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softcallofdutyimagines · 4 years ago

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Stay | Russell Adler x fem!bell!Reader

Summary: Despite having developed deep feelings for you after all this time working together, Adler takes you to antarctica like he was told. The only issue is... Things aren't as they seem when he finally confronts you.

Aka, sorry Treyarch, but this time the thotlers win.

SKSKSKS I ONLY MADE THAT POST TO TEST THE WATER, SO THANK YOU @smokeywhalee FOR ASKING FOR THE FIC. I ACTUALLY WROTE THIS WHOLE ASS THING LAST NIGHT SO COME GET THIS FLUFFY ASS BREAD Y'ALL AND ENJOY

Tags: fluff, angst, and angst with a happy ending

Warnings: some strong language and you might need a tissue box bc I sure did 😭😭

"Nothing like arctic air, eh?"

Russell Alder stands just a few feet away, hands resting squarely on his hips, looking out over the cliffs.

"Sure", you smile tiredly, a little sleepy from the long flight, as you walk up beside him. Without needing permission, you slip your pinky around his as he loosens his grip to allow you to do so.

Adler takes a glance down at your intertwined hands. He can't keep you in the dark for long. But still, he's afraid to tell you...

You move to lean your head on his shoulder, only to be left alone as he wrenches himself away.

"Listen Bell, there's... There's something I need to tell you", he refuses himself a glance at you. It would hurt him too much. You make an inquisitive noise and a long silence passes.

Perhaps it would be best just to get the hard part over. He was never one for beating around the bush anyway. "They sent me out here to kill you, Bell"

His voice is hardly audible, a clever trick to disguise the hurt in his voice. He grits his teeth, wondering if you really needed to know that, but then he remembers... He's done lying to you. You deserve to know.

Adler braces himself for the backlash, perhaps even a bullet in the back. Instead, he's met with a whisper.

"I know"

Your voice is only audible thanks to the bitter wind helping it along to his ear, leaving a ghostly caress as it passes him by. Russell turns around this time, almost disappointed to see your back still turned to him.

"How d-?"

You turn slowly, and even from there he can see the tear rolling down your face, "Why else would we be out here?", you gesture around to the great nothingness enveloping you both. You sniff and swipe a hand across you cheek, a joyless laugh escaping you, "Besides, you never take me anywhere nice"

In any other scenario, it would be playful and teasing, just like he knows you for.

Adler huffs a half hearted laugh at that, before tearing his gaze away. "Bell, I..."

"Oh, cut the shit Russell. Just do it, alright?", the tears flow freely down your glassy eyes now, "I know you have to... Really, I get it. A-and it's alright, you know? I-"

By now, Adler has made his way across to you. Even now, he hates to see you so upset. He gently grips your arms in his strong, steady hands, hoping against hope to give you some sense of ease. He needs to finish what he has to say.

"Bell..."

He then tries to say your name, but you won't allow it.

"Just shut up, alright? God, I hate you! I h-hate you..."

You struggle in his grip, beating weakly against his chest as your body becomes wracked pwith sobs, voice trailing off pathetically. Adler pulls you close, just in time, as you collapse into his arms.

"God, why? Why why...?"

You're choked up with hiccuping sobs again as Adler lowers you both to kneel in the grass. He squeezes you tighter, comfortingly he hopes, and if nothing else, to keep him from allowing tears of his own to fall too.

With a ragged gasp, you find your voice, allowing your anger and frustration to seap in at last, "After all I did for you people... This is how yo-?"

But you're cut off, and suddenly all your senses are overwhelmed with... Him.

Adlers lips crush into yours, the eagerness with which he kisses you is enough to erase all the fear, and pain, and sadness. At least, for the moment.

The crisp arctic air only accentuates the musky smell of his cologne, infusing every breath you breathe with its familiar scent. Charred birch and a hint of cigarettes. You almost smile at that.

He's been trying to quit, per your request, but... Old habits die hard.

The uneven stubble of his scarred chin tickles as he works over your lips, sucking gently, but adamantly once, then twice, before sustaining one long kiss again.

At last you part, lungs burning for air. Small puffs of condensation intermingle between your mouths as you catch your breath.

Adler takes one last gasp for air, to steady himself more then anything, before delivering one more kiss to your forehead. He knows he doesn't deserve to think such things, but...

You have no idea how long he's wanted to kiss you.

A few more tears start up from you again, but in that moment, he decides once and for all to commit to all the promises he's been wanting to make to you. He's done watching you suffer, and it's time you knew.

"I'm not going to kill you Bell...", he whispers against the warm skin of your forehead before pulling you to the crook of his neck.

You sniff, instantly frozen as you try to make sense of what you just heard. Too soon, faster then your mind can catch up, you search for words, "Wha-? Why? How? Russell, if they find out they'll kill yo-"

"Shhhh, they're not going to find out. I'm defecting. Right here, right now"

"B-but, why? I already told you, it's o-"

Adler moves his hands to cup your face, training your gaze to be all on him.

"No, it's not ok Bell. What we did to you... What I did to you... Was fucked, and unfair, but... it was for the greater good. But this? No."

"W-well ok... but-?"

"I'm doing this because I love you Bell", he barks it out, almost angrily, but even behind those old tinted aviators, you can see his expression soften almost immediately as he gently strokes your cheek with his thumb, "I love you... So much. Do you understand?"

He pauses for a moment, and his grand show of steely emotions breaks as he removes the sunglasses to wipe away his tears. And when he looks back at you... You're surprised at the reminder of how beautiful his eyes are.

"And... I'm... sorry I never told you before... Well, this"

Your mind is reeling at the rush of information. This... confession, isn't exactly news to you, but to hear him say it...

With one more sniff, Adler manages to pull himself together for a final moment of vulnerability, "Look, I know this is... a lot, but I was thinki- I...", he sighs and takes a deep breath. This is it.

"Would you... Come away with me? The CIA is going to be looking for both of us, and, well... No body and all, so I was thinking... We could find somewhere... off the grid, just you and me, start fresh? I know it'll be tough bu-"

"Yes!"

"-t I can protect you an- Wait... Yes?"

"Yes!", you seal the statement with a quick kiss. A promise. Then, you grow serious, "There's nothing left for me out here Russell... You're my only choice"

"...I'm sorry to hear that"

You cup a hand to his face, a tiny glimpse of that beautiful smile he loves so much peeking through, "No no, I didn't mean... This is a good thing. I meant to say, I wouldn't want to choose anyone else"

Adler sniffs and huffs a laugh, rocking gently as you pull in for an embrace, "Well in that case... I'm sorry to hear you have such terrible taste in men"

That earns a genuine laugh from you, and to him, it sounds like music.

You slip your hand into his, holding on just by the fingers before reaching up to plant a kiss over the scar on his jaw. You always rather liked those scars of his, no matter how much he wishes they never were.

But then again... He loves the way you use them to make him feel handsome, and he'll never understand how you do it.

After a few moments more, Adler gets up, pulling you to your feet as well. You wipe away the last of your tears, and as you glance up at him, a look of uncertainty crosses you.

He knows he has no right to ask you to trust him. Not after all the lies and the manipulation that got you and him to this point. But even after all that... The fact that you're willing to give him a chance humbles him to no end.

Adler looks back at you, and wishes for nothing more then the ability to make sure you never have to worry, or hurt, or live in fear ever again. But if there's one thing he does know, he'll be damned if he doesn't try.

"Come on kid", he rubs some warmth back into your arms, then kisses the top of your hair, "let's get out of here, huh? I've got just the place in mind..."

And just the place indeed.

A few months of preparation go by first, but at last you've managed to escape to the Swiss country side. Fields and fields of vibrant green grass and small wildflowers pass you by as Adler drives along, the great alps standing tall and strong just in the distance.

The sun glows warmly over head, and a little sparkle catches your eye. You look down and admire the ring on your hand once again, turning it this way and that, before stealing a glance at Russell's matching one.

With a couple more twists and turns, Adler asks you to close your eyes. A little while more, and the car comes to a stop. "Hey, don't open yet!", He hurries around to help you out, guiding you along want feels like a gravel path.

He puts his hands over yours, "Ready?"

You nod, the suspense absolutely eating you up. Finally, he moves your hands aside, revealing a small, brightly painted house before you. A stone path leads up to a white fenced porch complete with a swing for two.

The whole thing is practically overgrown with wysteria, coiling in and around the pillars and walls, and out front a wild garden stretches up towards the sun.

It's perfect.

You whip around, finding yourself unable to speak. But, he already knows. Adler sweeps you up off your feet and gives you a little spin as you shriek in surprise, melting into a fit of laughter as he sets you down.

He leans in and kisses you, just another of countless more to come, before pulling back. You have no idea how much it means to him to see you this happy....

"Welcome home"

#BITCH IM CRYING BYE 😭😭😭#black ops cold war #call of duty #russell adler #russell adler x bell #russell adler x reader

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teamhappyme · 4 years ago

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a series of promising events (4/5)

aaron hotchner x female!reader

word count: 6.7k

a/n: happy new year!! we’ve made it to part 4! this part differs from the 3 previous ones, as it takes place all in one (and a half) days. But there are flashbacks, represented with italics. if anything is confusing with the timeline, or anything else is confusing you in general, please let me know! my brain is a weird place and does not connect the dots when i post for a public audience. i hope you guys enjoy this part, it was really fun for me to write!

get ready, let’s go friends!

here are the links to part 1, part 2, & part 3

****

October 2012

“Some people care too much. I think it’s called love.” - Winnie the Pooh

You’re known for your predictability. Yes, you’re overly kind, extremely perceptive, and a little bit of a literary genius. But those closest to you knew the predictability of your life.

You craved routine. You woke up at 5:30 every morning, had breakfast, watched the news, and caught up on some domestic things before heading into the office. You stopped at the same bagel cart every morning, an Asiago bagel with butter for you and a coffee for Spencer. Monday’s, you treated the whole team. You got to work at 7:12, second only to Hotch.

The team knew how you would react to every case. Missing or dead children would cause you to go silent, families being the target would choke you up, and anything including a scumbag with a signature kill made you nauseous.

So it was safe to say they were more than surprised to find out that you’d left for a month long european holiday, from an email, with Strauss cc'd on it. The team couldn’t remember the last time you went on vacation, because you hadn't gone further than two hours in one day.

In your travels through Europe, you stopped in countries that you’d only dreamt about visiting in your dreams. You saw Nyhavn, Denmark, the colorful canal right outside of Copenhagen. Hopped through Warsaw and Gdansk in Poland, before being silenced by your tour of Auschwitz. Next was France, the country you always said you would flee to once you aged out of the system. Besides hitting all the touristy attractions in Paris, you traveled through the alps, and made sure you stopped to see Giverny, the little village that inspired Claude Monet and his water lily paintings. The last true destination was Spain, jumping at the chance to flex your spanish minor muscles. You roamed Barcelona and Madrid, feeling a little like the Cheetah Girls as you stood in front of La Sagrada Familia.

The more you travelled, the more you’d thought about quitting. Thought about sending your resignation to Strauss through an email, leave your desk full of the mementos and picture frames, and continue falling in love with the continent you’d never been to before.

But then you made your final stop in London, to the sister who you missed immensely, and lost the nerve entirely.

“You’ll regret leaving them for the rest of your life,” Emily said to you, and you wondered for a second if she was projecting her decisions onto you.

“They don’t deserve me.” You’d mumbled out, just loud enough for her to hear. “I can’t continue on like this.”

You’d given the team everything you had for seven and a half years. The job demanded personal sacrifices you never thought you’d be capable of, until you met the people who signed on for this before you. The people who shared the same commitment to helping others, the responsibility to improve the world around them before the one that housed them. It was the first time you felt at home in your quarter century existence.

But the work never seized. The jet began to feel more like home than your apartment, hotel beds provided more comfort than your own pillow covered mattress. And no matter how many people you saved, no amount of gratification from loved ones could quell the loneliness building back inside you.

So you listened to Emily, and came back to the states on your original return flight, October 23, 2012. You returned to the real world in less than seventy-two hours and promised Garcia you would brush up on the next case before debriefing on Monday morning.

You were betting on the fact that the team wasn’t lingering around the office, considering it was seven thirty on a friday night as you headed up in the elevator, fresh off your flight from the UK. The last thing you wanted was someone to corner you, when all you wanted to do was sleep off the lingering memories of your last night here.

The glass doors leading into the BAU gave you a view of the bullpen; empty. Opening the door, you walked over to your desk, quickly glancing around the other spaces to see if anything had changed. It hadn’t.

Grabbing the files Garcia left on your desk and your car keys from the drawer, you tidied up the space the tiniest bit. You made sure everything was squared off to your monitor, updating the days passed on your desk calendar. You wrote a reminder on a yellow sticky to thank Reid for watering your small desk plant and stuck it to the screen for Monday. Everything looked like it was in its place, until you saw a blue stress ball sitting on your chair. Your head whipped up to the office at the top of the stairs, but the lights were off and the door shut. He wasn’t here.

But you could feel the stare of his eyes from four weeks ago on you just the same.

You guys were working a local case in the District.

The unsub had murdered three men, each with one shot to the head execution style. There were no signs of torture, and all three men were found with their eyes closed and arms crossed over their torsos; signs of remorse.

It took the team thirty hours to stick the profile and find the woman responsible. Her name was Kathryn Downey, a forty two year old mother of three, with a law degree that hadn’t been used in fifteen years. After digging into the victims personal lives and her own, the motive and stressor became clear to everyone; her husband had cheated on her.

You found Kathryn with a gun pointed to her husband’s head, his hands and feet duct taped, and a strip around his mouth keeping him silent.

Her hands were shaking, and you knew from the second you saw her that she didn’t want to kill him. She was angry, and full of rage, but she wouldn’t be able to follow through with this.

As long as you use the right language.

“Kathryn, put the gun down, we’re with the FBI.” Hotch started in a calm voice, but she shook her head, hands shaking faster.

“No. I have to do this. He,” She took a breath, pushing the hair out of her face with her free hand. “He has to pay.”

You glanced at Aaron before taking a step closer, slowly lowering your weapon. She needed to feel safe, and she needed to feel like an equal.

“Kathryn, my name is y/n l/n. I’m with the Behavioral Analysis Unit from the FBI. I really want to help you through this situation, so I’m going to put my gun down, alright?” You slowly lowered the gun to the ground, kicking it back gently to Hotch.

“Now Kathryn, I know your children are here. I don’t want anything to happen to them, and I know you don’t either, so could you tell me where they are so we can help them?”

“In the basement, I locked them in the basement. I didn’t want them to,” She let the thought end, not wanting to manifest it into the universe. She didn’t want them to see their mother kill their father.

Hotch spoke gently into the comms, getting Morgan and Rossi down to the kids.

“Kathryn, I want to know why we’re here in this situation. I’ve read the file, I profiled you and your family, but I want to know your side of the story. Why are you holding a gun to your husbands head?”

Her eyes widened in the slightest, and you were sure it was from the empathy in your voice. But this was your specialty, and you were determined to talk this woman down.

“He cheated on me,” She whispered, and for a split second, you thought this was going to be easy. But then she pressed the gun harder into his head, and let out a low laugh. “After everything I’ve done for this family, for him, he just takes his pants off for another woman?”

You heard the safety click off, and Hotch’s own in return. Please do not end in a shootout.

“Kathryn, don’t look at him. Don’t think about him kneeling in front of you. Just focus on me. Tell me how you got to this moment right now.”

“How did I get to this moment? I got here by following around this sad excuse for a man for the last twenty years. Like a moth to a flame, I couldn’t escape this life of mine.” Her eyes started to water, and you internally sighed. You were getting somewhere. “I have a law degree, you know. Fifth in my class at Columbia, and I only used it for a year. And it was in sleazy corporate law. Because I got married, and I got pregnant, and Sean wanted someone to stay home with the kids.

“I went from the intelligent corporate attorney with her eyes set on the attorney general’s office, to a cliche housewife who spends her days cleaning and dotting on her husband and kids. I never wanted to be this woman,” She closed her eyes, letting the tears fall down her face freely. She looked so young in this vulnerable state, too young to have three children. Yet she looked so tired, and so defeated. “I gave up everything for this family. I gave up my career, friends, bucket list dreams, and a life that was waiting to be lived, for this man. I cater to his every need, I listen to him drone on about work, assure him when he’s feeling anxious, and give in when he needs a release. I am my children’s rock; when they need a shoulder to cry on I’m there in a second. They need help with their math homework, I’m the number one girl. But when it’s my turn to fall apart, when it’s my turn to be lifted up and supported, nobody is there for me. And he should be able to be there for me.”

If you hadn’t undergone intense training at Quantico, you would’ve been in tears by now. You empathized with this woman more than you should, and you were trying so desperately to help her out of this situation. So you continued to dig your fingernails into your palms, and spoke again.

“I know what you’re feeling, Kathryn.”

“You don’t know what I’m feeling!” Wrong move. She ripped the gun away from her husband and fixed the trigger on you. Hotch moved so that he was only one step behind you, trying to get her to lower the gun. “You have no idea what this is like!”

“I do, Kathryn. I promise you I do. I may not be a wife, or a mother, but I know what it’s like to give yourself completely to a person. I know what it’s like to hold onto the stress and fears of the people you love. I understand, because I’m this person too.

“People like you and me, we feel the need to be the emotional support for everyone we love. We never want to see them struggle, and we never want to see them in pain. So, we listen. We overcompensate to make them feel better, and we check in regularly to make sure they’re okay. Our happiness, as strange and sad as it may be, is directly linked to theirs. We can’t be happy unless they’re happy. But once they come out of their depression, once they thank us for being the light in their lives, they walk away, and take the happy rainbow with them. And they don’t leave any for us.” Tears continued to fall down her face, but you needed to go further. She was going to break if you kept going. “Kathryn, I was in your position not long ago. I remember what it feels like when you realize that the love you have for someone won’t be reciprocated. That after everything you’ve done for them, all the small moments that you succeeded in taking their grief away and bringing happiness back into their life, they still don’t appreciate you. And it’s heartbreaking.

“But I’m standing across from you today, on the other side of that pain, trying to tell you that it gets better. It doesn’t go away, but it gets a hell of a lot better, Kathryn. So please, do not let this one moment that you couldn’t take the pain away ruin all the times you did.”

You expected the tears. You expected an emotional end to this situation. You didn’t expect Kathryn Downey to drop her gun in the middle of the room, and collapse onto you. But that’s exactly what she did. And instead of letting go to untie her husband, instead of joining Hotch in cuffing her, you held her for a minute. You held her breaking heart in your hands, and tried your hardest to take away all her fears and pain for once in her life.

After a minute, you pulled away and grabbed a hold of her upper arm. She gave you a slight nod, knowing this is what was always going to happen. You led her down the stairs and into the back of a squad car, as Aaron helped the husband to his children once outside of the house.

You were leaning against the suburban that you came in, watching as the team debriefed with the local pd before being dismissed. But amongst the chaos, Hotch found your eyes, and gave you a knowing look. One that meant you were going to talk through the very personal negotiation you gave.

The team arrived back at the office just shy of ten o’clock, Penelope waiting for Derek at the elevator. He wrapped an arm around her shoulder as you led the gang into the bullpen, everyone dropping their go bags at their desks.

You lingered for a moment as Hotch made his way up to his office, knowing you’d be joining him in a few seconds. You grabbed your blue stress ball, complimentary from the C.A.L.M. department meeting, as through the curtains you could see him drop his bag before checking his phone for any messages from Jack.

“L/n,” Here it comes. “Can I talk to you in my office please?”

You and Spencer shared a look, and he gave you a comforting smile in return. You took the steps two at a time to his office, and shut the door behind you once you arrived. He was standing behind his desk, so you didn’t feel the need to sit yourself.

You waited for him to speak, since he was the one that called you in. It was a little childish, but you weren’t the one who wanted the discussion.

“I want to talk about the negotiation.”

“I thought it was pretty successful. I empathised, I got her to drop her weapon, and no one was injured in the process.”

“Y/n, you know that’s not what I meant.” He uncrossed his arms, letting out a sigh. The two of you were too exhausted to have this conversation, but that wasn’t going to stop Hotch from going on. “I told you that you could lean on me when it all became too much.”

“That was six years ago, Hotch.” Defensive, but not rude. A fine line. “And this wasn’t about work, this was personal. You’re not obligated to listen to our personal issues that take place outside the office.”

“And you are?” Stop spinning my words, Hotchner. “I know you, y/n. This isn’t just something that can be brushed back under the rug.” You scoffed. “You don’t know me.”

“Excuse me?”

“You don’t know me, Hotch. None of you do. You know my file. You know that I got a full ride to Bowdoin, that I was a social worker before transferring here, and that most of my life before eighteen was sealed away. I confided in you six years ago about my childhood and now you think you know me?”

“Why are you getting so defensive?”

“I’m not-” You paused, knowing that if you finished that statement it would, in fact, be defensive. “I’m just really tired and I don’t want to be having this conversation right now.”

“It’s not healthy for you to keep everything in while people spill their lives to you. And you know that.”

“Hotch,” You warned, your exhaustion quickly turning into rage.

“What, you really think I’m just going to drop this after hearing you confess to a serial killer that you have no joy in your life? And now you’re going to try and convince me that I don’t know anything about you? Bullshit, y/n. I know that you talk to your foster siblings every sunday to check in and make sure they’re all doing okay. I know that you volunteer with Garcia to help the families of victims cope with their loss. I know that you cling to Spencer like gum wherever you go to make him feel less insecure in a bar.”

“Stop it,”

“I know that your favorite color is purple, that you still write articles for CNN and The Times under a pseudonym. And I know, more than anything in the world, you want to be the mother that you never got to have.”

“Stop it!” You threw the blue ball into his builtins, hitting one of his stupid administrative awards in the process. He didn’t even flinch. “You don’t get to know me like that.”

“Why not?” You let out a low laugh as tears started to fill in your eyes. He was oblivious, and that's what made it hurt even more. You cracked your knuckles for a few seconds, waiting for him to connect the words you spoke at the Downey house and your frustration with him in this moment.

But his face softened, the wrinkles disappeared from his forehead, and you knew he figured it out. He didn’t need to say the words for you to know exactly what was going through his head. But he was with Beth, and you were not going to interfere. This wouldn’t change anything.

“It’s late, I should head home. I’ll get you my report before monday.”

You left his office without saying goodnight, and you tried to ignore the rest of your team huddled around Morgan’s desk, pretending not to be eavesdropping. But they totally were.

Instead you grabbed your bags, giving Spencer a reassuring smile as his gaze lingered on you for a second longer. You had no intentions of turning around to see Hotch’s face. But if you had, you would’ve seen the same heartbroken expression across his face, realizing he let you walk away.

You tore your eyes away from the office, not wanting to relive the memory any longer. You stashed the stress ball under your monitor before turning out the light, and making your way back to the elevator.

Once you were settled back in your apartment, you sent a text to Reid and JJ, letting them know you got in okay and that you’d see them at the office on Monday. After getting a thumbs up and a ‘glad you’re home’ in response, you turned in for the night, trying to dream of nights in Paris and Barcelona instead of at the BAU.

---

It was hard for you to get back in the routine of consulting and profiling. Garcia had left you copies of three cases the team was going to be working on when you returned, and you’d barely worked through the first one in two hours.

Three teenagers went missing from their small town in Idaho, and all were found in Seattle in the same week. Of course, your first case back included kids.

You resorted to calling Spencer when you really had no idea where to begin. You felt like a rookie all over again, asking for help when creating a geographical profile or running new negotiation tactics. But your best friend was quick to help, assuring you that once you got back to the office, you’d fall back into the routine.

“Did you have a good time?” He finally asked, albeit apprehensively. You didn’t leave on the best terms with anyone, and they all seemed to know what pushed you over the edge.

“I did. It’s amazing to know that there is a whole other world out there that we don’t even know about. It’s so different over there, Spence. It’s peaceful, and beautiful, and everything the place you call home should be.”

You could hear the intake of breath over the line. “Does that mean you’re moving to Spain?” A smile crossed your lips just thinking about Barcelona. But, it wasn’t home.

“This is my home, Spencer. I’m not leaving anytime soon.” You left out the part about contemplating a new life for the better part of three weeks, knowing it would only cause him more paranoia. You were staying in Quantico, continuing what you were born to do.

After drafting a rough profile and reviewing family statements, you took a break from the paperwork staring back at you all morning.

You made your way into the kitchen to find something for lunch, the afternoon approaching quick. All you really wanted to do was crash on the couch and watch old movies for hours, until monday morning inevitably rolled around. Selfishly you wanted your vacation to last forever. But your mind, and your bank account, thought differently.

