player."

"Precisely." They do this little dance. Showing each other a record in silence and either getting a nod of approval or a shake of dismay. By the end, Lottie has no records and Alex has about twenty.

"I can not carry all these back to London." He struggles to even pick up the stack.

She guffaws at him. "Why don't you pick 5 of them?"

Alex waves her off. "Nah, I don't think I'm going to get any of them."

She bulges her eyes at him. "Seriously. You're going to hurt the poor shopkeeper's feelings."

"Here, I'll get you one," Alex offers.

She laughs and shakes her head. "I don't even have a record player."

He selects one out of his pile and walks it over to the cashier. "This is my way of inciting you to get your first. I consider it marketing to get the vinyl industry back up and running."

The shopkeeper tells him, "12 Euros."

The cash only sign glares at him. "Oh, shit," Alex mutters under his breath.

Lottie smirks. "You don't have any Euros, do you?"

Alex sheepishly looks over at her. His wallet only showing the few pounds he had in cash. "Yeah, sorry."

She digs through her saddle bag and pulls at the cash from her wallet and hands it over to the shopman. "You really weren't prepared for traveling."

"I intended to get some at the train station. Got a little distracted." He feels like the biggest doofus but she's looking at him with heart eyes.

Lottie smiles and shakes her head in disbelief at him. "What did you get me anyway?" Alex picks the bag off the counter as they exit the shop. He pulls the record out of the bag and she reads aloud, "Love in Portofino, Dalida."

"I figured a little French to match your French, although some of it might be in Italian. I don't remember." He slides the record back into the bag but keeps carrying it.

"Well, thank you," she says. Their feet continue on the cobbled road with no direction in particular.

He dismisses the comment. "You paid for it. I stood there and looked stupid."

"The gesture was still there and I appreciate it." He's not sure if he's delusional but he swears she makes eyes over at him, batting her lashes with her hair blowing away in the wind. Her eyes zero in on him and he feels like he's drowning. A wave has taken him away and he can only gasp for air, steadily struggling. "The town hall is right up here. It's beautiful if you'd like to see it."

Alex isn't sure it can compare to the sight beside him but he is willing to give it a try. With a nod of his head, they set off in that direction. "What do you play in that band of yours?"

He's not expecting to talk about the band. He feels awkward, avoiding such a big subject of his life, but he's eager for this escapism. He desires to just be a boy with a girl in a European city with no cares of what is to come next. "Oh, um, I play guitar and sing."

"You sing?" She questions.

"Yeah." The way she says her question prompts him to think out loud, "Why? I don't give the impression I do."

"I never said that."

"Ah," he wags his finger at her, "but your tone did. You were surprised that I sing."

She explains, "You don't have the demeanor I imagine for a singer."

"Which is?"

"I don't know. I imagine it's a rock band, right?" He nods. "Then, I don't know, something like Elvis or something. You're not very cocky, at least not with me."

"You're not the first to say it and I understand why." His shyness is pretty obvious. "I'm not offended by it."

"Good." She smiles at him and he smiles back. They stand before the town hall, Saint Michael gazing down upon them but they are too occupied with one another to pay any mind to him. Somewhere between these glimpses at the other, Lottie breaks eye contact, and meets Michael's eye contact. "Here we are. Voila! That's here you are in French."

He can only utter, "Wow," but he's not sure who he is saying it to. The carvings of the gothic structure or the lulu leaving him rapt at every corner.

His eyes trace over every inch of the hall. Her eyes trace over him, not looking, not noticing. She's seen the town hall enough, she hasn't gotten enough of Alex, unguarded, relaxed, and enthralled in the building. He's got a cut on his chin, slight and almost unnoticeable. His hair is tamed in a rough manner that fits his personality, hiding himself away but messing about to stand him out in a crowd. His arms are crossed now, no longer hidden away in his pockets. His brown eyes trained forward but expressing something that you can't place your finger on.

They meet hers soon after. She points her finger at a street to their left. "If we go this way, there's a hill where you can look over the city."

Alex isn't sure if it's instinct or some form of confidence that takes a hold over him, but he grabs her hand, much like she did outside that cafe, and says, "Let's go then." Unlike her, he doesn't let go. Her palms are soft and wrap his calloused hands up in a gentle hug. On the walk over, he looks over with a smile to see that she's already returning one.

The incline ahead exercises their legs but they're never fully out of breath. Too deep in conversation to notice the beating of their heart and constricting of their lungs. "When I was younger," she tells him, "we'd come here every summer. You know, when Paris grew overrun with tourists, and I was on break from school. My papa would put me on his shoulders and I'd feel on top of the world. No fear of falling. I feel like I've been searching for that feeling ever since."

He wants to give her that. Wants to wrap her in his arms and soothe every ache. He knows it's some infatuation and, at first, he thought he was thinking with his dick, not his head. Now, he thinks he's thinking with his heart. She talks of feelings he forgot, buried deep inside his childhood self and forgot the wonder of. She's an innocent rush within a darkling.

"I used to beg to drive me parents car," Alex tells her, "when I was 5 or 6. One time, me mum sat me on her lap. We were in some abandoned parking lot. She let me drive the car around. She'd press the gas and break, of course, because I couldn't reach it but I steered and everything. Sometimes I wish for that control back."

"But you didn't even have it then," Lottie points out.

His brows furrow. He doesn't understand what she's saying. "What?" He had his hands on the wheel then. Now, it feels like he's strapped to the roof of the car.

"You weren't the one driving. Your mum decided when you stopped or started."

Something clicks in him. A knot gets undone. The analogy doesn't stop the car he's in from speeding down the highway but he feels he can ride with it, at least be in the backseat. "You're making me out to be one of those creepy boys obsessed with their mothers."

She wheezes. "It sounds like you're just fond of your mum, which is good. You haven't said anything too weird yet."

They're at a stoplight but their hands are still together, neither making a move to change that. He turns to look her in the eye. "Yet?" He squints at her.

"Are you an only child?"

He drops his jaw in an offended manner. "What's that supposed to mean?"

She drops her jaw in a chagrin manner. "You are!"

"What's wrong with that?"

She giggles at his affrontement. "Nothing. You're the one getting all frustrated about it."

He can't help but laugh along with her. "I am not."

Lottie points a finger at him. "Yes, you are."

They reach the peak, although it goes unnoticed amongst their laughter. Lottie turns to the view. "Here we are."

"Wow," Alex utters. They stand atop a peak of stairs looking outwards on an urban floral boom. Flowers line the cement down to the townhomes that stand on the ground floor. The town hall tower stands through the midst of buildings—Saint Michael's back to them.

"Let me get your picture." Lottie holds up her camera—a little yellow thing with a bright smiley face sticker on the front.

"What?"

She urges him forward. "Come on, you gave me the record. I'll give you a picture." He stands centered at the top of the stairs. His pose is awkward, unable to figure out where to place his hands. Her record in its bag hangs in his hand and he brushes a hand through his hair, although it does little to tame it. She snaps it leaving her with a bright smiley face.

"What's this building here?" Alex gestures beside them.

"The Magritte Museum, I think. That's what the sign says. Do you want to go in?" She's looking at him excitedly, fuck, he would do anything for that to continue.

He nods and they walk up to the porticoes where she admires every inch. "I think I could have been an architect in another life," Lottie tells him.

"Why not this life?" He asks.

"I suck at math."

He pays for the tickets with his credit card even if it means he's slapped with a large conversion fee. In the elevator, smushed together with 6 other people, he can't help but look at her. When their eyes meet, he feels something in him unlodge. Like that lump that's been stuck in his throat for the past 6 months has finally gone down. At last, he can breathe again.

When they reach the top floor, she reaches back for his hand and pulls him through the halls of the museum. He smiles down at their intertwined hands because what art is better than her touch? He's known her for 2 hours and he's saying shit like that. Fuck.

It's around Magritte's impressionist period that Alex finally has to whisper into Lottie's ear, "What the fuck drugs was this man on?"

She giggles, eyes trained on the painting "The Stroke of Luck" or, really, a pig dressed in a suit at a graveyard. "It's surrealistic, not drug-fueled mania."

"Then why is the pig looking at me like that?" He whispers and she giggles once more. That pig is eyeing him down and he knows it. Its eyes will follow him to every corner of the room, he swears.

"It's like Animal Farm," she tries to explain.

"Orwell?"

She nods. "Precisely."

"We should have gotten the audio tour. I don't understand anything," Alex whines.

"Don't doubt yourself. The pig feels pleasure at a cemetery. He stares at you insidiously. And you know, all men are pigs so."

She giggles from her riposte as he exclaims, "Hey! We aren't all bad."

Lottie rolls her eyes, but she knows. "Well, most are. Magritte doesn't seem like such a pig." She lets go of his hand and flounces off to the next section. He stands to watch.

At the end of the section, he asks her beneath a painting, "What's it mean?"

Her head tilts down from staring up. "The French or the painting?"

Alex huffs. "Both, probably."

"Well," she informs him, "the French is 'Ceci n'est pas une pipe' 'This is not a pipe.'"

He shakes his head in confusion. "But aren't I looking at a pipe?" He's staring at it, painted to near perfection. The shades in mahogany wood are clear. The cursive lettering insisting that it is, in fact, not a pipe.

She insists, "No. What are you looking at?"

"A pipe," he insists.

"But is it? It is both a pipe and not a pipe."

"Huh?"

"Could you smoke it?"

"No."

"Then it isn't a pipe."

He smirks.

"You get it now, don't you?"

"Magritte is a fucking genius."

She bursts out laughing so loud she has to clutch her mouth to contain the disruption. They quickly dart out of that room into the next.

Before Anne-Marie Crowet, Alex leans over and says, "It looks like you."

"The painting?"

He nods. "Not exactly. Not nearly as pretty as you."

She purses her lips. "You're trying to be suave."

"How am I doing?"

She just smiles.

They sit in the park afterward. It's across the museum and their feet hurt from standing in front of paintings for too long. They're on the grass, feeling every inch as the breeze breathes through them. He lies back on his hands and she sits in a criss-cross, picking at the little flowers that sprout from the dirt. She plucks one out and shifts over to him. He thinks she's going to hand it to him but she doesn't. She brushes his hair behind his left ear and places it there.

His heart is running a marathon and she looks pleased, the beauty of a flower growing from the earth or the sun at dawn or her. He has to do what he's been fighting against since his eyes met hers in the train window back in St. Pancras. He takes her face into his hands and kisses her. It's slow-moving but transmutes his system. She floods into him and his shore welcomes the wreckage. There's no point in stopping it and he can't think of a single reason why he shouldn't.

She pulls away from him with that oh-so-bright smile and rests her forehead on his. "I was worried I was going to have to make the first move."

"I just wanted to be sure."

"Pussy," she jokes. She giggles while she says it and he thinks she doesn't get to say the word often because she says it like a kid who whispers curse words behind their parents' back.

His hand is holding her cheek so delicately like her porcelain skin might shatter. "Just not a pig."

Her smile is overwhelming. She shakes her head lightly. "Not in the slightest." Kissing him again and shining light through all the cracks within him.

She leans upon him for a few moments. Head on his shoulder and heart in his hands. "What would you be doing right now if I hadn't become my tour guide?" She asks.

"Probably picked up some other girl," he jokes.

She elbows him. "Funny. You're trying to be funny."

Alex chuckles at her reaction. His arm brushes up her side and soothes her into him. "No, I'd probably be wandering around aimlessly having no clue where to go. Probably still trying to figure out how to get out of the train station. What about you?"

Her face changes and retracts. She stares off and hides herself away from his sights. "I don't know." He can tell she's lying when she shrugs him off.

"You can tell me," Alex tries to urge. "Or not. Whatever you want."

"I don't mean to depress the conversation." She looks back over at him. "Probably visit my bomma's grave. And sightseeing and such. Sorry to bring the light out of the conversation."

Alex shakes his head. "You're not. I want to hear about these things." Her mouth forms a small upturn. "Would you like to go?"

"No, I'll go another time," she tells him.

Alex stands up and reaches his hand down to her. "You should go. I'd like to come too if that's alright. If you would want that. I don't want to impose or anything."

She grabs his hand and he pulls her up. "You wouldn't be. I don't want to force you. We can meet up later if you'd like or part here, you know, I had a great time."

They're both too caught up in their rambling trying not to come off too strong. "No, no, you wouldn't be forcing me. I don't want to ruin your plans at all."

She finally grabs his hand. "Alex, let's go." She pulls him off the grass back onto the street. "It's up in Molenbeek so you can see a new part of the city. She's been dead for over a decade so it's not like I'll be weeping at her gravestone. I felt I had to go while I was here. Haven't been here since her funeral."

"Don't feel any pressure to hold anything in while I'm here. I want to know what you are feeling."

"Even though it's sad going to her gravestone, but being here in Brussels, remembering those things I did with her makes me happy. To be honest, I'm happy doing it with you. I think I'd be depressed walking around the city all by myself but sharing it with someone—with you—is a whole new pleasure. Thank you."

Alex shakes his head. "You don't have to thank me. I should be thanking you. You've been saving my butt here all day with your help."

"Well, you do have a nice butt that wouldn't be worth it to the world to risk." She is the glowing light around. A modern-day Aurora, except he's Sleeping Beauty, and she's snapping him out of the haze he has been locked in.

"You're pretty fucking beautiful too." She leans into him and puts her head on his shoulder while they walk. He kisses the top of her head and he feels like he has done this in a million other lifetimes. Whatever path the course of his life went down, he ends up here with her every time whether it's Brussels or Paris or London or Sheffield or the damn Moon. She's there.

His arm wraps around her shoulder and she guides the way with ease like she built these streets for them to walk down. She knows every curve and never leads them down the wrong way. She stops him from nearly getting hit by a bike and laughs at the little scream he lets out. Despite the gravity of where they are headed, she's smiling and joking around with him (or maybe about him) and he can't help but love every second of it. He never wants it to let up.

"When I was a baby, I got sick, some infant kind of sickness, and I was a crying baby, especially with this cold. My maman was beyond exhausted and she still had my brother to care for and my dad was working. My bomma came and the day she arrived everything cleared up. I wasn't sick anymore and I barely cried. She joked that my mother had made the whole thing up to get a visit out of her but my maman always says that I could feel the comfort of my bomma coming and I wanted to be on my best behavior. That's the relationship we always had."

Alex gazes down at her. Her eyes steady ahead but glance up at him with every passing sentence. He brushes his thumb back and forth on her head enclosed in his. "That's a great story."

"Yeah." She smiles in remembrance.

"You were very close?"

She nods. "Emotionally. Belgium wasn't too far but we always had distance and as she got older we had to travel to see her, which was mainly during holidays. Every time it was like a hug. The kind that is so warm you want to lie in their arms forever."

The cemetery is filled with trees, spring blooming in the distance. Their walk through the yard is silent. She lets go of his hand and stands before a small headstone, pulling a flower she picked from the park down on top of the stone. "When I was 5 or something, my bompa died. I don't remember much of him. He was a quiet man, especially compared to bomma. He was cremated and wanted to be tossed into this lake he fished at and we are going there and my bomma has his ashes in the little urn and she goes to pour them and the urn is empty. She keeps shaking it even though nothing is in there and she turns back to all of us, shrugs, and says, 'I knew he'd run out on me eventually.'"

She giggles so he feels permission to laugh. "What happened with his ashes?"

"Oh." Lottie laughs harder, which feels inappropriate for a cemetery but they are in a relatively secluded area. "She left it back at home. She brought the wrong urn to the funeral."

Alex chuckles and she grabs his hand. "We can go now if you'd like," she offers.

"We can stay however long you'd like." He doesn't want to rush her in any way. He can watch her stand in front of the grave and listen to her stories forever.

She shakes her head. "I'm good. I just wanted to think of her for a while. I'm ready for lunch. You need some mussels."

"Are you insulting my physique?" Alex jests, looking down at his triceps.

She laughs at him. "The food. Not the human variety."

Her feet clobber all over the street and his heart as she leads him to a restaurant. "I need to ask you something." They're going down that large hill now. It's easier than climbing it but now they have to worry about the fall.

"Yes?" She throws a smile back at him and he's losing his balance.

With his arm around her shoulder and her hand holding his hand, he asks her, "We've avoided the whole subject of boyfriends/girlfriends. You've got a fella waiting for you back home?"

She's smirking as if she could burst into laughter at any moment. "Would it change anything if I did?"

His eyebrows are raised but he's amused by her evasiveness, even if it concerns him. "Probably not. I've had my tongue down your throat."

"Ew." She squishes her nose up in this cute little wrinkled mess. It makes him want to kiss her, so he does. It's a wonder they don't trip over anything as he lays one on her. "To answer your question, no, not really."

"Not really?"

She twists out from under his arm like they're ballroom dancing. She walks backward sleekly down the hill, facing him. "I do this kind of thing in every country."

"Very funny." He chuckles but he wants an answer. "But seriously."

She returns to under his arm. "No, I haven't dated anyone since my porn-addicted boyfriend. That ended about 2 months ago and my therapist has been trying to get me back with him since then. You?"

He should have expected that, yet, he still feels that he has to let his guard down now. "That's kind of why I'm here."

"You're visiting your girlfriend?" Despite her joking about possible partners back in Paris, he feels her tense up at the idea of this.

Alex shakes his head. "No, kinda running away from it. I had a girlfriend for about a year or so and finally got to see her for an extended period since we've been long distance and right when I arrived, I got the feeling she wished it had stayed that way. She broke up with me about a week later. It's part of the reason why I'm here. Just need to have some time away from everything."

"The madness of everything?" Part of Alex thinks she knows who he is, but her eyes don't give that away. She just seems to understand what's going on in his mind.

"Yeah."

"Well," she sighs, "I'm sorry about the girlfriend."

Alex chuckles looking down on her face—looking up at him with a hidden grin. "No, you're not."

She giggles. "Duh." It's so adorable, sweet and teeth-rotting, he has to kiss her again. Teeth collide as she laughs away and they might nearly get hit by a car but it feels worth it.

Over a moules-frites and a beer each, she tells him, "I don't think I could do long distance."

Alex wipes away the remnants of beer lip. "Me and me girlfriend couldn't either. Clearly."

"I don't know why people feel such a pressure to make things work, you know. I had this boyfriend who went for a semester abroad in America and when he was there, he got an American girlfriend but still felt this need to make our relationship work even after he told me about her. I don't see it as a big deal, especially at our age. Why do we feel such a need to make relationships work? It's unrealistic to be with the same person forever, let alone at this age."

Alex shrugs. "I think we either feel a need to be like our parents or make up for our parents."

She continues her rant and he intently listens. "Exactly. I don't think things are meant to last. The greatest things have ended. But yet with relationships, even when we make mistakes, we feel the need to make it work. Sometimes it doesn't. Sometimes you don't have to force it."

"You feel very passionate about this kind of thing." Alex wants to make it clear he isn't mocking her. "I like it."

She rolls her eyes. "Passion is the key. Why shouldn't we go for the things that make us feel the most? I don't understand this whole 'tough it out.' Why should I deal with my porn-addict boyfriend? Why can't I just date a boy who isn't addicted to porn?"

"I don't think I have a porno issue," Alex adds.

"My therapist would not like you."

Alex tells her, "I think you should tough things out when they feel worth it. The struggle is sometimes what makes the outcome so good. When I've struggled with writing a song and then it's done, it's the accomplishment that keeps me going."

She's grinning at him. "You write songs?"

Alex is flushed red and trying to hide his head in his chest like a turtle. "Yeah, but we're not going to talk about that."

"Why not?" She's eager, he can tell, and if she really wanted to hear one, he'd play her something, but right now he wants to shield all that behind him.

"Because I don't want to tough that out." He uses her words against her. "I think the hard stuff can be worth it. That's all."

"You have a good point. I'm not getting back with my porno boyfriend though."

"Please don't." He doesn't want to sound like he's begging but he might be.

She explains further, "The impertinence of things is what makes them so wonderful in the first place, you know."

"Like some Hanging Gardens of Babylon shit?" His mouth is full of fries and he feels like he needs a kids' menu or something.

"So beautiful but we aren't even sure if it ever existed, right?"

He nods and finally swallows his chewing. "Partially. I don't think they ever found any physical evidence but they know the King of Babylon had these gardens built for his wife, who was a Persian princess or something. It was to help with her homesickness for the green forests of her home."

She chuckles. "You study this or something?"

"Read a book about it." It was actually a short article but a book sounds more impressive.

Her smile twists up and it twists his guts too. She lowers her eyes over him like she's examining him. "You're an impressive surprise."

"You don't expect me to read books?" He questions.

She shakes her head at him in disbelief. "Not about the Hanging Gardens of Babylon."

The sun has begun to set by the time they've left the restaurant, but their conversation of impertinence rings in his ears. After everything back home, he can't help but agree with her, but he can't help but panic about saying goodbye to her. He's holding tight and in no rush to let go.

They're walking slowly this time, in no rush to explore the city, instead focusing on knowing the way around one another. "Would you ever get married?" She asks him.

"You proposing?" The rush it brings to his chest is alarming.

She leans his head on his shoulder and wraps her arms around his chest. He hugs her close to him, fitting into one another completely. "Seriously. I've thought about this and I'm still not sure. I don't like the idea of marriage but I could imagine it for myself. It's a romantic idea and as much as I might not project that I'm a romantic person."

Alex points out, "You've been walking around with a complete stranger all day. That sounds like something a romantic would do."

"You're not a stranger to me anymore." It's the kiss that follows this sentence that seals it for him.

"I think I could marry someone if it felt right. I'd only want to do it once. If it didn't work out I don't think I'd give it another try," Alex confesses.

"Why not?"

"I failed at it once with someone I thought I could make it with. I wouldn't want to put that on another person again."

"What if it wasn't your fault? Like the other person did something unforgivable."

"Then, I never really knew that person. I think that's a little bit on me if I mistake a person for something they're not. That shite doesn't usually come out of nowhere."

She hums. "You're very intelligent, Alex."

He chuckles, slightly confused by the compliment. "Thanks."

"Emotionally. You don't find many men like that. At our age. Even at my parents' age." He doesn't feel like a man. So close to childish kooks and still having his mum do his laundry but she's earnestly saying it so he doesn't vocally disagree.

"I have a ticking clock in me. You can have kids at any age."

"I don't exactly have the passion to be a 70-year-old father."

She shrugs. "I don't even think I want children. They're too sticky."

A half hour or so later, they enter a sticky bar where she squeals about how cool it looks, which, in her defense, she's right. It's through this long hallway that looks like you're entering a church with stained glass windows before you enter a room that looks like Ozzy Osbourne pissed all over the place.

Gathered around a table in the corner with two drinks between them, they make out. It's not some impassioned tongue-down-each-other's-throats kind of kissing where you think the couple is about to have sex right in the middle of the bar. They're in a hidden, dark corner and it's the first time today when they haven't been in broad daylight. And, yeah, it is probably a bit sleazy looking but it feels overwhelmingly necessary for both of them to do.

"People are going to start throwing money at us," she says.

"What?"

"Like at a gentlemen's club or something," she explains.

Alex laughs and he unintentionally rubs his nose against hers and she wrinkles it up, all freckled and fucking cute. She separates them and sips her cocktail, prompting him to sip his bourbon. "Maybe I'll do that."

He snorts and the bourbon nearly drips out of his nose. "Be a stripper?"

She giggles at his reaction. "From nanny to stripper. No, I feel lost is all."

"Sometimes the best things come from being lost." Alex feels his mouth being forced to smile and he can't hide anything from her. "I was lost when I found you."

She blushes and, fuck, he's screwed. Her cheeks are pink and she's cherubic but at the same time talking about being a stripper and he wants to glue himself to this seat and watch her blush forever.

She leans forward placing her head on hand. She looks like Juliet standing on a balcony and, he supposes that makes him Romeo or at least Paris, which means he's going to die for her either way and he almost slaps himself because this isn't some Shakespearean tragedy and she's sitting right in front of him breathing, reaching her hand out for his, which he kisses the back of, which is very Shakespearean, so this might kill him.

"You make me flustered," she confesses.

It blows him away because he's 100% been the fool this whole time to this dream girl. "Seriously?"

She drops her hand from his and leans back, sipping away, keeping her glass in her hand. "Yeah, you're always saying these things and I'm stuck talking about being a stripper and rambling about my lack of direction and ex-boyfriend."

Alex wraps his arm around her shoulder and leans over to whisper in her ear. The bar is loud but he also just wants to be closer to her. "Can I tell you something?"

She motions for him to continue.

"I feel like the biggest fucking idiot talking to you. I basically feel like I'm gonna shit myself every time I open my mouth. You're very intimidating, Charlotte."

She gags at the sound of her full name. "How can I be intimidating?"

"Have you seen yourself? You're like some angel. I'm convinced there is a halo hidden under that head of hair."

She rolls her eyes and pulls away from him to face him more. "See there you go again being only Mr. Cool Guy. You do this kind of thing all the time. You know exactly how to make the girls swoon for you."

"I'm kind of interested in making only one girl swoon."

"Stop talking! It's like you're trying to kill me."

"How do you think I feel? I'm the idiot begging this beautiful French girl to help me after I stared at her the whole train ride."

She smirks. "You stared at me the whole train ride?"

He throws his head back and pinches his nose. He groans and she's laughing at him and how can you not feel like the fool when she's making him do shit like this? "I'm a major creep but I swear I'm not going to murder you."

She huffs. "Oh, how promising. Next, you're going to take me down a dark alley and I'll mysteriously disappear."

Alex hunches over the table and rubs his face. "You're making me feel worse."

She grabs both her shoulders and squeezes them. "Don't get in your head about it. It's a labyrinth in there. I'm here and you're here and I think we both know how we feel so no pressure. We don't have to ever see each other again if we find out things about the other we don't like. I don't think you're going to kill me and you shouldn't worry much about a girl who couldn't even win a thumb wrestle if her life depended on it."

Alex doesn't want to think about never seeing her again but he's done keeping his guard up and he's going to make the most of this day, even if it's the only one they spend together. "You want to thumb wrestle?"

She pulls back with a gasp. "You just want to feel like a winner. Piece of shit."

"Fine," he chuckles, "tell me a secret. What have you been hiding from me?" He hit his shoulder with hers before wrapping his arm back around her.

She toys with the ends of her hair. "Euh," she says, eyes cast away from him, and roughly bites her lip, "I left my book on the train on purpose."

Alex stares at her and suddenly everything shifts. He isn't the only fool. "Is that a technique you use? Pick up men through book leaving methods."

She giggles and finally meets his eyes, sparkling. "No, no. I had finished the book on the train and I, well, I could tell you were watching me. I'm sorry I acted like I couldn't but it made me seem like less of a sap if I didn't know. I figured if you were watching me, you'd return it, and if not I would lose the book. I'm glad I wasn't wrong."

He gazes. The entire day reframed in his mind. "You..." He isn't sure what to say. He's yielded completely but trapped thoroughly. "I can't believe it."

She smirks. "Worked out pretty good too."

"Holy shit" is all he can utter. His mouth gapes open and shut multiple times before he can even think of a thing to say. "And here I thought I was the sap."

She tilts her head back. "I'm a total maple."

"Maple?"

She explains by saying, "Maple sap."

Alex is overcome with laughter and completely dazed by her. "Can I steal that?"

She inches close to him and plays with his hand on the arm that is around her. "What's your secret?"

Alex admits he walked into that one. The unavoidable shielding he's been doing ever since he got on the train to Brussels. It's not that he's full of himself thinking she'll know him or know the band but the whole purpose, or part of it, was to get away from that part. After a year that most people wouldn't experience in a lifetime, he needed to escape himself.

"I'm sort of running away from that," he tells her.

"What? Did you kill someone?"

He awkwardly laughs. He's frazzled. Back against the wall and he sighs, it shouldn't be this big of a deal. "No, I've had this big year with me band and we're doing our second album now which is the first break we've had in a long time but it's not really a break since we're making this album. I love doing it but after the whole thing with me girlfriend, I just sort of feel like I'm not even meself anymore."

"So you went to somewhere where no one would know you," Lottie guesses.

Alex nods. "Sometimes I think the person I need to escape is me." He's been sucked into the black hole of himself. A constant loop of overthinking and ever since things ended with Johanna, he's been thinking that all he does is suck the life out of everyone else, including himself. He knows it isn't true. At least, not completely. The band is great and the guys are great but he's losing touch with everything he'd ever known. He doesn't talk about it much, not even with the guys, but he feels flipped on his head, drowned, and unable to come up for air, and the tide is only getting higher.

"It makes sense," she tells him. He looks down and she's looking back at him with those drowning blues and suddenly he's breathing again. The ocean is in her eyes and not suffocating him anymore. "The person you spend the most time with is yourself. I think I'm a horrible person most of the time but you do your best to find people who don't make you feel that way. If you're really lucky you found people that make you actually feel like a good person."

Alex pulls her closer and leans down, placing his lips close to hers, but not touching them. "You make me feel that way," he whispers.

