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blackswaneuroparedux · 3 years

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Vivant, il a manqué le monde ; mort, il le possède.

- François René de Chateaubriand (1768-1848), Vie de Napoléon, livres XIX à XXIV des Mémoires d’outre-tombe (posthume)

Of course we don’t have any photograph or film of Napoleon’s death on 5 May 1821 on Saint Hélène. But we do have the next best thing: a painting. Charles de Steuben depiction of Napoleon's deathbed and his faithful entourage that served as witnesses to his dying moments became the one of the most important paintings of the post-Napoleonic era but then faded from modern memory.

I first came across it by accident when I was in my teens at my Swiss boarding school. There were times I found myself with school friends going away on hiking trips around the high Alpine chain of the Allgäu Alps and we would drive through Lake Constance to get there, or we would hike around the Lake itself through the Bodensee-Rundwanderweg.

Perched high above Lake Constance and nestled in large parklands, stood Schloss Arenenberg which overlooks the lower part of Lake Constance. At first, it appears a relatively modest country house. But this was no usual pretty looking house. Arenenberg was owned by well-heeled families before it was sold to Hortense de Beauharnais, the adopted daughter and sister-in-law of the French Emperor himself, Napoleon Bonaparte. She had it rebuilt in the French Empire style and lived there from 1817 with her son Louis Napoleon, later Emperor Napoleon III, who is said to have spoken the Thurgau dialect in addition to French. This elegantly furnished castle then was once the residence of the last emperor of France.

The alterations made first by Queen Hortense and later by Empress Eugénie have been carefully preserved and the house still bears the marks of both women. Queen Hortense's drawing room is perfectly preserved and visitors can still admire her magnificent library (all marked with the Empress' cipher) containing over one thousand books. Likewise, in the room where the queen died, every object has been maintained in its original condition: pieces of furniture and personal belongings are gathered here to evoke her memory in a very touching manner. As for Empress Eugénie's rooms, they too have been very carefully preserved. Her private drawing room is a perfect illustration of the Second Empire style with sculptures by Carpeaux and portraits of the imperial family by Winterhalter.

After 1873, the Empress and the Imperial Prince brought the palace back to life by making regular summer visits, which they continued until 1878. However, on the tragic death of her son in 1879, Eugénie found it difficult to return to a place so full of painful memories. And so in 1906 she donated the estate to the canton of Thurgovie as a testimony of her gratitude for the region's faithful hospitality towards the Napoleon family. And in accordance with the Empress' wishes, the residence was turned into a museum devoted to Napoleon.

In what is now the Napoleonic Museum, the original furnishings have been preserved, and the palace gardens had been fully restored. This in itself might be worth a visit for the view over Lake Constance which is stunning. For Napoleonic era buffs though its the incredible art collection which is its real treasure. It houses an important art collection including works by the First-Empire artists Chinard Canova, Gros, Robert Lefèvre, Gérard, Isabey and Girodet-Trioson, and by the Second-Empire painters and sculptors Alfred de Dreux, Winterhalter, Carpeaux, Meissonier, Hébert, Flandrin, Detaille, Nieuwerkerke and Giraud.

But what caught my eye was this painting, ‘La Mort de Napoléon’ by Charles de Steuben. I didn’t know anything about it or the artist for that matter, but one of my more erudite school friends who, being French, was into Napoleonic stuff in a huge way, and she explained it all to me. Of course I knew a fair bit about Napoleon growing up because my grandfather and father, being military men themselves, were Napoleonic warfare buffs and it rubbed off onto me. I just knew about Napoleon the military genius. I never thought about him once he was beaten at Waterloo in 1815. So I never really engaged with Napoleon the man. And yet here I was staring at his last breath of mortality caught forever in time through art. Not for the first time I had mixed feelings about Napoleon Bonaparte, both the man and the myth (built up around him since his death).

On 5 May, 1821, at 5.49pm in Longwood House on the remote island of St Helena, in the words of the famed French man of letters, François-René de Chateaubriand, ‘the mightiest breath of life which ever animated human clay’ came no more. To the British, Dutch, and Prussian coalition who had exiled Naopleon Bonaparte there in 1815, he was a despot, but to France, he was seen as a devotee of the Enlightenment.

In the decade following his demise, Napoleon’s image underwent a transformation in France. The monarchy had been restored, but by the late 1820s, it was growing unpopular. King Charles X was seen as a threat to the civil liberties established during the Napoleonic era. This mistrust revived Napoleon’s reputation and put him in a more heroic light.

Fascination with the French leader’s death led Charles de Steuben, a German-born Romantic painter living in Paris, to immortalise the momentous event. Steuben’s painting depicts the moment of Napoleon’s death and seeks to capture the sense of awe in the room at the death of a man whose legendary career had begun in the French Revolution. It was this, ultimate moment that Steuben wished to immortalise in a painting which has since become what could almost be described as the official version of the scene.

There is no question that Steuben’s painting became the most famous and most iconic depiction of Napoleon’s death in art history. In another painting, executed during the years 1825-1830, Steuben was to give a realistic view of the emperor dictating his memoirs to general Gourgaud. This same realism also pervades his version of Napoleon’s death, and it is totally unlike Horace Vernet’s, Le songe de Bertrand ou L’Apothéose de Napoléon (Bertrand’s Dream or the apotheosis of Napoleon) which, although painted in the same year, is an allegorical celebration of the emperor’s martyrdom and as such the first stone in the edifice of the Napoleonic legend.

And what a legend Napoleon’s life was turned into for time immemorial. Napoleon declared himself France’s First Consul in 1799 and then emperor in 1804. For the next decade, he led France against a series of European coalitions during the Napoleonic Wars and expanded his empire throughout much of continental Europe before his defeat in 1814. He was exiled to the Mediterranean island of Elba, but he escaped and briefly reasserted control over France before a crushing final defeat at the Battle of Waterloo in 1815.

Napoleon’s military prowess earned him the fear of his enemies, but his civil reforms in France brought him the respect of his people. The Napoleonic Code, introduced in 1804, replaced the existing patchwork of French laws with a unified national system built on the principles of the Enlightenment: universal male suffrage, property rights, equality (for men), and religious freedom. Even in his final exile on St. Helena, Napoleon proved a magnetic presence. Passengers of ships docked to resupply would hurry to meet the great general. He developed strong personal bonds with the coterie who had accompanied him into exile. Although some speculate that he was murdered, most agree that Napoleon’s death in 1821, at the age of 51, was the result of stomach cancer.

By contrast, Charles de Steuben was born in 1788, his youth and artistic training coinciding with Napoleon’s rise to power. He was the son of the Duke of Württemberg officer Carl Hans Ernst von Steuben. At the age of twelve he moved with his father, who entered Russian service as a captain, to Saint Petersburg, where he studied drawing at the Art Academy classes as a guest student. Thanks his father's social contacts in the court of the Tsar, in the summer of 1802 he accompanied the young Grand Duchess Maria Pavlovna of Russia (1786–1859) and granddaughter of Frederick II Eugene, Duke of Württemberg, to the Thuringian cultural city of Weimar, where the Tsar's daughter two years later married Charles Frederick, Grand Duke of Saxe-Weimar-Eisenach (1783–1853). Steuben, then fourteen years old, was a Page at the ducal court, a position for which the career prospects would be in the military or administration. The poet Friedrich Schiller was a family friend who at once recognised De Steuben's artistic talent and instilled in him his political ideal of free self-determination regardless of courtly constraints.

At the behest of Pierre Fontaine in 1828 de Steuben painted La Clémence de Henri IV après la Bataille d'Ivry, depicting a victorious Henry IV of France at the Battle of Ivry. De Steuben's Bataille de Poitiers, en octobre 732, painted between 1834 and 1837, shows the triumphant Charles Martel at the Battle of Tours, also known as the Battle of Poitiers. He painted Jeanne la folle around the same time and he was commissioned by Louis Philippe to paint a series of portraits of past Kings of France.