After consuming a sandwich and some chips, you brought back the fresh mug of hot chocolate to the kitchen table, ready to take on the second file. Two women raped, tortured, and murdered outside of Miami. Why the fuck did it always have to be Florida.

Halfway through the family statements, there was a knock at your door. You grabbed your gun from the side table, just in case. Only three people had a key to your apartment. One of them was in England, one you just got off the phone with, and one… you didn’t exactly know where you stood with him.

After checking the peephole and seeing Hotch on the other side, you let out a sigh of relief. No one is coming to muder you. But it was quickly replaced with the memories of your last encounter, and the unspoken realization of feelings unrequited.

You placed your gun back on the table, and unlocked the door for him. He was wearing a navy blue quarter zip, jeans, and sneakers, the ultimate Aaron Hotchner not on duty look. It made your heart beat just a little faster noticing his hair was free of any gel, flopping naturally as he walked.

“Hi,” You greeted him, half of you hidden behind your front door.

A shadow of a smile crossed his lips, and he placed his hands in his pockets. “Hi. I’m sorry for stopping by unannounced. I know you must be tired and getting ready for Monday.”

“No, it’s okay. Did you want to come in?” You opened the door a little more, stepping out to show your sweatpants and sweatshirt look from behind the door.

“Thank you.” He murmured as he walked through the entrance, moving to take off his shoes. You told him a million times that you didn’t follow that rule, and that you hated it when people made their guests remove their shoes. But he told you once that it was a sign of comfort, that he felt at ease in someone else's home.

“Can I get you something to drink? I have some tea bags left over I think, or I can make you a cup of coffee.”

“No, I’m okay.”

“Are you sure? It’ll only take a second. Oh, are you hungry? I still have some sealed crackers from before I left, might have something in the freezer if-”

“Y/n,” He interrupted you and you stopped in the middle of your path to the kitchen. “I’m fine.”

“Okay,” You nodded, making your way back to the living room. “Oh, I um, got something for Jack while I was in England with Emily. I know it’ll probably keep him holed up in his room for a week, but I couldn’t resist.”

You pulled out the bag of souvenirs you got for the team, grabbing the London attractions lego set you bought for the young boy. Aaron smiled when you handed it to him, knowing the two of them would no doubt be starting this when he got home.

“You didn’t have to get this for him. But he’s gonna love it.”

“I know.” You reached in the bag once more, pulling out the gift you got for Aaron. “And I know you’ll probably never wear this, but I had to get it for you.”

He opened the box, a british flag tie on the inside. He couldn’t help the laugh that escaped his lips, the tacky gift really meaning a lot to him. “Thank you. I can honestly say this is the most unique gift I’ve ever received.”

“Glad to hear it.” You tucked your foot underneath you as you settled onto the couch, letting Aaron set the gifts aside. You knew what conversation was coming next, but you didn’t have the courage to start it. Especially since he was the one to come to you.

He settled in on the couch, a cushion between the two of you, a clear boundary that he’d set.

“Did you enjoy your time over there?”

“I had a really great time. I can’t believe I’d gone thirty two years without leaving the country. You don’t realize how much of the world there is to see until you go and uncover a small fraction of it.”

He smiled while beginning to pick at his fingernails. This was a new tell of his, he was usually extremely reserved with his anxiety. “You sound like Emily.”

“I’m going to take that as a complement.” You said with a small laugh, adoring the woman across the ocean.

“It is. She called me a few days ago, told me you guys had a nice visit.”

“We did. Prentiss knows how to have a good time no matter the city. It was a little too much for me, though.”

“Nobody can quite keep up with Emily.” He added before letting out a breath.

“She also told me that you were contemplating leaving the BAU.” There goes the first shoe, dropping from the ceiling. “Are you still thinking of quitting?”

“No.” It was the truth. Em had spoken some sense into you, and you knew deep down, like you told Spencer, this was your home. “I just needed a break from everything. And Europe was an amazing distraction. But I’m back, and ready to get back into the swing of things.”

He nodded, some tension slowly released from his shoulders. He couldn’t lose another member. It was too soon.

“Was it because of me?”

“What?” Even though you were expecting this conversation, it still caught you off guard.

“I’m not conceited enough to think you fled to another continent because of a fight, but is that what pushed you over the edge? What led you to want to quit the BAU?”

In a word, yes. The argument was the last straw on the camel's back. You’d spent years with this unit, fulfilling a destiny that you made up for yourself so that you wouldn’t feel guilty for not having a family or friends to confide in. You spent the better part of the last three years pining for a man you couldn’t have, trying to fill the holes in your life by playing pretend. So yes, it was Hotch that pushed you over the edge. But you learned a hell of a lot about yourself in those four weeks.

“Hotch, did you know that this was the first time I went on an airplane for my own enjoyment? This was the first vacation I’ve been on in my life. I booked a flight on a Thursday night that left at six a.m. the next morning. I was spontaneous, and in control of all the moves I would make for the next thirty days. I’ve never felt more liberated in my life.

“But then I landed in Copenhagen, and had an anxiety attack. I can’t speak Danish, I have no idea how to get around a new country, and I only had thirty dollars in cash to my name. And the only thing I could think of to help me get through it, was calling you. I had your contact pulled up, ready to call you and tell you what a stupid fucking mistake I made. But then I could hear your voice in my head, saying ‘I know you’, and I’d never turned my phone off faster.”

“Y/n,” He sounded exhausted himself, but you weren’t going to give in to the apologies. Not yet.

“I had the time of my life there. I went to places that I never thought I’d get to see in my life. Places that my foster parents told me I’d never be important enough to go to. But I made it. I made it to Giverny, and I saw what inspired Claude Monet to paint the Water Lilies series with my own eyes. I went inside La Sagrada Familia and walked on the steps that Gaudi dreamt of. I saw everything I wanted to, and I wept every place I went to. Because I got myself there. I persevered and worked my ass off my whole life, to get there. I didn’t have any parents, I didn't have any siblings, a spouse, or children. I did it all by myself, and it felt pretty amazing to accomplish that.

“No one knows me like I do.” You finished. Your walls were back up starting to feel secure in your own skin again.

He stayed silent for a few minutes, maintaining eye contact with you the entire time. He was calculating his response, trying to formulate the perfect response to get the two of you back on track. It was exhausting watching his brain work, and you wondered how tired he must always be.

After another minute, he sighed and dropped his hands into his lap. “Beth and I broke up two weeks before you left.” The other shoe had dropped.

“What?” For the second time tonight, you were rendered speechless by Aaron Hotchner. This was not the response you were expecting, and not the news you expected to hear anytime soon. The two of them were obsessed with one another, how could they just end it?

“We ended it two weeks before your trip. She accepted a job in Kyoto, and didn’t want to string me along with long distance. But she also said she knew my heart wasn’t in it anymore.”

You stood up from the couch, not being able to sit still with this new information. Hotch and Beth were no longer together, he said all those things to you as a single man, understood what you felt for him, and still let you walk out of his office. For four weeks.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” It was his turn to stand, still leaving enough distance between the two of you to continue your pacing.

“Don’t deflect to another conversation.”

“You’re the one that brought it up!”

He sighed, running a hand through his perfectly shaggy hair. “I don’t want to have this conversation with you again. So please, get it through your thick skull when I tell you that I know you. And I don’t mean that on a bureaucratic superior level. I know you, y/n. And just because you’ve been alone your whole life, doesn’t mean you deserve to be alone for the rest of it.”

Your eyes started to water, so you looked away, gluing your line of sight to the wall next to you.

“You give us all one hundred and ten percent of your attention when we need you. And when I say all of us, that includes Jack and Henry. I’ve never met someone so intune to another person's feelings, who exudes so much empathy with one look and a smile. And we’ve taken you for granted for seven and a half years. Me the most.” Your eyes found his brown ones, begging you to continue looking at him. “I couldn’t have gotten through Haley’s death without you. And that is the biggest understatement of the decade. I am eternally grateful for all that you’ve done for me and Jack. But at the same time, I’m so sorry that it pushed me further and further away from you.”

His own eyes started to water, and he choked out a laugh. “What you said to Kathryn Downey, about giving yourself completely to a person and not getting the love reciprocated. I felt like an absolute idiot for not realizing that you felt the same way I did.” You closed your eyes with his confession, letting the tears roll down your cheeks.

“There were so many times I wanted to tell you. But then Haley took Jack, and Foyet came, and the world got away from me. And I’m so sorry that you’ve felt the need to carry all our problems on your own.”

“Hotch, you don’t have to apologize.”

“Please, don’t call me Hotch right now.” He took a step toward you. “It’s Aaron, when I’m standing in front of you, begging you to just let me in.”

“I don’t,” Your voice cracked, and you rubbed your hands over your face in frustration. “I don’t know how to let someone love me.”

“I know,” He took another step closer. “You’re just going to have to trust me when I tell you I’ve been in love with you for years.”

He didn’t see the rest of your tears fall, because you threw yourself at him, wrapping your arms around his neck and burying your face in his shoulder. His arms found their place around your waist, pulling you two impossibly close.

“I love you, Aaron.” You could feel him laughing with his chest pressed against your own, and he moved to kiss the side of your head.

“I love you.” He whispered back, causing the last of your tears to fall onto his sweatshirt.

He started to pull away, just enough to get a look at your face. His eyes were no longer filled with tears, but his cheeks still glistened when the light illuminated the damp spots on his face. He brushed a piece of hair behind your ear, letting his knuckles gently graze your temple. You caught his hand in the middle of his movement, lacing your fingers with his own. You’d been dying to know what it felt like to hold his hand like this for years, when you found yourself comforting him in his office one night, lightly holding his hand in yours. But this was so much better.

“You good?” He asked, and the corners of your mouth turned up the slightest.

“I’m good.” He traced the lightest check mark on your laced hands, causing a true smile to grace your face.

“You have a tally to see who can make me smile the most?”

“It’s just mine. Been keeping it for years. But I’m always in the lead.”

You laughed while letting go of his hand, wrapping your arms back around his neck. His eyes flickered to your lips for a second before looking back at you. You gave him a small nod, knowing he was asking for your permission.

When his lips met yours, you knew this was the feeling that all the fairytales sang about. He was gentle at first, slotting your upper lip between his own. It was slow, and full of love from the years of knowing one another inside and out. He bit your lower lip softly, barely there, and you slowly parted your lips, letting him trace your tongue with his own.

All you could think about was how warm he was, how his breath was actively leaving his lungs and entering your own as if you were one person. It was all consuming, and you were grateful that he took the lead, because you couldn’t focus on anything but him.

His hands slipped under your sweatshirt, resting on the skin just above your hips. You let out a small gasp as his cold fingers made contact with the sensitive skin, but it only made him laugh into the kiss.

After a few more moments of getting lost in the feel of one another, you reluctantly pulled away, needing air to fill up your lungs. But Aaron didn’t go far, gently resting his forehead against your own.

“I love you. And I don’t think I’m ever going to be able to stop telling you.” You closed your eyes and tilted your head up, slowly kissing him again.

“I’ll never get sick of hearing it.” You mumbled, your lips still grazing his own. He smiled into the kiss, which only made your heart glow brighter and brighter the more he showed you how he felt.

You pulled away first, tracing the outline of his jaw with your thumbs. “You are the best thing that’s ever happened to me.” He tilted his head to the side, just enough to press a kiss to the palm of your hand.

The tenderness this man exudes is beyond belief. “I really love you, Aaron.”

He laughed while pressing a kiss to your forehead. “I’m glad to hear that.”

You let him hold you for what felt like an eternity, but in reality was only a few minutes. “I promised Jack I would take him out for ice cream to make up for missing his soccer game last night.”

“Okay,” You said and started to pull away, but his grip on your waist only tightened.

“Really? You’re just gonna let go without a goodbye?” You laughed at his fake hurt expression, so incredibly happy that you get to see Aaron in this light, enjoying his son, his life, and you.

“I’m not about to stand in the way of Jack Hotchner and a sugar rush. That guy loves his sugar.”

He let go of your waist, but not without a light squeeze to your sides. “I know we literally just started this, but I really would like to tell him. I don’t want to keep any more secrets from him than I have to.”

You smiled at the thought of Aaron telling Jack how in love the two of you were. It made you feel complete, in a way you never thought you’d get to experience in your life.

“Tell him. As long as he doesn’t blab about it to anyone on the team just yet.”

“You sure?” You nodded while passing him the souvenirs as he slipped his sneakers back on.

“Aaron, he’s your son. I’ve loved him as long as I’ve loved you, maybe even longer.”

He stood up once again, that stupid smile not willing to leave his face any time soon.

“I don’t know what I did to deserve you.”

“Must’ve been something pretty good.” You said with a laugh, which he silenced by placing his lips on yours. You hoped the butterflies you felt now would be there every time he kissed you, no matter how many years have passed.

“Like that.” You said once he pulled away. His dimples were showing now, and you wished that you could take a picture of him in this happy moment and remember it for the rest of your lives.

“I’ll call you tonight.” He said and opened the front door.

“Okay. Have fun, tell Jack I said hi.”

“I will.” He kissed your cheek before starting the walk back down the hallway. He didn’t even make it halfway before turning around, and giving you one final kiss in the doorway.

“Love you,” He said and gave you one more peck, before you shoved his shoulder. “I love you too. Now get outta here, Hotchner.”

****

tags: @simplyprentiss @michaelahah @ssahotchner99 @svrgicalhands @hotchtopic @unionjackpillow @philcoolson @tommhollandzxhaz @kathleenjasmine @canimarrypizzaornah @reaperwalking @inlovewithaaronhotchner @shelbymm11 @mrshotchner23 @tropicalwrites @averyhotchner @dreamy-moments @softhxtch @crazymar15 @theinsanespaceship15 @wecouldbreakthedistance @jeor @funnycuteandannoying @andherestograce @thisisntjuliana @captwilson @kennedyblair @lovelysunflowerxoxo @rcompton @iifaequeenii @iwaizumiee @mrsaaronh0tchner @abbeyannsmith-blog @becausehello @rinacriedpower @ssa-raye @ephemeral-barnes @slxtherinchxser @baueoud @lieswithoutfairytales @hug-a-bug-boo @blogmythoughts @freebanditghostcalzone @sugarbutterbailey

#aaron hotchner x female! reader #aaron hotchner x female!reader #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner fic #aaron hotchner imagine #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction #jules writes shit ??

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queerchoicesblog · 4 years ago

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An Unexpected Turn of Events

Hiya, folks! So, as previously announced, the wlw writing project continues after a break with a miniseries set back in Vienna, one of the iconic capitals of opera at the time of Mozart. An emerging singer gets the chance to be an understudy in the latest Mozart’s discussed opera Le Nozze di Figaro (The Marriage of Figaro), that premiered at the Burgtheater in Vienna on 1 May 1786, w and play the pants role of the page Cherubino. Preparing for the role doesn’t quite go as planned… .

Tagging: @scottishqueer

Previous chapter: The Understudy

Hope you enjoy it: if you do, please consider spreading the word!

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A couple of days later I go back to Melchiorri for another session as planned. He is inflexible that I allow my voice to rest at least one day before practising again not to damage it. As I observe the streets of Vienna passing by from my carriage, I wonder if the little fugitive will visit us today too and a tiny smile crosses my lips. I should be bothered by such unprofessionalism but surprisingly I enjoyed the interruption. A private comedic enteract. It also reminded me the maestro is human: I stole a glance of the domestic, family life people like me is generally unfamiliar with. I don't plan to marry anytime soon honestly if I can avoid it, despite what my Aunt claims. I owe her and my uncle, the wealthy side of my family, everything. She brought me away from the small town by the Alps I lived with Mom, Dad and Hans, my little brother in a wooden cottage by a stream. We weren't indigents, we owned a small typography in town that mainly served the local journal of the valley and well, the church crafting the prayer books you would find on the bench every day at mass. We weren't rich with either: you don't exactly became high socialite with so little. Hans is now running the typography as my father's eyes are not the ones he used to have since he got sick. I don't envy my poor brother; I am glad I got my way out of that life. I am eternally grateful to Auntie Helga for insisting to drag me to Graz and deciding to turn me into a star of the opera after hearing me perform a solo in the church choir during one of her - not so frequent, actually - visits.

Auntie built her fortune over a good marriage with a promising young lawyer who couldn't resist her charm and eventually allowed her to live in sober luxury and even be invited to court. But that seemed to be her sole aspiration in life: she left the small town and never looked back. I am an opera singer, I want more. My career comes first and I have yet to meet a worthy match honestly. And no, I don't want to be a puppet, a doll to a man who will eventually ask me to leave the stage and my beloved arias to look after a child or be a proper wife, whatever it means. So, no, thanks, I chuckle in my head while taking the hand the driver offer me to get off the carriage. When I knock at the door, I am considering that maybe Herr Giorgio is not that bad, even if I didn't like the way he addressed the maid and the poor naughty boy. Nor the lusty looks he throws me. The maid welcomes me with a smile and a little reverence. Good girl, probably she expects me to chastise her too. As if I had any intention to do so! She takes my fur and quickly disappear into the wardrobe room before walking back towardsme. I thank her for her zeal but I know the way to the music room, the maestro is surely waiting for me, I say. I start walking but what she says next makes me freeze, confused. "Actually, Miss...the master is not here today. I'm very sorry. His wife is waiting for you in the tea room". What? That...that must be a joke. The maestro hired to prepare me last minute disappears before the official rehearsals. I turn and throw a bad look at the poor maid, who doesn't deserve it in the least. She's just a messenger, her eyes beg before lowering them to her feet. She's right, my anger is all for Mister Melchiorri. What do I do now? "Whatever, lead the way then" I exclaim, following her. "I can't wait to hear what the fair lady has to say about this". My voice is cold, sardonic; the girl doesn't say a single word while we walk in the opposite direction than my usual route in the house. She's certainly too afraid to dare say a thing. When we finally arrive to the right room, she knocks politely at the door and steps in when a female voice comes from the inside. She bows her head and announces my presence before disappearing back down the corridor. She stops only to let the door open for me. I let out an annoyed sigh and enter. The room is significantly different from the maestro's studio. No instruments, only paintings at the walls and fresh flowers on the little tables around the room. The perfume is delicate and inebriating: are they orchids, I wonder? A neat wooden library holds the place of honour on the main wall, opposite the fireplace and framed by windows that fills the whole room by natural light, even if the sun doesn't shine today: it will probably rain soon. Letting my eyes wonder outside I spot green and a carousel: I didn't realise we were so close to a park! Unlike the music room, here even if the furniture, the velvet armchairs, the Persian rugs, every decor are certainly expensive, the atmosphere is surprisingly...cozy, an adjective I would have never thought of associated with Melchiorri's place. It's almost inviting, calming? "Miss Bauer, I am so incredibly sorry for the the latest developments and all the trouble they must bring on you...but please, take a seat! Franziska will be back soon with fresh tea". I turn to see a woman gesturing me to join her by the fireplace. Her German has a thick Italian accent which gives her "a bit of exotic" as they say at court. She doesn't wear a wig, her long raven hair are done up in an elaborate grateful chignon and two curly strands frame her visage. She reminds me one of those shepherdesses portrayed in bucolic frescos at the Emperor's Palace. Her dress is not in character though: a plain, cerulean dress which is not necessarily cheap but does nothing to enhance her figure. Poor taste probably: even money can do little about it sometimes. She must be in her early thirties or so I wager and thinner than most ladies I know in her standing...I wonder why Melchiorri chose her if he's so clearly fond of female curves. Maybe it's another arranged loveless marriage. I wouldn't be surprised. I oblige and thank her politely, forgetting my anger for a moment. It surprises me, it must be a reflex, a natural response the soothing silky voice of the lady. Like the feral beasts tamed by the gentle melody of Orpheus' song, I think trying to shake away such thought. I suddenly realise that I don't know her name. Melchiorri never talked about her. But I don't want to tell her: it's not a nice thing to say to a wife, right? As if reading my thoughts, she shakes her head slightly embarassed. "I forgot my manners, didn't I?" she sighs. "You must forgive me, Miss, I do not receive many visitors lately and I've never been introduced to famous opera singers...nor any of my husband's pupils. My name is Cecilia, Cecilia Melchiorri". I feel a pang of sadness for this lady excluded from the theatre world his husband works in. I don't get why she has to be cast out like that. I've met other illustrious wives at social gatherings around Vienna or at court. I offer her my hand, gesturing no apologies are needed, and repeat her name. "Cecilia...". Sadly, I completely butcher it: I studied Italian for the opera but my Austrian tongue is still incapable to recreate the sweet sounds that comes so natural to her. It must not be the first time because her lips curl in a quick understanding smile. "You can call me Lia, if it's easier for you. My family used to call me so". Lia...what a pretty little name. I smile, grateful. "I will then, if you don't mind...Lia. You can call me Constanze: it seems only fair". "As you wish, Miss Bauer!" she says before realising her mistake. We share an amused look, even if hers is a bit more bashful. In that moment, after another polite knock, Franziska returns with the tea and some butter biscuits. They're different from the ones Mister Melchiorri usually offers me in his studio. She's serving the tea when a familiar figure materialises on the threshold of the room at my peripheral. Lia is giving him the shoulders so she can't see him. I turn in his direction with a smirk. "I believe we've already met, right, Sir?" The two women turn at unison too and the kid childishly hides his face but doesn't move. After a moment he spies us through his fingers and retrieves his hands, smiling. Franziska puts the tray underneath her arm and tells Lia that she will bring him to his room, making the boy pout. He's quite the character. "Maybe he followed you because he just wants a biscuit" I say, my eyes wandering between them to check if I'm overstepping. "Maybe you're right...but only if he doesn't bother you" Melchiorri's wife concedes with a tired smile. I shake my head and take the decorated plate in my hands. "Would you like one?" I ask in Italian to her son, not sure if he speaks proper German. His face brightens up and he nods enthusiastically. We share a soft laugh, even the maid joins. He gets ready to speed across the room when he stops, considering. He searches his mother for approval. Lia nods, asking to behave like a good boy though. So he approaches slower than he wanted, with great effort to refrain himself, and grabs a biscuit from the plate. Before taking a generous bite, he mutters a quick thank you. "Mystery solved" I comment, placing the plate back on the table. "You must excuse him, Miss Ba- Constanze" Lia say, gently pulling him closer. "Nino is not a bad kid, just a bit of a rascal at times". "A rascal with a sweet tooth" Franziska adds and we share another laughter. "I'm so sorry he interrupted your private session the other day. Franziska had quite a fair share of work to do and I was indisposed in my room, I couldn't look after him as I usually do". I dismiss her apologies, taking a sip of tea. "But it was fun, wasn't it?" I wink at Nino who chuckles. "Yes and she sings very well, Ma" he says, turning to his mother. "Of course, I heard her too from my room" she smiles. "She's a promise of the opera, it's written on the newspapers". "Sing again?" the little boy begs, expectantly. His childish enthusiasm amuses me. "I cannot do those trills now, I need to warm up my voice first" I apologise, before winking. "Another time, I promise". Lia whispers something into his ear and he thanks me, concealing his disappointment. Crumbs are stuck on his lips and make the smile that follows a bit funnier than it was supposed to be. "Now, sweetheart, why don't you follow Franziska back to the kitchen?" She says, stroking his curls. "Take another biscuit and she will give you a glass of milk, just as you like it, huh?". She doesn't have to say it twice: while the maid gently places and arm around his shoulders, guiding him away, he takes not one but two biscuits in his hands. He throws me a conspiratorial look before chuckling. Then he turns towards Lia and stretches his neck to kiss her cheek. She caresses his face and tells him to be good with Franziska. When the two of them are out of the room, she meets my gaze again, shaking hear head. "Apologies, Miss...I sent Franziska to buy these for you this morning and he managed to put his eyes on them. He became obsessed". "Kids" I shrug, unbothered. I am pleasantly impressed that she had such a kind gesture towards me. I mean it could be a way to get on my good side because of the news she has to give me...but after all, this situation is not her fault. Her husband left her to deal with this and me all alone. She turns serious and sighs. "Anyway, have you heard of the flooding near Salzburg?". "What?". "Torrential rain lead to conspicuous floodings in the area surrounding Salzburg. I don't know if Giorgio mentioned it to you but he head there after your session for a family emergency....his brother lives there". "I'm afraid he didn't say a thing about his little journey" I say, trying my hardest not to look angered, even if I am: I would have rather be informed sooner of such details. By the look on her face I can tell she expected such an answer. "He surely thought he would be back in time today, he didn't mention staying for long. But during the night the weather deteriorated and the roads are pretty much impracticable, so to speak. We've just received a note saying he will be back as soon as travelling conditions are restored and the emergency solved. Probably a couple of days...maybe more? He must have sent you a similar one, you just missed it because you were on your way here already". "A couple of days? Maybe more?" I exclaim. That's not promising... "The rehearsals start in a week" I frown. "I still need to practise...". "You are free to do it here if you wish, Miss" she suggests, apologetic yet encouraging. "I am perfectly aware this is a hideous setback for you with such a tight schedule. You must believe me when I say I wish we never put you in this situation...if there's anything I can do, Miss, ask away. I'm not my husband but...". I consider her words for a moment. My mind runs wild to find a solution for this unexpected unfavourable circumstance. I could find another maestro maybe but how, within such a short notice and little time before official rehearsals begin? I could do it on my own but another sudden foolish idea crosses my mind. "Do you play the cello, Mrs. Lia?" I must have taken her by surprise by the look on her face. She tries to conceal it, refilling her cup. "Why, yes. My father was a musician, I took cello classes in my youth but I don't see how this-". "Excellent! Then you can take your husband's place until the he’s back" I exclaim, cutting her short. My words must come as a shock: she almost spits her tea. "Beg pardon, Miss?". "You will be my maestro, well understudy maestro for the time being" I smile, explaining. "You said yourself that you can play the cello, you can assist me as I practice". "But...but I don't have my husband expertise" she objects, at loss of words. "You heard me practicing with your husband, right? So you must know how it should sound. And that aside, you can even tell yourself if my performance is good or not: you have ears too, if I am not mistaken". She opens her mouth to say something, anything to make me change my mind and spare her such thing...but nothing comes. Her lips presses together for a moment before she places her cup back on the table. "Very well, then...if you think it would work" she smiles weakly. "Just be patient with me: I do not usually play opera arias".