He can see her smile, teeth like pearls in an oyster, allowing him to be whoever he wants. "You do too. For me." He kisses her. It's soft and serene and he's eager and she's eager, both tugging at one another. Her mouth tastes like cherries and he holds her face and she tugs on her lower lip. He's not going to force her to do anything more with him but he thinks she's thinking what he's thinking like they have the same mind and are joined in the ideas of one another.

She's heavy when they pull back. Red cheeks and out of breath talking. "Do you want to walk around more?"

Alex will follow wherever Lottie leads. He pays their tab and grabs her hand to walk the stone roads once more. The sky has grown dark and a light flickers outside the bar where a group of people stand smoking. The street is relatively empty, besides a few stragglers who are returning from work or couples reaching the end of dates.

He wonders if people think they are a couple. It would be an understandable assumption. They stand with their hands intertwined. Her other hand is wrapped around his elbow and her head lays on the corner of his shoulder. She seems sleepy whether from exhaustion or her drink.

They walk lazily down the street with no direction in mind, no need to end up anywhere. "I like Brussels at night," Lottie quietly says.

The night is placid and her body is warm. "Me too."

She stops them on a street corner and lifts her head. "Where were you planning on sleeping tonight?"

He's not trying to get his hopes up. Maybe this is goodbye. He doesn't think it, prays it isn't, but isn't sure of anything, except the way he feels. "I was going to look for a vacancy somewhere. You?"

Lottie tries to hide her smile. It's one of the most adorable things he's ever seen, like a child trying to hide a cookie they've stolen from the jar behind their back. "I wasn't planning on staying the night. I was supposed to go back to Paris about an hour ago."

Alex tries his best not to use wishful thinking but come on. "Are you going to go back tonight?"

She shakes her head.

"Do you want to—"

"Yeah."

He's not a horny person. He's not a porno addict, he's not obsessive with women's bodies, he's not thinking of sex, boobs, or ass every minute of the day but, fuck, does the blood rush south quickly.

She resumes their walking and, again, he's not trying to rush her but it takes everything in him not to bolt directly to the nearest visible hotel even if it looks like a place where sex rings are located. He holds his pace but then he feels her step quicken and he tries to not hold his breath but he's already out of it.

"Does this look fine?" She points somewhere.

"Yeah." It could be a bench. He doesn't fucking care.

It's a Hilton. Nice, clean, generic. It doesn't matter as long as it has a bed.

Lottie talks to the women at the front desk in French. He doesn't understand any of it. She hands Lottie a set of keycards and tells her, "Vous êtes dans la chambre cinq cent cinq."

Suddenly, they're heading off toward the elevators. "Did you pay for it? You didn't have to pay for it. I'm the one making you stay the night here."

Lottie presses the down button. "You're not forcing me to be here against my will."

"At least, let me pay for half," he insists.

"You can write me a check." They walk in the elevator and she presses the 5 button.

He taps his foot. He can't touch her. If he touches her right now, he'll fuck her. She's giving him bedroom eyes and a heartache and he thinks she might eat him alive and he thinks he might let her, if she's the kind of food that gives her salvation. He'll be the victim if she's the vampire.

She unlocks the door and turns on the lights. The room is basic and the sight of the one lone bed confirms everything he needs to know in his mind.

Then she turns around and says, "I'm not having sex with you."

Alex tries his best to not look disappointed and he thinks he does a decent job besides the quiver of a smile on Lottie's lips. "That's alright. I can sleep on the floor if you'd like."

A smile overwhelms her face. She's dipping into a fit of giggles before she throws her bag into the lone chair in the corner of the room. "I presume you have a condom. All men seem to have a condom in their wallet during these situations."

Alex scratches the back of his head. He tries to answer simply, "Uh, yeah." But she just told him they weren't having sex so the condom that sits in the hidden pouch of his wallet doesn't seem as useful.

"When I lost my virginity, the guy I lost it to pulled out a whole string of Trojans and threw them on my bed." She tells the story through laughter, recalling the details best as her traumatized mind will allow. "He had to have had at least 20 as if he even lasted long enough to count the first time as sex. He fell asleep about 2 minutes after."

Her giggles prompted him to tell her, "The girl I lost mine to provided the condoms because I was too nervous to buy them."

She claps her hands in delight. She's sitting on the edge of the bed. He keeps his distance, unsure of what she wants him to do. He leans against the wall, knee propped up, hands in his pockets.

"My porno boyfriend wasn't too good at sex, which is extra annoying because you'd think he'd know how to do it based on the amount he was watching."

Alex laughs and shrugs. "Isn't most porn kind of made for men anyway? It's just a woman writhing around at the slightest touches."

Her eyebrow is raised and the left side of her mouth smirks. "Have you read The Second Sex?"

"Is that some smutty novel?"

She bursts out laughing and he figures he made himself sound like an idiot. "You read romance novels?"

Alex recalls, "My friend, Matt—he's the drummer in the band—read one to us once. It talked about throbbing members a lot."

"Does your member ever throb?"

He isn't sure what she is asking him. "Have I ever gotten hard before?" He tries his best to decipher.

She ignores his question and asks, "How many girlfriends have you had?"

Alex answers, "Uh, 3, I guess. None of them really long-term until my last." She nods like she's studying him. She might as well be holding a pen and notepad in her hand and taking notes on him. "What about you?"

She avoids the question and becomes snarky. "I haven't had any girlfriends."

"Good one," he approves. "You should be a journalist. You’re very nosy."

She bends down and undoes her shoes with a smile pointed at him. "Sex is weird," she voices. "The idea of putting yourself in someone else or having someone else inside you and it being pleasurable is one of the funniest ideas I've ever heard."

He shrugs. "Why? I think being with someone, feeling so close to them, you want to be the closest you can possibly be, and that concept brings pleasure. It makes sense. I don't think sex is completely about that. The pleasure part."

"What do you think it's about?"

"The vulnerability of it. I mean, being comfortable enough with a person to be naked in front of them, let alone, allowing them to be a part of that nakedness, take part in your body. The goal is to give this other person relief. To bring them this immeasurable ecstasy." He looks down at his shoes. If he looks at her, he'll probably bust a nut. "I think it's one of the last untouchable things. I suppose until we're having sex with robots and all that."

He sighs and meets her eyes. She's blinking at him, slow and carefully, as if she's in a daze. He thinks he went on for too long and weirded her out with talks of being naked, ecstasy, and sex robots. Probably thinks he's trying to force her into something. Then, she bends down and unties her shoes. "I decided I was going to have sex with you when you said I looked like Anne-Marie Crowet. The rest has just been foreplay."

She leaves him speechless again. He isn't sure if that's the go-ahead or if she's just informing him until she stands up and takes off her dress and he's pretty sure his heart is in need of a defibrillator.

Her back is to him and the blue of her underwear is imprinted in his mind. She looks over her shoulder and teases, "Do I have to do the whole thing myself?"

He swallows a chuckle and tries his best to stand up straight. He pulls off his dirty trainers and makes his way over to her. His arms wrap around her and it's like the first time he's touching her all over again. The delicate movements he makes as if he might burn himself at the slightest touch of her.

Lottie helps him out and leans forward touching her boobs to his chest. She fiddles with the bottom of his shirt and he nods for her to pull it off of him. The lace of her bra imprints itself on his skin and he thinks it'll leave a tattoo. The roughness of the material combined with the feeling of her nipples poking into him makes the blood rush with such speed he thinks he becomes lightheaded. She's got this hungry look that kind of drives him a little crazy.

Then, her mouth is on his. It's red hot, hot and heavy, rough, but the way his hand lands on her cheeks brings a sweetness to it neither can endure thinking about for long when trains leave the station all the time and people never return.

He kisses her neck. It's right there, a stretch of soft skin begging to be touched. They stumble blindly toward the bed. The mattress bounces as they fall onto it and a squeal emits from her lips that breaks any remaining tension and makes both of them laugh, teeth clashing, both too hungry for it to pull away to breathe fully.

She sits up enough for him to undo her bra. It's thrown back, scattered with the other clothes. She urges him to remove his jeans, "It's only fair. Equal opportunity."

"I'll show you equal opportunity." He's kissing her neck then mouthing her left breasts, kissing everywhere. Every expanse of skin. She's warm, warming up every inch of him. He tries not to rub against her too much for fear he might implode as he grows harder by the millisecond. He's dizzy, drunk off her skin, drunk off her boobs, drunk off the giggle she lets out when he kisses her belly button, drunk off her.

Alex nudges her legs apart as he trails his mouth down her stomach. He kisses her clit over the fabric of those blue panties. She groans and he's in deep. His hands edge the line of the underwear but he looks up to know for sure. She gives a head nod and he drags them down her legs slowly. He wants her to feel what he's felt. This waiting, the wanting, while she's called the shots. He wants her under his thumb now.

He feels the crevices of her. Slowly, he moves his hands inward down the lines that connect her legs to the rest of her body. He touches his nose to the area above her clit, teases her, wants to please her but wants her to need it. Suddenly, her hands are in his hair, threaded through his strands, not pushing him down but urging him. He gives in then.

She tightens her hold on the strands of hair and if she were to pull any harder she might rip a few out. She lets out this noise halfway between a whine and a moan, and he feels addicted. Desperate to hear it again. She's some fucked-up form of heroin, the water after the desert, the tang of the lime after the tequila, the first flower after the kind of winter that cracks your skin.

He dives in heavier, sucks her clit, and it makes her gasp and makes him restless but he isn't going to let up. He stops and kisses her inner thigh, which only angers her as she drags his head back to her center. He laughs into her pussy and it makes her push his head down heavier. "Please."

"Please what?" He lifts his head and he thinks she might slap him.

"Fuck you."

"Fuck me?"

"Fuck me," she begs and he grins, scruffy and desperate himself. He puts his fingers in her and you'd think he fed her a 3-course meal after months of only eating a shitty bag of petrol station crisps. He never considered himself to be too great at this kind of thing but she's shaking and he thinks he might be too but he's too focused on her to notice. She's crying out, coming, shaking, and breathless.

Alex wipes his mouth on his arm and kisses his way back up her body. Lottie leans up to capture his lips in a hungry, rabid kind of way, pushing him down on the bed. She snaps his waistband and he lets out a little scream, which makes her giggle, and it's a form of tit for tat. "You're annoying." She straddles him and he thumbs her hips.

"I don't know what you're referring to."

She crosses her arms. "Fine. You can sleep on the floor now."

"Only if you join me."

He leans up and kisses her and any teasing seems to have been forgotten because she reaches down and pushes off his boxers. Her fingers fumble before stroking him as if he isn't hard enough. "You've got quite the throbbing member." It's these tiny things that leave him rough and reeling and pushing any thought of never seeing her again out of his mind.

Alex pushes her over so she's on her back. He kisses her and says, "I need to get my wallet." She lets out a laugh as he goes to retrieve it. She sits up and watches him tear the packet with his teeth. Keeps watching him while he rolls it on, biting down on her lips, she pulls him close again, and touches him over it. Alex kisses her, long and good, trying to say everything he can't say out loud.

Everything becomes hazy. A mess as he enters her slowly before urgency takes over and she hooks her left leg over his hip and pushes him deep. A string of incoherent syllables fall from her lips and her brows draw together so tightly he sticks his thumb out to smooth it out. She catches his hand and kisses his palm. He hits this spot in her that forces this hitched gasp out of her and he swears he nearly cums from just that. She holds him tight, nails digging into his back. She could be drawing blood but he doesn't care. It feels good, everything feels good, electrifying, and killing. It's hard and rough and a real fuck if he's ever had one.

But it's more than that too because she keeps catching his gaze and holding it. Her arms are around his neck insisting he keeps his eyes on her, not that he'd look away, he doesn't have a choice but to take her in. She moans his name and Alex forgets for a moment that they are two bodies. He doesn't think his body belongs to him anymore. Its only purpose is to fulfill her.

He hits that spot again and she falls over the edge with a caught breath, nails digging deeper into his shoulder blades as he fucks her through it. For a moment, he's completely detached from himself, it's only her, nothing else, only her. Then, it's too much, and he's releasing into the condom and his body is on top of hers in a heaping pile of sweat-slick limbs and trembling bodies. His face is buried into the crook of her neck and he might suffocate himself.

Her arms are tight around him as if he might fly away into the night sky with a puff of smoke. He can feel her pulse race and the thought that he did that to her makes him want to already do it again. He presses his lips in the hollow of her neck and lifts his head. She brushes his hair back, all a mess in his eyes and he probably needs a haircut but who the fuck cares when her hands are running through it. "Is it always that good for you?" She whispers.

He's still out of breath as he shakes his head. "Fuck no." He doesn't want to remove himself from her but he disposes of the condom and she pees but they meet back in the middle.

The room is hot, even with the AC, it was cool when they entered but they've stunk it up with sex. She lies on top of his chest and his arms wrap around her and he has never had a girl fit so perfectly into that curve of him. As if they are curved for one another. "Best song to have sex to? Go."

He chuckles, still spent from what just happened but thinks. "I don't know like Marvin Gaye or something."

"Good answer," she approves.

"What's yours?"

"You know that Crazy Frog song." He doesn't think he's ever laughed harder in his life.

They run into an issue about a makeout session later. You see, Alex only had the one condom but is currently nursing a throbbing member, and Lottie isn't exactly cold either. "You think they sell them at the front desk?" She asks.

He throws his head back on the pillow. He can't keep making out with her because he can't go down in the hotel lobby with a raging erection. "I can't ask that poor lady at the front desk."

She bites her thumbnail in contemplation. "There's probably a store open down the street."

"Okay." He stands up and swiftly pulls on his boxers. "You can take a shower." She complained about being too hot and sweaty for about the last 20 minutes. "I'll get enough condoms to put virginity guy to shame."

She opens her mouth dramatically. "What are you planning on doing to me, Alexander?"

And, yeah, he nearly trips trying to get his jeans on after that. "I'll be back in 10 minutes tops. Do you want anything?"

She stands up on her knees on the mattress, the sheet is wrapped around her, and it's like she's trying to tempt him into a bad idea. "Oh, oh, oh!" She says excitedly. "You know those Lindt chocolates?" He nods, amused by her enthusiasm. "Get those but not the assorted kind, just the milk chocolate."

So, there he is at some grocery store, scared to buy condoms and chocolate for fear they'll talk to him in French. But the cashier is busy talking to his friend and doesn't so much as glance down at Alex or what he is scanning.

On the walk back (he thinks about running but that would probably be too dorky), Alex starts to spiral a little. Mainly at what has occurred in the past hours and the impending following hours. After their night together, what's next? A goodbye. If that's what she wants, he'll do it, but he doesn't want it that way. But is he really ready for a relationship? Let alone doing long distance again? He should probably be on his own for a while. Maybe they could be friends. Maybe this is a fond memory he'll look back at in his old age and remember the blonde angel who took hold of his hand and he never wanted to drop it. Suddenly, he thinks he'll be a single lone loser who doesn't find anything or anyone better than what he has and is forced to reminisce on a lost time. Or worse, he'll be with someone, but constantly thinking about what could have been.

He shakes the thoughts out of him and returns to the hotel. It's close to midnight and the lobby is empty except for the front desk which he gives a weak "Bonjour" to. The ride up the elevator is excruciating. Now that he is no longer spiraling, he's just thinking about her, naked. He fumbles putting the keycard through the slot and nearly drops the chocolates but he pops open the door.

And there she is. Naked, freshly showered with damp hair, lying on her side with her hands between her thighs. It's like she's shot him, he almost stumbles back, the sight is so holy, and he's so unworthy.

"Do you enjoy killing men?" He asks her. She smiles, giggles, and it pierces him completely. A force moving through him. She starts to sit up slowly and he quickly yells, "No, no, no, don't move!"

She lays back down pleased. "You bossing me around?"

The chocolates and condoms hanging at his side and his mouth almost hangs open. "Just want to take in the sight." And he tries his best to memorize every curve of her, the way her hand dances up her side, and how his heart is thumping away.

"At my museum, you're allowed to touch the art," she jokes.

Alex can't wait much longer anyway. He's fast. Rips open the box of condoms, takes a packet out, pulls his jeans and shirt off before toppling all over her. It's a laughing mess but soon their lips are connected and she's urging his boxers off of him. She ends up on her back, knees at his ribs, and his body braces above hers. Alex cradles the back of her head, pulling at her hair, and swallowing all her noises, those hitches, those gasps. He loves them, loves her, he's going to miss her like hell. He can't help fucking her as if he'll never get to do it again because he might not ever do it again (besides any later rounds they might have tonight). It has to be good, perfect, flawless.

She flips them over and moves down him, kissing every few inches. His hands thread through her hair. She's teasing him like he did to her and he could let her do it but he swears he'll lose it if she kisses her stomach again. He lifts her head off of him and she seems to get the message as he fists her hair into a makeshift ponytail. She takes him in her mouth, licks him like a lollipop up the sides, and he wants to be careful with her but he can't be gentle when he's dying for it. "Come on, don't make me beg."

She lifts her head with a raised eyebrow and he groans in discomfort. "Would you?"

He thumbs her lip and she kisses it faintly. "You know I would."

She takes him all the way in. She puts a quick, great effort into taking him completely in her mouth. Her nose brushes up against his hair before pulling back slowly. She begins to bob her head, working away at him that has him muttering, "Holy shit. Fuck." His eyes stay trained on her, even if he can't help but flutter. The sight itself is enough to make him shoot a load, let alone the actual feeling of her doing it.

Right as he's about to, she lifts her head up off of him and says, "You know, we could have done all this without the condoms right."

He's antsy, needs to grab onto something, he settles for fisting her hair. He laughs at her teasing but groans and bucks his hips up like come on, finish the job. She gets the message. Works away desperately. She wants him to cum almost as badly as he wants to. She takes him down all the way again and he goes then, right down her throat. She doesn't move, doesn't choke, swallows everything, and, fuck, he could cum again just from that.

He's panting, in dire need of air but never needing it again if she's doing things like that. She wipes her mouth and giggles at his reaction. Pleased with herself, the way she puffs her chest out shows that.

She takes the condom he's been holding this whole time out of his hand. "Did we really need this?"

Alex hooks his arm around her neck. "Yeah." He forces her onto his back, kissing her. It doesn't take much to work him up again and he brushes his fingers through her pussy and she's drenched and like that, he's ready to go again or he'll make himself ready to go again. He wraps himself up and rubs himself through her, has her writhing, has her moaning, has her clawing away at him.

When he enters her again, her voice gets raspy as he moans, "Alex." She kisses his neck and shoulder, and bites down in a vain effort to keep quiet before uttering, "Yes," and he's hungry for her to do it again. Snaps his hips into her quickly causing her eyes to flutter shut. His hand thumbs her clit and she pulls on him tighter. Her legs wrap around his hips and she tries to move closer to him as if it is humanly possible.

He flicks her clit again and he never considered himself to be amazing at sex but she makes him want to be the best and she's moaning like he might be. He tries to make it last, doesn't want it to end. He pulls out almost all the way before snapping his hips forward to get her moaning. Her fingers curl around the sheets, then around his hair. His hand grazes up her, memorizing. He's deep in her, both physically and emotionally. "Fuck," she groans. He tries to be slow, but she urges quickness before ordering, "Harder." He listens, bucking into her and she's melting away unable to focus on anything. His own pleasure is secondary. He hasn't even thought about his orgasm. He needs her to finish.

Their skin is coated with a sheen of sweat and he kisses away at hers. She wraps her arms around his neck and pulls him into her tightly. It's enough to choke the light out of him but he doesn't mind because she's panting and unarticulately moaning before she's coming. Their pattern becomes messy before she sends him over the edge.

She tries to catch her breath and relinquishes her hold on Alex. "Holy shit," she whispers weakly.

Alex hums in concurrence. He runs his fingers down her sides to make her shiver—a quiver comes from her lips.

"Hi there," she says. Something in him swells. He pulls her by the waist and she yelps a little, surprised, and then bites down on a grin. Reaches up to push his hair from his face and she's cracked him open like an egg and now he's just spilling out. His eyes fall shut and he wraps her up in his arms, indolent from exertion, nuzzling her nose to his.

She sighs heavily and they're stuck in the post-sex silent glow. Absorbed with one another and nothing else. Much like the rest of the day. "Are you sick of me yet?" Alex jokingly asks her. He isn't sure of himself on many things but he's sure of this. She must be feeling everything he's feeling. She has to, right?

She sits atop his chest. "Never."

He pets his hand down her now unruly hair. It gives him intense pleasure to know he did that. She dances her fingers around his body, waist to shoulder. "What's sex in French?"

She smirks, returning to their old translation game. "Sex is sex. I mean, there's faire l'amour, which is make love."

"Faire l'amour," he repeats.

"There's se branler."

"Se branler."

"Which means to jerk off."

He pulls an offended face. "I just had sex with you. I'm not jerking anything off."

She giggles. "Fine, baise-moi," she offers.

"Baise-moi."

"Fuck me."

He laughs. "I'm not that quick."

"J'ai envie de toi," she says. "I want you." She curls into him. Her hair soft and arms tight.

The impending morning hangs over their heads like an anvil. "Are we ever going to see each other again?" He asks.

They aren't looking at each other anymore. She breaks eye contact with him to stare at the ceiling and his eyes soon follow to do the same. "I don't know. I have to be back tomorrow."

"Me too," Alex says. His thumb grazes back and forth on the corner of her shoulder.

"I don't want to do long distance," she confesses. "It always fades away. You know, two people say they'll keep in touch but that's never true. You send a few texts but then you're missing each other's calls and it's a mess. I don't want to do that with you."

"Me either," he agrees. He doesn't want to repeat history and he doesn't want to do that with someone like her. Someone who he's never felt this way before.

"If this was it, would you be okay with that?" She asks.

His head is screaming No, no I wouldn't be okay with that, screw those kids, stay with me. But he's not going to lose himself in fantasy so he nods. "If that's what you want."

She averts her eyes. She looks unsure of herself but doesn't say anything and tucks herself into him. "I don't know what I want."

He kisses the top of her head. "That's okay."

In the morning, those blinds they never closed allow the Sun to wake them up. Their limbs are thrown about around the other. Her eyes flutter and it's like a butterfly taking flight as she exposes those blues. She looks at him and starts laughing. Her hand drags across the side of his face. "You have lines all over your face."

He perks up at the sight of her and that laugh. "That means I had a good sleep."

She bites a grin. "I had a good sleep too." If you can call it that. They weren't paying the closest eye on time but he doesn't exactly feel like he slept for 8 hours straight. She leans up and kisses across his face and it's an eruption of giggles.

There's a feeling in the air that they might do it again but then her eyes catch something and she falls back. She bites her thumb, which he can tell is a habit when she doesn't want to say something. She exhales roughly. "I have to go now if I'm going make it back in time."

Alex can't say more than an "Okay."

She redressed and, soon after, he does too. There isn't much romance to the whole thing. Soon, they're making their way to the station. Not many words are spoken but halfway through the walk, she leans her head on his shoulder, and he thinks he might cry.

Her train leaves at 9:45, his at 10:15. It's 9:35. There are no words spoken but he follows her onto the platform in silent understanding. Her train is already there, taunting them.

She grabs both his hands and places them on her waist. She rubs her hands over his elbows. The station is full of noise but silence echoes. Then, she says, "I don't want to never see you again."

He lets out a breath, feeling air enter his lungs again. He leans his forehead down to hers. "I don't want that either."

She kisses him tight in a quick motion. She presses herself up against him completely and he holds her against him in the same manner, the finality of it rattling around them.

"Come to London," he wishes aloud.

She pauses any movement, breaths caught in her throat. She's stiff and unmoveable before shaking her head. "I can't do that."

He has to. He has to. He has to. "Yes, come on. You hate your job. You want to find a future. Find it in London."

"I like my life. I have friends—"

"You have friends in London," he recalls. "Come on, Lottie. Doesn't have to be forever." He's begging. He sounds pathetic, he must, but, my god, if she can get him to get on his train, then any begging is worth it.

Her eyes are filled with tears and the knife twists within him. She takes a deep breath. Then, perks up, and excitedly says, "What if—what if I visit in a couple of weeks? I'll sort everything out and then I'll visit."

He feels like someone punches him. "We'll be back on the road soon."

She deflates and her train is honking away. This can't be it. Both are thinking it.

Alex gets one last idea. "I'll be in Paris. In July. My band we're gonna be touring here. Come to the show."

She grabs a hold of him like he might float away. And he just might. "In July?"

"Yes," Alex confirms. "Arctic Monkeys is the name of the band. I'll reimburse you for the ticket and all that." He tries to end on a lighthearted note but the weight hangs heavy.

She smiles and kisses him. “Okay, I'll see you in July.”

Alex kisses her again. He has to savour it. Hold it completely in his hands, hold her, memorize the way she moves her lips against his. Last call for the train is shouted out and says, "See ya in July." He smiles hopefully and she returns it.

She goes to get on the train but turns back quickly. Kissing him tightly, hard, passionately, firework-erupting finale. "Have a good ride back and a good tour, Alex."

"You too, Lottie." It takes her laughing to realize his mistake. He slaps his forehead, which endears her completely as if she could be endeared anymore.

She squeezes his hand firmly. "I'll try my best." She steps aboard and gives him a final look before dropping his hand.

He lets it swing at his side. Watches her pick a window seat. Each party waves goodbye before the train pulls out of the station. Alex stands there for a moment. He can't think about it for too long. He'll be doing that the whole train ride. Every day until July. Every day after July. Until.

Alex catches his train back to London and he'll wait for her. And then wait some more.

#alex turner #alex turner x reader #arctic monkeys #alex turner x fem!reader #alex turner fic #alex turner smut #alex turner x oc #alex turner x y/n #alex turner x you #junedenim

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captaincherrie · 7 months ago

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Back in Chicago

Pairings: Lewis Nixon x f!reader

Summary: Lewis and reader have some unresolved feelings? Very loosely inspired by this song.

warnings: uncertainty, fluff, cuteness? It’s late, this isn’t proof read or anything!!!

Disclaimer: any writing of Band of Brothers is strictly based of their fictional representation in the show. No disrespect to the true hero's.

Authors note: so this came to me suddenly, had to write it. Again fighting for my life with the style of this, trying to figure it out. This is definitely not my best, but overcoming writers block by writing small things As always, let me know what you think, enjoy (and my requests are open)

He looked right at her. Eyes scanning her face, trying to convey the message he wasn’t allowed to say yet. They had met in Belgium, in the midst of hell. Her hands trying to work magic, while attempting to soothe the pain that lingered around. But now, comfortable in Germany while looking over the beautiful landscape, Lewis felt sober for the first time in a long time.

They had spent the afternoon together near the lake, each their own book, in their own little world

“Where will you go now- once the war is over?” He asked hesitantly, breaking the comfortable silence. The war was over, he just wasn’t allowed to say it yet.

Y/n smiled at him, her smile reaching all the way to her eyes. She looked radiant, he realized, like a thousand shimmering suns laughing right at him.

“I’ll go back home to Chicago, Nix. Maybe work at the hospital there, maybe find someone who takes me dancing and reads to me in the park. Have a dog and some babies eventually. You know, finally start a life. ” She winked.

He nodded at her words, breaking his gaze away from her. His hands fidgeted with the corner of the page he was reading. They had gone dancing the night before, the memories coming right back. They had been so close, her perfume dazing his senses and her soft curls tickling his neck.

“Sounds nice enough. You deserve it, Y/n.” He sighed, bringing his eyes back to the words in front of him. Pushing down the feeling that was screaming at him.

After a few moments, Y/n spoke up again, “What about you, Lewis?”

“What about me?” He looked at her.

She closed her book, connecting their eyes, “What do you deserve?”

He looked down, lowering his head slightly. “I will figure it out, I guess.” He answered.

She sighed, stood up and took her book. Taking a few steps back, she turned around to face him once more. “I know exactly what you deserve, Lewis Nixon. But I’ll give you time. Once you figure it out, will you come visit me? In Chicago I mean?” She smiled.

Not bothering to hear his answer, she walked away grinning while shooting him one last wink. He watched her go, a small sparkle of hope tingling in his stomach.

He looked after her with reddened cheeks, blinking slowly. Did he hear her correctly? He had just been served a divorce letter. Everything, including his dog, has been taken away from him. Was she seriously offering him a new chance on a silver platter?

4 months later, back in Chicago.

They had sent a few letters back and forth. Small updates of their lives shared, but nothing more. He hadn’t responded to her last letter, which was a few weeks ago. Multiple things had crossed her mind, maybe the divorce hadn’t gone through, maybe he decided he didn’t want her? Had she been too vague or maybe too forward? He has always been such a smart man, he must have gotten the clue. He was an intelligence officer after all.

A knock on the door broke her train of thoughts. Shaking the feeling, Y/n made her way to the front of the house. Her friend Betty had promised to come pick her up so they could go out in the evening.