Life in the French capital was a repeated source of internal conflict for Steuben. The allure of bohemian Paris and his military-dominated upbringing made him a wanderer between worlds. As an official commitment to his adopted country he became a French citizen in 1823. However, the irregularity of his income as a freelance artist was in contrast to his sense of duty and social responsibility. To secure his family financially, he took a job as an art teacher at École Polytechnique, where he briefly trained Gustave Courbet. In 1840 he was awarded a gold medal at the Salon de Paris for his highly acclaimed paintings.

The love of classical painting was a lifelong passion of Steuben. He was a close friend to Eugène Delacroix, the leader of the French Romantic school of painting, whom he portrayed several times. Steuben was also part of this artistic movement, which replaced classicism in French painting. "The painter of the Revolution," as Jacques-Louis David was called by his students, joined art with politics in his works. The subjects of his historical paintings supported historical change. He painted mainly in sharp colour contrasts, heavy solid contours and clear outlines. The severity of this style led many contemporary artists - including Prud'hon - to a romanticised counter movement. They preferred the shadowy softness and gentle colour gradations of Italian Renaissance painters such as Leonardo da Vinci and Antonio da Correggio, whose works they studied intensively. Steuben, who had begun his training with David, felt the school was becoming increasingly rigid and dogmatic. Critics praised his deliberate compositions, excellent brush stroke and impressive colour effects. But some of his critics felt that his pursuit of dramatic design of rich people also showed, at times, a pronounced tendency toward the histrionic.

The portrayal of key moments in Napoleon’s dramatic military career would feature among some of Steuben’s best known works. But it is this death scene that Steuben is most remembered for.

Using his high-level contacts among figures in Napoleon’s circle, Steuben interviewed and sketched many of the people who had been present when Napoleon died at Longwood House on St. Helena. He wanted to attempt o give the most accurate representation of the scene possible. Indeed, the painter interviewed the companions of Napoleon’s captivity on their return to France and had them pose for their portraits. Only the Abbé Vignali, captain Crokat and the doctor Arnott were painted from memory. The Grand maréchal Bertrand made sketches of the plan of the room, noting the positions of the different pieces of furniture and people in the room. All the protagonists within the painting brought together some of their souvenirs and in posing for the painter, each person can be seen contributing to a work of collective memory, very much with posterity in mind.

Painstakingly researched, Steuben painted a carefully composed scene of hushed grief. Notable among the figures are Gen. Henri Bertrand, who loyally followed Napoleon into exile; Bertrand’s wife, Fanny; and their children, of whom Napoleon had become very fond.

The best known version of “La Mort de Napoléon” was completed in 1828. French writer Stendhal considered it “a masterpiece of expression.” In 1830 the installation of a more liberal monarchy in France further boosted admiration of Napoleon, who suddenly became a wildly popular figure in theatre, art, and music. This fervour led to the diffusion of Steuben’s deathbed scene in the form of engravings throughout Europe in the 1830s. As Napoleon’s stock arose within French culture and arts, so did Steuben’s depiction of Napoleon’s death. It became a grandeur of vision that permeated Steuben’s masterpiece of historical reconstruction.

Initially forming part of the collection of the Colonel de Chambrure, the painting was put up for auction in Paris, on 9 March 1830, with other Napoleonic works, notably Horace Vernet’s Les Adieux de Fontainebleau (The Fontainebleau adieux) and Steuben’s Retour de l’île d’Elbe (The return from the island of Elba). The catalogue noted that the painting had already been viewed in the colonel’s collection by “three thousand connoisseurs” – which alone would have made it a success -, but its renown was to be further amplified by the production of the famous engraving. The diffusion of this engraving by Jean-Pierre-Marie Jazet (1830-1831, held at the Musée de Malmaison), reprinted and copied countless times throughout the 19th century, made the scene a classic in popular imagery, on a level of popularity with paintings such as Millet’s Angelus.

A / Grand Marshal Henri-Gatien Bertrand. Utterly loyal servant of Napoleon’s to the last. His memoirs of the exile on St Helena were not published until 1849. Only the year 1821 has ever been translated into English.

B / General Charles Tristan de Montholon. Courtier and companion of Napoleon’s exile. Montholon managed to ease Bertrand out and become Napoleon’s closest companion at the end, highly rewarded in Napoleon’s will, which Montholon helped write. Montholon’s untrustworthy memoirs were published in 1846/47.

C / Doctor Francesco Antommarchi. Corsican anatomy specialist. Sent by Napoleon’s mother from Rome to St Helena to be Napoleon’s personal physician on the expulsion of Barry O’Meara. Napoleon disliked and distrusted Antommarchi. Antommarchi’s untrustworthy memoirs were very influential and published in 1825.

D / Angelo Paolo Vignali, Abbé. Corsican assistant-chaplain, sent by Madame Mère from Rome to St Helena in 1819.

E / Countess Françoise Elisabeth “Fanny” Bertrand and her children: Napoléon (F), who carried the censer at Napoleon’s funeral; Hortense (G); Henry (H); and Arthur (I), youngest by six years of all the Bertrand children and born on the island. She was wife of the Grand Marshal, very unwilling participant in the exile on St Helena. Her relations with Napoleon were difficult since she refused to live at Longwood. She spoke fluent English. Was however very loyal to Napoleon.

J / Louis Marchand. Napoleon’s valet from 1814 on and one of his closest servants. As Napoleon noted in his will, “The service he [Marchand] rendered were those of a friend”.

K / “Ali”, Louis Étienne Saint-Denis. Known as “the Mamluk Ali”, one of Napoleon’s longest-serving and intimate servants; He became Librarian at Longwood and was an indefatigable copyist of imperial manuscripts.

L / Ali’s English (Catholic) wife, Mary ‘Betsy’ Hall. She was sent out from England by UK relatives of the Countess Bertrand to be governess/nursemaid to the Bertrand children. Married Ali aged 23 in October 1819.

M / Jean Abra(ha)m Noverraz. From the Vaud region in Switzerland. Very tall and imposing figure that Napoleon called his “Helvetic bear”. He was himself ill during Napoleon’s illness.

N / Noverraz’s wife, Joséphine née Brulé. They married in married in July 1819, and she was the Countess Montholon’s lady’s maid. Noverraz and Saint-Denis had a fist fight for the hand of Joséphine.

O / Jean Baptiste Alexandre Pierron. The cook, dessert specialist, long in Napoleon’s service and who had accompanied Napoleon to Elba.

P /Jacques Chandelier. Iincorrectly identified on the picture as Santini who had left the island in 1817. A cook, from the service of Pauline Bonaparte, Napoleon’s sister, who arrived on St Helena with the group from Rome in 1819.

Q /Jacques Coursot. Butler, from the service of Madame Mère, Napoleon’s mother, he arrived on St Helena with the group from Rome in 1819.

R / Doctor Francis Burton. Irish surgeon in the 66th regiment who had arrived on St Helena only on 31st March 1821. He is renowned for having made Napoleon’s death mask (with ensign John Ward and Antommarchi).

S/ Doctor Archibald Arnott. Surgeon in the 20th regiment. Brought in to tend to Napoleon in extremis on 1 April 1821.

T/ Captain William Crokat. A Scot, orderly officer at Longwood for less than a month, having replaced Engelbert Lutyens on 15 April. He received the honour of carrying the news of Napoleon’s death back to London and also the reward, namely, a promotion and £500, privileges of which Lutyens was deliberately deprived by the governor.

#charles de steuben #art #painting #napoleon #bonaparte #st helena #life #death #chateaubriand #french #france #emperor #artist #aesthetics #war #politics #society #culture #arts #personal

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jiejie-eonni-onee-sama · 3 years

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THE BASTERDS’S ANGELS

Somewhere in a safe place in the French countryside, a group of armed men prepared themselves for the mission they were sent for: killing Nazis and sending fear through the ranks of the Wehrmacht based in France.

And until now, they managed to accomplish their work, as the German soldiers only knew them as The Basterds.

Led by Lieutenant Aldo Raine, those volunteers took pleasure in killing and terrifying their foes, as many of the Basterds were Jewish.

Looking at his men, Aldo smirked: he could not wait to hunt down new Nazis.

"I know that look. Looking for new scalps, darling?"

Smiling, he turned and saw the woman he cherished the most.

"You know me too well, honey."

"That's why we're husband and wife!"

"Ya damn right, Winona."