#wlw writing #wlw writing project #wlw miniseries #original work #lgbtqa+#vienna #opera

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sanoiro · 4 years ago

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Lucifer 5x04 - The Mega Meta

This episode, the one all the cast and writers praised turned out to be the most challenging for the audience. Several hated it mainly for interrupting the flow of S5P1 whilst introducing a ‘weak’ story for Lucifer’s ring. Others loved it for all the meta, the concealed trivia and details that exist in that episode.

In my opinion 5x04 took it’s time to warm up to my heart and therefore today it’s time to write a meta on it. I’ll try to cover all the bases and if I miss something I apologise!

This meta will analyse, lines, settings, songs hopefully with the order they appear in the episode, as well as hints that it gives us for P2, the end of the series and many more things.

The credits open to Lucifer whistling as per Netflix’s subtitles ‘Chattanooga Choo Choo’

A song of about a man waiting for his train as he gets a shoe shine. The lyrics reveal at the end that a girl is waiting him at his destination and that he intents to marry her and settle... A good foreshadowing about Lucifer no? Especially after the S3 game night fiasco...

There's gonna be a certain party at the station Satin and lace, I used to call funny face She's gonna cry until I tell her that I'll never roam

By the way what’s this obsession over daggers and them killing people? Didn’t we have enough with the Flaming Sword in S2?

Trixie: Has it ever killed anyone?

Let’s keep it that way kid... Although I doubt it.

Now take a moment to realise that Lucifer was in Hell for thousands of years. He hasn’t had sex since his relationship with Eve and for his last night on Earth he prefers to play a game of Monopoly with Trixie and only when she turns him down Lucifer suggests getting a drink at LUX always in her company. That’s progress...

It also busts all claims of Lucifer being a sex obsessed maniac.

The year is 1946...

WW2 is over and we find Lucifer in a new setting, a familiar one where through the episode we see that he has not just visited again but he is frequent visitor around that time. Just a few years later after all he was seen through Kinley’s photos in Nazi Germany. Now we know it was because apparently he owns a castle there, in the Austrian Alps... Not exactly in mint condition after the war though...

By the way the castle that corresponds to that 22 bedroom description Lucifer gives is Schloss Ernegg Castle which belongs to the same family since the 17th century and it’s in great condition. Actually it operates as a hotel!

The Hurry plays as we see Ellis strolling the WB New York area of the lot. Great old ones were shot there.. Like The Big Sleep (1946) staring Bogart and Bacall which was shot in 1944, reshot some parts in 1945 but was released after all the ‘proper’ war time movies were released first.

A bit like this episode The Big Sleep carries ‘process of a criminal investigation, not its results’. Also around that time we have The Killers coming out, The Killers is important to mention as aside from being based on a story by Hemingway who was in Cuba in 1946 not in New York as Lucifer claims, it was directed by Robert :. Siodmak made most of the Hollywood’s noir classics and was always faithful to the doomed attraction which would always resolve to a nihilistic conclusion... (Thank you wiki! :P)

The connection to Lucifer, between the lines and the off hand comments like Hemingway is that noir films were based on the German Expressionism in cinema, and one of the most prominent figure for the US was that one German director Robert Siodmak.

The purpose of the above information is in order to tell you that a black & whte effect and a crime story is not what makes a noir episode. The writers were faithful to the core of noir. Entrapment, flashbacks, narration. The tropes of murder, jealousy, backstabbing and crime is also there, easy to replicate after all for sure. A dead man walking and ‘selective’ amnesia is also convenient...

Triumph and tragedy can be found and lost in the maze of the cities and in questionable establishments... Like in bars...

Moving on!

The credits open and we listen to The Hurry Up played by The Heath And His Orchestra. Dear Heath was British not an American. A subtle nod to Ellis probably as the leading man. But here is the thing Heath was the performer not the composer of that piece. The composer was Kenny Graham (Again British) and probably that piece was written after 1958 but anyways it’s an inconsistency we (-I-) can certainly live with!

Lucifer and Lilith last meeting was at around 1770 (Marie Antoinette was born in 1755) now whether in Austria or France who knows.... I would assume that Lucifer stayed in Austria until WW2 as aside from the wars and other issues it had a great cultural field for him to explore such as literature, music and lacked the brashness of the new-founded then US (1776).

Tiny issue here... Moctezuma (The 2nd) who Lilith claims to have met died in 1520, a bit after Cortés arrived in what we know today as Mexico so we can assume that Lilith travelled between the New World and Europe until Lucifer found her in New York in 1946.

Lilith in a relationship with Tommy Stomponato who owned the club, she probably influenced him enough to name it ‘The Garden’ as se admits to Gertie later in the episode, she really loved that Garden hence why she took a small part of it with her.

Now the name Tommy Stomponato is directly influenced by Johnny Stomponato part and bodyguard of the Cohen Mafia boss Mickey Cohen. Now funny thing he was stabbed by Lana Turner’s (Hollywood star) daughter Cheryl Crane... That remind us a bit of Gertie as she yes both were stabbed by a woman but both were not prosecuted. The first as Lilith didn’t want Gertie to lose the limited time she had with her husband and Cheryl because she claimed self-defense.

The first time we see Lesley Ann as Lilith she sings ‘I want to be evil’ originally performed at the debut of Eartha Kitt and first released in 1953. It is considered brilliant for it’s feminism and ‘video clip’ starring Kitt...

youtube

It’s a song that carries Lilith’s agony which even Eve carried. The need for freedom, the need to break the chains of what they should be and what we see that even Maze carries throughout the series. It’s a song that reaffirms that betrayal towards God, Adam and Lucifer in Maze’s case is not an act of evilness but the need of these women to re-sculpture themselves without aid or instructions. In Kitt’s case it was social conformity. Also Johnnie Ray was the ‘guy who cries’ aside from his hit song in 1951 ‘Cry’ him crying after his wedding was received with mixed feelings I believe from the press and his fans.

Now we see that crime for Lucifer was fun and again he wanted to Laugh with Hemingway who again in 1946 was not in New York but had just starting to write his novel ‘Garden of Eden (published posthumously in 1986) and it explored the reversal of gender roles a bit like this Lucifer episode does.

So Lucifer accepts the case of finding the ring but needs help. Jack Monroe is the one that can help him and the name is inspired probably by Iowa’s born Jack Monroe Marvel character who lived in New York, fought the Nazi (See Jack talking about the Battle of the Bulge), sidekick to Captain America - in a way - and ended up shot and killed. The character had many cliche detective phrases. But that’s mostly a likely speculation :P

Now as Jack goes to talk to the ‘rat’ Lucifer comments on Gertie serving him a drink ‘Just what the doctor ordered’ an obvious connection to Harris playing Dr Linda.

A nice prop is the machine gun over the bar an alleged gift from Al Capone who had been arrested 17 years earlier and died in 1947.

Thanks for listening, XOXO A. Capone

Now Lucky Larry who ends up dead is wearing an eyepatch probably a nod to another great director of noir films and of german expressionism in cinematography Fritz Lang.

At that point we have the talk between Lucifer and Jack concerning the laters problem with his wife. The story as everyone has noticed is a parallel with the issue that Lucifer and Chloe never begun on an equal ground. Someone had manipulated them and in both cases both parties suffered. Both men were manipulated by someone over them in hierarchy and both stood on a dilemma on how to proceed. It took Lucifer over 60 years to realise how difficult it was to leave and even then in 2x14 he returned.

As Jack and Lucifer get to Willy’s mansion all the paintings depict him as a great warrior in all possible eras. As Napoleon, Fritz of Austro-Hungarian Empire, Henry the 8th, Ivan, and that armour I believe it was from Carlomagne?

Also Hannibal crossing the Alps?

The little sausages are self-explenatory for the character and perhaps the lilies in his house a connection to the episode and the P1��s plot.

Lucifer checking the armour’s genital protector? Priceless :P As was Willy’s connection to Dan.

Now something that always make me wonder is why Lilith calls God Adam’s father as if she never considered him her own. At the same time she gives us a big hint there. She never walked away she was ‘sent’ away.

Gertie reveals there that her husband was wounded at the Guadalcanal campaign which ended in 1943 meaning that Bill was unresponsive for about three years at that point. The good news is that Bill seems to have been inspired by Bill Lentsch. Lentsch wrote a memoir called My Story and then adapted under the Title Hope For Wounded Warriors.

As a wounded warrior, Bill Lentsch knows the frustrating feelings of apparent helplessness and hopelessness. A sea-going Marine on the cruiser USS Vincennes at the beginning of World War II, he was a "hot shell catcher". The story of Bill's survival when the Vincennes sank is a story of miracles. In contrast, the story of his post-war rehabilitation and readjustment to civilian life, including a bad marriage {Sanoiro: At this point we have a differentiation but you never know}, contains more than its share of dark pages and the consequences of poor choices. Contemplating the option of murder, then suicide, was a vivid reality. Thankfully, the story of his later years brings hope and inspiration as Bill shares his personal journey of discovery.

Meanwhile the investigation continues. In the apartment we see pigeon cages a rather popular hobby back then in New York and not just for the messages they transported. Also do notice the WB water tower in the back. Iconic!

Lucifer finds a cuban cigar. Romeo y Juliet. The meta here obvious bit nonetheless important to our main love story.

With Stomponato dead we have a chance to delve a bit to Egyptian mythology.

First the missing heart. The main organ that according to ancient Egyptians held the answer of how well you had done while you lived and what you deserved after death. It was measured and a conclusion sent you to afterlife or to damnation.

Second the Anubis mask. He was the God of Death who oversaw the heart weighting process. The colour black symbolised the Nile’s sand and thus regeneration as the river was a symbol of life. Anubis was adopted by Isis

Third the Eye of Horus. The Eye of Horus was used as a sign of prosperity and protection, derived from the myth of Isis and Osiris. This symbol has an astonishing connection between neuroanatomical structure and function.

That’s the basics but you can go further from there if you want to just remember that Egyptian deities hold an Ankh the symbol and work of life.

In 504 we learn that death is final, there is no eternal life. It cannot be given as a commodity, the ring cannot help so I would focus more on the stone itself and if Lilith’s immortality is used then it will not be used as it is in my opinion but more about that later on.

The shop sacred eye and the high priest take us back to two episodes of S1. First in 1x07 - Wingman where the high priest parallels the auctioner who was ready to sell everything of ‘supernatural’ worth knowing they were mostly garbage to make money. Second 1x12 - #TeamLucifer the satanic high priest who had said ‘-the Devil ain't gonna buy me an Aston Martin’. In 504 the High Priest wanted a Pontiac.

Lucifer comment on Tutankhamun loving the pre-sacrificed bloody heart might have to do with the Egyptian mythology that If a heart during the scaling was judged to be not pure, Ammit (female demon/god) would devour it, and the person undergoing judgment would not allowed to continue their afterlife journey.

One of the best lines delivered in this episode is also foreshadowing P2 in my opinion and why not some bts but not clear or definite ones.

In the modern age, we are taught to fear death. But the ancients understood that death... is power. - High Priest (Lucifer 5x04)

It is why I always say that death is not the last frontier in our series and as such it should be taken neither as the final chapter to an individual’s story nor as irreversible (with the right collaterals always) somehow. Although you cannot cheat death forever, this is the beauty of our story. Death is valued just as much as life.

As such as we are in the High Priest ‘office’ it is not accidental we see the Tree of Life (See my Tree of Life Meta *Here*). The designs are Celtic around the mirroring tree of Life in what we can assume is in Life and Death is as vibrant and ‘alive’ in both sides.

1) triskelion: meaning the three legs, is an ancient pre-celtic symbol that can be traced to the bronze era. It symbolises the holy trinity in Christianism but also the inner and outer world of spirits. As you can tell it holds a variety of meanings and even if it is just there, picked in random from the WB prop house we should note that it also symbolises the trinity of life, death and rebirth as well as the trinity of the transition of womanhood. The Triple Goddess: maiden, mother and the (older?) wise woman.

For this meta we will take the trinity of life, death and rebirth as well as elevate it to the transition of our lead characters. Chloe as a young woman, a mother and now a ‘wise’ older and more mature woman. Lucifer as the young rebel, a struggling with maturity and responsibility man and what he may become by the end of S5 without shedding any of his prior roles and identities. Only this time his identities no longer ‘stain’ him.

2) Knotted symbol - Eternal knot: We see them in many cultures and religions in Buddhism they represent birth, death and rebirth. In the inside we see Solmon’s Knot a symbol of immortality and eternity but some also parallel it to Lover’s Knot (See True Lover’s Knot), an ancient symbol of commitment and love. From this keep the eternal part of the symbolism which is often depicted in jewish cemeteries.

3) Celtic Cross: They are said to be based on some cases to the Egyptian Ankh (See Coptic Crosses), some also allege the design in the combination of the Christian cross and the pagan sun disk.

4) The Celtic Tree of Life: For this I take what is written in this site

The tree represents rebirth. Trees were said to guard the land and acted as a doorway into the spirit world.

The Tree of Life connects the lower and upper worlds as its roots grow far down while its branches reach high. The tree trunk connects both of these worlds to the Earth’s plane. It was with this connection of worlds, that it was said that people are able communicate with the gods in the heavens using the Tree of Life.

Tree of Life knots symbolize the branches and roots of a tree which are woven together with no end to show how the cycle of life is continuous.

Through the second part of the episode I was always looking at Lucifer’s tie. I might be wrong but it reminded me a lot of gears, with a heart and clocks on it. Essentially the clock is ticking... in more ways that one as well as for Lilith but give me some more lines before I return to this meta point.

As Lucifer asks how humans believe her ring makes her immortal she ends her story with the line:

“I survive, and... somebody writes it on a stone tablet. You know how these things start.”

For me that was always a direct reference to the Favourite Son deal we had with the book in episode 2x17. As Lucifer said in 2x18 when Chloe asked whether his Dad said that Amenadiel was His favourite, Lucifer replies:

In so many Sumerian words.

Later on in S3 (3x14) Lucifer tells to Cain that Amenadiel is the favourite when he asks him as:

But the quick version: a book said it, so it must be true.

To be honest this re-occurring mentioning makes me hold to my belief that something was translated wrong there...

As the 5x04 sceheme to get the ring back is underway Lilith looks at Jack & Shirley’s interaction which is interesting not because it’s when Lilith starts to perhaps thinking of retiring her immortality but because a very special question comes to mind.

Michael knew the ring’s story. He claimed that he was the one who manipulated Lucifer into having his vacation, but his vacation just ‘happened’ to be at the same time Chloe was on Earth?

Here is a speculative meta.

Lilith asks Lucifer if he ever connected with anyone emotionally to which he replies:

Absolutely not. It would take a literal miracle for me to want something like that, and I'm fairly certain my father's not handing those out anymore.

It makes you wonder whether Michael was around listening, planning carefully his next moves. That that’s how he knew the ring’s story, or how he may have plotted Chloe’s miraculous birth by manipulating God.

At this point everything is possible but we should never forget that God at that point is still powerful and omniscience so Michael might be only alf of the explanation why Chloe is on Earth as a key for Michael to take down his brother and materialise his other plans. The other half is only known by God but will he be willing to share in P2 or even in S6 if he appears there?

Lesley-Ann as Lilith starts to sing ‘Someone to Watch Over Me’ a song written over the songwritter’s (Ira Gershwin) wedding anniversary, a true love song on many levels written in 1926 and featured in the Brodway Musical ‘Hey, Kay!’.

The musical’s plot is about an engaged womaniser falls in love with Kay and the song after lots of thought was placed to reveal to the audience of Kay’s realising that she is in love with the male lead, womaniser Jimmy.

We will never perhaps know if by imminence to Lilith’s first song lyrics, Lilith to a point was in love with Lucifer and held on to hope until she surrendered everything for a normal life not wanting to wait for the impossible. Of course that’s just one interpretation not a hard conviction of mine.

An analysis of the song writes:

When first composing this piece, the Gershwin brothers tried to capture the feeling of safety (and love) that everybody longs to have. The addition of the doll (a doll was added as the listener of the song in the rehearsals and stayed in the show) only enhanced the childlike, vulnerable side of the song that was being hinted at in lyrics such as, “I’m a little lamb who’s lost in the woods.”

Although many artists sing this like a love song, its first performance, directed at a doll, gave the piece an aura of safety not usually present in romantic songs.

Perhaps that safety should be also attributed here. Lilith still has her safety still holding on to her immortality knowing though that she will surrender it. Lucifer is unaware he one day will surrender his willingly because he fell in love.

In the end they both carry the vulnerability of needing someone to understand and love them. No matter how cynical we find both Lilith and Lucifer with his brutal Caligula orgy comments, they both crave about someone. Both have lost hope to their Shepard aka God/Dad.

Perhaps I’m wrong on my first impression with Lilith and her affection towards Lucifer. Perhaps they both are the prodigal children, lost in the woods wishing for someone to finally take care of them but no longer hoping for one, until Lilith takes the leap. Lucifer will need almost 80 more years and Chloe Decker to let someone take care of him.

Perhaps that’s why they do a duet on the lyrics:

Someone who'll watch over me

I'm a little lamb who's lost in the wood I know I could, always be good To one who'll watch over me

And the case is back to move the episode forward and enter the present Lucifer Trixie interlude and ‘Forget it Trix. It’s Chinatown!’

That line was the most obvious one as it comes from the more recent noir movie with Bogart and Chinatown (1974). In the movie aside from the mystery plot Evelyn - the mother eventually dies, the twist is that of an abuse which led to her daughter/sister’s birth and although that does not fit our serie’s plot the death of the main lady might. All a speculation so do not be dishearten remember all the above and this is not an S&S it’s a meta :P

After all Lucifer’s line goes back to the complex dealings in Chinatown and how understanding something fully is not always feasible.

Interesting is also how Lucifer shots, albeit the foot not the leg, of willy to prove Willy is not immortal. Like Chloe did to him in 1x04 and to Michael in 5x02. Jewelry is not going to save anyone. Big words but you know me. I believe in other provisions or actions even if they include the ring.

We all die, Lily. And that's okay. Truth is... I'd rather die today trying to save the man I love... than live forever without him.

The past, the present and perhaps the future?

The case is resolved and Jack follows Shirley to Des Moines (Capital of Iowa). That’s an inner joke as Joe Henderson is from Iowa and graduated from the University of Iowa.

Before Jack follows her remember that Shirley had asked more from him when he told her to be careful. A bit like Chloe in the evidence room in 5x08. If some have watched unconditional love then you might remember the scene where Kathy Bates tells to her husband played by Dan Aykroyd that him telling her ‘I love you was never a condition but at that point it now was. Similar to what we saw Chloe asking from Lucifer. A foreshadowing perhaps that eventually Lucifer will follow Chloe.

Now two things. Lucifer in episode 504 prepares their game night. He is now comfortable and even enjoying their game nights, he find himself right where he wants to be without being fearful of being dull. He is a shoe and that’s fine.

When Trixie asks Lucifer whether Jack and Shirley had a happy ending he tells her probably not as they moved to Des Moines meaning it was a boring move between New York and Iowa in general. Iowa and Des Moines have been used several times in jokes by the way due to Henderson.

Now back to Lucifer, at that point he does not see that sometimes sacrifices that lead to ‘boring’ lives are the best outcome and happiness is not equal to excitement but he is a slowly maturing Devil...

That part can help us to analyse the end of the story from 1946.

Lucifer says: Once you do this, there's no going back.

This implies that whether you surrender your immortality or gain it -for the second I’m quite doubtful it can be done on the same terms - it is forever. No going back.

Lilith’s next words reveal a broken woman who gets her Hail Mary and hopes for the best. As a parent she offered her children the best place to never realise they are lacking but Lucifer by bringing Maze to earth undid that as Maze slowly reaches her potential, learning there is a different way. God’s words echo since 3x26.

So was Lucifer a kindergarten guardian for Lilith? In a way yes but Lucifer in 5x04 understood Lilith’s logic. In their distorted image of how you can break an individual, the Lilims seemed safe from Lucifer’s and Lilith’s fates. Cast out, punished, unloved, lonely and in an unspoken despair to connect but too afraid to try again until Lilith tried again. The end of 504 showed she didn’t succeed o find what she was looking for. We have no way of knowing if we will see her again in P2 but it’s probable.

Lilith kisses Lucifer goodbye, making me once again wonder if a part of her did had feelings for him and wishes him back to enjoy the rest of his life as if somehow she knew, although she couldn’t.

The story ends here and perhaps the clock starts ticking for Lucifer through Michael. Perhaps the planning started with Penelope and John that were meant to be born, get married but not have children and then Chloe came along. But that’s just a theory...

And before the screen fades to dark, Lilith walks away with Lucifer standing in the middle of the street and we listen to ‘This Is Ours’ by Peter Sivo’s Band (1946-1961).

This is Ours lyrics are the words of a man which mystify me. For me it is a song that gives us a couple together after a very long time that reconnects. It was a meant to be couple but the past had to happen. He had to get married, for both of them to live apart their own lives until one day they get back together and now they can be together. There is no sadness, there is relief, contentment.

Several say that How I Met Your Mother had an awful ending. If you have not watched it and want to please stop here but know that I believe that the ending was just right.

In How I Met Your Mother, the lead (father) marries the mother of his children but it is revealed that she eventually dies and some years later he starts telling them a story that lasts ten years as all aspects of it in his belief is about how he met their mother. His daughter interrupts him saying that no it’s about how he met the woman he wants to be together now. They all know that the Mother was loved and was the One but in this life there is more, there are second chances because life happens and it’s not a bad thing and the time in between is as joyful as the future despite of the tragedies in between.

So a part of me wonders if Deckerstar will go a bit through that to a point.

Forget the past, for this is ours...

The thing is that a bittersweet ending gives as a possibility and then we are left wondering past that.

Trixie: I bet Jack and Shirley talked the whole bus ride and fixed everything. Lucifer: Yes. Yes, perhaps they did.

After all they did move to Des Moines... After that we can only guess.

#lucifer meta #lucifer season 5 #lucifer s5p1 #lucifer speculation

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likehoneyandsilk · 5 years ago

Text

Alps

Listen as you read.

“How did we end up like this?” His morning voice always sparked a flame in your stomach. Raspy and hoarse, masculine and every word dripping with sleep. Your breath hitches your throat when Mat hovers his body above yours. The chain around his neck dangling, the small pendant resting atop your neck.

An unruly mess of dark brown hair sat atop his head, your fingers tingling to emerge them through the silky strands. His dark eyes stared into your soul, searching you for an answer. You remained quiet, letting his eyes burn into you, allowing him to sigh in defeat. Letting him rest his body atop yours ever so gently, his lips pressed into the crook of your neck. The only thing between the two of you was the thin comforter and his dress shirt from the night before buttoned around your frame.

Hesitantly, your fingers danced through his silky strands. In response, Mat’s hip softly pressed against yours. “Did you feel it to?” His voice was quiet, the words murmured into the soft skin of your neck. You gulped, closing your eyes and choosing not to speak.