Stopping in the hallway, she took a moment to put on her heels and look one last time in the mirror. Reapplying her lipstick, she heard a second set of knocks. Grinning to herself, she yelled, “Yes Betty, I’m coming! Christ, you’re impatient.”

Turning the knob, she opened the door.

“Hi.”

Her face fell. “You’re not Betty,” she whispered.

Lewis looked at her, she looked more rested, a healthy blush sitting on the apples of her cheeks. She looked beautiful.

“No, but I was hoping you’d go dancing with me instead?” He asked with a small smirk on his face.

Y/n blinked once, then quickly overcame her shock. Jumping up, she brought her arms around his neck, she crossed her legs around his waist. The movement caused him to stumble slightly, trying to hold on to her as best as possible as he found his footing again. He brought his head to the crook of her neck, a genuine smile overtaking him as he smelled the same perfume as that last day together. He held her up for a few minutes, before slowly lowering her to the ground again.

“You came! I- I thought-” She beamed.

He grinned while answering, ��How could I not? Had to come find my girl, right?”

Her lips parted slightly as her brows furrowed, “your girl?”

“Yes, Y/n. I heard what you said all those months ago, and I have been going over it. Again, and again, and again.” He scanned her face.

Cupping her chin, he looked into her eyes again, “If you let me, I will take care of you for the rest of my life. I will give you whatever you want. Whatever it takes to feel the way you make me feel all the time.” He confessed.

At this point she was blushing furiously, “Lewis Nixon, have you been drinking again?”

“No, sweetheart, stone cold sober.” He chuckled.

Y/n looked at him, trying to find something on his face that indicated he was joking. When she couldn't find anything, she locked their eyes again, “Then kiss me, you fool. I’ve waited long enough”

“Yes, ma’am.”

#band of brothers #band of brothers fanfic #band of brothers fic #hbo war #lewis nixon #lewis nixon x reader #lewis nixon fic

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bonesandthebees · 1 year ago

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Hi Bee, welcome to Belgium. I forgot to warn you about the lack of English in Brussels-midi, Tbf I rarely go their unless I have a connecting train, which I did today. Also, yeah, you tend to have to pay for public bathrooms in Belgium, usually it’s only like 50 cent or one 1 at most. A lot of restaurants work with a code on you bill so you have to buy something first to get into the bathroom. Though that’s more the informal stuff like McDonald’s and such because anyone could walk in there. You also have to pay at gas stations like 99% of the time, but they then give you a coupon worth those 50 cents to spend in the store.

Also, I assume you were taking the Eurostar and it’s kinda shit it got cancelled (at least you got a new one the same day). Also, there were a lot of issues with international traffic today (my Thalys got delayed and things like that tend to richorcette for a bit) I do hope you managed to get to England and I hope you have no more travel issues. I wish I saw this sooner cuz there’s a really good takeaway pasta place at Brussels midi.

Oh yeah, coffee shops sell weed in Amsterdam. It’s very legal there. And once you smell weed, you will forever recognise the sent. Although it sucks that you lost a day, the Rijksmuseum is one of the mos fun museums in Amsterdam. So it’s nice you did get to do that one.

-🌲

Oh my god you were at Brussels-Midi today?? I was there for like 3 hours waiting for my connection imagine if we walked by each other at one point thats so funny

Yeah that makes sense I suppose, still was a bit of a shock to see for the first time lol. Good to know it’s all across Belgium tho so I’m not taken by surprise when I go back there next week

Yes I was taking the Eurostar it was such a mess trying to figure out what was going on while we were on our way to Brussels 😭 I’m very glad we got another train the same day tho. Sucks that your Thalys train got delayed!! Also ooo I wish I’d heard your rec I only got a coffee at the station and I’m so hungry rn

I’m omw to London at the moment and from there I gotta catch a train to Brighton so hopefully I don’t get to my hostel too late. We’ll see but at least we didn’t have any plans for today bc of all the traveling

Oh yeah I’m familiar with the smell of weed lmao I live in California and weed is extremely legal there too. I just wasn’t expecting to struggle finding coffee bc all the weed places just call themselves coffee shops 😭 I’m so glad we went to the Rijksmuseum though I’ve been to a lot of art museums and I have to say that’s one of my top ones so far

#ask #spruce anon #bee travels

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alsjeblieft-zeg · 6 months ago

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046 of 2024

Survey Inspired by Natural Disasters 🌪️🌋🌀

by emflowers

🌀 Hurricane 🌀

Are there hurricanes where you live? 🌀

Yes, but pretty rarely.

Have you ever had to evacuate because of a hurricane?

No, thankfully.

Do you have any family living in a place that gets hurricanes?

Yeah, my parents.

Where do you live?

West Flanders, Belgium.

Have you ever been friends with a Katrina?

No, but does Katrien count? If so, then yes.

When was the last time you used a spiral-bound notebook, and what did you use it for?

Yesterday, to make a to-do list.

Do you feel like you are always in a hurry?

Yeah. Work, house, time goes fast.

Do you feel like your life is spiraling out of control?

Sometimes. But doesn't everyone feel like this at times?

If you are going through a hard time right now, what is one thing you do to cope?

Visiting my hometown.

What advice would you give to a friend if they told you their life was spiraling out of control?

I'd just be there for them.

🌋 Volcano 🌋

Have you ever climbed an active volcano? 🌋

No, I haven't climbed any volcano to be precise.

Are there any volcanos near where you live?

No. The nearest one is in Iceland, if I'm not wrong.

When was the last time you played, "The floor is lava!"

Never played it lol.

Think of five different Ashleys you've been friends with, and then list one adjective to describe each of them.

Wut, I've never been friends with any Ashley. I don't even know anyone with this name.

List three things you like that are hot.

Soup, hot chocolate and my cat lying on my back.

Do you prefer to eat cold food or hot food?

I don't like steaming hot, so I'd say warm.

Do you prefer cold drinks or hot drinks?

Depends on the season. Hot in winter, cold in summer.

Has anyone ever accused you of posting an angry status on Facebook, when you weren't angry at all when you posted it?

I don't have Facebook.

Where was the last place you hiked?

Probably a Polish forest, years ago.

Do you enjoy hiking? Why or why not?

I used to when I was younger.

🌪️ Tornado 🌪️

Do you live in a place that gets tornadoes?

No, I don't.

Have you ever taken shelter in a basement during a tornado warning?

N/A.

Has your home ever experienced any destruction from a tornado?

N/A.

Have you ever lived in a basement?

No, I haven't.

Does the current home you live in have a basement?

No, it doesn't. We don't even have a cellar.

When was the last time you spun around in circles as fast as you could just to make yourself dizzy? 😵‍💫

Probably when I was a child.

Did you enjoy spinning tops as a kid?

Well, I enjoyed spinning things, that's about it.

Do you wish time went by faster or slower?

Sometimes faster, sometimes slower. Like everyone, I guess.

How often do you vacuum?

Once a week.

Have you ever heard wind so loud it sounded like a train? 🚂

Yeah, many times. I actually like this sound at night, it's very calming.

Have you ever ridden on a train? (If so, where did you go?) 🚆

Oh my, ask such a question to the son of national railways worker. I've been using trains since I was little, and probably took a train more than 10.000 times in my life, no kidding. I had some routes in Poland, Germany, the Netherlands, France and almost the whole Flanders.

🌎 Earthquake 🫨

Have you ever been in an earthquake?

Yes, but it was relatively light.

Do you live in an area that gets earthquakes?

No, we had about two in the recent 30 years, so I wouldn't say so.

When was the last time you dug a whole in the ground, and why were you digging it?

Probably as a kid in our garden.

Do you prefer handshakes or hugs?

Depends on a person. Hugs are for friends.

What was the last thing you shook?

A deodorant spray lol. It has a nice peach scent.

Do you shake presents before opening them? 🎁

No, I don't.

List three things (if applicable) that you keep up high on a shelf.

Boxes with magazines, some books, and some binders.

What was the last thing you dropped?

A plastic cup. Thankfully plastic.

What is your favorite flavor of milkshake?

Strawberry.

Have you ever had a dream where you were falling?

Didn't almost everyone at some point in their life? I had them more than once, either falling or stumbling upon something.

🌊 Tsunami 🌊

Do you remember hearing about the tsunami in Japan on the news years ago? 🇯🇵

Yeah, probably more than once.

What are three of your favorite things to do in the water?

Walking on the sea.

Who was the last person you waved at? 👋

Probably Jeanmarie, but then he came to me and gave me a hug.

Have you ever jumped waves in the ocean? 🌊

Yeah, many times. I was born and raised at the sea.

What do you think of the name Ocean? Do you like it?

What? I don't get that American custom of naming kids after random objects.

Do you like the name Ocean better for a boy or a girl?

It's not even a name, period.

Have you ever had a terrifying experience in which you almost drowned?

No, thankfully not.

List three of the first things you think of when you hear the word "ocean" (besides what has already been mentioned).

Beach, sand, sunsets.

Is there a silent letter in your name, and if so, what is it?

No, but there's a *double letter* that only Dutch-speakers will get, I think.

Do you drink enough water every day? 💦

I hate water. I always drink other fluids.

#survey #q&a survey #themed survey #categorised survey

0 notes

teddyniffler · 9 months ago

Text

Chapter 18: Ominis

part 1

The rest of Christmas passed in a haze.

Ominis couldn’t get the sound of the explosion out of his mind, it was even visiting his dreams now almost each night. He had killed at least ten Muggles and no matter how much Snakey told him it wasn’t his fault, he had no choice, he still knew the horrifying fact if somebody were to check his last spell, it would be Confringo.

The last few days of the holiday had been filled with Marvolo checking the Muggle newspaper, the Muggles had blamed the Gaunt’s practical joke on a Muggle killer, but Ominis was quite while his brother read outloud snippets of the Muggle press. They had finally found a way to get the head down from the top, and a holyman was coming to bless the church grounds.

“So is that like a Muggle who tries to use magic?” Marvolo asked his parents.

“I don’t think so.” Mr Gaunt said “More like a modern-day version of the people who used to hunt our kind.”

Ominis kept quiet. In an hour he would be back on to train to Hogwarts.

“Are you all packed Ominis?” His father asked.

Ominis nodded silently. At that moment he could hear three house elves entering the family room carrying Ominis’ trunk.

“Ominis.” It was his mother, she leaned down and kissed his check. “I shall expect you back here at Easter, I shall have chocolate from Belgium flown in for you.”

Ominis forced a smile.

“Of course.”

In truth, he never, ever, wanted to come back here.

“We shall get going.” Mr Gaunt said, “Come Ominis.”

Ominis got up and said goodbye to his mother and brother as he followed his father out of the house. He couldn’t help but to turn his head to the left as they started walking down the hill. The Muggles down there would still be in a panic, he could almost imagine them running around down there, his imagination let him believe for a moment that they were all looking up at this hill, looking at him as though under a spotlight.

“I am proud of you, Ominis” His father said as a house elf panted loudly behind them, carrying Ominis’ trunk. “I thought you were going to let me down again, but you came through in the end. What you did to those muggles made me very proud. You are worthy of the Gaunt name.”

Ominis nodded, but inside his self-hatred increased tenfold.

“Thank you, father.”

They entered the shack at the bottom of the hill and went to the fireplace.

“Kings cross station. Platform 9 3/4” his father said.

Ominis stepped into the fire and exited a moment later onto the platform which was oddly quite around the Floo flame. They had been discussions lately of stopping travel by the Floo network to the station for local families in the south who could travel to London, as the queues were getting longer. This notion, of course, had been put in place by the Gaunt’s, who did not like to wait for lesser families to move along. The train was already in, however it wouldn’t leave for at least an hour. Mr Gaunt came through the flames, followed by their house elf and the trunk. The House elf placed the trunk into one of the better carriages on the train and stepped off with a bow.

“Have a good term, work hard and be a good boy for Professor Black.” His father said. Ominis nodded.

“I shall see you here for Easter.” His father said, it was not a question.

“Yes. Goodbye for now father.”

Mr Gaunt then did something he had not done for a little while. He placed his hands on Ominis’ face, pushing it up and kissing his son on the forehead, such displays of affection were rare in the Gaunt family. He could not remember so much as being hugged by his parents, he was completely taken aback.

“Remember who you are. Do not accept lower scum to walk over you. You are a Gaunt and they know it, they fear you, so hold your head up.”

Ominis nodded, his heart not in it at all.

“I shall father.”

His father helped him onto the train and then left.

“Goodbye Sir, have a good term.” Came the House Elf’s voice who had come out with them.

Ominis went to sit in the carriage, his head spinning over what had just happened.

They Fear him. Who feared him for being a Gaunt, couldn’t they see he was just a blind boy?

Everybody he ever met had either tried to befriend him for the influence they believed he carried or avoided him, but not because they were scared of him. They just didn’t want to be associated with the heirs of Slytherin, the inbreeds.

Leaving his son on the train, Master Gaunt walked in the direction of the Floo flame and he smiled. His senses as a Parselmouth were very well tuned to sense any snakes in his immediate surroundings and one day Ominis would be too, once they trained him more.

There had been a snake hiding within the clothing upon his son’s back.

Even if Ominis hadn’t smuggled Snakey out of the house, Mr Gaunt would have made sure the Milk Snake was safety packed in Ominis’ trunk. Snakey would never betray Ominis willingly, those two were a perfect match for each other, too gentle for their own good, they would always protect each other.

Mr Gaunt knew Snakey and Ominis would end up betraying themselves without even knowing they were doing it. Ominis didn’t want anything to do with his family, they all knew that, but Snakey being around would ensure Ominis would speak Parseltongue to him regularly. When people witnessed any of the Gaunt’s speaking to their serpents, it acted as a reminder to who they were, their lineage. Those prejudice and jealous capeflappers, who both feared and envied the Gaunt family for their power and wealth.

Every Gaunt eventually fell into that seductive power of using their snake for their own benefit. Ominis would be no different, Snakey might be small, but a snake was a snake to the untrained eye, most people envisioned venomous fangs or cold scales strangling them, that animal brought fear to most people. Ominis would one day realise he can use his snake for more than just companionship and when he did, he would be a true Gaunt.

He glanced back at the train and smiled. How soon? He didn’t know, but he was eager for results. Lucky for him, he had already set up the perfect scenario to push Ominis over the edge.

The refusal to give him back the Sallow boy.

Kicking the House Elf through the green flames in front of him just for the fun of it, Mr Gaunt smiled again. The words he spoke that night on the eve of the New Year were correct, his son would not be friends low life kin slayers. He was very sure Ominis would never see that boy again and when Ominis discovered that, well Mr Gaunt would be there to polish his son’s rage.

‘Gone’

A tiny movement under his collar bone told him Snakey had just rose up to peer out of his clothing and then went back under his robes again. The snake somehow had known to warn Ominis about his father lingering on the platform. Ominis was relieved he had done so.

He now curled his legs up to his chest as much as he could and laid down across the seat. Nobody would ever bother him, on the way here he had been alone for the entire journey. Maybe he could just go back to sleep, maybe he would just lay here and think of everything that had happened to him over the holidays. He wanted to write to Anne, but he could never speak about what he had done this Christmas. He had killed ten people. Killed them. A child too.

His eyes were closed tight as hot tears welled into his eyes.

Now he was both a torturer and a murderer. All he needed now was to cast Imperio and he would have all the greatest sins committed under his belt.

Yet again, his insides clenched with guilt. Sebastian had only killed one person in apparent self-defense and they had him carted off to Azkaban; he had killed nine more times than his dear friend, so which of them deserved Azkaban? Yet again he remembered how broken Sebastian had sounded, the fear in his voice when he had figured out they were debating turning him in. Only a monster would have turned him in. Only a hypocrite would then do much worse mere months after turning somebody else in for a lesser crime.

He would see Professor Weasley as soon as he could, he needed an update on Sebastian’s wellbeing. He took slow, deep breaths, he needed to calm himself, nobody knew what he had done, his family weren’t exactly going to inform the Aurors they had butchered Muggles recently, nor were the Notts. The feeling inside of him was consuming, was it fear or guilt? He couldn’t tell but it made him feel sick either way.

His family had turned him into a killer. They had turned him into a torturer.

If it wasn’t for Snakey inches from his face he would have been screaming, but he didn’t want to upset his childhood pet with the vibrations.

‘Safe… Safe’ Snakey said, picking up on Ominis’ emotional state. The snake shuffled around, tucking his head between his small body, his weight on the side of Ominis’ neck felt like a strange hug.

Ominis didn’t say anything. He didn’t even move. His hands, which he was sure still held the ashes from the explosion, held close to his mouth.

The sound of families slowly started filling the station, normal happy families who had never once tortured their own kids for not torturing other people.

Footsteps made the train wobble slightly so it felt like it was caught in the wind, followed by train whistles starting to signal to people that they ought to start boarding the train.

“GOLDEN SNITCH!” Somebody shouted outside on the platform. Ominis didn’t open his eyes, no doubt somebody had let loose the smallest Quidditch ball for a joke for the adults to capture later, it would not be the first time. Rumour had it there was one flying around in the Gryffindor common room, but Ominis had no way of fact checking this, he rarely spoke to any Gryffindors.

“There he is” Somebody shouted running past Ominis’ carriage. That made Ominis’ eyes snap open, his heart pounding. That wasn’t aimed at him, was it? They weren’t talking about him were they? Had they found out what he had done to the Muggles? He was almost holding his breath.

He listened for the sounds of Aurors approaching, coming to arrest him, throwing him into the cell Sebastian had just left. They would check his wand, he could quickly use it, any spell.

“Lumos” Ominis said fast after finding his wand, then just as quick, “Nox.”

That would cover the evidence from it.

“Snitch. Snitch. Snitch.”

People were chanting outside in the corridor, but not directly outside his carriage. He could still hear them chanting, whoever it was, as they walked away from where Ominis lay.

“Snitch. Snitch. Snitch.”

Not aimed at him at all. He put it out of his mind as the train give a final, loud whistle as the clock hit 11am. The train started to movie. Still Ominis lay there, as expected, nobody bothered him.

The train turned, swayed, tilted, sped up, turned, titled again, it felt like it was now going down a slope.

Then the door opened.

“Are you okay my dear?” Came a voice.

Ominis woke up with a start, it took him a second to notice somebody had spoken, it was the witch who pushed the trolley.

“Um, yes? I was just laying down-“

“It is lunch time, would you like anything from the trolley?”

“Lunch time? Oh yes, do you have pumpkin pasties?”

He got up and took some money from his pocket, he carefully felt his way forward.

The witch must have remembered he was blind from coming to London, for she handed him the food.

“Thank you. Here is the money. Do you have Cauldron Cakes? One of those too please.”

“My dear, you look very pale, are you well? If you need any help I am up front with the driver, it’s just three carriages up.”

Ominis nodded.

“I am well. I just didn’t sleep well.”

Once she left, he ate his food. He must have fallen asleep. Once he had eaten, he took out his book about the wizard and the magical ring again and started reading, running his finger across the pages, occasionally touching Snakey as his small friend moved around the seat and his book.

The rest of the train ride passed without incident, he changed back into his familiar Slytherin house robe, feeling the silky material on his cloak, it felt so good to be back in his normal clothing, to look just like a normal student. He placed his wand back into its pouch and felt for Snakey, feeling his odd vibrating body napping on the chair near him and placed him into his pocket.

It was as he got off the train he smelt the vile stench of dungbombs.

Placing his hand over his nose, he left the train.

Must be a first or second year messing around, Zonkos ought to place an age limit on who can buy their products, sometimes younger witches and wizards went too far with their pranks. Then he smiled, remembering Sebastian and Anne’s little tricks during those years.

On the platform he heard laughing.

“You’re not funny and I shall be reporting this to Professor Weasley!” Came the obvious voice of Leander Prewitt.

“The only Golden Snitch we want to see is the one on the pitch!” Came a voice followed by the sound came of somebody being hit by a dull thump and that vile smell of dung again.

“STOP IT! How many more times! I didn’t speak to the Daily Prophet about Sallow. Just because that uncle murdering dunce and I didn’t agree with each other, it doesn’t mean I-“

His voice stopped. Ominis felt it again, his hairs all standing up.

“Gaunt, I wasn’t the one who talked to the Prophet, I swear!”

Ominis blinked slowly. He hadn’t even said anything to Leander, couldn’t see him to make eye contact with him. All Ominis did was exit the train, yet Leander sounded… odd.

“You know it wasn’t me, right? Sebastian, if he did it, what they are saying he did, its nothing to do with me. I’m not that Gryffindor who told the Prophet about him.” Leander stuttered out.

To Leander, Ominis had gotten off the train right behind him without making any sound at all. Only when Leander looked behind did he see the youngest member of the House of Gaunt right behind him. He looked different somehow, his normal tidy hair was looking wild and uncombed. Unknown to Ominis, some of his hair had fallen out of place as he slept on the seat. It hung down to his eyes, which were currently dead looking, haunted after the events of the last week. His blonde hair and odd silver blue eyes complimented each other, next to his pale skin. In this moment, Ominis Gaunt did not look himself at all, he looked a little unkempt and, to Leander’s horror, a small snake was standing up from his shoulder, its tongue flickering in Leander’s direction, Leander was terrified of snakes.

As Leander watched, it seemed Gaunt was taking in his words, his face did not change, he just stood there. Then there was a hiss and Gaunt hissed back, they were talking to each other! The snake and the boy, both talking.

Leander had heard rumours of the Gaunt’s all being Parselmouths who kept serpents, including Runespoors to do their bidden but it wasn’t confirmed, just hearsay, however right now Ominis Gaunt was doing it right in front of Leander, without a single care in the world for how it looked. Everybody knew being able to speak Parseltongue was the sign of a dark wizard, only the worst of dark magic was done with snakes. In this moment, Leander’s last nerves were spent, Gaunt looked like he was telling the Snake something. Leander would gladly face those Slytherins back there with their dungbombs then be near Gaunt for one second more. Ominis Gaunt had always seemed decent-ish, but right now the young man before him did not look like Ominis Gaunt normally did. There was something very different about him. As the Snake turned its head to look right at Leander, the last of his bravery left him and Leander turned and ran.

A few moments ago, Snakey smelt somebody close by and heard vibrations of human speech. The boy talking to Ominis smelt odd, like fear. Humans smelt different with their moods, very easy to read.

‘I smell fear’ Snakey informed Ominis. Fear could equal attack.

Leander continued to blabber on. Ominis didn’t have an inkling as to what Leander was talking about, then he remembered. Just as term ended, that interview in the Daily Prophet from a Hogwart’s student from Gryfindor house.

“Oh, he’s just talking about a newspaper interview, it’s nothing.” Ominis answered.

‘Oh? He goes fast. Fast. We chase?’ Snakey asked

He was right, Leander had just ran off. Ominis could hear his footsteps. What was doing on with him?

“He’s – He’s Leander. He and my best friend don’t get along. I don’t know why he ran, he’s a little strange. One time my friend tried to crush him under a dragon skull.”

‘Enemy’ hissed Snakey.

“No. No. Not enemy, we have no enemies” Ominis laughed. Whatever was wrong with Leander, Ominis didn’t have a clue. He had enough to worry about without Leander Prewitt’s weirdness on top.

“I will show you Hogwarts, it’s apparently a very large castle, although I confess I don’t know what a castle looks like. Sebastian once told me it has pointy parts that reach into the clouds, I think that was a lie though, that would be very big.” Ominis said, placing Snakey more securely around his neck.

Unbeknown to Ominis, other people, including Hogsmeade residents who owned the local shops on the platform were watching in a mixture of shock and distrust as Ominis and his snake walked passed hissing loudly to each other. His wand guided him as normal to the carriages, he didn’t feel so odd climbing in one now he was dressed in his normal school robes and not the ludicrous luxury robes that cost more than anybody else could afford. Right now, Ominis was just happy to be in the cold, crisp January air, back at school and now with his childhood companion. He got them both away from his family. So deep was his conversation with Snakey over school, the grounds, his dorm, the people he knew, it never occurred to him that there were people watching him. Some students hung back, exchanging looks of unease with their friends. Some chose to ride in already full carriages or walk, anything not to join the Parcelmouth with his serpent servant. They didn’t want to be associated with the Dark Arts. This is what his father had been counting on, allowing a snake to leave the house was not something the Gaunts normally permitted, all their snakes had their usage and were not normal pets. Right now Snakey was increasing Ominis’ statues as an outcast without the pair even knowing it, with each word, each laugh, the looks around Ominis turned darker. Snakey who was unable to distinguish such expressions on a human face, thought nothing about it.

#ITSOFF18

0 notes

quietlyimplode · 2 years ago

Text

kiss the dread

(Sometimes war is not the answer

After all, light needs darkness to glisten against)

travel through the shadows - pt1 // pt 2

chapter one (Ao3/tumblr)

chapter two (warnings for discussion of red room punishments)

Clint smiles.

The last time he heard from her she was telling him not to touch her and offering her name like a curse.

“Natasha Romanov.” He answers.

He imagines her close by and it’s oddly settling.

Clint looks at his bandaged arm, more of a reminder for himself at this point, to stabilize the joint.

“It was you wasn’t it?” He asks, wanting confirmation on what he already suspects.

Silence reigns.

“You got me out of there.” He presses.

He waits for a response.

“Were you coming after me?” She asks, the answer obvious.

He wonders how to tell her that he couldn’t just leave her. Even though he had lied to Coulson and Fury, saying that she had got away.

They’d sent her after him anyway.

He pauses. “I was following leads.”

“You let me go.” Natasha’s voice is accusing, like he hasn’t just spent the last 6 weeks looking for her and being stumped at every turn, even with the agencies backing.

He laughs out loud. “You stole my phone.”

She’s not as jovial. Perhaps it’s the memories of being captured or even having him take care of her. “I had to go.” She clarifies.

Clint huffs. “You made contact. What do you want?”

She’s quick on retort. “What do you want?”

He doesn’t have a response. He wants to know something first.

“Why did you save me?” He asks with some hope she’ll answer.

There’s a moment of silence before she speaks again.

“Why did you save me?”

They’re in a loop of asking questions with questions, and he honestly can’t be bothered with it.

“I told you.” There’s frustration in his tone.

“Tell me again.” She demands.

He pauses, trying to remember what he told her in Belgium.

“You’re not a weapon.” He says slowly.

She laughs, “What does that mean?”

He’s quicker this time. More confident in his answer. “It means you’re your own person.”

She outright laughs, mockingly but doesn’t say anything.

“You’ve been making noise in London.” He says spontaneously. The bodies and blown up places could only be traced to her.

“It was necessary.” She deadpans.

He doesn’t doubt it was.

He fingers the delicate chain, smiles at the arrow; knowing just how much she’s done her homework.

“I’m assuming you left this here for a reason.”

He imagines her nodding, though she’s probably doing nothing the sort.

“To say thank you.” Her voice is quiet.

“Thank you?” He’s confused.

“For saving me.”

Clint shakes his head. Hoping she’s watching him. “You don’t need to thank me for that.”

“I do.”

Natasha heaves a breath.

“Do you know what they would have done to me?”

He’s not sure what she means. He assumes she means the Red Room.

He doesn’t want to admit how little information they actually have on her and outfit she works for.

“Pardon?” He opts for.

She doesn’t disappoint.

“If they’d taken me back. If you hadn’t interfered?”

He’s about to say something indignant about interfering but she continues her train of thought.

“Do you know what they do to you when you fail a mission?”

Clint is quiet.

“They call it re-education.” He feels like she’s far away, that even if he said something, she needs to say it out loud, maybe admit it to herself.

“They use a mouth guard and shove it in your mouth. They place electrodes to your head, and run electric shocks through it. It’s.. Effective.”

He’s not sure what to say. Because he’s seen her tortured. He’s seen her in pain.

And it’s something he never wants to see again; or have her experience it. Her screams of pain, will forever be etched in his memory.

“I don’t want to go back. I don’t want to ever go back.” She clarifies.

“What do you want to do?” He’s slow to ask, and she’s slower to answer.

“Is your offer still valid?”

The question hangs.

Clint knows what she’s asking, but has to clarify. “You want to work for us?”

He paces back and forth waiting for her answers.

“Yes.”

“You want to defect?” He says it as delicate as he can but wants to make sure no wires are crossed.

There’s silence, like she’s trying to bring herself to say the words.

“Yes.” Comes her quiet voice.

“Okay.” He says simply.

“Okay.” She echos.

He can’t promise anything, he’s never done this before, he doesn’t know the protocol or the ins and outs.

“Any conditions?” He tries time think of that one training session on defection but his mind is coming up blank. It’s the only question he can think to ask.

“Dreykov, the head of the Red Room, has to die. If he’s dead, I’ll come with you.” She’s quick on the response.

He nods.

“I’ll be in touch.” His mind is spinning on the consequences of this phone call.

There’s a click and she hangs up, leaving him with a mountain of work to do.

Natasha breathes heavily.

The emotional toll of the phone call, admitting something that she wants, and beginning of something new has left her exhausted.

