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greenorangevioletgrass · 1 year ago

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give me a minute (1/2) | chef luca

pairing: chef luca x ex-wife!reader word count: 4.7k warnings: established former relationship, angst, fluff, hurt/comfort, discussions of separation and divorce, luca and reader has a son, unresolved sexual tension 👀 notes: this fic has been the bane of my existence for the last couple of months or so. it all started as a simple thought of "ooh it would be fun to have a steamy smut with ex!luca" and then it turns into a whole thing with like proper angst and stuff lol. this will be split into two parts, and i think i need encouragement to finish the second part. so please enjoy this first part and tell me what you think! ✨follow @ficsbygreenorangevioletgrass and turn on the notifications to get alerted of my latest fics! ✨

03:49 PM

Everything is fine, you keep telling yourself.

Your soon-to-be ex-husband is flying in from Denmark to finalize the divorce—and even after two years of exhaustive paperwork and mediations and court proceedings, you still don’t know how to feel about this. His visit to New York is meant to be a consolation prize for your six-year-old son Alfie, whose only facetime with his dad lately is through… well, FaceTime. But, given how extraordinarily difficult he’s being—fussing over his breakfast, stalling shower time by a record of 48 minutes, refusing to wear anything you picked out for him… you have an inkling that he might be a little nervous to see his father.

And to make matters worse, it’s raining cats and dogs outside, which delays Luca by two hours now and actively threatens the zoo outing he has planned out for him and Alfie.

So… despite the shitstorm that is happening in your apartment and out, you keep telling yourself that everything is fine.

Because it is. Your home is tidy enough, with all the toys and the mess tucked away in their little cubbies. Your son is dressed up enough; he’s finally put on his pants and shirt, although you missed a button and he won’t let you fix it. The storm is outside, and you’re safely sheltered in. And your relationship with your ex is civil enough, so you feel…

Fine enough.

But the doorman buzzes in, and you can definitely tell the awkwardness in his voice. “Afternoon, Ma’am. I have your husband— I mean, Chef Luca— I mean Mr. Bailey—”

You sigh, not having the energy to let this go on. “Yeah, yeah. Send him up.”

Alfie looks up from his coloring book and practically jumps out of the couch. “My tummy hurts, I’m gonna make a doodie!”

“No running!” You remind him just a second too late, watching him dash over to the bathroom and slamming the door closed. He has a nervous stomach just like you, and as you feel the icky twist in your gut… you can’t help but empathize with his antics today. You would be fucking shit up too, if you only could.

There’s a knock at the door, and you brace yourself as if you’re about to let the storm itself in (although, quite frankly, you probably are). Your hand feels clammy, and you have to wipe it off on your dress before you unlock the door and turn the knob.

“Hey.”

If the storm was a person, you wouldn’t have associated it with the man standing before you. So tall and broad and sturdy. With boyish features and dark blond locks like gentle daylight. It feels like a reach to imagine the seven years of your relationship with him was, indeed, an epic fucking hurricane.

Still.

You can’t help that you miss him.

“Come on in.” You step aside, not really meeting his gaze.

He murmurs a small thanks and apology, a staple combination in Luca’s British vernacular, as he squeezes in through the door with his duffel bag and suitcase.

“I thought you’d dropped these off at your hotel before you came here.”

“I know. I was going to, but…” he puts down his bags close to the jacket closet, like he always does, “But I got held up for ages and traffic was awful and I didn’t want Alfie to wait even longer, so…”

“Right.” You nod absently. “Well. He’s in the bathroom, should be out in a second, so… have a seat. Do you want anything to drink?”

“Um, water’s fine.” He takes his seat on the dining table.

You’re not sure which one is more jarring; the sheer familiarity of this, or the fact that it isn’t anymore. The two of you just hovering in the home you used to share, courteous but distant.

Luca looks around the place, and notices all the differences right away. You kept the glass dining table and two of the chairs, but changed the corner seating into a plush dining bench against the kitchen island. He recognizes Alfie’s favorite stuffed bunny on the couch, although the throw pillows were new. But he takes one look at the wall… and his heart drops.

Gone are any traces of him in the snapshots of your life. The pictures are all of you and Alfie—eating ice cream in the park, grinning and showing his first lost tooth, dressed up on Halloween… He really shouldn’t be surprised or disappointed to find the wedding portrait gone, or the vacation selfie in Italy four years ago. But it hurts quite a bit to find a generic flower portrait replacing the picture of him kissing you on the forehead while Alfie, laying on your chest, merely hours after his birth.

“Yeah, I…” you clear your throat as you hand him the glass of water, “…did some redecorating.”

“It looks good.” He manages a stiff nod, taking a hesitant swig of water.

“You look…” good, you want to say. Because he is. He’s got that tan and the haircut that reminds you of when you first met him years ago. But you can’t say that. So you settle with, “You look well.”

He meets your eyes, really meets your eyes for the first time, and you try to convince yourself the little flutter you feel inside is just your nervous stomach. But he smiles, soft and earnest. “So do you.”

You turn back and open the fridge, welcoming the cold air and how it cools down the burning warmth on your cheeks. Trying not to freak out and decide what you’re getting, so you don’t look like an idiot. Your hand grabs a can of ginger ale, and you sigh in relief.

“How’s Alfie doing in school?”

“He’s doing alright. He’s enjoying his art classes. Math is still a struggle, but Ms. Rashad says his reading is quite advanced for his age.” You relax a little bit into the conversation. The topic of your son resets you a little bit into a somewhat common ground as co-parents. Plain and simple.

“Definitely takes after you. My dyslexic ass could never.”

You smile at that. Small jokes are still there, always a good sign.

“And the, uh…” he lowers his voice, “the anxiety?”

“Comes and goes. He’s been complaining about a stomach ache all day.” You glance towards the bathroom.

He frowns in concern. “Should we go check on him?”

“Sure…” You walk together with Luca following suit, tentatively knocking at the door. “Alfie? Hey bub, how’s your doodie?” It sounds silly, but you find it helps to ask open questions instead of showing your worries outright.

A flush from inside. “There’s no doodie,” he hollers. His voice is murmured from the barrier, and then the running tap water.

You catch the unease in Luca’s features, and you feel a little bad for him. It wouldn’t feel great that your own son is nervous to see you after many months apart. “You wanna come out, then? Your dad’s here.” You try to sound cheerful and upbeat, hoping it’ll hype them both up.

The two-second gap never felt so long. But the door opens, and there he is, standing meekly against the frame. Staring up at you and then at Luca.

Luca’s heart nearly stops as those big doe eyes stare up at him, a spitting image of you. The same softness. The same spark of stubbornness.

The same vulnerable look.

“Hey, bub.”

“Hi.”

“Can I get a hug?”

There’s a brief pause, before he steps forward and throws his arms around his father’s middle. Luca grunts softly, a little surprised by the sheer force Alfie is hugging him, his heart swelling three times over.

“Oh my God, look at you!” He ruffles the boy’s dark hair and kneels down to level with him. His cherubic face is small cupped in his large hand, but not as small as Luca remembered it. “You’re so tall now!”

“Of course. I’m 3 feet and 8 inches tall now. Right, Mommy?” He proudly announces, getting the exact height completely memorized.

“That’s right,” you confirm with a grin.

Luca gasps, a smile blooming on his face. “What?”

Alfie nods. “I’m gonna be as tall as you.”

“No! Don’t grow up so fast!” He playfully cries out.

“Why?”

“Because I won’t get to do this anymore!” Luca seizes his boy into his arms and sweeps him off of his bunny-socked feet, sending Alfie into a fit of hysterical giggles.

The sight makes you chuckle, but the feeling could bring Luca to happy tears. He’s been gone for so long, he’s afraid he’d forget how it feels to hold his son in his arms again. Or worse, that his son would find his presence alien.

But he’s here now. With you and the son you share. Attacking Alfie in tickles and noisy kisses, and letting the boy climb him like monkey bars. And it calms his anxious heart a bit as he reminds himself, everything’s fine.

And as things fall back into place, thunder crashes outside, as if sobering all of you back into reality. Alfie shirks into himself, climbing off of his father’s back. You want to reach out for him so badly, but at the same time, not wanting to interrupt his bonding time with his dad.

“It’s okay, bub. It’s just thunderclap,” Luca soothes emphatically over the sudden silence, bringing Alfie back down to his feet. He smooths his son’s hair gently, comfortingly. “I got you, I got you…”

“Do animals even come out in the rain?” Alfie is back to his withdrawn self, mumbling his words and avoiding Luca’s gaze.

“Some animals actually love playing in the rain,” you chime in helpfully.

Luca keeps his tone cheerful and bright. “Yeah, and you can wear your raincoat and your wellies and I’ll even let you jump in puddles—”

“I don’t wanna do that! I wanna stay home!” He whines, voice raising a little.

“It’s your dad’s time—”

“No!”

“Alfie.” Your tone is firmer now, as he struggles out of his father’s arms and runs to his favorite corner of the couch in the living room, holding his stuffed bunny tight.

But Alfie’s got a point. This is not the kind of rain where you can take a leisurely stroll in. No, this is the kind where you stay huddled inside and hope it doesn’t flood the streets. Luca takes a thoughtful look at Alfie who is sulking and shrinking from the sound of thunder, at the window completely obscured from rain, and then at you… offering an apologetic smile.

So much for quality time with his son.

Luca’s heart sinks a little. He sighs in defeat. “Maybe we should just wait it out…”

“Are you sure? I mean, you flew 9 hours to see him—“

“And I don’t want him to be pissed at me the whole time we’re hanging out,” he reasons. “Besides, I don’t think any Uber would take our order at this time.”

It makes sense, you think. As much as you want this awkward little broken family dance to end, you know that staying in and waiting it out is the best option. Alfie would feel much more comfortable at home than in whatever hotel Luca is staying in. And maybe it’s your protective side talking, but if he ever gets fussy, you’d prefer to be around to deal with it.

“Alright, fine.”

“Yeah? Is that okay with you?”

You shrug. The truth is a little more complicated, but ultimately you settle with a simple, “yes.”

Alfie takes a quick glance at you and Luca emerging from the hallway (you have your mother’s side eye, Luca always said), before returning to fiddling his stuffed bunny’s ears (your father’s neutral look of disapproval, you would say). Like clockwork, Luca takes the seat next to Alfie, while you take the puffy stool in front of him.

“That wasn’t very nice of you to raise your voice at me and your dad like that. I get that you’re nervous about the weather—a bit startled, too— but still. We don’t raise our voices in this household.”

Alfie looks at you and Luca. “I’m sorry.”

Luca nods in acknowledgement. “I’m sorry for being late, buddy.” He gingerly reaches out to touch the boy’s hand. “You’re right, though. It might be best to stay in for a bit.” He motions at the rain hammering down on the window outside.

“I told you. I wanna stay at home.”

“I know. And we are for now. We can…” Luca scans around for something to do. His eyes fall on the coloring book and the open box of color pencils next to it. Bingo! “We can… color some drawings in that book?”

He pouts, not entirely sold on the idea but not outright refusing it either.

“Or, hey, I got some new drawings on me. You can color them, too.” Luca takes off his hoodie and shows off the tattoos on his arms.

God, you forgot about the plethora of trashy tattoos adorning his skin. Even worse, you forgot how it highlights the defined curves of his biceps. Focus, for fuck’s sake! You avert your gaze towards the flower portrait on the wall.

Alfie perks up a little. “This is my old drawing.” His tiny finger pokes at his forearm, on a tattoo of a stick figure climbing up the stairs. “You still have it?”

“Of course. It’s there forever. I’ll always have it.” Luca finds himself choking up at that simple admission. A little token of childhood of his ever-growing love. “Go on, get your crayons.”

Alfie looks at you as if seeking permission, and it makes you want to laugh that he shares the same animated eyebrows as his father.

“Go ahead, bub,” you usher him off lightly, and as soon as he’s out of sight, nods at your ex. “Good save.”

Luca half-smiles. “Thanks. You should chill out. Read a book, take a nap or something. I got him.”

“What, are you trying to kick me out?”

“No, I just—”

Your smile breaks out. “I’m kidding! Go hang out with Alf. I got a Zoom meeting in a few minutes anyway.”

He sighs in relief, chuckling lightly. “You almost got me there…”

You briefly pat his shoulder and for an even briefer moment, his hand is atop yours. The big ‘A’ tattoo on the back of his hand—your son’s initial in a bold Gothic letter— serves as a reminder of what’s past; a whirlwind romance, the wild days of being a family of a merry band of misfits…

Misfits. That’s the biggest takeaway here, you suppose. Your pieces don’t quite fit right. Not without little Alfie gluing you together.

With a final squeeze on Luca’s shoulder, you make your way to your bedroom, making space for Luca’s puzzle pieces to fit with Alfie’s because they don’t fit yours anymore.

***

05:04 PM

By the time your Zoom meeting ends, the pelting rain outside is louder and the chatter inside is nearly inaudible. It feels nice for about ten seconds… until you remember that you have a six-year-old at home and long bouts of silence can be quite… well, suspicious. You pad out into the hallway to check on him.

“Let’s see. You wanna do the sunflower next? What do you think, my love?”

Oh right. For a moment, you forgot that the thirty-year-old other parent is here with him.

Luca has his t-shirt sleeves hiked all the way up, biceps in full display as Alfie colors in a tattoo on the back part of his upper arm. The boy’s tongue sticks out and his eyebrows furrow in focus. It seems like a delicate operation between them, so you linger out of sight for just a while longer.

“Why do you like sunflowers, Dad?”

The two of you have always supported his inquisitive mind, and he missed these kinds of questions most of all. Even if the answers can be a little complicated. “Because of your mum, actually.”

“You like it because Mommy likes it?” Alfie’s little nose crinkles.

Luca chuckles in amusement, sensing the judgment in his son’s tone. Damn you guys for teaching Alfie not to get carried away by trends. “Well… when your mum and I first met, it was winter in Chicago and it’s pretty bleak and gloomy and freezing. But, your mum had a little sunflower by the window—just like that one.” He glances at the little potted sunflower on the windowsill. “She said it’s a reminder to let the sun shine in. I thought it was adorable. We started doing that everywhere we lived and… I don’t know, it reminds me of home.”