You worried if you did, your voice might break. Like your broken heart. And his.

. . .

When the wedding invitation arrived in the mail a month ago you were not surprised. Julie, Anthony’s fiancé, and one of your closets friends was getting married. You knew Anthony through Mat and had met Julie not long after. You remember your fingers tracing over the cursive glossy writing of Julie’s name, knowing very well your trip to New York wouldn’t be easy. And it hadn’t. But you would do anything for Julie and Anthony.

And now as you sat alone at your table, a half empty glass of sparkling bubbly champagne, you watched your two friends with a tired smile. The newly weds swayed back and forth, lost in their own beautiful little world. They didn’t notice the other wedding guests, all united and swaying to the slow song playing from the record player in the corner of the barn. The barn lights twinkled above all, casting a fairytale glow.

The weekend had been bittersweet. You’d flown in a day before the wedding festivities, your ticket back home booked for tomorrow evening. It was almost surreal seeing all your old friends in Long Island. And it wasn’t easy avoiding a particular someone. Someone you had an extensive history with, gone above and beyond with and called yours.

The past hours had been spent sneaking glances at him, worried he’d catch you. Pretending that it didn’t hurt you to see him again. Portray a strong front that stated “I don’t feel that way about him anymore.” You ignored the flutter in your heart every time he smiled, refused to look in his direction at the sound of his laugh. You pretended not to notice that it wasn’t same as before. Truth was, when you had stepped out of the cab and the first person to open the cabin door had been Mat, you were speechless, tears already brimming in the corners of your eyes, leaving him speechless as well. He knew you would be there, without a doubt, but he hadn’t processed how hard it would be seeing you again. Julie had saved you then, pulling you in for a hug at the sight of you.

Stealing another glance at him cross the barn, your heart dropped. His dark eyes bore into yours from far, his lips curling into a small smile. A smile that was apologetic. He watched as you blinked a few times, biting your lip and rose suddenly. This was too much.

You waltzed through the tables, blinking back tears furiously. Your chest felt heavy; heart pounding and your mind foggy. Using all your strength to push through the barn doors, you gasped for air at the sight of the moon. Sighing, you settled onto a stack of hay, the Summer night cold settled onto your bare arms and legs.

Your head sprung up as someone pushed through the barn doors. Mat appeared before you, stopping in his tracks. This was the closest he’d been to you since the first day. He didn’t speak, and neither did you. You slowly regained your thoughts. He was here. He was here. He was here. He released the barn door behind him, letting it shut with a thud. Cautiously he made his way next to you, sitting down a few inches away. Your hand resting atop the hay was only a few inches away from his, and your first instinct was the let the tips of your digits touch his.

“Hi” Mat turned his head to look at you, his voice enveloping you in a warmth like it always did. The hair at the back of your neck stood, meeting his eyes again. “Hi” you whispered, letting yourself smile softly, to match his. You were already becoming vulnerable.

The silence fell over you again. And so you took this time to take the sight of him in. Suited in a navy blue suit, a crisp white dress shirt beneath garnished with a solid black tie. He seemed bigger and broader. His dark hair as soft and silky as before, neatly styled. His lips pink underneath the moonlight.

He let his eyes roam from your face and down. Your long hair, resting to one side of your face, was losing its curls, having been perfectly curled from the morning when he first saw you arrive as a bridesmaid. Your big eyes seemed a little tired, your plump lips as rosy as ever. Julie had chose olive green chiffon dresses for her bridesmaid, and he couldn’t help but notice how absolutely stunning you appeared all night. He would be lying if he hadn’t been trying to get you alone, to speak to you in some way and hear your voice again. You were avoiding him, he knew, but he didn’t blame you.

“How have you been?” The question rested heavily on your shoulders, and your thoughts began to race. The last three months have felt lonelier than ever. When you had moved back to Vancouver you imagined it would feel like it always did. Like home, but truthfully home was where he was. And you’d left him in New York, alone in your tiny apartment, where pictures of your love story hung on the walls, a bitter reminder of what he let slip out of his hands that brutal Sunday morning.

You couldn’t lie to Mat. Never. He knew you inside and out like a book. That was the result of a friendship since you were 9, and the beginning of your love story at the age of 16. You still remembered the smile on his voice when he picked you up for your first ever date. Honesty was your only option.

You felt a lump form in your throat. Focusing your eyes onto the green grass beneath you, your nude glossy heels, with your pink painted toes peeking out. Your arms wrapped around your frame. Why was speaking to someone you had known practically your whole life unexplainably hard right now?

“It hasn’t been easy” the words were heavy, Mat’s heart sinking when he saw you wipe a tear from your eye. He never liked seeing you cry, and it broke him when he was the reason behind your painful tears. “It isn’t easy at all Mat!” you shook your head, returning your eyes to him.

He was broken. His eyes full of regret and his bottom lip jut out slightly. The Summer cold felt like a layer on your skin, the silver stream of light from the moon above you painting you.

“Hasn’t been easy for me either.” It hadn’t and it was evident. You’d heard the stories of how Mat Barzal, star player of the Islanders seemed to be quiet in his game. Less goals in the past few games, even fewer assists. He wasn’t the same Barzal that Long Island knew. He no longer possessed the boisterous laugh, nor the cheeky smile. This Barzal was different. One that was missing a piece of him; that being you.

“Did you see anyone ...” “No, no ... I would never do ...” he shook his head angrily, almost bewildered that you had even possibly asked the question. “I can’t. And I don’t want to.” His eyebrows furrowed, as he turned his head to look straight ahead. His jaw clenched. If you were still together you would hold his hand in yours, and kiss his knuckles, calming him down slowly, murmuring words of encouragement. But he wasn’t yours, and you couldn’t.

“I’m sorry.” Your apology was faint, the heat rising to your cheeks in embarrassment and shame. “I shouldn’t have just asked assuming ...” Mat unclenches his jaw, his face softening when his eyes met yours.

“No, no it’s alright. You don’t have to apologize.” His hand rested atop yours suddenly, and you felt electricity surge through your body. He waited for you to pull back, searching for rejection in your eyes . But when you didn’t he let his hand cover your colder one, watching as your cheeks turned pink.

“What happened to us?” It was a question you both had asked yourselves many times. It was a question that haunted you at 3:00 am, a question that popped up in his head during a breakaway with the puck. A question that you asked yourself at the first sound of his name, the question he asked when he walked past the picture of you two at his bedside, one he wasn’t ready to put away.

Your teeth sunk into your bottom lip as you held back tears. Mat shuffled next to you, pulling his hand away. Your head snapped in his direction, missing the warmth and familiarity of his hand. He’d removed his coat, placing it around your shoulders. You protested, but he declined, resting his hand back atop yours. “You’re always cold.” He chuckled softly. Moonlight danced across his prominent features, radiating him in his white shirt.

Suddenly all control was lost. His coat around your shoulders smelt like him, warm, musky and pine. His hand rested atop yours and it felt right. For the first time in three months you felt warm, accompanied and like yourself. This felt like home. And as the tears began to fall from your eyes, and you rose suddenly, he was quick to follow.

“We were so in love we fell apart!” He brought his hands up to rest along your wet cheeks. His thumbs wiping at your tears. “And when we fell apart we couldn’t put the pieces back together. Because it hurt so much …” your voice cracked cutting you off as you stepped closer to him, afraid of what might happen next. Your heavy heart needed to let out the pain, the broken pieces had to be attained, you needed yourself back. You needed closure or reconstruction.

“... we hurt one another so much, we let it all go. All of it.” Your whispered words were barely audible over the music inside the barn. Mat’s own cheeks lined with tears. A sad and somber look on his face. You stared blankly at the ground, catching your breath. His hands dropped, one of them under your chin and the other resting on your side.

“I’ve got you, I’m here now” his voice cracked with every word, in an effort to calm you. Gingerly you allowed your eyes to meet his, your hands shaking as you wiped at his tears. “I’m sorry I gave up on us.” “You weren’t the only one” your voice remorseful. He gently pulled you in, craving the feeling of your body against his. As you leaned into him, your head colliding with his chest, his arms securing around you, your own wrapping around him, his chin resting atop your head, this felt like home.

His thumb rubbed soothing patterns into your hair, murmuring apology after apology. He held you for a while, swaying you back and forth from the music that could be heard on the other side of the door. Your eyes closed in the most peace you had received within yourself, however a pit still in your stomach, knowing very well this could end in many ways.

Pulling yourselves apart Mat still held onto your waist and neck. His eyes searched for validation and consent. “Can I kiss you?” Could he? Should you let him, even though you truly wanted him to? Could a kiss lead to anything more?

You nodded slowly, closing your eyes when he began to lean in, waiting impatiently for his lips to mold against yours. And they did, butterflies erupting in your stomach. Your insides tingled, blood rising and your legs felt wobbly. Your small hands cascaded around his hips, permitting your body to press against his. He was slow and delicate, tasting like champagne and icing. The kiss felt familiar, as it should. It had been the only lips you’d ever kissed. The only lips you’d allow to explore the skin on your body. The only lips that had felt all of you.

“I’m still in love with you. I never stopped.” His lips lingered against yours, his words truthful. His nose brushed against yours, waiting for you to speak. Waiting for you to give your answer, yearning to know what would happen next. You thought you would never hear those words fall from his lips again. But they did. And you were very much in love with him, never stopped nor doubted.

“I love you, I never stopped. I don’t think I ever can.” Your confession was all it took, all that was needed for the two of you to forget what you wanted to. At least for one night you could allow yourselves to merge as one, give your entirety to the other and become vulnerable again as you had now. It wasn’t sure what the morning held or what would be done, but in this moment it was an exploration and rekindling of love. A desperation that was a craving, to be loved, kissed, held, touched, roused and given to and by the one you loved the most.

You followed him hand in hand towards you tiny cabin. Your hands shook as you twisted the knob, turning the lights on, letting the smell of wood and leftover coffee roam around you. Mat locked the door behind you, gently sliding the coat down your arms from behind you. Your insides tingled, craving the familiarity of his skin against yours, the sensation of his lips on your skin, and the climatic surge of love he got out of you. Without a word you lead the way upstairs, him following behind.

Reaching your bedroom you turned to face him. His strong arms placed you atop the vanity, the granite wood cold through the chiffon material of your dress. You relaxed as his lips pressed against yours, his fingers holding your jaw in place. Your nimble fingers worked there way through his tie, proceeding to the buttons of his dress shirt. He was slow and steady, kissing you as if warming you up, devouring the taste of champagne and cherry Chapstick. Lips parted as you pulled back, breathless and tinged rosy cheeks. He leaned into you, your legs tightening around his as you guided the sleeves of his shirt down his arms, exposing the broad and firm frame you knew so well.

Pulling you off the vanity, he guiding you towards the bed, simultaneously pulling down the zipper of your dress. His lustful eyes bore in yours, a sad smile on his lips before he brushed them atop yours. The back of your knees hit the foot of the bed, and lay you gently below him, revealing the body he knew so well beneath him. Silk sheets raveled you in as his lips began to kiss you lips, and all other parts of your skin, his hips pressing into yours. The Summer rain began outside as the wedding party continued to celebrate. Your small moans and whimpers filled the room, your names slipping out of each others mouths, murmurs of love and apologies brushed past your lips. Mat was gentle, taking time as he merged his body with yours, almost as if you were a feather, and you’d slip away from him before his eyes again.

. . .

The rain had continued over night, pattering against your window. You turned to look over at the time, the clock reading 9:15 in the morning. Mat pressed his lips against your neck, his silky strands tickling your skin. “It felt right to me. I felt like myself. It felt like home” he pulled himself off you, laying next to you. He searched your eyes for a reaction, as he poured his heart out to you. You stared at him above, turning on your side.

“I felt it too.” you confessed, pressing your hand into his cheek. He leaning into your touch, his eyes closing. “Then why do I have bad feeling about what you’re about to say next?” Heart break all over again. He knew you well, he always had and always would, Home was where he was, but somethings were better left untouched. And after today, after this weekend, fear was stronger than any emotion you felt.

“We’re going to hurt each other. If we fall apart . . . “ your voice cracked, tears slipping through your sleepy eyes. “You don't know that unless we try again!” he was hurt, angry, and broken. “How can you say that if we don't try?” “Mat, I’m scared to. I can't put us through it again, we’ll end up hurting each other.” You pulled away, rushing to the bathroom, shutting the door behind you, falling to the ground. Sobbing and hurting. unable to give in. Quickly you unbuttoned your shirt off your body, a piece of you feeling lost as you opened the door softly and let it drop to the ground. The lacey garments adorned in your intimate spots left you cold.

He lay motionless on the bed, covered in silk sheets that smelt like you, a scent he missed. He was losing you again. You were slipping from his fingers. It was happening all over again. Your quiet sobs compelled him to push through the door and hold you, comfort you and tell you he loved you. But there was not getting through you now, you were long gone.

He dressed with a heavy heart, not bothering to wipe his own tears. As he approached the bathroom door, reaching for the shirt he paused. “I love you, And I’m going to wait for you. As long as it takes.” your ear pressed against the door on the other side heard him loud and clear. You wanted to say you loved him too, tell him how much he meant to you, but you couldn’t. You needed to let him go.

And when the front door shut behind him, loud and hard, you imagined his furrowed eyebrows, jaw clenched and angry pursed lip. You broke him once, and you did it again. It was time to pack up and go, before it was too late, before you could cause anymore heartbreak.

As Mat rushed through the rain from your cabin to his, Anthony watched his friend from his own window, sighing in defeat.

A few hours later as you cab pulled up and your Long Island friends lined up to bid you goodbye, Mat stayed far back, waiting by the cab. As you passed through each member, hugging them with a sad smile, you knew that Julie and Anthony would have something to say. Julie’s blue eyes were sad, her smile soft. “I’m going to miss you” she whispered, pulling you in for a hug. “I’m going to miss you too” you gulped, squeezing her tightly. You smiled as you moved to Anthony, whose expression was apologetic and sorrow.

He pulled you in for a hug, stroking your hair gingerly as his lips hovered from your ear. “He misses you. He regrets it all I hope you know that.” You remained silent, pulling back from his hold. “We’re better off on our own Tito.” you whispered, Julie’s hand stroke your arm gently. “You and I both know that's a lie.” Anthony’s voice was cold, his eyes set into yours. “I’m sorry.” you shook your head, turning to head towards you cab.

The wedding party behind you parted, leaving you to walk underneath the rain, protected by a dark umbrella above your head. As you approached the cab, the driver greeting you with a small nod, you thanked him as he placed your suitcase in the trunk. Mat stood not to far off, watching you with a painful look. He looked cozy, dressed in a pair of grey sweatpants and an Islanders hoodie, one you always stole once upon a time ago. Your mind told you to sit in the cab, but your heart said go to him.

You excused yourself from the driver, making your way towards Mat. His body relaxed as you neared, dark hair wet from either the rain or a shower. He stood tall underneath his own umbrella. You stepped close to him, closing your own umbrella and stepping underneath his. Your hair rested behind your ears, the black rain jacket secure around you. Your blue jeans matched the color of his hoodie, and the tips of your muddy sneakers touched his.

“I meant what I said, all of it.” he whispered, his finger tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear. You closed your eyes at the touch. “I can't let you do that Mat.” you retorted. “You can't no, but I meant it, and it’s my choice.” his words dripped with scorn and pain. His dark eyes longed for yours. “I’m sorry for hurting you Mat.” He nodded, accepting your 100th apology. “You’re hurting me even more right now.”

The cab driver called your name, alerting you that you were getting late. This was it. This was the end.

“Please don’t go.” he whispered. “I’m sorry Mat, I am so sorry.” and with that, your pulled him my the jaw in for a kiss. He kissed back immediately, holding onto your waist tightly. “I love you.” your words brushed against his lips. “I love you too” he sighed as you pulled away, turning abruptly, and ran. Running back to the cab, away from him, just like you had that brutal Sunday morning.

#mat barzal #mathew barzal #mat barzal imagine #mat barzal imagines #mathew barzal imagine #new york islanders #isles #hockey #nhl #nhl imagine

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theficpusher · 5 years ago

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But Now Together, We're Alone by QuickedWeen | M | 22983 It's a stroke of good luck when Harry Styles, a man who grew up on the small island of Martinique, is offered the position of tutor to the Dauphin and his sister. When he arrives at the palace, he is dragged into a world of opulence, courtiers, whispers in the shadows, and illicit affairs. But he is also introduced to the king, the most intriguing man he's ever met.

(we will be) as if chosen by alivingfire | E | 35591 There's not a royal in the world who doesn't carry some sort of secret, and Prince Louis has more than his fair share. To protect himself and his family, Louis withdrew from the public eye and tried to live a quiet life, biding his time until his sister Lottie could take the throne in his stead. Unfortunately for him, the national media and the worst person Louis has ever met team up to bring him kicking and screaming back into the spotlight. Under the watchful eyes of millions, Louis has to figure out how to keep his carefully constructed house of cards from falling, and the first step to accomplishing that is to keep from falling in love with the irritatingly charming Prince Harry, who just won't stop showing up and trying to whisk Louis out of the constraints of his boring life. Or: the course of true love never did run smooth, because sometimes people are stubborn and sometimes people are scared and sometimes, just sometimes, love can cause just as many problems as it solves.

Buried Like Treasure by QuickedWeen | E | 40200 Prince Harry Styles is very private. He chooses to keep himself out of the public eye but feels lonely and isolated while surrounded by people in his hectic royal life. When he finishes his dissertation, he decides to take a solo holiday to one of the royal family's properties in the Swiss Alps. Semi-retired thief Louis Tomlinson has been pulled in for one last job: steal a painting from an uninhabited mansion. Neither one of them expects a natural disaster.

Worth Dying For by whoknows | E | 44906 “You’ve got to be kidding me,” Louis says, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms over his chest. In the center of the table, a set of three glossy photos stares up at him, mocking him. “A security detail is non-negotiable, Louis, you know this,” his mum reminds him, tapping the middle photo with two fingers. Louis doesn’t look back down at the pictures, gesturing towards them wildly, over-dramatically. “This is not a security detail!” he protests. “This is a lanky college student. In what world do you hire someone like this kid to protect me?”

like cabbages and kings by you_explode | E | 60875 When Louis was a kid, he had a series of very vivid dreams about a place called Wonderland. There were rabbits wearing waistcoats and talking cats and ridiculous tea parties, and amidst all the absurdity, there was a boy. A boy with dimples, big green eyes and the sweetest soul Louis has ever known. Louis has always kept a place in his heart for that boy and for his funny dreamworld, and when he’s twenty-five and his life falls apart, it turns out Wonderland might not be so imaginary after all.

In My Place by kassio | E | 97500 Prince Louis has it all. He's wealthy, privileged, famous, and handsome, with a loving family and a world of opportunities. There's only one problem: he isn't actually the queen's son. Harry and Niall Horan don't have much, but they have a dream: to win the X Factor and achieve something more than their normal middle-class life. Two dreams collide and two very different paths come together when Louis requests to meet with Harry after seeing him on the X Factor.

Like a Bullet in the Dark by Vurdoc | E | 99456 Prince Harold Edward Styles Lancaster is second in line to the throne of Great Britain. He is also your average Uni student- or he tries to be, anyway. With a promise from the press (and his father) that they'll leave him alone for four years, he sets out to be a student at Cambridge, when he meets his very normal, very working class, very handsome suite-mate, Louis Tomlinson. Louis makes Harry feel more like a person than he ever has before, which might cause some issues later on- 'cause Harry has a secret that he's only told his sister Gemma about. Little does he know though, that Louis has some secrets of his own. A Will & Kate Au- with a twist.

Wear It Like A Crown by zarah5 | E | 141303 AU. As part of a team of fixers hired to handle a gay scandal in Buckingham Palace, Louis expects Prince Harry to be a lot of things—most notably a royally spoilt brat. Never mind that the very same Prince Harry used to star in quite a number of Louis' teenage fantasies.

#royalty #wear it like a crown #zarah5 #like a bullet in the dark #vurdoc #in my place #Kassio #like cabbages and kings #you_explode #worth dying for #whoknows #buried like treasure #quickedween #(we will be) as if chosen #alivingfire #but now together we're alone

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cuorepietoso · 5 years ago

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Things you said when we were the happiest we ever were

ft. and requested by @ronanivarsson

In 2003, things seem a lot simpler. A lot kinder. He has his grades, his friends, his extracurriculars-- hopes and dreams for the future, a steady family. A pair of strong shoulders, for others to lean on. He’s seventeen, taking to everything he tries like he was born for it, spinning tales and flirtations and picking locks, lying to his parents, spending time with Ronan Ivarsson.

Ronan is a little older, whip-smart. Bitterly, coldly lonely. Battista imagines he can hold all of those sharp little pieces of him and put him back together-- if not completely right, then well enough. Better than before. That’s what’s important. Better than before. He likes to press his shoulder to Ronan’s arm and needle him, crack jokes until he smiles, and drag him along in a life of mischief just to watch his eyes widen with wonder and mirth. Ronan likes to roll his eyes, and share his cigarettes, and pretend he leads a far different life for a few minutes at a time.

They don’t talk about family, though Battista has snuck into enough parties to know that Ronan’s mother looks like an unkind woman, eyes always narrowed critically, and he’s seen more than enough of the resentment that lingers in the corners of his friend’s expression. He often wonders if Ronan can tell that when he trails his fingers over his shoulder and spins him away from her gaze, mouth running a mile a minute about something useless, it’s meant to be a distraction from the bitterness that lies there. He wonders if he resents that too, or if he appreciates it-- he’s never been brave enough to ask.

He’s bored, today. It’s been nearly a week since he’d last stuffed himself into a suit and a charming mask, and he doesn’t feel like doing it tonight, either. Instead he slips into an old black hoodie and climbs out his window, and makes his way to the Ivarsson estate. The thrill he gets from slipping past security measures in the old, drafty place is a familiar one; he’s made this trip many times before. When he hauls himself quietly into Ronan’s window, the man is straightening his tie, glowering at himself in the mirror. He doesn’t look funny in any way, but Battista forces out a light laugh, a jackal-sound of amusement and joy. It only becomes genuine when Ronan nearly jumps out of his skin at the unexpected sound.

“Why the sour expression, my friend? You look like you’ve been sucking on a lemon--” He dodges with another quiet laugh when Ronan lazily pitches a pen at him, unwilling bemusement forming on his own gaunt face.

“It’s far too late for me to get you into the event tonight, Battista--” He pauses, eyeing the ragged edges of his streetwear critically. “And you’re hardly dressed for it, either.”

Battista lets himself fall back onto the bed with a dramatic sigh, and pretends to ponder this statement of fact. “No, I guess not. But I was thinking-- bene, I was thinking we do something a little differently tonight.” There’s no answer from Ronan at all for a long moment, and when he finally sits up on his elbows, he’s still standing there in the middle of the room, eyebrow raised expectantly, his tie still half-done. They stare at each other in silence, before Battista hops back to his feet and wanders over to undo and remove Ronan’s tie, before beginning a search for something that’s, in his eyes, suitable for the task ahead. “I was thinking I’d show you what real freedom looks like.”

There’s a soft scoff from behind him, but when Battista turns and tosses a pair of jeans and a soft tee shirt at him, Ronan catches them gamely. “‘Real’ freedom? You’re a few years too late for that, though I’ll admit I’m curious as to just what the hell you think you mean.” His eyes don’t leave Battista’s hands, which are now rearranging the contents of his nightstand, and lifting up his watches and rings to see how they glitter in the light. Battista waits, and he waits, and then he grins when Ronan starts to unbutton his shirt with a long sigh and a quiet, “Have it your way, gazza.”

In almost no time at all, they’re stealing across the gardens into the rapidly darkening night. Battista has to slow his normal gait to almost a crawl for the older man, but he doesn’t mind, or comment, just pushing his hands into his pockets and humming a jaunty little tune as they wander the streets. Ronan doesn’t look nervous, exactly, but he does look out of place-- even in a hoodie and jeans, it’s clear the man’s outfit probably costs more than Battista’s family’s store is worth, and his uneven stride seems to draw the occasional eye. Battista bumps his shoulder into his arm, and jokes, “Don’t worry rich boy, I’ll look out for you on the mean streets.”

Ronan’s look in answer to that could strip paint from a wall, but all it does is make Battista’s smile grow. “Sure, scricciolo, I’d rather have you than a bodyguard any day.” The rude nickname pushes a laugh out of him-- luckily this one is contagious, and Ronan snickers right along with him.