She was planning to leave. She wants to go to Norway, the caravan beckons but reasons with herself that she can’t travel safely like this.

Her chest hurts every time she takes a deep breath in, psychosomatic or not, the only thing she can think to do is go to bed.

Clint calls Coulson straight away, picking up his phone and looking at the other one she had dropped off.

The necklace glistens in his hand as he gently sets it on the table.

The gesture isn’t lost on him. The kindness and thoughtfulness has further cemented his position to save her, from whatever demons she’s carrying.

He can advocate for her, and be her partner, but he needs to go about this in the right way; present it in the right way to Fury and Coulson.

He’s almost tempted to make ultimatums, if they don’t agree; he’s prepared to walk. If they don’t see the value in her, then perhaps it’s time he walks too.

He likes Shield. But…

He shakes his head as Coulson answers.

“Barton.”

“She made contact.” He says as hello.

“Oh?” There’s shock on Coulson’s voice as he leaves it hanging.

“She wants to defect.”

Clint starts pacing.

“She wants to come work for us.”

The phone crackles and he can hear Coulson moving.

“Clint. Tell us exactly what she said.”

Fury clears his throat.

“Barton, what did she say, exactly.”

Clint feels butterflies in his stomach.

Talking it through with Coulson first is one thing, but now, talking it through with both of them feels like there’s more on the line.

He thinks. Keeps it as factual as possible.

“She left a phone for me. On the balcony.” He rubs his hand over his face. “She said she wanted to defect.”

Fury grumbles. “Why do I feel you're not telling me everything?”

Clint knows he’s going have to give them something.

“I got her out of a situation in Belgium. She trusts me. It was uhhh… not a great situation.”

Fury is quiet, and Clint hates it.

It’s like he’s running through all the scenarios and not coming to a conclusion that he likes.

“You have to come home.” Fury states.

Clint’s first reaction is to refute it. He wants to meet up with her, wants to see her and tell her that they have her back.

He knows it’s not that easy.

Fury isn’t finished.

“We gave you more time after the incident in London. Which I still haven’t received your report on. We gave you an extra week, and leeway on this.”

Anger stirs in his gut.

“What did you think you were leaving me to do? Why do you think I stayed?” he pauses.

“This is what we wanted. This is a good outcome.” He’s pissed at best. Probably not helpful with the director of Shield.

Coulson saves him, as always.

“Clint, this is bigger than you think. It’s not just bringing her in. It’s the repercussions of having a Russian agent, someone from the Red Room, defect. She would be an asset, we aren’t doubting you but we need to set up the papers, and think about the consequences. We can’t just go to war with Russia. We need some bureaucratic oversight. Do you understand?”

Clint rubs his hand through his hair, his jaw clenched.

“Ok.” He concedes.

“You’re booked on the commercial plane for 10pm tonight. We’ll see you in the office tomorrow.”

Clint nods, even though they can’t see him and hangs up.

It’s only afterwards, he realises it was probably rude.

Clint enters the Shield offices, chewing gum and hands in fists. He wants to be neutral, be prepared to walk away, but he’s heavily invested.

Coulson greets him with coffee and tells him to calm down.

“It will be fine.” He follows up.

Clint nods as they head to Fury’s office.

Coulson walks by him; tells him that the bureaucrats are working on the extraction and defection paperwork.

“I’m trying to help.” He tells Clint, as they round on the door.

“I know.” Clint mutters. “I know.”

Coulson catches his arm.

“She’s killed many people. Hell, she just left a trail of bodies in London and The Netherlands. What makes you think that there is anything of her that’s worth saving? That’s worth trusting?”

Clint stares him down, “I just do.”

Coulson’s demeanor turns hostile.

“Jesus Clint. Do you know what your asking? What the World Security Council will say?”

Clint matches his ire.

“You don’t think they’ll see the value in having a Russian spy? One that’s got probably so much intel that we can use?”

The door opens and Fury moves his head to look at both of them.

“We should probably be having this conversation on the inside of the door.” He admonishes. Clint ducks his head, the authority of Fury’s voice not lost on him.

Moving to the chairs, Coulson and Fury sit, Clint preferring to stand in the corner with his arms crossed, leaning on the bench.

“What were her conditions?” Fury opens.

Clint stares for a moment, choosing his words carefully. “She wants to take out Dreykov and needs backing to do so.”

Coulson turns his head to look at Clint.

“General Dreykov, head of the KGB, most likely the Red Room and the consult to the Russian President. That General Dreykov?”

Clint shrugs. “I guess?”

When he looks up, it’s the first time that he’s ever seen Fury worried. The emotion is fleeting but there.

“And she wants to kill him?” His low voice rumbles.

“With our help, sir, as part of her defection.”

There’s silence as Coulson and Fury have a non verbal conversation. Clint watches them closely and feels that things might actually turn out the way he wants them too.

Fury stands.

“I have to talk to the WSC about this.” He looks to Clint and points to the door, and then tells Coulson to stay.

As Clint heads for the door, he turns to look at them.

“For the record,” he says, “I think she would be an asset to shield.”

And with that he leaves.

Clint goes straight back to his apartment, thankful it’s above a Chinese food shop, because it means he doesn’t have to think about what he wants to eat.

They smile at him, make a comment about not seeing him in a while and hand over his usual.

He tips them heavily and heads up the stairs, the food heavy in his hand.

Unlocking his door, his phone buzzes with the instructions for his full debrief tomorrow and a message from Coulson that they expect him in at 10am.

He throws his phone on the table and sits on the couch unpacking the food.

He pulls out the phone she gave him and stares at it, almost willing it to ring again.

The necklace is in his pocket. He reaches in a touches it again, to make sure it’s still there. The point of the arrow pokes his finger and he smiles.

Eating slowly, he feels fatigue flow through him. Turning on the TV, he lays down, pulls a blanket over him and closes his eyes.

#bwf2022 #Natasha Romanoff fic #marvel fic #natasha romanoff #clintasha #black widow #clint barton #black widow fic #my fic #hawkeye #clintasha fanfiction #clintasha fanfic #kiss the dread

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sarcastically-defensive17 · 4 years ago

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Far away - P. Parker.

This is an overload of angst, inspired by - and named after - ‘Far Away’ by Nickleback (yes, I’m a nickleback fan, I’m sorry). There WILL be a part two.

No this was not requested, and the gif is not mine. I hope y’all like it!

Original story by sarcastically-defensive17

WARNING: the contents of this story may be triggering to some readers. This story contains: domestic arguing, mentions of familial death and guilt, mentions of violence, mentions of abandonment, pregnancy, Peter and Y/N both being bitches, and all round angst. Please do not read if this may cause you any offense or trigger you in any way

It had been near 2 months since she had seen Peter. In person, that is.

The relationship between Y/F/N and Peter Parker was an odd one. Best friends through middle school, they were like two peas in a pod. Inseparable to the point where Y/N was adopted as an honorary Parker.

In high school, tragedy struck both of them. Y/N’s mother left, divorcing her father and leaving for California. Ben Parker died, shot by a lawless mugger when he was out looking for Peter. Peter blamed himself. Y/N fell in with the popular crowd, looking for any chance to distract herself from her overwhelming anger. Peter became distracted, finding any and every excuse to escape school once he began an internship with Mr. Tony Stark. Peter and Y/N often vied for the attention of Liz Allen, their crushes on the woman making their anger with one another overflow whenever they were in each other’s presence.

In University, they reunited and decided to start over. One thing led to another and they quickly became lovers, with distance between.

Until she fell pregnant. 7 months into their relationship, she found out about the new life growing inside of her. She was ecstatic, but full of nerves. Peter was anxious, worried for his child and the woman he loved.

Life as Spider-Man was hectic. He grappled with the thought of her getting hurt because of him every day. He had seen the danger that had come to Pepper, what happened to Ben, Ned, almost everybody he held dear.

Her first trimester went by with a rocky start. Y/N fought with her own fears, wondering how she could be a mother when her own wasn’t there to teach her. Nevertheless, she loved peter. She gave her all to him, but he was distant, growing more so every day.

She didn’t want him to go. He had risked his life - and their relationship - far too many times in the past year. He knew it was a risk, he knew his life would be in danger every second he was undercover, but he still went.

Then Tony told him to go undercover.

She was in New York, about to hit her third trimester, and he was in Belgium, unaware of the life growing inside of her.

He broke the news to her of his undercover mission with Clint three nights before he left. That same day, he had missed their scheduled appointment to find out the sex of their baby.

To say there was an argument would be an understatement.

She had printed the picture up, gotten a card for him, and left it waiting on their shared bed for when he got home. Spider-Man was only half of his job, the other half was spent with incredibly long hours at the lab with Tony working on whatever their incredible minds could think of that day.

Sometimes she felt as if their relationship had been mostly made up of her waiting on him.

He had walked in the door, moving to gather his stuff together from the spare room they had in their apartment that housed his gear. They were set to turn it into a nursery.

He told her of the mission as soon as he walked in, immediately erasing the excited grin from her features.

“How long is it going to take?” She fought the nerves from building, knowing that the longest mission he had been on before had been two weeks. Tony told her when her and peter moved in together that Peter wouldn’t be expected to go on a mission any longer than that.

Peter sighed, grabbing a large bag. He had to head back for debriefing, and training before the mission began. He didn’t expect to be back home before he had to leave. He didn’t want to leave her, but he had came to terms with the fact that he was Spider-Man before he was Peter.

“I don’t know, Y/N. At least a month and a half-“

“You can’t go!” She interrupted.

Peter chuckled softly, paying no mind to her growing anger. “Yeah, I do. Clint and I are the only ones that can go unnoticed. Nobody has seen my face, and Clint has done so many undercover missions. He’s practically living a new life every month.” He hustled around the room once again, grabbing every box of spare cartridges for his web shooters. “After all, this is what I do.”

Y/N scoffed. Recently, he had been putting everything before his family. He missed their anniversary in favour of working on a new web formula with Tony. Her birthday was spent alone with nothing but a 10 minute phone call from him because he was on patrol. Now, he had missed the day they had both been looking forward to for months.

She didn’t want to be selfish, she loved him fiercely, but his child needed him too. Every time he left the house with his suit, she feared for his life. Now, she had the baby to think about too. It was about more than just her.

She tried to push down her feeling that he didn’t even want to be a father.

Peter rolled his eyes at her scoff. “Y/N. I’m Spider-Man. That means that I need to help people, not just be here when you want me to.”

“That’s not what it is, Peter!” She exclaimed, eyes widening at his words. “I’m due in three months!”

He rubbed his hand down his face, huffing. “Y/N, can you just stop? Please? I need to go, and you’re not going to stop me. This is my job. Tony and May are here.”

“I thought your ‘job’ was spending hours with Stark and forgetting that I exist,” she snarled, making quotation signs with her hands. Tensions had been high between them lately, the past two weeks turning their house into a war zone. She was sure her news would bring a happier note, but the news was all but forgotten at the time. “We are your family, Peter!

His eyes were blazing with anger, his bags in his hands as he slipped past her to the door. He spared a look at her swollen stomach, almost sadly.

“Peter!” She called after him as he ignored her, stomping through their apartment.

She tried a few more times, latching onto his hand as he got closer to the door.

“Please, don’t go. The last mission you were on, you came back with four broken ribs and a concussion. I can’t lose you, we need you,” he refused to look at her.

“You won’t lose me, y/n. I’m an adult, I don’t need you to babysit me. Enough, I need to go. This is about more than just you, so please cut the crap,” he sighed at her, anger pulling his brows down and crinkling his nose in the way she had memorized.

Y/N had struggled with trust issues since before her mother left, and she had used all of her courage to trust peter, but the anger and fear were too much, her mouth working without instruction. “Why don’t you just fucking admit that you don’t want to have a family, Peter? You’ve made it perfectly obvious that the baby means nothing to you!”

That set him off. “Grow the fuck up, Y/N. This may shock you, but this isn’t about you, for once! Don’t you ever say that I don’t want this child.”

She scoffed at him again, spitting, “you couldn’t even bother to fucking show up for the sonogram today. Our baby is fine by the way, not that it matters, obviously.”

His laugh was evil. “You’re so fucking perfect, aren’t you? I’m sorry that I have a job, unlike you. I fucking save people, every day. I don’t have time to hold your hand through fucking everything because you’re a narcissist!”

She was taken aback by his shout, her next words flying out without the filter between her brain and mouth coming into action. “You know what? Fine!” She shoved his arm away. “If you walk out that door, don’t fucking bother coming back. You don’t care that we need you here, so don’t even bother being apart of this.”

“You’re kicking me out because I’m going on a mission?” His laugh was sarcastic, almost full of disbelief. “You really are selfish, Y/N.” He wrenched the door open with his free hand, not bothering to kiss her like he always did before a mission. No further words were exchanged, only a longing glance at her stomach and a fleeting look in her eyes.

She was left in the quiet apartment.

She trudged to their room - her room, now - fighting the tears threatening to fall. The photo of their baby was sitting carefully on the bed right next to the card.

The dam broke, tears streamed down her face and sobs ripped from her chest.

She picked up the photo of herself and Peter from when they announced their pregnancy. He was on his knees in front of her, hands on either side of her small bump, smiling brightly with love in his eyes, and she was looking at him the same way.

She flung it against the wall, watching the glass shatter from the frame and fall to the ground.

She pulled the card up from its spot, reading over the words inside.

‘I have loved you all along, Peter. Thank you for beginning this journey with me. We’re so far from where we began.

I know that our little girl will be as perfect as you are.

All my love, Y/N.”

The two months has passed agonizingly slow. Her heart wrenched each day when she woke to an empty bed. Their baby grew steadily, now a month away from making her entrance.

Her new routine had been to watch the news every morning before her daily run. Her work hours had decreased, but she filled her schedule to clear her head, in order to stop the pain.

She hadn’t spoken to peter since he left, she barely even knew where he was.

Jedd Walters was on the news, his booming voice echoing through her house as she watched from the kitchen.

“This just in,” his voice grew more urgent. “After months of being undercover, we are saddened to report that beloved Avengers, Spider-Man and Hawkeye are missing after a KGB detonated bombing brought down the building they were in. After two days of searching, neither man has been found, but many Belgium citizens have been wounded, with no casualties as of yet. More information will come available as the story progresses.”

The scream that tore from her throat was full of pain, and the tears that fell from her cheeks burned.

Tag list: @starshonerose @another-lonely-heart @mantlereid @snookiebrookie @theanswertoeverythingisl0v3

#peter parker angst #peter parker x reader #Tom Holland #Tom Holland x reader #alternate universe #pregnancy #angst #did I mention angst?#marvel #spiderman mcu #Spider-Man #tony is alive bitches #my baby won’t be dead unless I say so #sarcastically defensive17

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akindofmagictoo · 4 years ago

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20 first lines tag game

this comes from @zmlorenz and also I think @amillionwips — thank you both!

rules: list the first lines of your last 20 stories (if you have less than 20 stories just list them all). see if there are any patterns. choose your favourite opening line. then tag others.

(I will tag @writingbyjillian @pamsdrabbles @sleepyowlwrites and anyone who wants to play!)

Hurricane

Tempest stilled her bouncing leg, eyeing her sleeping husband. Had she woken him? She took a careful breath and didn’t let it go until he snored and rolled over, pulling the covers tighter around himself. Still she waited. One breath. Two breaths. When he still didn’t move, she stood up and grabbed her coat and sword belt, not even bothering to put them on. Because she had to leave, and she had to leave today.

Theo x Aella Little Mermaid AU

Water closed over his head, tugged at his clothes. Tugged him down… down…

He wanted to cry out for help, but the water filled up his mouth before he could make a sound. Cold stole into his limbs, heavy and dark, weighing him down.

His chest ached, searching for air. Deep, cold darkness wrapped around him. Dragging, pressing, pulling down.

Down… down… down…

When he’d hit the water, he’d panicked. That was gone now. All he felt was the cold, the deep dark cold.

a random post-canon Theo x Aella oneshot

Thunder rumbled overhead, blending into the drumming of the rain on the roof. Aella tucked her blanket more tightly around herself, but it did no good. She couldn’t sleep. She couldn’t keep her mind off the locked front door, Alanna’s instruction to stay inside. It felt too much like other locked doors. Every time she closed her eyes, she was back there again and—

No. Sitting in this bed alone with her thoughts would do no good.

a post-canon Theo x Aella oneshot (sort of the former version of the one above)

“Read the mermaid one again.” Aella snuggled against Theo, pressed up between him and the arm of the big old armchair.

a Theo x Aella modern AU

Even with a map on his phone, Theo was impressed he’d made it to the small cafe on the main street. True, it was the main street, but his new house wasn’t, and directions weren’t his forte. Given how recently he’d moved, it was at least understandable.

The cafe was small, but its list of drink options was larger than he’d expected. But it included several types of tea, so he ordered a familiar English Breakfast and sat down at the nearest table.

post-canon oneshot of the Hurricane women play ‘theatre’

“So, who’s up next?” Aria stretched out in her hammock. “As much as I enjoyed being the defence lawyer, I think it’s someone else’s turn.”

“I’ll play the accused. I want to try my daring escape again,” Aella volunteered, sitting up.

Theo grinned. “Because you got caught last time?”

a crossover royalty AU with another project (Labyrinth)

(this isn’t the first line, but it’s the first lines where Theo appears. also, you would be correct if you assume that the Spanish princess is not Aella. that is the complication.)

“Spain confirmed the marriage alliance,” said Jared. “We still have to confirm it one last time, though.”

Theo glanced up at his dad. “Hardly surprising, really. They offered it, after all.”

Jared nodded. “Are you still alright with this? We can turn them down now, if you want.”

“My calendar is free,” said Theo, straight-faced. “I mean, it’s not like I’ve got my eye on someone else or whatever. Just as long as I’m not expected to actually have a romantic relationship with the Spanish princess.”

the below are all fanfictions. [ps my AO3 is @/ sidebysidewithafriend go check it out if any of these fics interest you]

Shadow and Cottontail (Harry Potter: Marauders (OC insert))

(this is co-written, I’m posting the first part that I wrote)

“Is there mail today?” Kai Lupin jumped the last step down to the dining room. This was the same question she’d been asking for five days, but she asked anyway.

Her mother Hope was about to answer when an owl swooped through the open window, a parchment envelope clutched in its beak.

“I think the answer is yes,” said Remus, descending the stairs behind her with a little more care than she’d taken. Kai rolled her eyes and crossed the room to see what the envelope contained.

Hope was already taking it from the owl. “It’s from Hogwarts,” Hope said, and Kai’s heart leapt, only to be dashed by her mother’s next words. “But there’s only one envelope. It’s addressed to you, Kai.”

Told You You’d Kill It (Harry Potter: Romione)

“Ugh.” Ron shoved his books to one side and ran a hand through his hair, making it stick up in all different directions. Hermione hid a smile as Ron drew his hands inside his jumper sleeves.

Through a yawn, he continued, “I’m done. I’m so tired.” Probably from his basketball training, but schoolwork was also a struggle for him, she knew. And they’d been studying in the library for several hours now. No wonder he was exhausted.

Thank You For Saving My Cat (Harry Potter: Jily)

Lily pushed herself up to a sitting position and breathed a small sigh of relief. At least she was out. She turned back to the house, watching the orange flames that danced over the structure with her heart in her throat. Was it her imagination, or were they growing smaller?

Most of her stuff could be replaced. But she hoped nonetheless that she wouldn’t have to.

Then she remembered the one thing she’d left behind and couldn’t replace. Crookshanks. She stumbled to her feet. Legs shaking under her, she ran to the nearest firefighter and grabbed their sleeve. The firefighter gear covered its occupant’s face, but the voice sounded male. “Are you alright?” He took her arm gently, steadying her.

3AM (Harry Potter: Wolfstar)

The beeping of the fire alarm filtered into Sirius’s sleeping brain, burrowing in until he couldn’t help but wake up. At which point he groaned and wrapped his pillow around his head, trying to block out the noise.

But this was a fire alarm, so really he had to get up. Grudgingly, he removed the pillow from his head and fumbled for his phone to check the time. The light from the screen was blinding in the darkness of his dorm room, but after a moment his eyes adjusted to see that it was 3:07 AM.

Give Him Back to Me (The Great Library: Wolfe x Santi)

Day 1

“Nic?” Wolfe half-rose from the bed at the sound of knocking, leaving his Codex open beside him. Something was off, though. Nic wouldn’t knock. He had a key. Besides, Nic was away in Belgium, training a new company. He wasn’t due back for another day or two, and that was assuming everything went to plan.

Nevertheless, when the knock came again he got to his feet and headed for the door.

Death Is Not Fair (Shadowhunters: (very angsty) Malec)

It wasn’t fair. Then again, life wasn’t fair.

And neither was death.

It shouldn’t have happened. It should have been a simple mission. The scans and all the reports had said there was just one demon in the area. It was a larger, stronger demon, and would’ve put up a good fight, but it was still practically nothing to a Shadowhunter like Alec.

Untitled (Shadowhunters: Sizzy) (unfinished and un-posted)

Izzy was swearing off dating. She’d kind of thought about it before, but hearing about the amount of drama in Jace’s love life right now cemented the idea firmly in her mind. No more dating. Between that and the mess Alec had gone through a couple of months ago, she wasn’t sure she wanted any part of that. Not to mention that of all the boys she’d dated, none of the relationships had really been right. Did she believe in The One? She wasn’t sure. But none of her boyfriends had been it, that was for sure. So no more dating for her. She was here to study forensic chemistry, after all, and surely it was better to concentrate on that.

Moving Day (Riordanverse: Blitzstone)

Last? signed Hearth.

Blitz brushed a speck of dust from the shoulder of his shirt, studying Hearth’s face. He knew exactly how many boxes were left to move, and it was more than zero, but the elf was looking paler than usual. If that was possible. As he watched, Hearth swayed a little and put a hand on the wall for support. “No. But I’ll get the rest. You need a break.”

Untitled quarantine AU (Riordanverse: Percabeth) (unfinished and un-posted)

“Thanks for letting me stay over to finish this project,” said Annabeth, setting the last piece on the model Coliseum she’d made. They’d done most of it last night, and she was just adding the finishing touches now. Although that had been before school had been shut down; they’d been notified the night before, but since she was here she’d been determined to finish it.

Untitled (The Hobbit) (I have a “better version of Tauriel’s arc” thing in the works, and this is an accompanying oneshot of how the Durins died in this version) (un-posted)

“Where is he? It looks empty. I think Azog has fled.” Fili glanced around nervously, his breath steaming in the icy air.

“I don’t think so,” said Thorin.

Footsteps sounded on the ice, echoing in all directions. It was impossible to know their source.

“We’ve got company,” Thorin growled.

Kili readied his sword.

This was practically everyday for them at this point. Every motion of his sword, every footstep, every bit of it was familiar. Fili hardly had to think. His sword flashed in the faint light. Droplets of blood and crystals of ice spattered his exposed skin, hot and cold. He was at home here; he might not have been on the ice before, but with a sword in his hand and Kili and Thorin at his back, he was content.

this is VERY long. if you read to here, thank you! and maybe consider reading some of them in full on my AO3?

#tag game #20 first lines tag #wip hurricane #wip labyrinth #zoe writes

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keoghans · 4 years ago

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Hey Chuck

Hello and welcome to this Chuck Grant fanfic. I always loved this dude, and I see little to no work about him, so, I took it upon myself to do fic about him. I invented a character, his love interest, because I cant write reader insert, I just, it bothers the fuck out of me to write like that lmao.

Special mentions for @notmykirk @liebthots @hellitwasyoufirstsergeant @alphapockets for proofreading, giving ideas and helping a distressed, nervous writer lol, you lot were brilliant!

This is super angsty, but also filled with fluff and stupid cliches.

Pairing: Chuck Grant x OC

Warnings: angst, shitloads of angst. Mention of rape. Slight, non-explicit smut. Cursing.

Word Count: 12k (I know, IM SORRY)

Epilogue

Three knocks and an anxious wait.

The door was opened by the tall ginger that didn’t seem to ever age.

“Hannah Davis! What brings you here?” he exclaimed with a broad smile as he hugged her smaller frame.

“How are you, sir? You look great!” she replied and he furrowed his eyebrows at her answer.

“Hannah, the war is over, it has been for a while, I go by Richard, Rich, or Dick, please,” he said, as he let her in his house. He sounded the same, warm, emphatic, funny.

“Old habits die hard, I guess,” she replied, checking out his living room. He lived in a beautiful, tall house, very homey. It had a fireplace on and a half finished drink on the nearby table.

“My wife went to visit her brother, a man that’s never approved of me, so I stayed back,” he explained, serving another drink for her.

“I remember when you first told me that he wasn’t fond of you and I wondered, how the hell does someone not like Dick Winters?” she replied and they both chuckled.

“Her parents like me, and so does she, so… it doesn’t really matter”.

Hannah didn’t marry post war, and it had been only a year, but most of Easy Company was already having children, marrying or at least dating.

She had her heart set on someone but she had lost all contact with him and the Army didn’t help her trying to get what she needed.

So, after an hour and a half of reminiscing about the war, about Austria and the Eagle’s Nest, Winters caught up to her.

“Hannah, with all due respect… I know this isn’t just a casual visit, or you would’ve brought Luz or someone else with you,” he started, trailing off for her to speak.

Hannah chuckled cynically, the man had always been prone to read people like a piece of paper. She struggled for a few seconds, her nerves coming back to her, scratching the back of her head absentmindedly.

“I’ve been trying to find someone… Someone from the Company, and I don’t want to ask the rest of the men because… Well, if this fails, I don’t want it to be gossip between them; and the Army couldn’t help me, they cannot give out information about former paratroopers,” she explained.

“I have all of the men’s information with me, so, who are you looking for? Though—some information can be outdated, I haven’t updated it in a couple of years,” Dick said, looking for an old black book that had ‘Easy’ embroidered in the front.

“Say the name.”

“Uh… Charles Grant—NCO Chuck Grant.”

Rick smiled softly, looking down as he looked for his name in his book.

“What?” she asked, slightly embarrassed. He knew.

“Nothing. Sergeant Grant is an exceptional man, I felt deeply for him when he got shot,” he explained and placed a ruler under his name, handing the notebook to Hannah.

“I know he is, that’s why I’m looking for him,” she said, looking down at his name, copying the information of his address and phone number.

Richard looked at her with his usual witty, warm smile.

“Thank you, Dick” she said, closing the notebook and giving it back.

“Like my wife would say, ‘go get him’.”

///

Hannah had Chuck’s address and phone for a month and a half.

Every time she thought about calling him, or showing up at his place, fear shook her body and threw her back to square one. She had taken a cab to her former Major in the Paratroopers for forty five minutes to find a man’s address and she couldn’t actually talk to him.

Hannah laid in her bed, after a long day at the hospital. She was eating leftover carrot cake she had made a week ago, feeling dreadful, looking at the little paper with Chuck’s name sitting on her bedside table, and remembered the many times they shared.

Bastogne was the coldest hell Hannah had ever experienced, and she knew it was never leaving her head after everything that transpired.

The trees exploded every now and again. As desperation settled inside each mind, everyone started wondering which was getting killed next.

Then the casualties came: Joe Toye and Guarnere lost each other one leg to mortars, Don Hoobler accidentally shot himself in the leg and the blood loss took his life. Muck and Penkala got blown to pieces by another mortar.

She had tried to save as many lives as possible as she had to shoot Germans from afar, fearing death every single second she moved around the snow covered forest.

She had short moments of peace, and most were laying in a foxhole, trying to gather some warmth, next to Chuck.

Her body shook as she blew into her hands, trying to gain back feeling on her fingertips when Charles looked at her and grabbed her hands without a word, covering them with his calloused fingers, scooting closer to her.

She was slightly taken aback.

Chuck wasn’t a man of many words, he communicated more with his eyes and small expressions. He politely smiled at her as he rubbed his hands against her.

“Thanks,” she muttered, nuzzling her chin deeper into her scarf that was tucked into her jumpsuit.

Chuck just looked at her and kept rubbing their hands together. She noticed her blue eyes looking bright from the full moon shining down the forest.

“I always hated the winter time, back in the states… and now more,” Chuck said, breaking the silence between them.

“I know, I prefer to be burning under the sun rather than freezing my butt off.”

“Cold beers,” he added.

“The beach.”

“Dipping into a river or the sea.”

Both exchanged small smiles.

Chuck had always noticed Hannah, and stared silently at her many times, but barely exchanged a few words in the second year of their training, when she arrived in Toccoa. He knew she was Shifty’s friend, and someone who Winters relied on and trusted from what Powers had said to help her get into the Paratroopers.

And she had proved herself useful, not only as a doctor, but as a sharpshooter, taking down snipers that others didn’t notice at first. She used to compete with Shifty on how many Krauts took down each.

