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svnaslove · 4 years ago

Text

bunny boy.

summary: s/o gets their hq bf to wear a bunny outfit [it’s like literally the same one from bunny girl senpai]

genre: fluff-ish ; v v suggestive themes, we gettin into the sexc times

characters: semi eita [boyfriend, established relationship] tsukishima kei [best friends turn friends with benefits dynamic]

characters are aged up to a college level

瀬見英太 | [boyfriend]

cleaning out through your closet you took a double take to what you had just found. It had been months since you cleaned out your closet, and quite honestly, you’d often get distracted and play with some random nothing for an hour postponing the process.

you giggled a little at the memory of the item as you reached for it and patted some dust off.

It was the bunny outfit.

the one that you had gotten for your Halloween costume last year that seemed to rather excite your boyfriend. at the memory you bit back a smile and felt a rush of blood to your cheeks.

‘I wonder why we stopped using it.’ you wonder, recalling how fun it was.

but then an idea hit you.

you took the costume to the laundry and put in it the wash in hopes of making it a bit nicer since it had been laying around for so long. After having it cleaned out you tucked neatly in your drawer and called your boyfriend to come over.

you jumped at the sound of the knocking at your door and suddenly you got butterflies. You nervously walk over to the door and open it, smiling.

“Hiii Eitaaa” you smiled giving him a big hug as soon as opening the door.

a smirk itched at the corner of his lips. “You missed me that much, bunny?” he asked, a hint of cockyness in his tone.

“I did” you pout, “but I guess if you don’t want my love, I’ll just go” you jokingly teased, closing the door holding your nose high and walking away. The smile that you were trying to tuck down showed itself obviously.

“Noooo, give me kisses, I’m sorryyy”

you smiled again at how easily you could play with him.

“apology accepted! ” you giggled, planting three quick pecks on his lips.

“however,“ you quirked an eyebrow, “we must play a game for compensation.” You smiled, already excited to do this, although praying that he was the one that got his flip side of the coin.

“Oh, really? What kind of game?” he smiled, watching the gaze of you dramatically announcing it, causing the pit of his stomach to flutter a little, you were so cute.

“we’ll flip a coin, whoever gets the side that they call for and wins has to wear this outfit that I have tucked away in my dresser at the moment.” You had to bite back another huge smile when you saw the look on his face, curiosity itched all over his face.

you knew just how to get him. Semi could never resist something like this, the curiosity getting the best of him.

“Oh?” he laughed, searching your face for an answer of what this could possibly be.

“Oh, indeed, Eita, oh, indeed.” you laughed, grabbing for a coin on your desk that had been simply laying there, conveniently enough.

“how about, tails you win, heads I lose.”

you quickly went on ahead before he could answer, hoping he wouldn’t catch on to your trick of him of being able to win no matter what, you giggled at his state at how fast you had moved on before he could answer.

you flicked the coin into the air, the pretty and clear sound of the metal rang through the air until you caught it.

“Oh, would you look at that, tails. that means you win baby!” you were excited but oh so nervous.

Semi smirked at your remark, “you thought I didn’t catch on with you little trick, bunny?” “I win either way if you put it as tails I win and head you lose.” he said, walking closer to you and now leveling his face down to you own. your cheeks painted red at his proximity, he was so close you could feel his breath. He just made you flustered so easily, it was ridiculous.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about” you innocently remarked, breaking his eye contact to look up, his gaze still rested on your eyes regardless, still unmoving.

“how about you tell me what you want to see me wear so bad” he teased, trying to catch your eyes again.

“you wanna know?” you asked, now growing your own smirk of your own, causing Semi to fluster himself a little.

you grabbed hold of the bottom of his t-shirt and led him to your room, you stood in front of the dresser. “remember that bunny outfit?” you asked, watching his features as he recalled in his own head the outfit that he loved so much on you. “I do” he smirked, keeping a very pointed and meaningful look at you making you get butterflies again.

you opened the drawer and handed it to him. “I wanna see you wear it Eita.”

his face painted with shock for but a second before a smirk grew.

“Oh?” his tone heavy with meaning.

“you’re fucking kinky aren’t you y/n?” he asked, knowing exactly how to push your buttons.

“oh shut the hell up and put it on.” you pushed him, flustered at what he had said but yet still intrigued.

“hmm, okay, okay, i will. but,” he reached inside the dresser and took out the outfit holding it in his hands. “you have to ask nicer.” he smiled still trying to get as much of a reaction out of you as possible. his smile was anything but sincere and innocent. you knew what he was playing at.

“pleaseee, put it on for me?” you pleaded, your lips forming a small pout.

“good girl, go on and wait in the living room, i’ll put this on.” he instructed.

“oh, and bring out the polaroid.” he winked.

you did as he asked, taking out the polaroid from under you bed and going to the living room.

he did agree to this a lot faster than you thought he would, maybe you could get him to do other stuff and he would be okay with it.

an image of a maid outfit popped into your mind and you had to shake the thought away before it got you too excited again.

If anything you had a very vivid imagination.

a minute or two passed and you heard his voice from your bedroom, “are you ready for me?” he called.

“im ready!” you called back, excited to see.

Eita slowly opened the bedroom door and walked out and oh my god.

how did he manage to look beautiful with a bunny outfit on too?

your eyes traced the curves of his body and his muscles, his pretty hair decorated by a headband of bunny ears.

“woah..” you managed to accidently slip out as you took in the image of your boyfriend.

“oh? you liked this?” he asked, he turned around to show you the cute little bunny tail.

“oh my god eita, you look so hot” you flustered, hiding your face in your hands from embarrassment.

“take a picture of me with the polaroid, bunny.” he said walking up to you, his gaze on you made you feel small.

you picked up the pretty light pink pastel polaroid next to you and before you knew it, Semi picked you up too, you legs wrapped around his waist as he hauled you over to the bedroom.

he softly dropped you onto the bed, your legs still wrapped around his torso. ‘so we’re doing this?’ you thought. you pulled up the polaroid camera up, “say cheese!” you giggled.

“cheeseeee” Eita gave you his best sunshine of a smile, the camera flashed and you took the picture of him and his bunny outfit, you pulled out the picture and before you could look at it Semi threw the camera and the polaroid out of the way and clashed his lips on yours.

月島蛍 | [best friends going to fwb dynamic]

the thought had been crawling in your mind for days. you kept telling yourself that there was no way this would happen. there’s no way you could get the tsukishima kei to wear a bunny outfit. but you just couldn’t listen to yourself.

lately you’ve been watching him more closely. if he had noticed he hadn’t said anything. maybe he didn’t notice. it wasn’t on purpose, really. you just couldn’t help yourself. you would absently minded and subconsciously avert your gaze from anything you’re supposed to be putting your mind on and focusing on kei, daydreaming planning on a way to get him to put on a damn bunny outfit.

maybe this was wrong of you. you were his best friend after all, you had been for a very long time. but like said before, you couldn’t help yourself. because your lust for him was simply growing on its’ own.

you and tsukishima were both top in your classes and you studied together after school when he didn’t have volleyball to maintain that. you’d usually go to the public library which in all honesty was far too fancy of a place to even look like a public library, it was quiet and secluded, all of the books were in top shape and the walls decorated with expensive art of the renaissance era, with the occasional greek statue around the corner. totally normal for the average public library, i know.

it was another friday of just you and tsukishima studying in the library together. books and notes littered across the table that you two shared, you sat across from him. in the usual studing sessions that you guys did, you’d go around the table to sit next to him when you needed help with something. not today.

as per expected, you kept dazing off and paying no mind to the studies that you needed to catch up on. tsukishima glanced up to catch you staring at him, you gave him a wink and smirk to see how he’d react. the blondes cheeks tinted a slight blush, “what the hell are you looking at dumbass?”

“oh? i can’t look at my incredibly handsome best friend? i didn’t know that was a crime.” you smiled, resting your cheek on your hand, you elbow on the table.

“you haven’t been focusing at all have you?” he asked, glancing down to notice that you hadn’t barely gone through 2 pages of homework.

you groaned and let you face fall gently to your arms splayed out on the table. “i don’t want to study kei.” you moaned, looking up at him to catch his lips twitch. why’d his lips twitch? was it because you moa-

“you kinda have to dumbass, i don’t want to have to walk by you living in a street corner and have to take you in because you didn’t study.” he huffed, pushing your pen and notebook towards you.

“awee kei, you’d take me in if i was homeless?” you teased, feigning puppy eyes.

“no, i’d leave you there and call the police to get you out of my sight.”

“no you wouldn’t.” you laughed.

“no i wouldn’t.”

you laughed and a small smile splayed on his features as he returned to his book. you keep watching him, the trace of your laugh still there with a smile.

he pulled up from his book to look at you again, “if you ever needed my help i’d help you though.” he confessed, keeping his eyes on your own. now it was your own turn to blush softly. “thank you, kei.” he nodded, a soft smile still beautifully set on his lips.

in quite honesty this might be fate. the cards had been dealt to you beautifully. the stage was set perfectly. the words that he used, you could twist them beautifully into your favor.

“i don’t remember this equation kei.” you called out, turning your book to face him, you leaned forward instead of going around the table for him to explain to you. your ass was off the chair, setting a curve to your figure, your cleavage on display to him.

tsukishima looked up for his eyes to immediately meet with your boobs. you smirked, “eyes up here playboy.”

tsukishima muttered an apology before stealing a glance again and then finally towards you and your notebook.

“uhh that’s the uhm,” he gulped, his face turning redder “well you have to find slope, you’re gonna have to use uhh, rise over run equals the y angle over the x angle which is y to the second pow- dammit y/n”

you feigned innocence, squishing your tits against the table and up again and looked up to him, “what is it? are you okay? oh, kei, baby, you’re face is all red, are you hot?”

tsukishima closed his eyes tightly and opened them again to look up to the light fixtures, “dammit y/n you keep... i- it’s not your fault i just... you’re distracting me when you’re like that.”

“oh?” you giggled, “you’re getting all hot and bothered over little old me?” you continued giggling.

the taint of tsukishima’s blush was so apparent, there was no way to ignore it or try to hide it.

you looked under the table and your heart skipped a beat. the tent on his pants was apparent and growing. there is no way that he go hard over just that, is there? he had to have some kind of hots for you prior for him to react like that, right?

you squeezed you thighs together at the thought, to be caught by tsukishima’s gaze, you giggled and his ears turned red now.

“here’s the deal kei, i’ll help you out,” you started, the expression on tsuki’s face was priceless, there’s no way he heard that right, right? there was no way his beautiful and hot best friend since high school just offered to-

“but you have to help me first, you did say that you’d help me if i ever needed it right?” you continued, cutting off his thoughts.

“uhh, yeah i did say that.”

you smiled at the response.

“put on my bunny outfit that i have over at my apartment and i’ll help you out.” you smirked.

“a what?!?” if anything he didn’t even think you owned a bunny outfit, much less that you’d want him to wear it.

“a bunny outfit dumbass, i’ll put it on first if you wanna know how to put it on correctly, what do you say?” you asked, you gaze clouded with lust and a soft smile played upon your features that was in a way, almost predatory.

what the hell were you playing at? but the suggestion was far too intriguing. but the feeling of the thought of having his best friend suck him off felt wrong, you were his best friend since high school. he himself getting turned on and hard so quickly for you felt wrong. but the tightening in his pants pushed him over the edge that he couldn’t help himself to it. simply the thought of your pretty lips wrapped prettily around his-

“fuck it. i’ll do it.” he said, cutting off his thoughts once again, picking up his bag and standing up.

“a good choice.” you whispered to his ear before he fully stood up and brushing you hand against the bulge in his pants.

a soft groan fell from his lips, “fuck— y/n don’t do that.”

“fine, i guess i’ll save it until we get into my apartment, bunny boy.” you teased.

how you did it, you had no idea. but one thing was for certain, you got tsukishima kei in the palm of you hand to the extent that you were about to see him put on your bunny outfit in a matter of delicious seconds.

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dubersbutt · 4 years ago

Note

Well all know how much Connor and Leon score but what if they made a little bet out of it. Like whoever gets more points in one game gets to eat you out, whoever has more points gets a blowie and whoever scores a hatty gets to fuck you while to other just has to watch.

1.6K - smut, mlm relationship

“Either of you gonna score a Hatty for me today?” you ask as you lie with you boys after their pregame nap. You had planned on getting some work done while they slept, but Leon had wrapped you in his big arms and Connor nestled himself in the crook of your arm and you couldn't have left even you wanted to.

Connor's eyes were still closed, but you knew he was awake because he leaned into your hand when you scratched ran your fingers through his hair.

"It's gonna be me," he mumbles, "Leo sucks at hockey."

Both you and Leon snort and you lightly tap Connor on the nose, "That's not nice, Con."

"Is that true?" Leon asks, "If I get more points than you then you're blowing me in the parking lot."

"Hey, no fair, I want to be included in this," just because you couldn't go to the arena doesn't mean that you shouldn't be apart of sex bets.

"die Geduld," (patience) Leon mutters, kissing the top of your head, "If I get a hatty then I get to fuck (Y/N) however I want, and you just get to watch. If you get one then you get to do whatever you want to her and I won't interfere."

Connor pressed his mouth into a thin line. You couldn't blame him for wanting to take his time, Leon wasn't always the most generous person in the sex bet category.

"Deal," he says, outstretching his hand for Leon who clasps it firmly.

~~~

"5 points!" Connor says, smashing his lips against Leon' s as soon as they sit in Leon's spacious Genesis. Connor had made sure to take his time changing so they would be the last two to leave the arena.

Leon's hands wander down to Connor's belt, undoing the belt before Connor pulls away, "Hey aren't I supposed to be blowing you."

"I changed my mind."

In hindsight, they probably should have the gotten into the backseat so Leon didn't have the centre console digging into his ribs as he bent down to take Connor's cock into his mouth. He wraps his hand around the base, slowly jacking him off as he feels Connor's dick harden in his mouth. Leon feels a hand in his hair, blunt nails scratching against his scalp.

Leon doesn't notice that his phone is ringing until Connor's lifting his head up.

"(Y/N), is calling," he says slumped back against the seat.

"Answer it, put it on speaker," Leon commands, before dipping his head back down and licking his cock from base to tip.

"Hel-fuck, Leon," Connor mutters into the phone.

He hears you giggle on the line, "I was going to ask you guys why you're so late but I'm assuming you're still at the rink."

"Yeah," Connor breathes out, "Leo's trying to kill me."

Leon takes that as his cue to bob his head all the way down, until Connor's cock hits the back of his throat. Connor's hips thrust up involuntarily, but Leon's ready holding them down as best as he can from his awkward angle.

"I'm sure he is," you sound amused, "text me when you leave the rink."

Connor agrees but Leon's not sure he really heard what you said. He practically throws his phone down into the cup holder.

Leon looks up and Connor's face is completely flushed, traveling down the open collar of his shirt. His eyes are shut and he's panting against the seat. Leon drops Connor's dick from his mouth before blowing cool air on the tip and Connor's whole body jolts up.

"Leo," god Leon's never going to get bored of hearing his name, "Don't tease me."

Leon's hand slides up and down slowly, "I don't know what you mean."

Connor whines, and Leon laughs, "Please."

"Only because you asked so nicely," he teases as he ducks his head down again.

Leon knows exactly what Connor likes. Knows that Connor likes a little scratch go teeth along the underside of his dick once in a while. He knows that Connor likes short fast bobs of the head with a strong pressure on the base of his dick. Connor's fingers dig in the back of his neck and he knows Connor's close.

He keeps up his ministrations, stopping until Connor's spilling down his throat. A little bit dribbles out getting stuck in his beard when he he straightens up to clear his throat.

Connor leans over to kiss Leon, thumbing the little white spot in his beard before slipping his finger in-between Leon's lips. Leon wraps his lips around Connor's finger, humming lightly before he moves his head far back enough for it to fall out.

"Fix yourself," Leon says, jerking his head toward Connor's limp dick, not yet tucked back into his pants, "I hope you enjoyed my generosity because that's the last time you're cumming tonight."

"Text, (Y/N) we'll be home in 20 minutes."

~~~

Leon stops midstep when he gets into the bedroom and Connor walks right into him.

"Dude, what the the hell?" He says poking Leon in the spine.

"I take it you didn't check your texts," you tease as Leon finally remembers how to move his legs.

Goddamit, that's what he gets for trying to "live in the moment" or whatever bullshit that is.

You're sitting on the edge of the bed, wearing the Oilers navy alternate with a pair of knee-high stockings. He can see the lines of your garters holding them up when you shift, but he's very aware of the 29 sitting on your shoulders.

You lean back on your hands, looking like a renaissance painting. The neon looks so good on your deep skin tone, the navy complimenting every inch of you. He doesn't notice that you're wearing heals until he tries to get close to you and the sharp heel presses into his chest.

"Congratulations on your hatty," you say pulling a hat from seemingly nowhere and throwing it at him lightly.

"Fuck, why didn't I get 2 more goals," Connor groans from the closet, probably changing into something more comfortable.

"Go sit," Leon commands and Connor obeys, but grumbles the entire time, "And I swear to god if I catch you doing anything I didn't explicitly tell you to do then you won't be coming for a year."

Leon grabs your foot from where its perch on Leon's chest. He debates taking of your heels but he decides against it. He kisses your calf, slowly sinking down to his knees. He trails up to your inner thighs, biting the soft skin to hear the little gasps. He spreads your legs apart and slides the jersey over your hips. His heads falls forward with a groan when he realizes the panties you're wearing are crotchless.

"Baby," He groans, "You're going to be the death of me."

You laugh, lowering yourself onto the bed, "I thought you'd enjoy being able to fuck me with all this on."

And he does, he really really does want to fuck you with his jersey on, and rip your stockings to pieces. He pulls your legs over his shoulders, nipping your inner thighs again. He wants to leave marks all over your body. Watch the hickeys bloom onto your dark skin, a subtle reminder that you're his.

He pulls you down so your pussy, is right over the edge of the bed. He kisses your clit, and you sigh contently. Leon pulls your clit into his mouth and your hands run through his hair. He licks a stripe up your pussy, groaning when he realizes how wet you are.

"God, baby have you been thinking about me fucking you this whole time," he asks, slowly pumping one finger into your pussy.

You nod, "Your hockey gets me so hot, Leo."

Leon wants to make fun of you for that but he can't find it in himself to do so. Instead he adds a second finger, slowly scissoring the two to open you up. Your back arches, pushing your pussy into his face and he Leon resists the urge to fuck you then and there.

When he looks up at you he realizes that you've pulled your jersey up and are pinching your nipples. He moans into your pussy, causing a loud gasp to be ripped from your throat. Leon doesn’t waste his time, devoring you like a man starved. He switches between his tongue in your pussy and his fingers, alternating pressures on your clit, teasing.

“Leeeee,” you groan, digging your nails into his scalp. Leon relishes in the feeling, pressing up against your hand.

Finally he gives you exactly what you want. Curling his fingers in your pussy the way you like, and his lips attached to your clit, humming softly to sens a shudder up your spine.

“Leo,” you cal, breasts heaving as you near the end, “let me cum please.”

Leon deattaches his mouth momentarily, long enough to say “Cum,” and before winking up at you.He feels your pussy convulse around his fingers. As soon as you ease up he’s throwing his belt on and jacket on the floor, he hardly even remembered he was wearing clothes at all, before pulling his cock out and slipping into you.

You wheeze, almost as if you’d been punched in the gut, as Leon doesn’t give you time to adjust. He’s got one of your wrists locked in each of his hands as he ruts into you. His head ducks down to kiss your the space between your breasts, traveling up to your neck. His beard tickles your throat. Eventually your lips connect, his hips keeping a steady rhythm.

Leon knows when you’re about to cum, knows every tell your body has. He grabs your leg, hiking it up to his hip, using calculated thrusts to get your toes curl and to get you to scream his name.

He doesn’t wait for you to recover, flips you over onto your stomach and hikes up your jersey. He jacks himself off quickly, using your slick to slide his hand quickly. He’s been so amped up from the game it doesn’t take long for him to cum all over your back, the bottom of the jersey getting drenched in his jizz. He stays there for awhile, catching his breath before he turns his head to Connor.

Speaking of, Connor’s face is red, way more red than Leon’s ever seen before. There’s a noticeable tent in his pants and the veins in his arms are bulging with how tight he’s gripping the chair arms.

Leon beckons him over with one finger, and unbuttons his shirt with the other. The fabric is sticking to his skin and he definetly needs a shower, but he’s got one more thing to do before he can change.

You shift underneath him, trying to worm yourself free but Leon puts a and on your back to keep you still. Connor kneels on the bed over your shoulders, careful to keep his weight off you. Leon pulls Connor in by the shirt collar, smashing his lips against his before reaching into his sweatpants to pull out his dick.

“No boxers,” Leon notes, slowly rubbing his cock slowly, “slut.”

“Says the man who sucked my dick in a parking garage.”

“Don’t sass me,” Leon gives the base of his dick a hard squeeze, and Connor lurches forward.

Connor is usually pretty quiet during sex, except when he’s tired. His constant string of moans is strange but not unwelcome as he thrusts softly into Leon’s hand. He would be embarrassed by how quickly he cums, but watching you and Leon always gets him hot. He adds to the pool of jizz on your back before carefully lifting himself off you and padding to the bathroom.

He grabs a washcloth from their stash in the cupboard and runs it under warm water before heading back. Leon has helped you get out of your jersey, which was probably ruined, and is sliding your shoes and stockings off your feet.

By the time Connor’s finished washing you up, Leon’s leaning back against the pillows and you’re getting up to use the bathroom. Connor throws the damp towel in the laundry bin before cuddling up to Leon.

“Why are you wearing clothes?” Leon mumbles.

“Because you didn’t want to fuck me,” Connor responds. And Leon just grunts.

“Hey, Leo, wake the fuck up,” you say poking him in the inner thigh until one of Leon’s eyes pops open.

“You still haven’t checked my message,” you hand him his phone and he sighs, holding one hand behind his head as he opens your text.

Oh man, if Connor weren’t so tired he’d probably get hard again but instead he just looks at the picture your sent Leon. You’ve got your jersey on, and your ass is perched on the counter, looking spankable and wrapped in lace.

The next picture is of you with the jersey pulled up past your boobs. You’re playing with your clit, panties and stockings in full view, and Connor wants so badly to fuck when you’re wearing his jersey.

“Baby girl, you’re so lucky that I’m about to pass out or I’d make you her on your knees right now.”

#poly fic #leon draisaitl #connor mcdavid #ran writes #nhl smut

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apiratewhopines · 4 years ago

Text

Killian, Persuaded

Chapter One — Don’t Panic

Summary: In which our hero panics

Read on AO3

“All of us are done for”

-Don’t Panic, Coldplay

It was no secret Killian Jones lived a charmed life. How could it be when his handsome face was plastered across glossy magazines covers and splashy websites on a daily basis? Dark hair carefully tousled to look as if he woke up that way. An athletic figure always encased in the latest fashion and, more often than not, topped off with black leather. A smile said to cause an increase in heart rate for those lucky enough to experience it firsthand. And perhaps the most defining feature, one gossip columnists and celebrity photographers waxed lyrical about, impossibly blue eyes that could charm or chill in equal measure depending on his mood.

He inherited his father’s roguish good looks and, fortunately for the world, his mother’s better nature.

As he rolled out of bed early one fall morning, it was with the deep sense of well-being one could only achieve from a pampered existence, free of the stress and worries normal people carried like millstones around their necks. He walked through a hallway laid with Italian marble liberated from a Renaissance era villa to a bathroom featured in Architectural Digest as the most luxurious in the world, causing an Arabian prince and a Russian oligarch to accuse him of sleeping with the journalist who produced the piece.

He had, of course. But that didn’t mean the title wasn’t deserved.

He stepped into an enormous shower that provided an expansive view of skyscrapers and the ocean beyond through the one-way windows forming the walls of the room. It was one he was so familiar with he didn’t even notice it anymore. As he washed off the lingering scents of the night before—stale cigarettes, spilled booze, and expensive French perfume—he rolled his shoulders under the perfectly calibrated water pressure of his rainwater showerhead and let the massaging jets work their magic, precisely hitting all the important hydrotherapy points as they had been designed to do.

Stepping out, he wrapped himself in towels of the softest Egyptian cotton embroidered with the Jones family crest. As his father always said, just because they were in the colonies, it didn’t mean they had to forget where they came from. Never mind that the colonies hadn’t been colonies in well over two hundred years. His family had always preferred to live in the past.

Killian’s father was also keen on never forgetting who they were. As if such a thing would even be possible when all articles about them started with a brief reminder their roots could be traced back as far as the monarchy and noted they were in possession of a bank account rivaling the tech giant nouveau riche of the vast city quite literally laid at his feet every morning.

Although, it should be noted his father would never be so tasteless as to discuss money. Comparing bank accounts was the province of those who didn’t have enough. No, the elder, esteemed Mr. Jones preferred to simply let his massive wealth speak for itself, silently scorning those who had less while appearing to think nothing of it. And why should he? It’s not like he had done anything to earn it other than being born into the family.

Generation after generation passed down entitlement and piercing blue eyes like they had patents on them. His father offset his lack of the most noted Jones feature by putting his blue blood on full display whenever possible. Some might even accuse the head of the family of overcompensating.

The truth of the matter was, Killian was the product of a long line of smug snobs so it was amazing he had turned out as well as he did.

Or perhaps not so amazing when you considered his mother had been a stranger to this world of glittering privilege. That’s not to say she was completely without resources. In the real world, she would have even been considered wealthy in her own right. But in the Jones sphere of reality, the general view was his father married so far down the ladder, he was practically romancing pond scum instead of a clever, beautiful soul who devoted her life to helping others and raising her two sons.

Killian realized at an early age it was, in fact, his mother who could have done better.

His parents had been an odd couple that never stood a chance. While no one would ever know for sure, because the only thing worse than talking about money was talking about your feelings, the general consensus was when his father saw his mother exiting the courthouse one day it was love at first sight. She was leaving her latest case as a Human Rights lawyer and he was coming from being the defendant in a string of slumlord lawsuits.

His father had always appreciated a pretty face, a trait he definitely passed down to his youngest son, and his mother could never resist the chance to save someone. Even if it meant losing herself along the way. Even, and perhaps especially, if the person didn’t want to be saved.

Doomed from the beginning.

Shaking off the odd sense of melancholy that threatened, he threw his towel into the corner and walked unashamedly into a closet so large it could easily house a family of four with room to spare. It was a grand space, two stories softly lit by Baccarat chandeliers and filled floor to ceiling with custom clothes tailored to his exact, and enviable, measurements.

Another longstanding family expectation was to always look your best. Nature had been kind to the Jones clan but it never hurt to play up what you were blessed with. Clothiers practically threw garments his way knowing they would reap the benefits of a timely paparazzi snap. The three piece suit he wore when he proposed to his fiancée sold out within seconds after the picture went viral and the designer currently had a two year waitlist for his creations.

The pressure of being a trendsetter never bothered him. Honestly he couldn’t care less what people thought of him. Being universally adored did wonders for your confidence.

The same could not be said for his estranged older brother. While Killian received the lion’s share of swagger, Liam had inherited their mother’s self-righteous streak with none of her sweetness to temper it. He was a chore to be around at the best of times so it was no surprise barely a year after the death of their mother, and only a few months after his graduation from university, Liam proceeded to thumb his nose at centuries of Jones tradition by defying their father and enlisting in the Navy thereby renouncing any claim to the family fortune.

He hadn’t even had the decency to join Her Majesty’s Naval Service. In a complete break with the family, he visited the nearest strip mall and was recruited by some of Uncle Sam’s finest.

From that day forward, their father insisted he had only one son. Liam was painted out of family portraits, his name stricken from the family tree, his signature removed from the vast network of accounts and properties. Killian still remembered the last time he saw him, laughing as he waved from the backseat of a cab, looking as if the weight of the world had been taken off his shoulders.

It was the only time he’d ever been jealous of his brother.

Now, more than fifteen years later, he often wondered where Liam had landed. If he was still laughing or if the harshness of a world without means, without the Jones family name to soften any and all blows, had crept up on him. The abandoned boy, the one who had watched from a spotless mansion window as his best friend and hero walked away without a second glance, hoped so. But it was a mean, half-hearted wish. Hidden beneath layers of hurt, the reality was he would never want any harm to come to his brother.

Deep down, he wished he had followed him out the door.