“Do you have a sunflower by your window, Dad?”

His heart catches as he realizes the answer. “No, I don’t…”

“Why? You don’t miss home?”

There’s a sharp pang of hurt in hearing that innocent query. The apartment in Copenhagen, as nice as it is, has never been much of a home for Luca. He would get up before the sun is up and return from work late at night—lather, rinse and repeat. On his days off, he would either go on a morning run and spend much of his time outside, or sleep til noon and live on instant ramen and takeout. There’s no time for a sunflower by the window. No room. He made sure of that.

He doesn’t deserve one after leaving his wife and son for fucking Noma.

Luca swallows back the lump in his throat, although the slight waver in his voice gives him away. “I got my sunflower right here, bub. My little piece of home.” He taps on his arm softly as his son finishes up.

Alfie hums, pleased with how the tattoo looks, now filled in with yellow and black and brown crayons. “I think this is my favorite one.”

“Yeah? Not the tabasco?” Luca grins, looking down at his forearm—specifically at the mostly accurate red and green of the hot sauce bottle.

“No…” Alfie taps his chin with his finger thoughtfully. “This one is prettier.”

Luca maneuvers around to look at the sunflower tattoo a little better. “You’re right, it is much prettier. Maybe I should get the colors in permanently, huh?”

The boy’s face lights up. “Can you?”

“Yeah. I think I will. Nice job, my little tattoo artist.” Luca pulls him into a bear hug and kisses the top of Alfie’s head.

You can’t help but chuckle, glad to see them bonding again, lost in your thoughts for a moment.

“Mommy! Dad says I can be a tattoo artist!” Alfie snaps you out of your reverie.

“Is that right?” Your eyebrows shoot up, struggling to maintain a neutral expression while staring at Luca like with all due respect, what the fuck?

He raises his hands in surrender. “I just said he’s my little tattoo artist, that’s all.”

“I colored in all of Dad’s tattoos! Look!” Alfie tugs at his dad’s arm, beaming as he shows off his work.

You step forward, studying the results of the tattoo makeover. Every single tattoo is colored in; some accurately, like the sunflower and tabasco, while others (like the purple fish and chips and blue scotch bonnet)… not so much. You don’t know which one’s more amusing; your son’s artistic style, or your ex’s bashful look as he models the art works on his arms.

“Looks great, bub. Well done!” You ruffle Alfie’s hair, enjoying his improved mood.

“Can I watch Bluey now?”

You purse your lips comically. “I don’t know, bub. Why don’t you look at your checklist on the fridge and see if you can?”

Alfie bounds past you, towards the fridge, and reads the checklist out loud to himself. “Have you… brushed your teeth? Yes. Brushed your hair? Yes…” He flattens his wavy locks with the palm of his hand, continues reading with a lower murmur. “Mommy, I did everything except tidy up my room and play outside for 30 minutes!”

“Okay. Obviously we can’t play outside, so… why don’t you just go clean your room and I’ll let you watch Bluey for a bit?”

Alfie gamely nods and goes into his bedroom, his bunny socks muting his footsteps against the hardwood floor.

Meanwhile, it takes you an extra beat to realize how close you’re standing with Luca without your child between you. He rolls down the sleeves of his black t-shirt sheepishly, scratching the back of his neck.

“Your meeting went okay?”

“It’s alright.” You look at literally anything but the man in front of you, ultimately stopping at your potted sunflower by the windowsill. “That storm out there, on the other hand…”

“Yeah…”

You take an inconspicuous look at the hallway, making sure your son is out of earshot. “Weather reports say it might last a few more hours.”

Luca huffs, trying not to stress out about the possibility of street floods. Of all the things he missed, New York thunderstorms are not one of them. Still, this shitty weather has granted him some time with his son, at his former home… with his former spouse. And God, does he miss this more than he dreads the weather…

“Want me to make you guys dinner?” He offers earnestly.

You pull back, returning to your normal volume. “Oh. No, you don’t have to—”

“I don’t mind. Really. Might as well, right?”

You hear heavy footsteps from the bedroom and Alfie hollers from the hallway. “I’m all done!”

“Don’t forget your crayons!”

Alfie promptly makes a beeline towards his leftover mess. “Heard, Mommy.” He hurriedly puts his crayons back in the box and rushes into his room to put it away. Returning mere moments later with a newfound spring in his steps. “I’m done for real! Now can I please watch Bluey now?”

“I can cook while he gets his screen time.”

The two boys look at you with their best puppy eyes, and it’s the most disarming thing you’ve seen in a while—and the resemblance between them only makes things worse. You playfully roll your eyes in relent. “Alright, alright. Go ahead. Watch your TV and make your dinner.”

There’s a quiet little yesss from Alfie as Luca low-fives him before they scatter, one to the living room and the other to the kitchen. For a moment, you feel like you were transported back in time. For the first time in over two years, you’re caught between cartoon sounds from the TV and the kitchen alive again. All was well in the household.

“Is he still a picky eater?” Luca mouths the last two words inaudibly.

You raise your eyebrows in confirmation. “All he wants to eat is chicken nuggies.”

“I can do chicken nuggies,” he shrugs easily, rummaging through the freezer and takes out a pack of chicken breasts. “Or some version of that.”

Upon overhearing the key word, Alfie’s head all but whips toward Luca. “We’re having chicken nuggies for dinner?”

“Er, kind of.”

“Can I help?” He perks up from the back of the couch, excitement bubbling over.

Luca smiles apologetically. “Maybe later, my love. Daddy’s gonna be using a big knife…” he says as he checks the blade closely, swiping it with his thumb. “…which is dull, by the way. When was the last time you sharpened this?”

“I… have no idea.” You frown. You don’t even remember sharpening any knives… ever. Meanwhile, Luca simply rummages through the kitchen drawer, which makes you ask, “What are you doing?”

“I’m sharpening it,” he states matter-of-factly, already setting up a makeshift sharpening station which… what?

“Didn’t even know we had that,” you murmur plainly as you watch him work. Taking out a block of whetstone from the drawer (where did that even come from?) and running it under the sink. Laying out a kitchen rag and the stone on top of it.

He chuckles a little, scraping the blade against the stone at an angle, firmly but carefully. “Can’t leave you good Santoku knives without the proper sharpening tools, right?”

“You never taught me how to do it, though.”

“Yes, I have.”

“No, you haven’t.”

“What are you talking about? Back in Chicago, I—”

You burst out laughing. “Oh my God, that was one time forever ago! And you never let me sharpen the knives. You literally always do it.”

He pauses, grinning bashfully. “Fair…”

For the umpteenth time that day, Luca’s heart catches—this time from hearing you laugh. Your warm voice rings so pleasantly in his ears, and the way your face lights up… he almost forgets there’s a storm outside, because he’s got a lovely summer day right here in front of him.

And honestly, what is beautiful sunny Copenhagen compared to this warmth of the two people he loves the most?

“Alright, alright. You want a refresher? Come here.”

You gingerly take the place next to him, arms crossed so as to not invade his space. Neither of you say anything when your shoulders brush against each other. It’s brief, painstakingly so, but eerily familiar. You wouldn’t admit that you want to stay pressed against him a little longer, but… you do.

“Okay, so. You see this bit right here?” His finger runs up the line where the blade flattens into the edge. “Rest the knife on the stone on this angle, start from the heel—near the handle— and just… bring it in,” he demonstrates the inward sliding motion—short and precise and repetitive, “and work your way up to the tip.”

You silently watch him work for a moment, handling the knife. Firm and steady, but not harsh. On the contrary, it’s almost… delicate. You’ve seen many chefs work in your lifetime, but no one is as composed or stoic (or handsome, but that is beside the point) as Luca. It’s quite fascinating.

“And you do this on both sides, right?” You vaguely recall.

“Good memory.” He nods appreciatively. “Some people like to do each side one at a time, back and forth, but I like to do one side, get that burr forming…”

“What’s a burr, sir?”

Luca chuckles at your little Hamilton reference. “So when you work on this side, you’ll feel a nice little rough bit forming on the other side like this.” He slides his thumb from the knife’s spine to the edge and carefully guides your hand through the motion. “Feel that?“

Yes. That should be an easy enough answer, because yes, you do feel the rough edge of the excess metal on the blade. But it’s a bit hard to focus on that when you’re more fixated on the rough calluses of his fingertips instead…

In theory, playing a knife with your almost ex-husband is as bad as a bad idea can get. In practice, though… Having your hand in his again, feeling him so close to you, smelling his perfume…

“That’s the burr. Once you get it on one side, you can switch over to the other side and balance it out.” His voice is lower now. Softer. “And you just… do it over and over again until you’ve worked off the burr and have a smooth and sharp blade.”

Luca switches the knife to your other hand and stands behind you, hoping to God you can’t feel his pounding heart as his chest presses against your back. Gently guiding you through the sharpening motion—the firm, steady, angled scraping of the blade towards you. You swear to God, every pull brings him just a tad closer.

“So you basically have to break the knife a little to fix it?”

“That’s basically it, yeah.”

The storm feels miles away. His hands are still curled against yours. His chest flush against your back. His body heat emanates from within him and shrouds you like your favorite cardigan.

“Listen, I—”

“Thanks… for the refresher.” And with that, you put the knife down on the kitchen rag and pull away.

It takes him an extra second to snap out of it and step back to make way for you as you retreat back into your bedroom. “Yeah, yeah. No problem.”

Fuck, fuck, fuck your fucking life to hell.

***

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deltaharrington · 2 years ago

Text

STUCK [SEASON 3 SPOILERS]

PAIRING: Rafe Cameron x Female!Pogue!Reader

WARNINGS: smut, heavy swearing, kidnapping, obx3 SPOILERS

SUMMARY: You were separated from your ex, Rafe, after falling off the Costal Adventure. The Pogues took you in as one of their own. You and Rafe meet again when you’re kidnapped by Singh.

Muffled screams were heard from the hallways as you were dragged to an unfamiliar room.

How did you get here? That was a long story?

A month prior, Rafe Cameron, your boyfriend at the time, had somehow convinced you to run away with him and his family.

You had no idea what he was capable of back then.

When you found out that he helped steal a cross that wasn’t his, and that he tried to kill his own sister, things felt different.

You couldn’t deny that you were in love with him though. It was hard for you to grasp the fact that he wasn’t a good person.

So, you did the thing anyone would have done. You helped Sarah escape.

When both John B and Sarah insisted you came with them, you wasted no time jumping off of the boat.

Rafe nearly shot at the small boat you escaped in. He was expecting you to be on it. Y/n. His Y/n was a Pogue.

Here you were now, kidnapped by Carlos Singh. He had you for a couple of days, claiming he was waiting on something before he could tell you what he wanted.

A large door opened and you were practically thrown into the room, your body slamming against another.

“What the-?” The voice above you spoke. It sounded familiar, and that scared you.

“Y/n? Oh my god!” The voice said, worried. You looked up and we’re met with none other than Rafe Cameron.

He wasted no time, ripping the cloth gag from your lips. At that you scrambled to get away from him, tripping and falling to the floor.

“Rafe? I knew you were apart of this!” You said and the Kook boy tried to reach for you. You tried to wiggle away, but your hands were still tied.

Rafe helped you up, cupping your face in his hands. He was happy to see you. He assumed you got kidnapped by the Pogues, he never knew you went willingly.

“I’ve been trying to find you, sweetheart” He said and your chest rose and fell with anger. He didn’t notice, he was too caught up with the fact that you had survived.

“You won’t have to go with those Pogues again, you’re safe now” Rafe rambled and you shook your head, about to argue.

“I knew this reunion would cause sparks” Singh’s voice from the opening room.

“What do you want from me?” You said and he waved you into the other room. You yanked yourself from Rafe’s grip and you walked into the room, sitting down on a couch.

Rafe followed and sat next to you.

Singh went on a rant about El Dorado and all you could think about was how close Rafe was to you. You hadn’t seen him in a month, and you were sure you had gotten over him.

Now that he was in front of you, butterflies fluttered in your stomach. Well, maybe that was because he was fiddling with the ties that bound your hands together.

“What do you want from me?” You asked Singh and he smiled.

“Your friends, they have a diary” He went on and it clicked for you. They had told you about a diary. Denmark Tanny’s diary.

“I don’t…I don’t know anything about a diary” You said and those words landed you right back in a locked room.

“Y/n, baby, you have to talk to me” Rafe pled, kneeling down in front of your sitting figure. You had finally wiggled your way out of the zip ties that had bound your wrists, and now you were placed on the bed.

“Rafe, I really don’t know what there is to talk about” You said and he looked confused, hurt even.

“You, me, you getting napped by the Pogues? That’s what we can talk about” He said and stood up, pacing.

This was it, you had to tell him.

“I didn’t get kidnapped, Rafe” You said and he stopped, looking towards you “I left with them myself” You added and his eyes widened.

“Why- Why would you do that?” He said and you sighed.

“You killed Peterkin, tried to kill your sister, and you lied to me!” You said “I couldn’t be around you, I was scared, Rafe!” You said and he looked shattered.

“You know I’d never hurt you, Y/n” Rafe said and you shook your head.

“I don’t know that, I didn’t” You said and he moved closer, grabbing your hands to hold in his.

“You never ended things properly, so we’re still together” Rafe said, his eyes tearing up “Y-You’re still mine, baby please” He begged and you shook your head, your eyes becoming teary as well.

“Rafe, we can’t” You said and he reached up towards four face, cupping it “Please don’t do this, not now.” You added and he shook his head, leaning in towards you.

When he kissed you, you felt like your world fell into place. You hated that feeling, but you craved it more than anything.

You couldn’t help but melt into his touch, letting him lean in further to pin you to the bed. He hadn’t seen you in a month, and he longed to feel you in his arms again.

Upon realizing what you were doing, you pulled away, shaking your head “Rafe” You whispered, his thumb trailing across your bottom lip.

“Please, I know you want this just as much as me” Rafe said “I love you, so much” He said and you felt your heart nearly explode.