Hannah always knew who he was, she remembered every and each name of the company, by nicknames mostly. He definitely called for her attention; he was polite, shy, only mustered a few jokes here and there, not like Luz, who couldn’t speak without joking.

But she was never as interested in him until he helped her find warmth in a shattering cold in Belgium.

Hannah remembered that with a smile—their first and probably closest interaction. It only took snow, people dying around them and a whole war for it to happen.

Friday, she thought, Friday would be a good thing for me to approach his house if, luckily, he didn’t move out before.

///

Anxiety. Lots of.

Hannah wasn’t on call at the hospital on Friday. She and her best friend, scheduled everything.

Angelina made sure she couldn’t back out of looking for the former paratrooper. She had helped her pick an outfit, helped with her hair, the whole ordeal.

“Okay, go, go! It’s barely past noon, it’s a beautiful day, maybe y’all can go for a walk,” angelina said, taking a sip from her lemonade.

Hannah was barely talking, her hands shook, she felt her pits damp with sweat, with a tight knot in her stomach.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, okay… I’m going, whatever, what could go wrong, what the fuck, he could only think I’m a fucking stalker, whatever right? Fuck—.”

“Oh my god, get out, I’ll take care of Trigger, let him have a stroll, and if by any chance you spend the night there—” she said, with a wink— “call me so I’ll stay and give Trigger his morning walkies,” Angelina commanded as she pushed Hannah through the door.

“Good luck, honey!” She yelled as Hannah dragged her feet through the hot cement under the July sun.

Every little thing that could go wrong played in her mind as she walked. Grant lived roughly twenty blocks away from her but she still wanted to walk there, to make it as slow as possible.

Hannah checked the address in the small, torn piece of paper she had it written on and looked for 1612 for a bit, until she finally saw it.

It was a beautiful, tall white house, with a dark grey roof, a small porch with a couple of rocking chairs. A lot of small pots with flowers and different plants covered most of the front of the porch, which made Hannah think that there was clearly a woman living there.

That made fear struck her again.

He’s probably married, there are rocking chairs and plants… none of the men of the paratroopers cared about fucking plants, why would Charles be any different?

Fuck it.

Hannah shook her head, her curls moving along, stomped the ground after pondering for a couple of minutes, away from the house and took a few deep breaths before she walked up the three steps before the door and, with a shaky breath, knocked three times and took a step back, giving the door her back.

She could sense her muscles completely tense, everywhere, arms, legs, stomach, and wondered why the hell she never got her anxiety completely treated like her PTSD from the war.

What if a woman opened the door? I’d pretend I got the wrong house and run for the fucking hills.

“Yes?” a deep voice said from behind her.

Hannah could’ve swore her heart stopped for a split second.

She turned in her heel with the riddled feeling in her stomach when she met those bright blue eyes and the permanently tanned skin of Sergeant of Second Platoon, Charles Grant.

His usual disheveled look was intact, she noticed, the droopy eyes and the resting annoyed face that was his trademark was still there, but it did change in a moment when he realized quickly who she was. His eyes widened as his jaw dropped slightly.

“Hannah? Hannah Davis?!” he exclaimed, opening the door wider, taking a step forward shyly.

Hannah swore her heart was thumping against her chest like a hammer, and was actually afraid Chuck would notice it. But all he did was try to find the words, stuttering slightly as he took a look at her.

“Hey, Chuck,” she said, trying to find her voice back from somewhere in her throat.

Charles let a single chuckle out of his mouth before, sort of awkwardly, pulled her for a hug, crossing his left arm around her torso and the other one, around the shoulders.

Hannah was a hundred percent sure her heart could arrest at any moment and die right there. The man was hugging her. And she was hugging him back, the same way, when his perfume surrounded her and she closed her eyes for a moment, lingering her head above his shoulder, every single feeling she had ever felt for him rushing back into her stomach, untying the knot slightly, filling it with butterflies.

“What a surprise! Come on in,” he said, as they parted, moving aside so she could walk inside first.

Clean, super clean. The fact that the house was so clean yelled wife! in Hannah’s face. But she shook the thoughts aside, trying to focus on walking and trying not to bump into anything and make a mess of herself in front of Chuck.

“You like it? I’ve been trying to decorate myself but… I don’t know, looks shitty to me still,” he added, standing next to her as she looked at old signs of tobacco brands, and a couple of paintings up white walls, complemented with an olive couch with three seats, a coffee table and a TV in front.

And books, everywhere. Different sized, colored, some put in a small library in the corner, near the couch. Some were sprawled over on the coffee table and one on the couch, open and faced down.

She took the books as the cue to find out and get it over with.

“You and—and your wife must read a lot,” she said, sniggering internally as she awaited for an answer.

Chuck let out a hearty chuckle, looking suddenly a bit embarrassed at her.

“Uh, I’m not married,” he said, forming a thin-lipped, awkward smile on his lips. Hannah felt how her shoulders relaxed at the information.

“Oh—sorry, it’s just… It looks very homey, and you know, women do that work mostly,” she said, trying to sound innocent.

“I learned a bit from my mom, and I found out that I really enjoy gardening and plants in general, that’s why there’s that many on the outside porch. Luz told me I was becoming a woman, I said, ‘what’s wrong with being a woman’?” Chuck said, scratching the back of his neck.

“He fought side by side with one, and he still says that crap?” Hannah asked, remembering George Luz, the clown of the company. “Fuck him, I like how it looks, it’s homey and… looks warm, you know?”

Chuck nodded his head proudly, trying to shoot down a smile that tried to creep up, slightly blushing.

“Listen, I was roasting some chicken, are you hungry? I have beers, too,” he said, pulling her by her wrist softly. This touch sent electricity up Hannah’s arm as she nodded silently, following him.

She was sort of surprised by his cheerfulness. He was a very lowkey man, never spoke too loud, unless he wanted to mock one of his peers with Luz or Guarnere. He fumbled around the kitchen for a bit, before going through the back door to the backyard, where he had a barbecue against the wall.

And she could see him work, cutting up the chicken while it was still roasting, and noticed how he hadn’t put up any weight since coming back from the war, or losing any from the anxiety and PTSD. He had kept in form, his arms still big, as his shoulders, the black sleeves of the shirt sticking tight against them.

Jesus, stop that!

Lost in her thoughts, looking around the kitchen, she didn’t notice Chuck was back with two small sandwiches in hand, leaving them on a couple of plates as he quickly moved to grab two Crystals.

“My brother taught me this amazing sauce, and it’s like pulled pork, but pulled chicken,” he explained, almost proudly of his handiwork. Hannah smiled and took a bite on it.

Instantly, she had to suppress a moan that was about to fall out of her full mouth, as she widened her eyes at him. He smiled as he chewed and nodded his head like saying I know, right?

After downing her bite with a bit of beer, Hannah finally breathed out to compliment his food, making Chuck blush again.

“So, uh… what brings you here? Did you need anything?” Chuck asked, taking a sip of his beer again.

I wanted to confess that I had feelings for you since you helped me warm up in a foxhole in Bagstone and you saved my ass when I got shot and you dragged me into a jeep to be taken away for a bit to heal, and I always wanted to kiss you for that but I’m such a fucking wuss, I never even dared to flirt.

“Oh, no, no, I didn’t come to ask any favors, no,” she replied, chuckling nervously, “I—I’m gonna be honest with you; when we came back from Europe, I knew you had to do some recovery from the shot you took, that would need rehabilitation and… I was dealing with so much I couldn’t stay and I felt like shit for a long while for that—Shit, this sounds like I’m doing this to sleep better at night but no, I just want to say: I’m sorry, I should’ve been there like you were when I lost my ear to a kraut bullet, Chuck, I’m really sorry, and I wanted to check on you, see how you were doing…”

It wasn’t a complete lie, Hannah knew that, but she still felt like what she needed to actually say was heavy in her chest.

Chuck smiled, and turned his head slightly, pulling his hair up a bit.

“The scar goes all the way to the back of my head, I—I should’ve died by the extent of my wound, but, it was mostly sup—superficial. My left arm is partially paralyzed,” he explained, lifting both arms at the same time but the left one was left behind as the right kept going up. “And sometimes it’s hard to s—” he closed his eyes as he struggled to say the word, his tongue frozen in the roof of his mouth for a couple of seconds— “speak, like, right now.”

Hannah looked sorry, like a dog with a tail between its hind legs, feeling ashamed.

“Don’t feel bad, I had my family and some of the men to help me, and very good doctors too, really, it’s not like you had to take care of me, you know,” Chuck added, grinning warmly at her. “George, Doc Roe and Speirs came almost daily to help, I was set; speaking of wounds, how’s the ear?”

Hannah moved her hair away to show him the scarred and dusty pink skin that reattached to her head after it got blown off in the Battle of the Bulge.

Bullets and mortars were falling down the territory Easy Company covered. As much as anyone avoids talking about fear, they were all terrorized; the lack of winter gear, clothes, ammo, and food kept them all weak.

Hannah and Chuck were shooting non-stop, both with shaky breaths as they were still covered under a wool blanket, where only the gun and their eyes could be seen.

“Hannah! Hannah, go help Shifty!” she heard Lip call her as he ran past. She sighed, not wanting to be any closer to the flying gunshots that were showering horizontally on them.

“Go, it’s okay, go!” Chuck exclaimed, looking at her swiftly as he kept shooting.

Hannah groaned in annoyance but still climbed up the hole.

Chuck watched at her go, though her walk got cut short. She froze in her place and he knew something was wrong, and in a split second, she was on the cold ground, yelling her lungs out.

“Shit, shit, shit, hold on, Hannah! Medic!! Medic!!” he yelled as he let his rifle in the hole, crawling to check on the brunette.

As soon as he turned her body around, his face grimaced in shock. She had blood flowing from her side into her cheek, eyes and mouth, as she gasped for a breath, steam coming from her mouth from the sheering cold.

He moved her hair slowly, uncovering what was left of her ear, hanging from skin threads, almost completely shredded from her skull. It was an awful view, and the crimson liquid kept flowing and flowing.

“What is it? Let me see, Grant, move!” Eugene Roe exclaimed, pushing the other soldier aside, checking the wound thoroughly. Hannah had stopped yelling, shock had settled in her body, covering her from the pain.

“It’s superficial, but you will need someone to cut off the rest. Help me get her to the jeep, Grant,” he said after covering the hole with sulfate and a white bandage that went across her face.

“Hannah, you’re going to be just fine, stay with us, come on!” Eugene yelled as Chuck lifted her from her back and legs, her face falling into his shoulder, bleeding on his jacket.

Chuck glanced at her every few moments as he ran to where her ride was stationed, she looked paler by the second that passed, her eyes were closing and he had to keep calling at her to stay awake.

“Hannah, come on, come on, stay with me, stay with me!”

When she was finally strapped down the bed on the front of the sheet, he held her hand for a second before she was pulled away, disappearing into the woods as he had to ran back to his foxhole and keep defending their territory.

But he kept wondering and wondering about her, until she came back two days after.

“You came back almost good as new, ear-less, stitched up,” Chuck said, reminiscing.

“And I had to tolerate thousands of ear related jokes for weeks, and got called ‘Earnnah’ too” Hannah said, making them both laugh.

“Fucking Luz and his nicknames,” Charles said, shrugging.

“Anyways, I still don’t have an ear, but the flu I was going through had clogged my eardrum and saved me from being deaf on one side, right?” Hannah added, lifting her beer bottle to cheer for that.

“To the flu, baby!” he said and both drank.

A couple of hours went by and both Chuck and Hannah were already feeling more comfortable in each other’s presence. They laughed about some anecdotes, and updated on their current lifestyles.

“So, a tobacco store?” Hannah said, standing under the sun in the backyard, enjoying the warmth of a summer afternoon, much more relaxed.

“Yeah, it was my post war dream, and I finally gathered what I needed to open it, it’s in downtown, 5th ave and Charleston. It’s cosy, small, but good enough to sell small things,” Chuck explained, clearly proud of his achievement. “You should come by sometime”.

“I would, but I quit smoking a few weeks ago,” Hannah replied and Chuck looked surprised.

“Really?” he asked, propping himself against a column he had set to sustain a small roof he had put up in his yard.

“Yeah, but I’ll probably hit withdrawal soon and I’ll go back to square one quickly,” she replied, mocking herself and her power of will, making Chuck laugh.

“You still sing?” Chuck asked, and she knew exactly why he asked. “I still remember when we found that piano in the Eagle’s Nest, and you sang a few songs to us,” he said and a very small grin creeped up his lips, looking down at his hands.

That was one of Hannah’s proudest moments.

“I do remember that, and I still sing, yeah.”

The war had lightened up, somehow.

Easy Company was on the works to clear the way into the old Nazi Town of Kehlsteinhaus, where they knew, at the top of the mountain, resides the crown jewel of the Nazi Party. A very glamorous house made only for Hitler and his closests friends.

Winters dictated for the Easy Company to head straight to the Eagle’s Nest, after raiding the town and finding a place to settle for a bit.

Hannah heard Speirs yelling the orders and they didn’t even think for a second before they started running up the mountain road towards the House. She ran next to Chuck, Popeye and Malarkey.

They entered the premises slowly, looking around for Krauts, their guns up in arms. And all of them were surprised by the size of the place from the inside.

It had grey walls, with bay windows every few meters, the sun shining through, illuminating the whole place. There were a few tables with a few chairs each, some silver plates and vases scattered around the living room, a fireplace, and on the far end, a grand, black and shiny piano.

Hannah was immediately drawn to it, forgetting about the men popping bottles of champagne they found lying around, remembering instantly the songs her grandfather had once taught her when she was younger.

The boys weren’t paying attention until they heard the first few notes Hannah pressed on.

“Davis, you can play?” Spiers asked her as they got closer.

I waited till I saw the sun, don’t know why I didn’t come

Hannah started singing, as a way to reply Speirs.

Chuck was certainly taken aback by her singing voice, she had never mentioned before she could do that, that she had even learned or anything she did apart from training for the paratroopers and hang with Shifty.

When I saw the break of day

I wished that I could fly away

Instead of kneeling in the sand

Catching teardrops in my hand

Her fingers seemed to be dancing around the keys like she had been doing that for a lifetime, as her voice shone through the notes she played. There was a sudden peace brought by the song, which no one could remember having heard before that moment.

Chuck sensed his body relaxing, as he looked at the brunette who met his eyes not too long after.

My heart is drenched in wine

But you'll be on my mind

Forever

For a fleeting moment, Chuck felt no one was there but him and Hannah, as she kept singing, his breath catching in his chest, leaving him breathless. He knew he had been looking at Hannah with different eyes for a while, but he never actually realized it completely until that moment.

Something has to make you run

I don't know why I didn't come

I feel as empty as a drum

I don't know why I didn't come

“From then on, you guys would ask me to sing every time we found a piano laying somewhere in the abandoned cottages,” Hannah remembered, smiling at the memory.

“Well, you do have a beautiful voice that puts everyone at ease, you know,” he complimented and Hannah could feel how her pulse accelerated at his compliment, cursing herself internally for being so weak for her former NCO.

“It's mid-afternoon, care for a tea?” Charles asked, when he noticed her blushing, not answering his compliment, knowing he had hit somewhere inside her with it.

“I can make a quick cake with anything you have in your kitchen, if you want to…” Hannah said, almost rushedly, trying to cover her tracks. Yeah, that doesn’t sound weird at all, Hannah, you fucking wuss, offering to bake a cake after a couple of hours chatting and trying to cover your stupid feelings, sure, yeah.

“Kitchen’s all yours,” Chuck said with a grin, looking for his kettle to boil water while Hannah looked for her ingredients for a classic vanilla cake.

As Hannah whisked the ingredients, Chuck served two mugs with boiling tea, placing one next to her as he watched her focused in his kitchen.

“I swear, most men of the company don’t have all this stuff laying in their kitchen,” she said, still looking down at the mix.

“I’m not most men,” Chuck replied and both chuckled at his comment. “Oh, look here,” he said suddenly, making Hannah turn around.

A black cat with a small bell in his neck walked in, stretching its legs, and walked up to Chuck, placing its front paws in the dirty blonde legs.

“This is Roe, I got him a few months ago, he walked in with a broken hind leg and never left this house,” Chuck explained, taking the cat into his arms, which made him start purring loudly. Hannah proceeded to pet him, sliding her fingertips slowly in the soft fur of the head.

“He’s so handsome!”

“Thank you,” replied Charles, earning a small slap in his arm by Hannah, who chuckled as she kept petting the kitty.

“You saying you took care of this kitty reminded me of that nun who changed my bandages in Foye, in that church, remember that? She came straight to me, wondering how a woman is in the Forces, and silently, pulled my face and cleaned me up,” Hannah said, remembering the face of the woman in the black typical suit of a nun.

“She didn’t treat anyone but you, which was either great or very selfish of her,” Chuck said, jokingly.

“She was in a convent, they take care of women mostly, and I am one, so…” she trailed off, wanting to slap the grin out of his face as she felt her heart melting to the view of Chuck, holding a cat between his arms like a child. My uterus is flipping about. “It’s not like no one took care of you boys.”

“What are you talking about?” Chuck wondered.

“Holland. All those women, and food, and drinks, and praising,” Hannah said as she put the mix in the oven. She could hear Charles laughing at her comments.

“I wasn’t doing anything there, I did accept food though.”

“Oh, Chuck, come on, I saw you with that blonde that was taller than you, kissing you non-stop,” Hannah exclaimed, way too quickly for her comfort, and turned around, pretending to check on the oven temperature; Could you be any more obvious, Hannah, dear?

“You sound jealous,” Chuck replied, with a smirk and furrowed eyebrows.

“I—okay, yes, I was; everyone was treating you all like goddamn heroes and whatnot, while I got questionable looks and fingers pointing at me for being a woman in a uniform… Hell, they must have thought I was the squad’s whore or something,” she defended herself, trying to not blow her cover that easy in front of his intense eyes looking at her from a few meters.

Chuck felt bad for a moment. He knew she was proud of being the first woman fighting alongside men in a war, knowing she had earned the respect of many, many people, but there was still a long way to go to be accepted by the population in general.

“Yeah, I wanted someone to kiss me too and give me drinks, I deserved that too, I didn’t have any physical contact with anyone as much as y’all in that time,” Hannah kept going, the anxiousness to cover herself up from showing feelings almost drowning her.

“I’m sure you would’ve gotten a kiss if you just asked,” replied Chuck, taking a sip from his tea while still holding Roe. “I would have if you asked me.”

Did my heart just stop? Did it just… really stop? Quick, don’t linger in silence too much!

“You’ve always been such a gentleman, Grant, but that was impossible. First, we were in the Forces together and that was very forbidden. Second, I couldn’t ask people for that, that’s just sad and I didn’t look like any of the women there, my hair wasn’t done, I was wearing our uniform and probably didn’t smell the best there,” Hannah clarified, trying to not sound too rushed again.

“Okay, yeah, partially true, but you don’t need to be all fixed up to be pretty, though.”

He knows and now he wants to play soccer with my fucking heart. Goodness, I hope he doesn’t know.

“To be honest, it’s not like I came back to the states and started dating and whatnot… I did adopt a dog, his name is Trigger, like the one Tab had back in the day,” Hannah said, trying to clear herself. “Oh, and Tab asked me out like a year ago,” she suddenly remembered.

“Floyd?! R—really?” Chuck asked, clearly surprised.

“Yeah, he showed up once, with flowers and everything. It was so sweet but Tab is like my little brother, so I let him down slowly and luckily, he accepted it and we’re still friends,” she explained, remembering how disappointed he looked for a second before she explained herself to him and he took it with humour and saved their friendship from awkwardness.

All the while, Chuck laughed heartily.

“What? Oh, don’t laugh at him! He’s so sweet, he was always nice with me, even when most doubted the presence of a woman at war, come on,” Hannah defended Talbert, throwing a paper towel ball straight to his face.

“Hey! No need to get violent!” Chuck retaliated, throwing it back at her. “I can’t believe little ol’ Tab asked you out,” he added, chuckling.

“You’re all always making fun of people who ask me out or flirt with me,” Hannah added, a sneer creeping up her lips. “Remember that one British soldier?”

The Company had saved a hundred and forty brit soldiers, without any casualties. Everyone walked back to camp cheerfully but in silence until they entered the barn.

Hannah didn’t feel as cheerful as the rest. She had been carrying a small infection under her tongue for a few days and cramps were attacking her every now and again, which she didn’t share with anyone trying to avoid some sexist comment about the nature of women.

Booze was being passed around the brits and the company as everyone cheered and applauded for their exceptional work. Hannah did enjoy seeing all the grins and wide smiles spread around, while she stood in the side, leaning against a thin wooden column, rubbing her back to ease the pain.

“Moose Heyliger and the American 101st have done the Red Devils a great service, making it possible for us to return and fight the enemy another day,” the captain of the British soldiers exclaimed to the crowd of paratroopers and the Red Devils. “To Easy Company, victory, and Currahee!”

Everyone cheered, drinking profusely, laughing and all around happy, until the same captain interrupted them for a second.

“Oh, and let us not forget to cheer for one more thing: the first woman in the Forces who was part of this mission, Miss…”

Hannah wasn’t paying attention, she was completely zoned out on the side, until she heard her name being called a few times. She looked up to the Captain, who had his drink up and looking at her.

“Oh—Oh, Hannah, Hannah Davis!” she replied, a little startled.

“To Hannah Davis!” The cheers erupted once again, but everyone was now looking at Hannah, who blushed furiously at the attention she was receiving. She just gave them all a tight lipped smile, her eyes drifting from one side to another.

“So, congratulations are in order, ma’am.” A thick British accent interrupted Hannah’s thoughts a while after she had been cheered on. She turned around to find a tall man with a buzz cut, his red beret and a pointy nose. And a very warm smile.

“Thank you, private…?”

“Joe Seaward, and it’s Sergeant now,” he clarified, taking his beret off as he took a drink. “How is the Force treating you? Good, I hope?”

“Very good, sir, they feel like family already. At first it was weird for them, but I was vouched for by the Battalion chief, and one of the men, who is an old friend from his hometown,” she replied, feeling slightly intimidated by the brit.

“I’m glad you’re feeling comfortable. And hometown! Where would that be, if I may ask?”

“Atlanta, Georgia. Can I ask you where are you from?” she asked, looking up at him. Hannah could feel the eyes of Easy on them, but she didn’t dare to look back at them.

“Birmingham, born and raised,” Joe replied, looking proud. “Uh, anyone expecting you back home?” he suddenly asked, and Hannah understood what he was referring to.

“No, apart from family, no one special,” she replied, and just got interrupted by another voice yelling at them.

“Sergeant Seaward! We’re leaving, come on!” Joe looked annoyed all of a sudden.

“Well, ma’am, if this isn’t too forward, when this war is over, and luckily, we’re both still alive and well, why don’t you stay in England for a while and… maybe we can go to dinner together?” He said, rushing as he took a few steps back.

Hannah thought for a second and, feeling like she had nothing to lose and after not being flirted by anyone in two years, she replied “Sure, Sergeant, if we both survive…”.

Joe smirked deeply and quickly found a paper and a battered small pencil, scribbling in it and placed it in her hands, before kissing the back of it.

“You’ll find me with that. Take care, Hannah Davis! Cheerio!”

Hannah felt like a child meeting her first crush, blushing, with a dumb smile in her face, until she heard the sniggering paratroopers behind her.

“What?” she asked, already looking annoyed at them as she turned to find them in a half circle around her.

“What was that ‘bout, Davis?” Bull asked with one lifted eyebrow.

“Nothing–”

“Not nothing, that brit was flirting with you!” Liebgott exclaimed, his lip curled as his eyes darted between the door of the barn and her.

“The fuck is the problem with that?” Hannah asked.

“No fraternization with soldiers in the Forces,” Chuck added, looking down at his hands.

“Oh, fuck all of you. It’s the first time someone comes and tells me I’m pretty in two years, when y’all had women throwing themselves at you back at Eindhoven!” Hannah defended herself, shutting them all up. “It’s not like I’m actually going to do something about it, I might be dead tomorrow anyways”.

“He looks stupid and he’s a brit, we’re all a better catch than him!” Martin added, inflating his chest.

“The only decent man here is Doc Roe, and you all know that for a fact. I’m going to sleep for a bit, goodnight” she said, walking away from them, breaking the half circle without looking back.

“I still have that small, battered piece of paper with me, but I never went to see him,” Hannah added, smirking at the thought. “I should’ve stayed in England and find him, honestly”.

Chuck frowned, “why? Was he really that interesting?”.

“He was sweet, he had a very attractive accent and hell, how many men do you know that say ‘cheerio!’ When saying goodbye?” Hannah defended Sergeant Seaward.

“Oh, stop talking talking about him already” Chuck said, dismissing her comments with a frown.

“Who’s jealous now, huh?” Hannah joked, pushing him slightly. Chuck just laughed bitterly.

///

Chuck showed her around the house, apologizing for forgetting to do a tour when she first came in.

He showed him some old pictures he had from high school that his mom had taken of him, some of his own family, and even a photo from a high school girlfriend he still had. Charles told him they were still in contact because her family was close to his, until he went to the war and she moved out of the usual address.

“It’s like the time I was away, fighting, home became a black hole in my memory, like…It couldn’t possibly exist at the same time I was away.”

Hannah enjoyed learning more from his past, and suddenly wondered if he had ever known what happened and how Easy reacted when they found out he had gotten shot.

Charles was looking down at a picture when she popped the question.

“Chuck, did you uh—did anyone ever tell you what happened with Easy when you… When that replacement shot you?”

He suddenly took a seat on the couch, looking up at her. There was something on his eyes that she couldn’t decipher, but it was between fear and curiosity; his fingers went to linger over his scar absentmindedly.

“No, I—the guys never told me anything, and I didn’t dare to ask, honestly.”

“Do you, uh… Do you want to know?” Hannah asked. Chuck nodded, his lips seeming sewn shut. She took a seat next to him, the air suddenly completely filled with tension.

“Well, you had patrol and we were relaxing in the house, playing cards, some asleep, most smoking and chatting about the end of the war. Also about the points, but, that’s not important.”

“Then, the door of the living room burst open with a pale, very pale and shook Tab. ‘Grant got shot in the head’ was the first thing he muttered. You know, there wasn’t any music around us, but it seemed like it had stopped. The relaxing atmosphere was cut off like when the lights go out with a switch.” Chuck was staring at her, his attention fully on her.

“But we didn’t have that much time to like… process. Floyd had received orders to find the shooter, and we practically went around the whole town and the ones nearby looking for him. We had the order to bring him alive but neither wanted to lose the chance to put a bullet in him. We were organized in groups, and we divided in three or four people each.”

“We ended up finding him still in Zell Am See. Malarkey found him with Bull and Lieb, they found him trying—” She took a pause, her stomach turning slightly at the memory— “trying to rape an Austrian girl. She was saved, thankfully, and he was brought back to the house where he took the beating of his lifetime”

By that point, Chuck jaw was opened, but his eyes seemed calmer, somehow.

“Did you beat him too?” he asked. Hannah suddenly broke eye contact, looking down at her fingernails fidgeting together.

“Yes, but I only punched him, the rest did the real beating… I was so angry when I found out he was in the house, I burst through the door and went straight with my knuckles to his jaw. I had my hand bruised for weeks. You were away at that point, Speirs and Roe had found a Kraut brain surgeon and got him to work in you as soon as they could. But we didn’t know if you were alive or not. After the rest took their turn with the replacement, Speirs had come back, saying the surgeon confirmed you were going to be okay; then they dragged the son of a bitch over to the MP’s.”

Hannah felt ashamed, her body seemed to be burning when the memories of that moment revived in her.

“I was so scared you were gonna die, Chuck… I wasn’t there when Speirs confirmed you were going to be okay, and I just—I lost it at that moment,” she added, a knot forming in her throat. “Lieb found me, while I was sitting in a room upstairs, on a bed, in the dark, cursing and crying. It wasn’t only you that made me cry, but… I cared about you, you know. You were my friend, we went through the worst together and I thought I had lost y—,” Hannah’s voice broke, and a single tear rolled down her cheek.

“Hey, hey, Hannah, I’m here, aren’t I?” Chuck said, scooting closer, placing a hand on her knee and another rubbing her back. “I’m sorry for scaring you like that…”

At that, Hannah snorted while she teared up.

“What are you apologizing for? For getting shot? Jesus, Charles, you didn’t ask for it, did you?” she joked through the tears and broken voice, making both laugh cynically. Hannah lifted her head and looked at him, and noticed how his eyes were watery. He sniffed as he tried to recompose himself, his hands never leaving the brunette.

“No, I know, but… I’m okay, you s—see? I just speak like I’m dumb or something now,” he joked.

Suddenly, something took over Hannah and she hugged him, with her arms surrounding his shoulders completely. Chuck was taken aback at first, but he then wrapped his arms around her waist and stayed there for a moment, neither muttered a word, only sniffs and breathing could be heard.