The woman named Winona was, indeed, Aldo's wife. Born in the Cherokee tribe, this woman was the embodiment of the Native American female warrior: athletic, wise, loyal, and brave.

Moreover, she was the only woman in this group. Some people would think that a woman had nothing to do in the U.S. Army.

But quoteth Donny, "She kills more nazis in one day than I kill in three days."

The Cherokee woman has already won the respect of her peers since the first day in France. Besides, she gained a gruesome reputation among the Nazis based in France. They called her "The Cherokee Amazon."

The Apache and the Cherokee: a match made in heaven who took their enemies in hell...

Aldo put his arm around her shoulders:

"Can ya believe it, honey? You and I, in France, killing fascists... How pleasant it is!"

"I agree."

"It's like our honeymoon!"

Winona laughed at this statement.

"Well, a very blood-thirsty honeymoon. But honestly, I would never imagine killing Nazis without you, Aldo!"

"Aw, sweetie! Ya know how to talk to me!" he grinned before kissing her.

A sweet moment interrupted by the booming voice of Donny Donowitz, aka "The Bear Jew."

"Aw, look at those lovebirds!"

"Damn ya, Donny! I was enjoying this moment!"

"We have noticed!" smirked Wicki.

Raine rolled his eyes but smirked. His men are the best among the best, especially when it comes to killing Nazis.

They all came from different backgrounds, had various faiths, but for sure, they were more than ready to wipe out the Third Reich.

Of course, among his men, there was Donny Donowitz, a sturdy chap from Boston and the other leader of the group. This man gained the nickname of "Bear Jew" after he bashed the skull of dozens of Nazis with his prized baseball bat.

Then, you have Wilhelm Wicki, who fled his native Austria after the Anchlüss. Probably one of the oldest members of this group, his remarkable marksmanship made him a feared sniper.

Sitting next to Wicki was Hugo Stiglitz, a former German soldier. He hated the regime to the core, and he managed to kill 13 Gestapo officers. The Basterds get him out of his jail, and now, Hugo became one of them. More silent than some of his teammates, he easily scared people around him.

Near them, a young man was quietly reading a book, enjoying this peaceful moment. This young man was Smithson Utivich, another Jewish-American soldier. Like his friends, he enrolled in this group to save the remaining European Jews from Nazism's clutches. Even if he was not the most impressive, he excelled at killing Nazis.

The one next to Utivich, who was taking a small rest, was Omar Ulmer, his best friend. A remarkable soldier, Private Ulmer often works along with Smithson and Donny during his missions. Fast and efficient, the Nazis did not stand a chance against him.

Not far from Omar, his friend Gerold Hirschberg was laughing with his comrades. Hirschberg was considered a loyal and cheerful friend by his fellow Basterds. However, his hot-tempered character made him the official trouble seeker of the group, as he often found himself in danger.

The other man talking with Hirshcberg was named Michael Zimmermann. He has the two roles of driver and explosives expert. The Germans muttered that he was a crazy man who escaped from an asylum. But the truth was that Michael only became mad when he saw a swastika. But for the Basterds, he was a pleasant companion and a joyful friend.

Sitting at his right, his best friend named Simon Sakowitz was tidying his medical stuff. Before the war, he was a brilliant medicine student, but he decided to put his studies on hiatus to enroll in the army. Simon was a skilled and efficient doctor in his group and also an appreciated friend.

Smoking a cigarette, Andy Kagan smirked while looking at his teammates. The young Mister Kagan came from a wealthy family and started a promising acting career in Hollywood until he decided to rescue his people in Europe. He was the spy of the group, a master of manipulation and charm.

Leaning against a tree, Archie Hicox looked at his allies with a mixture of puzzlement and amusement. This British officer was the last addition to the group. In the beginning, the MI5 spy did not get along with the Basterds, as he saw them as a bunch of crazy rednecks while the others considered him as a snobbish man. But the more they worked together, the most they trusted each other, and mutual respect started to settle between them.

All those men were here in France for one reason: killing Nazis.

Something they excelled, as they did earlier, as they exterminated an entire patrol an hour ago.

Now, they enjoyed a moment of calm to relax before reaching another town.

Suddenly, Aldo gently stroke Winona's cheek and said:

"Get ready, my lady. We're gonna move!"

"At your orders, Mr. Raine!" smirked the woman as she started to pick up her belongings.

Smiling, the Lieutenant turned to his men and exclaimed:

"Get up, boys! We move!"

"Uh? What? What's going? Are we attacked?" asked Omar, startled.

"Nah, Omar. The Lieutenant just said we're moving. Get up now!" explained Donny.

"Where are we going?" asked Simon.

"Probably somewhere near Fontainebleau. At least, we have to get closer to Paris," replied Utivich.

"Exactly, Smitty! I hope I will have time to pay my debt off once we got there!" sighed Zimmermann as he finished packing up his stuff.

As he picked his backpack, Hirschberg noticed Hugo, who trimmed his knife in his bag. Smirking, the young Basterd came nearer to his comrade. A little game that Andy and Wicki had noticed.

"Oh my Lord! Here we go again! Will Hirschberg never learn his lessons?" sighed the Austrian.

"I wonder how it will end this time: will Hirschberg have a kicked butt or a broken nose?" smirked the American.

Meanwhile, Gerold was close to Hugo and said with an authoritative tone:

"C'mon, Stiglitz! Hurry up! We have to go!"

The German deserter turned and glared at his teammate:

"Lass mich in Ruhe, Hirschberg." (Leave me alone, Hirschberg).

"Why do I fear the worst?" sighed Simon as he pinched the bridge of the nose.

He counted how many times he healed the bruises on Hirschberg after the latter tried to pick up on someone stronger than him.

At the same time, Hirschberg teased Hugo while the latter tried to contain his anger. But his patience was running thin...

"Ich werde es dir nicht zwei mal sagen." (I won't tell you twice).

"Aw, come on! Don't look at me like that! I am trying to tell you that you're a bit slow!"

"Stop that, Gerold! You're going to regret it!" smirked Andy.

Indeed, Hugo was pissed off by Gerold. Fuming, he took his knife and put it on Hirschberg's throat.

"Leave me alone. Now!" growled the German man.

Gulping, the young Basterd raised his hands in defeat.

"O-OK, Stiglitz. I stop. Can you lower your knife, please?"

Growling, Hugo put his knife back in his vest while Gerold ran away.

"We told you that you're going to have trouble, Geri!" snickered Michael.

As for Wicki, he turned to Hugo and asked:

"War es notwendig, Hirschberg einen Schrecken einzujagen, Hugo?" (Was it necessary to scare Hirschberg, Hugo?)

"Er ist eine Nervensäge." (He is a pain in the ass.) snarled Hugo as he walked towards Donny and Omar.

Wilhelm rolled his eyes and muttered:

"Ich schwöre bei Gott, die würden mich wahnsinnig machen!" (I swear to God, they would drive me crazy!)

"C'MON, BOYS! WE HAVE A LONG ROAD!" yelled Aldo as he led the march along with Winona.

Soon, all the commando started their long road across the French countryside. Unbeknownst to them, they were about to make an encounter that would change their lives for a long time...

Meanwhile, Maddie and Ada wandered through the forest, looking for shelter.

A little earlier, they had almost been spotted by a German patrol, which had scared them.

Now, their priority was to find a safe place while they waited for help.

As they walked through the woods, Maddie saw a cave:

"Look, aunty! A shelter!"

"Well done, Maddie! Let's go!"

They rushed to the hiding place and checked that nothing was inside.

Once assured that they were alone, Ada ordered her niece:

"Listen to me, Maddie: you're going to stay here and make no noise, okay?"

"What about you? What are you going to do?" asked the little girl.

"I'll try to find something to eat. Keep quiet, do you understand?"

Maddie nodded. Smiling, Ada stroked her head:

"I'll be back soon, I promise!"

Then, she walked away while Maddie hid behind a rock.

The young girl hated being alone. Of course, she knew that it was necessary. But the truth was that she was scared.

She was afraid to be alone, at the mercy of the Germans. After all, what could a seven-year-old girl do when faced with armed soldiers?

And then, who knew what could happen to her aunt?