“I love you too” You whispered and he smiled, letting his thumb caress your cheek.

“There’s my girl” Rafe whispered, pressing his lips against yours again. This time you gave in, missing his touch.

Rafe moved between your legs, pulling you flesh against his hard-on.

“Feel that?” He asked and you nodded “All because of you baby” He whispered and looked down at you. “Haven’t had any in a month” He said “I’ve been waiting on you, only to hear that you left me?” He said and you shook your head.

“That’s right, I’ll have to show you just how pent up I’ve been” He said and you looked up at him, trying to pull him closer.

“Please, Rafe” You begged “I need you, now.” You said and that was all he needed.

Within mere seconds, your clothes were on the floor, Rafe prodding your entrance with the tip of his cock.

“Please, Rafe” You begged and that was enough for him, the blonde sliding all the way inside of you, his hips touching yours.

Your back arched at the familiar fullness you felt, a moan left your lips as he attacked your neck, littering it with hickeys.

You both had forgotten the situation you were in, only worried about each other.

Soft moans and the sound of hips meeting filled the room, Rafe moving fast to make you have the best orgasm of your life.

“Rafe! M’already close!” You gasped out and he nodded, a smirk on his face.

“Me too baby, I fuckin’ missed you” He said finally giving you permission to cum.

At his command, you turned into putty, your legs shaking, as you clenched around him, milking his cock.

He rested his head in the crook of your neck after he came, your labored breaths filling the room. It didn’t take too long for you to come down and calm down, slipping under the covers to hide your exposed body.

“We need to get out of here” Rafe spoke softly “You’re mine”

END.

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nordickies · 13 days ago

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How do you think our babies (Denmark, Norway and Sweden) looked during Kalmar times? I always imagine Denmark growing up a bit during it because it's kind of a pinnacle of power for him!

I already showed what Sweden would have looked like, but sure! I think your image of Den makes a lot of sense.

In my personal headcanons, I think Norway was practically bedridden at the beginning of the union since the plague hit him especially hard. Due to his poor health, he depended on other people to do even the most basic tasks, which must have driven him insane. His poor health, being stuck indoors (leading to a lack of contacts and opportunities) and basically the absence of freedom sealed his fate for the next centuries going forward. Maybe the few times he genuinely rebelled and ran away were especially dangerous due to his condition, but he must have had so much built-up frustration about many things at the time.

Sweden came and went as he pleased, running away a lot when he got frustrated or upset. Sweden's unwillingness to cooperate drove Denmark nuts, so they argued a lot. I feel like Den had genuinely good intentions, trying to make this union they were forced into work. But he was also more experienced than the rest of his family, having multiple alliances to take care of, so he ended up taking the leadership role in most situations. So I don't think Denmark getting upset about Norway and Sweden running around with growing pains and failing to see the bigger picture is completely unjustifiable...

There's just too much to get into, so this is briefly a general picture of how I see the union. They were all physically young, and thus immature and stupid, so it's not surprising at all that the union didn't really work out at any point.

#hws denmark #hws sweden #hws norway #headcanons #my art #feels stupid posting swe twice but eh #trying to make them more youthful than their modern counterparts was HARD #my thought process being something like #-> den trying to fit in with his european allies and their renaissance fashion #-> swe's gear being thrown together last minute from basic everyday work clothes before running away once again to god knows where #-> nor being clearly sick and weak but still trying to upkeep his status for his own sake

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mariaofdoranelle · 4 days ago

Text

Stage Kiss

Written for Throne of Glass Microfics

This accidentally ended up the size of two microfics but I’m tagging you if you’ll still have me @throneofglassmicrofics

Prompts: mainly indulge but I ended up using mayhem too

Warning: teenagers

Words: 1,9k 🫣

1st run

Today, at 3:30 p.m., Rowan would kiss Aelin Galathynius on the cheek.

Pathetically enough, this little knowledge was on the forefront of his mind all day. Not his classes, no. Just Aelin’s ivory—occasionally rosy—cheek.

“Whitethorn!” Fenrys shouted in the hallway several steps behind, forcing him to turn and stop so his friend could catch up. “Looking good,” Fen said, playfully slapping the back of his hand against Rowan’s bicep.

Rowan rolled his eyes. He thought that going to the gym every day—plus taking supplements behind his mom’s back—would magically make him more confident. It didn’t. The only difference was that he looked slightly less thin, so now Fenrys occasionally catcalls him and reacts to his IG stories with the flame emoji.

Even worse, Remelle Wiselheade was now hitting on him. His plan to get Aelin’s attention absolutely backfired.

As if he was a mind-reader, Fenrys said, “And how does it feel to be Aelin’s husband?”

Rowan blinked. “Uh…”

“I mean in the play!” Fenrys threw his head back and cackled, then urged them towards the school theater. “Bro, you’re—“

“I obviously knew that!” Rowan said, defensive.

He was just taking theater classes because his mom thought it’d help him with the shyness. But Aelin? Aelin Galathynius could give Margot Robbie a good run for her money—in both talent and beauty.

If enduring his crush on her during classes wasn’t enough, they were acting as husband and wife for this play.

And it required him to kiss her on the cheek.

He was glad that Mr. Emrys, their drama teacher, had a no-kids-kissing-on-stage policy. Rowan was half a lip virgin—that thing with Lyria didn’t count—and while having an almost first kiss with Aelin would’ve been great, he wasn’t looking forward to a very public cardiovascular malfunction.

Once inside, he quickly found her by a wall with Nehemia. Aelin didn’t see him at first, but he slowed his pace to look at her better, making Fenrys—who was right behind him—trip and take Rowan down with him. Not down, since both recovered before falling face-first on the floor, but the whole thing was loud enough that now he had Aelin’s attention. At the worst moment imaginable.

She smiled at him and sent a tiny wave, and by the poorly hidden smirk on Nehemia’s face—very similar to Fenrys’—she must’ve figured out his crush on Aelin. She had to. Nehemia Ytger was one of the smartest people he knew, he just hoped she’d keep her mouth shut for now.

Once everyone gathered around Mr. Emrys and he gave them directions for today, the first rehearsal for Hamlet began.

It passed like a blur until the scene arrived.

[Modified Act 1, Scene 2]

The court gathers. Claudius stands before the throne—simple practice chairs, actually—with Gertrude at his side. Hamlet watches from a distance, looking somber and disapproving.

Rowan didn’t want to read too much into why he learned even the narration. He turned to his “court” and said:

Though my dear brother’s death is fresh in memory, we must also move forward.

Therefore, I have married my brother’s widow, Gertrude, to strengthen Denmark and honor our kingdom.

Gently holding Aelin’s hand, Rowan swallowed and almost froze when it was time, but her encouraging smile propelled him further.

He might’ve just dipped in and out, but feeling her skin under his lips was the quickest yet longest second of his life.

His cheek kiss was followed by deafening silence. For a second Rowan thought he’d embarrassed himself somehow, until he found everyone staring at Fenrys, waiting for Hamlet.

His friend looked like a deer in the headlights.

“I forgot.”

“A little more than kin, and less than kind, Moonbeam.” Mr. Emrys took a calming breath. “Let’s do another run of this scene, shall we?”

2nd run

Therefore, I have married my brother’s widow, Gertrude, to strengthen Denmark and honor our kingdom.

Rowan took Aelin’s hand again. Both experience and her open expression made him kiss her cheek more confidently this time, and he was calm enough to enjoy the moment.

The same awkward silence again.

“Mr. E, I have ADHD,” Fenrys protested, though the twitch in the corners of his mouth betrayed the seriousness. “Don’t you think it’s a bit fascist of you to make me learn all these lines in medieval?”

It’s called ‘Early Modern Common Tongue’, Moonbeam. You’ll learn with practice.” Mr. Emrys settled back into his seat. “Let’s do another run.”

4th run

By now, Rowan was very well practiced in kissing Aelin’s cheek.

Because of the political nature of their characters’ marriage, a greater actor would make Claudius give Gertrude a triumphant look rather than a fond one, but if Mr. Emrys wanted a great actor, he should’ve thought twice before casting Rowan.

Therefore, I have married my brother’s widow, Gertrude, to strengthen Denmark and honor our kingdom.

As practiced, he reverently took Aelin’s hand and leaned in for the cheek kiss.

But she turned her head. The spot on her cheek that he focused on became a blur, and before he could grasp the situation, he felt the softness of her lips in his.

An awkward miscalculation on her part.

Or was it?

The way Rowan jerked back in surprise made their peck quicker than the other kisses.

“Whitethorn!” Mr. Emrys called, one finger pointed at him. “That was supposed to be on the cheek, mister.”

He froze, glancing wide-eyed between the teacher and Aelin’s mischievous look. He could protest and clarify that she was the one to incite the kiss, but that would just be loser—worse, virgin—behavior.

Rowan may be both, but he sure wasn’t acting like it.

With the snickers that came from the students, their teacher’s stance relaxed. He slowly shook his head and muttered, “Teenagers,” as a chuckle escaped him.

5th run

Rowan was determined to return Aelin’s peck, which meant that now stakes were higher. This time, he was even more nervous than before the rehearsal started.

She is cute. Rowan really likes her. And she kissed him first.

And this self-pep talk was shit at calming him down.

Therefore, I have married my brother’s widow, Gertrude, to strengthen Denmark and honor our kingdom.

Instead of holding her hand, Rowan held her jaw instead. By their silent exchange, she had an inkling of what was coming, and her expression seemed welcoming. A quick brush of his thumb as another warning, and he leaned in.

Pillowy soft lips briefly against his was a brief shoot to the skies and back.

It was quick. It was glorious. The sweet, sticky feel of her lipgloss was the best thing he’d ever tasted.

“A little more than kind, and—“

“Gods, Fenrys, it’s kin!” Nehemia shouted from the sidelines, distracting the teacher enough to forget about the kiss.

After this, Mr. Emrys stopped complaining—he had bigger battles to fight.

7th run

After their third kiss—plus four on the cheek—Rowan began to wonder if it was too soon for a “What are we?” conversation.

Maybe he should ask her out.

Scratch that, he was absolutely asking her out. If he got rejected, life would go on—after he changed schools.

Therefore, I have married my brother’s widow, Gertrude, to strengthen Denmark and honor our kingdom.

Rowan stroke her cheek with his thumb and leaned in once again for their peck, but once he did, Aelin threaded her fingers through his hair and kept him there, tilted her head. She waited a second for his response, then retreated once it didn’t come.

Shit. Was this—

With hawk-like speed, Rowan grasped her face with both hands before she could draw back and… well, it was too much of a whirlwind inside his head to make sense of what was going on. All he knew was exploring tongues and her hands on his neck and his heart that threatened to leap out of his throat to interrupt the kiss.

He couldn’t believe he was kissing Aelin Galathynius, and she felt so soft. Soft lips, soft skin, a soft sigh that he felt in areas he’d rather forget to not embarrass himself.

“A little more than kin, and—HOLY SHIT”

The absolute silence turned into mayhem once Fenrys abruptly addressed what was going on. Once he did, the students howled and whistled at them.

However, the only reaction he cared about was Aelin’s, who stared at him with flushed cheeks and wide turquoise eyes that sparkled with something he couldn’t quite place. She giggled and hid it behind her hand, and the sight of her nervous excitement brought a funny feeling to his stomach.

“Okay, that’s enough,” their teacher said to interrupt everyone’s shouts and cheers. “Moonbeam, you’ll arrive with your lines fully memorized next time—this is not a request. Everyone’s dismissed except for Whitethorn and Galathynius.”

The mood immediately sobered as students grabbed their things between whispers. It didn’t affect him like people thought it would, though. Rowan had just kissed Aelin—with tongue. Mr. Emrys could put him in detention ‘til eternity, he didn’t give a fuck.

They got ready to leave along with everyone else, but gathered around the chair their teacher was still on once the theater was empty.

A twitch of Mr. Emry’s lips into a firm line told them he was trying to get into ‘stern teacher’ mode. He’s not really the authoritative type, but they broke the rules, and it was in the job description that he plays a role for discipline’s sake.

“In the script, it says ‘kiss on the cheek’, and I need my actors to do exactly as scripted, okay?”

Rowan and Aelin both muttered their agreements.

“Great. If that—“ Mr. Emrys pointed at the spot their kiss happened. “happens again, I’ll have to take measures all three of us won’t like.”

“We understand.”

“Great.” He said in an upbeat mode, without his ‘stern teacher’ frown, switching back to ‘nice teacher’ mode. “Glad that’s settled. You can go now, but I want you in your best behavior from now on.”

The thing about Mr. Emrys is that he’s a really cool dude. He rarely gets angry at his students, most times it’s an odd sort of fond exasperation. It worked on their favor this time, but Rowan wouldn’t take it for granted.

Outside, Aelin stopped once the door was closed. So did he. The playful flirtation they had during rehearsal was gone, and Rowan was unsure on how to make a move in this awkward silence.

It was now or never, though.

Aelin chuckled and went her way down the hall, which he followed beside her.

“So, that happened.”

He gave her a brief, close-lipped smile. “I was thinking…”

“Yeah?” She swiftly looked up at him, eyes wide.

“Doyouwannagooutsometime?”

Rowan hoped the blood rushing into his cheeks wasn’t visible from outer space.

Aelin had both hands gripping the shoulder straps of her backpack as she fought the corners of her lips from quirking up.

“Sure,” she said. “Do you have something in mind? Because there’s this movie I really wanna watch—”

“We can watch it.”

Aelin bit her bottom lip, eyes brimming with amusement. “I haven’t told you which movie it is yet.”

He tilted his head, silently urging her to give the information.

Please, anything but that gorey demon one he saw last weekend.

“Do you wanna go see Healers vs. Demons?”

“Sounds great,” Rowan half-lied.

Any movie sounded great if it was on his first date with Aelin.

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book--brackets · 29 days ago

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Summaries under the cut

Anne of Green Gables by L. M. Montgomery

Anne Shirley, an eleven-year-old orphan, has arrived in this verdant corner of Prince Edward Island only to discover that the Cuthberts—elderly Matthew and his stern sister, Marilla—want to adopt a boy, not a feisty redheaded girl. But before they can send her back, Anne—who simply must have more scope for her imagination and a real home—wins them over completely.