Hannah laughs, then smiles down at the picture of a younger Chuck. Some things change, and some things stay the same forever. Chuck is one of those things that never changes.

After a while, after a hug that helped both recompose and even sort of heal wounds that can’t be seen, they went back to rummage through old photos.

“Oh, look at this one,” Chuck said, pulling a picture from his teenage years, where he was in just his underwear, surrounded by kids holding different pieces of clothing cheerfully “that was in the middle of summer, we were trying to fight the heat with water balloons and I got so soaked, my brother and my friends convinced me to take them off so they could dry. Me, being stupid and young, did so and they stole them and ran away.”

Hannah laughed loudly, looking at Charles with apologetic eyes.

“How could you be so naive?” She asked, between laughs.

“Hey, if I remember correctly, you got your clothes stolen once, in Haguenau! And you know it sucks, doesn’t it?” Chuck replied, jabbing his index on Hannah’s arm.

Hannah had survived Bastogne, with the scarring of her life and one less ear. Everyone was changed, they had lost many men there, including Toye and Guarnere, Muck and Penkala, and lost Buck to shellshock.

These days passed with nothing much to do but waiting for orders, some training, and finally, after the snow had passed, winter clothes.

Second Platoon was stationed in a tall, two-story house, with many rooms, filled with beds and some tables. It was battered, most wallpapers looked torn, and the smell of humidity and gunpowder filling everyone’s nostrils.

On a cold morning, Hannah came back to the second floor, where Malarkey was introducing the new Lieutenant Jones to the men.

“Sir?” her voice, smaller than ever, turned everyone around. Some had to take a second look to be sure what they were looking at.

“What happened to you?!” Don exclaimed, his jaw dropped.

Hannah was shirtless. She was holding herself trying to keep the warmth of her body, with only a bra, pants and boots on. She looked red in the face, from the shame. Hannah could sense the eyes on her body, taking notice of every single scar she was sporting, and the bandage that was covering one on the side of her hip.

“I was changing bandages, I turned for a second to get the sulfate and I heard someone running and laughing. I thought there were just some men playing around but they had taken my clothes, sir…” she explained. Everyone could hear the anger in her voice, her jaw clenching tight.

“Jesus fuck,” Malarkey muttered, while Chuck proceeded to pull the sweater he used under his jacket and quickly helped Hannah put it on. “Lieb, MccLung, Jackson, go find the fuckers who did this, report to Speirs”.

“I’m sorry, Malark, I—I didn’t want to make any trouble, really, I—,”

“No, don’t apologize. This isn’t your fault, okay? Here, it probably smells but it’s better than nothing, I’ll have someone find some clothes if they don’t find yours,” Malarkey said, giving her his scarf, and went back to speak with Lt. Jones, who only nodded to her as a salute.

“Come on, we made some coffee,” said Chuck, pulling her to where the kettle was in a corner. “Are you okay?”.

“Yeah,” was all she said, hiding herself in her copper mug, drinking the awful coffee they have been given. Then Chuck did something that she wasn’t expecting, but calmed her nerves quite quickly: his palm met the top of her head, and ran down her hair slowly.

Hannah had seen the men do that to each other, when they had panic attacks or after the death of a fellow soldier, they would hold their heads or run their fingers through their hair. It seemed like a paternal way to hold them close and not let them fall into the abyss of desperation war brings in people.

And now she felt it herself. Chuck’s fingers brought peace into her body, into her mind. She closed her eyes he kept going, enjoying that as well as the steam from the coffee meeting her cold skin.

///

Not too long after, and from a window, Hannah and Chuck saw MccLung and Lieb dragging two soldiers from their jackets to Speirs and Winters. Joe talked furiously, clearly explaining what the two men did.

Hannah chuckled cynically, knowing Speirs would have them doing the worst jobs for the Platoon.

Her happiness didn’t last long, though. After getting new clothes, returning Chuck’s sweater, she found out, alongside the rest, that they had a patrol to get to at one past midnight.

Everyone dreaded it, mostly because Second Platoon had lost the most people since Bastogne, and they still wanted them to do a senseless mission. They were ordered to cross the river into German territory and take prisoners to get intel.

They still had hours to kill before heading to enemy territory, so Hannah decided to find some place to nap, after fixing and cleaning her guns and getting more ammo.

She wandered around Second Platoon’s house until she found a room on the second floor. She opened the door, walking inside, and instantly found a sleeping body on top of the bed.

“What? What?!” it said startled and looked up. Hannah didn’t notice at first but as soon as some light shone through the bullet holes on the wooden panels in the window, she saw Grant’s face.

“Oh, sorry Chuck, I was looking for some place to sleep, I’ll leave you to—,”

“No, no, it’s fine… we can share,” he said from the dark, she could hear his hand patting the bed.

Hannah thought for a second. She was exhausted, her body was still cold and there probably wasn’t a better bed in the whole house to nap in.

So, she closed the door behind her and left her jacket and rifle on the floor, and climbed under the wool blanket.

Under it, she was met instantly with Chuck’s warmth, her side wasn’t cold, as she expected it to be. There was calm, so much calm it was a bit unsettling for Hannah; last time she felt it, mortars fell from the sky and took her friends with the blast.

But there was something about the gentleness of Chuck’s breathing that helped her, which she couldn’t explain, but silently thanked him for it.

A few minutes passed when Hannah turned to her side, facing Chuck, who was already positioned on his side. She was unable to fall fully asleep, which was normal when someone tries to relax during a war.

Hannah just stayed there in silence, eyes closed, her hand dropped on the mattress near her face, when she felt Chuck’s hand a few inches from hers.

For a moment, she wanted to grab it.

Hannah had noticed for a while that she was closer with Chuck than with the rest of the men. It was an odd friendship; it’s not like they talked for hours and hours on end but mostly in silence or with hushed, short conversations. But when she was with him, she didn’t feel as much fear as with the rest or alone in a foxhole.

But he had always been there for her, like she was for him. Through every loss, through every problem. There was an implicit deep trust between them that neither acknowledged with words, but with simple actions.

And to her, he was certainly an attractive man; with dirty blonde hair, an inviting smile, always polite and shy. And Hannah knew she had felt sometimes a bit of a butterfly in her stomach when he smiled at her.

Suddenly, her thoughts were hushed when she felt his fingers wrap around hers.

Hannah didn’t open her eyes, afraid they would show how much speed her blood pressure gained in a split second. But she did reciprocate, after a moment, moving her hand so his fingers intertwined with hers.

Neither moved, neither spoke nor opened their eyes. And finally, both fell asleep until Liebgott woke them up a couple of hours later.

He opened the door loudly, letting in some light. Both Hannah and Chuck sat up quickly, startled and disheveled, looking at Joe like he was crazy.

Joe looked at both with a deep, playful smirk before saying, “We have the meeting at CP in ten minutes, let’s go, come on.”

Thankfully, Joe didn’t notice that Hannah and Chuck were still holding hands under the sheet; but when they caught it, as Lieb left, they quickly unwrapped them and rushed to get their things, without saying another word to each other.

///

Night came around nicely.

Both Hannah and Chuck were enjoying their time. Hannah had clearly relaxed, mostly after they had talked about what happened to the NCO, feeling like she had let go of a heavy weight she carried on her shoulders.

Charles offered for her to stay for dinner when the brunette said she still had to walk her dog, even though she knew Angelina had probably done that already. He insisted, saying the leftovers taste even better reheated on the grill.

Hannah laughed and agreed to stay, as long as she could help with it. Her day has been better than expected, way better. But she still had that small pebble in her shoe about her feelings towards Chuck. A part of her yelled that she should come clean to him, and be done with it, no matter the result. The other part also yelled that his friendship was more valuable than risking it for something more.

But the tiny voice in her head still insisted with No, no! He doesn’t feel that way. He hasn’t flirted with you, or showed some clear sign of attraction, Hannah! Have dinner and pretend it’s all good.

“Hey, can I ask you something? This might sound a bit weird,” Hannah said, with a sneaky smile while Chuck revamped the grill. The former NCO just nodded in response. “Why aren’t you married?”

Chuck snorted, looking surprised and slightly offended. “Aren’t you the one that used to complain that women are always pressured to get married, and maybe they shouldn’t if they don't want to?” He asked, almost complaining.

Hannah laughed and put her hands up in her defense.

“I don’t mean it like that, Charles Grant! I just… I’m surprised a man like you, who does all this, isn’t at least dating someone,” she clarified.

“I didn’t say I wasn’t dating someone,” he replied, without looking at her.

There it is! So, that’s what it's like to get your heart punched, huh?

“Oh, yeah, I mean—Of course, sorry–,” Hannah added, suddenly stumbling upon her words as she felt her hands shake slightly.

Chuck snorted again, this time a hearty laugh escaping his lips.

“I’m not Hannah, I’m not seeing anybody at the moment,” he added, smiling as he moved the charcoal around the grill.

Hannah had a rush of anger suddenly, wanting to throw something at him and yell you fucking asshole, I’m in love with you, do not do that to me!!!

But she held herself in, looking rather unphased, and just nodded disapprovingly.

“I, well… I haven’t met the right woman, you know? I’ve seen some people, yeah. Babe set me up once with this redhead who could’ve been Malarkey’s sister for all I knew and it was going good at first but… Fuck, I was so bored!” he said, showing the annoyance in his face at the memory. “She was nice and all, but she was just… so fucking boring. She talked about her hair and stuff she does with her lady friends and she hated when I told stories about the war.”

Now it was Hannah’s turn to laugh. “She hated it? Why?”.

“Who the fuck knows, maybe it was too g—ory for her, or she didn’t want to hear that one of the men was being called ‘Gonorrhea’. Hell, she didn’t even want to hear how I got the scar in my head or rather, the explanation of my slurring when I speak and my lack of strength on my left side,” Chuck said and sounded rather offended.

“Someone has to either appreciate your scar and the sequels, or get the fuck out of your way,” Hannah said, approaching him with a beer in hand. “Don’t ever feel ashamed for that, Chuck, I’m not ashamed of having one ear, honestly. I think it’s pretty nice. Who can say that is different when their bodies are complete and in perfect state?”.

“It’s boring, isn’t it?” he added.

“You and me, Chuck, are different. And that’s good. Toye and Guarnere have one less leg each, they’re fucking awesome too.”

Hannah’s heart leaped at the sight of Chuck looking suddenly proud of himself, and when he looked at her to clink their bottles, she could’ve sworn that, if she had the ovaries, she would’ve kissed him right there and then.

///

After dinner and a few more laughs, Hannah called it a night.

Her heart felt slightly heavy for not having dared to confess what she was there to do in the first place.

“Well, my dear Grant, I have to head home,” she said, as she put plates down the water in sink.

“Already?” Chuck replied, looking surprised.

“It’s almost ten in the night!” she exclaimed, drying her hands on a towel that hung from the oven door handle.

“Want me to call you a cab? Lieb is probably still around working with his.”

“No, don’t worry, I’ll walk. It’s fine,” Hannah replied, and started walking towards the door with Chuck on tow.

Both stood on the porch, looking around the calm neighborhood. Hannah was feeling so ashamed of herself, slapping herself mentally every second that passed.

“Well, Hannah, this was a great surprise,” Chuck started, breaking her thoughts for a moment, “we should do this more often, maybe with the guys, sometime, before winter leaves us secluded in our homes.”

“Of course, but let’s not wait two years this time,” she replied, with a smile creeping up her lips, looking at him. God, how can someone dare be this good looking?

Chuck proceeded to hug her like when he opened the door past noon, when she showed up at his doorstep. Hannah reciprocated, and drowned herself once again in his cologne, not wanting to let go or stop feeling his hands around her body.

“See ya, Davis,” Chuck said as she walked down the steps and she took one last look at him before heading home.

You fucking wuss, you fucking wuss, you fucking wuss, you fucking, pathetic w—

“Hannah! Wait!”

Chuck’s voice startled her as she was reaching the crossroad, when she turned around to find him running towards her.

Her heart raced, wondering why the hell was he yelling at her for. Maybe she had forgotten something. Yeah, that’s all, I might have forgotten my… keys?

“Hannah, wait, I… I have to tell you something and this can’t wait…” Chuck started as soon as he caught up to her. “Listen, this might sound weird but… a while ago I—you appeared in a dream of mine. You were talking to me after I got shot and you were begging me to not forget you.”

“Hannah, I took it upon myself to find you but I was meeting only dead ends, the Army wouldn’t help me so I had to… fuck, I had to find Winters and ask him for your information. God, that was embarrassing, but you know Winters, he didn’t hesitate to help. I had your address and phone numbers for months, but I never had the guts to go knock on your door… I thought you might have forgotten me, but… I never forgot about you,”

“I never forgot how we shared a foxhole during our hardest time. I never forgot how we slept in that bed and held hands in the dark. I never forgot how you took care of me when I had that one panic attack in Bastogne, and everything else,”

“What I mean, Hannah, is… I love you. I can’t date other women because they’re not you, and all I want is you. So… please, don’t leave. Not now. I couldn’t believe my eyes when you showed up at my door, fuck, I thought I was dreaming or dead. You had found me and I—,”

Before Chuck could follow through with his speech, Hannah took him by the face and kissed him.

It was bruising, it was desperate and filled with love. Chuck wrapped his arms around her body, bringing her impossibly close to his body as her fingers found his hair.

The anticipation was their favorite feeling. They both sensed how long they waited for that to happen, so they sank deeper into it.

It went on for a few minutes, the night time seemed to have stopped for both, like everything had disappeared except for them.

After they parted, both panting, their foreheads connected, Hannah opened her eyes and found Chuck’s cheeks stained with tear trails and that explained the salty taste in his lips. That made her smile widely as she still held his hand between hers.

“Can you—do you want to s–spend the night with me?” Chuck asked, opening his eyes finally.

Hannah just smiled widely, pecking his lips as she pulled him by the wrist towards his house.

///

Making love to someone you have craved for years makes the hours longer.

Both Hannah and Chuck were sure of that while the latter moaned loudly as Hannah rode him; his hands were bruising against her hips as she moved, holding herself in his shoulders, kissing him every now and again.

Hannah never thought she would see Chuck like this. With sweat rolling down his forehead, his lips swollen and his eyes squeezed shut; to see his naked torso and his chest heaving up and down, which was covered in different scars that only made him even better looking in her opinion.

The man was almost ethereal in the dim light of his bedroom.

She enjoyed every bit of him as much as she could, like that could’ve been a fleeting figment of her imagination that she had to hold tight between her fingers before it could slip away.

But reality brought her back when she felt the pain of his fingers digging into her hips. Hannah didn’t mind one bit.

She just loved to see how overwhelmed with pleasure he was, how he propped himself into his elbows, wrapping a hand around her bottom to carry both into the bed frame so he could sit and find her lips with his as he rode into his climax.

Of course, Chuck being the gentleman he was, caring, he helped Hannah ride into hers, enjoying how she cried out his name loudly like it was the best song he had ever heard.

///

Chuck’s fingers ran down Hannah’s bare shoulders, enjoying the dampness. It was soft, it was warm and it also a tad bit freckled. His fingertips followed down her arm until they met her face, that laid upon the back of her hands as she laid in her stomach.

Her eyes were closed but she was still awake. Hannah was just soaking on everything that happened through the day, and now, through the night, as the clock ticked into two in the morning.

Chuck sat parallel to her, and his fingertips went all the way back to walk down her shoulder blades, into the deep line of her spine, meeting a few moles spread out here and there, which sent very slight tickles to the brunette.

“I kind of can’t believe this just happened” he muttered, turning to lay his head on the small of her back. He could feel the vibration of the small laugh she let go at his comment.

“Me neither, Chuck… but I, uh… I have a confession, which I think will make you laugh,” Hannah replied.

“Do go on…” he replied.

“You told me you looked for my information with Winters, right?” Hannah asked.

“Right”.

“Well, when I looked for you too… I did the same,” she said and felt his head suddenly turn to her at her words, “and when I said your name, he gave me a weird look, but now I know it was a ‘I know something important about this that you don’t know’ look”.

“So, wait, we l—ooked for each other in the past few months, and we did exactly the same shit?” he said, struggling slightly.

Hannah heard the clicker of the lighter and looked back at him, lightning a cigarette with a shit eating grin sprawled upon his lips.

“Exactly what I’m saying,” she replied, laying her head back down.

“Another reason why I would like to marry you, then,” he added, like it was nothing.

What he didn’t notice was the speed in which Hannah’s eyes widened and her heart started thumping inside her rib cage.

“I’m sorry?!” she asked, sounding a tad bit anxious. Chuck was never one to say rushed things like that.

“The first reason is how powerful and relentless you were and still clearly are. You know how I know that?” he asked, and she could feel his smile still in his lips.

“No, how?”

“When you confronted Sobel before we went to Holland. Of course, I didn’t know at the moment the amount of feelings I had for you, but… I think I did have some of them roaming inside me,” Chuck said, like he was the one who stood up to Herbert Sobel, “but that was just plain hot,” he finalized, and turned to look at her; Hannah was just looking at him like he was crazy.

The night before, everyone was cheering for their job. They were done, they were bound to the States and all the Easy Company wanted to do was drink and laugh.

For everyone’s demise, Lipton announced how they were heading back into war, to Holland, killing the mood instantly.

As the replacements were getting helped and guided by Bull, rather than Cobb, who could only brag about stuff he never ever did; Chuck was packing her stuff near Malarkey, Bill and Hannah.

“I swear I thought by this time I was gonna be home, with a hundred in my pocket, flowers for my mama and nearing Christmas with my nieces and nephews” Malarkey said, fixing his bayonet. The rest scoffed, still bitter by the news.

“I miss the coffee from hometown, there’s this beautiful place in Hamstown Square, it’s very small and cozy, and the pastries are the most delicious I’ve ever had” Hannah said, looking like she was talking about the love of her life.

“Guys, look!” Bull said, interrupting them, pointing to their right.

On a jeep, carrying some stuff behind it, sat Herbert Sobel, their former CO, the nightmare that trained them back in Toccoa. Hannah knew she didn’t train with him as much as the rest, but a year with that man was more than enough.

“Fuck, no…” Hannah whispered so just the boys around her heard her “No, not him”.

“Don’t—Pretend he’s not here,” Malarkey said to her, tying the loose ends of her parachute to her shoulders as Skip came to them scowling like the rest. “Y’all too, do not look at him”.

Neither obliged, all of them stared at the man passing by.

“The hell is he doing here?” Skip wondered, without getting an answer.

Sobel walked in a straight line near the men as the truck behind his jeep unloaded, looking between the men with his usual air of superiority untouched.

Unlucky for Hannah, he had met her eyes not too long after, and the man approached her, before the rest could make themselves scarce.

“Still alive, uh… Davis?” Sobel asked, scowling at the brunette.

“Pretty much, sir. Still teaching at that school… somewhere?” she answered, provoking a few small gasps around her. Sobel scowl just deepened.

“Do not disrespect me with that tone, private” the taller man threatened, his jaw clenching tight.

“Earn the respect, like you once taught us, and I won’t,” Hannah replied, her tone dripping with bitterness and irony. She felt a hand in her shoulder and knew one of the men was probably trying to calm her down. “You came here and act surprised that I’m still alive? No, I deserve more than that, sir”.

“You shut your mouth right now, private! This—this is the reason why women shouldn’t be allowed in the army; they’re too emotional!” Sobel exclaimed, almost yelling to get attention, which only made Hannah even more furious.

“If you were in our command, if you were our leader, we would all be dead right now. Don’t you remember that drill we did back in England? Why do you think you were ‘promoted’? And no, I’m not scared of you, go write me up if you want to; Winters is south of the camp, third tent on the right. Colonel Sink is in the next tent to his, the fourth one,” Hannah felt like she couldn’t stop, her anger overcoming her; mountains of words and feelings that were accumulating, finally leaving her chest.

Chuck couldn’t believe the words that came out of her.

Everyone awaited without breathing for an answer, a yell from Sobel, something. But nothing came, he just scowled, breathed hard, and before anyone took a breath again, he turned around tight in his heel and left to the back of the truck.

Hannah took a breath and turned around to finish prepping, when she found many of her fellow paratroopers smiling at her, some nodding in approval even. Johnny Martin crossed by her side, squeezing her arm, as he whispered a small “good one” for her.

“I fucking hate him, that felt really good”, she said to Chuck, turning to adjust his jumpsuit.

Chuck just stared at her, feeling hard to believe what just went through. Their former NCO was just bashed in front of everyone, and no one, not even one paratrooper came in his defense.

His eyes roamed through her face as she fixed his suit and talked about something he wasn’t paying attention to. Suddenly, he was looking at her in a different way, one that would grow over time during the war.

///

The night caught up to Chuck and Hannah, both deep asleep on his bed. The brunette laid her head in his shoulder, on her side, while he was laid in his back, with his cheek against her forehead.

Though around dawn, Chuck’s body started to shook. It came softly at first, just a few twitches, until it became a whole storm inside him.

Hannah stirred up and saw how every muscle in his arms and chest were clenched, and he muttering something she couldn’t comprehend. Clearly, he was having a nightmares. The nightmares that seemed to never end, which felt like a punishment that everyone had to endure post war.

The brunette placed her hands around his head as she whispered, “Chuck, Chuck, it’s okay, it’s just a dream, wake up, love, wake up.”

His eyes shot open, looking terrified as he gasped for air, his hands fumbling to find her.

“Hannah, Hannah!” He exclaimed, as he finally met her eyes. His body was shaking until he realized she was there, looking down at him, with a tired, disheveled smile.

“It’s okay, love, I’m here, I’m here,” she replied, running her fingers through his hair, kissing his cheek before looking down at him again.

The first light of the sun shining through the white curtains, illuminating both with such warmth it made Hannah’s heart swell.

“I’m sorry, I’m s—sorry, Hannah, this still happens…” he explains, his hand tight on her side.

But Hannah just smiles sweetly at him, “it still happens to me too, Chuck, it’s okay, there’s nothing to be sorry about,” she explains, admiring his deep blue eyes.

“Can you… can you sing to me?” He asked, sounding almost embarrassed to ask for it.

The touch of your lips upon my face

Your lips that are cool and sweet

Such tenderness lies in their soft caress

My heart forgets to beat

The touch of your hands upon my head

The love in your eyes, ashine

And now at last, the moment divine

The touch of your lips, the love in your eyes

The touch of your lips on mine

Chuck closed his eyes as her singing filled his ears. He haven’t felt peace like at that moment, not since the war. Hugging his mother, playing cards with his brothers or the men from the Company brought joy, but peace; peace came from Hannah, wearing his shirt, at dawn, singing to him.

And it was the same for Hannah.

Both knew the nightmares will continue to haunt them, and that their lives will go on, but at least, they were going to go through it together.

And that was more than enough for them. ///

#band of brothers #band of brothers fanfic #band of brothers fanfiction #band of brothers imagine #chuck grant imagine #chuck grant x oc #chuck grant fanfic #charles grant #charles e grant #fanfiction #hbo war #war fanfic #my work #joseph liebgott #richard winters #nolan hemmings #eugene jackson #eugene roe #dailyreblogs

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adamantiumdragonfly · 4 years ago

Text

What you leave behind is not what is engraved in stone monuments, but what is woven into the lives of others.

|| Ida L. Hale ~ Agent Themis || Character Study ||

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@julianneday1701 @junojelli @wexhappyxfew @jamie506101 @pilindieltheelf @trashgoddess600 @sunflowerchuck @easyroses @easy-company-tradition @kmorecoffee @vintagelavenderskies @fandomscenariosforyou

Legacy is what is left. Born, lived, and died. When the final breath is taken, the legacy is what is left behind. A scar across the world showing generations to come what you did, who you are. It marks your moment in time.

The Hale’s home was one such legacy. Firmly affixed to the same street in the same family’s hands for seven generations, the grand house on Belgrave Square was a scar onto its own. White, magnificent, and home.

Ida had spent her whole life there, with the exception of a few months out of the year where they would travel to Scotland for a holiday at the estate. She had learned to walk there, learned everything that a well to do daughter of reasonable wealth ought to know. And there she learned of her family’s legacy.

It was displayed proudly on the gold wallpaper in the parlor, in the shape of seven portraits. Grandfather, great uncles, and uncles occupied that place of honor, championing for the Hale name: one that meant success and strength. Military careers and political achievements. Their legacy was deeply steeped in English history, like the tea they drank in this very room, strong and dark but still well loved. Like their family gatherings for small pastries and that hot beverage, Ida had been taught early on how to act and behave. Like a good daughter and a good girl should.

She would offer the tea, as a good hostess would. Ida would sit neatly, primly, like a good girl should. Ida would always smile and nod along with her father’s not so gentle pressure of the recent eligibility of certain family friends. Because a good daughter would marry well.

Even in the 1930s, with women’s vote a fresh memory and the progression of the world, some things hadn’t changed. Legacy was the currency in which the elite dealt and Ida didn’t have any of her own. She could borrow from the pocket of her father and of her brothers. Daniel and Everett had power to spare. Sons of Colonel Arthur Hale were enough to grant them anything they desired, opening doors that would turn away Ida, though they bore the same name.

She knew that this was a fact of life. She also knew she had to further the legacy of another, by giving life to another family’s future while never seeing a mark of her own. The portraits were of men: fathers and sons. But the mothers were never shown. Nor the daughters. The key to their continued life and they were not shown in a single frame.

What would it take for her to be in one of those frames on that wall? Perhaps on a wall of her own? Ida Louise Hale with a legacy like her father’s but one that wouldn’t be stamped out like a spark. One that would last forever and ever. Like her father’s. Like every other Hale in history.

It wasn’t academics or career. Even the eccentric choice she had gone with. Everett and Daniel had been called up, pushing a pin into this chapter of the Hale timeline. Marked with their bravery in 1939. They joined the Army and the Navy before the war had started, when it was just starting to brew. Ida hadn’t done it to be like them. She had joined the SOE to become better than them. Some women would become nurses and some would keep the homefires burning but Ida had spent too long staring at her great-grandfather’s military uniform to not snatch up the first opportunity of service.

A man at a party had found her in the corner, in a deep conversation with a friend in French. Ida could acclimate to climates and atmospheres in the social scene, a skill that her mother had passed on. It was survival for women.

“You speak French well,” The man had said.

“I should hope so,” Ida had laughed, in that bell-like tone that was trained into her. Lillian Hale had taught her how to be a good hostess and an even better flirt. Women didn’t have a legacy but they did have appearances and character. “My parents spent a fortune on a tutor.”

The question had turned into an invitation with the blink of an eye. An office in Whitehall, then on a train to Scotland where her life of reasonable comfort and ease was replaced with grease and long runs in the fog. But being remembered for more than the life you brought had a heavy price. Sweat dripping down Ida’s back and fingers calloused from the sharp metal of the gun was the payment due.

Gone were the smooth hands that had never worked for more than charity, replaced with hands deft with guns, radios, and paper bound secrets. Her mother had spoken of the holidays she had gone on in France as a child but the world described to Ida, wrapped up in blankets and tucked neatly in her bed, wasn’t the one she walked with caution. Paris was only three months occupied but the curfew wasn’t quite the glittering city Lillian had described.

The gardens were still lovely, just as her mother had promised. Flowers still in bloom in mid-August though the heat was nearly unbearable. The gray uniforms must have been stifling for the Germans but Ida’s blue skirt and blouse would keep her cool. She sat on the bench beyond the lilac bushes, waiting for her contact who had promised to meet her in a cafe down the road. There was no point in arriving early, not when meeting anyone to pass information was dangerous enough.

Pigeons flitted around her feet, an ever present pest in Paris, gobbling up what crumbs remained from some kinder pedestrian’s birdseed. Ida didn’t like to feed the creatures, who were sure to swarm if food was in sight. Ida had grown used to them, almost, in the nearly six months she had spent on the continent. Dropped in Belgium and traveling on foot to Paris, Ida had only the guise of a student and the orders to establish a network of contacts.

The sea of feathers parted in wake of a man, around her age, walking confidently towards her. His posture gave a sense of youth and enthusiasm that was furthered by the look in his eye. He marched straight towards her, never a foot wavering.

There was nothing menacing in his gate that would suggest a Nazi secret police or someone with an intent to harm. But he never wavered. The man sat beside her, ignoring the pocketbook and stack of books between them, the universal sign for occupancy.

He smiled at her, bright and almost as unwavering as his march towards her. She raised her eyebrows.

“I believe there is a less crowded bench over there,” Ida said, pointing to the other side of the park.

“Two isn’t a crowd, is it?” He said, eyes twinkling. “And there are no pigeons over there.”

Pigeons. Of course, he chose to sit directly beside her for the bird watching.

Ida shifted. She had been used to overeager men at social gatherings and had learned how to read them in Scotland during training. This one offered no ill will that she could recognize, just a set of brown eyes that were melting in the August heat. He was handsome, in an endearing way. But Ida was still suspicious.