“The city isn’t dangerous unless you’re an idiot, Ronan. We’re all just people.” He bumps shoulders with him again, and when Ronan shoves him lightly back, he grins at him. “Have you ever had anything from Sayiid’s place? It’s like, er-- like a Mediterranean sandwich shop. Kafka, shawarma--” Ronan is shaking his head, so Battista leans up on his toes excitedly. “Alright, we’ll get dinner there. And then after, I want to show you something.”

They get their sandwiches, chatting idly about all manner of topics. Philosophy, art, food, politics. Battista knows what he’s read, but Ronan is educated, and their differing perspectives on certain things never fails to fascinate him. They whisper about the future. Battista leads them to the train station, and Ronan gives him another skeptical look.

“If you wanted to run away with me, Battista, I would have brought a ring. And some cash.” He’s eyeing the building warily, like he’s not sure if the boy is pulling his leg or not. There’s a measure of trepidation, there. But a measure of excitement, too. At the possibilities.

Battista scoffs. “Don’t worry, we’ll both go back to our boring lives after this. Cross my heart. We’re just going up to the hills. It’s a fifteen minute train ride. Come, or we’ll miss it.”

Tickets bought, train boarded, the time passes in patches of warm silence and quiet words. They stop at a station a few kilometers outside of Verona, where the air is crisp and starting to thin from the elevation, and there’s an empty lot that overlooks the city. They sit with their legs hanging over a low wall, and they eat their sandwiches. The city looks small, but the lights are bright. A long silence stretches, and Ronan stares out over the spread below with something like hunger in his expression. Battista crosses his legs, keeping his balance easily, and leans his elbows on his knees.

There’s something sharp in Ronan’s voice when he finally speaks again. “This is what you brought me up here for? To eat, and look at the city? I’ve been on plenty of mountains before.”

Battista licks the last bit of red sauce from his fingers, humming absently to let him know he’d heard. “Yeah, I know. You’ve probably been to the alps.”

Ronan glances at him. “Then what do you think is so freeing about this?”

Brows furrow. He’s not sure how to put it into words, but thankfully Ronan lets him think on it first. “Well… We’re here because we want to be.” He waves his hand out, as if to encompass the entirety of the city. “It’s easy, down there, to get caught up in how important everything seems. The stupid party tonight-- I know you didn’t want to go. But what real consequences are you going to face for skipping it, and all the petty politics that come with it?” Ronan opens his mouth, like he might argue, but Battista leans until their arms are pressed against each other and he continues, still looking out over the city. “It’s just a place. And if we let it, it’ll eat us alive. You have to remember that you aren’t a slave to it, or to the people it holds. We’re people.” He’s not sure he understands Ronan, and he’s not holding out hope that he ever will. But this is as much a reminder to himself as it is to the older boy. “I just wanted to show you, I guess. Sometimes I come out here to remember that the world is bigger than all the bullshit down there.”

There’s no disbelieving scoff, or easy dismissal, and if he were to be honest it means more than he could ever articulate. But when he glances over, the older boy looks tired. A little wan, lit up from the twinkling lights below. His voice is little more than a whisper when he finally replies, “You think this is going to free me? You think this will fix anything?” There’s probably more, Battista can see he’d been working himself up into a rant, but he cuts it off there, and stares out at the buildings far below.

He’s not nervous. A small smile settles into his face, crinkling the corners of his eyes with warm mirth. “If I wanted to fix things, I’d be hanging around someone that’s a little less of a lost cause.” This time when he nudges Ronan, they just lean against each other. “Fixing things is your job, signore politician. Do you want to go back?”

Ronan’s laugh is dry, and he doesn’t pull his eyes from the city below. A reminder, eh? “No, it’s alright. The breeze is nice up here. You’re right, it’s a nice place to think.”

He’s seventeen, and idealistic. Ronan doesn’t tell him so. He thinks about that a lot.

#/ / DRABBLES .#throws this into the sea #here u go kylie thank u for asking me to hurt my own feelings like this #writing ur reply today and then finishing this is like getting fucking emotional whiplash

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marcelficexchange · 6 years ago

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Amazing Authors and Artists are working in Round Two right now!!! but ROUND 1 gave us amazing fics!! Let’s take a look and enjoy!! 🎉🎉💕💕

Hello!! The Sign-up for Round 2 is coming!!! So here are the marvellous fics of Round 1!!! Enjoy them!! See you soon!!!

1. The Case Of The (Definitely Not Haunted) Styles Mansion (40K) By @briannamarguerite

“So there’s a sense of humour buried beneath all that condescension, huh?” Louis said when he’d stopped laughing.

“It’s not condescension, it’s intelligence. I understand you might not be able to recognize it yourself,” Marcel said, then slapped a hand over his mouth. “Oh god, I’m sorry.”

Louis stepped closer, his eyes on Marcel’s face. “For being an asshat?”

“For being rude,” Marcel said, from beneath his palm.

Louis shifted a half-step closer until he was at the very edge of Marcel’s personal space. It felt like he was nudging at it, asking to be let in. Marcel flushed hot for no reason.

“Lucky for you it takes quite a lot to actually insult me,” Louis said taking one step closer. Too close. Too close.

Marcel met Louis’ eyes. Those blue eyes that reminded Marcel of poetry instead of science, lyrics instead of formulas. They were so pretty he wanted to drown in them.

Or the Nancy Drew AU where Marcel is a man of logic, Louis is a private detective who believes in ghosts, and the Styles Mansion is definitely, absolutely, positively *not* haunted.

2. Save The Last Dance For Me (50704 words) by @1diamondinthesun

Wealthy Marcel Styles is an avid supporter of the Royal Ballet Company. Louis Tomlinson is the new principal dancer with a humble past and a dream. When they collide, sparks fly. But is it enough to overcome their different social classes and prove that love is all you need?

3. Little Treasure (14190 words) by bubblegumclouds

Louis was the closed off coffee shop boy and Marcel had spent too long pining while helping him with work. When a series of clashes, misunderstandings and a lot of denials fall into their path, can Marcel handle it? Even worse, can Louis?

(Another Coffee Shop worker Louis with Marcel and an added twist of a university AU)

4. Hold Me Tight and Don’t Let Go (18934 words) by @lululawrence

Louis’ mind was whirling and a mess of information about application deadlines and talking to his mom about options he had for next year and the failed test and how she might react when he the news. Louis was near his spot and he knew as soon as he got there he could let the tears and frustration flow, but when he turned the corner to his special space his whole body froze.

“Who’re you?” Louis bit out. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. That came out way more harsh than he was intending. “Sorry, I just-”

Louis was interrupted by the boy, previously curled in a tiny ball and crying into his knees, stumbling to his feet, saying something Louis couldn’t understand, and wiping away at the tears. He straightened his glasses, grabbed his bookbag, mumbled something a second time, and then he literally ran off.

Or the one where Louis is barely holding himself together when he meets Marcel and an unexpected friendship might be just what both of them need.

5. An Ever-Fixed Mark (16365 words) by @larryandgaystuff

Louis has zero chance of passing Literature. At least without a tutor who knows Shakespeare well enough to recite it as if those words were his own. And he finds just that, and a lot more, in Marcel.

The course of true love never did run smooth. But is it worth it?

6. A Study in Argyle (6285 words) by flamboyantdorks

The one where Louis decides he doesn’t want to go to college because he’s burnt out. Harry is the oddball nerd that assists him in writing his application essay.

7. Buried Like Treasure (40200 words) by @becomeawendybird

Prince Harry Styles is very private. He chooses to keep himself out of the public eye but feels lonely and isolated while surrounded by people in his hectic royal life. When he finishes his dissertation, he decides to take a solo holiday to one of the royal family’s properties in the Swiss Alps.

Semi-retired thief Louis Tomlinson has been pulled in for one last job: steal a painting from an uninhabited mansion. Neither one of them expects a natural disaster.

8. Nice day for a pizza wedding (12052 words) by star_k

There’s a layer of total surrealness to have your own name denied by a stranger, while said stranger has your cock in their hands.

Harry was glad he was in the sort of situation he knew exactly how that felt.

Or, a story about how Harry, 18-year-old Tumblr and photography enthusiast, ended up enjoying his birthday with the pizza boy, in a night filled with pizza, his faithful camera and the doubt of how to correct someone you were flirting with that he got Harry’s name wrong.

He only had Niall to blame.

9. just like he already owned it (13427 words) by @thepriestthinksitsthedevil

“Because you’re in my wedding!” she exclaimed. “You need to buy a suit and get a date.”

Louis groaned. “Why do I have to have a date?”

“Because I need my pictures to be symmetrical and you need to have a date for that to happen,” Lottie explained. Louis considered for a moment, deciding that he’d ask Zayn, Liam, Niall, or Steve if they’d wanna go with him. It’d be fun, at any rate, and they all knew about Louis’ family at least a little bit so it wouldn’t be awkward. “And before you even think about bringing one of your weird friends, I expect this date to be a boy that you like. Like like.”

Or: Louis needs a date. Marcel does nothing but hangs out with his cat.

10. Everything Comes Back To You (9491 words) by @jaerie

Louis was only seven when he found himself in a hospital bed alone and scared, confused about what was happening. When another little boy climbed into his bed to comfort him, Louis never thought that they would be meeting again later in life. He also never imagined that their roles would be reversed the second time around.

11. Convalescent Boy (with a Heart of Gold) (7847 words) by @londonfoginacup

Just as the professor beginning to mess with his powerpoint, the door at the back of the balcony creaks open and Marcel looks back to notice Louis Tomlinson, The Louis Tomlinson, slip in and take a seat in the very back.

Marcel is starting to feel like his life is a comedy. Only yesterday was Louis Tomlinson on his floor at the library. Now he’s in his seminar. What is happening?

“Hey Mars,” Nick says, not particularly quietly as he leans over. “Isn’t that your crush?”

Marcel smacks him.

Or, the one where Marcel is a nerd who loves to learn but loves to go to theatre productions even more and may or may not have a long time crush on the lead in most of the plays, Louis Tomlinson. The same Louis Tomlinson who seems to be appearing wherever Marcel is. Funny, that.

12. Cool Cats (16172 words) by @suddenclarityharry

There’s a gorgeous boy sitting there, staring at him. His hair is longish, tucked back by a cloth headband, his eyes are a brilliant blue that makes Marcel question if he’s ever actually seen real blue before or just cheap imitations of it. And his lips, thin and pink, are just slightly open, almost as though they’re inviting Marcel’s kiss.

“Oh,” the boy breathes in surprise and the tone is enough to wake Marcel from his momentary stupor. He realizes that the boy is staring at his ears and suddenly kisses are the furthest thing from Marcel’s mind.

Marcel exhales harshly and pulls out his chair, sinking into it and crossing his arms over his chest. He lifts his chin defiantly. “Alright, let’s have it.”

“Have… what?” The boy asks wide-eyed and, fuck, even his voice is beautiful. It’s got this delightful rasp to it that makes Marcel wanna purr.

“Whatever jokes or insults you’re gonna say. Let’s just get them over with now and out of the way,” Marcel says.

The blue-eyed cutie just sits there, staring.

Sometimes, Marcel can have nice things.

#marcel fic exchange #long post #larry au #larry fic

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green-eyeddragonfanfiction · 6 years ago

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War of Attrition: Chapter 11

Pairing: Bucky Barnes/Winter Soldier x Reader Summary: Best friends with Steve Rogers, renowned Howling Commando, and married to one James Buchanan Barnes, your life wasn’t perfect, but it was as close as it could possibly be in the middle of World War II. Then you fell from a train in the Alps, and everything changed. You spent nearly 70 years as a tool of Hydra alongside your beloved, though your past with him was more often than not forgotten. You continue to search through old SSR files for the information you lead, growing more attached to the people in the base than you’re sure is healthy. It’s only a matter of time until you find what you need, but will it be what you wanted? Warnings: Swearing (always), mentions of torture, blood, death Word Count: ~6,327 A/N: I’m sorry

Masterlist // Book One // Book Two

Previous Chapter // Next Chapter

There was a long pause, then, “Understood, Misses Barnes. We’ll prioritize non-lethal weaponry and use normal guns only if everything else fails.”

You crossed your arms and glared down at the speaker. “I suggest you don’t fail, then.”

Fitz grinned tentatively you and Mack gave you an appraising stare. When Coulson spoke up again, his voice gentler than before. “We’ll try our best, Misses Barnes.”

After all the commotion had died down and the call with Coulson’s team ended, you went back down into Vault B. Sitting idly never worked for you, not when you were waiting on something important. You realized the antsy feeling in your gut was a familiar one. It reminded you of all the times you stayed back from a fight with Steve, Bucky, and the guys to run communications and logistics. Every second of it sucked, never knowing if they’d all come back in one piece or not.

Movement in the doorway caught your eye.

Fitz stood there, body half-covered by the wall. “They, uh... They’re back and-”

“Gill?” you asked tersely.

“Alive,” Fitz confirmed.

Tension you’d been accumulating since the call went out an hour or so ago finally left your body and you released a long, relieved sigh. “Good. That’s good.”

“We- We don’t know if- if he’ll be-”

“Brainwashed when he wakes up?” you asked, crossing your arms across your chest. Fitz nodded slowly. “The best way to keep your people safe is to secure him until you’re sure of his mental state. Until you find away to get the brainwashing out of his head you’ll have to be careful, for your sakes as well as his own. Just... don’t treat him like an animal or some sort of subhuman. He deserves better than that. He’s the victim.”

“Like you?” Fitz asked quietly and earnestly, gaze calculating even if his brain wasn’t working at the same level it used to.

You let out a long sigh. “I’m not innocent, Fitz. I’m not talking about the things Hydra made me do, either. I created weapons. Designed them to be just a little more deadly than the opponents, just a bit more efficient to construct. I could have created a weapon from the designs in my head at Azzano that could have ended the war in a week, but I didn’t.”

“Why not?” Fitz asked quietly, picking at some of the peeling paint on the door jamb.

You scowled. “For the same reason I think Hiroshima and Nagasaki were mistakes. Catastrophic loss of human life? The murder of civilians? I hate that the world somehow managed to accept that. Weapons that destructive don’t discriminate. Even if they did, who should decide who lives and who dies? So, you only kill all the enemy soldiers. What about the ones who joined up just to protect their family? The ones that joined because they had nowhere else to go? Nothing else they could do? The ones that cried every night while they thought about the people they killed and the friends and loved ones they lost? Should we create an algorithm like Zola and Hydra? No thank you. No, I wouldn’t be party to something so heinous. Didn’t stop me from creating guns with Stark that would get thousands of people killed, though, and reaping the profits.”

You lost yourself in your thoughts for a minute and looked up. You were halfway to apologizing when you realized he probably understood better than anyone else in this base what it was like to lose yourself in your own head.

You sighed. “But that kid? The genius who has trouble making friends and looks up to you? He made a few shitty decisions, sure, but he didn’t deserve to have his brain scrambled. If he hasn’t already, he’s going to eventually remember that he killed a lot of SHIELD agents in The Fall. He’s going to be seriously messed up, so I hope you have a damn good therapist on your staff. Or twelve.”

Fitz mulled that all over a minute, his gaze slightly unfocused. “Have you... have you had any- any luck?” he asked finally, eyes sliding back to you.

You grimaced and motion to the sizeable pile to your right. Four boxes. All thoroughly searched, no likely leads. “No, not yet. There’s a lot here, though, that never made it to the digital era. Things Hydra never knew about because it all stayed buried down here.”

“Is- is it dangerous that... that you’re-”

“Looking at all of this?” you asked, single eyebrow raised. He nodded quickly and you blew out a small sigh. “Honestly? I’m not sure. My memory is good but not perfect, especially not after all the deep fry treatments courtesy of the KGB and Hydra. I’d never give any of this information over willingly but...” your voice trailed off and you bit your lip, not wanting to say anymore.

“But they have- have the- the-” he made a frustrated noise, “-backups. In your brain,” he gritted out.

You gave him a long, sad stare in lieu of answering directly. You didn’t want to admit that there were backups to your brainwashing to SHIELD. Didn’t want that information to exist anywhere, not even in Fitz’s brilliant little head. “There’s a reason why I try not to fight Hydra in person. It’s too risky,” you said, as close as you’d get to admitting the truth.

You could tell from the look in Fitz’s eyes, though, that he understood.

You stayed away from Gill’s room when they brought him in. Apparently he’d come out of the brainwashing slowly without someone from Hydra there to command him. They even strapped him up to some crazy lie detector chair to make sure he was completely free of compulsion. He’d be monitored closely but they treated him like a person, which was all you could ask.

When Coulson had asked for your input on what they should do with him, you’d simply leveled him with a flat stare and asked, “Perhaps you should ask him what he wants instead? Last I checked you deemed him capable of free speech. I’d still veto any suicidal or homicidal trains of thought, though,” you said dryly.

The more time you spent on the base, the closer you got to Fitz. Even Mack warmed up to you a bit, though you caught him staring at you closely more than a few times. May ghosted you like a shadow whenever she wasn’t on mission. Morse, a very tall and imposing but personable blond, seemed to take watch whenever May wasn’t there (you hoped the woman was sleeping. You weren’t sure if May ever slept, but you felt like she needed it with the amount of shit Coulson’s team put her through). You got along with Simmons like a house on fire once she realized you weren’t going to kill her on sight. Her and Fitz were having issues at the moment so you spent time with them separately, quietly watching the way they looked at each other from across the room when they thought the other wasn’t looking.

It wasn’t until a few weeks after your first day on sight that you finally found a lead.

After the fall of Schmidt and Zola, most of Hydra’s assets had gone to the next most senior man in the organization. When Peggy seized the facility with Morita and Dugan all those years ago they’d taken everything on the base, a veritable plethora of occult and science goodies that made your skin crawl to read about. The SSR had taken all the files on the base along with any other evidence such as video reels and pictures and anything that wasn’t downright dangerous. Those files, added to the SSR ones, painted a very gruesome, well-documented picture.

Werner Reinhardt stared up at you in sepia, his beady gaze cold and calculating even through 70 years worth of photo deterioration. His name rang with a sort of familiarity in the back of your mind and it took you a second to realize why. The snake of a man had been mentioned in reports back in the 40′s. Peggy’s team had been after him while you and the guys chased down Schmidt and Zola.

Among the list of data in the files were mentions of a biological sample. It was timestamped before the Winter Soldier mission in Japan but after the fall from the train. The timeline was right. The files made mentions of it every few pages.

BSAM003: Extracted from BSAM002 and stored for further study.

BSAM003: Cells tested against variety of conditions. Results inconclusive.

BSAM003: Samples show cell regeneration similar to BSAM001. Further careful study recommended: Dwindling quantities of BSAM003 remains.

BSAM003: Unrefined reproduction of the enhancements of BSAM002 achieved from tests run on BSAM003. BSAM001 enhancements unreplicable. Original sample consumed by final tests. Cloned samples of BSAM003 lack the original’s genetic modifiers. Cloned BSAM003 tissue disposed of. BSAM002 possibly necessary for successful genetic mutation. Unrefined serum sample to be coded as IS-003 in further reports. Obergruppenführer Reinhardt notified of progress.

You turned over the last page and stared at the small pocket in the back. It was tied up with string and, if the other files were anything to go by, there were going to be some horrendous photos stuffed in there. The Hydra scientists were almost gleeful in the task of thoroughly cataloguing their experiments.

You untied the stiff, time-eaten string that kept the pocket secure and slid the photos out. You nearly blacked out when you saw the first one.

It was you. It didn’t show your face, but it was you. A picture of you on a cold metal table. Your legs were missing below the knee and every gash and scar on the body in the picture were ones you knew intimately. You knew that if the photographers had flipped you over there would have been a single long gash from your right shoulder to your left hip. If they zoomed in on your right hand there’d be a small circular spot from when you got a nasty infected bug bite as a kid.

What horrified you the most was that your stomach had been sliced open in the picture. It was a clean medical cut, not like the other jagged ones from the fall. One of the scientists was holding up a little sign, “BSAM002.”

The next photos were of “BSAM003.”

You set the photos down.

You wanted to stop looking, but you couldn’t.

It was tiny. Maybe four inches (ten centimeters) long. The scale showed it weighed no more than an ounce (28 grams). It was misshapen but unmistakably-

Unmistakably human.

A racking sob ripped through your throat.

Biological Sample: American003. To be stored for further study, was the note scribbled in German on the sign in the picture.

Zola, for all his duplicity and evil, had been telling you the truth.

You cried. You cried until you eyes were red and puffy and your tear ducts ran dry. You cried until your throat was so raw it hurt to swallow. You cried until your cheeks and nose were red from how many times you’d wiped at them.

After what could have minutes, hours, the entire evening, you moved beyond the gentle shaking of your shoulders. You finally had your answer. An answer that would eat away at your soul for as long as you lived.

The only problem was that it raised another question. What did they do with the serum they created? You hadn’t seen any mention of IS-003 in any of the pictures or in any other files yet. You couldn’t rest until you knew what had become of it. It was quite possibly the only thing that remained of your baby. You wouldn’t tolerate the possibility of it being in Hydra’s possession.

You were so engrossed in searching through the files for any mention of BSAM003 or IS-003 that you didn’t realize, at first, that you had company.

Mack, Hunter, Simmons, and May stood in the doorway. Hunter, Mack, and Simmons were all frozen, but May was looking at you with... pity? Was she capable of feeling pity? You’d spent over two weeks around the woman and you still weren’t sure.

Mack was the first one to step forward, his bulky frame somehow squeezing between May and Hunter. “What’s up, Footloose?” he asked softly, stopping just a few feet away from you. You supposed you had to look like hell if he was talking to you like that. You didn’t miss the way May and Hunter’s hands slid to their guns, ready for you to blow up or have a mental break.

You couldn't speak yet. Your throat was worn raw. Instead, you slid a single photo across the desk towards him, your lips mashed into a straight line. If you started crying again you weren’t sure you’d be able to stop any time soon.

Mack picked it up, took one look at it, and swore under his breath. Wordlessly, you shoved the photo of you- cut open on the table- to him. He didn’t even pick that one up. He took one glance at it and looked away.

He placed the first photo down and your eyes followed it. It was like you weren’t in the room, not really. Your mind was retreating in on itself in an attempt to preserve what little sanity you’d manage to scrounge up over the last few months.

You didn’t see Mack come around the desk. You didn’t even register his presence until his huge arms wrapped around you, pulling you tightly to his huge chest. He didn’t say anything, but then, what could he? “I’m sorry Nazis cut your dead body open, stole your unborn child, then brought you back to life like some sort of Frakenstein’s monster”? “I’m sorry the US government let them”?

You could just barely see over his huge shoulder. May had walked forward with Simmons and they were staring at the photos splayed out over the desk. May’s face was tight, shock and fury showing only in the way her eyes wrinkled just so. Simmon’s face was much easier to read. You vaguely registered her muttered horror, talking about the inhumanity of it all from a scientist’s point of view. Hunter was glancing over both of their shoulders. He turned white as a sheet and pointed to you.

“I’m getting you a beer, mate,” he said, already turning on his heel to scuttle out of the room.

“Whiskey. Or vodka,” you croaked after him.

Mack loosened his grip enough so that he could look down at you. “You want to go back to your car? Or into one of our guest rooms? The non-prison kind, that is. I can have Fitz get one set up for you. Or you can hang out in the lab with him. We need to... Well, we need to search the files and you’re more than welcome to take this one with you but-”

You shook your head slowly. Your head was still swimming from the sudden roller coaster of emotions followed by crying out 80% of your body’s moisture. “No, I can’t stop looking yet. They- They made something out of- of the tissues and- and I need to find out what they did with it.”

Hunter returned promptly with a huge bottle of vodka. It was the cheap stuff, but you didn’t care. You took the shot glass from his outstretched hand and knocked back four shots in one go. You didn’t even flinch even though it burned like hot coals down your sore throat.

“Woah! Hey hey hey, I know this is shitty but-” Hunter began, but you cut him off.

“I don’t get drunk easily. I have a bastardized version of the super soldier serum. Doesn’t do much in the way of increasing strength, but it keeps me young and in peak normal human condition with little upkeep on my part. It’s nice until I want to drink away my problems and I have to down an entire aisle of a liquor store to do it,” you croaked, throat now burning from the vodka and the crying.

“You’re supposed to save important information like that then sweep us all under the rug in a drinking contest,” Hunter jabbed good-naturedly, not quite able to pull a smile on his face.

You gave him a weak half-smile that was more of a grimace. “Who or what are you looking for? If it’s around the mid or late 40′s there’s a chance I’ve read about it. Might get you out of my hair faster if I can point you in the right direction,” you said with just a hair too much fondness for them to take it as an insult.