Selecting a black suit and contrasting tie at random, he started getting dressed. Normally, his valet would be on hand to smooth wrinkles and polish off his look. However, the man had taken a long overdue vacation to tend to his ailing mother. Killian wasn’t so far removed from the real world he couldn’t dress himself for a few days but the sense of being out of sync wouldn’t dissipate.

He couldn’t account for the feeling. Admittedly, this time of year was harder than most. It never failed that autumn brought falling leaves and personal loss. First his mother, then his brother. To complete the trifecta, a vision of a blonde with a guarded smile filled his mind, green eyes flashing and chin tilted up in challenge.

With a ruthlessness that was completely unnecessary, he tugged his tie in place and risked a glance in the mirror for the first time that morning. Or maybe it had been months. Carefully cultivated nonchalance stared back at him. He wondered when he had lost the fire in his eyes and how long it would be before he gave a damn about something again.

Perhaps it was easier this way.

And perhaps if he kept taking the easy way, the next time he saw his reflection he wouldn’t recognize himself at all.

—

It was with some surprise he found he had thirteen missed calls when he bothered to check his phone. While his social media accounts were heavily trafficked, there were few who had his number and even fewer who actually used it in this day and age. The fact all the calls originated from a single source—his best friend of sorts—made it even more shocking.

There was a time when it would have been rare for Robin Locksley, heir to an ancient title and completely bankrupt estate, to be awake before noon. What was the point really when all you had to look forward to was crippling debt? That all changed when he settled down and started a family only to lose his wife less than two years later.

Normally he would have given into his curiosity and returned the calls but for once, he had someplace to be. The family’s legal and financial advisors recently called an emergency meeting and requested his presence in addition to his father, who normally handled these types of things. It was an unusual move to say the least but his father assured him it was because they wanted to talk him out of a risky investment. Misguidedly, they thought his son might get him to see the sense of their arguments.

Killian could have told them not to bother. His father no more listened to him than he did anyone else. Still, it was nice to feel wanted for something other than a free ride so he cleared his non-existent schedule and took one of the family’s fleet of limos to the tastefully understated brick mansion serving as a headquarters for their business ventures.

He could count on one hand the number of times he had bothered to visit. Honestly it seemed like everything ran a lot smoother if he didn’t get too involved. This laissez-faire type of leadership was the only way men of his class ran things. Anything more would be a disgrace to the honorable name of Jones. Or at least that was what his father said. Since he didn’t have any real interest in the day-to-day runnings of their portfolio and numerous acquisitions, it worked out well for everyone. The fancy business degree currently gathering dust somewhere in his penthouse could have been wallpaper for all the use it got.

The more he thought about it, the more he realized his time would be better spent at the yacht club or with his eminently suitable fiancée. She had been inexplicably absent the prior night and hadn’t returned the texts he sent to check on her. He was sure she would breeze into his arms at some point today with a perfectly absurd excuse and be delightfully motivated to make it up to him. The faint wave of nausea presenting itself at the thought was immediately dismissed as the result of too much caffeine.

He mounted the steps with a level of trepidation he normally reserved for babies and churches. The hard facade suddenly seemed imposing and it occurred to him the only vehicle in the cobblestone driveway was the one he arrived in. He would be joining the meeting as it started so the absence of his father’s preferred antique Rolls Royce was disturbing to say the least. Mr. Jones prided himself on his punctuality. Truly, it was his only redeeming virtue.

Shrugging inelegantly out of his overcoat, he knew he wasn’t imagining the brief look the staff exchanged when he crossed the threshold. Tension, an infrequent visitor in his cosseted life, formed in his shoulders, muscles bunching under the clean lines of his suit. He made his way unaided to the second floor, pausing on the landing when he heard the emotionless drone of some random news anchor echo down the hallway. It wasn’t until he heard his name fill the space his feet started moving of their own accord. He reached the boardroom at the tail end of the story but it was enough to get the gist of it.

There on the television, the ribbon running the details even as the reporter gleefully narrated it for an rapt audience, was a picture of his father. Time had been kind to the senior Jones, his hair still dark and falling in wavy perfection around his handsome face. Dimples winked charmingly as dark eyes twinkled with a sense of mischief that was totally an illusion. He was a hard man who had petrified after the death of his misunderstood, but nonetheless cherished, wife.

‘Anonymous sources reveal Brennan Jones, widely considered one of the richest men in the state, fled from authorities last night...’

Tearing his eyes away from the screen, he noted everyone was focused on his reaction, or lack thereof. Those brave enough to face him head on would notice the twitch of muscle in his cheek, a nervous tell the people closest to him knew was a sign of deep emotion. He felt like he stood there for days before someone stepped forward. It evidently fell to Marco, a friend of the family who had the distinction of being the only advisor hired by his mother, to be the messenger. “Killian, I’m so very sorry.”

Not sure what this man had to apologize about, he asked with a bemused grin, “Whatever for?”

Shuffling nervously, Marco stared at him again. Looking around the room at the shell shocked faces, he didn’t resist when the older man took him by the arm and led him back into the hallway. “I guess you haven’t heard. Of course, we had no idea it would come to this. I wish I could give you happier news.”

Mind uncomprehending of the scope of tragedy waiting for him, he said, “I would settle for any explanation at this point. Why was my father on television this morning?”

“Oh Killian, my boy, you probably should sit down...”

“I prefer to stand,” he murmured, internally bracing himself. Marco had always been one of the least annoying of the host of advisors employed by his family. The unassuming man had the kind of face that made you think of grandparents and unconditional love, or at least that’s what Killian thought when he was a child. Now he knew while grandparents were real enough, unconditional love was a fairy tale.

“Your father raided the meager funds left in the family coffers and left the country to avoid prosecution for wire fraud and tax evasion.”

“Meager funds,” he repeated, feeling lightheaded. “I’m not sure I understand. The last time I was at one of these little get-togethers, we had over half a billion dollars in assets.”

“That was many years ago, my boy. Your father made some poor investments and he never was the best at curbing his lifestyle to fit his income.”

Swallowing thickly, Killian ran his hand through his hair and forced himself to remain calm. If what Marco said was true, poor investments was the understatement of the century. In a pale imitation of a joke he offered, “So what? We’ll have to sell some property and maybe a couple of the yachts? Start sharing a helicopter with another family?”

“Unfortunately, the situation is more dire than that. Most of the property is already gone. The only yacht left is the one he stored in Maldives, probably in anticipation of his getaway.” With a kindly hand on his shoulder, Marco gave him an apologetic look. “I’m afraid it gets worse.”

In disbelief, Killian shook his hand away and propped himself against the wall. It was an artful pose that didn’t hint at the real reason he was leaning, namely he needed the hard surface to keep from sinking to his knees. “How could it possibly get worse?”

“The family money wasn’t the only thing he took. Your fiancée went with him.”

—

Killian was surprised to learn the hardest part wasn’t listening to the substantial inventory of assets already lost. It wasn’t seeing the short—far too short—list of property still in play that would be offered in a fire sale to end all fire sales. It wasn’t the fact people he thought of as friends were already circling like sharks, ready to take a piece of the family prestige home with them at a fraction of the cost.

It wasn’t the media demanding answers to prying questions every time he left his building. It wasn’t the news cycle replaying the details of his embarrassment over and over again on an endless loop. It wasn’t that somehow his name had become a punchline overnight, cannon fodder for late night talkshow hosts and comedians.

It wasn’t watching his family home, the last tangible thing connecting him to his mother, being emptied out. Observing the gentle landscape surrounding it being surveyed in an attempt to siphon off parcels from the main section to try to bring in more money at auction was surreal but unavoidable considering the circumstances.

It wasn’t the hushed conversations that followed him, fracturing into silence as soon as he was within earshot. Nor was it the pitying glances the staff gave him when he had to dismiss them with excellent references but a fraction of the severance they deserved.

It wasn’t crawling into an empty bed and pulling cold sheets over his head every night. It certainly wasn’t missing his fiancée, a woman he had committed to but, in hindsight, hadn’t liked all that much. If he was being completely honest, her leaving was the only silver lining in this particular rainstorm. Although her manner of leaving left much to be desired.

It wasn’t even the sudden lack of everything. His whole life he had been comforted by possessions he used as a replacement for love. Every article of clothing a substitute for the affection he never received, every priceless piece of art a proxy for family photos never taken much less displayed, every impressive technological gadget a surrogate for the support sorely missing from his life. His six car garage was now empty, a willing sacrifice in order to compensate the slate of advisors needed to carve up what was left of his life and repay the debts of his father.

Now that the clutter was gone, he actually felt a certain freedom in the emptiness.

No, the worst part was the silence. The feeling of being utterly and completely alone despite doing everything in his power to keep it from happening. With the shock of a lifetime to provide perspective, Killian realized now he had twisted himself into someone he didn’t know in a misplaced attempt to please a man who would never be proud of him. He let go of all the things that made him happy—the people who made him happy—to try to meet some unattainable standard of perfection in the eyes of the horde he had mistaken for loved ones. People who had abandoned him the second he was no longer the darling of their social stratum.

Still, he would be lying if he said he didn’t miss the buzz. He knew it was meaningless but the constant hum of activity gave him the illusion of being a part of something.

He knew some of the silence was his own fault. He had turned off him phone and frozen all his social media accounts. It seemed wise given the shit show that was currently his life and all the expensive advisors agreed laying low was the best course of action in situations like these.

Luckily, his dwelling and a few pieces of furnishings were his outright, bought with the small trust he inherited from his mother so at least he wouldn’t be living on the street. He had a comfortable cage to crawl back into every night. A lonely place to be sure, but no one could take it from him. It was a lot more than most people would ever have and a lot less than he wanted.

For the first time in a long time, he looked out over the city and truly saw it.

He had no idea how long he had been standing there lost in thought when the elevator bell rang. Someone made it past the doorman and the front desk. Trying to figure out how his visitor managed to get all the way to the penthouse was a welcome distraction from his gloomy musings. The ringing kept up a steady pace but he didn’t make any effort to key open the door.

That is until the noise took on a familiar tune.

The unmistakeable though slightly off-kilter sound of Hooked on a Feeling rang out in the harsh meep of the doorbell. With something approaching wonder, Killian ran over to the security pad and punched in his code. Instantly, the elevator opened revealing a sight he never thought he’d see again.

Staring back at him through blue eyes identical to his own was the face of his long lost brother. Through the intervening years, Liam grew his hair out and it now curled in a way that made him think it was probably raining outside. Faint scores of wrinkles defined the areas of his profile showing Liam had continued to find joy in the struggle of life. Completing his perusal, he noticed his brother had bulked up, muscles replacing the softness of an idle life, probably a side benefit of his years in the Navy. His clothes were of the outdoor variety, navy utility pants topped with a gray fisherman sweater and pea coat, and they made him look like he stepped out of a travel magazine catering to ecotourists. “Liam, I...how did you find me?”

“Finding you has never been a problem, little brother. You don’t exactly fly under the radar. Reaching you on the other hand...well, I was beginning to wonder if I was going to have to find a different way in since you won’t answer your damn phone and there isn’t a lock to pick on this contraption,” Liam explained, looking Killian over with a worried expression that gradually gave way to a bright smile. “You look like death warmed over.”

“Good to see you too,” Killian answered sarcastically, still trying to get his bearings. While Liam had changed in a few superficial ways, his determined expression and uncompromising attitude seemed unshakeable even after all these years. The bruised ego and hard feelings of their long separation faded away like it never happened and he was fifteen again, basking in the glow of a beloved brother. “Why are you here?”

“Why do you think? I’m rescuing you from your ivory tower.”

“I don’t need to be rescued,” he scoffed. Times made be bad, but it wasn’t like he was starving. He still had his pride and it forced the next words out of his mouth before he could stop to consider if they were true. “Certainly not by a man who acted like I didn’t exist my entire adult life.”

Stiffening, Liam advanced into the room, taking no notice of the breathtaking view or the recently minimalist design. Suddenly Killian was engulfed in a fierce embrace, pulled into his brother’s strong hold. He heard Liam say in a gruff voice, “Our father has a lot to answer for but know this, I thought of you every single day since I left.”

A little piece of him broke, even he couldn’t have said if it was his resolve or his heart, and he felt tears well up. Uncomfortable with the stir of emotions, he joked as he hugged Liam with equal intensity, “Aye, serves you right you bastard.”

“Too right,” his brother agreed, pulling away to clap him on the back. Barking out orders in a way that gave Killian a glimpse of the other man’s military background, he didn’t even argue when Liam said, “Pack your bag. I’m taking you home.”

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worldcakecakecake · 5 years ago

Text

On Deutschland and Italia, by Lovino Valenti

Lovino writes a series of blog entries on the relationship between Germany and Italy as he deals with a move to Hamburg, his brother’s wedding, and his budding romance (which he denies) to the infuriating Gilbert Beilschmidt.

Chapter 7

It was almost midnight and yet Lovino remained awake, sitting by his balcony, reading a novel, indulging himself in some wine, smiling and being at peace…even when a certain loudmouth and insane albino was kept well in his mind.

He read how the charmer of the tale romanced his beloved with a ridiculous song he whaled for the whole street to hear, embarrassing himself but making the lover laugh in just the high volume that made them present in their setting.

Lovino chuckled, being reminded himself of the song Gilbert shouted high in the car on their way back. Feliciano joined along, a sudden band ready to play in the concert hall they passed by that moment. It wasn’t until the last song that Lovino dared join, with a thunder of wonderful voice that momentarily made Gilbert and Feliciano fall in awed silence. They returned to finish, making their band complete, laughing and clapping when they had arrived to the restaurant, Augusto heading out with a guitar and Aldrich with a microphone, thinking they still had time to be a part of it.

Lovino smiled, deciding a halt to his reading, enjoying in the sweet memory and how handsome Gilbert looked, how much he wanted to continue a song and dance about in the restaurant as they had done before.

It was interrupted by a call, his brother, having him questioning, with it being so late.

“Pronto,” he answered wanting to get quick into it.

“Be…Lovi…are you doing anything tomorrow?”

“Just the office in the morning. What’s going on?” He suspected.

“Is it all right if you can go to my flower arrangements appointment tomorrow? It’s in the evening so I’m sure you can go. Me and Ludwig have to go…somewhere.” Feliciano gazed over to his fiancé, speaking about in the phone with one of his superiors, pacing and making some accords. Before him on the counter were still lots of papers he needed to read over, sign, get copied, send and some needed translation into Spanish.

“You two have your own apartments. If you want to do it, just do it. No need to leave to some godforsaken place. You’ll have enough of that in your honeymoon.”

“It’s not for that!” Feliciano was insulted Lovino would insinuate it. “It’s just something to do with his job and my volunteering. Trust me, I wouldn’t push the appointment aside just to…”

“Fuck?”

“Yes. Besides, right now Ludwig is scheduling intercourse for the afternoon after he comes back from work,” Feliciano reported proudly while Lovino wanted to hurl.

“Too much information and who the hell plans these things? You just do it and that’s it.”

“We’ve been really busy. Oh, and, is it okay if Gilbert goes with you?”

The name brought pink and airs that smelled like the sweetest perfume to Lovino.

“Why-why…why would he have to come?” He really tried to sound annoyed, but Feliciano could tell that there wasn’t the usual harsh cut.

“Ludwig suggested, thought it could help.”

Lovino rolled his eyes and faked an annoyed sigh, “fine, I’ll go. Send me whatever I’ll need and I’ll get you some damn flowers. Don’t complain if they are not the exact ones you want.”

“I know you’ll make a good decision, Lovi. Now, ciao, ti voglio bene!”

The call was gone and Lovino was left with excitement.

On Deutschland and Italia.

Art and Inspiration.

I’m taking a part.

I believe that it’s through art that we show the faces of our country. It speaks more so than any political statement. The European union actually makes it easy to create this movement with different kinds of artists, encouraging connection and understanding. Cities like Berlin are a traditional destination for fashion and architecture from Italy, as well as a point of reference for promotions and managing the most modern museums. Germany is constantly being inspired by Italy. In food, lifestyle, and of course art. Most galleries are filled with proud Italian artists that Germans are awed to see. It presents communication and improves the country’s image more so.

It is definitely not recent, as this inspiration traces back to the renaissance, when you had Germans coming down to the peninsula hoping to see and admire these paintings that were so talked about. Printing is invented through this, as Germans were trying to find ways to showcase what they saw in Italy to their own kingdoms. They followed their example in their art techniques, not as memorable, but enough to be proud of and make Italians themselves wonder.

In music, Germans took their most sublime pieces and gave it Italian names, using our created instruments to make memorable melodies to join our own composers.

Their writers wrote on Italy’s beauty, through constant travel tales or stories of their imagine to explain their experiences. Many of these phrases we quote, and it fill us with pride, and we are happy to read them.

It works to get us curious, to travel to Germany as well and be inspired by colorful villages, hills of story and cities of feast.

It is a trade I am happy to share in with these very entries.

He wore a fine buttoned shirt, a pristine yellow he assured well that morning to be exceptionally clean. Tight jeans, his best shoes, with movement and stride that he wanted people to think of only king’s. Lovino tested it on his office that morning and the gazes he got proved to him that it would be enough.

He left precisely and was smiling as he took the transport to the flower shop. He spotted Gilbert’s car at the entrance and so smirked, sunglassed eyes making entrance, the ring turning Gilbert, who had been leaning by one of the counters, turning to get baffled, wide eyed and luckily his hanging mouth could be covered by the fact that he kept a hand over it. Lovino removed his sunglasses, showcasing hazel that fitted well with the greens and colors that surrounded the shop.

To Gilbert, it was one of the most beautiful things he had ever seen.

“Hey! Why so fancy today?” He tried to act like it didn’t evoke any blush, hiding it by facing the cashier, hoping whoever attended this to come that instant.

“Just uh…an important meeting in the company,” Lovino excused, coming to take seating right in the stool next to Gilbert.

He really tried to resist, but the corner of his eyes still went down the figure hungrily, especially loving how those jeans hugged those thighs. Much to his embarrassment, Lovino had caught it.

“What is it?” He didn’t sound annoyed and Gilbert wasn’t landed a hit on the head, in fact, there was temptation in that voice, accepting more of that gaze.

“Oh, sorry, I didn’t hear the bell ring.” In came a young man, wiping dirt off his hands and laying before them, taking a notebook where surely appointments were written.

“Beilschmidt-Valenti?”

“Yes,” both answered.

“Oh, you both came. Rarely do I get the couple coming together to pick flowers.”

Both blushed heavily.

“Oh, wait, no!”

“We’re not the couple!”

“Not…Beilschmidt-Valenti?”

“Well, yeah, we are, just-”

“Not Ludwig and Feliciano. Were Gilbert and Lovino, their brothers. They couldn’t make it today and so they sent us to deal with the flower arrangements.”

“Oh, right! My colleague just put a note. Didn’t see it earlier.” He shut the notebook and went to proper introductions. “I’m Toris Laurinaitis and your brothers have chosen me for the flowers. Feliciano already sent me some information concerning the venue, the cake and the theme he wants. I already have some ideas and would like to show some displays we have up.” He stood and led way, the brothers following behind.

They spent a good half an hour watching all the suggestions, Toris explaining meanings and how things could be set up, as well as trying to sell, making them all a dream beauty that actually made it difficult for Gilbert and Lovino to choose, for their own taste and their brothers.

“These are beautiful greens, but I don’t think they will fit with what my brother wants.”

“I agree, but it’s one our of pride works and we love showing it to all our customers.”

“I do like how you pile them up,” Gilbert admitted, all coming together like one big tree, surrounded beautifully by ornaments.

“I love this one with the marigolds.”

“Marigolds? For Ludwig and Feliciano? Definitely not.”

“Being honest, I think the best option will be…this one,” Gilbert pointed to the vined one with white roses, arched, extended, simple, and despite that green…it would actually flow well with the wedding.

“Gilbert…I actually agree with you,” Lovino smiled to him.

Toris joined as well, “I also believe it will be the best option.”

They settled some minutes of gazing, assuring, decided.

“We’ll take this one,” Lovino worded.

“Very well then, I’ll schedule the delivery and date.” He left to surely implement this on a schedule, Lovino holding the card Feliciano gave him ready to pay.

“You know…the one with the lilies, candles and gold stands would have been more expensive,” Gilbert smirked.

“And it was stunning, but I know both of them would have found it too excessive. Besides, it was with red roses that Ludwig had confessed to my brother, so roses had to be a must. White for purity.” Gilbert raised an eyebrow. “Purity of the moment. Whatever, I’m glad I could choose it for my brother,” Lovino held himself high, showing well his pride.

“Wow…we really are trying to make this wedding perfect here.”

“Hey! Uh…um…uh…” Lovino had no excuse to fill this time, which gave Gilbert a fit of laughter.

“It’s fine, it’s fine, we’re good…I’m actually glad we’re trying.” Gilbert didn’t know where that impulse came from, how his hand reached a simple red daisy that lay on a table nearby, raising it to lay in the thresholds of Lovino’s curls, sided perfectly, elegant on his face, shinning him the more in lovely colors that drove him closer.

“Should we…do something to trick Berwald with the flowers?” Gilbert suggested with a chuckle that was endearing, not at all mocking.

“I…I can’t think of something.”

“Yeah I uh…I highly doubt they would sell some…poisoned stuff here.”

It was such a beautiful exchange, Toris coming and not knowing how to interrupt, tapping his foot to the floor awkwardly, until he stepped harshly enough to get their attention. “Sorry to…interrupt, but I have put your brothers on the schedule and now all I need is the payment.”

“Got it here,” Lovino raised the card, slow in his walk for both to reach the cashier. “I think we’re pretty much done. If you want, you can go ahead.”

“Are you sure? We could go do something now if you want?”

“I…” how Lovino would have loved to, but he had to keep some sort of field from letting this extend on. He still had to think, still had to come to terms with what exactly he was feeling and what he wanted with Gilbert. He needed more time. “…I promised to have dinner tonight at Nonno’s and I…have to get going to help.”

Gilbert only let his disappointment pass low through his eyes, but nodded and understood. “Well…I’ll see you later then…”

“Yeah…” why did it feel like there was more that they should do? More than that awkward wave and only that intensive look of their eyes.

Lovino refused to let himself be captive to it, focus on the payment, picking receipts and leaving back home. He kept himself excited at the sea food platter he was sure his grandfather could suddenly prepare. He didn’t notice how Gilbert stared at him still from the comfort of the shop, making sure he was well underground, into the trains and he had the shop for himself once again.

“Is there…anything else you need?” Toris shyly came forward, wondering still his presence.

“Yes, can I make an order?”

It was sudden, but Augusto welcomed his grandson’s visit, indeed having enough fried seafood to keep them chatting and drinking to distraction well into the night. It was midnight when Lovino decided to take his leave, picking his stuff and ready to take the simple stairs up to his own apartment.

“Oh! Before I forget! Clemente sent me a message that something arrived for you. He hopes you don’t mind he went into your apartment and left it on your table.”

“Did he tell you what it was?”

“He was afraid to say.”

“Must be that new underwear I ordered,” was his farewell.

One more floor and he was entering his apartment, only a single lamp lighting the large bouquet of tulips. They were bountiful in beauty, in purples, reds, whites and enchanting oranges, in their vase, ordered well and Lovino was paralyzed at the entrance in awe. He wondered if perhaps they were delivered in the wrong apartment, looking about the hall expecting for the real owner to come forward, but the night continued silent and the flowers seemed to keep waiting for him.

Closing the door behind him he headed closer, noticing a large card, on one side his name written elegantly.

Yes…they were for him then. But who? He knew of no admirers, he wasn’t dating anybody and lately…the only person on his mind was…he turned the card and noticed the name at the bottom, his heart flourishing and a smile already plastered on his face by the first word at the top.

‘Toris here told me that tulips stand for forgiveness, so I thought it be appropriate. I could have asked this in person, and we still can, but it’s a nice gift to truly show and make you understand that I apologize. Not just now, I apologize for everything I’ve done to you ever since we met when you were like…what? Two months old? Whatever just…I’ve realized I was douche, still am and I want things to be different between us from now on. I hope we can be friends. I hope you can give me forgiveness.

Gilbert.’

Lovino couldn’t remember the last time he had smiled so largely, he had felt so ecstatic as to even jump across his apartment and scream. He held the letter tight to him, embracing the words and copying them to his heart. He couldn’t wait for a next meeting that would surely be placed by whatever wedding planning Ludwig or Feliciano set. He took his phone, hunting down different chats hoping to find his number, surely once that Feliciano or Nonno had sent it just incase. He remembered scoffing intensely when they did, yet here he was, calling that number, heart about to burst and holding to the card like some desperate teenager.

“Hallo?” came the questioning answer.

“It’s…me…”

“Lovino?”

“Yeah, just uh…wanted to say, that, I…saw the flowers and they’re…gorgeous and thank you, and I…forgive you.”

Petrifying silence, the only sound their breaths, their understanding of the words just said.

“Yes…it’s hard to believe that I would actually forgive you, but…being completely honest, I too was a…jackass. My family was right, I could have avoided a lot of stuff if we could have just actually…talked nicely, found common grounds, had fun, enjoyed. I shouldn’t have been so…stubborn and judging. But…you were right, we were just kids. We didn’t understand anything and we acted on whatever impulse came first.” He breathed, he waited for whatever new words, but instead decided on continuing, “but we are not depending on those impulses anymore. We’re rational, we’re adults and should…understand our feelings more.” Something Lovino wished he could really take to himself. “So…yeah, I’m…sorry and let’s just…be friends, I guess.”

Silence once again, utter silence.

“Did you hang up?” Lovino threatened.

“No, no! I’m here, just…wow, taking all that in.” And finally he heard breathing. So Lovino let him that, settling in laying in their own comforts, until a word could be ready to be said.

“I…forgive you too. And…yeah, let’s…try this friendship out and actually…make our families proud.” Gilbert was so glad to have made Lovino laugh.

“Then, that’s great! So…I think we should be heading to sleep now, right?”

“…yeah.” Gilbert held his extensive words, he wanted to talk, of other things like…holidays, their favorite drinks, sunsets, anecdotes and music, but from all that variety, he remained in his stupefied silence, hoping that maybe Lovino would start.

“Well, buona notte! Sleep well and I’ll…see you around,” he smiled, one Gilbert could even feel, hoping it was more on his skin.

“Ja…Gute Nacht…”

Lovino forced himself to shut the call, turning his glance to the flowers, grin wide, standing, picking and deciding to put them in his room as a good kiss for the morning and before he shut his eyes.

On Deutschland and Italia.

Exchange Programs.

And what it can lead to.

Another way to strengthen the relationship between two countries is through academia. What better way to see than through student exchange programs and research institutes.

The ‘Erasmus’ and ‘Leonardo’ programs are well flourishing in both Germany and Italy, outside of the expecting England, France and Spain. There is in Italy a program literally called ‘University center for the documentation and study of the juridical relationship between Italy and Germany’ which’s job, as the title very obviously suggest, is to establish a relationship of professionals, writings and course students. My own brother was a part of this, which ended in an exchange of cultures, of learning, expanding, settling, even landing him a future husband.

I did not hear the end of it when he visited me in Naples.

It’s a youth that is being exposed to our dealings, our works, our being and culture, sharing and enlightening it to become better known, better recognized and for more artistic and intellectual inspirations to come.

‘I wish that it could be like that…why can’t it be like that…’ The music only helped to keep Lovino lost, with scenarios in his head, ideas that he shouldn’t be feeding, but what a fantasy he was living.

“No,” Feliciano decided, scratching it off of the list, stopping the song, looking through his library to hear the next.

��“Wha-what-what? Why-why, why not?” Lovino startled himself from his stupefaction, worried and actually looking slightly…broken.

Feliciano questioned and grew hesitant to play the next one, afraid he would only make his brother feel worse. “Well, the song is too sad and I think it will just make those without a couple or date more miserable, plus it’s not something Ludwig and I could relate to. Thankfully, our love was never forbidden.”

The next song that played was a French-Italian song, one Feliciano himself really liked, but decided well against it knowing Ludwig’s distaste for French.

“Well, we’re you lucky.”

“One day you’ll be lucky too, Lovino!” Feliciano kept up.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, whatever, I don’t need that sappy shit.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, I’m fine, there’s no one-”

“Not even Gilbert.”

Lovino held himself completely.

“He’s…he’s…we’re not talking about this! I’m just here to help you with the damn music. You scratched off that breaking up song, right?”

“But it’s so catchy!”

“Hell no! Add some Adele!” He began writing a lot of her songs down in a list, leaving the table in silence.

“You know…with Gilbert it wouldn’t be forbidden.”

“Feliciano!” He slammed the pen to the table.