Well, the little girl knew that Ada was capable of defending herself. But if anything happened to her, she would not be able to survive.

Suddenly, she heard voices and footsteps approaching the cave. Covering her mouth and trying to be as hidden as possible, Maddie tried to figure out who had just arrived.

She kept her ears open and listened to the conversation:

"Great, guys! We can stop here!"

"Finally, it's about time! We must have been walking for hours, and my legs are killing me!"

"Stop complaining, Gerold!"

"Oh no! You're not going to start bickering again!"

Maddie was intrigued: these people seemed to be speaking in English. Well, at least she wasn't dealing with Nazis, which was good news.

But what were these people doing here?

Lost in her thoughts, she didn't hear anyone enter the cave until a man's voice asked:

"What on earth are you doing here?"

Horrified, she looked up and saw a medium-sized man staring at her with a surprised look.

As for Omar, he did not expect to find a child alone in a place like this.

He called his boss:

"Lieutenant, come and see!"

"What?" asked Aldo, who arrived in his turn and saw the little girl.

"Look at that! It's quite funny!"

"What's going on?" asked Wicki.

For all answers, the two men came out of the cave, escorting Maddie. The little girl was looking at the rest of the group with a frightened look.

"It seems that our hideout already had an occupant!" declared Hicox.

"But who's crazy enough to leave a kid all alone in the wild?" exclaimed Michael.

"I don't know," muttered Andy.

Simon, in his role as a doctor, walked over to the girl:

"I need to check her out. Who knows, maybe she needs treatment?"

"Do your job, doc!"

Sakowitz kneeled in front of Maddie and asked her:

"Do you speak English?"

She hesitantly replied with a small voice:

"Y-Yes, doctor!"

"Aw, ain't she cute?" smiled Donny.

"Low your voice, Don. She is scared!" said Winona while looking at the young girl.

Meanwhile, Simon carefully examined Maddie. He realized that she might suffer from malnutrition.

"Oh God, look how thin she is!"

He turned to Aldo.

"Lieutenant, do we have some food to give her?"

"For sure! Omar, gimme some bread, would ya?"

"Right now, sir!" replied Ulmer as he threw a piece of bread.

Raine caught it and handed the bread to Maddie.

"Here, ya can have some!"

Hesitantly, the little girl took the bread and muttered:

"Thank you!"

"Cute and polite: you must be a lovely little person!" smirked Archie.

Maddie took a bite and ate slowly, enjoying the taste of the bread.

"Poor little thing! She must not have eaten for days!" declared Wicki.

Winona came nearer and asked:

"What's your name, little one?"

Once she finished her mouthful, the little girl replied:

"Maddie Mandelbaum!"

"Okay, Maddie. Now, tell me: what are you doing here, all alone?"

Looking around, Maddie replied:

"It's because I flee!"

"What do you flee?"

For an answer, Maddie picked her necklace and showed a silver Star of David.

That's all it took for the Basterds to understand what Maddie was trying to escape.

"I see... You're a Jew, right?"

The little girl nodded.

"I see... But what are you doing by yourself?"

"I'm not alone: my auntie went to get food."

"Well, okay. And what's your auntie's name?" asked Smithson.

A female voice answered:

"Why don't you ask me?"

Everyone turned to Ada, who was holding a bag over her shoulder.

The young woman looked suspiciously at this troop. Even though they were not wearing Wehrmacht uniforms, she did not want to take the risk of crossing paths with Gestapo soldiers.

"Well, I guess you're the famous aunt?" asked Omar.

"Indeed. I am Adela Mandelbaum. And you?"

"We are American... with a German deserter, an American-Austrian soldier, and a British officer," replied Andy.

Sighing with relief, Ada put down her bag.

"At least there's some good news in this mess!"

Maddie rushed to her aunt and said:

"Ce sont des gens bien, tata. Ils m’ont donné du pain!" (They're good people, Auntie. They gave me bread!)

Aldo walked over to Ada and introduced himself:

"Lieutenant Aldo Raine, nice to meet ya. So like this, you're the one who manages survival?"

"Yes, indeed."

"I see. And how long have ya been alone?"

"I don't know. I'm more concerned about escaping the Germans than counting the days."

Aldo nodded before replying:

"And I suppose you're hiding because you're Jewish, Imma right?"

Ada sighed.

"Exactly."

Donny spoke up:

"Lieutenant, we can't leave them alone. They'll get caught by the Krauts!"

"But they're civilians: we can't afford to have potential targets with us!" grumbled Hirschberg.

Hugo glared at him:

"Put yourself in the kid's shoes: would you like to be left at the mercy of those sickos? I don't think so."

Simon added:

"Besides, if they stay with us, they'll be safe. What do you think, Lieutenant?"

Raine massaged the back of his neck, doubtful.

"It's true that having two civilians with us can be a problem..."

He met his wife's gaze as she stared at him pleadingly. And if there was one person who could make Aldo Raine give in, it was Winona.

He sketched a smile:

"But as ya seem to me two brave women, it seems logical to me that ya stay with us!

This decision was greeted with enthusiasm by the rest of the team.

"I thank you for your help."

"No worries. After all, several of my guys are Jewish."

The young woman asked:

"Before I forget, Lieutenant Raine..."

"Yes, Miss?"

"What is your mission here?"

At these moments, she saw all the Basterds sketch a toothy grin. And the Lieutenant's answer did not hide their intentions:

"We parachuted into France for one mission and one mission only: to kill Nazis!"

Hugo asked:

"Doesn't that cause you problems?"

At these words, he saw a gleam in Ada's eye that he knew all too well. He could see the sorrow and hatred for the Nazis in her brown orbs.

And the determined tone of her voice confirmed his impression:

"On the contrary, it pleases me to hear that my people are being avenged. Hitler's foot soldiers stole my life and threatened my niece. I lost my family, and I don't know if they are alive or if those Gestapo goons shot them!"

She turned to Aldo and declared:

"Lieutenant, I know I look like a simple damsel in distress, but I want revenge. I want to make them pay for the evil they've done."

Impressed by this sudden determination, Aldo asked:

"What can ya do?"

"I'm an excellent shot, and I can fight."

"That's not so ladylike, coming from a young woman!"

Ada smiled:

"Who said I was ladylike?"

"My aunt is the best in the world... right after Mom!" pointed Maddie.

Aldo smirked and held out his hand.

"In that case, welcome to the team, Ada! Just so you know, if you join this commando, you owe me 100 Nazi scalps!"

Without hesitation, Ada grasped the outstretched hand and shook it in agreement.

"I will settle that debt, Lieutenant. And I will die trying if I have to!"

"That's what I like to hear!"

"But I want you to promise to look out for Maddie, no matter what!"

"PROMISED!" exclaimed the Basterds.

At that moment, Maddie's face lit up with an adorable smile that seemed to shine through the dim light of the Fontainebleau woods. Now she had nothing to fear from the Germans because now she had found guardian angels armed with guns and baseball bats.

As for Ada, it was a new life for her that began. She was not a prey anymore. Now, she was the predator.

The Germans better start running because she won't have mercy. And Ada Mandelbaum always kept her words...

Thanks for the reading!

Stay tuned for the next chapter!

@sergeant-donny-donowitz @marilynmonroefanfics @velvet-waltz @ocfairygodmother @redrosewritingsstuff @empress-writes @jokersqueenofchaos (whom I thank for the German translation) @fandoms-are-my-friends-1321 @knives-out17 @multific @cherryplasmids @askthebasterds @nataschalena2

#inglourious basterds #fanfiction #the basterds's angels

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baroquebucky · 4 years

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Italian days

request: could you write something about going to Italy with timothee? Im just imagining how cute and romantic it would be 🥺

a/n: this is so cute !!! prepare for typical tourist attractions also i have no idea where any of these things are in relation to each other so :-) i literally googled what to do in these places bc I’ve never been sorry guys:-( this ones long so strap in and get ready !!! let me know what y’all think abt it ! i kinda wanna make headcanons about this too hehe >:) I hope you all enjoy it and send me some requests 🥰

You quickly finished packing your last t shirt in the already full suitcase, putting your weight onto it so that you could zip it up fully. You were excited for the trip that timothee had planned for the two of you, giddy to finally spend some alone time with you favorite boy. “ma cherie are you almost done?” you heard timmy call out from the living room. Quickly you grabbed the final bag off the bed and scanned the room, going over a mental checklist to ensure you didn't forget anything.