They shared a quick look then shrugged. If they were letting you into their secret information vault they might as well get some use out of it, it seemed.

Simmons gave you a small smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “We’re after information on an artifact one of our enemies is attempting to utilize. The only issue is that we don’t know a lot about it. It was seized from a Hydra facility in Austria in 1945 by Agent Margaret Carter and a small, elite task force. Not a lot of mentions of the Red Skull, but quite a few of one of his lieutenants, Werner Reinhardt.”

You stared at her for a long moment, convinced your ears had just played tricks on you. “Did... you say Werner Reinhardt?” you breathed.

Simmons frowned. “Yes? Why, have you heard of him?”

You slumped back into your chair, a short laugh leaving your lips. “Today just keeps getting better and better...” you muttered, confusing the other four people in the room. You let out a huge sigh and grabbed the vodka bottle by its short neck and down about a fourth of it. Simmons was wincing, Mack’s eyebrows were up as high as they could go, and Hunter was caught between looking impressed and scared. May had a single brow raised, though you couldn’t begin to guess what she was thinking.

“Yeah, I knew ‘im. Not personally, of course. He wouldn’t have lived through that encounter, even without all...” you motioned to your legs and hands, “this. Me and the guys stuck to Zola and Schmidt. They were the biggest targets. Once we got them, the rest would crumble. Or, at least, that was the idea. You can see how well that all worked,” you said bitterly. “Reinhardt was one of Schmidt’s commanders. High up, to be taken down if the opportunity presented itself, but not someone we went out of our way for, not with Zola and Schmidt still on the board. Peggy and her SSR team were in charge of keeping track of people at his level. I read about him in quite a few status reports. Like Schmidt, he was obsessed with the occult. Artifacts of power. Overcoming the limitations of mortality, of humanity. All that crap. Left quite a gruesome trail in his wake, but Peggy’s people managed to keep him more or less on the run.” You took a breath, a mockery of a smile tilting up the corner of your lips. “What made me laugh, though, is that I’m interested in him, too. Already went through his files and everything.” You pulled said file from the box and flipped it open, sharing its contents with the rest of the class. “Complete bio, psych eval, and even a picture of the slimy bastard.”

The four of them crowded around the table, but it was Simmons who spoke first. “Wait, no...” she murmured, gazing at the picture in confusion.

“Yeah, name’s right beneath it,” Hunter said, flicking the picture with the back of his middle finger.

“No,” Simmons insisted. “That’s Daniel Whitehall.”

“What, you mean it looks like him?” Mack asked.

“No, I mean it’s the same man! I’ve stared Whitehall in the face,” she argued.

“You’re joking,” Hunter said, staring at Simmons in confusion.

“Can’t be. He’d be old as hell now,” Mack argued.

You coughed not-so-subtly into your hand and Mack glanced at you, then tilted his head. “Alright, point taken. I just find the chances of another one of you century-old young people existing to be slim.”

“I would have agreed with you before ‘alien’ became a word we use daily,” Simmons countered. She turned her gaze on May, who was staring stoically at the folder. “May, I know I’m right.”

“I know I shouldn’t be surprised that he’s still as young and evil as I remember him, but somehow I am,” you mused.

She huffed and pulled out her tablet and began tapping away at its surface.

“Bobbi was dead on,” Simmons said, flicking through the files. “He did have a personal connection to Red Skull.”

You groaned and held up a hand. “Jesus, stop calling him that. His name was Johann Schmidt. He was an evil bastard with a fucked up face, but I’m sick and tired of this whole Voldemort vs. He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named bullshit.”

The four of them looked at you in surprise. “You’ve read Harry Potter?” Hunter asked, file forgotten in his hands for the moment.

You rolled your eyes. “Listened to the audio book. Don’t have time to read when I spend all day writing code or working with my hands.”

“Huh,” Hunter huffed, returning his attention to the task at hand. “What is this guy, Asgardian?”

“It’s like he stopped the clock,” Simmons said quietly.

“Or turned it back,” May said, turning the tablet around so they could see the picture on the screen. It was a photo of Reinhardt, old and wrinkled, looking at them from underneath bushy overgrown eyebrows.

“Where’s that photo from?” Hunter asked, staring at the photo in surprise.

May gave them all a dubious look. “An old SHIELD prison called The Rat.”

“Lovely name,” you remarked dryly.

“How long was he kept there?” Mack asked, staring down at the tablet in May’s hands.

“For life,” she whispered, confusion clear on her face as she looked at the rest of them.

When you knocked on the door to Coulson’s office a few days later, he glanced up at you then back at the screen on the wall across from him, as though he’d been expecting you. “Come in, please, Misses Barnes.”

You stepped inside and were unsurprised when May followed you in. He was the director of SHIELD after all. The last time a Director was put in a Winter Soldier’s path he’d ended up bleeding out from three slugs to the chest (not that that had actually ended up killing him, the stubborn bastard).

You supposed it was better than having your limbs impaled and your entrails ripped out, though. Secretaries always got the short end of the stick, it seemed.

“I’m not going to ask to go with your team,” you stated. You couldn’t go and fight Whitehall. Not when there was even the remotest possibility that he knew the words.

“Good, because I wasn’t planning on letting you join us,” he said not unkindly.

“I know you’re after Reinhardt-Whitehall for different reasons than me. Something about aliens?” you asked, eyebrow raised.

Coulson smiled that secret smile of his and nodded. “Yes, that’s right.”

“Different aliens than the ones that invaded New York a few years back?” you wondered, frowning.

“Different aliens,” Coulson confirmed with a nod.

You sighed heavily. “I really miss the days when the weirdest things in the world were blue laser guns, Stark’s floating car, and Steve,” you griped.

“And when you were never a brainwashed assassin,” Coulson added.

“And when I was never a brainwashed assassin,” you agreed passionately.

“I assume you came here for a reason, though. Other than to reminisce about the 1940′s?” he prompted gently.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to reminisce about the 1940′s? I built about a third of the things in this office myself. Or, at the very least, I designed them,” you said with a smirk.

“Depends, can you fix an original walkie-talkie wristwatch?”

“I s’pose that depends on how bad you broke it,” you countered.

“I set it to explode so I and Agent Skye wouldn’t die trapped in my office on The Bus,” he said, completely straight-faced.

“I’m sure it’ll buff right out,” you said just as dryly. Coulson smiled at that and the two of you stood there for a moment while you gathered your thoughts. “I’m sure May or one of your other agents has informed you of what I found.” You pressed on before he could say something that would either do nothing or dredge up all the emotions you’d buried for the time being. “I want to know when you take him out or bring him in. I highly suggest you put a bullet in his head, along with the waste of space you have trapped in a cage in Vault D, but it’s ultimately your decision. I just need him out of the way so I can gain access to all of his information without risking running into him.”

Coulson eyed you as he leaned back in his chair. “Because you’re worried he can re-trigger your brainwashing.”

You paused for a moment, staring the man down. “I respect you, Coulson. I’m going to say this once, in the nicest voice I can: Do not try and bring me in.”

Coulson smiled at you. “Wouldn’t dream of it. I know that car of yours packs more firepower than the quinjet and the bus combined.”

“Did Mack ever get under its hood?” you asked curiously.

Coulson’s grin widened a bit at that. “No, he could never get it open. It zapped him every time he tried. Not enough to hurt him permanently, of course. Just enough to sting.”

“I set it to taze mode. Figured you wouldn’t be too happy with me if your employee shocked himself to death trying to get into the Batmobile.”

“You call it the Batmobile?” Coulson asked, eyebrow raised.

You shrugged. “Who doesn’t love Batman?”

“You’re best friends with Captain America!” Coulson argued.

You shrugged lazily. “Was best friends. I’m not exactly returning his calls right now. Besides, the three of us rode motorcycles everywhere. Could you imagine trying to drive a car through a forest in Germany? Nightmare, that would have been. So I named it after the most well-known high-tech car I could think of. Batman reruns were on in the background, so... Batmobile.”

Coulson looked incredulously over your shoulder at May, who raised a single perfectly manicured eyebrow, refusing to take a side in this argument. He sobered after a second, though, and fixed his attention back on you. “If I refuse do we still get the information you promised us?”

“Yes,” you said without hesitation. The SSR files had shown you everything you’d asked for. Now it was a matter of finding out what happened to IS-003 and your crusade could finally end. You’d pick up another cross, though. Probably start wiping Hydra off the map, but closure was so close you could almost taste it. “Any information I have on Hydra is yours. If you agree, anything I learn after this will go straight to you, too. That includes information Reinhardt-Whitehall has squirreled away. If I find anything to... to reverse their brainwashing, you’ll be the second to know.”

“Second?” Coulson asked, confused.

You gave him a small smile. “Mister Barnes,” you said simply.

Coulson nodded at that. “Understood. We have a deal, Misses Barnes,” he said, sticking his hand out for you to shake.

You raised an eyebrow at it, then pointed to your own golden-wired hand. “You sure that’s such a good idea, Coulson?” you asked sardonically. “Built in joy-buzzer... that can kill an elephant.”

Instead of answering he continued to hold his hand out for you to take, looking at you expectantly.

You groaned and took his hand in yours. “You’re stupid. That was monumentally stupid,” you complained, even as you shook his hand then dropped it.

“I agree,” May said behind you, though you were thankful her anger was directed at Coulson and not you.

“Some advice?” you said, regarding him from your spot in front of his desk.

“Shoot.” He winced. “Poor choice of words. Go ahead, please.”

“Delete any record of me being here. Burn my lanyard the moment I drive through that front door. Purge the video recordings. Make sure none of your agents mention me. We both know Hydra’s still out there. We know what I mean to them. For the sake of me and your people, pretend I was never here.”

Coulson nodded. “Already taking care of it.”

You nodded. “And...” you took a deep breath. “If you need me, you know where to find me. If I move, I’ll be sure to get a message to you somehow.” He gave you a single nod of acknowledgement. “Now, I... I have something important to do. Thank you for your time and cooperation, Coulson,” you said, pulling a nondescript USB from your back pocket. You placed it on top of the papers on his desk and headed to the door, stopping before you passed May. “Oh, by the way, I’m taking some of the pictures with me. I left copies for your files, but I’m commandeering the originals.”

“I understand. Stay safe, Misses Barnes,” he said quietly. If you weren’t mistaken, there was a note of concern in his voice. Whether it was for you or the people around you was unclear.

You gave May a nod which she returned and you nearly smiled. That was the May equivalent of another person’s exuberant, loud goodbye.

When you made it to the garage Fitz and Mack were waiting by your car. Word traveled fast on the base, it seemed.

“Hey, Mack. Fitz. You got that transceiver patch down under six minutes yet?” you asked the blond by way of greeting.

They both turned to look at you. The blond shifted nervously. “Seven minutes thirty-two seconds,” he said anxiously.

You sent him a bracing smile. “You’ll get it. If I can fix highly-advanced cybernetic limbs without having any conscious idea of what I’m doing, you can patch a transceiver from muscle memory.”

“You can really do that?” Mack asked, eyeing your nano-skin covered legs.

You nodded. “I helped design them originally. Hydra tricked me into it. I always was better at designing things than their engineers. I made them so it’s an intuitive design for me. Even when I couldn’t remember my own name or what year it was, I could repair them. I’ve fixed Bucky’s arm and my leg more times than I can count... mostly because I can’t remember everything,” you said, taking a stab at darker humor. It earned you weak smiles, but you’d take it. “Point is, you can handle it. Coulson wouldn’t put you on it unless he believed you could.”

Fitz nodded. “I- I think I can do it.”

“Oi! Where do you think you’re getting off to without saying goodbye?” said a familiar voice from somewhere around the door that led deeper into the base.

You turned to see Hunter walking with a purpose towards the three of you, brown paper bag clutched tightly in hand. A quick backscatter scan revealed it to be a bottle of booze. Vodka, if you weren’t mistaken.

“Vodka. The good kind this time?” you asked with a smirk.

“What’s the point of getting the good, expensive stuff if it takes three bottles for you to even get a buzz going? Might as well just buy it in bulk, cheap,” Hunter groused.

“I like the taste,” you said, taking the bag from him with a grateful smile.

Hunter made a disgusted face. “You really did live in Russia for most of your life, didn’t you?”

You pulled the bottle half out of the bag and gave it an appreciative once over, then shot Hunter a wink. “Da.” It was the good stuff.

“Before you go, can I get a peek under the hood?” Mack asked, his eyes sliding over the Batmobile longingly.

“Sure,” you agreed easily. Mack hardly believed his luck. The three of them followed you to the front of the car and you placed your hand on the hood, smiling as it easily popped open at your touch. It was designed to open only to your specific hand print scan coupled with a specific electrical current.

All three of them took two huge steps back when they spotted the huge turret-defense guns sitting idly just under the hood. They shot a variation of the Stark’s repulsor blasts.

Mack stared at them for a second, then, “The engine’s in the back, isn’t it?”

You gave him a mockingly apologetic smile. “The engine’s in the back,” you confirmed.

“That’s cold,” Mack said as you closed the hood. He looked a little bit like a kicked puppy. A huge, muscular puppy. It almost reminded you of Steve.

“That’s the brand,” you sing-songed as you walked over to the driver’s side.

You were taken by surprise when Fitz wrapped his arms around you in a tight hug. It was slightly less of a surprise when Mack joined him. You had to nearly bite back a laugh when Mack reeled Hunter in with one of his big hands.

“No, I don’t do- Gah- Why are- Fine, aaaand we’re hugging now,” Hunter mumbled obstinately, his face close to yours, an amused smile dancing on his lips when he realized he wasn’t getting out of the group hug.

“Thank you,” you said quietly, earnest smile on your lips.

“Dunno what you’re talkin’ abou’,” Fitz muttered.

But you were sure he did. They were treating you like a person. A human being with feelings. And emotions.

“Yeah, jus’ don’t tell your husband about this, alrigh’? I fancy myself a tough man but I don’t want to be on Mister Barnes’ shit list,” Hunter half-griped, half pleaded.

You smiled as the group hug broke apart. “I dunno. I think he’d like you. All of you.” You suddenly had the urge to hang around longer, but they had a mission soon and you... you had a mission of your own.

“Alfred, run a system check. Eliminate foreign devices.”

“At once, madam,” came a synthesized British voice from the car.

There was a quiet zapping sound and a piece of metal flew a few feet into the air then landed on the ground with a smack.

“One such device found. It has been removed with prejudice,” your AI, Alfred, informed you.

You turned to smile at Mack, who shrugged helplessly, sheepish smile on his face. “Director’s orders. Can’t blame a guy for trying.”

You smiled at the three of them as the wing doors swung upwards. All three of them ducked in unison to get a peek inside as you slid in. Hunter let out a low whistle, Mack nodded his head in appreciation, and Fitz’s eyes were darting around, trying to take in as much as possible. His jaw was hanging ever so slightly slack.

The doors lowered back down slowly but you were already rolling down the window. You pointed to Mack and beckoned him forward. He gave you a confused stare but acquiesced and leaned down so his head was right next to yours.

You leaned forward until your mouth was right next to his ear and your voice was so quiet you knew no one else would be able to hear.

“You should tell them about the other SHIELD. If I’m being completely honest, I’ve dug pretty deep into any possible dirty laundry on both sides. I know how Hydra works. You’re both squeaky clean. If you’re not careful you’ll end up fighting each other and not the real enemy. And, no, I didn’t tell anyone else about this.”

When you leaned back Mack’s face was hard as stone, not that you’d been expecting anything different.

“Take care, Mack,” you said, flipping your car into gear. “You too Fitz, Hunter. Tell Simmons, Skye, Triplett and Bobbi goodbye for me, alright?” you said, throwing them a brilliant smile over Mack’s shoulder. Mack straightened after a second, eyeing you like he had the first week you’d been on the base.

The big door at the other end of the huge hangar area opened and you sped off towards it, hair flying in the breeze before you rolled up your window and sped out of the SHIELD facility, not glancing back.

Beside you on the passenger sat a folder full of pictures and intel. On the front were seven characters.

BSAM003.

You sighed and focused on the road, avoiding any and all cop cars that Alfred warned you about.

“Get me Bucky’s location, Alfred,” you said, heart heavy now that you’d left the base. The people there had been a small reprieve for the near-solitude you suffered.

“At once, Misses Barnes,” Alfred’s voice said through the speakers. A moment later his voice rang out, loud and clear. “Mister Barnes is currently residing in Puerto Rico.”

“Huh. I was expecting Bulgaria or something. How fast can I buy a boat that can accommodate the Batmobile?” you asked the AI, already getting on the closest freeway headed southeast towards the coast.

“It has been done, Misses Barnes,” Alfred informed you. I’ve changed your route so you’ll arrive in Miami at the marina where your new boat awaits. Estimated time of arrival: Four hours.”

“You’re a peach, Alfred,” you said, already gunning the engine to speed down the freeway.

“Always a pleasure to assist you, ma’am,” the AI said quietly.

You smiled and patted the dash affectionately. “Let’s go see the lord of the house, shall we?”

“I can hardly contain my excitement,” was Alfred’s dry, almost sarcastic response. Maybe you should have lightened up on the snark when you created him.

Next Chapter

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thelarryficrecplace · 7 years ago

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Royal Larry Fics

Hello, it’s the royal wedding today and I’m still not over that after today I’ve got no real chance of ever getting with Prince Harry so, in no particular order, here’s some royal fics I absolutely adore:

Royal Harry:

Like a Bullet in the Dark by Vurdoc:

Summary: Prince Harold Edward Styles Lancaster is second in line to the throne of Great Britain. He is also your average Uni student- or he tries to be, anyway.

With a promise from the press (and his father) that they’ll leave him alone for four years, he sets out to be a student at Cambridge, when he meets his very normal, very working class, very handsome suite-mate, Louis Tomlinson.

Louis makes Harry feel more like a person than he ever has before, which might cause some issues later on- ‘cause Harry has a secret that he’s only told his sister Gemma about.

Little does he know though, that Louis has some secrets of his own.

Word count: 99,456

Turn and face the strange by orphan_account:

Summary: “Yeah okay, look, um. I’m in a relationship now, mum. And it’s pretty serious and I’m very much in love with him.” Louis’ mum’s face lights up at that.

“Well why didn’t you say?! Can we meet him?! Is he here today?”

“This is the catch. He’s kind of, well, he’s incredibly famous. So he couldn’t be at the ceremony but he’s in the car and we’re going to go back to his home for some lunch, is that okay?”

“Famous?! Louis, if this is some sort of joke…”

“It’s not, mum, I promise. Please can you just get in the car? He’s in this one, I want you three to meet him first, just don’t freak out, please,” he says, gesturing at Harry’s traditional black car.

Or the one where Harry is going to be King, Louis can’t handle it like he thinks, Zayn is finally happy, Liam’s a massive geek and Niall’s marrying a princess.

Word count: 26,013

Wear It Like A Crown by zarah5:

Summary: AU. As part of a team of fixers hired to handle a gay scandal in Buckingham Palace, Louis expects Prince Harry to be a lot of things—most notably a royally spoilt brat. Never mind that the very same Prince Harry used to star in quite a number of Louis' teenage fantasies.

Word count: 141,303

Nothing lasts forever, except you and me by orphan_account:

Summary: “I can’t believe they got married,” Louis says sleepily once he’s curled up into Harry’s chest.

“Neither can I,” Harry mumbles. “I can’t believe my best friend fell in love with your best friend. I can’t believe how disgustingly happy they are.”

“We’ve got competition, Haz,” Louis giggles. “We need to be the most disgustingly happy; do you reckon we can beat them?”

“Oh please,” Harry snorts. “We’re the nation’s sweethearts, babe. Nobody is more disgusting than us.”

Or the one where Louis does what he thinks he has to, Harry becomes King, Zayn gives Louis false hope, Liam wishes Harry would cry less and Niall still can’t believe he’s married to a princess.

Word count: 34,726

What A Feeling To Be A King Beside You by itsprobablylarry:

Summary: “Tomlinson. Louis Tomlinson, Duke of Wellington, your highness,” the man, or boy considering he seems to be around Harry’s age or slightly older, says with a wink and a quick bow.

Huh. Duke of Wellington. Harry recalls once meeting the Duke of Wellington. He probably wasn't a day over 7 years and honestly only remembers a mischievous boy with blue eyes that poured gravy on him. But now that he thinks about it, the Duke in front of him does have pretty, blue eyes as well. He's also got a nice smile and a beautiful jawline covered in short stubble. His chestnut hair is done up in a perfect quiff and his dark navy suit is perfectly tailored to his body. He's fit.

Word count: 16,840

See It Turning Red by dinosaursmate:

Summary: Prince Harry employs a male escort to accompany him to official functions to spite his father, King Edward, but Harry has a little trouble keeping his head.

Word count: 30,912

caught up in your love affair by disgruntledkittenface:

Summary: Prince Harry announces his engagement to Louis Tomlinson in an interview with longtime friend and BBC host Nick Grimshaw.

Word count: 8,071

Buried Like Treasure by QuickedWeen:

Summary: Prince Harry Styles is very private. He chooses to keep himself out of the public eye but feels lonely and isolated while surrounded by people in his hectic royal life. When he finishes his dissertation, he decides to take a solo holiday to one of the royal family's properties in the Swiss Alps.

Semi-retired thief Louis Tomlinson has been pulled in for one last job: steal a painting from an uninhabited mansion. Neither one of them expects a natural disaster.

Word count: 40,200

Royal Louis:

call it magic, call it true by itiswhatitisbutterfly:

Summary: Harry Styles loves hockey, art history and speaks Italian. His Royal Highness Prince Louis of Wales is second in line to inherit the British Throne. Their relationship is sometimes a fairytale but occasionally a nightmare.

(Louis is the Prince William to Harry’s Kate Middleton.)

Word count: 17,102

King and Lionheart by haloeverlasting:

Summary: Prince Louis Tomlinson is the first out gay monarch in his small country’s history. After facing a failed attack in town, he understands why. Expect the unexpected seems applicable, but nothing could have prepared him for his own mother’s reaction – a bodyguard by the name of Harry Styles.

Word count: 30,137

feel the chemicals burn in my bloodstream by togetherwecouldbealright:

Summary: “Alright, alright. No need to bite,” Harry says, holding his hands above his head in a general gesture of surrender.

Louis quirks an eyebrow and his foot nudges Harry’s as he moves to sit straight. “If that’s what you think biting is, you’ve got another thing coming, Styles.”

Harry blinks at him before he feels his face flush and inside the marrows of his bones there’s pulses of heat, pulses of fire spreading through him. “Is that a threat, your Highness?”

“That’s a promise,” Louis answers just as the car halts to a stop. “One I intend to keep.”

Harry is a journalist with a lot of secrets and Louis is the future king of the United Kingdom; they live together for 60 days.

Word count: 123,176

my kingdom for a kiss (tonight you’re on my mind) by leighbot:

Summary: “Oh fuck, I’m going to have to tell my mum,” Louis says, closing his eyes.

The silence stretches between them for a long moment until Harry starts breathing heavily. “I’m going to have to tell the Queen,” he says, “and my mum.”

Or, the one where Zayn and Louis make a friendly wager and it goes too far, Harry’s a baker with a heart of gold and really great hair, Liam is an overworked PA who just wants to enjoy his holiday and Niall is completely at ease, as always. An accidentally married AU mixed with a splash of modern royalty.

Word count: 30,913

Common by Cori Lannam (corilannam):

Summary: Henry VIII ruined it for everybody. Now the king or queen can only marry a person chosen by the magic of the church, or disaster will befall Britain. Prince Louis, heir apparent to the British throne, dislikes most things about his inheritance–but most of all that it could keep him from finding the real love of his life.

Word count: 50,935

Worth Dying For by whoknows:

Summary: “You’ve got to be kidding me,” Louis says, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms over his chest. In the center of the table, a set of three glossy photos stares up at him, mocking him.“

A security detail is non-negotiable, Louis, you know this,” his mum reminds him, tapping the middle photo with two fingers.

Louis doesn’t look back down at the pictures, gesturing towards them wildly, over-dramatically. “This is not a security detail!” he protests. “This is a lanky college student. In what world do you hire someone like this kid to protect me?”

Word count: 44,906

(we will be) as if chosen by alivingfire:

Summary: Or: the course of true love never did run smooth, because sometimes people are stubborn and sometimes people are scared and sometimes, just sometimes, love can cause just as many problems as it solves.