“I’m just trying to help and make you realize.”

“Don’t help! All right? It should be enough to you that we’re actually friends now.”

“But you both want more!”

“You don’t know that! I don’t know that! I…don’t know what I should do next.” He let himself those thoughts of wondering, of imagining, of acting.

Feliciano smirked, leaning with a teasing gleam in his eyes, “…you could…tell him exactly how you feel…”

“Hell no!” Lovino put one of the notebooks against Feliciano’s face.

“Oh, Lovino…imagine how free you would feel, the happiness you could be in, the wonder, the romance of adventures!” Feliciano wowed, leaning well against the table with the notebook, to the point Lovino thought he would soon break it.

“Feliciano, were two dumbasses living in Hamburg. There’s no fantasy in that.”

“But you could make it! You could be together!”

“Look! I admire your effort here, but really, leave it be, it will take its course and we’ll see what happens.”

“But you have to let me-”

“Shhhh!” He commanded harshly, not sparring another words unless it was to deal with this damn music list.

Feliciano pouted, heavily as they continued their picking. At some point it eased, but whenever it raised again, Lovino would hit him with his pen.

“I really like that Of Monsters and Men so-” his phone rang loudly, Lovino catching a glimpse, the number from the Dominican Republic. He suspected enough that it had to be from the volunteering Feliciano meant to do there.

“Scusi, I have to take this.” He stood and was adamant on keeping this conversation out of the apartment, Lovino hearing the echo of voice go upwards, to the top most attic, running away from any prying ears.

Why was it so important he kept so far? It was a volunteering project. What did Feliciano have to hide about that? Never mind, he kept adding songs by himself, this time Italian rap songs in the purpose of annoying the German attendants, smirking and already laughing at what their expressions would be. He was finishing an entire page by the time Feliciano returned, a deep smile, ecstatic, jumping and holding to his phone in such a grasp Lovino thought he was ready to throw it.

“Dio, what happened?”

“Oh, Lovino, they just gave me-” he sat, he began and then he stopped, mouth wide open, looking about, realizing what he had almost done. He changed his glance to the new list his brother made. “Lovino, I really don’t think we should add Caparezza, I mean, Fedez is okay maybe, but-”

“Hey! Hey! Hey! Don’t change the subject! What happened? Tell me!” He demanded, ready to hear.

Feliciano pushed his lips in, still with his eyes away, clearly in hiding.

“Really? Can’t say anything?”

“It’s…a surprise,” Feliciano hoped could work.

Lovino rolled his eyes, sighing, tapping his pen to the table. “Fine, keep your stupid surprise and I’ll take all the Caparezza songs out, but I’m adding more Fedez!”

Feliciano smiled at his achievement on focusing the topic away, oh but Lovino kept it his mind. He will find out soon enough.

The apartment was in the calm Ludwig sometimes needed by himself. A simple read, a cup of coffee…luckily Feliciano came in his loud presence just as he was beginning to miss him. Footsteps rushed up in a way Ludwig could tell was him even before he burst into the room, laughing, jumping into his arms, showering in kisses and his tight hold warmth that Ludwig let himself lean to, keeping him well on his lap.

“Are there any special occasions or is this just your usual?” He smirked.

“They gave me the job!” He shouted, his smile going along with its high volume.

“The-the the job?”

“The hospital in Santo Domingo! They were actually in need of a nursing director. I had a lot of the qualifications and experiences and they decided to take me! I’ll be getting paid normally with all the benefits!”

Ludwig glowed, even moving back trying to take the largeness of the wonderful news. “That’s…that’s amazing, Feliciano! Congratulations!” He brought his arms around his waist and settled on his chest as he rocked them on the sofa with the static of the excitement.

“Yes! It will be wonderful! You will have nothing to worry about! You can focus on starting the company and I’ll provide for us! I’ll buy the food, pay the bills, make you comfortable and make us happy.” It was a dream, now a reality so close. “I was with Lovi when they called and almost told him, but I think it’s best we leave it a surprise,” he smiled grandiose…but Ludwig soured, dropping down, new agitations instead. “What’s wrong?” Feliciano wondered, dropping down with him, settling on laying on his chest.

“My family will think me a leech.”

“No!” Feliciano pouted with an adorable grimace. “You are not! I am just helping you out while you deal with starting a big business, as well as I’ll be advancing in my own career. We’ll be like kings one day!” Feliciano excited high, hands in the air and everything.

“My family will not understand it this way. They expect me to arrive to Santo Domingo already living in a castle and…providing for you.” But it seemed like the opposite was to happen, saddened, dropped and oh how it made Feliciano just as gloomed, but leaned more into him, taking his face, looking into his eyes, wanting to give him all the sureness of the world.

“Don’t let what they think decide how we live. When the time comes, we will sit down and explain everything and I’m sure they will understand.” He was positive. “For now it will do and it will make us happy. I want to be given the chance to provide for you as well…it’s more than what my family expected,” he chuckled.

“They’ll probably think I’m leeching off you too.”

“No! We will make them understand, I’m sure of it. If you want, maybe we can plan a day to sit down and talk to them. All before the wedding. We’ll show everything and they’ll be okay.”

Ludwig sighed, a bit more shine to bring his arms back around his fiancé, strengthening and loving. “All right, but until then, we can’t let anybody know.”

“Got it, amore mio!” He saluted, in a charm that had Ludwig grinning, bringing him down to a deepened kiss that will soon lead to the riding of clothes.

< previous chapter next chapter >

#on deutschland and italia by lovino valenti #prumano #prumano fanfiction #prumano fanfic #prumano fic

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ineffably-good · 5 years ago

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Prompt: Wayward

Summary: Aziraphale and Crowley face their yearly performance reviews in the year 1491, and move a few steps closer to their eventual Arrangement.

Part of the Good Omens 30th Anniversary celebration prompts.

Read the whole set on AO3! Note: I'm a bit of a history nut about the Medicis and medieval Florence. This story is set in the time just a few months before the Medici family fell from power after fostering a brilliant intellectual revolution in 15th century Florence, and about two years before the monk Savonarola had the big, famous bonfire in which the citizens of Florence burned their books, their paintings, and even famous painters like Botticelli threw their own masterpieces onto the pyre. I got to thinking about what sides the angel and the demon would have WANTED to be on in this conflict, and what side their respective bosses would insist that they actually work for. Conflicts of interest galore, and Crowley continues a subtle campaign to convince Aziraphale to work more closely with him. And everyone involved is a bit wayward.

_____________________________

Wayward

Heaven, December, 1491

“Just try a little harder, Aziraphale,” Michael said to Aziraphale, straightening the papers of his annual performance review and giving him what she supposed was her most understanding and encouraging smile. In actuality, it was the kind of smile that school chancellors always gave their most unruly students before whacking them on their posterior with a large piece of wood. Aziraphale had to repress a visceral shudder in response.

“You don’t have to always be so contentious, do you?” she continued. “All we want you to do is support the Dominican monk against the Medici family – you know this renaissance of theirs is going directly against church policy, and therefore against Heavenly policy. We don’t want the humans to be encouraged to turn to science instead of hueing to the word of the Almighty.”

“Well,” Aziraphale said, trying to choose his words carefully. “It’s just that Savonarola intends to burn all of the books! And the paintings! And there really can’t be anything gained by doing so. All that creativity and knowledge, burned! Some of it is quite religious in nature and very important. Why would a monk do that? Is that really what She wants?”

Michael clasped her hands officiously on the desk in front of her. “It’s not up to you to question what She wants. What we want is what She wants, after all.” She sniffed as if she smelled something bad. “I know you love your books and your artists. Perhaps you’re getting a little too close to all of this Earthly material. Should we bring you back home so you can think over your waywardness in peace for a few centuries?”

“No,” Aziraphale said mildly, message strongly received. “No, that won’t be necessary. I believe I understand more fully what your position is. I’ll bring about the bonfire, no need to concern yourself.”

Michael examined him in silence for an excruciatingly long time. “Very well,” she finally said with a tight smile. “I’m glad we had this chance to talk. See Gabriel on your way out for your annual upgrades, please! And see you next year, Aziraphale.”

He left for Earth as quickly as he could manage.

Hell, December, 1491

Crowley stood before Lord Beelzebub trying to bite his tongue as he was dressed down for his lack of results. It was quite difficult, really, to keep his thoughts to himself. But then again, demons weren’t really supposed to be good at self restraint, were they? He was being a good demon by being rebellious. The thought made him tip one side of his mouth up in the tiniest of grins. He quickly smothered it, but there was no getting anything by Beelzebub.

“You find something amuzzzing, snake?” Beelzebub snarled.

“No, no,” Crowley assured them. “Just thinking that telling a demon he’s rebellious is kind of like yelling at the sky for being blue.”

Beelzebub frowned and stalked closer to him, their flies buzzing ominously around his face. Crowley knew better than to swat them off.

“You know what you are, demon?” they buzzed. “Unruly. Defiant. Wayward.”

Crowley knew he was in for a takedown no matter what he did or said, so he mentally shrugged and at least decided to keep his reputation intact as a complete and utter smart ass.

“Beez,” he purred. “Come on. You know you love all of those things about me. Who ever heard of a demon worth his salt who wasn’t just a little bit wayward? I mean, I’ve practically made an art form out of encouraging humans to be disorderly. Instead of a punishment, I think you should issue me a commendation.”

Beelzebub blinked and did, for just a fraction of a moment, look a tiny bit amused. “We will see about that,” she said, then waved a hand for the two burly demons behind him to take him back to his cell.

Crowley sighed. It was going to be some time before he got back up to Earth this time. All because the assassination attempt on Lorenzo Medici he was supposed to pull off failed. He didn’t tell them that it failed because he ensured that it failed; he liked Lorenzo, always had. Had been close to his father before him. Interesting man. Forward thinker. Let the upper echelons of Hell think it was general incompetence on his part, that was fine, as long as the new wave of thought and exploration that was being fostered in Firenze continued unchecked.

He had left the angel to keep things on track until he returned.

Florence, January, 1492

Crowley found Aziraphale waiting for him nervously near the merchant’s bridge over the Arno river. The angel was there, loitering near their appointed meeting place, hiding his interest by browsing through the tables and stalls of various vendors. Crowley sidled up beside him and fingered a piece of linen.

“Fine quality,” he said to the young woman behind the table, announcing his presence. Beside him, the angel picked up and fingered a gold chain, no reaction visible at all. “How much?”

She named her price and he handed it over, then draped the bundle of fabric over his arm and walked away, casting his senses out to ensure that the angel followed shortly behind him. He sauntered off towards the residential district until they found a small park where they could speak unobserved.

“You’ve been gone a while,” the angel observed as they sat back to back on opposing benches. “I’ve been checking daily for weeks now.”

“Hell wasn’t very happy with me,” the demon said over his shoulder. “Blamed me for the failed attempt on Lorenzo last month.”

“Well they’re quite right about that, aren’t they?” the angel said primly.

“You know as well as I do that there’s no way that I’m letting that man be assassinated!” Crowley protested, and then settled down. “I was friends with his father.”

Aziraphale made a calming gesture Crowley couldn’t see. “Oh, I quite agree, I do.” Aziraphale sighed. “You should hear my side. They want me to help Savonarola. He’s so unbearable.”

Crowley made a sympathetic noise. “He’s going to burn all the books, angel. How is your side possibly in favor of that?”

“I can’t imagine,” Aziraphale said. “All that knowledge. Gone. And I’m supposed to ensure that it happens. It’s – ineffable.”

Crowley frowned. That was just wrong. No one that knew him could ask the angel – this angel – to ensure that a massive book conflagration took place. It went against everything he stood for, everything he loved. He felt, once again, a deep, flaming anger against the idiots in Heaven. They were like giant, petulant children, squishing ants for fun.

“Michael called me wayward,” Aziraphale said, incensed. “Can you imagine?”

Crowley laughed bitterly. “Beelzebub used the same word about me. I suppose we’re both a bit unruly these days.”

It was hard not to be. Rarely had the world felt so exciting as it did now, in the midst of what would come to be called the Renaissance. After so many centuries of struggle, after the horrors of the 14th century, suddenly there was an explosion of learning and sophistication and hope. It was hard not to be swept away in it, if you’d been waiting for so long for a spark of inspiration to take root in western civilization again.

“It feels,” Aziraphale said hesitantly, as if he were putting words to the greatest heresy of his life, “like we’re on the wrong sides of this. Doesn’t it?”

“What do you mean?”

“Just that it would make more sense if my side was behind the Medici family and championing enlightenment and learning, and your side was, well, more focused on burning things and stomping people down and closing off their minds.” The angel petered off, overwhelmed by the sensation that he was both betraying Heaven in stating such a thing and probably angering the demon as well.

To his surprise, the demon was merely thoughtful.

“I can see what you mean,” he said quietly. “It’s certainly an odd situation. Perhaps we can, I don’t know, help each other?”

Aziraphale frowned. “We’ve discussed this before, and the answer is still no. I’m not doing your job for you, and you’re not doing mine.”

Crowley bit his tongue. “Not what I meant, angel,” he said. “I meant, maybe I can help you save some of those books.”

Aziraphale blinked hard. “You’d do that?”

“I might,” the demon said. He thought quickly about how much of his true motivation to reveal, and decided to toe the company line, for now. “If it serves my interests.”

Aziraphale took a deep breath. This was yet another step closer to the inevitable partnership that Crowley kept needling him about, bringing the idea up every few decades, how they could work together, simplify both their lives. He knew he had to resist, but oh, the idea of saving some of these priceless works from utter destruction was just so tempting.

Wayward, he thought grimly. They already think I’m disobedient and unruly and working against the party line.

“What did you have in mind?” he said quietly.

Another line crossed, the angel thought. But at least there was one person who understood what was at stake.

#goc2020 #good omens fanfiction #Aziraphale x crowley #Florence italy #the medicis #the beginning of the arrangement #everyone is wayward

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queerchoicesblog · 5 years ago

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The Birthday Party (SC Titanic, Zetta x Adele Series, Ch. 10/1)

Due to technical issues, Chapter 10 is out today: apologies for the delay! Part 2 featuring the James confrontation will be out later today as planned so stay tuned!

Little disclaimer-favor: if you do enjoy it, please consider supporting the author & sharing this. A little gesture that means a lot!

Word Count: 3000+

Zetta x Adele Tag: @storyscaped @storyscapefanficarchive@marmolady @animus-and-anima @hayley-carter19 @escako@everlastingchoices @andrxrneda @aestheticsayeed@indescribablechoices @ahrielstuff @bornonawdnsday @nazario-sayeed @h-doodles @adele-serda @marlcasters@brightpinkpeppercorn @nightwhite13 @ramenwithaspoon@michelleconnoly @charliejane-blog @ghost-of-yuri@choicesgremlin @shadeofangelus @mistressofspiesxenia@orange-elephants

Zetta x Adele Series Tag: @eternal-langdon @nydeiri

➡️ Ch. 1, Ch. 2/1, Ch. 2/2, Ch. 3, Ch. 4, Ch. 5, Ch. 6, Ch. 7, Ch. 8/1, Ch. 8/2, Ch. 9

_____________________

"I'm positive you'll be quite pleased with the venue, Madam" Sabine smiles, her eyes gleaming as she guides me through the hallways. I can tell she's beaming and thrilled for tonight: knowing her, adrenaline is pumping through her veins and she won't rest until the party is officially over and she touches her pillow. But she looks genuinely anxious of showing me the results of her hard work. Well, her and Adele's. She must be proud of it: she's literally floating by my side. "I'm sure I will, ma chere Sabine" I agree, mirroring her smile. "You never disappointed me once, I doubt you'll start tonight" Her whole face brightened up with pride, even if she tries to hide it to preserve her professional demeanour. But I know her well enough and I wouldn't have shared my praise if that wasn't the effect I had in mind. When we finally reach our destination, my little Napoleon stops in front of the closed doors of the cafe and looks back at me. "Allons-y, Madam?" she lilts in French, her head high. In response, to channel my Zetta role I close my eyes and dramatically offer her a hand. "Lead the way, Sabine"

I can't see her but I know my flair for drama amused her. She probably shook her head before taking my hand and opening the doors. As she gently guides me inside, my heart starts racing in my chest and I smile to myself at my childish excitement. I better cherish it: I am somehow thrilled for my party even if I know it won't have a happy ending...Jamie dear certainly has something in store for me and I'm not sure it's anything good or even remotely pleasant, knowing his wicked plan. I cannot know if he'll succeed in ruining me, his only family in this world, and my reputation, my engagement to Richard; if he won't, he'll try his best to ruin my little happy soirée. That I know for sure. I summon every ounce of hopeful strength inside me and cast those thoughts aside: it's my night tonight and I wanna have a ball. No matter how hard he conspires against me. I deserve a little happiness after all the drama and heartbreak I've endured over the last few days on this Ship of Dreams, right? All I ask is just a jolly night of fun, champagne, good music and the company of my dear ones. I don't care about the others and anything else, honestly. I don't need anything else on my birthday night. Sabine's voice saves me from my own considerations and invites me to open my eyes. I oblige, barely refraining my curiosity, and when I do, the view takes my breath away. The Café Parisien is so...beautiful tonight. The breathtaking views on the ocean are framed by red velvet curtains, just like those used in theaters and cinemas, that now decorate the whole room, replacing the usual graceful ivy. A quintet is harmonising under a white trellis braided with ivy while waiters in impeccable first class uniforms are pouring champagne into flautes. They twinkle like gems at the light. The maestro rushes to hand me one, graciously wishing me a happy birthday and assuring me that they will go above and beyond to provide me and my guest a wonderful night. A night to remember, we say at the same time before he bows and resumes his duties. As he leaves, I realise that there are more wonders in store for me. "Sabine what- what are these?" I gasp, taking in the posters of my pictures and even old plays adorning the walls, surrounded by a display of painted props and what looks like postcards? I take a closer look and pick up one of them, being careful not to cause any damage. On the back someone hand-wrote "promotional picture for The Small-Town Showgirl: très chic!". I smile to myself before placing it back and picking another. I cannot believe how my little Napoleon and Adele managed to find this: an old picture of my last performance in Vienna. I turn it to find another note: "So young, so cute, so talented: go, Zetta!". I chuckle at the cheerfulness of the kind author of this comment and I feel truly touched, thankful: I don't know who they are but their words made this homage to my past even more heartwarming. It is truly a tribute to my career, to me. A testament to what I've achieved so far, to who I am. I couldn't have possibly imagined a better way to celebrate my comeback. This is an ode to my renaissance. "That was Miss Carrem's idea, Madam. She mentioned something about her cabinmate being a huge fan of yours as well as the beholder of a collection of posters and memorabilia of your career. She offered to ask her to let us use it tonight." Sabine explains, still standing where I left her, a few steps away. Another soft smile crosses my face at the mention of Adele. I should have known this was your doing, my love. So thoughtful and sweet, just like you. I shouldn't be surprised: over the last few days you've gone to great lengths to support me and to shake me from my dreamless slumber. You showed me how to be a whole again. "Is Adele's cabinmate on the guest list tonight? I'd like to thank her personally" I say, putting the old picture away and turning to face Sabine. "I'm afraid not...je souis desoleé, Madam, I didn't think of adding Mademoiselle Lena, I think that's the name" my little Napoleon winces. She looks taken aback by my question but genuinely sorry. I reassure her that it's nothing when an idea crosses my mind. "Sabine, book a table here at the Café for tomorrow night. Mademoiselle Lena will be my guest over dinner. I'd be delighted to make her acquaintance and it's the least I can do, she's been so kind and generous with me already" I suggest with a smile. My maid considers it for a minute then nods enthusiastically. It sounds like a good idea to her too. Before I can ask if at least Adele is here, the early guests walk in. I should welcome them properly: I flash a quick knowing smile to Sabine and head towards them: may no one say Zetta is a bad host, I won't allow it! Unsurprisingly, the first to kiss my hand is the Baron. Ha, I bet that old dog will be the first to arrive and the last to leave. As the quintet starts playing, he's followed by Lucille, my dear Lucille. She's dashing at the arm of her dignified athlete husband. She kisses my cheeks and comments that I look gorgeous in the outfit...she helped out picking, I remind her giggling. She looks closer to add conspirationally "gorgeous as a Sultan's favorite, my dear! You'll make heads turn". She winks and we both burst out a laughter clinging our glasses. Then it's time to welcome colleagues and wealthy admirers, fellow first class passengers and moguls. Some are friends, some are merely acquaintances that unwritten laws of society and decorum put on my guest list for the night, others are simply upper-crust sharks. As I slip into the idle chit chat the occasion requires, I check the room for any sign of Adele: where is my love I long so dearly to see again? Instead, I almost bump into James and a shiver runs through my spine at the sight of him. What a practised actor he is - better, thinks he is!- all dressed up to the nines and a smile plastered on his face. He kisses my cheeks and wishes me a happy birthday before assuring me, a disturbing playfulness in his voice, that he has something special in store for me. It takes all my acting mastery to fake a surprised reaction and not betray the pang of ache I felt as his threat in disguise left his mouth. "Always full of surprises, my darling, aren't you?" I comment, smiling but there is little warmth inside my battered heart. I take a relieved sigh when he and Matteo walks away to get drinks. Is this how we were supposed to end, Jamie? My heart rejoices though when I notice Lawrence and Felix approaching: I excuse myself with a colleague and move towards them. I greet them with my most genuine smile and pull them both into a tight hug as if they were an anchor: I can only hope it will convey how much I value their presence here, tonight. We may not be closest pals but we share a deep bond. As we linger in our embrace, I think they feel it too. We start chatting as if we've never left each other side since we left Southampton: they flatter me to no end - oh they're certainly among the most refined smooth talkers I've ever known yet, unlike many, earnest and true- and the conversation quickly turn towards the beauty of the decor and even a little humour. The Baron and a couple of other gentlemen join us: we crack jokes and laugh and I finally seem to relax after my brief conversation with my nephew. I'm sharing a silly story with Lawrence when I hear Felix saying: "Oh look, Miss Carrem is here!" I stop mid sentence and turn my head out of instinct as if her name was a siren's song I can't resist. And then I see her: my wondrous love, radiant in a gorgeous blue outfit adorned with gems, "walking in beauty" into the crowd. I can't refrain myself from calling her name as a renewed cheerfulness spreads through my veins. As she waves at me with a shy smile, I can't bear to stay away from her any longer: I hastily excuse myself and make my way toward her, drawn by that magnetic pull that always tether us to each other. I'm almost out of breath for the excitement and joy to be reunited with her when I finally stand in front of her. How hard is to refrain the instinct to hold her in my arms! "Adele! I've been looking for you!" My eyes falls on the pearls around her neck and I can distinctively feel my heart jumping out of my chest: she's wearing my token of affection. "What a lovely necklace..." My voice is as soft as my smile. And a secretive tenderness is written all over my love's face when our eyes meet again. "Thank you for my party. It's divine!" I say, struggling to hide my true feelings. "Don't thank me, thank Sabine" Adele shrugs, her gaze searching for my maid in the crowd. "Wherever she's fluttered off to..." "Sabine is a hard worker, but hard work is nothing without a bit of creative spark - remember that" I wink at her, handing a cold glass of champagne promptly offered by a zealous waiter. I observe her for a moment as she drinks and enjoy the view of her work. I could look at her all day and still find little details to fall for: the tiny dimples forming on her cheeks as she smiles, the way the light dances in her eyes... As the quintet starts playing a waltz, I ask her if she likes the music and if she knows how to waltz. There is a hint of her irresistible playfulness in the way she rises and eyebrow at me, replaying that alas, Viennese waltz isn't the most popular dance in London pubs and taverns. "Is it by chance similar to ragtime?" We burst into laughter and I forget all the unpleasantness lurking in the dark. "I'll teach you one day, if you'd like" I add, smiling softly just as the bell announces the dinner and we are separated once again. Leaving my love's side, I accidentally brush my hand against hers: please know how hard it is to part from you, Adele, even if just for a bright dinner. As I take my seat, I immediately notice that James managed to find a way to change his assigned seat and breath over Adele's neck. Luckily, Sabine and Matteo seem to share my apprehension and our gazes converge on my nephew smiling in a pretender of lovable politeness to my secretary. My little Napoleon and I exchange a resolute look and I know she will keep an eye on them while I'll be busy entertaining my guests. But first, my speech. Sabine taps lightly on her glass with a fork as I stand, rising my flaute. When all eyes are on me, I put on my brightest smile and speak: "Welcome, old friends and new. I'd like to make a little toast - now, now, Lawrence. Don't groan." "Thank you all for being here with me to celebrate my twentieth birthday!" Soft laughter rings among the tables just as expected. I shrug in an exaggerated yet mischievous show of apology. "That's a joke, of course. You'll never know how old I really am. Let's lift our glasses first to my staff, with whom this night would not be possible" I lift my glass to Sabine before laying my eyes on Adele again. My guests oblige, exchanging smiles. "They planned this in matter of days - a testament to the incredible things that can happen in such a short time" I'm glad that my love meets my eyes now because my words are for her only now. "If you're with the right person, that is" I can't betray myself now, I need to keep the Zetta act on but I think Adele noticed the hint of softness I tried to convey with my last line. It was for you, only you, my love. I turn towards the rest of the table as I continue my speech. "I'm sad my Richard can't be here, but that will only make our reunion in New York that much sweeter. I'm so happy all of you could come in his stead to celebrate this next phase of my life, my love, my work...To you!" Everyone raises their glasses and repeat my refrain. A thrill runs through me and I realises that no matter what lies ahead tonight, I'm...happy now. Just happy as I feel, I sense my renaissance starting, no blossoming inside me. I drain my champagne ecstatically and dab my eyes with a kerchief as I take my seat. The dinner is sublime: I can see my little Napoleon's touch here. Every course is a delight for the eye and an explosion of flavour. Champagne is cold and perfect, a divine nectar, and our glasses are never empty for long. I cheer with pleasure every now and then at a new exquisite delight and I ask the zealous waiters to bring my compliment to the chef more than once. Hope that fella will have such a big head tonight after all the effort and expertise he showed here! I try to check on James and Adele whenever I can but my guests are relentless when it comes to chase my attention. They keep sharing awe and singing the praises for the night as well as asking of Richard, if I've heard from him, how things are in New York and how the new picture is getting along. I bet some are covertly fishing for complementary tickets. Others just want to hear stories from the shiny world of cinema. The usual. But I'm happy to oblige tonight. When the dessert is over and the men start searching their coat pockets for cigars, a group of women gather around me. Champagne made us all a bit more daring and social than usual. A bit tipsy too, yes. I chat a little with them before moving to another group of ladies and then another. I hold court, merry and bright as I'll ever be, and steal furtive glances to my love. My beautiful Adele. I'm distracted by a few ladies asking me about my latest trip to Paris. Everyone loves ever eternal Paris... I can't blame them honestly. Walking down the river, the views of Notre Dame and Montmartre: oh, what a dream is Paris! I'm telling them about the artists painting in the streets when I notice another dream, my Adele, approaching. The French capital suddenly vanishes away in my mind as well as my little adoring audience. I stop mid-sentence, for the second time this evening and stand to meet her. Too tipsy to care about what others might think or if they would ever notice, I wrap her fully in an embrace, inhaling her scent. "It really is a wonderful party, isn't it?" I cheer, beaming at her as we part. "And you're the shining star of it all" Adele's soft smile washes over me and I curse our unfortunate fate. If only I could kiss her right here, right now... "I couldn't have done it without you" I say instead. "In fact...I've been singing your praises all night" A foolish idea hits me like a thunder and I gape to myself before taking her hands into mine. "I insist you meet all my interesting friends and foolish acquaintances!" Adele looks taken aback so before she can react, I wrap my arm with her own and guide her around the room. I get the attention of a group of socialites mingling with a rather popular colleague and introduce her. "This is Adele Carrem, of London" I say, my head high, announcing her like royalty. She deserves it: after all, isn't she the Queen of my heart? We stand like equals here, tonight...since we met, actually. Or at least since I got to know the brave radical standing here at my side. I'm glad to see that everyone treats her with the highest respect: if she's at my arm, she must belong here, they certainly think. I smile approvingly when my young colleague even kiss her hand as he would have done with the wealthiest passengers on board. A couple of directors back from the smoking room join us and the chat gets lively as I discretely play with my hand on the small of her back. One of my guest, Annette, a gracious colleague and friend accidentally met on board asks her about London and our first encounter. I look at my love, unsure of how she would answer to that, how we should answer to that and I see her hesitate a little. My breath catches in my throat even if I try to conceal it but I soon relaxed seeing Adele shrugging nonchalantly, a smile on her lips. "Well, that's a long story..." "The likes of which the world has hardly seen" I complete her sentence with a smirk, amusing our audience with my witty Zetta humour. "Oh, is that how you want to play it?" Adele giggles, making a scene to raise an eyebrow at me. "Why, how do you want to play it? It's true!" I shrug, eliciting new soft laughter. My love playfully dismisses me and turns to my guests. "She's just mad I crushed her at the shuffleboard courts the other day" I let out a hearty laughter. God, it's so easy to fall into an easy rhythm with her, without trying or forcing it. It comes natural, like breathing...as if we were meant to be. "To be precise you didn't crush me. It was almost a tie" "Was it?" Annette inquiry, skeptical and amused by our little show. I hesitate a little, a dramatic pause, my eyes wandering between her and Adele, then I hang my head and groan. "Oh c'mon, she has never played shuffleboard before! Do not butcher my pride!" After my words are welcomed with another round of laughter, Adele starts talking about our time on the ship as if we've known each other for years. I'm so thankful and touched: this is exactly how I feel about her. I wish I knew her earlier. There is warmth, the deep loyalty she showed with deeds not mere words in every little detail she mentions. There is also an affection the world better not see or suspect but people is generally blind to those kind of love and my little revolutionary knows how to be secretive and guarded. When we've made rounds, I need a break. I love the party but I need some fresh air and a private moment with my love. When I see a chance opening, I grab her hand and pull her out into the open air, into the night and to the far end of the deck, toward the end of a row of chairs, where it's quiet. Yes, here it should be safe. We keep silent for a moment than I exhale loudly. "I needed this" I move towards the railing, throwing my head back and breathing in the fresh air of the night. Thank God, the alcohol I had keeps me warm because it's chilly out here. Probably below zero? We must be heading North and we're in the open sea...I bet the water swaying beneath us is freezing. "The quiet?" Adele asks, retrieving a blanket from the chairs. Ah, my most considerate secretary! "Yes, and tonight in general" I consider, rambling as I rest my back on the cold railing. "This party. That food. The wine. It's perfect" "I'm so glad to hear it" Adele smiles, moving closer and wrapping the blanket around her shoulders. "And on top of it all, it's my birthday!" I squeal in a tipsy high pitched voice when she's near enough. My love giggles: yes, I'm probably quite a picture as the fine wine of our dinner is kicking in. She's so beautiful when she laughs, always and her closeness is intoxicating. "What?" I tease her, cocking my head to the side and leaning close enough that my arm touches her. A sparkle of electricity runs up my arm at that casual touch. My eyes quickly stroke her lips before meeting hers again. "Do you have a present for me?" There is no one around, only the faint echo of the quintet playing and the ocean waves. Adele leans in and I smile against her lips as our mouths meet. It's sweet and light, a tender romantic kiss underneath the stars that spread a comforting warmth through my whole body: I don't even need the blanket she's wrapping around my shoulders as she gently pulls me closer. It's been a while since I last felt anything close to this: is this what being in the arms of your love feels like? When we part, we both hesitate. The sounds of the party are distant and there are no passengers or stewards in sight. We smile at each other and kiss again, longer this time but with no hurry or hunger. I touch my hand to her cool cheek: can time stop now? Can a moment last forever? If so, God please let it be this moment when I'm dizzy and drunk of this sweet pure love so far away from land. Eventually we pull back to catch our breath. Before speaking, I take a moment to look at my love smiling softly at me. The gems on her dress twinkle in the dark and I can see the stars reflecting in her eyes. She's my star though, my Northern star casting the brightest light in the dusk of my mad existence. "I've been waiting to do that all night" I sigh contently. As Adele gently strokes my back, I continue unable, unwilling to hide my heart's feelings any longer. "If I'm honest, I don't even want to reach shore, I don't want to go back to the party...I just want to stay out here with you. Forever" My love smiles, tender and pained at the same time. Her voice is as soft as a sweet caress. "I know, I wish this moment didn't have to end" "Let's just make a tent of this blanket - we can live off seal meat and rainwater!" I suggest as the thought of a life lived side by side with her blinds me. We both laugh then Adele speaks again. "What about your acting career?" she inquires, stroking my cheek. "We'll make our own plays. Whaddya say?" I shrug, leaning to the touch. There are so many we cannot say, so many objections but also desperate wishes and dreams on her face. On mine too. I mean it when I said I want to stay here with here forever. I'm not foolish enough to think what I feel blossoming inside me is that ever consuming amour fou immortalised by poets, after what? a couple of days it's too soon to even put a label to it but it's crystal clear to me now that I don't want to part from her. I want her close, near, to warm my troubled soul at the calming yet restless fire burning inside her. Let it kindle what I hid deep inside, away from the prying of the world, and offer it to her, if she wants it too. Sadly, our time is almost over and I embrace Adele tighter when she takes my face in her hands and kiss me again. One last kiss, slow and deep, filled with all we must left unsaid. I return it in kind. When our eyes meet again, I know she felt it too. Our words were silent but we were listening.