“okay i have everything, did you get everything? Do you have all the things you need? What time is it? Are we gonna be late? Oh god what if the plane leaves without us” you began to ramble, going through every worst case scenario possible. Timothee looked at you in awe, he had never seen you this nervous about anything before, he least expected it to come out right before a romantic getaway.

“angel, calm down, it’s fine let’s go to the airport we’re right on time” he smiled at you, giving you a quick kiss before he helped you with your bags and you two headed to the Uber waiting outside your shared apartment. As you helped him squeeze the luggage in you both sat in the backseat, you were so excited for the trip.

“You know we should go to Paris for our next anniversary” timmy spoke offhandedly, mindlessly playing with your hair as the movie you had chose played on the tv. “That would be fun, I’ve never been there” you smiled, looking at him briefly before your eyes settled on the screen again.

“where have you traveled to?” He questioned, curious as to all the places you’ve visited. “mmm i mean I’ve never been to Europe, i left the state a couple times for road trips but that’s about it” you replied, not thinking anything of the question. “You mean to tell me that you’ve never been to Italy?” He gasped and you laughed at his shock.

“We aren’t all stars or rich Chalamet” you suppressed laughter but one look at his facial expression caused you to burst into a fit of laughter. “That’s it im booking a flight to Italy, we can go to venice and oh we could even travel to where we filmed call me by your name! And then we could go to Rome!” He gushed, moving quickly to get his laptop.

You were excited, until you realized you had $20 in your wallet and maybe $67 in you bank account. “Timothée wait no” you spoke, rushing behind him to stop him. He turned around confused as to why you didn’t want to go.

“do you not wanna go? I thought you liked Italy? You show me videos about people going there all the time” he asked, searching your face for an answer. “I do! I’ve always wanted to go there” you stated, sighing as your gazes met. “it’s just- how am i gonna pay for my ticket? I don’t have enough money and-” before you could finish timothée cut you off.

“what makes you think you’re paying?” He grinned, running to the room to get the laptop once again. You messed with your fingers for a second, you didn’t want him to spend money on you, you’ve always felt bad about it.

“timmy no you can’t just buy me a ticket there” you spoke, walking into the room, seeing the boy sitting on the bed, legs crossed with the laptop in his lap. He furrowed his brows and replied without looking up from his screen. “Why not? You’re my girl, think of it as a present” he smiled, you opened your mouth to protest but he quickly stopped you.

“i just bought them so you can’t take it back” he beamed, you frowned for a second before he gave you the puppy eyes. Of course you couldn’t resist, you tackled him with a hug and kissed him, thanking him a million times.

And so here the two of you were, sitting in the backseat on your way to the airport, going over the loose itinerary timothée had made for the two of you once you landedin Venice. He had gone beyond what you expected to make this trip memorable despite telling him to not worry.

When you got to the airport everything went surprisingly smooth despite you being nervous the whole time. The two of you bought breakfast and ate it in the little food court, then headed to the gate which your plane would be in and played games while waiting to board.

Once the plane arrived the two of you got on, of course he had bought first class, you wanted to scold him for spending so much but as soon as you saw how excited he was you couldn’t be mad at him. “look! we get pillows and everything” he giggled, you smiled at him and nodded, equally as excited as him. The two of you ended up watching two movies, falling asleep during the second one.

You woke up first, smiling at the sight of timmy with messy hair, mouth slightly parted and cheeks lightly flushed as he slept. You decided to wait on waking him up, instead you occupied yourself by looking out the window and listening to your music.

The landing woke timothée up and he smiled at you brightly, it took him a couple minutes to really wake up, mumbling incoherently before he came fully to his senses.

As soon as you got off the plane you were excited, pulling timothée along to get out of the airport as soon as possible. When you finally got everything and exited you got into the car timothée had ordered for the two of you and headed to the hotel to unpack.

Timothée posted a picture of you staring out the window in awe onto his Instagram story, “she’s excited right now, just wait until she sees the canals” he wrote, smiling as he thought of all the pictures the two of you would take.

You expected an average hotel room, if timothée really splurged then maybe above average, you did not expect to get the presidential suite at a five star hotel. The smile on your face made everything worth it to timothée, he made sure this trip would be memorable. “Timothée Hal Chalamet! How much did you fucking spend!” You squeaked, rushing around the room to check everything on.

“That doesn’t matter, what matters is that you get changed and get ready, we’re in Venice for two days before our next stop and I have so much for us to do” he smiled, pulling you in for a kiss which you quickly returned. Resting your head on his chest you sighed, taking a Monet to let everything sink in. You’re in Italy with the love of your life. Holy shit.

Timothée had bought multiple disposable cameras for the two of you to use, wanting to develop all of them by the time you guys got back home.

Before you knew it you were wandering the streets of Venice, a permanent smile on your face as you took so many photos of the scenery and of timothée and of course together. The two of you visited the top tourist spots like Saint Marks Basilica, the both of you in awe of its beauty and laughing until your stomach hurt feeding the pidgeons.

Timothée was scared for his life when a pidgeon landed on his shoulder, immediately going stiff and begging for you to help him. You quickly pulled out your phone, recording him and zooming into his face, a face of pure fear. After you posted it you quickly shooed the pidgeon away, holding his hand and a small pidgeon landed on your shoulder and you fed it out of your free hand.

You smiled brightly at timothée who had moved away from you slightly causing you to giggle. “You laugh now but I’m gonna be the one poop free, those things are ruthless” he stated, a serious look on his face which quickly turned soft as you attempted to pet the bird on you. “Look at him he’s so cute!” You gushed, drowning as it flew away.

“Cmon sweet girl, we have a ride to catch, in the canal” he winked and you gasped, pulling him before you stopped, realizing you didn’t know where you were even going.

When the two of you arrived he helped you into the boat, it was only the two of you and the one driving the small boat, you were sitting next to each other, pointing at everything, a constant smile on both of your faces. He held your hand the whole time, most of the time looking at you rather than the sights you were in such awe of. A small smile on his face as he admired how beautiful you looked, you looked so stress free and happy and he knew everything else he had planned was so worth it if he got to see you like this.

After the ride on the canals the two of you ate at a small little restaurant, drinking some wine and talking about the days events.

“I just think it’s funny that you were that scared of the pidgeons” you giggled, and he frowned at you, “i wasn’t scared, i was just- cautious” he smirked, watching you roll your eyes at his remark.

The two of you finished dinner, walking around the now calmer streets, admiring everything at night for about an hour, kissing under streetlights and chasing one another through the streets, laughter bouncing off the buildings.

The two of you showered once you got back to the hotel and absolutely crashed after you had snuggled under the sheets. The two of you exhausted from the plane ride and walking everywhere all day.

You both woke up late in the morning to the sound of timothées alarm, you yawned, burying yourself more into timothées side, wanting ten more minutes. “Wake up mon amour i still have some stuff planned for today before we leave for Florence” he spoke softly into your hair, kissing the top of your head. He had decided to skip on taking you to Crema, deciding it would make for a good excuse to come back.

You woke up slowly, getting ready and waiting for timothée on the bed once you had finished. You were starving but you didn’t want to eat without him. You laid on your stomach and dozed off only to wake up to a now fully dressed timothée, smiling at you and kissing your nose. “let’s go eat and then we can head out” he whispered and you nodded, getting up from the bed and following him out the door.

The two of you spent the day walking around and seeing anything else you wanted, eating much too much food and buying way too many souvenirs. The day seemed to fly by and before you knew it you were headed to Florence, of course shoving all your luggage into the bus that the two of you were taking to the wonderful city. You slept most of the way while timothée read through a script for a new movie. He woke you up gently when you guys arrived, piling out along with everyone else as the two of you found the car timothée had ordered for this city, heading to yet another 5 star hotel with an amazing room.

It was late at night so the two of you only slipped into bed and set an alarm for later tomorrow morning, cuddling through the whole night, waking up once to eat some of the fruit that the hotel had given to the two of you as a gift.