The Lunar Chronicles by Marissa Meyer

Humans and androids crowd the raucous streets of New Beijing. A deadly plague ravages the population. From space, a ruthless Lunar people watch, waiting to make their move. No one knows that Earth’s fate hinges on one girl. . . . Cinder, a gifted mechanic, is a cyborg.

She’s a second-class citizen with a mysterious past, reviled by her stepmother and blamed for her stepsister’s illness. But when her life becomes intertwined with the handsome Prince Kai’s, she suddenly finds herself at the center of an intergalactic struggle, and a forbidden attraction. Caught between duty and freedom, loyalty and betrayal, she must uncover secrets about her past in order to protect her world’s future.

Charlie and the Chocolate Factory by Roald Dahl

Charlie Bucket's wonderful adventure begins when he finds one of Mr. Willy Wonka's precious Golden Tickets and wins a whole day inside the mysterious chocolate factory. Little does he know the surprises that are in store for him!

Uglies by Scott Westerfeld

Tally is about to turn sixteen, and she can't wait. In just a few weeks she'll have the operation that will turn her from a repellent ugly into a stunning pretty. And as a pretty, she'll be catapulted into a high-tech paradise where her only job is to have fun.

But Tally's new friend Shay isn't sure she wants to become a pretty. When Shay runs away, Tally learns about a whole new side of the pretty world—and it isn't very pretty. The authorities offer Tally a choice: find her friend and turn her in, or never turn pretty at all. Tally's choice will change her world forever....

Number the Stars by Lois Lowry

Ten-year-old Annemarie Johansen and her best friend Ellen Rosen often think of life before the war. It's now 1943 and their life in Copenhagen is filled with school, food shortages, and the Nazi soldiers marching through town. When the Jews of Denmark are "relocated," Ellen moves in with the Johansens and pretends to be one of the family. Soon Annemarie is asked to go on a dangerous mission to save Ellen's life.

The Graveyard Book by Neil Gaiman

Nobody Owens, known to his friends as Bod, is a perfectly normal boy. Well, he would be perfectly normal if he didn't live in a graveyard, being raised and educated by ghosts, with a solitary guardian who belongs to neither the world of the living nor the world of the dead.

There are dangers and adventures for Bod in the graveyard: the strange and terrible menace of the Sleer; a gravestone entrance to a desert that leads to the city of ghouls; friendship with a witch, and so much more.

But it is in the land of the living that real danger lurks, for it is there that the man Jack lives and he has already killed Bod's family.

Bridge to Terabithia by Katherine Paterson

Jess Aarons has been practicing all summer so he can be the fastest runner in the fifth grade. And he almost is, until the new girl in school, Leslie Burke, outpaces him. The two become fast friends and spend most days in the woods behind Leslie's house, where they invent an enchanted land called Terabithia. One morning, Leslie goes to Terabithia without Jess and a tragedy occurs. It will take the love of his family and the strength that Leslie has given him for Jess to be able to deal with his grief.

The BFG by Roald Dahl

Captured by a giant! The BFG is no ordinary bone-crunching giant. He is far too nice and jumbly. It's lucky for Sophie that he is. Had she been carried off in the middle of the night by the Bloodbottler, the Fleshlumpeater, the Bonecruncher, or any of the other giants-rather than the BFG-she would have soon become breakfast.

When Sophie hears that they are flush-bunking off in England to swollomp a few nice little chiddlers, she decides she must stop them once and for all. And the BFG is going to help her!

Graceling by Kristen Cashore

Katsa has been able to kill a man with her bare hands since she was eight—she’s a Graceling, one of the rare people in her land born with an extreme skill. As niece of the king, she should be able to live a life of privilege, but Graced as she is with killing, she is forced to work as the king’s thug.

She never expects to fall in love with beautiful Prince Po.

She never expects to learn the truth behind her Grace—or the terrible secret that lies hidden far away . . . a secret that could destroy all seven kingdoms with words alone.

A Light in the Attic by Shel Silverstein

Here in the attic of Shel Silverstein you will find Backward Bill, Sour Face Ann, the Meehoo with an Exactlywatt, and the Polar Bear in the Frigidaire. You will talk with Broiled Face, and find out what happens when Somebody steals your knees, you get caught by the Quick-Digesting Gink, a Mountain snores, and They Put a Brassiere on the Camel.

#best childhood book #poll #anne of green gables #the lunar chronicles #charlie and the chocolate factory #uglies #number the stars #the graveyard shift #bridge to terabithia #the bfg #graceling #a light in the attic

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rqgnarok · 1 year ago

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music to my eyes - jamie tartt

fandom: ted lasso

wc: 4,266

warnings: spoilers for the season 3 finale of ted lasso, jamie being a lil self deprecating. reader uses female pronouns.

summary: jamie has a crush on the band’s bassist.

author’s note at the end!

Jamie’s so, so late.

Roy’s gonna have his balls. It’s the first training for the Queen’s Cup final against Tottenham– their first one without Ted, a little something before the freaking Champion’s League starts next year– and Jamie’s having the worst morning of his life.

He woke up late for his 4 am training that ran long, traffic was absolute shit and now he’s sprinting– not running, cause he’s not allowed to after he and Colin almost ran over the Prince of Denmark while racing each other to the locker room, a story for another day– down the hallway with Roy Kent’s fury just waiting to find its rightful owner.

He didn’t even have time to comb his hair today. It still looks amazing, but it’s the routine that matters. For his mental health or whatever.

Maybe that’s why he feels so jittery and doesn’t look where he’s going as he makes his way to the locker room. Jamie’s got his bag clutched to his chest and his headphones hanging around his neck, his jacket halfway on before he gave up and left it trailing down his side like a sad blanket.

He’s cursing whatever Gods control alarm clocks and traffic and hairbrushes when he knocks onto someone. It’s so forceful it sends them both to the ground with a grunt and a little ah! of surprise. Jamie tries not to grow annoyed and fails. He considers laying on the ground and becoming one with the carpet so he doesn’t face Roy’s justified punishment and sighs out his nose, pushing himself to a sitting position.

“–so sorry,” and it’s a woman, Jamie just knocked out a woman in his rush to work. What’s next? Is he gonna hit a cat with his car? Maybe spit on a kid’s face? She keeps babbling apologies, unaware of Jamie’s foul mood. “–supposed to be at her office but there’s just– there are so many hallways–”

“‘s alright,” he cuts her off harsher than he means to, guilt stabbing at him when she looks at him with wide, remorseful eyes. Jamie sighs, dusting off his clothes and standing, offering her a hand. “Me fault for bein’ in a rush. Should’ve seen where I was going.”

“Oh, god, you actually know where you’re going,” she says with a grimace, accepting his hand. She’s on her feet and standing too close to Jamie for a second that feels like a lifetime– almost nose-to-nose with Richmond’s greatest. Her laugh is stuttery and nervous when she steps back, barely meeting Jamie’s eye.

She’s cute. Jamie’s not planning to do anything about it, especially not with his fine for being late slowly becoming one for missing training but she is. Cute. His mouth lifts in a half smile at the thought, charmed.

“I was looking for Rebecca Welton’s office but I only got myself lost,” she says sheepishly, putting her hair behind her ear every couple of seconds since it keeps stubbornly falling out of place. Jamie’s fingers twitch a little but no. No, absolutely not, he’s not doing this to himself, no sir. “Is there any way you can give me directions without having to go with me? I don’t want you to be late for– shit. Practice, huh?”

Jamie thinks she’s the smartest woman that’s ever walked the face of the Earth until he remembers where they are. At Richmond’s training facilities. She’s looking at a disheveled man in a sports outfit. The story kind of tells itself.

“I– yeah,” Jamie stutters a little, clearing his throat to disguise it. “There’s, um, it ain’t a problem. I can take you there if you want.”

Her entire posture screams relief as soon as he offers, and it’s enough for Jamie to make up his mind even if she hasn’t said yes yet. “Would you? They said in the group chat not to be late and, like, they weren’t specific about it but you just know when a message’s for you, you know. And here I am, late–”

A beat.

“–and rambling,” she smiles at him again, the sight tugging at Jamie’s chest as he stands there like an idiot, his brain rebooting whenever she does it. “Yes, please. I’d really appreciate it.”

And so Jamie asks a kitman to take his stuff to the locker room while he walks her up to Rebecca’s office. His hand hovers but doesn’t quite touch the small of her back while he blabbers his way through small talk. Nice weather, today, innit, traffic was absolute hell though. Oh, you’re not from around here, that’s nice, do you plan on going sightseeing?

He delivers her to Rebecca’s floor to a thankful, ecstatic Higgins, who welcomes her with a hearty shake of the hand and promises that she hasn’t missed anything important. She’s barely able to spare him a smile and a quick thanks before the door’s closed behind them and Jamie’s standing there on his own, smiling at nothing.

He’s still wearing a dopey grin when he finally finds himself on the field, Roy yelling at him to run laps until sundown for being late. His legs are killing him, he’s £200 poorer, and he didn’t even get the woman’s name; but nothing can drag him down from his high and make him forget how she’d squeezed his arm in gratitude, touch warm and calloused against his skin.

The next day Rebecca’s there before practice starts, looking tall and pleased as she claps her hands and shares the big news: since the final of the Queen’s Cup is being held right here at Nelson Road, she managed to get a band to play during the halftime show. They’ll be here the entire next two weeks for rehearsals and staging, so everyone must be on their best behavior if they don’t want their name in the summer transfer market.

Jamie doesn’t connect the dots until he sees her again, this time at a local bar big enough to house less than two thousand people. Keeley hears from Roy who hears from Beard, who heard from Higgins that Rebecca said the secret band was gonna hang around the city for a couple of other smaller, quick gigs.

Jamie manages to excuse himself from video games at Colin’s with the guys and offers himself to Keeley as a buffer between her and Roy at a bar tonight. Though, in Jamie’s very humble and very right opinion, they’re already on their way to getting back together for good.

The band’s gathered a nice crowd, the lighting low and the thrum of the music hammering on Jamie’s teeth. He’s nursing the beer Roy bought him, the man charmed enough by Keeley’s presence that he let Jamie bend his rigorous diet regime. Just for the night.

It takes three songs for the bassist to speak up, a makeshift spotlight landing on her, sweaty and delighted at being onstage. Jamie’s blood rushes to his face and his vision blacks out for a second.

It’s her. No longer is she lost and out of her element, shyly asking a stranger for help. Both of her feet are steady on the ground, the strap of her bass snug around her neck. Her fingers are toying with the strings even when no song’s playing, an air of rightful confidence washing over the room as it takes her in. Jamie isn’t the only one suddenly breathless.

She grins against the microphone, coy. “Thank you so much for having us, Jaded Joker. We’re Karma Police, and we hope you have as much fun hearin’ us as we do playing for you.”

They fall into another song with that quick introduction and Jamie can’t take his eyes off her, barely hearing the song as the world around him slows down. Her clothes and jewelry sway with her to the rhythm of the music, the lights shifting seamlessly into different colors making her look ethereal.

Keeley clocks it in immediately.

“She’s good, huh?” she nods at the stage where Jamie’s stranger is moving to the beat of the bass like no one’s watching, shamelessly enjoying herself and making funny faces at her bandmates. “Fuckin’ smoking, too.”

Jamie only hums in a very Roy Kent-like way, knowing there’s no fooling Keeley fucking Jones. The last thing he needs is to give her details and have her dip a toe into Jamie’s nonexistent love life.

Of course, he doesn’t take into consideration that Roy’s a brazen gossip.

“So,” Sam elongates the word as he’s spotting Jamie on the press the next day, happy watching him grunt at the effort. “How was the band last night?”

Jamie almost drops the damned thing on his chest.

“Roy said you enjoyed it,” he continues giddily like he didn’t almost commit accidental manslaughter by catching Jamie off guard. “Especially the bassist. What was her name?”

Sam fakes confusion for less than a minute before Jamie gives, mumbling it under his breath. He’d been weak and googled Karma Police in the privacy of his car before going home, swiping through the images that popped up until he recognized her face.

(Y/N) (Y/L/N), the article he clicked on informed him. Jamie had repeated the name under his breath just to see what it felt like on his tongue for an embarrassing amount of time.

Thanks to Karma Police’s bassist and lyricist (Y/N) (Y/L/N), the band’s sophomore album New Perspective has found a home in people’s hearts and high on the global charts.

Keeley wasn’t kidding. She’s good.

“Oh,” Sam realizes, some of his amusement softening into genuine interest when he watches Jamie’s face do whatever the fuck it's doing. “Oh, you like like her.”

Jamie immediately flushes under Sam’s gaze, making sure the weight is safe in its place before physically fleeing the conversation. Sam doesn’t mention it to anyone, which Jamie appreciates so badly he could cry a little, but he does find his eyes across the locker room later when Rebecca comes in, four people in tow.

“Everybody, these are the wonderful musicians I spoke to you about the other day,” she says it in a way that screams I’m a pleasant human being and embarrass me and I will end your career right where you stand all at once. “We’re on a little tour of the installations and I thought we’d all come to say hi to wrap it up.”

The boys are charming and welcome them with ease. They’re not one of the most liked teams in England despite their bad runs for nothing, but Jamie’s frozen the second he catches sight of her. She’s a step behind one of her bandmates, shaking hands and smiling politely at conversations while staying slightly in the background, the stage persona from the previous night gone like taking off a jacket.

Jamie takes pride in the way their eyes meet and her tight expression loosens, her smile blossoming into something more genuine, less unsure.

“Hey, stranger,” she says a little awkwardly after having gathered the courage Jamie couldn’t to cross the room and say hi. It feels like they’re alone in a room full of people, and for a second Jamie thinks he sees Sam stealing a few looks, making sure he keeps the others away and distracted for a little privacy. “Did you make it to training the other day?”

“What?” Jamie blanks like an idiot, then shakes his head when he remembers how they met; both of them, late for their respective responsibilities. “Oh! Oh, yeah. I– yeah. I had to run for me life to make up for it, but I made it.”