#titanic storyscape #zetta serda #adele carrem #zetta x adele #zetta x adele series

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blackkudos · 5 years ago

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Josephine Baker

Josephine Baker (born Freda Josephine McDonald, naturalised French Joséphine Baker; 3 June 1906 – 12 April 1975) was an American-born French entertainer, French Resistance agent, and civil rights activist. Her career was centered primarily in Europe, mostly in her adopted France. Baker was the first African-American to star in a major motion picture, the 1927 silent film Siren of the Tropics, directed by Mario Nalpas and Henri Étiévant.

During her early career Baker was renowned as a dancer, and was among the most celebrated performers to headline the revues of the Folies Bergère in Paris. Her performance in the revue Un vent de folie in 1927 caused a sensation in Paris. Her costume, consisting of only a short skirt of artificial bananas and a beaded necklace, became an iconic image and a symbol of the Jazz Age and the 1920s.

Baker was celebrated by artists and intellectuals of the era, who variously dubbed her the “Black Venus”, the "Black Pearl", the "Bronze Venus", and the "Creole Goddess". Born in St. Louis, Missouri, she renounced her U.S. citizenship and became a French national after her marriage to French industrialist Jean Lion in 1937. She raised her children in France. "I have two loves, my country and Paris", Baker once said, and she sang: « J'ai deux amours, mon pays et Paris ».

She was known for aiding the French Resistance during World War II. After the war, she was awarded the Croix de guerre by the French military, and was named a Chevalier of the Légion d'honneur by General Charles de Gaulle.

Baker refused to perform for segregated audiences in the United States and is noted for her contributions to the Civil Rights Movement. In 1968, she was offered unofficial leadership in the movement in the United States by Coretta Scott King, following Martin Luther King Jr.'s assassination. After thinking it over, Baker declined the offer out of concern for the welfare of her children.

Early life

Freda Josephine McDonald was born in St. Louis, Missouri. Her mother, Carrie, was adopted in Little Rock, Arkansas in 1886 by Richard and Elvira McDonald, both of whom were former slaves of African and Native American descent. Josephine Baker's estate identifies vaudeville drummer Eddie Carson as her natural father despite evidence to the contrary. Baker's foster son Jean-Claude Baker wrote a biography, published in 1993, titled Josephine: The Hungry Heart. Jean-Claude Baker did an exhaustive amount of research into the life of Josephine Baker, including the identity of her biological father. In the book, he discusses at length the circumstances surrounding Josephine Baker's birth:

The records of the city of St. Louis tell an almost unbelievable story. They show that (Josephine Baker's mother) Carrie McDonald ... was admitted to the (exclusively white) Female Hospital on May 3, 1906, diagnosed as pregnant. She was discharged on June 17, her baby, Freda J. McDonald having been born two weeks earlier. Why six weeks in the hospital? Especially for a black woman (of that time) who would customarily have had her baby at home with the help of a midwife? Obviously, there had been complications with the pregnancy, but Carrie's chart reveals no details. The father was identified (on the birth certificate) simply as "Edw"... I think Josephine's father was white – so did Josephine, so did her family ... people in St. Louis say that (Baker's mother) had worked for a German family (around the time she became pregnant). He's the one who must have got her into that hospital and paid to keep her there all those weeks. Also, her baby's birth was registered by the head of the hospital at a time when most black births were not. I have unraveled many mysteries associated with Josephine Baker, but the most painful mystery of her life, the mystery of her father's identity, I could not solve. The secret died with Carrie, who refused to the end to talk about it. She let people think Eddie Carson was the father, and Carson played along, (but) Josephine knew better.

Josephine spent her early life at 212 Targee Street (known by some St. Louis residents as Johnson Street) in the Mill Creek Valley neighborhood of St. Louis, a racially mixed low-income neighborhood near Union Station, consisting mainly of rooming houses, brothels, and apartments without indoor plumbing. Josephine was always poorly dressed and hungry as a child, and developed street smarts playing in the railroad yards of Union Station.

Josephine's mother married a kind but perpetually unemployed man, Arthur Martin, with whom she had son Arthur and two more daughters, Marguerite and Willie. She took in laundry to wash to make ends meet, and at eight years old, Josephine began working as a live-in domestic for white families in St. Louis. One woman abused her, burning Josephine's hands when the young girl put too much soap in the laundry. By age 12, she had dropped out of school.

At 13 she worked as a waitress at the Old Chauffeur's Club at 3133 Pine Street. She also lived as a street child in the slums of St. Louis, sleeping in cardboard shelters, scavenging for food in garbage cans, making a living with street-corner dancing. It was at the Old Chauffeur's Club where Josephine met Willie Wells and married him the same year. However, the marriage lasted less than a year. Following her divorce from Wells, she found work with a street performance group called the Jones Family Band.

In Baker's teen years she struggled to have a healthy relationship with her mother, Carrie McDonald, who did not want Josephine to become an entertainer, and scolded her for not tending to her second husband Willie Baker, whom she had married in 1921 at 15. Although she left Willie Baker when her vaudeville troupe was booked into a New York City venue and divorced him in 1925, it was during this time she began to see significant career success, and she continued to use his last name professionally for the rest of her life.

Though Baker traveled, then returned with gifts and money for her mother and younger half-sister, the turmoil with her mother pushed her to make a trip to France.

Career

Early years

Baker's consistent badgering of a show manager in her hometown led to her being recruited for the St. Louis Chorus vaudeville show. At the age of 15, she headed to New York City during the Harlem Renaissance, performing at the Plantation Club, Florence Mills’ old stomping ground, and in the chorus lines of the groundbreaking and hugely successful Broadway revues Shuffle Along (1921) with Adelaide Hall and The Chocolate Dandies (1924).

Baker performed as the last dancer on the end of the chorus line, where her act was to perform in a comic manner, as if she were unable to remember the dance, until the encore, at which point she would perform it not only correctly but with additional complexity. A term of the time describes this part of the cast as "The Pony". Baker was billed at the time as "the highest-paid chorus girl in vaudeville".

Her career began with blackface comedy at local clubs; this was the "entertainment" of which her mother had disapproved; however, these performances landed Baker an opportunity to tour in Paris, which would become the place she called home until her final days.

Paris and rise to fame

Baker sailed to Paris for a new venture, and opened in La Revue Nègre on 2 October 1925, aged 19, at the Théâtre des Champs-Élysées.

In a 1974 interview with The Guardian, Baker explained that she obtained her first big break in the bustling city. "No, I didn't get my first break on Broadway. I was only in the chorus in 'Shuffle Along' and 'Chocolate Dandies'. I became famous first in France in the twenties. I just couldn't stand America and I was one of the first coloured Americans to move to Paris. Oh yes, Bricktop was there as well. Me and her were the only two, and we had a marvellous time. Of course, everyone who was anyone knew Bricky. And they got to know Miss Baker as well."

In Paris, she became an instant success for her erotic dancing, and for appearing practically nude onstage. After a successful tour of Europe, she broke her contract and returned to France to star at the Folies Bergère, setting the standard for her future acts.

Baker performed the "Danse Sauvage" wearing a costume consisting of a skirt made of a string of artificial bananas. Her success coincided (1925) with the Exposition des Arts Décoratifs, which gave birth to the term "Art Deco", and also with a renewal of interest in non-Western forms of art, including African. Baker represented one aspect of this fashion. In later shows in Paris, she was often accompanied on stage by her pet cheetah, "Chiquita", who was adorned with a diamond collar. The cheetah frequently escaped into the orchestra pit, where it terrorized the musicians, adding another element of excitement to the show.

After a while, Baker was the most successful American entertainer working in France. Ernest Hemingway called her "the most sensational woman anyone ever saw." The author spent hours talking with her in Paris bars. Picasso drew paintings depicting her alluring beauty. Jean Cocteau became friendly with her and helped vault her to international stardom.

Baker starred in three films which found success only in Europe: the silent film Siren of the Tropics (1927), Zouzou (1934) and Princesse Tam Tam (1935). She starred in Fausse Alerte in 1940.

At this time she scored her most successful song, "J'ai deux amours" (1931). At the start of her career in France, Baker met a Sicilian former stonemason who passed himself off as a count, who persuaded her to let him manage her. Giuseppe Pepito Abatino was not only Baker's management, but her lover as well. The two could not marry because Baker was still married to her second husband, Willie Baker.

Under the management of Abatino, Baker's stage and public persona, as well as her singing voice, were transformed. In 1934, she took the lead in a revival of Jacques Offenbach's opera La créole, which premiered in December of that year for a six-month run at the Théâtre Marigny on the Champs-Élysées of Paris. In preparation for her performances, she went through months of training with a vocal coach. In the words of Shirley Bassey, who has cited Baker as her primary influence, "... she went from a 'petite danseuse sauvage' with a decent voice to 'la grande diva magnifique' ... I swear in all my life I have never seen, and probably never shall see again, such a spectacular singer and performer."Despite her popularity in France, Baker never attained the equivalent reputation in America. Her star turn in a 1936 revival of Ziegfeld Follies on Broadway generated less than impressive box office numbers, and later in the run, she was replaced by Gypsy Rose Lee. Time magazine referred to her as a "Negro wench ... whose dancing and singing might be topped anywhere outside of Paris", while other critics said her voice was "too thin" and "dwarf-like" to fill the Winter Garden Theatre. She returned to Europe heartbroken. This contributed to Baker's becoming a legal citizen of France and giving up her American citizenship.

Baker returned to Paris in 1937, married the French industrialist Jean Lion, and became a French citizen. They were married in the French town of Crèvecœur-le-Grand, in a wedding presided over by the mayor, Jammy Schmidt.

Work during World War II

In September 1939, when France declared war on Germany in response to the invasion of Poland, Baker was recruited by the Deuxième Bureau, French military intelligence, as an "honorable correspondent". Baker collected what information she could about German troop locations from officials she met at parties. She specialized in gatherings at embassies and ministries, charming people as she had always done, while gathering information. Her café-society fame enabled her to rub shoulders with those in the know, from high-ranking Japanese officials to Italian bureaucrats, and to report back what she heard. She attended parties and gathered information at the Italian embassy without raising suspicion.

When the Germans invaded France, Baker left Paris and went to the Château des Milandes, her home in the Dordogne département in the south of France. She housed people who were eager to help the Free French effort led by Charles de Gaulle and supplied them with visas. As an entertainer, Baker had an excuse for moving around Europe, visiting neutral nations such as Portugal, as well as some in South America. She carried information for transmission to England, about airfields, harbors, and German troop concentrations in the West of France. Notes were written in invisible ink on Baker's sheet music.

Later in 1941, she and her entourage went to the French colonies in North Africa. The stated reason was Baker's health (since she was recovering from another case of pneumonia) but the real reason was to continue helping the Resistance. From a base in Morocco, she made tours of Spain. She pinned notes with the information she gathered inside her underwear (counting on her celebrity to avoid a strip search). She met the Pasha of Marrakech, whose support helped her through a miscarriage (the last of several). After the miscarriage, she developed an infection so severe it required a hysterectomy. The infection spread and she developed peritonitis and then sepsis. After her recovery (which she continued to fall in and out of), she started touring to entertain British, French, and American soldiers in North Africa. The Free French had no organized entertainment network for their troops, so Baker and her entourage managed for the most part on their own. They allowed no civilians and charged no admission.

After the war, Baker received the Croix de guerre and the Rosette de la Résistance. She was made a Chevalier of the Légion d'honneur by General Charles de Gaulle.

Baker's last marriage, to French composer and conductor Jo Bouillon, ended around the time Baker opted to adopt her 11th child.

Later career

In 1949, a reinvented Baker returned in triumph to the Folies Bergere. Bolstered by recognition of her wartime heroics, Baker the performer assumed a new gravitas, unafraid to take on serious music or subject matter. The engagement was a rousing success and reestablished Baker as one of Paris' preeminent entertainers. In 1951 Baker was invited back to the United States for a nightclub engagement in Miami. After winning a public battle over desegregating the club's audience, Baker followed up her sold-out run at the club with a national tour. Rave reviews and enthusiastic audiences accompanied her everywhere, climaxed by a parade in front of 100,000 people in Harlem in honor of her new title: NAACP's "Woman of the Year". Her future looked bright, with six months of bookings and promises of many more to come.

In 1952 Baker was hired to crown the Queen of the Cavalcade of Jazz for the famed eighth Cavalcade of Jazz concert held at Wrigley Field in Los Angeles which was produced by Leon Hefflin, Sr. on June 1. Also featured to perform that day were Roy Brown and His Mighty Men, Anna Mae Winburn and Her Sweethearts, Toni Harper, Louis Jordan, Jimmy Witherspoon and Jerry Wallace.

An incident at the Stork Club interrupted and overturned her plans. Baker criticized the club's unwritten policy of discouraging black patrons, then scolded columnist Walter Winchell, an old ally, for not rising to her defense. Winchell responded swiftly with a series of harsh public rebukes, including accusations of Communist sympathies (a serious charge at the time). The ensuing publicity resulted in the termination of Baker's work visa, forcing her to cancel all her engagements and return to France. It was almost a decade before U.S. officials allowed her back into the country.

In January 1966, Fidel Castro invited Baker to perform at the Teatro Musical de La Habana in Havana, Cuba, at the 7th-anniversary celebrations of his revolution. Her spectacular show in April broke attendance records. In 1968, Baker visited Yugoslavia and made appearances in Belgrade and in Skopje. In her later career, Baker faced financial troubles. She commented, "Nobody wants me, they've forgotten me"; but family members encouraged her to continue performing. In 1973 she performed at Carnegie Hall to a standing ovation.

The following year, she appeared in a Royal Variety Performance at the London Palladium, and then at the Monacan Red Cross Gala, celebrating her 50 years in French show business. Advancing years and exhaustion began to take their toll; she sometimes had trouble remembering lyrics, and her speeches between songs tended to ramble. She still continued to captivate audiences of all ages.

Civil rights activism

Although based in France, Baker supported the Civil Rights Movement during the 1950s. When she arrived in New York with her husband Jo, they were refused reservations at 36 hotels because of racial discrimination. She was so upset by this treatment that she wrote articles about the segregation in the United States. She also began traveling into the South. She gave a talk at Fisk University, a historically black college in Nashville, Tennessee, on "France, North Africa And The Equality Of The Races In France".

She refused to perform for segregated audiences in the United States, although she was offered $10,000 by a Miami club. (The club eventually met her demands). Her insistence on mixed audiences helped to integrate live entertainment shows in Las Vegas, Nevada. After this incident, she began receiving threatening phone calls from people claiming to be from the Ku Klux Klan but said publicly that she was not afraid of them.

In 1951, Baker made charges of racism against Sherman Billingsley's Stork Club in Manhattan, where she had been refused service.Actress Grace Kelly, who was at the club at the time, rushed over to Baker, took her by the arm and stormed out with her entire party, vowing never to return (although she returned on 3 January 1956 with Prince Rainier of Monaco). The two women became close friends after the incident.

When Baker was near bankruptcy, Kelly offered her a villa and financial assistance (Kelly by then was princess consort of Rainier III of Monaco). (However, during his work on the Stork Club book, author and New York Times reporter Ralph Blumenthal was contacted by Jean-Claude Baker, one of Baker's sons. Having read a Blumenthal-written story about Leonard Bernstein's FBI file, he indicated that he had read his mother's FBI file and, using comparison of the file to the tapes, said he thought the Stork Club incident was overblown.))

Baker worked with the NAACP. Her reputation as a crusader grew to such an extent that the NAACP had Sunday, 20 May 1951 declared "Josephine Baker Day". She was presented with life membership with the NAACP by Nobel Peace Prize winner Dr. Ralph Bunche. The honor she was paid spurred her to further her crusading efforts with the "Save Willie McGee" rally after he was convicted of the 1948 beating death of a furniture shop owner in Trenton, New Jersey. As the decorated war hero who was bolstered by the racial equality she experienced in Europe, Baker became increasingly regarded as controversial; some black people even began to shun her, fearing that her outspokenness and racy reputation from her earlier years would hurt the cause.

In 1963, she spoke at the March on Washington at the side of Rev. Martin Luther King Jr.

Baker was the only official female speaker. While wearing her Free French uniform emblazoned with her medal of the Légion d'honneur, she introduced the "Negro Women for Civil Rights." Rosa Parks and Daisy Bates were among those she acknowledged, and both gave brief speeches. Not everyone involved wanted Baker present at the March; some thought her time overseas had made her a woman of France, one who was disconnected from the Civil Rights issues going on in America. In her powerful speech, one of the things Baker notably said was:

I have walked into the palaces of kings and queens and into the houses of presidents. And much more. But I could not walk into a hotel in America and get a cup of coffee, and that made me mad. And when I get mad, you know that I open my big mouth. And then look out, 'cause when Josephine opens her mouth, they hear it all over the world ...

After King's assassination, his widow Coretta Scott King approached Baker in the Netherlands to ask if she would take her husband's place as leader of the Civil Rights Movement. After many days of thinking it over, Baker declined, saying her children were "too young to lose their mother".

Personal life

Relationships

Josephine Baker was bisexual. Her first marriage was to American Pullman porter Willie Wells when she was only 13 years old. The marriage was reportedly very unhappy and the couple divorced a short time later. Another short-lived marriage followed to Willie Baker in 1921; she retained Baker's last name because her career began taking off during that time, and it was the name by which she became best known. While she had four marriages to men, Jean-Claude Baker writes that Josephine also had several relationships with women.

During her time in the Harlem Renaissance arts community, one of her relationships was with Blues singer Clara Smith. In 1925, she began an extramarital relationship with the Belgian novelist Georges Simenon. In 1937, Baker married Frenchman Jean Lion. She and Lion separated in 1940. She married French composer and conductor Jo Bouillon in 1947, and their union also ended in divorce but lasted 14 years. She was later involved for a time with the artist Robert Brady, but they never married.

Children

During Baker's work with the Civil Rights Movement, she began adopting children, forming a family she often referred to as "The Rainbow Tribe". Baker wanted to prove that "children of different ethnicities and religions could still be brothers." She often took the children with her cross-country, and when they were at Château des Milandes, she arranged tours so visitors could walk the grounds and see how natural and happy the children in "The Rainbow Tribe" were. Her estate featured hotels, a farm, rides, and the children singing and dancing for the audience. She'd charge admission for visitors to enter and partake in the activities, which included watching the children play. Baker used her children as metaphors: living examples of what humanity should look like, and her diverse children were used in a sort of attack against racism. She created dramatic backstories for them, picking with clear intent in mind: at one point she wanted and planned to get a Jewish baby, but settled for a French one instead. She also raised them as different religions to further her model for the world, taking two children from Algeria and raising one Muslim and the other Catholic. One member of the Tribe, Jean-Claude Baker, said:

She wanted a doll.

Another, Akio who was adopted from Japan, said

She was a great artist, and she was our mother. Mothers make mistakes. Nobody's perfect.

Baker raised two daughters, French-born Marianne and Moroccan-born Stellina, and 10 sons, Korean-born Jeannot (or Janot), Japanese-born Akio, Colombian-born Luis, Finnish-born Jari (now Jarry), French-born Jean-Claude and Noël, Israeli-born Moïse, Algerian-born Brahim, Ivorian-born Koffi, and Venezuelan-born Mara. For some time, Baker lived with her children and an enormous staff in the château in Dordogne, France, with her fourth husband, Jo Bouillon.

Later years and death

In her later years, Baker converted to Roman Catholicism. In 1968, Baker lost her castle owing to unpaid debts; afterwards Princess Grace offered her an apartment in Roquebrune, near Monaco.

Baker was back on stage at the Olympia in Paris in 1968, in Belgrade and at Carnegie Hall in 1973, and at the Royal Variety Performance at the London Palladium and at the Gala du Cirque in Paris in 1974. On 8 April 1975, Baker starred in a retrospective revue at the Bobino in Paris, Joséphine à Bobino 1975, celebrating her 50 years in show business. The revue, financed notably by Prince Rainier, Princess Grace, and Jacqueline Kennedy Onassis, opened to rave reviews. Demand for seating was such that fold-out chairs had to be added to accommodate spectators. The opening night audience included Sophia Loren, Mick Jagger, Shirley Bassey, Diana Ross, and Liza Minnelli.

Four days later, Baker was found lying peacefully in her bed surrounded by newspapers with glowing reviews of her performance. She was in a coma after suffering a cerebral hemorrhage. She was taken to Pitié-Salpêtrière Hospital, where she died, aged 68, on 12 April 1975.

She received a full Roman Catholic funeral that was held at L'Église de la Madeleine. The only American-born woman to receive full French military honors at her funeral, Baker's funeral was the occasion of a huge procession. After a family service at Saint-Charles Church in Monte Carlo, Baker was interred at Monaco's Cimetière de Monaco.

Legacy

Place Joséphine Baker (48°50′29″N 2°19′26″E) in the Montparnasse Quarter of Paris was named in her honor. She has also been inducted into the St. Louis Walk of Fame, and on 29 March 1995, into the Hall of Famous Missourians. St. Louis's Channing Avenue was renamed Josephine Baker Boulevard and a wax sculpture of Baker is on permanent display at The Griot Museum of Black History.

In 2015 she was inducted into the Legacy Walk in Chicago, Illinois, USA. The Piscine Joséphine Baker is a swimming pool along the banks of the Seine in Paris named after her.

Writing in the on-line BBC magazine in late 2014, Darren Royston, historical dance teacher at RADA credited Baker with being the Beyoncé of her day, and bringing the Charleston to Britain. Two of Baker's sons, Jean-Claude and Jarry (Jari), grew up to go into business together, running the restaurant Chez Josephine on Theatre Row, 42nd Street, New York City. It celebrates Baker's life and works.

Château des Milandes, a castle near Sarlat in the Dordogne, was Baker's home where she raised her twelve children. It is open to the public and displays her stage outfits including her banana skirt (of which there are apparently several). It also displays many family photographs and documents as well as her Legion of Honour medal. Most rooms are open for the public to walk through including bedrooms with the cots where her children slept, a huge kitchen, and a dining room where she often entertained large groups. The bathrooms were designed in art deco style but most rooms retained the French chateau style.

Baker continued to influence celebrities more than a century after her birth. In a 2003 interview with USA Today, Angelina Jolie cited Baker as "a model for the multiracial, multinational family she was beginning to create through adoption". Beyoncé performed Baker's banana dance at the Fashion Rocks concert at Radio City Music Hall in September 2006.

Writing on the 110th anniversary of her birth, Vogue described how her 1926 "danse sauvage" in her famous banana skirt "brilliantly manipulated the white male imagination" and "radically redefined notions of race and gender through style and performance in a way that continues to echo throughout fashion and music today, from Prada to Beyoncé."

On 3 June 2017, the 111th anniversary of her birth, Google released an animated Google Doodle, which consists of a slideshow chronicling her life and achievements.

On Thursday 22 November 2018, a documentary titled Josephine Baker: The Story of an Awakening, directed by Ilana Navaro, premiered at the Beirut Art Film Festival. It contains rarely seen archival footage, including some never before discovered, with music and narration.

In August 2019, Baker was one of the honorees inducted in the Rainbow Honor Walk, a walk of fame in San Francisco's Castro neighborhood noting LGBTQ people who have "made significant contributions in their fields."

Portrayals

Baker appears in her role as a member of the French Resistance in Johannes Mario Simmel's 1960 novel, Es muss nicht immer Kaviar sein (C'est pas toujours du caviar).