The next morning the alarm went off and you quickly turned it off, placing your head on timothées chest, a smile on your face while he played with your hair.

“let’s get ready, i have something special planned, wear that one outfit you brought, you know the one that you said you’ve always wanted to wear?” He smiled, a mischievous glint in your eye. You gave him a kiss on the cheek and nodded, going to get ready.

After you finished you scrolled through your phone, replying to people and sifting through the pictures from Venice, deleting the ones which turned out bad or way too blurry. You decided to lay on your side, thinking you wouldn’t fall back asleep but you were wrong. Before you knew it you felt a gentle nudge.

“Cmon sleeping beauty i have a picnic for us” he beamed, a twinkle in his eye. You woke up quickly, a giant grin on your face as your mouth fell open. “A picnic? Oh my god this is a dream, angel you’re so amazing oh my god! I love you so much” You gushed, tackling timothée once you got off the bed and hugging him tightly, kissing him all over his face.

“i love you more ma cherie, now lets go” he smiled, opening the door for you and quickly taking your hand while walking down the halls.

You had ended up accidentally falling asleep in the car, head on timothées shoulder, he recorded you, saving it but not posting it, knowing if he did you would get him back and start a full fledged war.

As the car approached the Piazzle Michaelangelo he shook you softly, your eyes fluttered open and a small smile overtook your features. “Oh my god it’s so pretty” you gasped as the two of you stepped out of the car and onto the concrete floor, he got the picnic basket from the car as you went to save a spot on the steps. He quickly found you and opened the basket between the two of you, eating the food and making conversation, laughing and enjoying the fact that both of you were in Italy, overlooking Florence.

After sitting there for a while, cuddling and pointing things out the two of you drove into the city, excited to see everything the city had to offer. The two of you walked down the streets hand in hand, taking pictures once more and in awe of the beauty the city offered.

Of course the two of you drove all over the city visiting museums, seeing all the statues and artworks you had always admired through your phone screen. You almost wanted to cry of happiness seeing everything in person, you walked quickly in the museums, timothée barely keeping up with you as you rushed everywhere, making sure you absorbed every last detail.

Of course timothée took the typical you looking at art picture, and of course he posted it and captioned it “art looking at art” causing his fans to go feral, everyone tweeting and posting about how cute the two of you were. You held timmys hand when you realized he was dragging behind, pulling him along and forcing him to move at your speed.

“oh my god I love this painting, look at the brushstrokes! I read once that when he was painting this-” you began, going into detail about said artists life. Timothée stared at you, his chest swelling with love, a smile on his face as you went on and on about the paintings, he hung onto every word you said, loving the way your eyes lit up and the amount of emotion in your voice as you spoke of what you loved.

After you had visited the museums l, the two of you walked all over the city, taking in the culture and also taking many breaks and calling a cab to go to places he had planned to take you. Of course he set up a reservation at a fancy restaurant, eating to your hearts delight and drinking amazing wine, overseeing the bustling city as the sun set.

“i cannot believe we’re in Florence Italy” you sighed happily, looking out at the city while you sipped on your wine, timothée smiled at you. “I don’t know how I’m ever going to thank you enough angel, you really made my dreams come true” you spoke, turning towards your curly headed boyfriend and he shook his head.

“you don’t have to thank me ma cherie. I love seeing you happy, you deserve the world and I’m going to give everything i can to you, you’ve always supported me through anything and everything, you know me so well, i just love you so much” he answered. “but- you can thank me by letting me post a bunch of pictures of you everywhere” he smiled shyly, blushing slightly. You smiled brightly at him, your love for him growing. “oh baby of course” you giggled.

The next day was just as action packed, going to multiple cathedrals and basilicas which you hadn’t gotten to the day before, and then spending time in the gardens, taking so many pictures of each other, half of them turning out blurry because the two of you couldn’t stop laughing.

He held you hand the whole time, keeping you close to him the whole time, kissing you at times and always looking at you with so much love. All over Twitter and Instagram were pictures of the two of you holding hands and laughing, many of them with one of the two of you pointing at something, many of the ones with you pointing had timothée looking at you with a smile rather than what you were showing him, it gave you butterflies.

That night you headed to the hotel early, packing everything to catch the late night flight to Rome, the last destination on the trip. The two of you packed quickly, racing to see who would finish first. This made timothée sneak up behind you and unfold your tshirts, run back to his area and rush to finish, an attempt to beat you. You were one step ahead, you had hidden his shampoo so you had no problem re folding while he ran around everywhere.

“I’m done!” You announced proudly, smiling at your boyfriend and he rolled his eyes, a pout on his face. “That’s not fair! I finished before you i just lost my shampoo” he responded, you smirked at him. “Check under your pillow” his eyes went wide and raced to get it, jaw dropping when he found it. “y/n i swear one day im gonna beat you at these competitions” he huffed, pushing you playfully and you shoved him back laughing.

The two of you cuddled the whole time in the airport, attached to the hip, and napping until your flight boarded, where the two of you also slept the whole time. When you finally arrived in Rome, you both headed to the hotel, knocking out there too, excited for the next two days in Rome before returning home. The two of you only had two cameras left, it filled you with excitement to get the photos developed, knowing you would have so many pictures of him to post and an endless amount of wallapapers.

When the two of you awoke the next morning you headed out quickly, excited to spend yet another day together.

“timothée oh my god look at that dog! Do you think he speaks Italian?” You questioned, smiling at the small dog that walked past the two of you. “I’m sure he does my angel” he replied, laughing. Pulling you along the busy street, putting his arm around your waist.

The two of you marveled at the colosseum, mind running wild at the thought of people using it. “You think they ever had a concert in there?” You asked your boyfriend who giggled, “im not so sure they did my angel” you thought about someone using it today. “What if someone tried to have on in there today” you smiled and timothée quickly replied, “as soon as the speakers start blasting everything would just crumble” you laughed at the thought of someone wanting to have fun only to ruin one of the most iconic pieces of history.

The two of you walked along the streets, holding hands and swinging them back and forth, debating where to go next. “How about the pantheon?” You suggested and he nodded with a smile, “you read my mind darling.”

The two of you got there surprisingly quickly and sat down for a second, both of your guys’ feet hurting. You put your head on timmys shoulder, closing your eyes for a second, you could hear everyone talking, the sound of cars and the wind. “Are you tired mon amour?” Timothée asked, not wanting to tire you out so much, he wanted you excited and happy not tired.

“just a bit, but I’m sure it’ll leave as soon as we see the Vatican” you spoke, a smile forming on your face as you opened your eyes and looked at the brunette next to you. He kissed your cheek, getting up and extending a hand to help you up. “Let’s go see what all those shops we passed have had to offer later yeah?” He grinned and you nodded, stretching a little before falling into step with him.

The two of you arrived at the Vatican and you swear you had never felt more in awe than staring at everything inside, everything was so adorned and beautiful, even the pillars on the outside when the two of you were waiting (only for like 5 minutes) made you smile in amazement. Timothée and you kept pointing out everything, a smile on both of your faces. Both of your cheeks hurt from smiling so much but neither of you complained, too happy to care.

After the two of you walked around for a bit more you left and entered the busy streets of Rome once again, taking pictures of each other all the time and stopping to look at anything and everything. “Let’s go get something to eat” you suggested. “Oh yeah I’m starving after all that walking” he replied, pulling out his phone to find a nice place to get food.

Soon enough he found a nice spot and the two of you arrived there quickly, excited to eat. After ordering and eating the two of you sat in comfortable silence, taking the time to wind down before going back out. “can we go to the Trevi Fountain? I brought coins for us to throw in” you asked and timothée wanted to kiss you all over and hug you and never let you go because god you were so fucking cute.

“of course we can go mon amour, are you ready to go right now?” He asked and you nodded, he paid quickly before taking his hand in yours, the two of you walking slower than before, you were leaning on him slightly, he was talking about some story that had happened to him in high school. You don’t remember exactly how the story had come up but you were grateful that it had.

As the two of you continued walking hand in hand and smiling at the sights you realized that no one had disturbed the two of you this whole trip which was very surprising, but you were grateful that his fans were respectful of the two of you. “okay i told you am embarrassing story of me in high school you tell me one” he pushed and you groaned, stealing the water bottle from his hands and gulping down the drink.