“Good,” she smiles, shifting in her place. “I, um. I’m glad we get to play for you guys. What you’ve done this past season, getting back to the top, has been unbelievable.”

“You’re unbelievable,” he replies, awestruck, and backtracks when she looks a little apprehensive. She’s doing the hair thing again, combing it back while it stubbornly escapes its place every couple of seconds. A nervous tic, maybe. “I mean– some friends and I, we saw you last night at the Jaded Joker. If anything, it’s an honor we get you guys to play for us.”

“Oh!” she seems pleased, ducking her head at the compliment. Her shoulders loosen again, and Jamie tries not to feel like he just scored a goal against Man City. “Oh, you should’ve said hi! Did you enjoy yourselves?”

“I did,” he says, too soft, and it feels like an admission of something when her eyes search his face, for a moment landing on his mouth before putting herself back together. “Up there, it’s like– it’s like you forget everyone else. You’re made for the stage.”

If anything, (Y/N)’s delight only strengthens, tugging at the neckline of her shirt. Jamie finds himself trying to follow the trail of new skin and flushes as well when he catches himself just in time.

“Thank you,” she matches his tone. “You’d think it’d be nervewracking but it’s… silence. In my head. Does that make sense? I feel like it doesn’t.”

“It does,” Jamie agrees, breathless. It’s exactly how he feels when he gets the ball on his feet, every anxiety and worry and part of him he doesn’t like quieting the minute he steps on a pitch. “I get the same when I play. Peace in the chaos, I guess”

(Y/N) looks at him like she’s discovering the world’s eight wonder.

“Kids!” her bandmate breaks the moment by coming over, arm draped around (Y/N)’s shoulder. (Y/N) blinks, looking a little shell-shocked. “Sorry to interrupt this party, but rehearsal awaits.”

Disappointment claws at Jamie’s belly, but before he can let it fester the conversation continues, bubbly and loud. “Alas! We’ll be done around 5. You’re welcome to visit then. We’re going to the third floor, I think.”

(Y/N)’s only amused at her friend’s antics, even if Jamie’s back to having a knot in his throat out of nervousness alone. Jesus, what’s wrong with him? It’s like he’s eight again and crushing on the cute boy that lived in the apartment in front of the Tartt’s.

“See you then?” (Y/N) says, hopeful, and Jamie thinks it’s only fair he’s brave as well and nods as resolutely as he can.

“I’ll be there.”

He ends up having to ask Higgins for directions, after promising he’s not gonna stir up any trouble at least four times. It takes Roy passing by and giving a few reassuring grunts, guaranteeing Jamie’s best behavior before Higgins gives him the location. When Jamie goes to thank him, Roy only points at him menacingly, though lacking his usual frown, and says don’t fuck this up.

Rehearsals are just wrapping up when Jamie gets there, instruments being packed and people saying goodbye to each other when he makes his way into the room. He immediately finds (Y/N) sitting on the piano playing a complicated melody.

She lights up when she sees him, the music seizing. “You made it!”

Jamie stops her from standing up, instead sitting next to her after she scoots over to give him room. “That was nice. A song of yours?”

(Y/N) shrugs. “Hopefully soon. You never know, when you’re writing. You start working on a song and it ends up being a completely different thing from when you started.”

“Sounds messy,” Jamie says, a little consternated at the thought. Fortunately, (Y/N) laughs.

“It is. Do you play?”

“Fuck no,” he says quickly, then tries to explain himself as she splutters in amused surprise. “I mean, I don’t think I can. It seems pretty complicated. I’ve always been better with me feet.”

He reaches for the keys and begins playing some nonsense, loud and offkey, knowing it’ll make her laugh again.

“No, you gotta–” she cackles, placing her hands on top of his and quieting the dissonant echo of the keys. Jamie feels the tug at his lips, insistent, automatic, the same rush of delight that courses over him whenever he’s in her presence. “Gentle. Be gentle about it, jeez.”

She lines up their hands so her fingers move his and begins playing a quiet, fun melody. Jamie’s doing shit other than staring at her face, slightly twisted in concentration as she mumbles the notes under her breath. G, G, G, F, G, B, G, G…

“I know this one,” Jamie mumbles in recognition. (Y/N) turns her head to smile at him, pleased. “‘s from Nottin Hill, innit?”

“And a million other movies,” she murmurs back, unable to break the spell that’s fallen over the room. “I wouldn’t have taken you for a romantic.”

“‘s my favorite film,” he concedes, finding it incredibly easy to be honest when they’re sitting side by side like this, alone, their sides warm against each other. He loves his teammates, but (Y/N) didn’t know him when he was awful and arrogant, too cocky. There’s nothing she holds against him, no standard he needs to meet for her to be happy in his company. “Cried me eyes out at the end. Though I’ll deny it if you ever ask in front of anyone.”

(Y/N) laughs. “I promise I won’t. It’s a good movie. Doesn’t beat While You Were Sleeping, though.”

Jamie’s expression remains blank. (Y/N)’s face falls into disbelief, her hands tightening against his. “You’ve never watched While You Were Sleeping.”

He’s heard of it, but it’s hilarious to watch her forget herself, any sign of nervousness or polite shyness finally out the window. Jamie likes it– likes her, wants her to be comfortable with him and stop holding herself so tightly whenever she’s off the stage.

“You poor, sheltered boy,” she exhales, aghast. “Holy fuck, I can’t believe I’m about to introduce you to the best romantic comedy ever made.”

Jamie goes to take the opening but stops himself at the last second. He knows this process; the flirting, the leaning in for just a moment so she smells his cologne then pulling away, leaving her wanting more. The asking for a date, a fancy dinner, then taking her home. Sneaking out in the middle of the night, dodging calls until she stops trying to reach him.

He’s been doing it for years. He wants to desperately break the cycle and he wants to do it with her, but does he have it in him? Jamie’s been working on himself harder than he’s worked for anything else in his life, but what if he’s one slip away from becoming his old self? From turning out like his dad?

Sure, the old man’s changed, or– well. He’s trying to. But whether Jamie likes it or not he sees a little too much of him in himself sometimes, and he can’t do that to her. He’s known her for less than a week and he knows she deserves better. Everyone does.

Roy told him not to fuck it up. Maybe this is what he meant.

His expression stutters, shatters, and reestablishes itself in a matter of a moment, a blink of an eye. Jamie knocks his shoulder into hers gently, leaning back into place after a second. He teases: “And who made you the expert, eh?”

Rather than letting it drop, (Y/N) takes the bait just like Jamie knew she would. They stay there until a security guard comes to kick them out for the night, and they talk about everything and nothing. Movies, songs, bands they like, and foods they don’t. Jamie’s favorite players when he was a kid, his hero-like worship for Roy Kent, and how he’s made him a better player, a better man.

(Y/N) shares with him the first time she held a guitar in her hands, the albums she listened to when she was a kid that changed her as a person, realizing she could create magic through words and music. Her favorite cities to tour, how long she’s known her bandmates, how she’d die and kill for them if necessary.

By the time he’s walking into the pitch at Nelson Road two weeks later, the roar of the crowd around him swallowing every other sound, Jamie’s spent every free moment of his time with (Y/N) (Y/L/N). It was unavoidable, helpless as he is in his attraction to her, but Jamie doesn’t know what to do without, as Roy so carefully put it, fucking it up.

It hadn’t helped when (Y/N) snuck into the locker room to wish him luck, showing him the Richmond bracelet she was gonna wear onstage with a roll of the eyes. “Our stylist wouldn’t let me wear the jersey, but don’t you doubt for a second that I’m rooting for you, Tartt.”

Jesus Christ. Jamie had felt his cheeks warm up and dared to thank her with a loud, exaggerated kiss on the forehead that left them both grinning like idiots and Roy staring at them knowingly.

Before Jamie followed his teammates into the field, Roy had pulled him aside with a hand on his shoulder. “Tartt–”

“I know, I know,” he answered a little too self-deprecatingly. “Don’t fuck it up.”

But Roy only raised his eyebrows, realization dawning on his features. “You think I say that because I think you will?”

Jamie mumbled some not-words under his breath and Roy cursed. “Prick. I say it because you deserve good things, dickhead. And you should let them come to you when they do.”

Good things, Jamie thinks after one of his passes gives Dani the first goal of the night. The younger man jumps into his arms while hugging him tight and laughing into his ear, their teammates joining their embrace less than a second later.

He looks towards the general area of the VIP seats where he knows (Y/N) and the rest of the band are cheering them on. He pictures her screaming at the top of her lungs, arms in the air, and being happy for him like she’s known him for all his life.

She might be the best thing. Whether he deserves her or not, Jamie wants her. Wants to be with her, watch romantic comedies until they both cry and spend his free afternoons watching her play the piano while he plays FIFA in the living room. He wants songs written about him that have him blushing whenever he hears them in public and for her to come to his games and be able to dedicate every goal to her he ever scores.

Good things. Yeah, Jamie can get down on that.

“You fucking asshole!” she jumps into his arms the second she finds him on the pitch after the game, a medal hanging from his neck and sweat sticking to his skin. (Y/N) doesn’t seem to care as she lets him lift her in the air, holding onto each other tight. “You did it! You fucking did it!”

“I missed your show,” he replies instead, only a little bummed. He’s seen her play live before but there was an itch under his skin the entire half-time, knowing how close she was and being unable to get to her. Jamie grins. “And stole it, too.”

“There he is,” she teases gleefully. “For a second there I thought you were gonna be humble about this.”

“I don’t even know what that word means,” he says cockily.

“And how’s Mr. Man of the Match gonna celebrate, huh?” she wonders, hitting him lightly on the chest now that he’s put her back on the ground. “A fancy club? Getting shitfaced with the boys? A date with your left hand?”

Jamie puts his hand on hers at the last second, stopping her from pulling away. She sways into him, all traces of joking vanishing from her expression. He forces himself to stay on her face, the urge to look away defeated by how she’s looking at him. In wonder, open, hopeful.

She deserves good things, too. Jamie is determined to be the one to give them to her.

“I was thinking dinner?” he asks, fidgeting a little on his feet. “Maybe a movie? Thought I could see what While You Were Sleeping’s all about.”

(Y/N)’s mouth is fighting against a smile, somewhat hesitant still. Jamie doesn’t blame her, he’s been beating around this bush the entire time they’ve known each other.

“You want any company?” she wonders.

“Well, what kind of date would it be if it was just me?” he forces his features into faux confusion, watching her finally lose the battle and beam like a kid on Christmas. Her fingers twitch where he’s holding onto her hand.

“Not a great one,” she concedes, looking like all of Jamie’s dreams. “How do you feel about Mexican?”

Awful. Jamie feels awful about Mexican. He’s a white sexy boy in all the ways that matter and his taste buds punish him for eating spicy food no matter how much he likes it. But he can compromise. He’s starting to realize there’s very little he wouldn’t do for (Y/N) (Y/L/N).

“I feel fantastic about anything you like,” he answers truthfully. “I’m sure me tongue will forgive me eventually.”

(Y/N) laughs, fingers in Jamie’s hold shifting so she can hold his hand. “I think there’s a good lyric somewhere in there.”

“You plannin’ on writing me a song?”

She smirks. “Bold of you to assume I haven’t yet.”

Jamie squeezes her hand, leaning in to kiss her cheek.

“Can’t wait to hear it, love.”

___

there’s an ache in my bones to make a series out of this fic omg

i can’t believe the show’s over (is it tho????) so here’s some jamie fluff to heal our tender, mourning hearts. as always you’re welcome to tell me what you think and chat jamie and ted lasso as much as you’d like! thank u for reading AND for all the love on my last jamie piece that you can read here!

masterlist / ao3 / ko-fi

#commissions and asks are open!#leo writes #jamie tartt #jamie tartt x reader #ted lasso #phil dunster #roy kent #brett goldstein #rebecca welton #hannah waddingham #keeley jones #juno temple #sam obisanya #toheeb jimoh #i had so much fun w this i hope i do write more of them #reader insert

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theofficialpresidentofmars · 8 months ago

Text

did I ever tell you guys about how I would adapt (the tragedy of) Hamlet (prince of Denmark) if ever given the chance. because I have so many thoughts and I’m adding onto them all the time so here’s a post with all my ideas compiled.

- firstly, it would be an animated mini-series of five episodes, each one corresponding to an Act. I think Animation is a highly under-utilised and underappreciated medium that would suit this particular story well in terms of what it could achieve visually and also these are just a bunch of words to say I’m heavily biased towards animation and just love it so much.

- there are so many fun little character design tidbits i would implement. including but not limited to: Horatio being the shortest, Claudius/Hamlet Sr identical twins (and Claudius having a Scar reminiscent scar on his face for the drama… and also the eventual Act 5 Scene 2 parallels when Laertes wounds Hamlet with the rapier in an incidentally similar way), Laertes having a silly curly moustache, Horatio and Ophelia resembling the other, Hamlet looking tired, pale and ghostly at all times, character’s hair being used as a way to show passing of time (Hamlet having hair on the long side of short in Act 1, growing but in a little ponytail over Act 2, medium-length and unkempt in Acts 3 & 4, and cut shortly and neatly in Act 5. also Ophelia’s hair growing noticeably as well and being often neatly braided with little flowers in Acts 1-2, loosely braided without flowers in Act 3, but being down and wild in Act 4 etc), and so on so forth.

- I would shamelessly be including flashbacks to pre-tragedy memories of the castle/inhabitants. Baby R&G&H running through the castle halls and playing hide and seek. Hamlet actually, god forbid, practicing fencing. The Players entertaining at the castle in Hamlet’s youth. Ophelia and Hamlet sneaking out into the garden beneath the willows by the pond, Hamlet braiding flowers into her hair while they sit together. Yorick entertaining baby Hamlet. All coloured with the softest, goldenest glows that nostalgia can manage to contrast the desaturated depressive hues of the current day. I think a lot of the tragedy of *Hamlet* specifically lies in comparing what was to what ended up being, and since the play starts after Hamlet’s entered his mourning period, it’s hard to fully comprehend the true nature of such a fall.