A character loosely based on Baker is featured in an episode of Hogan's Heroes titled "Is General Hammerschlag Burning?", which originally aired on 18 November 1967. The character Kumasa (played by Barbara McNair) is a chanteuse based in Paris. She later reveals herself to be Carol Dukes, a high-school classmate of Sergeant James Kinchloe (Ivan Dixon), on whom she had a secret crush.

The Italian-Belgian francophone singer composer Salvatore Adamo pays tribute to Baker with the song "Noël Sur Les Milandes" (album Petit Bonheur – EMI 1970).

Diana Ross portrayed Baker in both her Tony Award-winning Broadway and television show An Evening with Diana Ross. When the show was made into an NBC television special entitled The Big Event: An Evening with Diana Ross, Ross again portrayed Baker.

A German submariner mimics Baker's Danse banane in the 1981 film Das Boot.

In 1986, Helen Gelzer portrayed Baker on the London stage for a limited run in the musical Josephine – "a musical version of the life and times of Josephine Baker" with book, lyrics and music by Michael Wild. The show was produced by Baker's longtime friend Jack Hocket in conjunction with Premier Box-Office, and the musical director was Paul Maguire. Gelzer also recorded a studio cast album titled Josephine.

British singer-songwriter, Al Stewart wrote song about Josephine Baker. It appears in album "Last days of the century" from 1988.

In 1991, Baker's life story, The Josephine Baker Story, was broadcast on HBO. Lynn Whitfield portrayed Baker, and won an Emmy Award for Outstanding Lead Actress in a Miniseries or a Special – becoming the first Black actress to win the award in this category.

Artist Hassan Musa depicted Baker in a 1994 series of paintings called Who needs Bananas?

In the 1997 animated musical film Anastasia, Baker appears with her cheetah during the musical number "Paris Holds the Key (to Your Heart)".

In 2002, played by Karine Plantadit in Frida.

A character based on Baker (topless, wearing the famous "banana skirt") appears in the opening sequence of the 2003 animated film The Triplets of Belleville (Les Triplettes de Belleville).

The 2004 erotic novel Scandalous by British author Angela Campion uses Baker as its heroine and is inspired by Baker's sexual exploits and later adventures in the French Resistance. In the novel, Baker, working with a fictional black Canadian lover named Drummer Thompson, foils a plot by French fascists in 1936 Paris.

Her influence upon and assistance with the careers of husband and wife dancers Carmen De Lavallade and Geoffrey Holder are discussed and illustrated in rare footage in the 2005 Linda Atkinson/Nick Doob documentary, Carmen and Geoffrey.

Beyoncé has portrayed Baker on various occasions. During the 2006 Fashion Rocks show, Knowles performed "Dejá Vu" in a revised version of the Danse banane costume. In Knowles's video for "Naughty Girl", she is seen dancing in a huge champagne glass à la Baker. In I Am ... Yours: An Intimate Performance at Wynn Las Vegas, Beyonce lists Baker as an influence of a section of her live show.

In 2006, Jérôme Savary produced a musical, A La Recherche de Josephine – New Orleans for Ever (Looking for Josephine), starring Nicolle Rochelle. The story revolved around the history of jazz and Baker's career.

In 2010, Keri Hilson portrayed Baker in her single "Pretty Girl Rock".

In 2011, Sonia Rolland portrayed Baker in the film Midnight in Paris.

Baker was heavily featured in the 2012 book Josephine's Incredible Shoe & The Blackpearls by Peggi Eve Anderson-Randolph.

In July 2012, Cheryl Howard opened in The Sensational Josephine Baker, written and performed by Howard and directed by Ian Streicher at the Beckett Theatre of Theatre Row on 42nd Street in New York City, just a few doors away from Chez Josephine.

In July 2013, Cush Jumbo's debut play Josephine and I premiered at the Bush Theatre, London. It was re-produced in New York City at The Public Theater's Joe's Pub from 27 February to 5 April 2015.

In June 2016, Josephine, a burlesque cabaret dream play starring Tymisha Harris as Josephine Baker premiered at the 2016 San Diego Fringe Festival. The show has since played across North America and had a limited off-Broadway run in January–February 2018 at SoHo Playhouse in New York City.

In February 2017, Tiffany Daniels portrayed Baker in the Timeless television episode "The Lost Generation".

In late February 2017, a new play about Baker's later years, The Last Night of Josephine Baker by playwright Vincent Victoria, opened in Houston, Texas, starring Erica Young.

Baker appears as a recruitable secret agent with French citizenship in the 2020 DLC La Resistance for the WWII grand strategy game Hearts of Iron IV.

Film credits

Siren of the Tropics (1927)

The Woman from the Folies Bergères (1927) short subject

Zouzou (1934)

Princesse Tam Tam (1935)

Fausse alerte (The French Way) (1945)

Moulin Rouge (1941)

An jedem Finger zehn (1954)

Carosello del varietà (1955)

#06/03 #04/12

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flashhwing · 6 years ago

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daylights and midnights and cups of coffee

pairing: DonnaKory summary: Donna, a down-on-her-luck photographer, is looking for a new roommate; Kory, a popular model, is looking for a place to live. It's a match made in heaven, right? please check the notes for ao3 link

Donna was going to need a new roommate. Which was a shame, really. She was starting to truly enjoy her newfound freedom after finally kicking Kyle out of the apartment (a whole month after they broke up, too; it was about time), but. Well. Two bedroom, two storey walk-ups in lower Manhattan didn’t exactly come on a bartender’s paycheck.

Stupid artist Kyle and his need for a whole-ass bedroom for “studio space.” He could’ve just set up his easel in the living room. They could’ve saved so much on rent. But no, he just had to insist. And now he’s fucked off and saddled Donna with this extra room.

It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single woman in possession of an extra room must be in want of a roommate.

(Okay, maybe she could get a new apartment, but she quite liked this one. It had granite countertops, and good water pressure, and four cabinets in the kitchen. That was three cabinets more than her friend Roy had in his East Village studio.)

“Roy only has one cabinet?”

“That’s beside the point! I need a roommate, and I really don’t wanna look on Craigslist.”

“Hmm.” Dick sat on the customer side of the bar, wearing a thoughtful expression and brandishing an almost-full pint of Sam Adams in one hand. Donna didn’t like where that was going. Dick’s ‘thoughtful looks’ usually ended in spectacularly bad plans and possible bodily harm, and if he spilled that beer it’d be hers to clean up. Unfair. The bar wasn’t even open yet.

“Don’t give me that ‘hmm.’ What are you thinking?” Please don’t let her regret asking.

“Well. You’re in want of a roommate, right?” Dick raised one eyebrow. “I happen to know a fantastic lady in want of a room.”

How weirdly and coincidentally helpful of him.

“Sounds perfect,” said Donna. “What’s wrong with her?”

“What’s … wrong with her?”

“Yeah.” Donna shrugged. “What’s wrong with her? Why doesn’t she have a place to live?”

“Uhh, nothing? She’s new in town, just moved from LA.”

“Ohhh, so she’s one of your celebrity friends?” Dick had a habit of befriending celebrity-adjacent people. He was Rich (with a capital R), and hung out with models and musicians and people who worked on movies. People on magazine covers. He had VIP passes to most of the clubs in Midtown because he knew the owners of most of the clubs in Midtown.

Really, some of Dick’s acquaintances weren’t the sort of people who’d give a down-on-her-luck bartender the time of day.

Dick rolled his eyes. “I guess you could say that. She’s great though: she’s fun, she’s down to Earth, she’s stylish – just your type!”

“My type?”

“Of friend! She’s your type of friend.”

Donna didn’t sigh, but it was a close call. “That’s great, but it doesn’t tell me anything. Is she clean? Is she loud? Sounds like money’s not an issue, but is she responsible?”

“Yes to all of that.”

“Loud isn’t a good thing, Dick.”

“Okay fine.” Dick shrugged and leaned back. “If you can’t accept that one flaw, I guess you’ll have to just find some schmuck off Craigslist.”

“No, it’s.” Donna groaned. “It’s fine. What’s her name?”

“Kory.”

She’d heard that name.

“Kory. You don’t mean your ex, Kory?”

“Is that a problem?”

Donna pinched the bridge of her nose. “Why are you trying to set me up with your ex?”

“Hey, not all exes are created equal!” Dick said, maybe a little too quickly. “I know you’re still reeling from Kyle, but Kory’s not some slack-off jerk-face like him. Promise.”

“Well, if you promise.”

Dick tilted his head pointedly. “Oh, come on. We broke up like two years ago and I’m still friends with her. That should be recommendation enough.”

“That doesn’t mean much. You’re friends with all your exes. Roy … Babs …”

“Yeah, coz I don’t date assholes.”

Donna narrowed her eyes. What happened that patented Dick Grayson charm? Or was that reserved for strangers and reporters, old friends be damned?

He must’ve seen the look on her face, because he quickly tacked on, “Too soon?”

All he got in response was a small hmph.

“Sorry. But seriously, why are you being so resistant?”

Why was she being resistant? This was good, technically. She’d spent the last two weeks asking around for friends of friends of friends who were possibly looking for a place to live, with no luck. And here Dick was, suggesting someone who definitely (probably? How much did models make?) had enough money that rent wouldn’t be a problem. Someone he knew and held in high regard – and as much as Donna liked to tease him, Dick was a good judge of character. Kory should be, more or less, a perfect roommate. So, what was Donna’s problem?

Maybe it was that she’d met Kory once and could say, without exaggeration, that she was the most intimidatingly beautiful woman Donna had ever seen.

Not that she could say that to Dick.

“I’m not … I’m not being resistant,” Donna said. “Go ahead and give her my number. Have her call me if she’s interested. And either drink that beer or get out, we’re opening.”

Dick slid his glass across the bar and hopped off his stool with a mock salute. “Knew you’d give in. See ya tomorrow, Troy?”

“Later, Dick.”

Kory moved in two days later, on a Friday.

It wasn’t like Donna hadn’t met Kory before. She had, once, during her senior year of college. It was at some Wayne Enterprises banquet she had to attend for her scholarship. Dick had introduced them, and Kory had told some story about her sister and an angry pelican, and Donna had walked away from the encounter with a general feeling of holy shit.

But that was two years ago, and even the memory of holy shit wasn’t enough to prepare Donna for the sight of Kory Anders, popular instagram model, standing in her living room with two suitcases and a hairless cat.

She just seemed so … out of place. Donna’s apartment wasn’t bare by any means; there was a couch, a tv, curtains on the windows, and even some of Donna’s prints framed on the wall. She had a rug on the floor and a blanket thrown over the couch. It was all very tasteful – and of course it was, having housed pair of artists for nearly two years.

The apartment could be a Renaissance painting, all soft light and muted colors. And there Kory stood, with her dyed pink hair and flagrantly purple, sleeveless blouse. Like one bold, bright stroke of paint right down the center of the canvas.

And wow, Donna really needed to get Kyle out of her head. She was a photographer, not a painter, dammit!

“Your home is lovely,” Kory said with a small smile that crinkled the corners of her eyes.

“Thank you,” Donna replied. “Here, let me grab one of your bags.” They were both lime green, but otherwise mismatched. One was a large, hard-shelled roller, the other a half-sized canvas duffel bag.

Most of Donna’s accessories were black (or at least very dark jewel-tones). Black was practical. It went with everything, didn’t stand out, never looked dirty … an all-around useful color, really.

But all of thirty seconds in Kory’s presence, and Donna thought she could stand for more greens or purples or pinks in her life.

Best not read too much into that...

She led Kory to the spare room and gestured around. “So this’ll be your room.”

Kory looked around, humming appraisingly. She let the cat jump out of her arms, and Donna gave it a wary eye. The apartment was pet-friendly, and Kory had assured her that Silkie (seriously, the cat’s name was Silkie) was house-trained, but Donna had never lived with a cat before. She was more of a dog person, herself.

Plus his wrinkly, pink skin was a little off-putting. Still, she supposed he was cute in his own sort of disgusting way.

“What are those?” Kory gestured with her chin towards the ceiling.

Donna looked up and grimaced. “Yeah, those. This was Kyle’s studio and he wanted, uh, glowy stars? For some reason? I haven’t been able to get them down, sorry.”

“That’s fine.” Kory said airily. “It adds a bit of whimsy.”

Donna thought Kory probably knew a lot about whimsy. Amazingly, the thought wasn’t in her judgemental voice.

“I don’t have a bed or any furniture for you,” Donna said, eyeing the two (only two?) bags Kory had packed. “Do you …?”

“I’ll have to purchase them,” Kory said. “I left everything in LA and only brought what I need.”

“Sounds expensive.”

“You can always find cheap furniture,” Kory said as if it was the simplest fact of life. “I find it easier to replace things than to try and carry them everywhere.”

“Not me, sister,” Donna said, leading Kory back out to the living area. “That couch is staying with me ‘till the day I die.”

Kory looked at the couch with an inquisitive eye as Donna ducked under the counter separating the living room from the kitchen. The couch wasn’t anything special, Donna knew – not even a full set. Just a loveseat and an armchair, both a deep red color. They weren’t overstuffed, but they weren’t threadbare either. Overall, it was an exceedingly average couch.

“Does it have some sentimental value?”

“Nope.” Donna emerged with a three-quarters full bottle of Chianti. She popped the cork and poured two generous glasses. “I just like the color red.”

Kory smiled. It pulled one corner of her mouth higher than the other and made her eyes soft. Donna smiled in kind and handed her a glass.

“To new roomies,” Donna said, raising her glass.

“To new roomies,” Kory repeated, clinking her glass against Donna’s. As she took a sip, Donna couldn’t help but notice the wine matched Kory’s lipstick.

A thought occurred to her.

“Hold up.” Kory stopped, glass still held to her lips. Donna put up her thumb and forefinger, framing Kory’s face between them “Stay right there,” she added with a grin.

Kory seemed to catch on as Donna ran to her room for her camera. Dick must’ve told her Donna was a photographer.

It wasn’t like she was a professional or anything. Well, technically she was, had a degree and a practice and all, but mostly she did shoots for senior photos or family portraits or whatever. She’d tried to do freelance for some magazines, but apparently nobody was interested in pictures from some no-name bartender in New York. Something about them being a dime-a-dozen. Even attaching her name to Dick’s (he offered) hadn’t done the trick.

Not that she was giving up. She still sent out her portfolio and did interviews every chance she got. She had an instagram with a decent following. It just … wasn’t enough to live on.

Hence the bartending.

“So where do you want me?” Kory was perched on one of the kitchen stools when Donna came back out. Her legs were crossed and she held her wine glass delicately in the air, elbow resting on the counter.

“Right there, actually.” Donna grinned. She hadn’t worked with a subject who actually knew what they were doing since college. This was going to be fun. “You don’t mind, do you?” she added as she flitted around the room, adjusting the lights to be soft and flattering.

“Oh, not at all,” Kory replied. “I was actually going to ask how much you charge.”

“How much –” Donna stopped in her tracks. A popular model wanted to pay her for her services? Usually she had random strangers trying to get her to work for free. “Well, I was gonna give you the friends and family discount.”

“And how much is that?”

“Free.”

Kory’s eyebrows nearly disappeared into her hairline. “Free? Donna, do not undersell yourself. Everyone else will.”

Donna snorted. “Ain’t that the truth. But no, this is just for fun. Call it a bonding exercise or something. Besides, I’m not gonna charge you when you haven’t hired me. You don’t even know how good I am.”

“Dick showed me your instagram. I may be just a model, but I know good art when I see it,” Kory said with a wink.

“Oh, Miss Anders.” Don’t blush, don’t fucking blush. “Flattery will get you everywhere.”

“Will it now?”

“You know it.” It wasn’t what Donna wanted to say, but she didn’t want to scare Kory off ten minutes after meeting her. “Alright so … look at the door.”

“What’s my mood?”

Donna considered for a moment. “You’re on a blind date set up by your best friend, and it’s going great.”

Kory’s demeanor barely changed. Her posture straightened, her fingers curled a little looser around her glass, and her eyes seemed almost imperceptibly brighter.

“Are they funny?” she asked.

“Mm … they’re witty.” Donna snapped three shots in quick succession. “You’re vibing pretty hard.”

“Are they pretty?”

“Just your type.”

Two more shots. Kory sucked in her lips in what might’ve been the most adorable expression Donna’d ever seen a person bear. She took three more shots.

“Are we coming back to my place after?”

“Uh … you might wanna buy a bed first.”

Kory threw back her head and laughed. There. That was the energy Donna wanted. She took five shots before Kory turned to look at the camera.

“I think we’re gonna get along splendidly, Miss Troy.”

Donna didn’t bother holding back the grin spreading across her face.

“I think you’re right, Miss Anders.”

#donna troy #koriand'r #donnakory #korydonna #wonder girl #troia #starfire #kory anders #kori anders #teen titans #titans #fic #my stuff #my writing #this has been a post

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stedes-black-bonnet · 6 years ago

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My Baby Does Me: Chapter 4

POV: John Deacon x reader

Notes: Let me know if you want on my tag list?? I’ve had a couple people ask to be added. Ongoing Queen fic and such, expect updates weekly, if not more frequently.

Warnings: Drinking, swearing, and some steamy AF cupboard action? Does all of Queen appearing (finally!) in this chapter count as warning-worthy??

Abstract: A child’s game is played, though several people win at games not everyone knew were being played.

You weren’t sure exactly what Roger Taylor was offering, and you weren’t entirely sure you wanted to turn him down; if it weren’t for the enigmatic, dancing God standing next to the blond God, you might have a hard time resisting the glamorous Roger. Your heart was already spoken for, even if you hadn’t realized it yet. Roger put an arm around Deacy’s waist. He had to admit, Deacy had delectable taste in women. The kind of women that tended to go after his friend, however, weren’t always the kind of woman Deacy was looking for. He wasn’t strictly a one woman a night kinda guy; that wasn’t to say Deacy didn’t like to have his fun or indulge his base desires, rather that he was a bit more choosy than most about the women he invited along for the ride. Roger respected this the most about his friend. And even though he’d never admit it, he admired him even more for his discerning palate and all-encompassing self-control.

They could get whatever they wanted when they wanted it, Roger thought. Perhaps the most chaotic thing about Deacy was his ability to simultaneously flaunt that fact and yet outright deny it; turning away from limitless lechery and immediacy was perhaps the ultimate form of Deacy’s rebellious chaotic energy. He could allure anyone and say no in the same breath. Roger, however, rarely said no, considered seduction his favorite hobby--besides his cars and his drums. He was maybe a cad, but he never took advantage; Roger Taylor always knew where to draw the line, and if that line was the curve of a woman’s body, even better.

He hoped you were capable of dealing with Deacy’s complexities, because from the look in his friend’s eyes, Roger could tell Deacy was falling in such a way he was probably already writing songs about you in his head. He hated the idea of seeing his friend get hurt again. Roger was all fire and every emotion was always plastered on his fine face; if you could read a book, you could interpret his face and his feelings; Deacy felt everything startlingly deeply, and even though he trusted the members of Queen above all, there were times he’d rather run away for weeks than tell them what was wrong. Could you be the exception?

“That depends,” you said, “What kind of game are you playing?” A wry smile had appeared on your face. You were feeling the alcohol a bit more, and felt braver because of it. You looked at Deacy, and had a hard time not thinking about what it would feel like to kiss him in this room full of witnesses. To claim him publicly would be the most fantastic move, you thought. Not to mention a huge turn on for you. You tried to put it in the back of your mind next to your thoughts of pressing him up against a wall and running your hands all the way down his torso.

There was a faraway look in your eyes Deacy couldn’t help but find intriguing and exquisite. That, he thought, was the perfect word to describe you: exquisite.

“I have an idea what you’re playing.” Deacy said, “You and Freddie really can’t help yourselves, and you’ve enlisted Y/N’s friend, and now you’re trying to enlist us to be party to your...foreplay adventure.”

“I would never say ‘foreplay adventure.’” Roger simpered. He licked his lips, and looked at you, “Listen: we’re simple men who play scrabble for fun for fuck’s sake. And what we’re doing now is equally childish, yet a rockin’ blast of a time.”

“Oh yes! Sardines is without qualification a ‘rockin’ blast of a time.’” Jim laughed sardonically.

“Wait--you’re playing reverse hide-and-seek?” You asked somewhat gleefully.

“What of it, love?” Roger asked, an eyebrow raised.

“Let me get this straight--”

Jim snorted into his cocktail, and the boys smiled at him fondly.

“Let me get this straight,” you repeated shaking your head a Jim, a full-on smile on your face, “You’re adult rock-stars playing sardines?”

“Come now, this is a time-old romantic tradition dating back to the Victorian Era.” Roger explained, rather scholarly, you thought.

“God save the Queens.” Deacy said automatically.

“God save the Queens,” Jim responded. You had the distinct feeling Jim was talking about one Queen in particular, and that this call and response was a typical exchange of the group you had become part of.

Deacy removed himself from Rog’s grip, and offered you his hand. You took it, allowing him to help you up. Standing next to him for the first time, you noticed how tall he was, and were instantly relieved you had the foresight to wear heels tonight. You’d still have to stand on your tiptoes to kiss him properly, you guessed.

“Look at it this way,” Deacy pulled you closer to him, staring into your eyes the entire time, “games of proximity are significantly better as adults.”

You smiled at each other knowingly, as if you had been exchanging hidden messages since childhood. It was clear to you now, maybe for the first time tonight, Deacy wanted to get you alone, to experience you by himself, a room all your own. Perhaps, this was the ultimate test for any two people, to survive the tedious one-on-one for the first time. To bypass all the pitfalls and emerge for the better and wanting to know each other better wasn’t always easy or simple. You knew, however, you wanted nothing more than to find out if you were compatible in every sense of the word.

“You’d have to find me, first.” You challenged.

“I could find you in a room full of darkness, you gleam that brightly for me.”

Dumbstruck, you felt that newly familiar sensation of time pausing again. It was such a line, you thought, but there was something about the genuine way he said it, the slight shyness, the undercurrent of embarrassment that showed you he felt flabbergasted saying it, too. Maybe it was audacity of the audience, or the fact you had known each other for hardly an hour, barely knew anything about each other, but whatever it was, it wasn’t just a line for him, because you knew the last thing he wanted was to show bad judgment. Statements, lines like that can seem like a game, something a player would say to get his way, or show the emotional hand of someone who rushes into relationships too quickly. The way he said it, the mixed emotions, however, conveyed what the words couldn’t: he was saying this against his better judgement precisely because he couldn’t help himself. Another paradox, you thought.

“Another paradox,” you whispered.

For Deacy, you had said the magic word. He knew you understood him better in these brief minutes than most had his entire life.

Roger cleared his throat, “Mates, you’re supposed to be helping me find Lydia. Keep your baseline in your pants.”

“You’re one to talk, Rog.” Jim came around the bar, determined to help in the search. “Pretty sure you’re up for action any day, action any night.”

Roger glared at Jim.

“Right,” Deacy said. “Let’s do this.” You nodded in agreement, and let go of Deacy’s hand.

“Alright, you all know the rules? We all split up and search for Lydia, and when we find her, hide with her until the last one of us comes a long and is declared the loser. Now, keep in mind Bri and Freddie are already playing. I lost track of them, oh, I don’t know, thirty minutes ago? They could be anywhere.”

“I like a challenge.” You said, clapping your hands together.

“Did Freddie start playing before or after the chandelier?” Jim asked Roger.

“...Well, during.” Roger confessed hesitantly.

Jim closed his eyes in gentle frustration, “Thanks for the hint,” he said, and quickly zipped off among the throng of people, deciphering something in Roger’s words only one’s lover could understand.

You lost track of him rather fast, and amused yourself imagining Jim sneaking off into a secret passage like film noir detective.

Deacy wanted to just whisk you away, use this game as an opportunity to get you alone, but he was also competitive and liked to win. He was torn. Part of this game was deception and distraction and knowing your prey. He was contemplating the best tactic when he noticed you had left his side slyly and without sound or word. Surprised, he smiled at your initiative. He took it as a personal challenge, endearing him to your spirit even more than before.

“Hey, hold this for me, mate?” Rog said, handing Deacy a balloon he had fumbled down from over the bar. “Right,” Deacy said holding the string.

That’s when Roger popped the balloon, and made sweet his own ostentatious getaway.

Deacy stood at the bar, quite alone in a room full of people, still holding the string to the popped balloon, “Right.” He repeated.

You were in the room you had most wanted to enter since you arrived at the party. A glorious white grand piano rested in the center of the room. Vast, rich red curtains hung from the bay windows circling the exterior. A spiral staircase was off in the corner of the room, almost hidden, certainly meant to be ignored. What was it like to live in a place where something as inherently fancy as a spiral staircase was commonplace?

The ceiling looked like a renaissance painting, though you were certain some of the angelic figures were, indeed, of cats and not cherubs. You smiled at the adorable yet bizarre tribute to the fine feline kind. Only Freddie, you thought. Unless this was Jim’s dramatic touch? You thought better of it; only a rock-star would do this to their ceiling. You wondered what it would be like to compose rock songs at this piano, in this space, in this townhouse. Down the rabbit hole, indeed, you echoed Jim’s words from earlier. Especially in this room, they rang true. You couldn’t bring yourself to touch the piano without permission, though you longed to sit and play, perhaps to entertain, maybe to show off.

Instead, you checked behind the curtains for Lydia. She wasn’t there, though. You decided to not go back the way you came, but to use the inexplicably curving, tight staircase that led up towards the cat-painted ceiling, and off along towards an indoor balcony. You weren’t sure exactly yet where it led, but couldn’t resist the urge to find out. You ascended the staircase and followed the balcony along into another room. You found yourself on the second floor over a modest library. If a two-story library could be called modest, that is. Large ferns took advantage of the floor to ceiling windows resting between the shelves. You wondered who the gardener was who took painstakingly good care of them.

You wandered between the nooks and crannies, between large and small plants, in dark crevices, and patterned curtains made of kimonos. There was another staircase leading up (how many floors did this place have?) and a doorway leading to a widow's walk, and beyond that only darkness. Shadowy figures were outside the widow’s walk. Maybe one was Lydia and the others?

Opening the door, you ran into someone leaving.

“Oh, pardon me, will you?” He asked, lightly. He was distracted, maybe on a mission of his own?

You looked up at him, and saw a mop of curly long hair. You recognized, with and in-take of breath, Brian May.

“Oh, wow!” you whispered. “I mean, of course--excuse me, I was just looking for my friend; we’re playing a game.” You explained. You couldn’t believe you were talking to Brian May, about a stupid game, when he was in all actuality quite brilliant.

A look of recognition sprang to life on his ultimately kindly face. The smile made Brain absolutely beautiful. It had to be said, he had better hair than anyone you had ever met, including Lydia. Those luscious brown curls, you wondered, how did he keep them so tame? You must remember to ask for tips. Hair tips from Brian May, you really were losing it.

You took in his red and black Henley and silver blazer. He looked classical, relaxed, you thought. And so very tall. Taller than Deacy. You thought then of Deacy and where he was, if he had won yet, and thought of finding him in a dark corner, and what you would do to him if you did. The possibilities were endless.

“You must be Y/N!” Brian said grinning.

His words shook you from your reverie. This rock-star, who played guitar better than any living person in the world, knew your name.

“I am,” you managed to say. You put your hand out for him to shake. Brian took it happily, and he introduced himself. “I think we’re playing the same game, if I’m not mistaken?”

“We are,” he agreed a little bemusedly.

“We must part ways, then,” you said somewhat sadly; Brian seemed, well there was no other word for it, sweet. Maybe genuine was a better way to put it, you thought? You smiled at him and said, “I hope we have the opportunity to learn more about each other outside the cunning nature of sardines.”

Brain laughed at your remark. He liked a woman with a brain. Being a scientist himself, he valued the simple skills of observation and logic. Also, however, being an artist, he admired beauty. Women were like stars for him, each had their own beauty, their own signature, a little something that made them all different and appealing in a myriad of ways. Gazing at stars, for Brain, was like gazing a women: equal parts dangerous and beguiling. A woman could sear your eyes, tarnish your skin, yet envelope you entirely in light and warmth. This, is the essence of pleasure, Brain thought. And, like every other woman, you were very pleasing.

“I’m sure we will have the chance.” Brain smiled as he left back the way you had come through the library. You, however, continued past the widow’s walk to a doorway at the end of a medieval-looking hallway. You opened the door and walked inside. A guest bedroom in pinks and oranges met your gaze. Light mewing and tired sighs could be heard from the canopied bed. You tiptoed past the bed, not wanting to disturb the cats--seven in all, you counted? A second doorway led to another hallway with six different doors leading all of six different ways.