“i wasn’t really embarrassing in high school, i had like five friends and we always looked out for one another, middle school i was the biggest emo alive” you shuddered thinking back to all the diary entries you had made. “I remember i wrote this one poem that was so cringe and i thought it was the best thing ever written” you cringed at the memory and he bursted our laughing, leaning into you as he did so.

“Do you still have said diary?” He questioned, a mischievous smile forming on his face, “back at my parents house yeah” you replied, narrowing your eyes at him, “but you will never lay your eyes on a single one of those pages Hal” you sternly replied, smiling as he rolled his eyes and pulled you closer to him, putting his arm around you. “We’ll see about that one” he smiled.

“oh my god! Timmy there it is!” You shrieked, energy suddenly overflowing as you ran, pulling timothee with you causing him to almost trip over his feet. You pushed through the crowd, saying excuse me and sorrys until you got the the front of the fountain. Timothée arrived a couple seconds after you, out of breath and amazed at how fast you had ran.

“ma cherie you need to slow down” he spoke, leaning over to catch him breath. You stared at the fountain in awe, a smile sprawled across you face, taking in the beauty of it all. “I can’t believe I’m really here” you whispered, timothée got up, wrapping both his arms around your waist. “Believe in my love” he smiled, kissing you on the cheek.

Suddenly you heard a crack of thunder and soon enough rain started pouring, the once crowded area was now close to empty as everyone ran for shelter, you and timothée didn’t budge, mainly because you didn’t even flinch and refused to move.

you turned to timothée, hair sticking to both of your foreheads a wild smile on your face as you dig into your pocket, looking for the coins you had brought. Quickly you handed one to timothée. “Ready?” You smiled and he nodded. “Okay, 1, 2, 3!” You shouted, the coins flipping into the water at the same time. Turning to timothée you found him smiling at you and you laughed.

“When in Rome” you said before bunching his shirt into your fist and pulling him into a kiss, you eyes shutting as rain fell around the two of you. The kiss was what you imagined the movie ones were like, passionate and loving. You smiled into the kiss before you opened your eyes and pulled away.

“you drive me crazy y/n” he whispered, a giant smile on his face as you wiped away the water from your eyes and pushed the hair out of your face. “Should we get out of the rain?” You giggled and he nodded, “probably, we don’t wanna get sick” he joked and you punched him. “Don’t fucking jinx it!” You yelled, running to the nearest shelter you could find, which so happened to be a tourist shop.

Shopping with timothée was always fun, shopping with timothée in another country was another level. He wanted to buy you everything you looked at, he would buy you at $50 shirt if you really wanted it. The two of you were dripping wet and needed to buy new clothes or else you would definitely get sick. You ended up wearing tacky tourist shirts, getting matching ones of course and buying souvenirs for everyone back home as well as a few things to decorate and to keep for yourselves.

Considering how hard it was pouring and the fact that the two of you now had wet socks you decide to call it a day and go back to the hotel room, not wanting to get sick considering tomorrow was the last day. You were glad that it was already 5 pm, you wouldn’t have missed that much that you had planned and you could easilh get to them tomorrow.

You guys quickly got into a car and made your way back to the hotel, opting on showering together. As the two of you stepped in you let out a sigh at the feeling of the warm water. You let the water rinse the two of you off before shutting it off and getting timothées shampoo, telling him to turn around so you could wash his hair.

“thank you for this whole trip baby, it’s really been a dream come true” you spoke, massaging the shampoo into his hair. “Im sorry that it rained sweetheart, i really wanted us to be able to do everything because this was supposed to be perfect and-” you frowned at him despite his back being to you. “Timothée you can’t control the weather! And even then this trip is already perfect because I’m here with you. I’m in Italy with the love of my life dammit, ive drank so much good wine and eaten even more good food! We haven’t gotten this much time alone in god knows how long, you’ve literally had a chauffeur in every city so that we didn’t have to worry about parking and you made us an itinerary! Everything about this trip has been perfect, even the hiccups in the road.” You stated, smiling at the memories the two of you had already made.

You turned the water back on to rinse the shampoo out of his hair and he smiled at you, kissing you on the forehead. “And plus, i finally got my kiss in the rain AND it was infront of the trevi fountain, how am i supposed to complain again ever?” You smiled up at him, he laughed and quickly closed his eyes as shampoo rinsed from his hair. He grabbed your shampoo and began to wash your hair, you relaxed at his touch and closed your eyes.

“I love you so much angel, you don’t even understand” he whispered, you hummed in response. He gave you a soft kiss to your neck, giving you goosebumps.

Soon enough you guys hopped out of the shower, warm and clean and changed into some pijamas, snuggling into bed and looking out of the giant window next to you. Between the sound of the rain hitting the window and timothées soft breathing, you quickly dozed off, not caring that it was only 6:30 pm and you’d probably wake up at 2 am with an insane amount of energy. Timothée asked you something,confused as to why you weren’t replying until he looked at you, a bashful smile on his face when he saw you sleeping.

“you know i love you so much, you mean the world to me mon amour, there isn’t anything i wouldn’t do for you” he whispered, brushing your hair lightly to get it out of your face. He placed a gentle kiss on your forehead, turning the lights off in the room before closing his eyes and drifting off the sleep alongside you.

You ended up not even waking up throughout the night, instead sleeping until early the next morning. You hadn’t realized how tired you had been until now since you were more energetic than ever, excited to get as much in on the last day.

Timothée was the one dragging you around everywhere today, determined to get through the list had made, you smiled at him as he explained everything to you, surprised at how much he knew. “When did you make this list anyway?” You asked over lunch, looking up at him after you chewed your food. “I woke up at 2am and i couldn’t sleep but i didn’t wanna wake you up so i made this list and researched everything so i can give you the full tour guide experience” he replied, a giant smile on his face as you gawked at him.

“yeah that’s it, I’m gonna marry you” you shrugged, continuing to eat as timothée blushed and kept eating. The conversation flowing easily between the two of you and a comfortable silence falling into place at times.

The day continued quickly, visiting many more sites and before you knew it your disposable camera came to an end, and 30 minutes later so did timothées as the sunset. The two of you sat down on a bench, waiting on your guys’ driver to arrive so the two of you could pack up and head home.

“i can’t believe it’s over” you smiled softly, sad that it was over but happy that it happened. “Don’t worry mon amour im sure we’ll be back soon enough” he smiled and you put your head on his shoulder. “I love you with everything I have timothée” you spoke, looking up at him from your position. He kissed your forehead gently, “i love you so much more y/n” he smiled.

The two of you once again raced to pack up, you purposefully ‘lost’ your favorite shirt and let him win, although he would always hold it against you, it didn’t matter because you would lose over and over and over again if it meant seeing the amount of joy on his face when he shouted “IM DONE” and looked over at you with an unzipped suitcase.

As the two of you were waiting at the airport gate you had to make the obligatory Instagram post, gathering pictures of the two of you together and of yourself to post, you smiled as you picked out the photos. Searching the internet to see if anyone had caught the two of you kissing in the rain in front of the fountain, which of course they had. You looked over at a napping timothée, smiling as you set the photo as your lockscreen and added it to your post, quickly you typed out your caption.

“Italian days <3”

#timothee chalamet imagine #timothee chalamet x reader #timothee fluff #timothee chalamet fluff #timothee imagine #timothee blurb #timothee x reader #timothée chalamet fluff #timothée chalamet imagine #timothée x reader #timothée fanfic #timothée chalamet fanfic #timothee fanfic #timothée fluff

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dopescotlandwarrior · 4 years

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Sinners & Saints - Chapter One

Special thanks to @statell for all your help.

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Chapter One

Galerie Charpentier is home to Sotheby’s Auction house in the center of the Parisian art world and host to almost eighty auctions per year. Art buyers worldwide watch for pieces to add to their collection and millions of dollars change hands as the gavel comes down on the final bids. A rare Rembrandt was up for sale today. One of three self-portraits done by the artist and the only one still in a private collection. The estimated price at auction is twenty-eight to thirty-five million dollars for the eight by twelve-inch painting. It will elevate any collection to new boasting heights and there is a lot of interest.