- Each Act having a lovely stylised title card in its introduction with themes and motifs that are specifically prevalent throughout. Act 3 would have curtains, for example, given the play staging and Polonius’ later poor choice of hiding place. Act 5 introduces the classic skull we all know and love.

- Very purposeful dramatic lighting and colour throughout. Daylight lighting and then the switch to a lot of Hamlet’s soliloquies seeming to appear under more ‘spotlight’ lighting. Early evening during the play, sunset during the scene where Claudius prays (golden light tricking through beautiful stained-glass windows), nightfall when Hamlet yells at Gertrude. Lighting also being used to dramatise entrances perhaps, such as Claudius’s prayer being interrupted by the shift to ‘spotlight’ lighting before we even see Hamlet at the door.

- Same goes with music and motifs, interwoven character leitmotifs and themes that shift keys and qualities and work together to make larger pieces and show up to herald the arrival of a character, or turn sour to match their emotions.

- the visual humour of the play being upped, as well as the wordy humour being emphasised, in order to really contrast the shift in tone throughout the halves of the play. I’ve always been a tragicomedy truther when it comes to Hamlet, I think if done well it could be a really neat way to get the audience to invest more in the characters while also really highlighting how quickly everything goes south.

Probably add more on as I go

#hamlet #hamletposting #shakespeare

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operafantomet · 4 months ago

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My friend and I have a wager; I say that there have been 20-25 complete Red Deaths (not just pieces) made for replica productions since 1986, she says there have to be many more than that. Can you weigh in?

I don't have any exact numbers, but immediately I feel that sounds a bit meagre? It does of course depend on what you mean by "complete", as many of the costumes tend to share pieces - say, cloak, maybe hat - while they have separate main costumes. Sometimes doublet and breeches are also mixed and matched. Would that count as one or two?

Trying to count the different costumes seen around the world, I do see a high degree of re-use. These costumes are expensive and takes forever to build, hence there's few of them, and they rarely go on display. It also means re-use is high.

I remember talking to the head of costumes for the previous World Tour, and he told me how they worked endless hours on one of the original Australia Red Death costume between each show, to keep it fit for yet another performance. But I think it was also sentimental reasons for it, because it was WILDLY well made, they simply don't make 'em like that anymore. Jonathan Roxmouth got a new Red Death costume for his last Phantom run, which was well made in all aspects but more theatrical than splendid compared to the old one. The old one was a class act in costume making:

But I'm digressing. One thing to have in mind is that each replica production needs to have at least two operative Red Death costumes at all times, because one is used by the principal when first decending the staircase, and one is used by the double appearing shortly afterwards. They simply cannot share a costume.

Seeing how the first couple of productions around the world ran simultaneously, in West End, on Broadway, in Tokyo, Vienna, Stockholm, Toronto, Hamburg, Scheveningen, Melbourne and Basel... As well as the early US sit-down productions as well as the US, Canadian and UK Tours. That means a minimum of 30 costumes alone. Likely some of these had more than one costume for their various principals, due to different size. So let's say 35. And that's an absolute minimum.

And then cases where we KNOW new costumes were made. They made one for Peter Jöback when he first joined the West End production, as per info and photos he shared:

We know they made a new one for Jonathan Roxmouth in the World Tour, as per info and photos shared both by him and UK costume maker Jane Grimshaw:

We know they made at least three brand new ones for the Las Vegas production, as shared by costume maker Lindsay Kleinmann. This is not her photo, but shows three of them together, along with an especially made dog costume for charity:

Eventually, many of the late 1990s and early 2000s production could inherit their costumes. It means Belgium got their from Switzerland, Denmark got their from Sweden, the German costumes got a lot of the Dutch ones etc. But whereas some costumes has traveled a lot, for example the Red Death costume used in Moscow, Madrid, Sao Paulo etc, it was at one point new. Its origin seem to be Mexico, where brand new UK costumes were made, and mixed and matched with inherited Canadian costumes. But one or two were made new for them when they opened 1999. There's also been new costumes made in Japan. And definitely in West End, even if they mix and match a lot from stock.

That leaves us with at least 45 Red Death costumes. Probably more. Even with mix-and-match, and even with the hand-me-down practice. Which unfortuneately means your friend is right... Sorry!

Rarely photographed, here's the Red Death double costume in the World Tour, as a pendant to the first photo above:

(definitely not the same costume as the principal)

#phantom of the opera #costume nerding #red death #maria bjørnson

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timomoe · 5 months ago

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For the shipping game: DenEst and SweEst <33

We're off to an amazing start

SweEst

SweEst is one of my favorite ships in the entire fandom. For one, there is lots of historical backing to it - Sweden was once the empire that ruled over Livonia (some of modern day Latvia and all of modern day Estonia) and compared to the other powers that controlled the area, Sweden was pretty relaxed when it came to governing. Sweden was, generally, quite kind to Estonians, advocated for opportunities to have the population educated, and even allowed them to keep their folk beliefs instead of forcing them to convert to Christianity. In the grand scheme of things, a lot of Estonians don't consider Sweden's rule colonization, and it's a generally agreed upon fact that the Swedish Era in Estonia was the good era. Later, Swedes also supported Estonia's bid for independence and around 1000 (I believe) volunteers ditched their country to go fight Russians in Estonia in the 1910s. They remain good friends to this day, diplomatically, too.

In terms of hetalia, I view their relationship as one that's VERY slow to form. Initially, Sweden was uninterested in befriending Estonia, only communicating the fact he was the better option in comparison to the Teutons, Russia, and Denmark. He wanted Eduard to understand that so that he could govern him without hiccups. If Estonia knew he was the best choice, then maybe he wouldn't be as violently resistant to him as he was to everyone else.

I imagine things started to change about 2/3 of the way through the swedish era, when Sweden began to pursue a genuine friendship with Eduard. That was unheard-of (in my hcs) by that point, as Sweden's only real mission was to subdue those his crown told him to, and Estonia would have been one of them. He placed value and worth on nations based on their power, and, of course, being controlled by someone his entire life, Eduard had very little of it. But what he lacked in strength, he made up for in sheer tenacity and power of will, which eventually swooned Sweden, which Sweden wasn't expecting at all. The fact that someone had been able to "seduce" (seduce used lightly here, Eduard was being an asshole and Bernhard just went "omg so dreamy" bc he's AN IDIOT) him and not the other way around really caught him off guard.

He didn't pursue anything, of course. He was too busy, and Eduard was practically a feral cat. Sure, he'd come home to eat, but get too close and he'd run; touch him, and you'll probably contract rabies from the bite. Not only that, but very soon after Ber decided he wanted to kiss this man and stare longingly into his eyes... He lost him. To Russia. And immediately was barred from seeing him. I imagine Russia wouldn't have wanted Sweden, whose rule was very obviously preferred to his by Estonians, to speak to him, lest he inspire a rebellion. The only way they maintained contact was bc Finland decided he cared more about Eduard and his mental health than he did about his hate for Sweden, and he helped smuggle in letters that Sweden wrote. He knew it kept Estonia and Latvia's spirits up.

They probably wouldn't have gotten together until the modern day, if at all. It's honestly equally likely to me that ber is just too afraid to lose Eduard's friendship and keep quiet about his feelings as it is that he took a chance and started a relationship with him.

Either way, Eduard is just COMPLETELY caught off guard. "Me?? ME?? Why!" He doesn't get it. Ber is far more conventionally attractive than Eduard is, plus is tall, with the strong silent schtick that makes people lose it, AND he's a sweet and attentive father who loves and gets along with kids. He's got all these interesting hobbies and interests, and has amazing life stories to tell. Eduard really wouldn't think he's worthy of attention from someone like ber, and that ber is WAY out of his league. It would confuse him, but he obviously wouldn't be opposed to the idea of a relationship with him. He likes ber! He's been friends with the guy since the 16-ish00s. He knows him well. He's seen just how much he's grown as a person. He knows him, his motivations, his interests, and he knows enough to know that he would probably do well in a relationship with him. He's very analytical about the whole thing, because he doesn't want to leap into something just for it to go badly and ruin one of his closest friendships.

I think the relationship would go pretty slowly because of this. For Eduard it's a matter of experimentation and for Ber, it's a matter of keeping Eduard comfortable. He does not wanna step on his toes.

I have a confession to make. I've never offered this ship more than 2 of my brain cells until now. Mostly bc, hot take, I'm not super into Denmark. He's fine! He's silly and cute in an annoying big brother kind of way

DenEst

But this ship almost veers toward "you can see what A likes about B, but not so much what B likes about A."

In my mind, Denmark is immature. Well meaning, yes, but immature. The way I tend to characterize Eduard, is as a very mature person. He had to grow up way too fast because he was constantly being picked on, targeted, and fought over by nations two, three, four times his size. Denmark being one of them, albeit much further back than Sweden and other nations. It was Denmark that Estonia led an uprising against, with the full intention to just kill anyone they caught (St. George's Night Uprising). Denmark wasn't kind to Eduard when he owned his territory and subjugated him. BUT Denmark was stupid and young at this point, fresh out of the Viking era, where violence was how problems were solved. It could easily be said that Denmark learned a lot from his time ruling over Livonia, and it is most definitely true that he chilled out a LOT as time went on.

Denmark can be an idiot. He's impulsive. He's a little absent-minded, and can be over-excitable. But one thing he is not, is malicious. In fact, he's likely the most outwardly kind and affectionate out of the Nordics, excluding Finland. He is soft-hearted and kind, and he cares very much about the people around him.

Some of the ideas a friend (@hetaestoniahq) has shared with me revolve around Eduard in the 90s. If you're unaware, Estonia struggled a lot in the 90s. Being released from a horrific dictatorship that repeatedly tried to demolish your people's spirit in the WORST ways will do that to.

According to his hcs, Denmark was one of the nations who regularly kept contact with, checked on, and spent time with Eduard after he was granted independence. This stems from the fact that Denmark was one of the 1st countries to re-establish diplomatic ties with Estonia, if not the first. Denmark also sent volunteers to aid Estonia in their war of independence, like Sweden and Finland did.

He tried to make sure that Eduard was staying healthy, building healthy habits, and taking care of himself. Obviously this would have been a struggle, but Denmark would have done his absolute best, because Estonia was a friend of his, and he never lets his friends down, if ever he can help it.

And honestly, it would have just gone from there. It's a very soft and wholesome ship, I totally understand why all 5 people who ship this like it as much as they do.

#hetalia #aph estonia #aph sweden #hws estonia #hws denmark #aph denmark

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sylvienerevarine · 2 years ago

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hi who would like to hear my Education in Tamriel headcanons based on absolutely nothing

some provinces (Cyrodiil, High Rock, Summerset Isles, Hammerfell) I feel follow sort of a Victorian-style education system. In poorer or rural communities, children will usually be taught by their parents or neighbors and start apprenticeships fairly young. If the family lives near a larger town, children will often attend a village school (basically a one-room schoolhouse) until they're in their mid-teens and head off to higher education or start learning a trade. In cities, there are larger public schools that run similarly to village schools, just with higher budgets. A couple of specific-province thoughts:

Cyrodiil undoubtedly has at least one snobby temple-run school called Saint Alessia's School for Girls. The students wear expensive uniforms and rebel in weird ways.

Summerset Isle schools treat etiquette and deportment as important academic subjects.

Hammerfell has several extremely well-thought-of schools and colleges, and it's a popular study-abroad destination for High Rock and Cyrodiil students.

Every school in High Rock has a resident magic teacher.

Now, in some other provinces (Black Marsh, Elsweyr, Skyrim, Valenwood) I feel like education is somewhat less formal (though no less rigorous). In larger towns cities there are one or two empire-funded public schools attended by most children. in smaller communities, education is usually assigned to a village elder/wise person and encompasses both academic and practical subjects. All of these places embrace the principle "Being Outdoors Helps You Learn." Valenwood probably has forest kindergartens of the kind you see in Denmark.

Morrowind has kind of a mash-up of all of these systems. Education in the Ashlands is very traditional and usually comes from one's grandma; in towns like Balmora there's a small school most kids attend; Vivec has several fancy academies; Mournhold has a school called Our Lady Almalexia of Mercy Academy.

#tes #skyrim #oblivion #morrowind #elder scrolls #headcanons

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woso-dreamzzz · 11 months ago

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Caro

Pernille Harder x Hardersson!Reader

Caroline Graham-Hanen x Hardersson!Reader

Part of The Big Adventures Universe

Summary: The vending machine incident

The day of the incident begins like any other.

Momma wakes you up and dresses you in your you-sized green Harder jersey. She brushes your hair and serves you breakfast around getting ready for training.

You get bundled into the car and driven to practice where you have a second breakfast and essentially have free reign so long as you're in Momma's eyeline.

Practice is cool today and you get to run after stray balls, catching them in your hands and kicking them back to the nearest girl.

It's during one of Momma's media thingies that you wander off. She's sitting in front of a camera with a man speaking to her. You're sitting behind it, playing with your soft toys.

You're still very little, unable to do most things except walk and sometimes make noise. But you still have your opinions and you know that you passed one of those big black things that you press and get food out of.

You're half-dressed, having wiggled out of your shoes, socks and shorts so you manage to slip through the door in just one of Momma's long Wolfsburg jerseys and your nappy.

You stand in front of the big black thing, staring at all the snacks waiting for you. You're not tall enough to press on the buttons that Momma lets you do when she holds you so you try to stretch to reach.

"y/n?"

You turn at the mention of your second name. Momma and Morsa always call you 'princesse' so you suppose that y/n is your second name like how Momma's is Harder.

It's Caro.

Momma says she's from Norway which is kind of near Denmark but you can't like her in the same way that you're not allowed to like Morsa sometimes because she's from Sweden.

You think Caro's cool though because sometimes she wears a different jersey that's a colour that you don't know the name of yet but know you really like.

You blink up at her.

"Where's Pernille?" She asks you, knowing that you can understand her.

You ignore the question though and point at the big black thing. "Want."

"This one's broken."

You recognise that word and stamp your foot. "Want!"