“Are you a student?” He asked, not missing a beat despite the steady look Ida was leveling. She wasn’t a mean spirit by nature but she didn’t have time to engage in pleasantries with a Parisian, not when she would meet the key to establishing a network in France for lunch in a few minutes.

“Are you?” She asked, speeding up the small talk script that was known to everyone and all too familiar to her. Ida had spent hours working on etiquette as a girl and had memorized every rule in the book. She also knew when to break them.

“Yes, at the University of Paris,” He said. “I’m Marc, by the way. A pleasure to meet you?”

“Is it?” Ida asked. Was it a pleasure when he had sat on her bench, encroaching upon her solitude and started to inquire about pigeons.

“Yes, it is. That’s why I said it.”

“And your name is?” He pressed further, refusing to take silence as an answer. He didn’t seem to understand the subtle social cues. Ida would have to be more direct in her approach.

“Louise,” She said, smiling just as brightly as the grin he had offered a few moments before. Marc blinked, as if shocked by her sudden switch. His mouth hung open as she tossed a lock of hair over her shoulder. “Tell me, what brings you to my bench?”

“A beautiful girl,” he said, grinning again.

Ida glanced around. The park was empty other than the man beside her. “I don’t see her, shall I keep you company while you wait?”

“That would be very kind of you,”

Ida turned back to face the pathway, letting the slight breeze blow the hair off the back of her neck where it clung with sweat. She was flushed, by the heat, not this man’s presence. She was frustrated by him, that’s what this was. Ida had one job in Paris: establish a network of contacts and informants who were ardently Anti-Nazi. Once that was done, she would have a functioning legacy that would continue to provide information to help the war. That was it. That was her plan.

But this Marc didn’t want her to have a plan, it seemed. He kept chattering, trying to compliment her in a thousand different ways. Her watch was nearing noon and she wouldn’t have much time.

“Oh look,” Ida said quickly. “Here comes your pretty girl now,”

She gestured toward a small blonde, who hastened up the path towards them.

“That’s my sister,” He said, chuckling at the girl.

“Enjoy your family, catch up,” Ida said, standing and gathering her books to leave. “ I would hate to interrupt.”

He touched her arm, stopping her from running down the path of the gardens towards the cafe where Genevieve De Gualle was sure to be waiting. “You never answered, are you a student?”

“Yes,” She said, allowing a small slip. Why was she telling him her legend? A stranger off the streets who wanted to watch pigeons and flirt shamelessly? “At the University of Paris.”

It was all a lie. Papers provided by the British government made a good cover but not the truth. Marc didn’t seem to care, just grinning again. His smile was too bright and his enthusiasm continued to rise, the longer he looked at her.

“I’m sure I’ll see you around, Louise,” He said.

“I’m sure you’ll try,” She said, and against her better judgment, she smiled. Ida turned and marched out of sight around a lilac bush.

#ida hale #marc klein #engraved in stone

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clansayeed · 5 years ago

Text

Bound by Choice ― V.i. Men Who March Away

PAIRING: OC x OC x OC (Valdas x Isseya x Cynbel) RATING: Mature (reader discretion advised)

⥼ MASTERLIST ⥽

⥼ Bound by Choice ⥽

Before there were Clans and Councils, before the fate of the world rested in certain hands, before the rise and fall of a Shadow King ― there was the Trinity. Three souls intertwined in the early hands of the universe who came to define the concept of eternity together. Because that was how they began and how they hoped to end; together. For over 2,000 years Valdas, Cynbel, and Isseya have walked through histories both mortal and supernatural. But in the early years of the 20th century something happened―something terrible. Their story has a beginning, and this is the end.

Bound by Choice and the rest of the Oblivion Bound series is an ongoing dramatic retelling project of the Bloodbound series. Find out more [HERE].

Note: Choice is the only book in the series not based on an existing Choices story. It is set in the Bloodbound universe and features many canon characters.

*Let me know if you would like to be added to the Choice/series tag list!

⥼ PART V ⥽

— Belgium, 1918. She made him promise to bring their love home. This was not their first war, it would not be their last—or so they thought. Cynbel's demons have finally caught up with him as a familiar face plays judge, jury, and executioner.

⥼ Chapter Summary ⥽

“Just this one,” he promises them, “and I’ll have my fix of war for a long time to come.”

[READ IT ON AO3]

They kept him from the War as long as they possibly could.

They punished him for it to be sure. Physically, emotionally; he skirted along the very edges of his promises to them and worse he knew what he was doing. When he plotted and planned and incited a War to span continents, nations, and history.

And they know there is no altruism in the way he begs them to let him go off to the battlefield. “I deserve this as punishment,” he says but doesn’t really mean it, “what kind of man would I be if I watched others die for the conflict I started?”

“An alive one.” She had said. And he had agreed. They nearly didn’t let him because they knew forcing him to miss the entirety of his love letter to the twentieth century would be the final punishment to force him to get his act together.

But he shines so bright; their Golden love. And this time, like many times before, they are blinded.

They kept him from the War as long as they possibly could.

But it just wasn’t enough.

Belgium, 1918

They are supposed to be his regiment but they are strangers like any other. Food, cannon fodder; he’s called them so many things over the years and none of them pretty but they haven’t gotten any prettier so why should his words?

The poets say absence makes the heart grow fonder but the eyes a mite weaker. The poets can choke on their own tongues. As if he would not recognize a piece of his soul; even if he’s caked in layers of dirt so thick he can’t see a face.

But Valdas isn’t caked in dirt. The journey — and only by night as it’s been — shows in grime on his face but it’s so very clearly him that the noise he lets out is nothing at all like he planned.

Men who served together and have the incredible luck to have survived yet embrace as companions; as brothers. That’s what makes it all the more difficult for Cynbel to restrain himself as he runs towards the truck.

Aren’t you proud of me? Because he stands before Valdemaras towering over him like he always has but also so very different, so very changed. He’s been working on himself so they don’t regret letting him come to the front lines. Do you see what I do and all of it for you?

They cannot kiss here — and perhaps the older Cynbel would and just have peeled the eyes of the witnesses out for his trouble. So how they kiss it is with hands clasped together, soil from the leagues they have traveled apart folding into the lines on their palms. Heart line and fate line and all the other bullshit that has never kept them away from one another before. It certainly will not now.

Cynbel’s eyes flutter closed in euphoria. The hum of approval is low but Valdas knows he can hear it.

“When I got your letter…”

“You’ve taken too many hits, my love, if you think I would not come for you.”

Then those fingers are running through his hair — make him want to drop to his knees and pray as he has prayed every fucking day and every fucking night. Prayers old and righteous and to his God, his Valdemaras.

Who else to champion a battlefield if not the divinity of death?

When he opens his eyes it’s to the sight of his lover in strange reverence. “I joke of how war has changed you,” he answers of Cynbel’s unasked question, “but you have changed, Cynbel.”

It makes him hesitant. “Does it suit you still?”

“It makes me wish we’d shipped you off sooner.”

Just like that. Like no time has passed at all. Cynbel grins.

The War could end right there and neither of them might notice. Cynbel wants to reach up, to touch him; wipe the tears from his Lord’s cheeks even if it dirties him further because nothing else matters.

And judging by the misting in Valdas’ eyes he feels very much the same way.

“Oi, Claude!”

The jagged French accent jars them both out of the world of Him they had nearly been swallowed by. Cynbel is two thousand years old — he has the force of will to stop himself from shedding a damned tear, and thank the Made-God for that.

They don’t—won’t, physically can’t, they cannot please cruel world do not demand it of them they would rather lose those hands if they remained together still—break away even as Cynbel turns to the source of the voice.

Fucking Frenchmen. No doubt even miles away Isseya’s still having a laugh that the French were the only army they could forge him into.

“Have you got your new orders yet?” He’s been suffering the language for seven months now, and each month more he’ll torture his darling girl so divine.

Another jerks his thumb to the back of the supply truck steadily filling up with eager alcoholics. “A couple of us were going for drinks, Claude — should we save you a seat?”

He doesn’t miss Valdas’ stifled laughter behind him. “Later, maybe.”

“Oh come now, Claude,” purrs his lover’s voice low and decadent in his ear, “I could use a drink. All this travel has left me famished.” Of course he follows; as if he could deny his Divinity’s first request in months. And Valdas knows it.

They fall into familiar step. A quick glance is all it takes — has Cynbel reaching out the barest whisper of a touch to the inside of Valdas’ wrist. A touch he receives in kind.

He leans in to whisper low. “I would warn you of how much you’ll come to regret this but you’ll see it yourself soon enough.”

“Good to know you haven’t changed utterly.”

“You think I’m kidding.”

“I think you’re a touch dramatic.”

They are the last to step on and sit across the aisle facing one another. Valdas takes his opportunity when the truck’s heavy engine roars to life and fills the already acrid air with the choking perfume of industry; “I seem to recall a vehement hatred of the name Claude. Didn’t Iss’ set you up as Philip, or Percy? Something with a ‘P.’”

Cynbel nods reluctantly. “Yes, but when I got here I was… already missing the pair of you so much. You know I half thought about turning around and running back to the train?”

Good to know he can still surprise his beloved after all this time. “No, I… really? And after all the moaning and begging you did to get here in the first place?”

“What can I say? I stepped one foot in Paris and was filled with nostalgia.”

Valdas leans back on his side of the bench. Conversation in various regional French all about them and now with human ears more at ease with the rumbling of their vehicle towards town. They trade looks, certainly they don’t need words.

When his God answers it’s in a familiar albeit old tongue. “Maybe I was wrong. Maybe this has changed you more than our beloved or I could have thought possible.”

“You’re being vague on purpose. My question remains the same.” Please still want me. All of this — for you.

Their boots meet toe-to-toe on the plank floor. Another kiss only they share.

“Long gone, I think, are the days where change frightened me. I’m just glad to see they are gone from you as well.”

When he laughs Cynbel lets his head fall back against one of the canopy supports. That fear of progress did not go quietly; as they both well know. But of course he would if it would bring him back to them.

Preferably with spoils like the wars of old.

His regiment is familiar enough with the pub by now (though were there any word for something smaller they would readily give it such) that they have claimed seats. Which leaves very little option for the men now dissolved into their company — Valdas included.

“Best you find somewhere else to sit.” Cynbel’s hand falls heavy on a burly man’s shoulder beside his usual seat. From the meat of his muscle and the deep way his frown settles familiar in his features the man isn’t used to being the one asked to move.

His chair scrapes against the floor as he stands. A screeching noise that silences the rest of the company and leaves them waiting a little too eagerly for men who have their daily helping of violence.

But Cynbel is immobile, his smile unwavering and unnerving as he continues to look down. The burly man’s mistake isn’t new to him — and the entire room lets out a sigh of relief when the seat is given up without needing to come to blows.

Valdas gives him a chiding look as they settle in, but the Golden Son refuses to feel shame for it. “If I changed too much you wouldn’t recognize me.”

“Well your head makes it a challenge.”

Cynbel finds himself running his fingers through his close-cropped hair; grown out from the time gone but nothing like his lovers used to prefer.

By the time they get their drinks the pair have yet again found their own secret methods of intimacy. Lucky that the chairs are small but the tables are smaller. It makes the press of their legs from hip to toe reasonable — if excessive.

But they would risk everything for this.

Cynbel takes a long drink of the swill and watches carefully as Valdas does the same without hesitation. Only… he’s gotten used to the piss-water taste of the stuff. Forced his memories of finer liquors down in order to get through the ordeal of stomaching it. Valdas hasn’t.

He watches with no small amount of amusement; takes in the disgust as readily as he does the affection. And has the decency to wait until his Maker is finished choking on air he doesn’t need to ask the inevitable question.

“So… how is she?”

The Made-God is slow to answer and isn’t that enough to jump-start Cynbel’s long-stilled heart.

“She misses you.”

“As I miss her — as I’ve missed you both.” He does it without looking, without drawing attention. The creep of his hand over the sticky wooden surface to rest their littlest fingers together. Their smiles both wistful, wanting. “How have things been? I mean — the others get scarce letters from home and with such varied accounts of what the world is thinking, doing. Some are bleak, others hopeful.”

Valdas nods. “Sounds about right. The world is split down the middle. The more politicians and commanders-at-arms tout their new strategies and plans for a final confrontation the more foolhardy they sound.”

“You’ve both kept safe, though.”

“Safety is relative. Perhaps it has escaped your notice, darling, but the world is at war with itself.” With a scoff Cynbel shoves him by the shoulder; reaches out just as quickly to make sure the man doesn’t fall. This filthy floor could never be worthy of Him.

“We moved on about a month into your tour,” he continues, “to Zürich. The plan was to find a change of scenery in the Americas — somewhere near the equator, somewhere the nights were warm and calm. But we could not stomach the thought of such distance from you.”

Of course he feels as they do. Even the shadow of the thought—of a sea between them—ignites a jealous spark; selfishness. But it’s just that; selfish. And they didn’t. Valdas is right here. Isseya is closer now than she was in Tuscany.

“Cynbel,” Valdas risks more than he knows when he coaxes Cynbel’s chin up with a two-fingered touch; but he could care less, “You were right. The country becomes her.”

“And is she practicing?”

“She tries where she can. But most doctors still see only a woman—a nurse.”

“Isseya is to a nurse as a nurse is to a butcher!” exclaims Cynbel, bewildered. Valdas finally dares to gamble with his life and a second sip of his drink. It goes down about just as easy as the first.

They trade stories well through the night. Cynbel can’t help but wonder if Valdas, too, finds it incredible and strange just how much there is for them to share. What are mere months compared to the rest of their lives? What makes these more or less than any other?

He’s had ample opportunity in the trenches to think about this very thing, and has come to the conclusion that it must be how fast the world is turning now. Well, not literally, though there were now words, definitions, numbers for that sort of thing. But his eyes—their eyes—have seen much of human history and to deny it would be foolish.

Industry, innovation; mankind is using a new kind of imagination the likes of which their old blood has never seen.

The palm that cups his cheek is warm. The waning candlestick that once was on the other end of the bar now rests dangerously close to Valdas’ sleeve. He pushes it away with an absent finger but soaks in the unfamiliar feeling graciously.

“I travel all this way and you are still so far from me.” The longing drags out in his voice like a single note from a violin. Cynbel dares to hold that hand exactly where it is. He catches himself in a smile as the tips of Valdas’ nails tickle at what they can reach of his earring.

“I think I owe the two of you an apology.”

“Likely,” two fingers tug at Cynbel’s earlobe now and such a simple intimate touch thrills him utterly, “but what for this time?”

“It’s different this time —” —how can he put the feelings into words, he would have more luck composing them of raindrops or the miasma of death that lingers at every soldier’s back— “— or perhaps I’m the one who’s different.”

“How do you mean?”

“I’m still determined to see this through.”

“I should hope so.”

“But I think… had Iss’ come with you — had the pair of you arrived together… I may very well have thrown it all aside and deserted with your hands in mine.”

Running is such a cowardly thing. And the Golden Son is no coward. So it’s completely understandable that he leaves the Made-God speechless at his confession. There’s a fragment of Cynbel that can’t quite believe it himself.

“Those are strong words from you, Cynbel,” Valdas admits, and at least one of them is steady enough to speak, “and I won’t say I’m not glad to hear them. She would be too. We’ve both long believed your eyes were bigger than your stomach when you set all this into motion.”

They share a laugh between them; not enough for two but they make do. They always have. Having something wholly to himself feels too gluttonous now.

“How many years do you think she’ll hold that over my head?”

Lips so very familiar curl into a smirk. “What, that we were right? Oh — the full century at least.” Anything less would be an insult. “But you deserve it.”

“Yeah, I do.”

They pull away slow at first; the magnetism of their hearts resisting the sanity of their heads. But the separation ends all at once to the grinding chair legs and rising steps uneven with drink and the headiest of drugs called respite.

Cynbel catches one by the arm before he can stumble out of reach. “So eager to return to the trenches?”

The soldier shakes his head. “Non, Claude. Patrick says he was solicited not five days ago. We’re gonna go see if we can find them.” The Frenchman drags his eyes to Valdas with great effort; focuses on him through the drink and it is suspicion, yes, but not the kind that worries him. He’s grown too used to humans and their funny notions.

“You two want to join us?”

“I don’t think my friend’s fiancée would like that very much.” Though she would wholeheartedly approve of the sharp kick Valdas gives to his shin.

But this is just another part of the ruse and Cynbel’s had months to build it well. Soldiers would always be soldiers would always find themselves wary of brothers-in-arms who don’t join them.

“Mother of Christ,” comes the hiccoughed reply, “another pious one?”

But Valdas takes his answer for his own; though his usual French eloquence is beset with a strange accent — makes it difficult for drunken ears to hear him proper. “Not at all. Unless you count my devotion to her inheritance as religion.”

The vampires watch the tiny wheels turn with shared amusement. Cynbel’s not altogether sure the slurred laughter and “Atta man!” of praise isn’t just to fill the space and carry on.

And there it is; that expectant look and single dark brow raised with it. Cynbel’s sigh is weary on the subject but, of course, his Maker can never be denied.

“I had to tell them something,” he fishes a handful of coins from the breast pocket of his coat and leaves them as payment, “since soldiers are as they’ve always been. They treat fidelity like social treason and only scrape together respect for those they’ve deemed surrogates for their own lack of faith.”

The Made-God and his firstborn walk out of the dingy building with arms linked. Most of the others are either gone or distracted with one another now and the lovers are more than happy for the chance. Even a second is better than not at all.

Though apparently Valdas doesn’t have an opinion on his unorthodox means of staying faithful to them — which, no, that’s utter bollocks; when has he never not had an opinion on anything — “Don’t give me that face. Technically I didn’t lie when I said I was given to my God. They just assumed their God and mine were one in the same; their fault, not mine.”

“I said nothing against it, beloved.”

“Your silence speaks volumes.”

“Good to know you can still listen.”

Listen, indeed. He can listen quite well as his Maker — his lover well knows. And though the warmth of the candle’s flame has left Valdas’ hand Cynbel still takes it in his own because he’s never needed warmth.

All he’s ever needed is the weight of them. Heat can linger but weight is proof something is present; that it exists.

“And it makes me feel like I exist for the first time in months.”

The dark-haired man realizes quickly that Cynbel hadn’t meant to speak his thoughts. Still he takes them just as hungry, just as craven, and refuses even a letter of them back.

That same weight tightens and they’ve moved; beheld to his Holy One’s will. Out of the open and near-abandoned cobbled streets and away from the gas-lit lamps and into a place darker than the night itself.

The brick catches, clings to his uniform. He couldn’t give less of a damn. Valdas could rip the fabric to shreds (and that’s quite the idea and visual that comes with it but practicality wins out) because he’s there. In person.

The weight of him is a sermon and prayer.

“Our darling girl sends her love.” Valdas’ breath croons wet against his ear — with the close-cut of his hair he feels it more. “She sends me.”

That weight shifts to a firmly pressed thumb on his hip. “What a perfect gift, belated from the Dark Solstice maybe?”

“There was a delay with the post —” he falls to his knees (and in that action all other gods, faiths, prophets are banished by the radiance of His humility) as he speaks; the mere sight leaves Cynbel breathless, “— It may have escaped your notice but there’s a war on.”

He throws his head back hard enough for the brick behind to crack. Stifling their laughter is a near-impossible task but somehow they manage. “I… I…”

It seems Valdas has had his fill of Cynbel’s words, though, and his appetite is left wanting.

But only for about as long as it takes for him to undo his progeny’s belt.

The rest of the world may weep for the events of the twentieth century but Cynbel simply cannot remember the last time he felt so much zest for life.

“And she really agreed to it? Surely she’ll miss you.”

Valdas huffs, certainly unamused. “You make me sound like an object to which you’ve shared custody.”

“You know what I mean.” Cynbel knocks their boots together against the aisle. Unlike the rest of the men they don’t need to shout to one another as the truck takes its sweet time trekking them out of town. “Just as you know I would rather you be with her safe and out of harms way.”

“She would rather I here in it — holding tight to that leash of yours.”

“You brought the leash?” Cynbel’s eyes immediately alight almost boyish and giddy. A sight that gladdens his Maker but definitely earns him a long-suffering sigh.

“The leash of your recklessness. Of course I’ll be staying by your side until this War is seen done. All the more swiftly we can get back to her. Oh, and Cynbel, watch your tongue, I won’t say it twice.”

But to say it is unlikely that any of the (very drunk, very boisterous) soldiers riding with them might recognize their tongue last put to print in Alexandria and last spoken on stranger’s tongues a century before that — well that’s giving the French far too much credit and that Cynbel will simply not abide.

He casts a look out into the darkness of the trees and sparse land. Can’t help himself in either his smirk or his wicked thoughts. “Glad I did not ask the same of you, my deliciously talented Divinity.” He braces himself for a blow that never comes — but if Valdas wishes to pretend he’s hiding his smile slowly growing, then pretend they both shall.

It’s such a rare and beautiful moment. Fleeting like youth and innocence but there’s always the potential of it. And Cynbel has missed that smile so much more than he ever thought he would, has taken the distance between them so much harder.

So he dares to allow himself a dangerous thought. Dangerous because the size of it eclipses everything else; the soldiers, the engine, the entire war around them.

I deserve this, Cynbel thinks.

And the war takes up the mantle and reminds him otherwise.

The first shell lands just shy of them; the boom so loud that Cynbel’s ears are ringing far too much for him to hear the cries of enemy soldiers, the firing of enemy guns. And now that they have gotten a decent measure of the distance the second shell doesn’t dare miss.

The first sends dirt and rocks raining down on them with the shots. Cynbel watches with a growing concern as suddenly Valdas is… lower than him? Then his side of the truck falls back to the earth and everything evens out. Until the metal stands on and looses its last legs in the same breath and sends the tire rolling into the dark oblivion of the night.

On the second Cynbel can’t tell if the blood that tacks up dirt on his face is a Frenchman’s or his own and he frankly doesn’t care. All he cares about is Valdas. Reaching for Valdas clawing for him sinking his grasp deep into bone if he must to keep him close and keep him safe.

To his horror there’s nothing on the other end of his hand. Just flesh packed tight under his nails and a blood-smeared palm.

“VALDAS!”

A blinding light suddenly pierces the darkness. A third shell lands lucky on the truck now tipped over. Sends shrapnel and shells and bone and dirt and blood flying out into the smoke-choked air.

Then the engine catches fire.

“VALDAS!”

There are no trenches here. They aren’t safe. And fuck if he will allow cowardly mortals who wait for the cover of midnight to attack.

One brave idiot fires at his back; drives the bullet through his body and makes the honorable sacrifice of being the sustenance he needs to close the hole it leaves. Cynbel isn’t so gracious in the holes he leaves. Another kicks one of the Frenchmen from the end of his bayonet and swings it so wild and unpracticed—amateur—that he feels a little bit like a bully when he shatters the metal in a single fist and shows him how to properly stab a man.

The next one has a brass pair; well he must — grabbing the Golden Son’s shoulder hard and desperate. Cynbel turns with fangs bared, the rest of the jagged bayonet in hand, and thank the fucking Made-God he stops himself before dragging it across Valdas’ throat.

Frozen they stand, each man holding a lover at arms’ length with the same frenzy and fear in his eyes. He feels the tentative touch of Valdas’ fingertips at his brow and sees them come back sticky with blood. Not his own. Cynbel brushes his thumb over a cut in his Maker’s lip and watches it heal before his eyes.

They are fed. They are alive. They are together.

And how many times has one or more or all of those things not been true? What the fuck were the doing out here exposed and in the line of fire — it didn’t matter what they wanted to do. Not when the reality was going to leave Isseya widowed and with no fucking word.

Cynbel grabs his lover and kisses him hard. Feels resistance only for a moment and only because they leave themselves vulnerable like this but the very thought of a quick peck of lips in a dirty Belgian alley being their last settles inside him about as well as acid.

Are Valdas’ ears still ringing? Cynbel’s are. His eardrums not yet healed and giving him cause to shout. Though perhaps he would have shouted it anyway. Perhaps it was just as much a proclamation to the world that would never stop trying to tear them apart as much as it is for his Lord and Light, his Divinity; his Valdas.

“I want to go home.”

He already had the face the idea of an existence without the man and for the sake of what little sanity he clings to Cynbel will never do so again. End this here and now. Before there is nothing left of us to love.

Valdas grips his hair until it hurts and further still. “As if I could ever deny you. My Golden Son.”

On a midnight much like this so very very far away — though not such in distance but in time — where locusts gave their choir to the air and to see the universe one need only look up to the heavens… Cynbel had found himself accosted by a peddler urchin boy.

“Domine so powerful and strong, but does he know his future?” And Cynbel had only humored him because his mind was not with his body or the starving hand that urged him along but in that very future he spoke of. His world ripped out from under him because his Made-God had not made himself at all, but had one he called Maker too. “My sister will know his future. Three sestertius, three sestertius Domine.”

If he’d known then what would come of it he might have commissioned the boy’s likeness in golden effigy.

He could smell death clinging to Nona from the moment they exchanged hellos. He did not feel pity or sympathy or affection at her. She was only as valuable to him as she was useful.

From her sickly bed Nona peddled her seer’s tricks. Things Cynbel had seen long ago in the shamans and envoys of the old tribes. Nothing so concrete as meeting true divinity and knowing it with intimacy.

“Enough of your sleights and suggestions,” he had snapped; because if he had been dragged all this way off the beaten path he would have expected something interesting from it at the least, “you cannot even fathom how little of my time you waste here yet still I am left feeling robbed from it!”

They needed his coin for bread. He didn’t care. Yet still she tried to grab him — one last chance to beg, perhaps — and that’s all it took.

“You slept under an apple tree. You did not know he watched you; the sunlight of you. You only knew the life you had carved into your bones. Some part of you knew he admired you from afar… it woke you — it destined you and he to meet. You asked for him. And like a long-time lover he came to you. Beheld you with his eyes and body even as they blistered for you.

“You blinded the Made-God and it made you weep. You offered yourself to him, pure hands that had spilled blood. And you have been his ever since. From that moment on — to now — to farther than I will ever see.”

At first he kept her company for the feeling of memories hazy with the passage of time. Of his death-into-rebirth; of Isseya’s too when the time came. He did not understand the like of her but there would always be things new and unknown to him. That was what made life worth living eternally.

Then long-ago memories became that which had passed a day before, or that very evening. Surely that, too, would progress. And it did.

And at first the idea of the future thrilled him. No one—not even the mighty Godmaker—could have imagined what civilization, culture, humanity would eventually become but he was so young and wide-eyed and had already seen so much that the Cynbel of that idyllic time was certain there could not have been anything greater than that moment.

And maybe there wasn’t.

“He Made you, named you, claimed you. And you gave—give—everything. But it isn’t enough. It won’t be enough.” She was frail, feeble; human. And he was terrified of her.

“It’ll be the death of you.”

Night after night he drilled her, dug into her, begged with tears in his eyes for the answer. “Why would my love kill me? When? How? Please, Nona, please. I beg of you. You promised. You promised.” But he never did get his answer. Not when Augustine happened, when Sayeed happened, when he had to sacrifice his only chance at knowing why his Beloved God was going to kill him to a bunch of fae folk masquerading as priestesses. Time kept urging them forward, backward; he hoped that if he loved them enough he could prove her wrong.

“Just once,” she said, “I hope I’m wrong just once. All it will take is once.”

So Cynbel finds it pretty fucking hilarious that only now — two thousand years, countless empires and nations, corpses they made high enough to drown in later — does it occur to him that Nona had never said Valdas would kill him. Not word for word. He just wouldn’t be enough.

It’s him. It’s Cynbel… Cynbel wouldn’t be enough.

Based on the uniforms that decorate the body count it’s unlikely that any of his regiment will survive the night. Cynbel intends to make himself among the dead — but that takes a little more these days than leaving a faceless body in his own bed.

“You said you would take me home.”

“Trust me, Cynbel my love. Trust me now more than you have ever trusted me in all our lives and all our years. Please… do that and I vow I will see us both home and whole with her again.”

That’s what had done it — sent him spiraling into all sorts of thoughts on old seers long dead and visions to which he was never given full understanding.

“Do you trust me?”

When a God is made vulnerable the very foundations of their faith are shaken. It shows in his hands and the glassy fear in his eyes and every muscle tense uncertain; unsure. Why does the Golden Son hesitate, asked in every tremor, what has changed?

He needed only see the question to know the answer.

“I’ve always trusted you. Now, and all our years remaining.”

Such silly creatures they were kissing in the middle of a massacre. Not the first time for the likes of them… and though normally Cynbel might find his thoughts wandering automatically to the next time it would be such he can’t say he would mind if it were not for a lifetime or more.

He trusts the Made-God. He trusts his Maker. He trusts Valdas. He trusts one of the pieces of his own soul that just happened to live in a different body.

They flee the ambush in opposite directions. I trust him. Valdas towards the town and supplies and Cynbel back to his station. Not for sentiments or material things but for stripes and colors; what little recognition he’s put effort for in seven months hiding in holes. I trust him.