Word count: 33,591

Sunrise on Your Sins by cuppalouie:

Summary: Louis Tomlinson is at his wit’s end trying to keep up with all the responsibilities and demands that come along with being the Crown Prince of England. Exhausted and desperate for an escape, his life is suddenly derailed when in walks Harry Styles, renowned rentboy and expert on all things BDSM. Blessing or curse, Louis decides to see where this unlikely partnership will lead.

Or: Sometimes the things that aren’t meant to last end up being the only reason we keep holding on.

Word count: 25,816

#larry #larry fic #larry fics #larry fic rec #larry fic recs #fic #fics #fic rec #fic recs #larry stylinson #larry au #masterpost #royalty #royal larry #royal #Prince Louis #prince harry

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awhilesince · 3 years ago

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Sunday, 1 August 1830 (travel journals)

5 40/60

12 1/2

tolerable motion ready at 7 1/4 – all went to the top? of the

Cathedral – too hazy to see the Pyrennees – home at 8 – breakfast –

off from the hotel de France Auch at 9 – very good Inn – small dinner on well cleaned plate yesterday and handsome china this morning and everything good – dinner well cooked – good vin du pays and champagne –

cathedral fine gothic interior and the richest in gilding (in the chapels) we have seen to say nothing of the magnificent boiserie and painted glass –– in the Sycamore tree and our saviour seeing him and some little white sheep the best of the glass the King Chief canon and has stall never used – the exterior very plain – the two west towers small and poor and the west front spoilt by the putting on of a Corinthian façade –

a pretty esplanade and all the roads having fine avenues many handsome promenades – 2 places – town seems large and pretty good but irregular – the Gers here as every where a narrow inconsiderable river –

man chef de maison in Paris and going per Diligence proper cause taken up by the police for saying the King had left Paris – no papers since dated of Monday last –

very fine sunny morning sortie by nice level flat road thro’ fine avenue of elms along the foot of rounded hill, forming one side the widish fertile valley of various cultivation – hills covered with vines – too little wood for beauty don’t see the river (Gers) – farms – cottages – hedges – Fahrenheit 74 1/2 at 9 a.m.

road as yesterday stoned – mended with gravel– Vicnau single house (farm house like) – changed horses and off at 10 42/.. –

in 3 1/2 minutes after at the top of the hill immediately above Vicnau first view of the Pyrennees – Louisa with me – delighted – could not have distinguished them from clouds – a longish line – none but an eye accustomed to mountains in such distance could have distinguished them – distinguished the pic du Midi, and some snow-clad summits, but the snow not seeming to Extend far down –

Extensive view from Vicnau hill over undulating country parserné d’hibilations under vine and plough – very little wood but in fence rows good farm houses, and hamlets – the last stage rather hilly at last, and this stage very hilly look down nicely up Mirande and enter it by fine long avenue of elms, cross good stone bridge over yellow ochreous Baize, and mount mount steepish hill into the great (splashed yellow on white) goodish picturesque old town – houses projecting largish church –

Fahrenheit 80° at 11 3/4 in shade in the carriage, and 92° in the sun on the cap case –

ground place arcaded as, in Italy and large arcaded building – all the people marched in the middle in their Sunday clothes standing about – nothing particular in costume – Basque or Ayrshire caps often crimson very picturesque town – admire it much –

fine range of undulating country but tops of hills more – generally very pretty one half wooded – few vines – much corn – avenue of elms to some distance beyond the Town –

the language quite different from French today and yesterday – but French spoken to us – Provencale –

Fahrenheit 109° in the sun at 1 p.m.

very undulating stage – from 1 3/60 long straight road and the Pyrennees right ahead – the best view since Vicnau – but they are seen thro’ mist –

the latter 1/2 this stage more wooded than the former and pretty nice little town of Miélan celebrated for its mutton which however is not now so good since the hills have been defriché, which used to produce aromatic 2 herbs

obliged to wait till our horses bait – from 1 1/2 to 2 35/.. walk about – come to the little hotel dawdle – then (2 35/..) Louisa and I sit down to write – had just got comfortably writing when off at 2 57/.. – mud-splashed little town – fine view from the church yard of Pyrennees –

drag down long traversing steep descent out of the picturesque town into wide ascending plain not much wooded – I could sleep very well at such an Inn as where we have been sitting close to the post house –

Fahrenheit 90° in shade in the carriage at 3 10/..

fine view of the Pyrennees stretching along in the distance (left) – very fine country but the summits bare, the snow in patches and to me the mountains not to be compared with alps seen from Berne, or Soleure or Rigi Culm – more wooded and mountainous as we go along hardly at all out of foots pace – asleep a while –

about 3/4 hour from Miélan – look down upon rich green wooded dell – hill covered with brackens richly wooded mountain tops hills – in the distance long curving line of lower Pyrennees backed by the higher – for ever up and downhill but views of green-wooded vales and vine clad hills and wooded summits – fine air too –

Fahrenheit 103° in the sun now at 4 from the Top of hill at 4 7/.. high Pyrennees very fine – the mist so far clearer as to allow us to trace their outline nearer to the bottom – got out and walked 10 minutes down the hill – look down upon the little picturesque town of scattered village of Villecontal? and pass stone bridge over little river Esteux? vines and Indian corn – hedges all along more or less – high mountains (left) very fine on coming down upon Rabasteins more dun cows – not well built, but picturesque little town – all the people at their doors in Sunday clothes but no particular costume –

our 3 carriages (I first) all together quite a sight for them – large place municipale with large odd looking marché in the middle looking like 3 rows of great cart sheds covered in – being square not arcaded, as at Mirande –

Fahrenheit 89° in the sun at 5 1/4 p.m. – hedges – and alder hedges alongside the road – as we near the high Pyrennees they are are certainly fine but there is so little snow mere spots (taches) specks), here and there that I cannot compare them with the high alps – as a range of mountains of course nothing in Scotland can be other than miniatures compared with them, but Ben Nevis as a mountain looked as fine as any of them – the nearer I approach the high Pyrennees the less I compare them to the if now clad Alps – but they are better approached – seen to more advantage? where can one so go up to from a wide plain the chain of alps – these are like a fine cathedral built up – the others like a less fine cathedral in a beautiful close –

road very pretty some time before Tarbes between alder hedges, and woods the high Pyrennees right ahead of us – but oh! no more like alps – not like Mont Blancs – a perfect garden of mais, and vines creeping round fruit trees – pretty neat cottages straw thatched tiled a blue slated house if whitish stone or splashed – out on 1 long wide street with gardens interspersed in front and at the sides up the houses – very pretty and picturesque no! this is not Tarbes but the very pretty village (St. Terreol Auvilbeaux? Aureilhan) and from here the high Pyrennees seen from their feet and very fine – but have I not seen scenery near Snowdon as striking?

lovely evening – no snow hardly on them – we cannot surely see the highest tops – cross handsome stone bridge over broad but almost dry Adom – a mere shallow running stream over its gravelly bed –

very neat wide streeted town – large neat white washed, grande place – nice town had her done – walked out an hour to the cathedral and Prado – the fête of the tutelar saint – 2 fiddles and one clarionet and dancing – great many people in their best, quite gay – the Prado reminded Lady S– [Stuart] of the Enghi at Berne –

dinner at 8 1/2 – came to my room at 11 50/..

Lady S [Stuart] and I tete a tete from ten talking of different things shewing I was knowing enough and she not observation on the contents of Gibbons Rome and all sorts of things being put in Latin and Greek she evidently has no objection to my conversa tion and I see likes to have me as little later than her at Pau tomorrow as possible – very fine day –

left margin:

Capital Inn at Auch

Excellent grapes – the 1st excellent

there were a few little black grapes in the market at Tonneins once some little bad black ones –

peaches and pears and green gages the common fruit

reference number: SH:7/ML/TR/5/0024 - 0027

#annelister #annelistercodebreaker #traveljournals #pyrennees #august1830

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obsoletelibrarian · 6 years ago

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Hello, friends, family, countrymen! I am off on a new adventure! I am trying to keep a better track of this year than the one I spent in Toronto. I did better in Oxford, so I will try to go back to that dedication. For those of you who don’t know, my husband Dan was recently offered a position working as an instructor and researcher for ETH Zurich, a position where he will earn a full salary, and also leave in 3-ish years with a PhD. Not a bad deal! I always knew he was a smart one. A real keeper.

Anywho, I am therefore now in Zurich, Switzerland. We just decided to pack up and leave in fairly short notice. We had to fly to San Francisco to get Visas, which was a terrible process which involved me at 3:00 am demanding that an airline give me a flight so that their delayed flight wouldn’t prevent us from reaching our consulate appointment, and several other such hiccups. Especially difficult was the fact that while we tried to prepare to move, I was working very hard to participate in a version of Comedy of Errors in Clement Park, Colorado. Brutal.

But we have made it! I have now been here a little less than a week. It has been about 94 degrees or hotter all week, which is insane, particularly with the humidity. I feel like I have been just damp forever. The Swiss spend their summer weekends in the lake and the river, but due to the airline accidentally leaving part of my luggage in Minnesota for the time being, I have no swimsuit. I just bought the cheapest swim top money can buy, so that I can wear it with Sofi shorts as a bathing suit next weekend, to cope with the heat.

Our new apartment is nice. 350 square feet is more than I thought it was. Our kitchen is actually quite nice, although the appliances are all half sized! Food is in smaller portions here anyways, so it actually all fits. This complex is actually for both students and retired individuals (it is government-run housing). So our bathroom has a shower seat for a more elderly person than either of us. There’s also a tiny cot/bed that smells strange. We only use it for storage. We sleep on an air mattress we brought with us. We have a small issue with cockroaches, but it is nothing our boot soles cannot handle (thus far). The two windows are open until we go to sleep, and we bought a rotating fan to deal with the heat.

Getting settled has been difficult. The immigration office didn’t want to accept us without our marriage license, which was hard. I was praying harder than I’d ever prayed that the guy would let us off easy on that one, and he did, so thanks to God for that one. We still have to have our biometrics taken to get residency, and we are really worried that we won’t get full residency until our current entry visas run out, so we’re just moving as fast as we can and praying for the best. We got Swiss health insurance, which also took some doing, but was necessary to get residency.

At the immigration office, we were also mandated nuclear medication, because Zurich is so close to many nuclear sites. It is a weird thing, and we still have to go to the “Apothece,” or Pharmacy, to get those pills. This goes with the missile barn (not nuclear missiles, I think it’s just anti-aircraft or something--the nuclear is from power plants) we saw just in the city. You can tell that it’s a missile barn because of the large “VERBOT” (forbidden) signs and the roof the comes off with a pulley system. We had read about these before arriving here.

We just got Swiss bank accounts, but it’s taken some doing. They are really worried about Americans doing illegal offshore stuff out here, so we really had to prove our poverty and good intentions. But we ended up with the nicest banker of all time, who had learned German and English in the past couple of years, after having to learn Italian first when his family moved from eastern Europe. His dream is to move to America and become a painter. He was so nice, and gave us espresso, mineral water, and chocolates on a fancy tray as if we were the rich clients he normally works with. He did a great job, and I hope he gets to paint someday.

We both bought year long bus passes for the greater Zurich area, which are great. I hope onto any transportation I want and get wherever I want to go in no time. Yesterday, Dan was at work, so I went over to the Altstadtt, the Old City, where you can see the Alps across Zurichsee, the big lake here. I walked around the lake, and also saw more of Bahnhofstrausse than I saw from our banking time.

I also went to the two old churches in the Altstadtt: Grossmunster and Fraumunster. GM was founded by Charlemagne himself, and FM was founded by his grandson, so you can imagine that I was absolutely elated to visit them. They both have been redone many times, so actually the coolest part to me about each is the crypts underneath. In GM, there is this ancient medieval statue of Charlemagne that used to be on the roof, but it weathered away too much, and there are these very old drawings/pictures on the wall from medieval times. In FM, they actually have taken cross sections out of the floors in the crypts, because you can see all the levels of church buildings that have been erected at the cite, from old nun housing to waterways, all intersecting each other with different-aged stones. They even have parts of columns from the era when Charlemagne’s grandson started the church. Truly breathtaking. FM also has a Chagall window, which is just gorgeous. It is actually 5 panes, each a different color and scene from the Bible, and I just sat in the church, staring up at them and crying, because there is something about that beautiful old church with those beautiful new windows that is holy.

Dan actually couldn’t buy those bus passes before I got here though, because he made the mistake of speaking English at the counter. They told him, “We speak German here” and turned him away. Whether it was my meager amount of German (we eventually spoke English at the counter anyways) or our newly stamped paperwork from the Swiss government, it was much easier to get passes the second time.

Overall, we hear, “You are in Switzerland, and we speak German here,” a lot. It’s like karma for every USA person who has mocked someone who speaks Spanish. The older man in the apartment next to us told us that right away, and then explained the rules of the apartment complex, eying us warily. He took us to the mailroom, and asked us where the name “Hammerland” was from, sighing that “you never could tell where people were from, nowadays.” At first, I was worried that he didn’t like us at all, because we were Americans. But he warmed right up to us, and now I believe he is the best friend we have out here thus far. He gave me a book of German “Weisheit,” or wise sayings, and a card to get into Fraumunster for free (it is normally 5 franc). He also has given us tips for everything from fashion to tourism to life. His English is excellent, because in the 60s and 70s he was part of the music scene in New York. After that, he studied Renaissance art and music in the Sorbonne!!! How cool is that?!

Dan hasn’t met many people at school thus far, but that’s because his group mates are on a trip, and he is going to get to hang out with them much more when they get back! And we did make some friends at church. We went to the IPC, the international protestant church, where they speak English and are very welcoming. They offered us friendship and help, and one of them attends Dan’s school in the chemistry department. Additionally, the assistant pastor’s wife is from Colorado, with family in Minnesota, she left her career to follow her husband here, and her name is Jenna. It was such a relief to have a person who understood me well so immediately. So we think we might make some friends here.

Dan and I have been having some good adventures, finding good places to buy groceries (the main stores are called Migros, Coop, and Denner, but boy, are they all expensive!), walking by the river and seeing all of the people in intertubes or swimming in the dammed sections, seeing art in the Wasserkirche (the Water Church), and trying to adjust to the very cheese-and-small-bits-of-bread diet we have out here (Dan has to adjust. I think I’ve been eating Swiss accidentally all along!). So things are starting well, despite some setbacks.

Some things you may not know about Switzerland, because I surely did not:

1) They don’t believe in air conditioning. Ever. They only have it in supermarkets and banks (and some busses, but rarely). So most stores, churches, and our apartment are approximately a billion degrees at the moment. And sticky. Swiss women (especially the elderly and pregnant) all carry these white collapsible fans with little flowers painted on them in the Swiss style, and the bus is filled with the sound of little fans going back and forth.

2) The Swiss are all SO TAN. Every single person has a golden summer glow. I am about eight shades whiter than anyone here, which definitely sets me apart. Dan looks much more like a Swiss person than me, but he dresses American so it is a dead give away. Luckily, in public, I keep being mistaken for a Brit (unlike poor Dan who has been really lashed out at for his USA heritage), which is overall less of a problem than being an American.

3) Pretty much all bottled water is sparkling, or “mit gass”

4) It doesn’t look like pictures. Most of Zurich is a bunch of concrete apartments, trying to fit as much as possible into the smallest space. It reminds me a lot of London in that way--there are beautiful old buildings, but a lot of the city is just overcrowded and overbusy. I kind of like it, though. The bustle reminds me of Toronto.

5) They don’t get married in Switzerland. People hardly date, but if they do fall in love, they just live together until they die. People literally cannot comprehend me and my situation when we explain it. Get married? And then move somewhere without a job prepared, simply because of a partner? As one person curtly informed me when I suggested it, “Well, the Junge do not do that here. Here, we are all supposed to function.” That has been a little disheartening. Only that other Jenna at church understood my predicament.

6) The healthcare isn’t free. Indeed, we will be paying quite a lot for it.

7) There are no taxes on food! What you see on a pricetag is what you get! Huzzah!

8) Swiss croissants are called “Gipfeli” and are delicious

9) Swiss German is a cross between half of the world languages, I feel like. There are signs in French talking about hair stylists, advertisements with English puns, Italian menu items, and weirdly almost-German greetings. When you meet someone, you say “Gruezi,” and when you bump into someone you say “Ӓxcusi,” and if someone bumps into you, you say “Scho guen” (it’s all good). None of these things is German, but they are all quite Swiss.

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pondandpuddlejumping-blog · 7 years ago

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We have a lot of catching up to do...

You know the friend that you have where you can go months or even years without talking and it’s like nothing has changed and you’re happy to just catch up on everything that has happened since the last time you spoke? Oh good, ‘cause that’s what this blog has become.

We have five months of catching up to do. This is not how I had intended this blog to be and I’m a bit disappointed with myself that I’ve gone five months without a single update considering all of the great adventures I’ve been on in the mean time. For the summer I’m entertaining the idea that I will do at least 1 post a month, which is totally attainable. I’m planning to stay in Europe over the summer and I have some friends and family visiting over the next 4 months so I will not be short of things to write about.

Anyway, here’s the Reader’s Digest version of my life over the past five months though a lot has happened so this post is longer than my others:

Christmas 2017: London, Vienna, and Bled

I decided to stay in Europe over the Christmas holiday. We got a 5 week break and I had plans to spend some time in London, Vienna, and Bled. My friend was kind enough to let me stay in her London flat while she went to home to Canada and for the latter half of my break I had plans to meet up with a couple friends from my Halifax to explore Vienna and Bled.

Firstly, I was blown away by the lights and decorations alone. London knows Christmas. It made how we decorate at home look like peanuts in comparison. The lights on Regent street and Oxford street were stunning. I also checked out Winter Wonderland in Hyde Park and multiple Christmas markets around the city. I was also pleasantly surprised by the number of skating rinks set up around the city and was sure to take advantage of them.

Christmas decorations at Spitalfields Market.

This was the first time that I would be spending Christmas away from family. I hadn’t made it home to my immediate family for Christmas 2016 but I had gotten to spend it with my aunt and uncle who lived in Edmonton, a city only a few hours from Calgary, so it didn’t hit me in quite the same way it had hit me this year. There were multiple points during the day where I regretted not going home. However, I wasn’t completely alone, a friend from school had also decided to spend Christmas in Europe and so the two of us were making the most of our surroundings.

We went to the service at Westminster Abbey for Christmas morning. I’m not a religious person in the slightest however, I was able to appreciate the service in a way that I had never experienced church before. The sense of community and just genuine joy that seemed to be in the air was comforting. This was also the first time I had been inside the Abbey and it was incredible.

Our original plan was to go to the movies after the service however literally EVERYTHING is closed on Christmas day in the UK. Who knew? So, we went on a mission to at least find a restaurant that was open. We ended up in Chinatown for a late Christmas lunch and after lunch proceeded to go on a nice walk through the city: seeing Marble Arch, through Kensington Park and past Buckingham Palace. Even though I had been feeling homesick more than I had ever been since arriving in the UK, I was also really happy to have spent Christmas day experiencing things I wouldn’t otherwise have had the opportunity to.

The next city on my list over the holiday break was Vienna. This was also where I would be ringing in the New Year. I had come to notice that the over-the-top Christmas decorations wasn’t just a London thing but rather a European thing. Vienna did not disappoint. The city was oozing with culture and history and I was excited to explore.

We went to the Albertina museum, saw a small ensemble performance of Strauss and Mozart (twice!), and went to the state opera over the next four days in addition to checking out other museums, Christmas markets, and (more) ice skating. I think the thing that I loved most about this city was the food! I definitely overindulged while in this city but that’s what vacation is for, right? It was also so lovely catching up with my friends. I hadn’t seen one of the them in almost two years so we had a lot of catching up to do - she had been on some crazy adventures herself, through Southeast Asia!

With the year coming to a close I had the opportunity to reflect on all that had happened. 2017 was good to me: not only had I moved overseas and started law school but earlier in the year I had learned to ski and was getting more into rock climbing and hiking. I had also reconnected with old friends and made many new ones. I was looking forward to continuing this positive trend and seeing what the New Year had to offer.

City Hall Christmas Market. The NYE fireworks display went off behind City Hall.

We rang in the New Year with a bottle of Champagne in the City Hall square watching fireworks and dancing to live music. Again, a moment where I had a brief sting of homesickness but also surrealness - I was ringing in the New Year in Vienna! How incredible is that?

From Vienna we travelled 6 hours by train to Bled, Slovenia. Not the first place on everyone's travel list but it definitely should be! I was so pleasantly surprised by this town. It seriously looks like Narnia and that we had walked through the wardrobe upon arriving. The Alps are literally the backdrop to the town and Lake Bled, with its island church, adds to the picturesque landscape.

View from a look-off we hiked up to. Notice Bled Castle in the background on top of the cliff.

We spent two days in the town, hiking around the lake and up to the castle. The town isn’t very big but it was nice to just wander around and relax after the sights and sounds of Vienna and London. Bled is very sleepy in comparison.

Most of the other tourists around are there for the skiing. There are shuttles leaving regularly from the town centre to the ski hill. I noticed that Bled also offers “adventure vacations” in the summer with SUP, canoe and kayaking tours, and white water rafting. Again, not a destination I would consider for an adventure vacation but now that we’d been there I would love to go back and experience that.

Panoramic of town from Bled Castle.

After our time in Bled we trained back to Vienna for one final night before parting ways to fly back home. I spent the final days of the break in London. Another friend of mine had moved to London on the 30th and it was great catching up with him before heading back to Canterbury.

January 2018: Oslo, Norway

Within the first few days back in classes I booked a weekend trip to Oslo with some of the other girls at school. Flights were only £20 round trip! We quickly realized that our flight would be the cheapest thing all weekend. Norway is very expensive in comparison to other places I’ve travelled. That’s not to say that we didn’t have an excellent weekend, just that my original budget for the weekend was severely underestimated. Sorry bank account.

This is when I’m supposed to justify my actions by yelling YOLO! and saying quotes like “travel is the only thing you buy that makes you richer.” Regardless, Oslo is a beautiful city and I loved learning about Norse culture and the Viking Age and would love more time to explore this city. Sculptures and paintings depicting Norse mythology are all over the city. We also went to the Viking museum where we got to see three Viking ships, including the world’s best preserved ship. The museum also had countless artefacts and a visual journey through the Viking Age. I highly recommend checking this place out if you’re in Oslo.

This picture does not do justice to how large these ships were. Like, look at the rudder! Also notice the carvings on the ship.

Another highlight of our weekend was Holmenkollen National Arena, which hosts cross-country and biathlon venues as well as Holmenkollbakken, a large ski jumping hill. We venture up to the Arena for what we’ve been told are stunning views of the city and to watch the sun set. However, the day we went, the city is covered in a sea of clouds. The sunset is still spectacular and the arena also has a small museum of the history of the ski jump which was interesting.

Under that sea of cloud is Oslo.

Other quick highlights from the weekend include seeing the architectural gem The National Opera House, the nightlife of the Grünerløkka district, the Vigeland sculpture park, and the Mathallen food hall. We packed a lot into that weekend!

Mathallen Food Hall from above.

Reading Week - February 2018: Warsaw, Poland

I travelled to Warsaw over the Winter reading week in February with two friends for a week-long conference on international commercial and corporate law hosted by ELSA - Warsaw (European Law Students’ Association). While this trip was mostly academic, the organizing committee also scheduled free time for us to explore during some of the days and hosted great social programmes in the evenings.

This was my first academic conference and it did not disappoint. We got to connect with law students from across Europe and engage with lecturers and professionals from around the world.

Warsaw is a beautiful city with a mix of old and new architecture. Fun fact: about 90% of the city was actually rebuilt after the war due to destruction and the modelling of the buildings came from pre-war pictures and paintings.

Entering the old part of the city.

The historic campus of the University of Warsaw is incredible and some of the buildings remind me of Dalhousie University where I did my first undergrad. The university is actually where Chopin studied music! And the law faculty is actually the oldest on campus, founded in 1808.

On the main gate leading into campus.

The academic program for the week was organized around lectures, panel discussions and debates, and allowed ample opportunity to ask questions. At the end of the week we also got the chance to participate in workshops hosted by local firms. This conference supplemented the material that we’d been learning so far in the company law module at school.

When not in class we skated at the National Stadium, checked out local nightlife, explored the Jewish Institute and the Museum of the History of Polish Jews, and went to a gala dinner hosted at the National Library at the end of the week. The week went by a lot faster than we would have liked.

The Supreme Court of Poland.

March 2018: Stirling, Scotland

Lastly, my most recent trip (end of March), and second major ELSA event for the term, Scotland! I was so excited to go. Another weekend trip, I went with one of the friends I travelled to Warsaw with. We represented our local ELSA group at the National Committees Meeting for all of the UK ELSA groups. We also got to reconnect with some of the participants we had met at the Warsaw conference.