Dear lord, you thought. Did this place ever end? You wished Brain hadn’t left you alone. You were a stranger in a strange land. Before you could worry too much, one of the doors started opening, and you wished for a place to hide. You had five options, and couldn’t choose one. You found yourself frozen to the spot, a little too curious about who could be coming through the doorway.

Deacy opened the door and saw, much to his surprise and elation, you.

“Y/N?” He said into the darkness.

“Deacy!” You practically sprang into his arms with relief. It felt as if you had already done it a hundred times before. You felt Deacy’s body seize briefly and then instantly relax. He slowly snaked his arms around your waist and up your back. He was very cliche of warmth and you felt duly undeniably safe. He was a shield in the night.

Deacy couldn’t resist any longer. He had been fighting a silent battle all night. The one against his mind and his heart. That old battle, more a foe than a friend; for we are always our own worst enemies, are we not, he thought? And, really, when you got down to it, he was no different than anyone else. Sure, he was famous and wealthy, but some problems you couldn’t charm away, you couldn’t buy off. Some problems all men had to face.

This fight always ended one of two ways: the heart would win or the mind. He could stop himself, maybe, he thought, if he turned tail and retreated now. If he left you here in this dark hallway, he could continue to guard himself, to lock himself away. Seal away vulnerability once and for all, and give up. Or, alternatively, he could let go. He could succumb to every thought, to every wish he had silently expressed since he noticed you entering the party with Lydia.

That’s when Deacy let go.

He moved his hands down your arms to take your hands in his, and he turned to the left, knowingly, and led you into another room you had yet to see.

It was, you thought, a pantry of some kind. Close-quartered, but not too cramped. In here, in the darkness alone, you would have been afraid. But with Deacy it was an adventure, a beginning. Deacy turned around and snapped the door closed by pushing you up against it. He didn’t ask to kiss you, which you liked. You hated it when people asked to kiss you. It was, you thought, their own insecure way of not really knowing if they wanted to kiss you in the first place. If you have to ask to kiss someone, one of you doesn’t want it, and your intuition is giving you a red flag.

Deacy ran his hungry fingers up your waist, past your breasts, up your neck, pulling you into an exigent kiss. His lips pressed against yours with skill and determination. You responded immediately by wrapping your arms around his waist, one reaching up his back into his coiled hair. Softer to the touch than you had expected. Even the texture of his hair excited you; you had it bad. You smiled as the kiss lengthened, parting your lips.

His lips caressed yours, parting in equal measure and excitement. There was a rhythm to his kissing, you thought. Longer ones followed by softer and shorter ones, passion on top of passion, building to breath and repeats of long crescendos. Every peak would push a bit further than before, before de-escalating to a plateau. Each break made you desperately cling to him and him to you. You kept bringing back each kiss, each feel of the hands, each everything was new, nothing done before, each movement a furthering symphony of ecstasy.

Deacy deftly slid his tongue into your mouth, tracing your tongue. He pulls back, ever so briefly, lightly nibbling your bottom lip, and you moan in response. There is music in it notes know not.

That’s when Deacy decides he could happily make you moan forever and be perfectly, permanently in a state of joy. “Moan again, for me?” He asks, punctuating each word with a kiss or a touch, “I’ll make it worth your while…” He’s curious what other sounds you could make together; he wants to find every sound you make and catalog them into a score, a song that can mean only you, that only you can make together.

You manage a sigh, looking into his grey eyes, you pull him into your kiss. Your hands pull him by the waistband of his jeans, fingers digging into the coarse fabric; it is a dirty gesture done every so innocently. You slink your tongue into his mouth this time, moaning all the while. As you lose track of time, you lose track of which hands are yours and which are his, as if you already belonged to each other. He lassos his arms around you, into your hair, holding your face. Your tongues circle each other in a delighted syncopation. You follow and flow with each other’s lips. You feel him getting harder with each kiss, and wonder how on earth he’s containing himself in those tight jeans of his.

He pulls away, moaning. Bodies still up against each other, he knows he wants more. But he also always wants to wait, to savor these moments and delay sex as long as possible; that was, after all, part of the fun for him. But, before he stopped altogether, he had one more parting shot, one final move to impress upon you how much he desired you.

Deacy, placing a hand on your face, and another cradling one of your breasts, leaned down, and licked up from your decolletage, up your neck, all the way to the tip of your chin. He felt you shiver in his grasp.

Gasping, you felt every pore, every slice of skin his tongue touched ablaze with a keen desire. You wanted him, all of him, right there. Instantly, you knew without a doubt you needed him past this moment, past this night, past every night, maybe. It was a ridiculous notion, you had just met, but this ultimate need, this yearning was the most powerful feeling you had ever come across. And you never wanted it to end.

“I am not sure,” you said, “how you expect me to go back out there as wet as I am for you right now.”

The flashing in his eyes was a need you had never seen on another person.

He wasn’t sure if what you said was sexier than what you had done thus far, or even what he figured you would and could do for each other. He almost let go again, almost giving in to your skilled seduction.

“Y/N, if we relent now, if we give into each other now, we will regret it.”

“I could never regret that.”

He smiled lightly, “it will be all the better for waiting,” he kissed you again, flicking his wrist to your hips, and traveling down your inner thighs.

“This,” you moan, as he dexterously searched, pressing his fingers to your clitoris, “doesn’t feel like waiting to me…”

“But it is; I promise,” he said, returning your moan, as you trailed a hand across his mostly perfectly erect penis. There it was again, an intimacy that knows clothes. You’ve never been so entirely turned on while having all your clothes on. Was this the beginnings of true intimacy? Of great compatibility? You weren’t sure yet, and for the first time during all this reasoned he was right: you should bide your time.

You gently removed your hands from him, pulling him towards you still with your kiss. He followed suit, and took his hands off your body. Attached at the lips, this was still the hottest moment of your sexually experienced life. Almost as if rehearsed, you ended your kiss at the same exact time.

You saw him in a different light now. A layer of uncertainty melted away; there were different ways to know people, you figured. After this event, you saw him with more transparency, more confidence. He was a song you were learning, and couldn’t stop humming. You wanted to pour over his score until you had it committed to memory. You wanted to know him note-perfect.

You stared at each other silently. You weren’t sure how long, all notions of sardines forgotten in this cupboard.

That was until someone else joined you with a bang, and a push, new hands on your shoulders, and a closing of a door.

“Deacy, darling, is that you?” The man said; his voice was crisp and undeniably alive. You looked to your left, and saw more than felt that he still had a comforting hand on your shoulder. He was wearing a cape, a crown, white hot-pants, and not much else. You’d recognize that mustache anywhere.

“Fuck me,” you said softly to Freddie Mercury.

Freddie looked you up and down, taking in your green dress, bright eyes, and chic hair. He liked your over-large glasses. There was something sly in your eyes he savored. Freddie flicked his eyes onto Deacy, who made a halfhearted attempt to hide his erection; no fool, Freddie knew what had been going on in here even without that particular hint. He raised a thick eyebrow at Deacy. That eyebrow said everything in one fluid movement.

Deacy knew Freddie would 1) never let him live this down, 2) demand later to know everything that had happened in here while simultaneously regaling him of other sexual encounters that had occurred in this pantry, 3) pry every detail about Y/N out of him, and 4) cheer you on relentlessly. Eyebrows could communicate a lot. At least, Deacy thought, if it had to be anyone who discovered this situation, it was Freddie.

Their connection was deeper than his to the others; Freddie, like him, was shy in his private life. He was deeply secretive, and cherished the times when he could be “normal” as much as the times he was on stage performing for thousands of people. They understood each other instinctively, which made them not only good friends but good collaborators. They were able to write songs together with ease and enjoyment. On stage, Freddie was the only one who made him feel free to dance and embrace the music without an ounce of shame. At times, he even looked forward to the times Freddie would wander over and grind up against him, dancing in their own unique ways to the music they created together. That, Deacy thought, was complete freedom. Freddie, on stage, a magician, the great pretender, brought out the best in everyone, including the band. Freddie was, if nothing else, also surprisingly discreet. Deacy knew he wouldn’t even have to ask for Freddie’s discretion; he’d just have it, like he’d always have Freddie’s friendship.

“Well, to be honest, Deacy dear,” Freddie simpered, “I expected to find Roger and his belle de jour in here, not you and this delicious beauty.”

“Rog is quite fond of cupboards,” Deacy grinned mischievously.

“A queen if i ever saw one,” Freddie sighed.

“Are you referring to Roger or Y/N here?” Deacy questioned straightening his button-down.

“Myself, of course!” Freddie chuckled extending his hand to you. “Y/N L/N,” you said smiling from ear to ear, shaking his hand.

“Freddie Mercury, an absolute pleasure to finally meet you, darling. I’ve heard so much about you, if it isn’t gauche to say so?”

What was tonight, you thought? How many rock-stars knew your name? How many were vying for your attention? And, well, that’s not not mention everything that had transpired in this cupboard with one John Deacon.

“Not at all! As long as what you’ve heard has been favorable--if not, i may have to do something unspeakably devious about it.”

“My husband has a very high opinion of you, actually.”

“Oh! Jim! I just am so taken with him. We’re getting lunch tomorrow.” You excitedly exclaim.

“Indeed! I find myself jealous. How about you, Deacy. Jealous of my dear husband and your...friend?”

“Jealous,” Deacy said with a wry smile, “Doesn’t even begin to touch my feelings, Fred.”

“Freddie?” you asked, remembering the game, one of many, you thought.

“Hmm?”

“Have you seen the others?”

“Oh! Well, to be honest, I was hiding from Jim because of the chandelier incident. Though, that man is the canniest; I’d suspect he and Brain would have found Lydia by now. Technically, I think we aren’t allowed to search for her together…” He sounded like a parent now, catching two children breaking an obvious rule.

You were loath to split away from Deacy again. This, Deacy could read on your face. He took your hand, placing something in it, and said, “Y/N, we will find each other again tonight, I promise.”

He left the pantry, determined to win more than just your heart.

You opened the palm of your hand to find a long string in it.

“What’s that?” Freddie asked.

“A distraction,” you said, looking at the closed door, with an impressed smirk.

Tag list: @phantom-fangirl-stuff @triggeredpossum

#john deacon x reader #john deacon #roger taylor #brian may #freddie mercury #queen x reader #roger taylor x reader #bohemian rhapsody #rami malek #joe mazzello #ben hardy #gwilym lee #Queen

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hunterartemis · 6 years ago

Text

The Assistant: Chapter 6 : An Evening In Paris

Word count: 4151 (shorter than before), 4235 after edit

Chapter Summary: A day trip in the most romantic city in the world, and Boss and Assistant open their hearts to each other.

Chapter theme: Arrival of the Birds by the Cinematic Orchestra : https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MqoANESQ4cQ

Despite her despair, Maxine kept an ear on the door, and when the slam on the master bedroom followed with Newt’s uneven footsteps, she undid the lock, siphoned her tears and hid the letter. Little did she know what was Newt up to. He took the letter he wrote to Dumbledore from under his pillow, and put it in his pocket, and then he came towards Maxine’s door.

“Max...” before he could knock, Maxine opened the door, and Newt stood there with his blue mackintosh on. “We are ready to depart... Rosie is doing really well and James says we can clear off now... if you don’t—want to stay a bit longer--” he hesitated and shifted his eyes from her to the floor.

“Actually no...” Maxine clarified, “I have had enough, and we can clear off real quick... ” She commented casually and patted on her suitcase, “see I’m already packed...” Newt was really surprised to see this.

“That’s it... no resistance, no persuasion, nothing?” he commented suspiciously.

“No... The splattering tumour really got me...” Maxine said and laughed out loud, “besides, don’t you have a ministry Christmas party to attend to?”

Newt stayed quiet for a few moments, and then mumbled “I’m not going...”

Maxine looked at him with an offended expression, “not going?... why?” she understood that something must be going on, and toned her judgmental face a bit.

“I am not good at public gathering and those kinds of things... people make me anxious.” Newt said without making and eye contact. Maxine pursed her lip as to suppress her smile, and then after keeping her mouth opened for a little bit, she smirked at Newt. She titled her head to make an eye contact with him, which he maintained for a second and then broke off; amused she commented “I don’t think that it does... I mean, you were great with the chaps out there...” she pointed towards the window, obviously towards the Dragon Handlers.

“They’re different...” Newt lowered his eyes, “they are not like other people... they are—they are special...”

“Do I make you anxious?” Maxine asked as her bottom lip wobbled with a suppressed laugh.

“No... No, of course not. You are one of the most brilliant witches of your age; you are great what you do. You are confident, hilarious and intelligent--” Maxine was nodding with an amused expression, really enjoying Newt scampering words to express himself. “—you are a great speaker, you don’t let other people dictate you, you follow your heart and I lo—like that about you.” He paused for a second, and then as if slapping himself mentally he admitted, “and you’re the best assistant I’ve ever got.”

“That doesn’t really signify that I don’t make you anxious...” Maxine said and folding her arms, and then suddenly she broke into a laughter, and it was so infectious that it affected Newt from within.

...

“Newt...” Maxine called while they were walking on the main road of the Carta Village, and Newt looked at her face to respond, “May I suggest something?”

“Sure, why not...” Newt answered with a good humour.

“If you got the time... if you are not too eager to just go to London just yet, can we catch the Portkey in the evening?” Maxine asked eagerly, while taking the turn to the back of that restaurant where they took the portkey. Newt didn’t answer and whirled along with Maxine in the same place; Rue de Rivoli, and looked at her with a curious expression.

“Do I get to know why?” Newt asked her and then hastily shielded her from the rushing Cugnot, by casting his hand in front of her and shuffling her at his back, “be careful... ” he mumbled.

“Nothing big... actually it’s really silly.” Maxine spoke while walking, “you risked your life and reputation and put up with my stubbornness when I insisted on going to Romania. No boss in this whole world will ever do that for an assistant, so I want to thank you.” Maxine said with a good humour, “by showing you my city.”

“I’ve been in Paris before—not my fondest of memories...”

“Oh c’mon Newt... ” Maxine came in front of him and grabbed his hands, “no tasks, no trails, no tracking this time... just simple day tour” she lowered her head to meet his eyes, “I promise, it will be a lot of fun... ” she veered again to be right under Newt’s gaze, “we could go to a lot of places, the Musee, the menagerie... I will show you all the cafes, and eat really delicious food... It’s almost Noel, and you can’t even imagine how both muggles and wizards celebrate here...” she straightened up and let go of Newt’s hand. Newt stood still for a few moments then finally giving in.

“Alright...” he threw his left hand up in the air, and Maxine smiled her usual smile.

“I promise you won’t regret it...” then they disapparated with a crack.

Maxine and Newt strolled around Paris, from Louvre to Notre Dame, Eiffel tour to Musée d'Orsay etc. Newt was observing the muggle Paris with a wonder and fascination. He particularly liked watching sculptures in Louvre, and he almost lost himself in the magnificence of Renaissance art. It was fascinating to him that a man without any magic carved such beautiful piece of art out of marble. Maxine stopped on her tracks to let Newt space out on the art around him.

She watched with fascination how he forgot about his surroundings and drowned himself in the beauty of art, each time he came across an exceptionally beautiful painting or sculpture. She couldn’t get him to move past the entrance when they came to Notre Dame. He raised his face in his usual slant manner, and looked past his curtain of unkempt bangs. His blue-green eyes looked like his soul has left his body to assimilate itself in the beauty of the hallowed place. He fell on his face when a rude tourist pushed him to go forwards. Maxine obviously cursed at the tourist and helped Newt up from the floor, and for a fraction of second it seemed like Newt took a moment to come back to reality.

“Newt... are you alright, that man was a real son of a--” she swallowed her profanity, and looked at Newt, who was anything but attentive to her. He looked almost sad. Maxine at once understood his pain. He was enjoying the beauty on his own, in private, in secret, and the harsh reality broke him from his dream.

“C’mon... there are plenty of things to see in here... ” she stood Newt up with a comforting hand at his back, and spoke nothing. The entire time Newt was in a different space: vacant, sublimated and completely out of his body. His blue green eyes glistened with moisture and with the light inside the cathedral; Maxine spotted a thin rivulet trickling down his left eye. She remembered a single line from a sacred hymn she heard in Vienna long time ago, particularly one line:

Domine, labia mea aperie: et os meum annuntiabit laudem tuam*

It was a common way of the world that a man should never indulge into his emotions; Maxine thought herself it too, but then again, emotions shall be worn like clothes—the ones that suit one well: only a most beautiful soul can embody the emotions so beautifully. She saw his face, lit up from within like no misery could even touch him, like the statues or paintings of the archangels and she forgot that she had to watch the Notre Dame.

After they got out, Newt was in his own space. Maxine waited for him to talk to her, as they walked through the road of Montreal. After 10 minutes Newt spoke on his own.

“I’m hungry...” he looked at Maxine, and Maxine smiled at him; not her usual crooked smile, but a warm one.

“I know just the right place...” Maxine cornered both of them and with a crack, they apparated into another place.

“Where are we? This looks different” Newt was now speaking normally.

“Boulevard Saint Germain...”* Maxine answered and smized at Newt while crossing the street, “it should be around the L’ancienne Comedie”* they walked hurriedly dodging the bustling crowd on the road, holding hands, “and it should be around here...” they stopped in front of a low canopied cafe.

The sign read Le Procope*. It looked like a cosy cafe, perfect for an easy luncheon. Newt was afraid that Maxine would drag him someplace expensive and really intimidating, but this cafe looked relaxing enough. Maxine smiled at him, as if she could read his mind.

“At first I was thinking of Grand Vefour,* where I always go with my family when I am in Paris. But then I don’t want to ruin your day with hankering waiters passing you wine lists and dessert menus.” Maxine smiled and a hostess led them to a table. Fortunately one was empty near the window.

“This is far the oldest cafe in Paris, almost as old as Beauxbatons.” She laughed at her little joke, and sat opposite of Newt, and briefly glanced outside the window to the bustling road, “food is a lot cheap here, but the quality is really good.”

“Do you have muggle money?” Newt asked nervously, and she smiled easily, “of course, have almost two hundred Francs on me. Quite a cabbage, but we’ll be over way before it... excusez moi” Maxine called out and a waitress with neat hair and vibrant red lips like Maxine came towards them with a smile.

“Bonjour Madame and Monsieur, welcome to Le Procope” she handed them two menus “what can I do for you?” she spoke in fluent Parisian French.

“Well... I will have Onion soup with baguettes, boeuf bourguignon served on aligot with chunks of soft-roasted garlic in it and crepe suzette”* Maxine ordered confidently and almost forgot that she had Newt with him too, who was still struggling with his menu. She gripped the upper corner on Newt’s menu and tapped it four times; suddenly Newt became way more confident with his choice.

“Tourin without croutons, Cassoulet, and crème brulee.”* He said softly but confidently, following Maxine’s pattern of starter, mains and desserts.

“Will you fancy a drink?” the waitress noted the orders and asked in French.

“An espresso and--” Maxine looked at Newt, who answered “water for me...”, Maxine replied “l’eau pour le monsieur.”*

“Good... your order will be done shortly” the waitress left them.

Within five or so minutes, the starters arrived, an onion soup, generously topped with broiled gruyere and crisp baguette and a plain but fragrant tourin. They spared no moment to dive in. the sun way softening from crisp white to egg-yolk yellow and the colder air only added to the comfort of the soups. Newt smiled between his seventh spoon, and Maxine, being Maxine spared no moment to interrogate him.

“What’s so funny, Newt?” she asked while pulling the spoon up, freeing the cheesy string from the soup.

“I never noticed, this is the first time you ever mentioned your family as Maxine Valois.” Newt answered, “Makes me curious about you...”

“I am flattered by your curiosity... and to be honest, my family isn’t half as extraordinary as yours.”Maxine scooped some of her soup.

“Really... what do you mean?” Newt asked her

“Oh you know... you and your children: Finn, Tom, George, Milo, Molly, Pickett--”* she smugly smiled and Newt laughed with her, “no, but seriously... I am curious about you.”

Maxine stopped for a second, then she looked at him again, “Newt, there’s something I must--”

“Your mains Monsieur and Madame... boeuf bourguignon served on aligot with soft-roasted garlic and Cassolet” the good humoured waitress put the dishes and collected their half finished soups.

“C’est ne pas Madame,” Maxine looked at the waitress harshly, “c’est mademoiselle...” the waitress stepped back with a flabbergasted face and perhaps with tears in her eyes.

“That’s a little harsh of you Max, shouldn’t have said...” Newt frowned again, while scooping a piece of duck, “what did you said?”

“She kept referring me ‘Madame’... instead of ‘mademoiselle’... I don’t like it” Maxine tore her face from Newt. Even though he knew very little French, he understood the difference between the two honorifics, and somehow it made him queasy.

“Maxine I am sorry--”*

“It makes me sound like my mother...” her face was less brilliant this time.

Newt put his fork down and reached for her hand that was resting on the table, gloved with magenta sheepskin. His knurled fingers gritted against the smooth leather, and Maxine looked up at Newt’s eyes; slightly looking at the right, avoiding the eye contact, but full of compassion and tenderness.

“I am your friend Maxine; you can tell me anything you want...” Newt said gently, and Maxine felt a stalwart firmness in his voice.

“You met her...” Maxine said softly, and Newt looked at her curiously, and then as if he understood he veered his eyes at the other side “so Audrey Page was your mother?”

“Yes... her maiden name was Audrey Page...” Maxine stopped in her tracks for a second, perhaps debating whether to unload to a stranger like Newt. No matter how hard she tried to get closer to Newt, something was holding her back, preventing her from getting closer to him.

“I never saw her in person...”

Newt waited for her to reply, his hand firmly on hers, never seizing to stroke gently.

“I was born in Marseilles, in my family estate, as I was told by my elf Lampito.” Maxine huffed, “she was an Englishwoman, a muggleborn witch from Edinburgh. She told me that she stayed till I was a year old, and then one day she disappeared. She cannot tell me anything else than that—when she speaks about my mother, she looks terrified.” Maxine gulped, as if swallowing her own tears. “But one day, a letter arrived when I was in school... ”

Newt looked at her most earnestly, trying his best to feel her pain.

“It was always addressed to me as “Ma chère” and only came when I was in school, perhaps in fear that if I was in my home, it would be intercepted. It was normal... always normal... “How are you”, “did you eat well”, “are you studying well”, “there is not a day when I don’t think about you”, at first they were written in French, the worst possible French you can imagine...” Maxine smiled with sadness, “and then, it was written in English... when I--” she stopped and veered her words “when I was old enough to understand... Newt, when she started to write in... English--” her eyes lost their usual focus, and became hazy and moist, “I felt like, I could see her soul... as if I could hear her speaking to me... and one day, she enclosed her image, she with me... ” she stopped her speech, her voice decrescendoing. She took a breath and started again, “last year another letter arrived; she wanted to meet me... here at Le Procope--”

“Did she come?” Newt’s voice was hoarse with his silence and withheld tears.

“She never did...instead I found something else--” Maxine looked at Newt’s way, “and it had her letter... it was attached with your book: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them” Maxine wiped her tears and looked at Newt with liveliness, “she wrote... ‘—do not wait for me darling, I called you to give you this book...’ I didn’t understand her... I was angry, because if I wanted to read it, I could buy it anywhere, but why she would give me this?” she frowned, “so I started to read it, on the spot... got scolded by the manager, but I would have him handled. I read all day and it was nearly closing time when I got to the very last page”

“What did she say?” Newt whispered, while keeping his eyes lowered.

“Nothing....” Maxine smiled vacantly, “nothing was there... she wrote nothing, and that was the moment I decided to leave my job... to work for you.” Newt slowly removed his hand from hers. They didn’t eat the whole time, and their meal was cold.

“And Newt... I haven’t found a greater peace with myself” she smiled gratefully at him. “Excuse me... could you heat up our meal?”

...

“And there’s one place I want to take you...” Maxine paid the bill and came at the crossing of Saint Germain, and hid behind a shop, “and I swear this would be our last destination in Paris...” she smiled and apparated with Newt at the middle of a bustling street.

“I know this place...” Newt’s face lit up after seeing something he knew, and he turned to Maxine, “isn’t this Champs-Elysees?”

Maxine smiled at his way, “I am afraid no, this is Rue du Faubourg Saint-Honoré, this is the fastest route to our destination. C’mon this way...” Maxine grabbed his hand and almost ran towards the pavement where countless of fancy shops aligned, proudly and smugly as if enjoying the prying eyes of the pedestrians for their luxurious glory.

“Max... what are you doing...” Newt enquired, half-amused and half-worried, as Maxine almost dragged him to one of the shops.

“It is pointless to travel in Paris if you don’t shop here... it won’t take long, I promise” Maxine reached for a door labelled no 22, which was a squarish, gray shop with sleek black and silver window panes, titled Lanvin*. The door chimed open as both of them entered into the shop.

“This is a bad idea... I don’t want this Maxine, please let’s go out...” Newt said with an alarming voice, looking around and seeing expensive clothes and bags and shoes as the lightly perfumed interior registering into his mind despite his discomfort. But Maxine was a stubborn woman. She bowed as one of the shop assistant with crisp, clean uniform and cloche hat greeted them. Maxine just spared one mischievous glance at Newt and then instructed the shop assistant to bring suits for her boss.

“I am looking suits for my boss. His colours are Aegean blue, brown and mustard. His style is comfortable, practical and low profile.” Maxine answered crisply, while another woman was kind enough to make Newt sit down and handed him a glass of champagne. Newt, as nervous as he was, downed it within a second, contemplating whether to run away or scold Maxine, but as her boss, both would be inappropriate. He did not believe in insulting or reprimanding his employees.

“Oui mademoiselle...monsieur puis-je vous mesurer?”* the shop assistant approached Newt with a measuring tape, and Newt stood up from his stool as if he was being electrocuted.

“No thank you, to whatever you are saying... Maxine, please can I get out of here?” Newt yanked Maxine’s arm and pulled her at the side, “why you are doing this...?”

“Please, Newt... please let me.” Maxine implored softly, “I want to do this for you. I know it is intimidating and certainly very demeaning that a woman is buying a suit for you--”

“You know I regard for those concepts as little as I regard Grindlewald...” Newt impatiently interrupted.

“—but listen to me—listen!” Maxine grabbed his shoulders, “have you seen your tweed suit? It is frayed and battered... I saw you struggling a lot in Romania with them... I believe there are several frayed patched under the arm—NO!” Maxine stopped, “it’s no excuse that you should be poorly dressed when I, as your assistant is always dressed in silk and leather. It is most unkind of me to point it out” Maxine answered sternly, but then the heat in her voice melted “think of it as a Christmas Present... please?”

Newt paused for a few moments, hesitating and squirming, but finally giving in, observing Maxine’s sincerity, and it was well worth it. She smiled at him most brilliantly.

After trying a bunch of tweed, cotton, silk and wool suits, they found a nice desaturated bluish algae coloured suit, quite similar to his previous one, but way more polished. It was accompanied with a plaid mustard waistcoat and a thin bow tie. To top it off, a rich brown double breasted mackintosh was added.

Newt looked himself in the store mirror, and Maxine slowly walked towards him and stood at his back. “See... you are a great man. Now you look like one...” Maxine smiled at him, crookedly, as if she was devising some wicked plot, “I can’t decide who is most polished, you or Theseus.”

Newt looked at her briefly, with an inquisitive eye, as if to ask “what do you mean?”

“Oh, let it go... you know you have to attend the Yule Party, or else Theseus will lecture you to the end of the world.” Maxine walked towards the counter to pay the bill, “I have worked with him for four years, and when he is upset or disappointed with you, where he comes to rant? Me... When he has a problem... he comes to vent on me... ‘Maxine, can’t believe Newt did this’, ‘Maxine, I can’t believe he didn’t come to dinner ’... sometimes I believe I was his personal therapist.”

Newt stopped for a second as he walked out of the change room, giving his clothes to be packed. He looked at Maxine till she noticed him looking at her way, “what is it Newt?”

“Do you love Theseus, Maxine?”

She looked at Newt for a second and then broke into a contemptuous laughter, “why did that occur to you that I might love him?” she asked with her arms folded.

“Please answer me, do you love Theseus?” Newt asked a little more firmly, a little firmer than usual, Maxine was taken aback at Newt’s demeanour, and answered with her eyes cast down “I never gave it a thought... now can we go?”

“I have done everything you asked me, and I demand to know it... do you love my brother?” Newt asked Maxine while stopping her by holding her right hand. Newt didn’t know what she was thinking, but something was stirring in his mind that he might have asked something she cannot evade, “tell me do you--”

“No...” Maxine answered in a small manner and then turned towards Newt, forcing a smile, “no... I don’t” she said and then looked at the south towards the Place du Concord, walking alongside Newt through the Rue Royale, with the Lanvin package in her hand, “I don’t believe in those sorts of things.”