She sighs, glancing back around before scooping you up. Caro's one of the people who's always a bit stiff holding you but you're happy in her arms, sucking at her shirt collar.

She carts you off up a set of stairs and down another corridor before you end up in front of the next big black thing. She fishes something out of her pocket and feeds it to the machine.

"What did you want?"

"Dat!" You say, pointing at a packet of crisps.

Caro lets you press the right buttons before sitting on the floor next to the big black thing and holding you between her legs.

You munch happily on your food, offering some to Caro which she graciously declines.

"Princesse!" There are calls of your name.

It sounds a bit like Momma so you grunt and go to move away.

Caro catches you around your stomach to keep you in place. Momma comes careening down the corner, tears dripping down her face as she crashes into you.

She does a silly kind of knee slide thing that crushes you between her and Caro - who looks just as surprised about the impact.

"Where did you find her?" She asks Caro before turning to you," Did you get lost, princesse? Did somebody take you?"

You don't answer, more preoccupied with kicking your legs out as Momma tries to slip your shorts back onto you.

"She was just by the vending machine," Caro says calmly," She wanted a snack. The one she was at was broken. I didn't want her to start crying."

"And no one was around her? Nobody took her?"

"Not that I could see."

Momma breathes out a deep breath, pulling you firmly into her body as soon as she's wrestled you back into your shorts. "You can't wander like that," She tells you though she knows that you're either not listening or not comprehending her," You could have gotten hurt."

You ignore her, staring up at the big black thing again and then back down at your empty crisps packet. You point. "Want!"

#woso x reader #hardersson x reader #pernille harder x reader #pernille harder #caroline graham hansen x reader #caroline graham hansen #woso community #woso fanfics #woso imagine #woso #The Big Adventures Universe

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paikothecateater · 3 months ago

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Middle school Au mini fic!

All they had to do to be left alone was take a picture of something random every five or so minutes to be left alone. If a teacher or faculty member got a bit suspicious, all they had to do then was offer to interview them for the school paper. The best human deterrent known to man.

Hong Kong and Iceland used this as a method of escaping class probably more often than they should. They were covered of course. Hong Kong took enough private lessons to make up for any classes he missed and Iceland had his older brother who'd already passed the seventh grade and made a point of ensuring that his brother was always ahead.

They made their way towards the library. The best place for them to play up their photography shtick. The librarian knew of Iceland from his brother who practically lived there.

Iceland gave her a polite nod then immediately headed towards where he knew he'd find Norway. The library had a small side room dedicated to book duplicates, broken computer bits, etcetera. Norway had been given permission by the librarian to tidy it up and use it to ditch class.

Iceland carefully opened the door to find Norway cross legged on the floor, head down, reading a Novel cradled in his lap.

The flash from Iceland's camera draws him out of his book. He looks at him with a puzzled look. Iceland grins in response.

"oh this one's golden."

Norway managed to snatch the camera to observe the very unflattering picture Iceland took of him. He narrowed his eyes at his little brother.

"you're so immature."

"call me immature again, I'll print it out and give it it's own special coloumn in the paper. Show you how immature I really am." Iceland retorted while yanking back his camera.

Hong Kong grinned as he threw himself into one of the rickety chairs.

"I say we put it right on the front page. Give everyone in the school rare access to Norway's magnificent forehead."

Norway shot him a look.

"hilarious. Aren't you two just precious? Why are you two here anyway?"

Iceland put on a face of pure innocence.

"what? Can't visit my big brother when he's on the run from the law?"

Iceland sat across from his brother, leaning his back against a box of damaged computer parts.

"we're here because we're bored and lunch break is in only ten minutes so we thought it'd be smart to get out of the hall before then." said Hong Kong as he began messing around with a broken keyboard.

Norway nodded. It was a good idea to stay out of the hallways around lunch time. Teachers really liked circling the halls then. Not to mention the intense crowd that forms.

"tried to convince Eduard to come with me, but he didn't want to get in trouble. Good call too, that teacher really likes giving him a hard time." said Norway.

Both Eduard and Finland did prefer to stay in class. Finland didn't see a need to skip class. He was never too bored and he liked being able to joke around. Eduard was always a bit scared of being found out. He didn't like breaking the rules much. He occasionally did agree to skip class. He was only caught once, but thankfully Iceland had an alibi for him.

The sound of the bell suddenly went off signaling that they probably should get their crap together. Iceland stored his and Hong Kong's camera in his messenger bag.

They waited an additional five minutes to ensure the coast would be clear before they inconspicuously ducked out of the library and headed to the cafeteria.

Denmark quickly waved them over to their table. Sweden was listening to Finland talk about some sort of children's comic he really liked.

Iceland took a seat by Eduard.

It was rare that Eduard managed to join them at lunch because he was usually occupied with his duties as the president of the writing club. A club of his own founding of course. Iceland and Liechtenstein were very eager to join when he made it. With Raivis as vice president they had enough people to justify having the club.

Eduard took it very seriously and wanted to make sure his club was the best in the school. The others couldn't help admiring his effort and determination.

It didn't take too long for the club to start getting some attention. Ukraine was very happy to join. Her sister? Not so much, but she was also eventually swayed. Eduard could be very charming if he wanted to. Bela would never admit that she joined the club because she found him charming.

He managed to make the club very enjoyable even with the serious atmosphere.

It was good that he was finally joining them at lunch.

"How's your essay coming along, Ice?"

"oh uh... Yeah... I'm gonna be honest, I didn't even start."

Eduard laughed.

"well, I honestly think I'd be worried if I ever saw the day you finished something without procrastinating. Might do a wellness check or something."

Iceland laughed.

It was true, but it was hardly his fault. He had so much work to do. Between violin lessons, play rehearsals, actual school paper duties (because there has to be something to show for all the goofing off), art lessons he barely had enough time to focus on much else.

Norway had also been persuaded by Eduard to join the club. He liked it well enough. When asked the same question by Eduard, he shrugged.

"didn't think writing romance would be so difficult."

"well, you do read a lot of it. Thought you'd like writing it."

"reading romance and writing it are two drastically different things. I thought I'd like it, but it's so damn hard. I can't figure out how to make my characters likable enough."

"I can help you out with it in our meeting later today."

"Boooriiiing!"

They turned to look at Denmark. Norway gave him an unamused look.

"oh I assume you'd rather talk about sports then?"

"yep! I have a volleyball game today!"

"again? Man, do you have them every other day or what?"

"no, we have one every week. What? Are you saying you're not going to watch it?"

"I don't think that's an option. We all go home together."

Denmark grins.

"it's a date then!"

#aph nordics #aph iceland #aph norway #aph sweden #aph denmark #hws iceland #hws norway #aph finland #hws sweden #hws finland #hws denmark

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theoutcastrogue · 16 days ago

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WHY DIGITIZE CULTURAL HERITAGE, AND FOR WHOM?

Many museums around the world make high-quality 3D scans of important artwork and ancient artifacts in their collections. Several forward-thinking organizations freely share their 3D scans, allowing the public to view, copy, adapt, and experiment with the underlying works in ways that have never before been possible.

Anyone in the world with an internet connection can view, interact with, and download the British Museum’s 3D scan of the Rosetta Stone, for example. The public can freely access hundreds of scans of classical sculpture from the National Gallery of Denmark, and visitors to the Smithsonian’s website can view, navigate, and freely download thousands of high-quality scans of artifacts ranging from dinosaur fossils to the Apollo 11 space capsule.

With access to digitizations like these, artists can rework and incorporate our common cultural heritage into new works, such as films, video games, virtual reality, clothing, architecture, sculpture, and more. Researchers and educators can use 3D scans to further our understanding of the arts, and the art-loving public can use them to appreciate, study, and even replicate beloved works in new ways that are not possible within the confines of a museum or with the original works. [...]

Unfortunately, some ostensibly public-spirited organizations do keep their 3D scans hidden. I’ve been trying to help them see the light. Beginning in 2017 I spent three years using German freedom of information law to successfully pressure the Egyptian Museum of Berlin to release its 3D scan of its most prized possession and national treasure, the 3,000 year-old Bust of Nefertiti. Since then I’ve turned my attention to the digital treasures being hoarded by taxpayer funded institutions in France.

The Louvre, for example, will not allow the public to access its ultra-high quality 3D scan of Winged Victory, the Nike of Samothrace, despite its aggressive public and corporate fundraising campaign to digitize the iconic Greek sculpture. Nor its scan of Venus de Milo.

The French Ministry of Culture’s Réunion des musées nationaux (RMN) receives tens of millions of dollars anually in public subsidies to provide services to French national museums. [...] RMN advertises its scans’ availability to the public, which makes for great PR, but its ads are false. In fact, RMN has a strict look-but-don’t-touch policy for its 3D scans and absolutely refuses to allow the public to access them directly. My own investigation has revealed that, in private, RMN admits it won’t release its scans because it wants to protect its gift shops’ sales revenue from competition from the public making their own replicas. For practical applications and creative potential, and direct value to the public, it is as though these scans simply do not exist.

And then there is the Rodin Museum. Founded in 1917 shortly after the death of famed sculptor Auguste Rodin, le musée Rodin is a state-run administrative agency and an arm of the Ministry of Culture. It has a legally mandated mission to preserve, study, enhance and disseminate Rodin’s works, all of which have been in the public domain since their copyrights expired decades ago. Even though musée Rodin never passes up an opportunity to remind the public that it is France’s sole “self-funded” national museum, it sought and obtained direct public funding from the Ministry of Culture’s national digitization program, and in 2010 as part of its public service mission began 3D scanning its collection with the stated purpose of publishing the results.

Fourteen years later, musée Rodin’s scans have not been shared with the public. [keep reading]

- Cosmo Venman

The Baltimore Museum of Art’s unpublished 3D scan of The Thinker.

#art #information wants to be free

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coquitokisses · 3 months ago

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Trusting Again | chapter 007: memories

Word count: 3713

a/n: i mention something about Bucky having siblings and i just wanna say,i did not invent that lol in Captain America The Winter Soldier, when Steve’s at the museum, they show Bucky’s side and it says “Barnes grew up the oldest child of four” and i have receipts lmao so yeah, the only thing i did invent was that he had all sisters (which i do not know if it’s true, but i see him having younger sisters) and well let’s not forget that he does have a sister in the comics so yeah

series masterlist • previous chapter • next chapter

When I opened my eyes, I was in a big and empty room. There was no furniture, it looked kinda old, it was dark and I was alone. I made my way to the center of the room as I looked around.

I know this place.

I turned around and I was now outside, in a gun range. I jumped at the sound of the gunshots, I looked around and saw different people shooting at their targets practicing. I need to get out of here. When I turned around, I saw the chief standing there looking at me.

“Kill him.” He told me

“What?” I frowned confused

“Kill him.” He repeated and when I turned around I saw that it was one of the other trainees

I looked down at my hands and I was holding a gun.

“Kill him.” He ordered

“No..” I looked back at him “He’s my friend.”

“Znaete kakvo se sluchva sŭs slabite.” He said “Ubiĭ go.

(You know what happens to the weak ones. Kill him)

I just took a deep breath and I pulled the trigger shooting him in the head.

"Dobra rabota, purpuren angel." He said putting one of his hand on my shoulder

(Good job, crimson angel.)

I gasped opening my eyes and immediately sat up feeling a slight headache from getting up so fast. It was a fucking nightmare.

“You okay?” I heard Bucky's voice and I took a deep breath calming myself down

“Yeah.” I cleared my throat and I pushed the jacket that was covering me to the side “I just had the most vivid nightmare.”

“About what?” He asked

“Some things I really wanna leave in the past.” I sighed running my fingers through my hair “Are we there yet?” I asked Steve

“We're close.” He replied “You okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine.”

“Any idea how’d they found you?”

“I don’t know, they weren't supposed to.” I replied “It probably was when SHIELD’s files went public.”

“But that was two years ago, why are they coming now?” Sam spoke

I sighed. “I have no idea.”

(…)

📍Struer, Denmark

When we arrived, it was like 5 pm in Denmark and it was already dark since it’s winter. We got off the jet and walked over to the house, Nick was waiting for us in the porch.

“About damn time.” He said once we were close enough to hear him

I dropped my backpack, which Steve picked up after, and a smile appeared on my face as I ran towards him.

“I was starting to wonder if I even had a daughter or not.” He said and I immediately hugged him “Look at you, it’s only been a year and you already look different.”

“Oh stop.” I chuckled pulling away from him

“How are you?” He asked

“Well, she has had better days, that’s for sure.” Steve said looking at me and I nodded

“Come on, let’s get inside.”

We all walked into the house and we sat in the living room. I told Nick everything that happened and we kinda came to the conclusion that the only way they could’ve found me is through the files that were released. And well, also because I’m a fugitive.

“Can’t you find the files and delete them or something?” I asked

“I could try, but it won’t guarantee that they won’t still be looking for you.” Nick replied

“Even if you could delete them, it won’t be of any use if they already have her information.” Steve said

“So what the hell am I supposed to do? They’re not gonna stop looking for me as long as they have it.” I said

“You need to relax, I’m gonna take care of it.” Nick said “Do you guys have a place yet?”

“Well no, that was next thing on the list.” Steve replied

“Stay here for a few days, who knows if they also know things about you guys.” he said “And with everything that y’all got going on, y’all need to stay low, specially you.” He looked at me

“For how long?” Sam asked

“Just until I can get some information on them and also try and get Cat out of their radar.” He replied and I let out a sigh “Hey,” he put his hand on my shoulder and I looked up at him “Everything’s gonna be fine.”

“I hope so.” I nodded “Well, at least we have some beds for tonight.” I looked at Steve and he chuckled

“I’m gonna go meet up with Maria to tell her what’s been going on.” Nick said “This is your home.” He looked at me

“I know.” I smiled at him

“I’ll be back in a few hours, don’t leave the house.” He told us “I’m calling Decker so he can come and take proper care of that wound.” He pointed at my shoulder

Decker is a very close friend of his who happens to be a nurse and he also used to worked at SHIELD as an EMT.