This weekend was a chance for us to meet other local ELSA groups, hear about what they had accomplished over the last academic year, and see their plans for the upcoming year. The University of Stirling group were excellent hosts and the campus was beautiful.

Though we were based in Stirling for the weekend we also did a day trip to Edinburgh before heading back to Canterbury. Scotland is stunning. There are no other words to describe it. The history, the lush green space and mountains (which was a nice change from the flatness of England), and the people, who were so nice and genuine, made for a fantastic weekend.

Wondering through old town in Edinburgh.

A part from the committees meeting, we toured Deanston Distillery and did a whiskey tasting paired with chocolate. We also explored Stirling Castle and the town centre. On our day trip to Edinburgh we walked through old town, tried the declared “best haggis in the city”, and went on a tour of Holyrood Palace (Fun fact: this is the official summer residence of the Queen!). I enjoyed Scotland so much and have already booked a trip back to Edinburgh for late August when my brother comes to visit the UK.

Our whiskey tasting after the tour of the distillery. We were the only two to sign up!

Scotland made me feel like home. Which isn’t that surprising seeing as many families in Nova Scotia have origins in Scotland and in some communities in Cape Breton Gaelic is still commonly spoken.

Panoramic from Stirling Castle. The weather was unseasonably warm.

If you made it this far reading about my recent adventures, I thank you for bearing with me as I chose the highlights to mention. I found it hard to keep things short.

The first year of my degree is quickly coming to an end and I’m honestly so shocked that I’ve already been in the UK for 8 months. I feel like I only just arrived! I’ve definitely been bitten by the travel bug and have started to plan a couple trips for after my exams.

#emsinternationaladventure #christmas2017 #Vienna #LakeBled #scotland #haggis #whiskeyforthewin #norway #poland #elsa

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summerfitzy · 7 years ago

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the places you’ll go

Fandom: Skam Ship: Noora x William Summary: In which Noora and William really like traveling together. ao3

GDANSK

“What if we went away for a weekend?” Noora asked in bed one night as she drew her fingers through her boyfriend’s dark, scrambled hair.

William tilted his head against her palm, consideration curling his lips. “A vacation?” Then a wry look at her bedroom door, through which they could hear Eskild belting the lyrics to a particularly upbeat pop song with his latest fling, all the way in the living room.

“We haven’t gotten much time alone since you moved in.” Her fingertips fell down his forehead until she was brushing the hair from his eyes with absent strokes. “It could be nice to get away.”

His smile reached up to touch the heel of her palm. “Where?”

Noora shrugged, running her fingers along his cheekbones. “I don’t know,” she said through a breath of laughter. “Somewhere cheap? Somewhere neither of us has been, maybe. Somewhere we both want to go.”

“We’ve never gone on a vacation together.” William kissed her palm one more time, dragging his lips along its deep lines. “I’ll go anywhere.” (The with you went unsaid.)

Skyscanner had cheap, non-stop flights to Gdasnk later that month, so Poland won.

Before they left, Eva predicted they would fly to Poland just to spend the entire weekend in their Airbnb bedroom.

Noora couldn’t say that Eva didn’t have some evidence—namely, the frequency with which she and William had taken to sneaking away into closets and his car lately—in her favor.

But Gdasnk was beautiful, even more so than Google Images had made it look. All cobbled streets and narrow buildings and blue water. They walked through Długi Targ with the other tourists, taking in the stalls and bright colors that marked the marketplace. Soft blues and reds and oranges and purples. When they stopped in front of the Neptune Fountain, William nodded towards the bronze statue that rose behind its iron gate.

“Do you know the story?” he asked her.

Noora canted her head up at the sea god. “No.”

Knotting their fingers together, William rubbed his thumb up and down her knuckles. “The locals think the fountain used to run with liquor from Neptune. That the gate,” he gestured towards its iron curls with their twined hands, “is to protect the fountain from all the drunks.”

Noora squinted at the fountain for another second, and then at William. “You just happen to know that?”

William shrugged, and took a step away from the fountain, the pad of his thumb still massaging her hand. “I read it somewhere.”

Of course he had. Noora wondered just how much he’d ‘happened to read’ about Gdansk after booking their tickets. “Did your fan club at Nissen know you were such a scholar?”

“I’m not a scholar,” he replied as they wove around the meandering groups and flashing cameras.

Noora rolled her eyes. “I’ve seen your law school reading.”

“Don’t mention that,” he said, turning a look of mock warning on her. “No law school this weekend.”

And even though that was highly irresponsible… “Okay.”

(No law school. No articles. Just them.)

They toured the Artus Court Museum next, staring up at its Gothic vault and scanning its list of famous, royal visitors. Then they walked by the statues waving from the Golden House before stopping for lunch at a small, nearby restaurant—where Noora convinced William to sneak into the single-person restroom with her.

"A restroom?” he repeated, almost laughing. Noora loved that sound. The pure, open delight in it. During their worst days in London, William’s silence had struck her hardest. Noora realized he’d thought she wanted space—but all she wanted now was for him to never feel so unreachable again. So untouchable. William’s reserve hadn’t extended to her since long before they’d started dating; you could tell by how poorly it fit.

She needed to be able to reach him, touch him. Always.

So Noora leaned across the round, two-person table, careful not to brush her striped sleeves into their brimming glasses of water. “It looked clean.” She wrapped her fingers through his.

He pulsed their grips and gave himself over to a breath of laughter. “Fucking hell, you’re amazing.”

Her quiet laughter blended with his.

They spent the rest of the afternoon walking through an art museum, where William took too many photos of Noora staring at the paintings.

“You’re not supposed to be taking pictures of me,” Noora reminded him when she heard the camera click again.

He shrugged. “I can take pictures of whatever I want.”

“What if I want to make a photo album?”

His free arm wrapped around her shoulders, pulling her close enough for his smile to land in her hair. “I’d like a photo album of Noora.”

She rolled her eyes up at his. William’s brown gaze just kept glinting down at her.

(When she managed to steal the camera later, she didn’t use it to immortalize any of the sculptures they passed; only him squinting at them.)

“Newlyweds?”

The river wavered around them with reflections of the city’s lights and sunset as they cruised by the harbor. Standing against the rail of the tour boat, Noora looked over from her spot against William’s chest, within William’s arms. Her head tucked against his. It took her a moment of scanning before she realized the English-speaking, Keds-clad tourist standing to their left was talking to them.

“Yes,” William answered, before she could clarify that no, we’re just vacationing. “Touring Europe for our honeymoon.” His lips curved a peck into her hair.

Noora didn’t have the heart to contradict him when the woman—older, curly haired, and British—sighed: “So romantic. You two make me think of my honeymoon.”

She could feel William’s smile, still lurking among her blonde locks, growing wider and wider as they stared out at the water.

"Newlyweds?” Noora asked him later, splayed out across the cream sheets of their Airbnb bed, their clothes strewn across the carpet.

William just brushed his fingers along her cheek. “We will be.”

Arcing against his pale fingertips, Noora raised her eyebrows at him. “I’m not getting married in high school.”

Trailing his thumb down to her collarbone, then to the rise of her chest, William raised his right back. “Little presumptuous of you, assuming I was proposing.”

“You’re the one assuming I'll say yes!” For old time’s sake, she bit her smiling lower lip and added, “Willhelm.”

Then he was pulling her closer to him, whispering “Noora,” pressing his hips against hers, and—“Say my name.”

She shook her head, still smiling as he pretended to growl. Make me, her bright eyes dared.

(He did.)

"Noora,” Eva said when they got back, scrolling through their camera roll, “you know I love your face, but did you take any pictures of the actual city? These are all artsy shots of your profile.” She clicked next. “And the back of your head.” The camera beeped next one more time. “I can almost see the building you’re looking at in this one.”

Emptying a box of pasta into one of Eva’s kitchen pots, Noora shrugged. “Biased photographer.”

When she turned around, holding back a smirk, Noora saw Eva’s phone out and her fingers darting across its screen. “I’m texting Chris,” she said, “to tell him that his best friend is ridiculously sappy.”

Noora tilted her head, and then nodded. “Yeah.”

NOREJFELL

"William, we can’t go on a ski vacation.”

“Why not?”

Sitting beside him on the living room couch, Noora glanced away from the movie they were ostensibly watching to roll her eyes at her boyfriend. “Because”—her boyfriend who was currently booking a room at the nearest ski resort—“I don’t know how to ski.”

“You will.” A few locks of hair slipped past William’s eyes when he looked up from his laptop screen. “I’ll teach you. Anyone can ski.”

Which was probably true if you’d spent your high school years vacationing at a russ friend’s Swiss Alps chalet. “You want to spend your birthday watching me fall all over a mountain?” Leaning back against a fringed pillow, Noora crossed her arms.

William’s lips twitched. “I’ve already seen you fall.”

"No, you haven’t.”

“You fell for me.” Humor tugged at the corners of his lips.

It prodded hers too. “Are you trying to get me to call you a cliché?”

“No, I’m trying to distract you into agreeing with me. Say that it’s working.”

Feet away, the TV, which neither of them had bothered to mute, burst with swelling, superhero music and super-villain explosions. Feet away in the other direction, Eskild’s voice pitched into the room.

“Oh my God, Noora.” Eskild himself followed, clad in a silken robe, though the clock had just struck noon. “When your boyfriend says he wants to take you to a ski resort, you don’t whine that you can’t ski. Think of all the hot, ski condo sex you’ll be having.” On his way towards the kitchen sink and a glass of water, he leered at William. “If she won’t go, I will.”

Her boyfriend answered Eskild’s teasing with a smirk that sent her straight back to all his light first year flirting. “See?” he said to her, not bothering to lower his voice or look away from their roommate. “You have competition.”

Noora patted his shoulder. “I’m sure you two will have a very cozy time together.” William stole her palm barely a second later. His fingertips drawled questions across her palm lines until she finally interrupted another television screen explosion. “Okay. For your birthday.”

(He booked their flights with one hand, kept stroking her mound of Venus with the other.)

Their first day at Norefjell brought sheets of snow down from the sky and sheets of ice across the slopes.

The hotel room was small and rustic—clearly more so than William was accustomed to, despite the months he’d spent living without his father’s money now, if his raised eyebrows were anything to go by—but that stopped mattering the minute they fell onto the bed. Fell on top of each other. Stayed there all day, only untangling their limbs for food and water.

“You like ski vacations,” William said, late into the night as snow continued to fill the high-altitude air beyond their window.

Noora shook her head into his palm. “No,” she denied, grinned.

“You like laying here with me then.”

She turned her cheek just enough to press her lips against his wrist.

The second day pulled them out of bed and onto the ski lifts. Noora had expected the world to loom impossibly white around them, yet, for every layer of powder, there were a dozen skiers to muddy it with ski soles and poles. Even now, sitting as close to William as the ski lift chair allowed, their knees touching and skis tapping, patches of snowboarders kept speeding beneath them to remind Noora that they hadn’t left reality for a snow globe.

(One of the speediest of those snowboarders wiped out right below them, a flailing mess of white snow, black snow-pants, and bright red sleeves. Noora winced.)

"You’re cute,” William said when she adjusted her goggles and helmet.

“Mhm.” The only headgear he’d donned was a grey hat—not even a particularly thick one. “We could be cute together if you’d wear a helmet.”

The cold breeze brushed the ends of his hair. “You’re cute,” he repeated.

The third day, William had a newly rented ski helmet and a confession.

“I’ve been here before,” he told her that evening as they walked around the resort, limbs sore from two full days of skiing. (Noora’s legs were sore, anyway. William had made it up to her with frequent hot cocoa breaks, all over the mountain.)

Noora’s hair slipped past her ears when she tilted her head, baring their cartilage to the night’s frosted breeze. “During Nissen?”

His own hair shook past his forehead when he shook his head. “When I was younger. Eight maybe. Before the accident.”

Her throat dried of sound, her tongue of words. Noora pulsed her fingers with his, swallowed, and managed, “With your family?”

Noise hummed from the bars and restaurants dotting their stroll. William’s silent nod felt louder in her ears, her eyes, her chest. Or maybe just weightier.

“My mom spent the day in the spa, of course. No interest in stepping outside, never mind onto skis. And my dad liked the harder slopes, so we went into lessons.”

We meaning Nico and Amalie. Names he almost never said.

His next smile looked painful. Like it cost his mouth something to wear. “Amalie fell on one of the easy runs and hurt her knee. The instructor said she was fine, but I saw her face. So when we reached the next lodge, I took her in for cocoa and refused to leave.”

“I can picture that.” Vividly. William, tiny of frame and skis, staring down a fully-grown instructor to declare that he was going to take care of his little sister, rules be damned. (In her head, he’d still worn his hair long enough to need comb it out of his eyes as he said it.)

“My father was furious.” She could picture that too. “But it was worth it. We just sat there, drinking cocoa for the rest of the day. We probably had eight cups.”

Noora held his hand even more tightly through her red mittens. Ever the protector.

William didn’t say anything else as they searched for a restaurant, just tightened his grasp on her hand right back.

The third night, they only slept, faces buried in each other in lieu of the pillows.

The fourth day—

"Happy birthday, William.” The fourth day, they stayed in bed again to celebrate his birthday. She managed to find him a chocolate cake at a local bakery, decked with frosting white enough to match the snow.

“I couldn’t find any plates,” Noora apologized as she lifted the small bakery box onto the comforter, above their knees. “We might have to improvise.”

William grinned at her. Raked his eyes over her body, naked save for the wrinkled sheet. “I’ll manage.”

(She'd really thought she was growing out of blushing for him.)

BARCELONA

When they went to Barcelona, Chris and Eva came too.

"Chris and I have never gone on a vacation together,” Eva explained, spread out across Noora’s bed and looking up at the ceiling. “We can’t go alone.”

From her cross-legged spot packing on the floor, Noora glanced up to point out, “You’re alone all the time.”

“Not in a foreign city! I need someone to hang out with if he ditches me for a hot Spanish girl.”

“Eva. Chris wouldn’t take you to Spain just to hit on other girls.” Honestly.

“And if I want to ditch him for a hot Spanish guy,” Eva carried on, unperturbed, “he’ll have William. It’s a good plan.”

“That’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard.” She knew from William that Chris hadn’t even looked at another girl since he and Eva had officially started dating—that his fuck up with Emma back at Sana’s Eid party had provided him with a steady source of miserable regret, and that he had no intention of repeating it. (That William had no intention of letting him repeat if it meant he had to deal with that much whining all over again.) “Neither of you is ditching the other for anyone.”

And Noora knew from her friendship with Eva—not to mention basic observation—that she’d never cheat on anyone again. Ever. Let alone Chris, who Eva had spent the entirety of her (short-lived) second attempt at a relationship with Jonas missing. Who she was clearly crazy about.

Eva strained her chin to meet Noora’s exasperated stare. “Then we’ll party with our best friends in one of the best clubbing cities in Europe. It’s still a good plan.”

Biting her tongue, Noora rolled her eyes.

"We don’t have to be here,” William said into her ear, his voice raised, but muted by the club’s blaring techno heartbeat. “We can leave.”

Pasted against his side, a club soda in her hand, Noora shook her head into his button-up white shirt. “No. This will be fun.”

Taking a swig of his beer, William squinted down at her. “Really.”

Okay, maybe not fun. The club was crowded, loud, and frantic with pulsing lights. But they’d spent the day touring all the packed museums and Gaudi architecture she liked. No one had even complained when she nominated a—mostly vegetarian—restaurant called Flax & Kale for lunch.

(Well. Chris might have complained a little, but William and Eva had glared him into shutting up.)

Even though Noora firmly believed that no one should visit a foreign city without seeing at least its very most famous sights, she knew that she’d dominated the trip itinerary so far; that the city was known for its clubs and that William didn’t get to party nearly as much as he once had. As much as their best friends still did.

She blinked up at him. “How else will I meet a hot Spanish guy?”

William nipped her ear. “There will be no meeting of hot Spanish guys.”

“Dance with me then.”

And he did, all night.

(There was in fact some meeting of hot Spanish guys, later, when Eva begged her to use her language skills to flirt their way into free drinks. Technically, Noora didn’t believe in the exchange of flirtation for beverages—the objectification and commodification of it.

But Eva was tipsily, insistently persuasive. And the drinks were insanely overpriced.

William and Chris both looked distinctly put out when they returned, Eva with a hot pink cocktail, Noora with a clear one that she immediately handed off to her boyfriend.

“We could have bought you drinks,” Chris said, the laugh lines on his face torn between offense and amusement.

Eva shook her head, offering him a sip of her cosmo. “Oh, that’s no fun.”

Meanwhile, Noora relaxed into William’s arms.

“No more Spanish guys,” he kissed the letters into her neck.

She turned to pat his chest. “Enjoy your drink.”)

PARIS

During Noora’s first year at university, William informed her that she should plan on missing at least one day of classes during her birthday week.

“You can’t just tell me a day,” she said as they strolled down the city sidewalks beneath the cool winter clouds. “Which day?”

“Friday. Monday. You choose.”

(She didn’t realize at the time that she was choosing which day they’d be flying to Paris.)

“Pick for me.”

William frowned. “You don’t want to pick your own macarons?”

Standing in line at Laduree, surrounded by pastel decorations and pastries, Noora leaned a kiss into her boyfriend’s cheek. “Surprise me,” she challenged.

He narrowed his eyes at the display case. (Noora debated telling him that he didn’t have to look so serious—as though her first trip to Paris might implode from one badly chosen dessert.) (She’d obviously say if he skipped any of the flavors she wanted.)

When he glanced back at her a moment later, William immediately caught the smirk tempting the corners of her lips. “I’m winning this game,” he informed her, more amused now that he realized the rules.

"We'll see," she teased.

William knew enough French to order in the language when they reached the counter. He didn’t falter when the slim cashier asked him which six he’d like:

Chocolate. Easy, but yes. Lemon. Yes. Raspberry. Yes. Vanilla. Yes. Rose. Yes. Lavender.

“Six out of six,” she murmured against his earlobe as the man behind the glass display case packaged them into a long, light purple box.

“Of course,” William said, raising a brow and a smirk for her. “I know you.”

She might even let him steal of one of her macarons.

Later, among the packed shelves of Shakespeare and Company, William swerved around the readers and tourists to wrap an arm around her waist.

“Want to play another game?” she asked once she’d strung her fingers through his.

His mouth, his eyes, his entire face seemed to arch. Noora rolled her eyes, swatting his chest. “Not that kind of game. Not here. Where would we even…” she shook her head.

William shrugged, unashamed and unfazed.

“No. Our games don’t all have to be about public sex, William.” Noora looked up at the ceiling, and shook her head again. (Even if most of the ones she’d suggested lately, admittedly, were. Finding somewhere closed off enough, staying quiet enough, returning without raising eyebrows and questions.) “I’m going to find a book for you, and you’re going to find one for me.”

William tilted his head at her, his look intent.

Pressing her curved lips together, she shrugged.

He kept staring at her for another second, and then turned around. “Noora Amalie Sætre,” he said over his shoulder, “I’m going to find the best damn book you’ll ever read.”

She already had one in mind for him.

"Very funny,” he said outside the store fifteen minutes later, when he pulled the new, store-stamped copy of Pride and Prejudice she’d bought for him out from its paper bag.

(Eskild had nominated the 2005 adaptation for a Kollektivet movie night a few weeks before—which had resulted in his enthusiastic declaration that she and William were a complete Lizzie and Darcy romance. “You know, if Darcy gave up all the insane money and moved in with the Bennets in the end.”

“Who does that make you?” she’d teased from her spot on William’s lap.

“Jane of course. Your sweet, universally loved older sibling. Linn can be…” he waved a hand at their blanket-laden roommate. “Who do you want to be, Linn?”

“No one.”

“Linn can be that extra. The sitting one, who looks like she’d rather be in bed.”)

Now, in an effort to avoid milling tourists, Noora leaned against the fountain that stood outside the bookshop. “You haven’t read it,” she accused. “You can’t be a scholar and not read Jane Austen. People will call you a misogynist.”

William brought his face down to hers so that he could murmur, “I’m not a scholar” right into her mouth.

She bit his lower lip in reply. Then kissed it. Then kept kissing it until she felt the edges of a hardback poking her palm.

“The Little Prince?” she read the title, slanting her chin down as she opened the front cover.

“It’s French. And it was my favorite when I was younger.” As soon as she opened her mouth to reply, he had two fingers pointed at her. “Don’t call me a cliché.”

But Noora just brought the book to her chest. “It was one of mine too.” Hugged it for a blink. “My parents donated my copy during a spring cleaning purge.”

She could feel his beam, strong as the sunlight. I know you. He didn’t have to say it aloud this time.

On the actual day of her birthday, they drank hot chocolate at Angelina in the 1st arrondissement.

“Better than mine?” William asked through a crooked smile, rubbing a dash of chocolate from her mouth.

“No.” Her tongue swept across the skin just above her lip, brushing his thumb tip on its quest for misplaced cocoa. “Not cold enough.”

Angelina's hot chocolate tasted like actual melted chocolate, and definitely should have ranked above any hot cocoa he’d ever made for her. (Noora wasn’t entirely convinced that she wasn’t drinking melted chocolate.) It didn’t matter. William’s was William’s, and she’d never forget sipping it from the thermos he’d given her on their first date. Sipping it through those first moments of understanding him, of realizing, dreading, that she could like him.

Laughter haunted William’s next breath. “Happy birthday, Noora.”

MADRID

The next time they looked at flights, Madrid was the cheapest option.

“Here?” William asked.

Sitting beside him on her fully made bed, her laptop propped between them, Noora pressed her lips together. She hadn’t been to Madrid since moving to Oslo. Hadn’t particularly wanted to. None of her friendships there had been strong enough to last the distance, and her memories there hadn’t been bright enough to bring her back.

Objectively, Noora knew Madrid was a beautiful city. Vibrant. Lots of culture, lots of people, lots to do. It wasn’t fair that her memories of living there all echoed in shades of grey and isolation.

“I don’t know.”

Without raising his head from her shoulder, William met her eyes. “You never miss it?”

Noora leaned her head against his. Considered that. Madrid had meant a lot to her at the time—would probably always mean a lot to her, in some ways. Independence and freedom and loneliness and new beginnings. “I like where I am now.” Her eyes fell back to the screen. “But maybe I miss a few things.” A few restaurants and parks and sights. Not the guarded pieces of herself that might still haunt its streets.

"Will you show me?”

She didn’t answer aloud, but knew he could feel her nod.

Madrid should have been just as she remembered it. She should have gotten deja vu or maybe even nostalgia, walking the same routes that she’d wandered at age fifteen.

Fifteen. So young to be so alone. Noora realized that now, even if she hadn’t at the time.

“I’m picturing you living here,” William told her, scanning their every surrounding. The open apartment windows, the beaming sun, the rushing traffic.

Noora shook her head. “I know it was only a few years ago, but it feels like another life.” Another city, now that she has longer hair, a lighter smile, a phone buzzing with missed group message texts from her friends, and William’s arm around her. William’s hand in hers. William with her.

He could have mocked for the cliché of that sentence, but didn’t. “I like you in this life.” Instead, he stopped looking around the city, at least for a moment, to look at her.

So much lighter. “Mhm. I’m likable.”

William grinned into her hair.

On Sunday, they lay on a blanket at Parc du Retiro, the grass sunlit green around them. Empty, takeaway salad containers sat forgotten at their sides as Noora breathed into the crook between William’s neck and shoulder, his fingertips long lost in her hair.

They had a night flight. Only a few more hours left here.

"What do you want to do before we leave?” William mumbled, his eyes half-closed.

Noora turned her cheek slightly, until she was peering up at the blue sky. They’d already taken the Teleférico to look over the whole city. (The bird’s eye view from the cable car had been beautiful; the promised food at the top had not been. Just frozen restaurant meals and vending machines, no fruit whatsoever. She’d made it up to herself by insisting that they go to her favorite hummuseria for a late lunch.)

They’d done other things too: the Temple of Debod, desserts at Chocolatería San Ginés, the stalls at Mercado de San Miguel.

All terribly touristy. All the best times she’d ever had in Madrid.

She reached up to press her lips into her boyfriend’s cheek. “Can we just do this?”

William’s hands kept up their rhythm in her hair when he nodded. “Anything.” Then when he kissed her.

(The with you went unsaid.)

#noorhelm #noora x william #noora sætre #william magnusson #fanfiction #skam #otp: we have to be together #my writing #gamorra #sooooo i haven't actually been to most of these places and am very sorry if lots of details are totally off base!

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