“You don’t believe in love?” Newt asked while looking at her face, he always felt compelled to look at her face whenever she spoke, because he found her voice incredibly deceptive.

“In romantic love, no.” Maxine answered strategically as they came at the crossing of Rue Royale and Champs Elysees, “what is it supposed to be? Two people suddenly realise that they love each other and the whole world suddenly seems insignificant to explore? People less important... self care less important?” she smiled shrewdly, assuming that Newt wouldn’t know how to answer it.

“No...” Newt answered softly, walking alongside Maxine, straight towards the west, “no... Love isn’t supposed to be like that. It is a sense of security you feel when you look into another’s eyes, it is the power that motivates to push your boundaries to better yourself, it is the power that makes you selfless, as if you are them...”

“Comme si tu es eux”* Maxine mused on her own, and several moments past as they marched towards the west, coming closer and closer to their destination. After leaving behind the long park at their right and countless Parisian socialites and tycoons on the avenue, strolling and driving around perhaps in the most glamorous road in the world, they were now very close to their destination.

“Do you have someone with whom you feel that way?‘ Maxine asked Newt and looked at him. His face was looking at the sky, drinking the liquid rays of the sunset. first he didn’t answer for some moment and then he looked at Maxine briefly and then at the setting sun, “yes...“ he answered softly, but confidently, “I do...“

After that, both of them didn’t speak for some moments. The bright gray winter sky was shivering in the last weak light of the sun and its face gratefully reflected all the colours of pink, red, purple, copper and gold as if it was saying thank you to the sun for keeping it warm.

Finally they found themselves standing at the bottom of the Arc du Triomph, a magnificent circus of eleven roads, beckoning them to pursue each and every single one of them. They both lifted their face and the sky, and Maxine with her absentee husky voice mused “— Bienheureux celui-là qui peut avec amour, Saluer son coucher plus glorieux qu'un rêve!”* and then looked at Newt who was staring at her way, trying to understand the foreign words, “it means, ‘Fortunate the one who can lovingly salute, His setting, more glorious than a dream’ “ Maxine turned towards the setting sun, and then to Newt, “you remember the second week on my job... when you say, good things are fragile? Well you were wrong...” she looked at the sun, “good things are abnormally common, they are so close before your eyes that you don’t realise they were there, you only realise when they are gone.”

“And yet you believe that you don’t believe in love?” Newt looked at her way, smiling. His blue-green eyes sparkling hazel in the sunset, like molten gold under a thin film of black stained glass, concealed from the world.

“You believe I am a Romantique?” Maxine asked Newt with humour, as she gripped her fur scarf closer with the chill north wind.

“No...” Newt calmly said, “it is still too early to decide.”

Tags: @my-current-fandom-is

I had a lot of fun writing this. I love travelling but I have never been in many places, and I still daydream about travelling the world. Regardless to say that I have never been in Paris. I wrote this literally with google images and google map opened in tabs.

I hope you caught some hints, however I cannot press any more details. I don’t like conventional love stories, the ending seems forced. Although I am no pro, but I try to keep it realistic. I don’t know how far I am successful.

Domine, labia mea aperie: et os meum annuntiabit laudem tuam: a line from Allegri’s “Miserere Mei Deus“. It means “God, open my lips and my mouth will speak out your praise”. I believe that Latin and Greek are part of normal wizarding curriculum as most of the spells are written in them. Most of the French (religious ones) I believe have some Catholic upbriging, and even though Magic and Christianity don’t go together, some hymns here and there is inescapable.

you can listen to the track here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=H3v9unphfi0

Boulevard Saint Germain: a street in Paris. (13 minutes and 1.9 km south from Notre Dame, but they apparated)

Rue L’Ancienne Comedie: a road that is connected with the St Germain, where the restaurant Le Procope stands.

Grand Vefour: It is a five star restaurant in Paris at Le Beaujolais, approximately 2.7 km at the North from St Germain, famous for serving Royalty

Le Procope: oldest cafe in Paris, established at 1665 (if I am not wrong), famous for affordable food. I realised that if wizards knew about muggles, they would know very old and traditional establishments of theirs.

“ Finn, Tom, George, Milo, Molly, Picket “: she was referring to Newt’s creatures.

Onion Soup: it is most famous French soup made of caramelised onion, beef broth, and broiled with baguette and soft Alpine cheese (Gruyere, Camembert, etc)

Tourin: a rich garlic soup, often served with croutons

Boeuf Bourguignon: a rich beef stew cooked in red wine, which originated in Burgandy region (hence the name ‘bourguignon’)

Aligot: a cheesy mashed potato, served as a side or a main, made with Tomme d’Auvergne cheese and famous in south of France. Usually it is not served as Maxine wanted, but she has an extravagant taste.

Cassoulet: Cassoulet is a rich, slow-cooked casserole containing duck, Toulouse sausage (spicy pork sausage, like a French version of Chorizo) and white beans.

Crepe Suzette: Crêpes Suzette is a French dessert consisting of a crêpe with beurre Suzette, a sauce of caramelized sugar and butter, tangerine or orange juice, zest, and Grand Marnier (a very posh cognac)

Creme Brulee: also known as burnt cream or Trinity cream, is a dessert consisting of a rich custard base topped with a texturally contrasting layer of hardened caramelized sugar.

l’eau pour le monsieur: Water for the gentleman.

“Maxine I am so sorry--“: Newt is perhaps afraid that Maxine was offended that the waitress assumed them husband and wife.

Lanvin: Lanvin is the oldest designer shop opened at Champs-Elysees. It is also the first brand to produce Menswear as Haute-Couture. Although it is in 22 Rue du Faubourg Saint-Honoré, which is 2.6 km north-east from Arc de Triomph.

monsieur puis-je vous mesurer : “Sir, may I measure you“

Comme si tu es eux : “Like you are them”, Maxine is echoing Newt’s words, with a bit of sarcasm.

— Bienheureux celui-là qui peut avec amour, Saluer son coucher plus glorieux qu'un rêve! : I have already mentioned the meaning, so I am not going to do that again. The line is from Charles Baudelair’s Le Coucher du Soleil Romantique (the sunset of romanticism)

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gaycrouton · 7 years ago

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The Spy Who Loves Her Boss

Hey! I absolutely loved “The Spy Who Dumped Me”, and being it was my two favorite actresses I HAD to write something. I think we all related to Morgan hardcore, and I just wanted to explore how she might feel coming in that Monday. Obviously it must’ve gone well since her an Audrey were shown working for them a year later, lol. Hope you enjoy!

Morgan wasn’t shy. Since she was a little girl, running around and entertaining people was the one thing that made her truly, unquestionably happy. She loved seeing smiles on people’s faces and she loved hearing an audience’s appreciation. It made her feel fulfilled. Sometimes her outgoing nature helped her land acting gigs, sometimes it embarrassed Audrey, and sometimes it made her hit on powerful women that intimidated the living shit out of her.

God, that woman.

Sure, she was a stereotypical young, gay woman who idolized attractive, older women. It was a stereotype for a reason after all, and that MI6 just proves it. She’s a living breathing renaissance painting. She carries herself with absolute power and femininity, as strong as she is beautiful. She’s what every woman dreams of being. Though, she didn’t know if she wanted to be her or be in her. Morgan couldn’t get her out of her mind, yet she didn’t even know her name.

So far, she’d only had two interactions with her and she’d call them both moderately successful. She wasn’t necessarily dismissed, so she’d call that a plus. Okay, she may have laid it on a teeny bit thick when they first met at the Intelligence Headquarters, but, again, who doesn’t love compliments? And there were just so many things to compliment, it took awhile for her to cover them all. Morgan was a trained actor, so she was pretty astute at picking up facial subtleties; Government Bey couldn’t keep that ghost of a smile hidden well enough when she was getting complimented.

Also, as she had reminded Audrey plenty of times since, a stone cold fox like that would not have willingly touched a person unless she wanted to. If she wasn’t at least amused at the bare minimum, there would have been no reason for MI6 to fully wrap her arm around her. Audrey insisted she had just been teasing her, but that didn’t dissuade Morgan.

She also trusted her enough to give her the honor of telling Sebastian he could come back to work. Of course, he still called her immediately after anyay, but still, the sentiment still stays.

She knew it was bold, going through with her insistence to show up on Monday. This was the British Military Intelligence after all, not a resistant acting gig, but god she wanted this. Not just working alongside a woman like her, but to live this type of high-pace life of excitement. Doing something for the greater good that made her feel alive. She was hung up on after asking what she liked in her coffee, but she’d gotten worse rejections in her life.

She spent the entire weekend nervously thinking about what would happen on Monday, and now the day was here. Sebastian, probably with the encouragement of Audrey, had agreed to let her accompany him to the office. She ran to the local Starbucks before he picked her up, spending ten minutes analyzing the menu, hypothesizing what the enchanting MI6 lady might possibly want. After agonizing deliberation, she settled on the safest option and got a plain iced coffee, which was now leaving little watermarks on her jeans from the condensation on the plastic.

“Do you think she’ll kick me out?” Morgan asked, breaking the silence. She honestly knew she would be, but she wanted to know what to expect. She was trying to formulate different possible responses to the situation, so she could hide her nervousness behind a mask of jovial understanding.

“I’m positive she’ll kick you out,” he laughed gently, not making fun of her but enjoying her insistence.

Morgan nodded in understanding before remembering something important, “Hey, what’s her name?”

Sebastian was silent for a disconcerting amount of time and she figured he wasn’t allowed to tell her, but his actual reasoning was even more ridiculous. “Umm, I’m not actually sure.”

Morgan’s jaw dropped open and she slapped the side of his arm, ignoring the way he winced and grabbed the still-recovering appendage. “Shut up! Is she like one of those bad ass boss characters in the movies? She just hides namelessly in the shadows until she needs to deal out orders and assign high-intensity missions?” This woman could not get any more badass.

“Ahh, no. I just-” he drew out his words in slight embarrassment, “-uh, can’t remember.”

Morgan turned fully in her seat to glare at him, “That woman granted you full access to know her name and you forgot!” she exclaimed, her voice raising with each word.

He let out a little chagrined laugh and tried to cover up his foolishness, “Well, we just call her ‘boss’.”

Sebastian was cool in her books, don’t get her wrong, but right now he was being such a stupid man. He clearly could recognize beauty, he fell for Audrey after all, but to ignore the enigma he worked so closely to was a brainless misstep for someone who worked in the Intelligence Department. “Sebastian, Sebastian, Sebastian. My handsome, but yet oh so misguided friend, I am disappointed in you.”

“Don’t forget I’m the only one getting you access to her,” he warned jokingly.

“Disappointment absolved,” she beamed immediately.

They spent the rest of the drive chit chatting and arguing about music trivia before arriving to the secret headquarters. She’d been so focused on what she’d say to her government crush that she hadn’t considered there might be an issue getting in. Apparently Sebastian had, and for that she was forever grateful. Through each security check point, he explained she was one of the American Girls that helped solve the issue with Duffer. Apparently, everyone there hated ‘Harvard Boy’ and not only let her in, but thanked her, much to her delight.

As they were walking down the hall to what she presumed was the boss lady’s office, Sebastian leaned down to her and whispered while walking, “Just so we’re on the same page. I don’t want to be put back on forced leave, so as far as I’m aware, she told you during your phone call that you needed to show up with me and I’m simply trusting you.”

“She did tell me to show up with you today,” she admonished, already acting the part.

“No she didn-oh, I see. You’re good at that,” he grinned.

“They didn’t hire me in that Blockbuster ad for nothing.”

“It’s too bad Progresso won’t be graced with your talent,” a husky feminine voice quipped from right behind them.

Both she and Sebastian stopped in their tracks and turned around simultaneously, seeing the statuesque blonde standing just a foot behind them. She even had heels on and they hadn’t heard her. It was equal parts terrifying and arousing. It took Morgan a second to register, but a smile broke out on her face when she realized the G-woman remembered her prior engagement. “I’m touched you remembered!” she exclaimed in excitement.

“Yes. I spent all weekend thinking about it,” she deadpanned.

“Really?”

“No.” She sighed as Morgan’s enthusiasm wasn’t dampened and turned to Sebastian. “So I take it you’re responsible for her being here?”

“She told me-” Sebastian started, but was cut off by Morgan. If this was going to be the last opportunity she had to have a conversation with this woman, she was going to monopolize on it.

“Yes, I convinced him you told me to bring me during our phone call. Are you impressed I was able to pull the wool over one of your own?” she boasted proudly, ignoring the slight nudge Sebastian gave her.

The woman regarded her for a moment before teasing, “Yes, blown away.” Morgan smiled as Sebastian watched in nervous anticipation of reprimandation. “My office, both of you.” Words that inspired optimism in Morgan brought dread in Sebastian as they walked through the door at the end of the hall.

Her office was exactly as she would have expected. It was sleek, classy, and elegant. It looked pristine and stylish and she was still staring in awe as the other two took a seat. “Morgan,” the sultry voice called out. Her heart fluttered in her chest at the sound of her name coming from the woman in that beautiful british accent that haunted her daydreams.

“Hmm?” she hummed while examining a potted plant to see if it was real or not.

“Sit down.” Morgan did as told and sat in the seat directly across from her.

Before she had a chance to start reprimanding them, Morgan perked up in her seat. “Hi, sorry. I just wanted a chance to have formal introductions. I haven’t gotten a chance to meet you. I’m-”

“Morgan Freeman. Thirty four years old, born January of 1984. You went to University for Theatre and you’ve gotten sporadic acting jobs ever since. You recently took it upon yourself to transport a piece of highly confidential government property with your long term friend Audrey Stockton. Now you’ve shown up hoping for a job.” MI6 finished.

Morgan sat there, jaw agape in pure shock. She knew so much about her. Off the top of her head nonetheless. It was like she could hear her thoughts because she added, “I’m the head of the Intelligence Bureau. I have access to everything you’ve ever done.”

“You missed two important facts though,” Morgan lilted, receiving a cocked eyebrow. “I also brought you this today,” passing the iced coffee to her over the desk, pleased when she took it from her with a millimeter smile. “And I am beyond flattered by your impeccable memory.”

She was met with a slightly amused stare as the woman took a sip of her coffee. She set the cup on her desk and reached over, extending her hand out for Morgan who accepted it hasilty. “Wendy Davis, head of the Security Intelligence Service. Appreciative of your coffee.”

“Shut up! Wendy Davis-”

“Not that Wendy Davis,” Wendy sighed, still indulging Morgan in the world’s longest handshake.

“I know, but Morgan Freeman, Wendy Davis, what a match in incidental-celebrity-names heaven our we, Wendy!” she exclaimed. Wendy let out a breath of amusement as she disentangled herself from Morgan’s hand.

“Hi, Sebastian Henshaw, an actual employee here, awaiting acknowledgement of his existence,” Sebastian declared, interrupting the serenity of the moment Morgan was creating.

“I apologize, Henshaw,” she sighed, taking another drink of her coffee before spinning around and grabbing a file out of her desk.

“No problem, Wendy,” he beamed.

“Nope, you call me Boss and Boss only,” she reprimanded without looking up from the file.

“Yes, Boss,” he apologized, ignoring the taunting smile Morgan was sending his way.

“So. As long as you’re feeling healed enough, I have an assignment in China that needs to be dealt with. Apparently there’s been a breach in security systems and information is being mishandled by the Chinese mafia. It most likely will be a longer assignment, possibly taking even a year,” she explained.

“Excuse me,” Morgan spoke up, a bit thrown she wasn’t walking home right now. Wendy’s piercing blue eyes shot up over the file as she looked expectantly at Morgan. “May I lend my services on this mission?” she asked.

“You’re sitting in the briefing, are you not?” Wendy said as if it was obvious.

Sebastian and Morgan looked at each other before looking back at her and exclaiming, “Wait, what?”in perfect unison.

“Well, you seemed to display at least a moderate amount of competency and skill during this recent escapade. I chose a mission of a similar calibre and I figured if you come back alive, we can see about keeping you on for good. Perhaps you find it’s not as much fun as you believe it to be, or maybe your living on this last mission was a fluke or luck. We’ll see,” she explained.

Morgan felt like she was floating. This morning she woke up thinking the highlight of her day would be seeing this beautiful woman, now it was seeing this beautiful woman and getting to continue her dream job. “Oh my gosh. Thank you so much,” she exclaimed standing up. She pressed her index and middle finger to her forehead in a salute and continued her gratitudes, “I promise I will do my best work and I will absolutely do everything in my power to make you proud.” She let her fingers fly away from her in a full salute as Wendy clenched her jaw to avoid smiling.

“Are you sure about this?” Sebastian asked while sitting down.

“I see potential,” she said politely, giving Morgan an appreciative glance before putting on the mask of strict professionalism. “However, we will need to do some official paperwork and procedures before you can go out into the field as an official, interim, agent.”

“Of course,” Morgan replied, trying to mimic the severity and conviction of the woman across from her.

“Oh, and I would like you to ask Audrey if she would also join. I have a feeling that she equals out your eccentricities. You seem to be a good team.”

“Oh, you’re the best. Your wish is my command,” Morgan gushed, poorly concealing her excitement.

Officially one of the best days of her life.

Hope you enjoyed! It was a fun challenge writing this! -Nicole (Twitter/Tumblr: gaycrouton)

#the spy who dumped me #tswdm #the spy who dumped me fanfiction #gillian anderson #kate mckinnon #kate mckinnon and gillian anderson #fanfic #the x files #snl #Im trash #gay fanfif #yearning #gay pining

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ladytp · 7 years ago

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Here is the 3rd and final chapter of my gift to @lenny9987 in the Outlander Secret Santa 2017, “In the Quiet of the Night, Candour”. (First chapter here, second here, both chapters now also posted in AO3). It has been fun to play!

Chapter 3 - Aftermath

Claire was worried. It was not like Jamie to stay away longer than intended without sending a word, and certainly not like him to miss an important event in their little community. The new church – as small and crudely built as it was – was an important milestone for the Fraser’s Ridge and Jamie wouldn’t want to miss its consecration for the world.

She was not the only one; Young Ian and Roger Mac had become increasingly restless as days had gone by, and finally snapping the previous evening they had declared their intention to go scouting the next day. To trace Jamie and Lord John’s route to the indian village, find out if something was amiss and bring them home, one way or another.

Claire had gone to bed with an eerie premonition that something was amiss, and had woken up before the daybreak still carrying the same feeling. She missed Jamie, missed his warm body next to hers, his morning ritual of kissing her softly when he noticed she was starting to stir, the smile spreading on his wide mouth when she complained the hour being much too early. She wanted him back – the sooner the better.

As the men had already planned to go find him, however, Claire knew there was not much she could do about it – so stifling a yawn she decided that as long as sleep evaded her, she might as well get some things done.

After getting dressed she tidied her surgery, crushed herbs and set them to stew in a hot pot. Having finished that task she took a basket of socks in need of repair and sat in the glow of the kitchen fireplace to yarn them, pricking herself with a needle even more times than normal.

Anything to pass the time.

Sucking her thumb the third time to quell the blood of a needle prick Claire glanced out of the window and sighed noticing how it was hardly a sunrise. Finally giving in to her restlessness she acknowledged that such a sedentary and delicate activity as mending socks was not for her, not now, and decided that a breath of fresh air might be just what she needed.

There was a place up the small stream flowing east of the Ridge where she had once noticed an abundant field of hen of the woods – mushrooms that were as good for eating as they were for medicinal purposes. It was late in a year for them to be at their best – but for brewing concoctions, freshness was not always required. On the contrary, sometimes dried specimens gave stronger brews.

And it would get her out of the house.

Claire garbed herself quickly, not being put off by the snow that had fallen during the night. If she would ride Clarence, it would not take long for her to reach the place, fill her basket and return – maybe even in time to bid farewell to the explorers before it set on its way.

The feeling of purpose filled her with new energy, which was however not reciprocated by Clarence, who protested vocally for being taken away from his small and cosy stable.

“Come now Clarence, a walk in the woods will do you good too. You are getting fat and lazy, you know?” Claire cajoled the resisting animal, who was not however impressed. Eventually, Claire nonetheless won the clash of wills and the two started off towards the woods.

Claire liked Lord John, she genuinely did – but she couldn’t help the feeling of irrational jealousy sometimes creeping into her mind when she saw Jamie and Lord John conversing. There was easiness between them, an unbroken chain of shared memories, camaraderie that exists between two men thoroughly familiar with the world of men, so different to that occupied by women – at least in that time and age.

And there was the bond they shared through Willie.

And there was the love that shone out of Lord John’s eyes every time he looked at Jamie, no matter how hard he tried to hide it. Although not obvious to everyone, Claire recognised it, as it was the same look Jamie directed at her and which made her heart swell, even after all the years they had shared.

Claire knew of course she had absolutely nothing to worry in regards to Lord John’s feelings towards Jamie. As a matter of fact, she felt sorry for him for them – to love so hopelessly, without a chance of ever being reciprocated, must be a torment.

And yet…

The ride was brisk, Clarence having finally submitted to the idea of being taken out for yet another ambling through the woods. Claire closed her eyes and inhaled deeply, enjoying the clear cool air filling her lungs, trusting Clarence to pick his way surefootedly across the landscape. Birds had started their tentative chirping once the sun had risen and the snow in the ground was already melting away, only burrowed patches still resisting the warm rays.

Claire stopped at an elevated spot next to the stream – too low to be called a hill but still giving her the advantage of the view over the terrain. If she remembered correctly, the mushroom spot was not too far away. Maybe around that bend over there... Raising her hand to shield her eyes against the sun Claire scanned the landscape and stopped at an oddly shaped structure on the ground.

It was rectangular – too symmetric to be formed by nature. Flat, slightly depressed, partially covered by snow. Maybe it was remnants of a fire pit, dug by a band of hunters some time ago?

It didn’t really matter what it was, but Claire’s curiosity had been raised – and since it was directly on her route to the mushrooms, she decided to take a closer look.

She hopped off Clarence’ back, wanting to stretch her legs and study the mysterious formation closer. Approaching it she took in its dug edge that looked too fresh to have been done a while ago, then the shapes of something that looked like bundled clothes, then the opening between two such bundles letting her see what was buried underneath…

…and Jamie’s red hair partially covering his face as he lay on his side, his tresses mixing with the blond streaks of Lord John.

Claire gasped. Were they dead? Even before she gathered her skirts to run closer, she registered the healthy red on both of their cheeks and after another look, she could surmise even breathing suggesting that they were, in fact, in deep sleep.

Just as she was about to exclaim her presence and joy of finding them, something held her back for reasons she could not explain. Studying closer the scene in front of her Claire registered the way Jamie’s forehead rested against the curve of Lord John’s neck, his shoulder leaning so close over John’s that it suggested that his arm was wrapped around the other man.

They both looked peaceful, corner of Lord John’s mouth slightly upturned so it looked like he was smiling in his sleep. His eyelashes were long and dark, resting against his cheek, making him resemble a fallen angel from a renaissance painting. Claire couldn’t see Jamie’s features clearly, but his eyes were closed and his bearing relaxed, his breathing steady and even.

Disturbingly, Jamie’s protective stance holding the other man so close to him reminded Claire of the many times he had held her so – tightly, closely.

…and if necessary, the protection of my body as well… The words came to her, those that Jamie had said on their wedding night.

The sight in front of her was peaceful, calm, and disturbingly intimate – as if she would have walked into lover’s embrace.

This is ridiculous.

She broke out of her momentary hesitation, not willing to dwell on disturbing implications of the scene.

“Jamie! Lord John! Thank God you are here! What happened?” Her exaggeratedly cheery proclamation was followed by an immediate action in the burrow. Jamie was the first to react, lifting his head and breaking into a wide smile.

“Sassenach! What are ye doing here?!”

Loud exclamations, tossing off the snow covered clothes, the weary travellers stiffly rising up to their feet– the joy of reunion swept away any other thought and soon Claire was too busy examining Lord John’s by now notable swollen ankle that she had no time to process the sight that had initially greeted her.

Clarence received only mildly protesting Lord John on his back and the party returned to the Ridge poste haste, mushrooms all forgotten.

It was only later that evening that Claire allowed herself to wonder again about the view she had witnessed.

The returning explorers had been received with relief, arriving just in time before Young Ian and Roger had been ready to set on their journey. A few chosen jests were exchanged about the planning of men and actions of women, but it was all good-hearted and jovial. In truth, Claire suspected that her already impressive reputation as a conjuring woman and seer was only going to increase because of the incident, and no matter how many times she would insist being only after mushrooms, the story would grow and grow more in time.

Besides, she could not for sure say even herself whether it had been just mushrooms or the nagging feeling she had experienced that had set her on the road.

She attended to Lord John’s foot in her surgery, confirming that he indeed had a shattered ankle bone which would require considerable rest before he could step on it again. Both men had been provided with a hot bath and even hotter soup to banish away the lingering effects of cold chill, and over the day they had regaled their adventures to a rapt audience. Their description of how they had survived the night in the burrow was met with nods and understanding – it was the best way to go about a night in the cold, and every man and woman in the house would have not thought twice about it.

As if he had sensed Claire’s eyes on him at the time Jamie had raised his eyebrows and shrug his shoulders almost imperceptible, acknowledging her unasked question. How could you let him so close to you? And that was all she had to settle with until she would get him on his own later that evening.

Claire didn’t talk with Lord John again that day, but she saw him sitting at the end of the front veranda of the house just before sunset. He must have hobbled there with the aid of rude crutches Young Ian had procured from somewhere, which were now leaning neatly against the bench. He was facing the forest, almost hidden by the dried branches of a vine that had gone wild at one end of the porch - and Claire didn’t fault him for that. A big house full of people, including young children, must be as far away as possible from a quiet estate of a widowed gentleman, and time for himself was probably what he needed.

Lord John was contemplating his hands when Claire first caught a sight of him; staring at his upturned palms, then rotating them around as if in wonder of possessing such appendices in the first place. Claire had a mind to join him and gauge his reaction to her now that the most urgent doctoring was out of the way, but then he sighed deeply, leaned his back against the weathered wood of the wall and closed his eyes – and Claire stopped on her tracks.

His expression… there was a slight furrow between his eyebrows, but rather than conveying anger, it seemed to express concentration, Claire thought. She was not the best reader of faces and human emotions, but what she could gather from her vantage point behind the door, Lord John appeared calm and contemplating. The slightest hint of a smile played in the corner of his mouth, alternating with that furrow. Overall, he seemed to be a man experiencing conflicting emotions, if anything else.

Was he thinking of the previous night? What had happened? Claire prevaricated, observing Lord John for a bit longer, but in the end she didn’t have the heart to interrupt his musings – whatever they might be.

She would just have to wait for the evening and privacy of their bedroom to talk with Jamie.

Claire brushed her hair absentmindedly, waiting for Jamie to undress. She could still see at the back of her mind the protective hold Jamie had had on Lord John, the mixing of red and blond hair on the makeshift pillow. Others could think the arrangement being only pragmatic, but they hadn’t seen what she had, and Claire knew things could not be so simple - there had to be something else.

She remembered how Jamie had once almost strangled older Ian – his best friend in the whole wide world! – when he had accidentally come too close to Jamie at night. It had happened when the two of them had had to share a quilt on a cottage floor in the Highlands, and the incident had forced Jamie to share the events of Wentworth prison with his shocked brother-in-law. As far as Claire was aware Ian Murray was the only other person who knew the reason for Jamie’s wariness of being too close to a man, unless he had shared the story with Jenny.

She knew the nightmares that still plagued Jamie sometimes, and how despite her whole being longing to lean into him and give him the protection and comfort of her body, she had learned that he simply could not be touched at those times. Not even by her.

Yet, nightmares or not, the thought that Jamie would willingly entangle himself with another man, especially one whom he knew with certainty harbouring sexual desires upon his person… No, it simply didn’t make any sense.

“What a verra fine feast it is to sleep in a proper bed in a proper house after the last few nights! Ye ken, I am getting too old for life in the wild,” Jamie sighed as he laid himself down, his big bulk moulding into the mattress with a grace of a big cat.

“It didn’t look too bad for you, last night,” Claire couldn’t help retorting. She stood up and crawled to Jamie’s side, allowing him to pull her for him.

Jamie frowned. “What d’ye mean? I was freezing my balls off, we both were.”