“But I’m fine.” I said

“I didn’t asked, he’s still coming to stitch you up.”

I just rolled my eyes. “Okay.”

He talked with us for a few more minutes and then he left. I showed the guys where they could sleep and then after that we literally didn’t do anything. Decker came like an hour later and he did patched me up better, I did need some stitches.

“No heavy lifting, no raising your arm too far and no touching it too much, let the wound heal and let the stitches fall on their own.” Decker explained

“How long am I gonna be like this?” I asked as he put an arm sling on me

“Well it’s not a big wound, probably 6 to 8 weeks, the stitches will fall on their own so don’t pick them.”

I let out a sigh. “Can I make dinner at least? I’m starving.”

“As long as you don’t move this arm too much.” He said “I left you some painkillers on the table, take them every four to six hours, if it’s an unbearable pain, give me a call.”

“Thank you, Decker.” I said

“Be careful.”

I nodded. “I will.”

After Decker left, I made us some “dinner” (which was just some mac and cheese I found) we ate and then when it was already getting dark, I was just sitting in the porch. There’s actually an amazing view here to watch sunsets. Although it was already completely dark.

“Penny for your thoughts?” I heard Bucky’s voice at the door and I turned my head to look at him

“Oh I don’t think you would want to hear them.” I said and he chuckled

“Try me.” He sat next to me

“I’m just thinking.” I shrugged “What would exactly happen if they find me again.”

“Who are “they” exactly?”

“They don’t exactly have a name.” I said “Uh..” I cleared my throat “It’s kinda like an organization I was a part of when I was little, like a training school of some kind.”

“What do they train you for?”

“To kill.” I replied “And to be spies.”

“I thought you learned that at SHIELD.”

“Absolutely not.” I chuckled lightly shaking my head “I got into SHIELD already knowing what I know, I just used it for good there.”

“How did you end up in SHIELD?” He asked

“I don’t think you wanna hear that traumatic part of my life.”

“I’m sorry, have you met me?“ He raised an eyebrow “Yours can’t be that bad.”

I took a deep breath and I decided to just tell him.

“When I was almost 7, my mom was killed by some men and then those same men took me and basically kidnapped me and sent me to Bulgaria.”

“For what?”

“Well to the “organization” which is where I was basically trained growing up and Nick found me when I was like 12.”

“And what happened?”

“Well we went to United States and he was gonna send me to a foster home like some of the other kids that were saved but instead he decided to keep me.”

“He continued training you?”

“Yeah kinda.” I nodded “He says that he saw I had potential and he wanted me to use it for good this time so he ended up adopting me because otherwise I would’ve been put up in the system.”

“That was nice of him.” said “You went to school?”

“Yeah I finished what I had left of middle school and then I started high school and I graduated with honors.” I smiled

“Well look at you.”

“Traumatized but with honors.”

He chuckled. “Traumatized but with honors, I want that on a t-shirt.” He said and I laughed “When did you start working at SHIELD?”

“I was like 16 when Nick asked me to work with him.”

“You were very young.”

I nodded. “I was.”

“I thought you were older.”

“How old?” I furrowed my brows

“I don’t know, I thought you were in your mid 20s or something.”

“Well I’m getting there.” I chuckled

“I can’t believe it.” He shook his head

“If we’re gonna talk about age, let’s talk about yours, how old are you?”

“Almost a 100, technically.”

“When were you born? 1918 too?”

“1917.”

“How old were you when you.. uh.. fell..?”

“Like 27 or 28.”

“Oh that’s why you have such a nice face, you were young.”

“Why thank you.” He rolled his eyes playfully “Can I ask you something?”

“You already are.”

“Where are you from? Navarro doesn’t exactly sound american”

“I’m from Washington DC.” I joked

“But where are you from really?”

“I was born in Puerto Rico and I moved to Brazil when I was 6 and a half.”

“So that’s where the mix of accents comes from.”

“Yeah, it never really went away.”

“Your first language is spanish?”

“Yes.”

“But you’re very fluent in english.”

“Well my mom taught me very little so I knew both languages and then I learned portuguese when I was in Brazil.”

“How many languages do you actually know?”

“Like 7 or 8 I think..?”

“Really?” He asked and I nodded in response “Which ones?”

“They’re a lot.”

He rolled his eyes. “Okay, just tell me.”

“Well spanish, portuguese, italian, german, russian, romanian, bulgarian and french.” As I mentioned each one, I counted them with my fingers “And english, of course.”

“And are you fluent in all of them?”

I let out a giggle. “Well yeah, obviously.”

“That’s a lot of languages for someone this young.”

“Yeah, well, that’s one good thing that came out of being 6 years in Bulgaria.”

“So they taught you six languages.”

“Well they don’t really teach you bulgarian, you kinda learn it on your own.” I shrugged “They basically taught me five.”

“It’s good that you know a lot of languages.”

“Yeah, at least something good came out of it.” I nodded and then I looked at him “You know a lot of languages too.”

“I do.” He nodded “But not as much as you.”

“You know spanish?”

“You know what? I don’t.”

“You don’t?! I thought you said you spoke 30 languages.”

He shook his head. “No, not me.”

“What do you mean? Then how many languages can you speak?”

“The ones that Hydra needed me to know.”

“Russian?”

“Russian, latin, german, romanian, japanese and obviously english.”

“What was the point of having you know multiple languages if they didn’t taught you spanish?”

He chuckled. “Guess it wasn’t that necessary.”

“And you know latin?! That’s so cool.”

“Not as cool as italian.”

“Italian is pretty cool.” I nodded “It kinda sounds like spanish, some words and stuff.”

“I’ve heard.”

“And spanish is pretty similar to portuguese which is how I got to learn it pretty quick.”

“That was a great advantage then.”

“It was.”

This man isn’t so bad. In fact he’s like the most chill person out of all of us. I never would’ve thought I would be sitting here talking to him so casually.

We were outside for a few minutes, Bucky went back inside but I decided to stay out, I really love this place and I just wanted to enjoy the silence and the breeze. It was already kinda dark when I saw Nick’s car coming. He parked and he got out of the car with Maria.

“Hey, gorgeous.” She smiled at me when she got closer

“Hi.” I hugged her

“How are you feeling?” She asked pulling away from me

“I’m okay, all things considered.” I replied

“Let’s go inside, gotta tell you what we found.” Nick said

We walked inside and we sat at the dinner table with the rest of the guys.

“We didn’t find much information than what we already had.” Nick said “They’re still in Bulgaria but we found some of them in Russia also and they’re still very undercover and very hard to find.”

“But we managed to get our hands on the information they had on you.” Maria looked at me “And let’s just say that it’s a lot, they’ve been tracking you since the SHIELD and HYDRA stuff went public in 2014.”

“Are they gonna come looking for her again?” Steve asked

“They’ll try.” Nick nodded “The good news is we got you off their grid.”

“And the bad news?” I looked at him, I was moving my leg like crazy and I was trying so hard not to bite my nails

“They’re not gonna stop and you know it.” He said and I took a deep breath “They had all your information, everything Natasha released from SHIELD and HYDRA two years ago plus everything that happened in the last few months.”

“And we managed to get you off their grid hoping that they don’t still have that information saved somewhere else.” Maria said “Which is a high possibility.”

I felt a knot in my throat and my chest started to feel tighter making my breathing get heavier. I couldn’t stop shaking my leg and I felt my hands get a little sweaty and shaky as I played with my fingers trying to calm down.

“Hey” Steve noticed my behavior and he put his hand on my knee “You’re gonna be fine.”

I nodded giving him a small smile. But I couldn’t help but feel this awful pressure on my chest.

“I need to get some air.” I said standing up

Before any of them could say anything, I quickly walked over to the door and got out of the house. I haven’t had a panic attack since I was little and I do remember how awful they felt. I would just start crying and because of that I couldn’t really breathe, it was just the worst thing ever.

I just sat on the porch stairs trying to breathe. I closed my eyes trying to concentrate until I heard the door swing open.

“You good?” Steve asked

“Yeah, I just.. I think I’m having a little panic attack.”

“You’re okay.” He said and I felt him sitting next to me

“It hurts..” I sobbed covering my face with both hands

“Hey, look at me.” He gently grabbed my wrists getting my hands away from my face so I could look at him “Breathe with me, come on.”

“I.. I can’t..”

“Yes you can, come on.” He said “Deep breaths.”

He took a deep breath and I started to do the same, trying to keep up with him.

“You’re stronger than all of this, you know that, right?” He said, I was just looking at him “Hm?”

I simply nodded in response.

“Come on, deep breaths again.”

I took another one and I was starting to feel my heart rate slow down so I kept trying to take slow deep breaths like Steve was doing until I finally felt better.

“One more.” He said and I did it “You’re okay, bubs, everything’s gonna be okay.”

I shook my head. “We don’t know that.”

“You’re not gonna be alone.” He grabbed one of my hands

“I know..” I nodded “It’s just that I really thought that it was over.”

“We all did.” He replied “But everything’s gonna be just fine, you’ll see.”

I let out a sigh. “I really hope so.”

“Ready to go back inside?” He asked and I just nodded

We both got up and got back in the house.

“You feel better?” Nick asked

“She’s better.” Steve answered while nodding

“I’m heading to New York in two hours, whatever I find, I’ll send it to Nick.” Maria said

“Uh, can you do me one more favor?” I asked her

“Sure, what?” She looked at me

“Can you look someone up for me?” I went to the kitchen and grabbed a napkin and a pen

“What do you need?”

“Everything.” I wrote the name in the napkin “And by everything I mean everything.” I handed her the napkin

“Cuban friend?” She read the name

“Something like that.”

“What? You think Maricela’s not who she really says she is?” Sam asked

“I just wanna be sure.” I shrugged “You never know.”

“I’ll look her up.” Maria nodded “I’ll send everything to Nick once I have the information.”

“Thank you.”

(…)

* hours later *

It’s almost 1 am and I’m in the dining room doing a word search while eating some cookies. I heard some footsteps coming from the stairs and when I turned my head, I saw Bucky.

“You still up.” He said walking towards me

“You are too.” I said

“I am.” He nodded while sitting on the chair next to me “Why aren’t you sleeping?”

“I’m just not sleepy.” I replied “And you? Still having trouble sleeping?”

“Sort of.” He sighed “Think I’m a little anxious, that’s all.”

“Well that makes two of us.”

“Can I ask you something?”

“Sure.” I lifted my head to look at him

“Are you an only child?”

“No.” I replied “I had an older sister.”

“Had?”

“Well..” I sighed closing the book “I don’t know if she’s alive.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well I don’t know what happened to her after my mom died.” I said “She was with us when it happened, but they separated us so I never saw her again.”

“Have you looked for her?”

“I have.” I nodded “It’s just that.. either she’s very good at hiding or she’s dead.”

“What’s her name?” He asked

“Gianna, she’s three years older than me.” I replied “You had siblings?”

“Yeah.” He nodded “Three younger than me.”

“Oh yeah, I remember Steve talking about it.” I smiled a little “You had sisters.”

“I did.”

“How was being a big brother to girls?”

“Well it was.. a nightmare.” He said and we both chuckled “No, it was great, actually, we were close.”

“I bet you were.” I nodded with a little smile

We were talking for a while until we both went back to our rooms. At almost 3 in the morning.

(…)

* the next morning *

I woke up at 8:48 and I decided to stay in bed a few minutes until I got up to use the bathroom and brush my teeth. I went downstairs and Steve was on the kitchen while Bucky was sitting in one of the stools in front of him, both drinking coffee and Steve reading a newspaper.

“How are you reading that?” I walked over to them

“I know danish.” He replied

“You know danish?” I looked at him kinda shocked and confused

“I didn’t know that.” Bucky said looking at him pretty confused too

“Yeah, me neither, what the fuck?”

Steve looked at me. “Don’t swear.” He said

“Sorry.” I rolled my eyes as I walked to the kitchen cabinet to grab a cup for my coffee “Did y’all eat already?” I asked them

“No, not yet.” Steve replied “Why?”

“Well because I’m gonna make breakfast.” I said pouring some coffee into the cup “Where’s Sam?”

“He’s still sleeping.”

“Has Nick or Maria called?”

“No.”

Nick had some other things to take care of so he’s not in Denmark, but he should be back tomorrow.

I made a whole breakfast and by whole I mean, whole. Eggs, potatoes, bacon and even pancakes. When I finished, I served Steve and Bucky.

“Enjoy.” I put the plates in front of them

“Thank you, Cat.” Steve said

“It looks good.” Bucky added

“I know, thanks, it tastes better.” I went back to the kitchen to grab my plate

I sat down with the guys and we ate while talking about random things.

The hours passed, I’m sitting on the floor in the living room watching a movie, which I do not understand since it’s in danish. I hear the door opening and when I turned, I saw Nick.

“Here.” He passed me his phone

I picked it up and saw Maria on the screen.

“Hi?” I spoke

“Hey, so I got some info on your friend.” She said

“What’d you find?”

“Nothing.” She replied “She’s clean.”

“Are you sure?”

She nodded. “Very sure, there’s nothing to worry about.”

“Well that’s a relief.” I sighed “Anything else?”

“Well I know Nick is gonna talk with you guys and explain everything, but long story short, we think you guys should stay there a few weeks just to be safe.” She explained

I let out a sigh. “Well that’s great.”

She chuckled. “What? Don’t wanna stay with dear old dad?”

“No, it’s not that.” I laughed “It’s just that I never thought something like this was gonna happen.”

“Everything’s gonna be fine, don’t worry about it.” She said “After these few weeks, we’re gonna find a place for you guys to stay.”

“Thank you for everything, Maria, seriously.”

“No need to thank, I’ll do anything for you and you know it.”

“Yeah, I know.” I smiled “Do you wanna talk to Nick?”

“No it’s fine, tell him that I’ll call him tomorrow to keep him updated in case I found anything.”

“Got it.” I nodded “Take care.”

“You too, love.”

I hung up the call and I got up from the couch to give Nick his phone. He then proceeded to explain everything to us, basically what Maria just told me but more detailed.

So we’ll be staying here a little more time than anticipated.

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