But it was not that their enemy was lurking on the roads waiting for a truck of soldiers made complacent and easily picked-off.

Their station is burning. Alight with flames that seek to meet one another around corners and bends. Scattered remnants of shells, shots, bodies both together and pulled apart by the explosions and when he slows down in the spaces between leaping fires he can hear the wails of the ones unfortunate not to have died on impact.

He pities them only in that torture is only made enjoyable when there is someone there to enjoy it. But the enemy has moved on by now. This is their warning.

One fallen innocent is a message.

A slaughtered horde—that’s a warning.

Where has he heard that before? Those words sound uncannily familiar.

“They are familiar because you spoke them. Or wrote them, rather, in a letter of intent that should be known better as a declaration of war.”

Ah, yes. Now that strikes up his memory like the tolling bells of Notre Dame. Cynbel forces the recollection upon himself because that voice—too familiar—could not possibly be there with him now. In the middle of a trench station in Belgium where the only living are the souls not yet dead.

“I think I wrote it drunk,” yes, yes he’d definitely been hammered — it was the only way he’d humor the idea, “since we’d always preferred our fists to our words, mine enemy and me. The Order of the Dawn, the Holy Sacred Knights of the Rising Dawn, the Mars Tributa, and whatever other nonsense they called themselves… something-Ares. Funny to find something from before even my time.

“But it was the age of chivalry re-imagined wasn’t it? Frock coats and bogged-down brocades and fucking dainty little gloves and duels of honor. I wrote my letter and when I did not receive a swift and gentlemanly reply… I took matters into my own hands.”

Tumultuous; a good word to describe the evening. Isseya would be proud to hear him use it. She’s been nagging him since the turn of the century to try and be a little less… crass.

But the figure across the smoke, that takes up arms against him? Even in a tumultuous night Cynbel can’t say he expected this.

“I led them to the catacombs,” he continues; bats carelessly to smother any spark the embers hovering around the air might think to start, “I made sure they would feel their deluded righteousness and bring the best fight they could because I was bored of waiting around for their next big front. That night was my version of a gentlemen’s glove thrown down.

“And as I seem to recall, Mademoiselle Dupont, I saved your life. You’re welcome, by the way.”

In the middle of a trench station in Belgium, Cynbel wants so badly to be anywhere else. In front of a hearth in Zürich with his fingers tangled in Isseya’s hair. Hidden away in a dirty Belgian alley clinging desperately to Valdas’ coat. Because that Cynbel; he’s enough. But the one here, now?

He isn’t.

And it will be the death of him.

note: each of the titles of Part V is taken from a poem written about WWI read Men Who March Away by Thomas Hardy

#bloodbound fanfiction #playchoices fanfiction #bloodbound #choices bb #serafine dupont #oc: cynbel #oc: valdas #oblv: bound by choice #oblv: new chapter #; my fics

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filmfanatic82 · 5 years ago

Photo

AO3 Link (HERE)

Chapter 13:

“And I had a fear of forgiveness

(Said it from the beginning)

I was too proud to say I was wrong

(Said you'd always see me through)

All that time is gone, no more fearing control

I'm ready for the both of us now

But just know that I want you back

Just know that I want you back

Just know that I want you

I'll take the fall and the fault in us

I'll give you all the love I never gave before I left you”

-- Want You Back, HAIM

__________

“Wow.”

Penelope’s eyes pop open at the sound of Hope’s voice. She sits up and cranes her neck backward just in time to spot Hope climbing through the attic window.

“Wow?” Penelope asks. She stretches her arms and then cracks her neck from side to side. Falling asleep on the roof hadn’t been her original game plan. No. Far from it.

But after aimlessly wandering the halls of the school for an hour or so, Penelope had somehow wound up in the one place where she knew she could find a little bit of peace and solitude. And once there, she found that she merely lacked the energy to go anywhere else. So Penelope gave up her fight against the ever-mounting exhaustion of the last few days, curled up with a leftover blanket and closed her eyes.

“Wow,” Hope echoes back and takes a seat next to Penelope.

“So I’m taking it that ‘wow’ is in response to you having read the copy of the journal I left for you?”

Hope nods. “Twice. Cover to cover.”

“Impressive.”

“Had some help with a Celeritas charm, but yeah… I read it twice.”

“And?” Penelope asks with a quirk of her brow.

“And… Wow.”

“You said that already,” Penelope responds.

“I know.” Hope exhales a long breath of air allowing a brief silence to fall between them. “I just… I just don’t know where to start.”

“Fair enough. It’s kinda a lot to process.”

“Kinda?”

Penelope can’t help but let a hint of a smile slip through at these words. “Okay. It’s a shit ton to process. Better?”

“Yes,” Hope replies, matching Penelope’s smile with one of her own. “Did we really take on a pack of rabid werewolves in the middle of the Louvre?”

“Technically it was in the courtyard of the Louvre, but yup... We did. Got a wicked scar behind my left from that one.”

“And Milan?”

“100% true too. It took a good three months for my left eyebrow to grow back but it all happened. Every last fiery moment of it.”

“Caroline’s really a badass, huh?”

“Badass doesn’t even begin to describe it. She’s the reason we survived Milan… and about a million and one other attacks too,” Penelope replies with an underlying bittersweet tone to her voice.

“Do you miss her?”

Penelope laughs as if the answer should be obvious. “More than I thought I would. But, weirdly enough, I have this gut feeling that I’ll see her again soon. Like either, I’ll just wind up on her doorstep again one day or she’ll just up and hunt me down. If that makes sense.”

Hope nods with a silent understanding. They sit side by sit for a moment or two, just existing in each other’s presence and the —

“Would it be strange if I said that I’m kinda jealous of my other self?”

“Jealous?” Penelope asks not fully following the Tribrid’s train of thought.

“Maybe jealous isn’t the right word.” Hope exhales and runs her hair over her ponytail. “More like envious? I don’t know… Reading about all those insane things we did, I couldn’t help but wish that I had gotten to experience them firsthand, you know?”

“Who says they still can’t happen?”

Hope straightens up a bit at these words. “What do you mean?”

“Well, if the journal doesn’t work and history ends up repeating itself then my ass is going to be on the first flight I can grab to Belgium. And, as you already read, I can’t do it alone, so…”

“Are you asking me to go to Belgium with you, Penelope Park?” Hope asks.

Penelope instantly feels her cheeks redden and she shakes her head, in an attempt to downplay the significance of the moment. “No… I just meant… If things don’t…”

Hope gives Penelope a playful nudge. “Count me in.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Of course,” Hope replies. “Whether you like it or not, you’re stuck with me, Park. So if you’re going to Belgium, then I am too… Especially if it means I get to wield a crossbow.”

“Deal.”

“Good.” Hope lets out a light laugh and leans her shoulder into Penelope’s. It’s a small gesture, but one that Penelope can’t help but find comforting nonetheless. It’s as if by reading the journal, Hope has somehow become yet even more infused with Penelope’s Hope than ever before. Almost to the point where distinguishing between the two is practically impossible.

“So you gave a copy of the journal to Josie, right?” Hope asks, breaking the silence once again.

“Yup. Hand-delivered it to Lizzie roughly three hours ago.” Penelope replies with a yawn.

“Wait…” Hope whips her head around and locks eyes with Penelope. A noticeable look of sheer horror washes over her face. “You gave the journal to Lizzie?!”

Penelope nods. “Yeah. I went to their dorm room and she’s the one that answered the door, so I--”

“Fuck,” Hope says, cutting Penelope off. She runs her hands over her auburn ponytail, trying her best to keep her ever-rising anxiety at bay. “What if she reads it?”

“So?”

“So? Do you know what’s in there?”

Penelope doesn’t mean to, but she lets out a laugh. “I would hope I know what’s in there. I mean I did live it… Besides, it’s not like Lizzie wasn’t going to find out one way or another.”

“Finding out second-hand tidbits from Josie and reading it word for word are two very different things, Park” Hope fires back. “Oh god, Madrid… Madrid is in there! How am I going to explain Madrid?”

“Breathe, Mikaelson,” Penelope responds with an underlying reassurance to her voice. “Josie’s going to read about Madrid as well, so you’re not the only one that’s going to have some major explaining to do.”

“Right…”

Another momentary silence falls between the two of them as they watch the first rays of the morning sun peek out from the horizon, then—

“So how long do you think it’ll take before Lizzie and Josie hunt you down?”

Penelope shrugs. “Depends…”

“Depends on what?”

“Depends on if they cheated like you did and used a Celeritas charm or not,” Penelope replies with a bit of a smirk.

“For the record, I didn’t cheat.”

“Whatever you say, Furball.”

“I didn’t.” Hope crosses her arms in mild annoyance. “It was 800 pages. It would’ve taken me at least half a day to read it without any help.”

“Only half a day?” Penelope questions and Hope answers with a harder than usual knock to her shoulder.

“Hey! For the record, I--” Hope trails off as something in the distance catches her attention. She slowly rises to her feet as her face transforms into a look of pure and utter concern.

“Hope?” Penelope asks. Her eyes follow Hope’s and instantly spots tiny black specks moving along the treeline at the edge of the forest.

“Is that…”

“Yeah… Shit! It’s too soon. Triad isn’t supposed to be here for at least another few hours,” Penelope responds. She runs her hands through her messy raven locks as her mind begins to race.

She ought to be prepared, but...

But there is no preparation. Not for what’s about to transpire.

“What do we do?” Hope asks, pulling her eyes away from the rapidly approaching tactical swat team and locking them in on Penelope.

Penelope bites down on her bottom lips for a moment or two and then--

“C’mon… I’ve got an idea.”

__________

“Where are we going again?” Hope asks as she races to keep up the pace with Penelope. The two zig-zag their way through the chaotic sea of confused and panicked students, trying to get down the main staircase without taking anyone out in the process.

In the short matter of time from when they first spotted of Triad to them reaching the main entranceway, the whole school seemingly has been made aware of the incoming attack.

It’s as if by magic… Or some divine intervention… Or maybe a hybrid of both. Penelope doesn’t have the time nor the energy to decipher who exactly alerted the whole school but is beyond thankful nonetheless.

“To the basement. Long story, but there’s an anti-magic relic down there that needs to be destroyed and fast. If Triad reaches it first, then they will activate it and we’ll be powerless,” Penelope responds.

“Wait? Why is it down there in the first place?”

“I’ll give you one guess… He’s your pseudo sensei.”

“Alric?”

“Bingo,” Penelope replies with a huff.

“Why would he…”

“No time for explanations now.” Penelope and Hope reach the first-floor landing and start to round the corner. “I promise, I’ll--”

“Hope Marie Mikaelson!”

Lizzie’s voice slices through the steady sounds of the ongoing movement causing both Penelope and Hope to freeze dead in their tracks. They slowly turn around just in time to spot the blonde-haired siphoner marching towards them.

“Shit,” Penelope says under her breath. “Liz, this is the best time to--”

“Not now, Satan,” Lizzie cuts Penelope off as she closes the rest of the distance between herself and the two of them. She stops just inches in front of Hope, locking eyes with the Tribrid, and then, without any warning whatsoever, grabs hold of Hope’s cheeks and plants a kiss that is nothing short of life-changing upon her lips.

Hope’s eyes widen with pure, unexpected shock. She tenses for a split second, unsure of how to react, before giving in to her instincts. Hope threads her hands through Lizzie’s platinum blonde hair, deepening their kiss as she does. This is a moment both Hope and Lizzie have been waiting for since the first time they laid eyes on one another.

And Penelope can’t help but smirk in satisfaction as she watches her best friend fall even harder than ever before in love with Lizzie Saltzman. It’s a moment she’s been secretly waiting to see play out ever since traveling back in time.

Finally, Hope pulls back out of the kiss and smiles. “That was--.”

“Amazing,” Lizzie finishes Hope’s sentence with an exhale of air. Her face lights up as well, unable to take her eyes off of Hope.

“Yeah… That,” Hope responds still not fully recovered from the sheer shock of the kiss.

“Ahem.” Penelope clears her throat subtly reminding them of her presence. “As much as I love seeing you two finally come to your senses and all, we’ve got more pressing matters to attend to.”

“Satan’s right,” Lizzie chimes in causing yet another wave of shock to wash over Hope. “Josie went to go see if she could go track down that relic you mentioned in the journal in our dad’s office while I tracked you two down. We were going to set-up a protection barrier so those gun-toting freaks couldn’t bust in but we couldn’t siphon anything off of the walls.”

“Shit. That means Triad got to the relic,” Penelope replies with a huff of frustration.

“You read the whole journal?” Hope asks Lizzie, eyes growing even wider than ever before.

“Yes. Three times,” Lizzie responds without missing a beat. “And we’ll discuss Madrid later… And the nipple piercings.”

And Hope just nods, still unable to find her words.

“What relic?” Lizzie asks, turning her attention back towards Penelope.

“It’s some anti-magic relic that your dad has stashed in the basement. It’s been activated. That’s why you can’t siphon. We need to go destroy it asap in order to get our powers back.”

“I know a back way into the basement so we can slip in without being detected.”

“Good.” Penelope pauses for a moment and runs her hands through her raven locks, trying to dispel her growing sense of dread.

Josie is already in Alric’s office.

Alone.

Unprotected.

It’s too close… Way too close for Penelope’s liking.

All it will take is for the wrong member of Triad to show up and--

“I’ll take Hope and we’ll handle the relic. You should go help Josie,” Lizzie says, almost reading Penelope’s thoughts.

“But--”

“Go, Penelope.” And suddenly there’s a flash of an oddly reassuring look deep within Lizzie’s icy blue eyes. As if to say that on some level or another she gets it.

“Okay,” Penelope says with a nod.

“We’ll meet you there when we’re done.” Lizzie takes hold of Hope’s hand and then starts to drag the still dazed Tribrid back through the crowd of fleeing students. She gets all of three steps, though, before stopping once again to look back at Penelope. “Oh, and Park… If you let my sister get shot again, I’ll kill you myself.”

“Got it.”

Lizzie gives Penelope a smile and then without another moment wasted, disappears into the sea of chaos with Hope trailing right behind her.

__________

Penelope makes it to Alric’s office in record time. She isn’t sure exactly how she manages to do it, but she’s there nonetheless in less than three minutes flat.

There isn’t a Triad in sight and yet…

Penelope wraps her hand around the door handle and takes a deep, sobering breath as her ears pick up on the unusual stillness of her surroundings.

It’s quiet.

Too quiet.

There aren’t even the muffled sounds of movement coming from the other side of the door.

Why is it so quiet?

Fear begins to bubble up in the back of Penelope’s throat and she fights the urge to scream out Josie’s name.

Is she too late?

Has Triad already been here?

Penelope scans the hallway once again for signs-- any signs-- that the black fatigue clad operatives are nearby. But there’s nothing.

Nothing but the stillness.

Penelope takes a moment to swallow down the dry lump of long-repressed emotions and then with all the courage she can muster, she pushes open the office door.

“Jo--”

But before Penelope can finish uttering Josie’s name, she feels an object collide with the back of her skull, followed by a sharp pang of blinding pain, and then--

Blackness.

#posie #josie saltzman #penelope park #hope mikaelson #hizzie #lizzie saltzman #legacies #wlw #ao3 #fanfic

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sashatrr · 5 years ago

Text

Breathe with me. Chapter 16a

Chapter 15 here

Liam's jet landed in private section of airport. Holding hands, they left jet and got into waiting car.

-So where are we? - Lina asked. She asked Liam about where they were going a few times during a flight but he said that she will find out upon arrival.

-Where do you think we are? - Liam asked with teasing smile.

Lina shrugged.

-How should I know? All airports are looking the same.

-We are in Brussels. - Liam said pulling her close.

-Belgium? - Lina asked disappointed. She thought that he will take her to Paris or Italy. Both countries fitted for romantic trip, but Belgium? She didn't know much about that country and couldn't recall anything romantic about it.

Liam nodded with a smile, her reaction didn't surprise him.

-Yes, but we are not staying in Brussels. We will drive to Antwerp from here. It's not far.

-I know nothing about Belgium so I trust you with it.

Rest of not long drive passed in comfortable conversation. Liam was telling Lina about his childhood and his brother, Leo.

He was getting relaxed more and more around Lina now. For once he felt like a normal man doing normal things with the woman he loved, even if he wasn't ready to admit it to her. He was really excited to spend as much time as he could with her and to forget, at least for some time, about everything that would come after the end of his so called honeymoon.

Upon arriving to the hotel, they ordered a room service, both exhausted after a long flight. Lina was nervous during all flight, expecting plane to crash any moment and Liam was doing his best to calm her down and distract from those thoughts. After dinner both quickly fell asleep in each others arms.

Next morning they woke up early and after breakfast left the hotel. Liam was wearing sunglasses everywhere to make sure that nobody would recognize him.

First they visited an old looking train station. It didn't really interest Lina. It was nice looking, gold and marble but Lina was never into architecture. Noticing her indifference, Liam laughed.

-Just had to start here. No trip to Antwerp is complete without seeing this building.

Holding hands, they left the building and headed to a stone gates. Next seven hours they spent investigating the oldest zoo in Europe. It made Lina sick to see all those animals trapped, even tho their voliers were comfortable and they seemed to be well taken care of.

-Nope, not doing this.-Lina shook her head trying to break out of Liam's hold. - I am already exhausted, I need coffee and to sit down.

Liam was trying to get in the long line of people wanting to watch seals show.

They headed to the exit and to the street filled with jewellery shops and sat at the table of closest cafe.

-Just one more destination today, baby.

Liam saw it in her behavior, he failed to impress her so far so he was counting on new promising idea that appeared in his mind.

After finishing their coffees, Liam lead Lina to the golden entrance of jewellery store.

-Did you know that Antwerp is a diamond capital of the world? - Liam asked walking through doors into the store. - We can visit diamond museum tomorrow if you want.

-I don't think that I ever heard about Antwerp at all, Liam. - Lina chuckled.-To be honest, I pictured other destinations when you offered trip to Europe.

-Paris and Venice? - He asked stopping by one of showcases.

Lina nodded and looked at showcase that was filled with necklaces and matching earrings.

A man hurried over to them.

-Goedemiddag. Kan ik u helpen?-a man asked subtly observing Liam to see if he was a potential client or just a tourist who happened to walk into the store.

-Goedemiddag. - Liam replied. - Can we speak English please? A lady here with me doesn't speak vlaams.

Man's smile grew even wider.

-Off course. Let me know if you are looking for anything special. Not everything is on a display. We keep the most precious masterpieces in the office.-salesman said after noticing Liam's Patek Philippe.

Despite Liam's attempt to look like a normal tourist, some things were still giving away his true status.

-Danku, meneer. We will let you know if we need you.-Liam dismissed him and turned his attention back to Lina who seemed to be captivated by the beauty of platinum diamond necklace and earrings and didn't hear a word from this conversation.

-Do you like this one? - Liam asked leaning closer to check the stones.

Not averting her gaze from necklace, Lina slid her hand down the glass.

-It's beautiful-she replied admiring the purity and simple elegance of it.

-Then we are getting it, but I would also like to check their office for more exclusive things.

-Are you going to buy it? - Lina gasped in surprise.

-Off course, why else would we come here? I would walk to the end of the world and back right now to make you happy.-he said and placed a gentle kiss on Lina's lips.

Lina returned a kiss wrapping hands around his neck.

-Well, then you need to find another way to make me happy. I can't wear any jewellery.

Liam pulled back confused.

-What do you mean? Off course you can.

Lina laughed.

-No, I can't. I did it back in New York because I didn't want to ruin our night, but I have an ekzema. My skin was dealing with the consequences of it for next weeks.

-Eczema? What's that? - confused Liam asked.

-I am not sure how to explain it. It's kind of allergy, I get it every time when my skin gets in contact with any metal for longer than twenty minutes. That includes gold, silver and platinum.

-You can't be real, Lin. Is there no cure for it? I mean how am I supposed to spoil you if you are allergic to eighty eight percent of the best gifts I can come up with? - Liam made disappointed face.

-You'll have to be creative then. - Lina laughed teasingly.

-You are just making it up, admit it. - His face became grumpy.

-No, I am not. I promise you.

-We still can get it and you can look at it sometimes? - Liam came up with new idea.

-Really? What's the use of having it if I will never put it on? Sounds like a torture.-Lina took his hand, nodded to salesman and dragged him to the street.

She didn't lie to Liam about eczema and right now she was grateful for having it. Despite growing closer with each other over past few days, Liam's lifestyle was intimidating to her. Traveling in private jet, luxurious cars and hotels and now diamonds. None of the things on display had a price tag but Lina knew that she would probably have to save for the rest of her life just to buy one earring from that set and she wasn't comfortable with this idea.Everything seemed to much, she couldn't explain it but she felt that sooner or later Liam would think that she is being with him for all that and not for himself.

I never asked for any of it but I know how does it look. I wish he would stop doing this. It just highlights the fact that we belong to different worlds. Maybe I should be honest about it?

Rest of the day they spent in the hotel learning more about each other's lives. Liam told Lina about death of his mother and lack of real family in his life, about very busy father who rarely had time for him and his brother. Lina told him about death of her parents in car accident when she was only three years old and about growing up with her aunt and uncle. They didn't have kids of their own and pour all love they had on Lina. She had a happy childhood any kid could dream about, her aunt and uncle made sure to give her all attention they could and did everything possible to replace her parents. Despite being very close with them, Lina refused to live with them after college or to accept any financial help. They did enough for her including paying for her education and making sure that she has everything she needs during college years. Accepting their help after college would make her a failure.

Next day they spent exploring rest of the city center. They spent a few hours in Rubens House. Only there Lina understood a difference between looking at reproductions and originals.

-Look at this. - Lina pointed at the painting that was hanging over an old fireplace that was used for kitchen needs back in the days. - It looks like 3d. How were they doing back then? And the lights!- only now she understood how touching and amazing a painting can be. No reproductions could ever show the true genius of a master, and certainly not images she could see on Internet.

On the second floor Lina spent twenty minutes by another painting that was picturing Queen Isabella and Ferdinand during their daily walk. Everything on it was very small but every small thing was drawn very detailed.

-How did they do it?-Lina asked again. - Did they use microscopes? Did they even exist back then? Really, I would go blind just after drawing half of it.

Liam tried to explain her the technics of old masters but her attention already was on antique locker, every small door of which was beautifully painted with scenes from nature.

In the next room there was a very small bed, draped with canopy.

-See this? - Liam pointed at bed. - That's how they slept back then.

Confused Lina looked at very short bed.

-But how did they manage to lay in it?

-They didn't lay, they were half sitting in it. See bunch of pillows? They literally slept sitting in bed and resting on those.-he explained.

-Carving is so pretty. - Lina almost whispered.

-Rubens was a businessman as much as he was an artist. - Liam explained. - He was a rich man as you can see. Most of the things we see here, in his house, are an art by itself and there was a very small circle of people who could afford them.

After seeing all expositions, hand in hand they walked in the small garden, Lina snapped a few pictures of Liam and they continued their tour of the city.

Very narrow sidewalks were filled with tables that were standing very close to each other. Despite lack of space, lots of people were sitting in those cafes, all facing the street and looking at passing by people. They were sitting so close to each other that Lina wondered how they can have any privacy at all. That reminded her of theaters. They all were sitting there like in the theater, almost touching each other, a street was their stage and people who were passing by were their actors.

Liam and Lina walked through this street and came to the square with a huge, gothic looking church.

-Onze Lieve Vrouwekathedraal. - Liam pointed at it. - Cathedral of Our Lady of Antwerp. - He explained.- We should definitely go inside. Rubens and a few other famous artists created their masterpieces especially for it.

They waited for guid of Chinese tourist group to show their tickets and Liam bought two for himself and Lina.

Inside the building seemed even bigger than from outside. Ceiling seemed to be over ten meters in height and the stained glass windows were filling a hall with a lots of light.

-I wonder how long did it take them to build it? - Lina quietly asked looking up at the ceiling and columns that were holding it.

-It's still unfinished. - Liam replied. - But normally it took forty years or more to build something like this if we look at Rome for example.

They walked to a wooden stairs standing apart and leading nowhere. Lina looked closer. It was beautifully carved but a center of composition were four female figures.

-Those are representing four races.-Liam commented.

They walked to a huge three pieces paintings hanging on a distance from each other. Even now, centuries after it was created, it didn't lose its beauty.

Cathedral was filled with tourists but a small area behind columns was fenced and a Priest led service for a small group of parishioners.

Lina was amazed by the beauty of altar and everything else she saw around.

They spent a hour exploring cathedral, statues and paintings until it was a closing time.

They walked through crowded street to the small square surrounded by buildings and sculpture fountain in the corner.

-This square has a secret. - Liam slyly grinned. - Let's see if you can find it.

Lina looked around but saw nothing special. A building Infront of her was impressive but still nothing caught her attention.

Liam stood on the fence of statue and reached his hand out. Lina grabbed it and stood next to him.

-You might see it better from here. - He grinned again watching her confusion.

-Would you give me a hint for what I am looking for or are we going to spend rest of the day here? Because I see nothing.-Lina said a bit irritated. She was tired already after whole day of walking and wouldn't mind a dinner right now. She wasn't a best person to be around when she was hungry.

- Card suits. - Liam decided to show some mercy remembering how confused he was when he was looking for it for a first time.

Lina looked around in all dirrctions, at all buildings but saw nothing that would look like card suits. After three minutes of ineffective search she gave up.

-I see nothing. Can we just get a dinner already? I can survive without finding it.-she almost barked. Her stomach was demanding food and not card suits.

Liam laughed and wrapped an arm around her waist pointing at tiles on the ground. She saw nothing at first but then one by one groups of tiles formed a heart, diamond, club and spade.

-Wow, amazing. Now my life is complete. Can we go now? - she got off the fence.

-Wow you are really hungry, no kidding. OK, let me think where should we have a dinner. I have a restaurant in mind but we need to change in the hotel first.

-Yeah, right. - Lina growled, grabbed Liam's hand and drag him to the cafe on the empty narrow street around the corner she noticed on their way to the square. She stopped by one of two cute looking tables under a tent and sat down. - I don't need a fancy restaurant, I just need to urgently fill my stomach.

Liam shook his head in amusement trying to suppress a smile and not to provoke her. Hungry and angry Lina still was charming.

A smiling waiter brought them two menus but Liam declined it.

-Hello-he said-do you have stoverij met frietjes? - he asked with polite smile.

Waiter nodded.

-Certainly, meneer.

-Very well, two stoverijes, Westmalle for me and Delirium for mijn vrouw.-

Waiter nodded and walked back inside.

-What did you order? Maybe I won't like it. I could honestly go for a burger right now.-Lina snapped.

-Don't worry, it won't take long. It's one of Belgian national dishes and a cherry beer. You should try it at least once. - He replied

-What did you call me?-she asked. Lina couldn't repeat it even if her life would depend on that.

Liam wrinkled his forehead trying to recall his order.

-Mijn vrouw? - Lina nodded.- It means my woman if to translate it literally, but also has a different meanings.

Lina pulled a phone out of her bag and opened Facebook.

-What are you doing, baby?- Liam asked.

-Checking the news. - Lina replied not averting her gaze from the phone.

-That's not very polite. I am right here and we could spend this time in conversation. - Liam pointed out.

-Nope, I need to kill some time and to keep my mind occupied until i have my food. - she said and began to read posts chucking to herself sometimes.

It was a new experience for Liam. Normally his dates would try to intrigue him and to spend every second charming him. But it was obvious for him that Lina got used to spending her days with him, it became natural for her and to his surprise, it felt natural for him as well.

Ten minutes later waiter brought them their order and Lina rushed to eat it.

-Ouch-she swallowed hard a first bite not feeling the taste.-Hoooot.-she moaned waving her hands to cool burned mouth.

Liam laughed.

-Slow down, nobody will steal it. - He said dipping a frie into stoverij sauce and sending it to his mouth.

Lina frowned but slowed down and found herself enjoying taste of the food. After finishing she sipped her beer.

-That's a good one. - she said relaxing into her chair and making a few more sips of fruity beer.-Can I have another one?

-Careful, baby. It's called Delirium for a reason. - Liam said with a teasing smile.

-Nothing will happen from two beers, Liam.

He ordered another round but even before waiter brought it, Lina felt lightheaded, her head was spinning a bit. She let out a silly chuckle.

- So good. I was really hungry.

-Ha, no kidding. I thought that you are going to murder me if I don't feed you In time.

Lina finished second beer, her cheeks were burning, eyes shining. She moved her chair to the other side of the table next to Liam and laid back. Liam rested his arm on the back of her sea and captured her lips with his.

A kiss was becoming more and more passionate.

-I want you, now. - she said into his mouth feeling his erection through pants with her hand.

Liam growled and abruptly stood up. He took a fifty euro bill out of the wallet, threw it on the table and pulled Lina out of the chair.

-Hotel, now. - Liam said in low voice dragging her down the street.

Next chapter

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