“When I saw you first, you looked…cosy enough.” Claire truly didn’t want to be the kind of wife questioning her husband about every little thing he did when they were apart, but she couldn’t get the sight of Jamie’s arm across Lord John’s shoulders out of her mind.

At first Jamie didn’t say anything, only adjusting Claire to a more comfortable position against him.

“Are ye…jealous, Sassenach?” Smile in his tone irritated Claire.

“No, of course not! I only wonder how you suddenly seem so comfortable with him,” she bristled.

“I have been comfortable wi’ John for a long time now. It hasna been difficult for us since, well, since Willie.”

“Not that comfortable; you were practically embracing him.”

Jaime turned to look down at her, his mouth working as if to say something.

“Aye, maybe I was. It was verra cold.”

“Didn’t it disturb you, you know, after all you have gone through – and being aware of how he feels about you?”

Another long silence, this time stretching so long that Claire started to doubt the wisdom of raising the matter at all. Me and my big mouth! Why couldn’t she just have left the matter?

Well, it was not exactly the first time she had plundered headlong into something she would have been better to leave alone.

“I told him.” Jamie’s voice was low but his words were clear.

Claire startled. “You told him what?”

“About Randall. And Wentworth.”

Jamie’s thumb was drawing a small circle on her shoulder, around and around. It was soothing, it was relaxing – and yet Claire was suddenly fully alert and raised her head to look at him.

“You did?”

‘Did I just say so or didna I?”

“Why?”

“Well, ye were right, it did curdle my wame to lay so close, and he noticed. And he didna ken it was not him that did it – and it didna seem right to me.” Jamie had not stopped the motion of his fingers and Claire settled down again. “And he did ask.”

Claire was digesting the news. She knew Jamie had guarded the shame of Wentworth – as he still saw it – close to his heart, not revealing it to anyone. Of the people who knew about it, most were dead anyway. And now he had shared it with someone who in a twisted way was – or had been – eerily similar in many aspects to Black Jack Randall and sure to raise many uncomfortable memories in Jamie over the years.

“What did he say?”

“He said he was verra sorry. And some other things. Things I shouldna tell to you, I reckon. But things it is good for me to ken.”

“Oh.” Claire was disappointed, she would have loved to know what had transpired between the two men. Yet she knew Jamie’s strong sense of honour when it came to things shared with him in confidence, and accepted that this was probably most she could get out of him.

“Well, I am sure he was horrified that such things were done by his fellow officers.”

“He was. And he reminded me that not all men are like that - you ken, men like him.”

Claire snuggled closer and inhaled his scent of soap and ash.

“He is right. What he is – he is not a sinner or wicked, it just that some people are born that way. Different. Like being left-handed or tone-deaf. In years to come it will be accepted better, although it will take a long time.”

Claire remembered the medical text books she had read during her studies, most still describing homosexuality as a disease, but with some new research at the time being more liberal in its interpretation. She remembered the whispered comments about this or that member of the faculty, some open about their inclinations, some still in hiding. Yet none of them were openly persecuted for it, not like in these times. Discrimination, for sure, death sentences, less so.

“John told as much – that he is what he is and canna change even if he wanted.”

“And you are fine with that?”

Jamie sighed deeply, the heave of his chest lifting Claire’s head up and down.

“I canna see as if I had any options. The wee sodomite is my friend, after all.”

“I am glad to hear it.” Claire pressed her lips on his bare chest. “But only a friend, eh?”

“Only a friend. For anything else I am happy with lassies.” Jamie kissed her forehead.

“Lassies? You have many in mind, pray tell?” Claire’s lips wandered lower and the familiar rush of warmth engulfed her body, anticipation of sensual delights.

“Only one, by my oath. Now, move up so I canna show ye how happy,” Jamie mumbled while taking a strong hold of Claire’s nightgown and starting to peel it off.

Claire gladly obliged and the image of Lord John’s lonely figure shimmered and disappeared from her mind.

----------THE END----------

#Outlander #Jamie Fraser #Lord John Grey #Claire Fraser #Outlander Secret Santa 2017 #the love that dare not speak its name #moghraidhjamie #In The Quiet of the Night - Candour #my fanfic

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mrandmrsvex · 7 years ago

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Rating: General Audiences Relationships: Percival "Percy" Fredrickstein Von Musel Klossowski de Rolo III/Vex'ahlia Additional Tags: Valentine's fluff, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Secret Admirer gone wrong gone right Summary:

Vex doesn't care about Valentine's Day. She doesn't mind being alone, not at all. But a message from a secret admirer is far too interesting not to follow.

Percy doesn't care about Valentine's Day. He forgets about it, mostly. But a message from a secret admirer piques his interest.

Vex didn't care for Valentine's Day. It was overblown. Commercial. Fake. Why demand to excessively celebrate love on a particular day? What nonsense. She didn't care for it, not one bit.

This, of course, had nothing to do with the fact that she was single on this year's Valentine's. It was a matter of principle.

After all, there wasn't anyone she was interested in anyway. No one she could think of to even ask for a date, not even a non-committal one. And even if she did, he wouldn't be interested. He didn't care for Valentine's Day either. So she didn't care. She'd enjoy the day alone, and it would be perfectly fine. She didn't care for Valentine's day at all.

Vax could only sigh as he listened to her replay this particular rant for the umpteenth time in the last two days. Valentine's was tomorrow, and Vex was committed to pretending like it was no big deal.

„That's good to know.“ Vax said in the most monotone voice he could muster. „Then I won't have to feel bad being out all day with Kiki.“

„Not at all. Go have fun. I'll enjoy myself.“

Vex had two tubs of chocolate ice cream, a good movie, and a cuddly dog. She didn't need anything more. Valentine's Day was no big deal.

Percy genuinely didn't care for Valentine's Day. In fact, he'd mostly forgotten about it in the past few years, even as shops and television commercials covered everything with pink hearts. It wasn't really something that registered as important on his radar.

He remembered the few awkward attempts at secret admirer gifts in his early teens, sure. He also remembered everyone's confusion when he'd decided to not pursue any kind of date later on, even when they were offered by strangely interested girls (he never understood what they could see in him, what he would have to offer, except maybe the promise of paying for the fanciest restaurants with his parents' money), while his siblings were out and about celebrating each year.

Percy just didn't care for any of it. It worried Keyleth, to some extent.

„I'm not saying you have to have a date tomorrow. You're free to do whatever you want! I just wanna make sure you really don't mind being alone. I know you're alone a lot, but, you know. I can still tell Vax to postpone our date if you want!“

„Keyleth.“ He sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose. „Even if I did care, I wouldn't dare make an enemy out of Vax by keeping you to myself on Valentine's. For heaven's sake, go out and eat all the cake he can afford to buy you tomorrow. I'll be fine.“

„Okay. But you know you can call or text if you change your mind. Any time!“

Vex woke up the next day with an empty, aching feeling to her stomach. No, goddamnit. She wouldn't mind. She didn't care. She repeated her mantra while she got dressed, and on the way out to the mailbox. Why she'd check today, of all days, she didn't really know. All she could expect were some love letters to Vax, sent by secret admirers (Keyleth went the more personal route, she knew, handing over any letters personally), or maybe some unwanted bills as usual.

She didn't expect the small red box full of chocolates, a tiny white envelope with her name on it on top.

Time seemed to halt for a second as she stared at the letter inside.

Meet me outside the art history museum at noon

Vex's heart was racing even while she sat on the side of the large stone stairs leading up to the museum. This was ridiculous. Stupid. What was she doing? Waiting for someone she didn't even know. On Valentine's Day. In one of her nicest dresses. Make-up on, even.

She was an idiot. But somehow, she had been unable to resist. It was hard to admit, but something inside her had become excited, almost overexcited, as she was getting ready.

And here she was now, waiting to see her secret messenger.

The large clocktower of the museum rang. 12pm.

Ten past noon.

Quarter past.

Half past twelve.

No one was coming. People were strolling past her. Couples, holding hands.

Her rage was rising. Why was she still waiting? Half an hour. Even if the mysterious messenger showed up now, they shouldn't expect to see her anywhere. They should be ashamed.

Almost as ashamed as she felt right now.

Her eyes scanned the street once again and stopped at a familiar mess of white hair, peeking out from beside a column of the building's side. A glint of golden glasses.

It couldn't possibly be Percy. He'd never be late to anything, especially not to a date he set up himself, she thought to herself before hearing an equally familiar voice.

„Vex! Hi.“

It was Percy. In front of her now. It couldn't be – he wouldn't send – would he?

„Are you waiting for someone?“

It wasn't Percy. She wasn' sure whether she felt relieved about that or not.

„Yeah, just... waiting for a friend. But I think they forgot. No one could be that late. What are you doing here?“

„Oh, nothing, really.“ Percy's mind was racing. He had to come up with a convicing lie, quick. It was usually easy, but this was Vex. And he could barely lie to her when he was prepared for it.

„I wanted to find someplace to hide from all this cutesy loveydovey mess everywhere, and I figured the museum would still be safe.“

Good. A believable lie. It looked like she believed it, at least.

There really was no need to tell her the truth. He embarassed himself in front of her often enough. She didn't need to know about the ridiculous situation he'd put himself in now.

What had he been thinking, following the offer of that stupid letter he'd found in his workshop this morning? Of course there'd be no one wearing a red skirt anywhere. It was a prank, from Vax maybe, or Scanlan and Grog, hiding somewhere right now laughing their asses off at his idiocy. That he'd seriously believed it could be someone, maybe someone he knew, someone he wanted to spend the day with-

Vex's dress was cream-coloured, and it wasn't even a skirt. He'd noticed when he approached her, but still. He'd hoped. For a second.

„Would you mind some company on your quest for a sane refuge? Or is this a solitary mission?“ Vex winked at him, and Percy blushed.

„No, of course, by all means.“ He offered her a hand as she stood up.

He paid her entrance fee, of course. It was only the polite thing to do.

Vex had rarely ever had more fun at a museum. Percy knew surprisingly much about art – then again, he seemed to know a little bit about almost anything. She smiled softly as he began his impromptu guide tour in the way that Vax had titled „Professor de Rolo style“ long ago.

In the medieval section, though, she couldn't keep down a short giggle while nudging him in the side, pointing at several paintings.

„They all look like they're incredibly suspicious about each other. Just look at Mary giving the stink-eye to an angel.“

Percy tried to keep his serious face for barely a few seconds before snickering himself and pulling her over to the Renaissance room.

„That's nothing. I'm far more impressed by all the buff Jesus babies. Look at the six pack on this one.“

The security people in each room became more and more tired of their giggling as they snarked their way through almost the whole exhibition.

The Impressionist's wing was a different story. Vex fell silent almost as soon as they entered, and bee-lined to a particularly large painting full of soft blue and golden hues.

„This is incredible.“ She mumbled as Percy came up to her side.

„Do you want to sit and watch for a while?“ He gestured to the conveniently placed bench behind them.

„Yes!“ She was already sitting down. „If you don't mind, I mean-...?“ „Absolutely not.“ He sat down beside her.

She was far too entranced with the painting to notice that Percy wasn't giving it much more than a second look. He was far busier watching her, wide-eyed and smiling as her gaze trailed across the colours.

„I have to say.“ Vex smiled at him as they walked down the stairs, the sun already setting. „That was definitely a nicer way to spend Valentine's Day than I'd planned.“

„I'm glad I could make for good company.“ Percy returned her smile as they reached the street and stopped for a second. „I, uhm, I was wondering, actually, if maybe-“

„Yes?“ „Would you like to get some dinner?“

„Yes, absolutely!“ She wrapped her arm around his elbow. „Provided we can find a place that isn't completely booked today.“

They strolled down the street towards the city centre. Percy was glad he hadn't seen the mysterious red skirt anywhere. Vex had already forgotten the rage against her messenger's non-arrival.

In a cafe across the street, Keyleth nervously slurped down the last of her milkshake, peeking out the large windows and trying to hide her bright red hair as best as she could.

„Do you think we did the right thing? That was a kinda mean trick.“

„Aaaah, no, Kiki.“ Vax grinned at her as he watched his sister turn the corner. „We did good. We did real good.“

„We're not, uh, telling them, though, right?“

„Fuck no. Never.“

If you think I did a good job writing this, and you have some copper to spare, consider buying me a coffee?

#Critical Role #CR #Perc'ahlia #Vex'ahlia #Percy de Rolo #Percival Fredrickstein von Musel Klossowski de Rolo III #Vox Machina #my writing

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paulriedelposts · 5 years ago

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Churches in Munich

I have been living in my second hometown, Munich, for over three decades, and still, I haven’t explored all of its places. No, it doesn’t mean I don’t travel a lot or have no interest in discovering nooks and crannies of my city. It means the town is filled with an infinite number of mesmerizing architectures to see that every time I visit any corner of Munich, it amazed me differently. However, being a Catholic German, I have vast information about churches in Munich. The cathedrals of my place are worldwide famous, and they draw millions of sightseers from every corner of the universe. And today, I want to share that knowledge with everyone, but first, let me put some light on the history of Munich and its churches.

Munich and its Connection with Churches

Munich has more than twenty churches, and all of them are charismatic in their way. The Bavarian capital has an enormous religious history. People of Munich are still following sacred norms and obligations. Talk about the history of the place, the third-largest city of Germany, began as a benedictine monastery. It later transformed into a new settlement when monks stepped in and installed a market at the junction of the route from the river and Salzburg (once named Iuvavum). When you enter this urban town, you will witness the iconic old-fashioned walls and three old city gates. However, the central point of Munich is none other than my favorite square. Marienplatz, which is an enormous and ancient public location to meet new people. All tourists should start from here. Marienplatz Near the Marienplatz, there are some outstanding buildings, such as the New City Hall (Northern side), the Old City Hall (Eastern edge), and few highly renowned churches. Yes, I am talking about Frauenkirche, St. Peter’s Church, and Saint Michael’s Church. Out of all three, Frauenkirche, the Cathedral Church of Our Lady, is the most-visited sacred landmark in Munich. My hometown has a deep connection with religious history, especially Christianity. It would be hard to find non-Catholic churches in the city. However, every other cathedral is different from the rest in terms of architecture and design. Some of them are small, while many of them are quite large in structure. One thing I like about these holy places is everybody can visit the churches regardless of their faith, so one doesn’t have to be significantly Christian or religious to roam in the buildings freely.

Top Churches in Munich

Though every tiny location in Munich is worth exploring, however, visiting some religious architecture is a whole different story. It took me so long to compile a list of the best churches in Munich because of their beauty, designs, and charisma, but I finally made it. So, check out! Dreifaltigkeitskirche (Trinity Church) Popularly known in the entire Munich, Trinity Church, Dreifaltigkeitskirche in German, is a votive cathedral. The church lays in the center of the city, near Lenbachplatz. The construction finished in 1716. It was all constructed according to the plans of Giovanni Antonio Viscardi. The building is one of the ancient Bavarian Baroque-style landmarks. This monastery cathedral of the Carmelites is also the church of the Metropolitan parish of Our Blessed Lady. Let me share a surprising fact about it. In the Second World War, Trinity Church was the only religious landmark that had been spared from damage caused by bombs. Call it a miracle or something, but the church has weirdly attractive and mysterious vibes around it. Some Barock Being the first church building in the late Baroque style, the Trinity Church went through some changes, too. After the death of Viscardi in 1713, Enrico Zuccalli took the responsibility to finish it. The central building, along with its beautiful dome and entrance, are the masterpieces of him. Other than these, the two-faced south façade extends the front side of the houses of the street. Moreover, the polygonal central door is parted by columns and baroque crowns that enhance the appearance of the structure. In the Trinity Church, you will witness the beautiful artwork by Cosmas Damian Asam, whose paintings are on the dome’s ceiling. Other prominent artists include Joseph Ruffini, Johann Baptist Straub, Andreas Faistenberger, and Johann Georg Baader. To discover more about the cathedral and its remarkable displays, one must take a tour of the place. Michaelskirche (St. Michael’s Church) No tour to Munich would ever be completed without visiting Michaelskirche, also famous by the name of St. Michael’s Church. It is a Jesuit cathedral in the city. Consider it the most magnificent Renaissance church settled in the north of the Alps. The design of the building features the Baroque-style structure. It was opened in 1583 as a Parish church. Friedrich Sustris, with the help of Wendel Dietterlin, designed the building. And the Duke of Bavaria, William V, built the landmark between 1583 and 1597. Moreover, the monument was initiated as a spiritual center for the Counter-Reformation. If I have to talk about the façade of the building, I must say it’s very influential. It contains standing figures of Duke William and previous rulers of the Bavarian Wittelsbach dynasty. All the statues are made of bronze, and they placed in the positions to form a family tree. Furthermore, the interior of the cathedral is outstanding. It depicts Roman Catholicism in a beautiful style. From the arches to the aisles to the chapels, every display in the church is worth praising. And yes, there is a deep choir room, too. Even after faced damaged in the Second World War, the church looks hypnotically stunning and picturesque. It was fully restored between 1946 and 1948. Heiliggeistkirche (Church of the Holy Spirit)

Another Catholic church in the heart of Bavaria, Heiliggeistkirche, commonly known as the Church of the Holy Spirit, is a Gothic hall basilica. The church lies on the edge of the Viktualienmarkt. It originally belongs to the Hospice of the Holy Ghost of the 14th century. Johann George Ettenhofer remodeled the landmark in 1724, and he took six years to complete the architecture. The areas of renovation were vaults and pillars. The inner side of the church features Rococo frescoes and stucco ornament by the very famous Asam brothers. Well, the original décor was awe-inspiring, but this cathedral had faced destruction during World War II. Even the interior furnishings were damaged to a great extent. However, after the war, renovations and restorations were carried out. In 1991, the interior was entirely reconstructed. If you are looking for the original landmark, you will only get the remnants of the north wall of the nave. And the tower of the church has a beautiful lantern dome. Look closely at the Neo-Baroque façade, and it is quite clear that the elements used in it are borrowed from Viscardi’s Trinity Church. Overall, the Church of Holy Spirit is worth exploring, and especially, its interior has something captivating that you can’t resist yourself from seeing it. Burgersaalkirche (Citizen’s Hall Church)

Most probably one of the smallest churches in Munich, Burgersaalkirche, known as Citizen’s Hall Church, is not less than others in terms of architecture. If you ask locals about it, you may find a mix response. Yes, this is not very famous among the Bavarian community. However, the vibrantly painted ceiling inside the basilica is magnificent. It also has a cute but contemporary style chapel on the ground floor. You need to go upstairs to discover more paintings and highlights. It’s another masterpiece by Giovanni Antonio Viscardi, and it was built between 1709 and 1710. There are two churches in one big Burgersaalkirche. The upper church is on the higher floor, while the ground church is on the lower portion. From the outside, the Citizen’s Hall Church is Baroque-style, and the statues of Madonna and Child are placed above the entrance gate. If you have plenty of time, visit the upper section of the church, too. It was once the prayer room, but it has been used as a church since 1778. I am sure you would like to view the masterpiece of decoration in the place, which is the statue of the Guardian Angel with the child. And yes, there is also a grave of Rupert Mayer on the lower floor of the church. St. Maximiliankirche (St. Maximilian Church)

Like many others in the Bavarian capital, St. Maximiliankirche, popularly known as St. Maximilian Church, is a Roman Catholic Parish Cathedral. It beautifully nestles near the River Isar in Munich on the southern side of Germany. The church took several years to finished, and it was erected from 1892 to 1908. Heinrich von Schmidt was the designer and the mastermind behind the stunning architecture of St. Maximilian Church. He made sure to design it in the Romanesque Revival style. If I talk about myself, I couldn’t get a chance to visit this place more than once. However, the giant structure of beauty is still in my memory. The cathedral is quite massive as compared to small churches in Munich. I adore the Romanesque-style façade that plays a vital part in heightening the value of the place. When it comes to the interior, it’s modest. The walls are plain with a few paintings and murals, but the furniture and ceiling are highly decent yet elegant. Galleries Open galleries connect two towers of the building. Moreover, the soil of the place was very soft in most of the construction location. That’s why wooden beams were used for the support of the roof instead of traditional stones. Keep in mind one thing that the church was damaged a lot during World War II, and it was reconstructed in 1949. The overall appearance of the building is outstanding. So, everyone should visit this gorgeous land at least once in their lifetime. St. Lukaskirche (St. Luke’s Church)

I am sure you don’t want to skip St. Lukaskirche, as known as St. Lukas or St. Luke’s Church, which is probably the largest protestant church in the urban center of Munich. This only preserved Lutheran Parish Church is the creativity of Albert Schmidt. It was erected and completed between the time duration of 1893 and 1896, so it took three years to get the final appearance. It gracefully lies on the banks of the Isar, between the Mariannenplatz and Steinsdorfstrabe. And you can consider it among the historical places where people not only worship and perform holy rituals, but it is open for non-believers, too. Special on Architecture Nobody could ever ignore the structure of the building because of its Romanesque-style features. Albert wanted to give it a pre-reformation look, so he designed the façade of the church to rule the skyline of Roman Catholic Munich. And if you explore the interior, you will be surprised to view Gothic-style décor. However, both designs make the St. Lukas Church worth seeing. The church welcomes visitors and sightseers from all around the earth almost every day. It is also the venue for various cultural programs and concerts. When it comes to services, they held plenty of times per week. Moreover, the church community is in love with the St. Lukas gospel choir, which started in 1991. Now they have over 70 singers with flawless and melodious voices. Kreuzkirche (Holy Cross Church/All Saints Church) Not the typical one in the city, Kreuzkirche, also renowned as All Saints Church, is a cemetery church in the Bavarian capital. It is famous by the name of Holy Cross Church, too. Located in the southern end of Germany, Kreuzkirche features a sharp façade, and it is among the top-notch Catholic churches in my hometown. Jorg von Halsbach was the creator and designer of the landmark. It was erected in 1478, and consider it the first holy building with a cemetery in the Saint Peter parish. In the beginning, it was situated at the crossing of four roads. That’s why locals call it the Holy Cross Church. The building of the cathedral is in highly good condition, and all the visitors have permission to roam without hesitation. With brickwork walls in red and a giant bell tower, Kreuzkirche can be seen from a distance. Its architecture highlights the sky of Munich. When it comes to interior décor, it is in Baroque style, and the frescos are stunning to view, too. There are also few attractions within the church, so book your tour to discover them by yourself. I think I forgot to mention about the tomb of banker Gietz and the Phantom of Virgin to St. Augustine that are also there to teach mysterious old facts related to Saint. Paul’s Church

One of the large Catholic churches in Munich, St. Paul’s Church, lies in the city’s quarter of Ludwigsvorstadt-Isarvorstadt. Austrian architect Georg von Hauberrisser designed this gorgeous building, and it took almost fourteen years to complete the landmark. It was constructed between 1892 and 1906. The church was created in the Gothic Revival Style. For outer appearance, limestone from Ansbach is used to enhance the façade of the church. On the other side, upper Bavarian tuff is the primary component for the interior décor. Other than these, the core of the masonry consists of brick. When it comes to towers, the central one is 97 meters, while the two on the west are 76-meter tall. Moreover, the western exterior is decorated by a giant rose window above the entrance side of the church. The entire façade and interior look highly gorgeous. Unfortunately, during the time of World War II, St. Paul’s Church was severely damaged by air raids. It was one great destruction because the large pieces of equipment were lost, which also include the high altar. However, the church was restored with time.

Other Churches in Munich

As I have mentioned earlier, Munich has over twenty churches, but not all of them are equally famous. Here, let me share a list of some not-so-famous cathedrals to show you some more colors of the city. Though they are not as popular as Frauenkirche, St. Michael’s Church, or Trinity Church, however, they still have some great value. So, if you have discovered all the well-known basilicas and have no idea what to do in Munich, you can try these churches, too. Damenstiftskirche St. Anna Damenstiftskirche St. Anna, a chapel in the old town of the Bavarian capital, is drop-dead gorgeous in its structure. It is no doubt one of the wonders of Munich. Elector Charles Albert commissioned it in the 18th century, and a monastery in the legal form of a chapter of nuns was set up in the church. And yes, the cornerstone was laid in 1733. It was opened for the public in 1735. This beautiful chapel is the work of a famous architect, Johann Baptist Gunetzrhainer. However, the Asam brothers took responsibility for the interior décor of Damenstiftskirche St. Anna. The ceiling fresco is the most appealing thing in the church. Other includes the nave, altar, and interior ornamentation. Like many other churches and landmarks, St. Anna was also destroyed during World War II. Later, the interior was restored in the 1980s by using old photographs and images. Even though the inner side is completely renovated, but the murals are painted in classic black and white, but the charm of the place is still alive. The only negative point of this landmark is its gate that separates the visitors from the entrance and church nave. It restricts people from exploring the central area of the church, so it can be a little bit difficult for sightseers to view highlights of the church from close. Kathedrale Maria Schutz und St. Andreas The beautiful Catholic Church, Kathedrale Maria Schutz und St. Andreas, is another under-rated cathedral in southern Germany. Call it the Cathedral of the Intercession of the Mother of God and St. Andrew. Its origin is from Ukraine, and it’s the Ukrainian Greek Catholic Cathedral. The cathedral is a piece of modern architecture. The church opened for the public in 1976. Its exterior is modest and decent. The interior is lovely, like many other churches in the city. Moreover, it can be among the best indoor things to do in Munich. Klosterkirche St. Anna in Lehel The Catholic Abbey church, Klosterkirche St. Anna in Lehel, also known as Abbey St. Anna Church, is an example of a unique art. Nestled in the heart of Bavaria, it was the first-ever Rococo church of the Old Bavarian region. It shaped the development of sacred and religious architecture in the land. Johann Michael Fischer designed this beautiful masterpiece in Rococo style in 1733. The interior designers included the Asam brothers and Johann Baptist Straub. It was all started in 1727 as a gesture of thank you for the birth of the heir to the Bavarian crown, Maximilian III Joseph. The construction was completed in 1733, and it was opened for the public in the same year. I have mentioned many times that World War II destroyed plenty of monuments. Unluckily, Abbey St. Anna was among those buildings. Rebuilt in the 1960s. The façade may look plain now, but it somehow managed to appear modest and decent. Salvatorkirche (Church of the Savior) Another Gothic-style church in Munich, Salvatorkirche, popularly renowned as the Church of the Savior, is a former cemetery church of the Frauenkirche. The Greek Orthodox Christians have been performed rituals in this place since 1829. It was also the head office of the Metropolitan German region and the Exarch of Central Europe. Do you know the Greek Orthodox community called it the Transfiguration of the Savior? Initially, it was erected in the late Gothic style in the 15th century. Later, the exterior of the church was built in a Gothic-like architecture, and some Baroque pieces were removed in the restoration process. The inside of the building is fantastic, and the entire church looks captivating, even from a distance. Don’t have enough time to observe every detail of the site? No problem. It can be one of the top outdoor things in Munich. Just spend a few minutes outside the church to know the worth of its beauty. New St. John’s Church Located in Haidhausen, the district of Munich, the Parish Church of St. John the Baptist is a Roman Catholic Church. It is a masterpiece of Matthias Berger. He designed the building in the Gothic Revival style. According to historical facts, the population of the city grew swiftly in the early 19th century on both sides of River Isar. For this reason, the church of Haidhausen became too small to fit its growing gathering, so a new, larger church was constructed. Keep in mind the foundation stone for the church was laid in the 1840s. That is why it is called the New St. John’s Church. Though the construction of St. Johannas was almost completed by 1858, however, the tower took more time. It was erected by 1870, and the west tower of the church is 97-meter high. We all know what happened after World War II, and New St. John’s Church couldn’t save itself from destruction. The bombardments from world war II damaged many portions of the building. After the war, restoration works repaired the building. Even the tower received a new spire, too. Wies Church The UNESCO World Heritage Site, Wies Church, is among the traditional pilgrimage churches near the city of Munich. Dominikus Zimmerman ordered to construct this gorgeous landmark between 1746 and 1754. No doubt, Wies Church is one of the purest and holiest creations of Bavarian rococo. Its decent exterior looks super-classy, and the interior snatches the attention of everyone. Add this place to enjoy historical architecture. To put it briefly, I want to say visiting cathedrals and getting information about them is one of the best things to do in Munich. From the Cathedral Church of Our Lady to Theatiner Church to St. Peter’s to every gorgeous church in the city, the highlights will not let you think you have wasted your time or something. Not even for a second. And yes, don’t hesitate to try new things. Every adventure gives us unlimited experiences. So, are you ready to unlock new chapters of thriller activities in the heart of Bavaria? Read the full article

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