Jamie Fraser walked the halls of the auction house and checked in on his team trying to stay clear of buyers flocking into the building. He could care less about the art bought and sold today. He was here to catch a master art thief, his nemesis, who bested him at every turn. Jamie was number one in the world for profiling and catching the most accomplished thieves until he signed on to find Casper, the most prolific art thief in Europe. He was dubbed Casper because he came in and went out like a ghost, leaving nothing behind.

Jamie’s jaw clenched thinking of the many times he was closing in on his prey only to have him vanish with the prized art. This time was different, he could feel it. He was tipped off by a black-market snitch that told him the Rembrandt would be in play soon and that painting was being sold today. Casper had to be here, and Jamie would leave him crippled when he took him down. Payback for leading a merry chase for the past two years.

Jamie walked quickly toward the back entrance to verify the doors were locked. He was surprised to pass a large group of people in one of the auditoriums and glanced at the signboard, Doctor Claire Beauchamp, professor of fine arts, University of Chicago. By the size of the audience, she was quite popular. Jamie caught a glimpse of the striking professor in a body-hugging dress that she wore like a fashion model. Black rimmed glasses were perched on her nose above red lipstick and a pile of hair on top of her head that looked exquisitely messy. She pushed a coil of hair off her face and looked up at a huge screen, flipping slides with a remote control. One word came to Jamie’s mind; fascinating. His earpiece crackled and he spun around to head back to the front of the building.

Claire Beauchamp clicked for the next slide, clicked again, and again to no avail. She apologized to the audience and ripped her headset off to find some assistance. Five minutes later she was back to wrap up the lecture with the slides moving perfectly.

Jamie walked by the auditorium three more times as the professor worked her way through the questions, signed copies of her new book, and accepted the thanks of the Parisian art world. Jamie watched her, knowing the auction was underway and the clock was ticking on Casper’s entrance.

“Doctor Beauchamp, there’s a rumor you’re joining the team to catch Casper. Any truth to that?”

“Well, no. He has stolen pieces that I have a particular fondness for, and I would love to help catch him, but I have not been asked. It’s just a rumor.”

Claire shrugged her shoulders and smiled at the last of the people leaving. She stuffed her materials into her briefcase and took a deep cleansing breath. She had one more meeting and a plane to catch back to Chicago. She would give anything for a day to herself in Paris to wander around the Louvre and spend as much time as she wanted with the Masters. Maybe next time, she thought.

Claire emerged from the auditorium and made her way to the back entrance where she was allowed to park. She stopped abruptly and opened her case, smiling when she saw her headset tucked safely inside. She pulled the case up to secure the retaining strap and lowered her arm as the explosion blew her sideways, off her feet, and into a wall that was coming down. She could hear herself screaming until something heavy hit her on the head. Her screaming stopped.

Claire was vaguely aware she was laying in rubble from an explosion. The rubble was warm and had hands that held her upper arms, and a voice that kept asking if she was alright. She tried to lift her head and bumped it on something above her.

“What the bloody hell?”

Her hands were splayed on someone’s chest and she felt around deciding it was a male with a body like Arnold Schwarzenegger! Claire looked to her right and left seeing the tiny space they were pinned into and her heart pounded in her chest, feeling the claustrophobic fear that made elevators impossible.

“Jesus Christ, I have to get out of here, right now! Help me get out of here Mister, please!”

She felt the beefy arms wrap around her and hold her down making the panic even worse. Her wiggling made it hard to hear the man saying her name, getting more stern by the second. He finally held her tightly to him and warned her not to move.

“Doctor Beauchamp, Doctor Beauchamp, Claire! Stop moving! Something is holding the tonnage of walls, ceiling, and live wires above us. If you knock it loose it will kill us. Do you understand?”

Claire gripped his arms and panted from her attempt to escape. She listened to his voice calming her down and telling her to breathe with him. He was very encouraging and kept telling her they would be all right. He talked her down from a panic attack but kept his hands on her to be sure.

“May I call you Claire?”

“Yes,” she whispered.

“Alright, thank you. I need your help lass. Look around for something strong, like metal, a strong metal box, or something like that not connected to anything, free moving and about a foot tall. Do you see anything like that?”

“Why, for what?” Claire finally lifted her head a few inches and looked up at the man’s head, but it wasn’t there. A very large piece of the wall was suspended right above his throat and his head was on the other side of it.

“Oh my God, oh my God! Sweet Jesus, what are we going to do?” Her panic was rising again, and the arms came around her while the disembodied voice told her to breathe and keep her wits about her. It took several minutes but she finally gained control again and looked around for something strong with the limited space she had to lift her head.

“There are cinder blocks in the rubble, two of them are not touching anything. Will those work Mister?”

“Sorry lass, my name is Jamie, and those might hold this wall up long enough for me to scoot free of it. Can you move one, can you reach it?”

Claire could move the block slowly by stretching her arm until it hurt. Little by little she scooted the cinder block closer to the wall, muttering about a decapitated Arnold and she didn’t want to be alone. Jamie patiently calmed her reminding her to breathe deeply. He helped her push the block under the section of wall and patted her shoulder, thanking her for being so brave. Claire felt the man’s body scooting slowly, taking her with him an inch at a time until he was free of the would-be guillotine.

Jamie laid very still, trying to calm his racing heart. He could see what Claire could not and knew they were buried by at least twenty or thirty feet of debris. It would take hours for rescuers to find them if they ever did. Shafts of light were coming through, but those would disappear when the sun went down leaving them in complete darkness. Jamie felt a murderous rage boiling in his stomach.

“You fucking bastard,” was whispered through clenched teeth. “I will hunt you right into hell before I give up.”

“Who’s a bastard, who will you hunt, who’s going to hell?”

Claire was patting his arm trying to comfort the rage she felt in his tensed muscles. It scared her because she didn’t know this man. Jamie’s arms encircled her lightly for a few seconds.

“He’s called Casper and he’s a dead man walking because I’m gonna finish him when I find him.”

“Casper? The art thief did this?”

Claire got very quiet for a few minutes before asking, “who are you?”

“Jamie Fraser. I head up the task force trying to catch that piece of shit. Just so you know, we are getting out of here, one way or another, because I won’t let him win.”

He felt Claire shaking and heard her sniffling. He held her, feeling bad because he scared her. He lifted his head to look at her.

“I’m sorry lass, I didn’t mean to scare you. Look at me, Claire.”

Jamie wasn’t expecting the large whisky colored eyes and long black lashes wet from her tears. Her face stole his words for a moment, so he just looked at her. He wanted to touch her porcelain skin and feel the coils of curls that had fallen around her face and shoulders.

“I’m sorry Sassenach, rest now. It won’t be long.”

“Sassenach means crazy bitch, doesn’t it?”

Jamie laughed and Claire bounced on his stomach until she smiled too. “No. It means outsider. You’re a Brit, living in America, trapped in Paris, with a Scott,” he said laughing. He laid his head back down, “tell me about yourself, are you married? Any kids?”

“There is an offer on the table, but I haven’t decided yet. I like him fine but he’s a politician and I’m …not.”

“Tell me more. Why hesitate?”

Claire talked about the senator from Illinois who said he loved her and promised a life of excitement and purpose. Jamie listened to the story of two mismatched people and hoped she would choose herself over a man with plans to change everything about her. She couldn’t see that yet but to him, it was very clear.

“What about you when you’re not chasing a master criminal around the world?”

“I cannot say, it’s been too long. I asked a beautiful girl to marry me once and she said yes but she died in an automobile wreck before the wedding. I haven’t dated since then, about two years now.”

“I’m sorry for your loss Jamie, and if it hurts you, I’m sorry to bring it up.”

“I have never been to Chicago, what is it like?”

The conversation was interesting as they took turns asking questions about the other. Jamie was waiting for some sign, pounding, or yelling, that would indicate workers were close. He heard nothing so far and the light was fading in their rubble pocket. He prayed the night would not be terrifying to the woman on top of him.

“Can you sleep, Claire? I think you should try, it will make the time pass faster. Close your eyes and think about something you do at home for fun, breathe deep, that’s a good lass.”

Jamie could hear Claire’s breathing deepen into her slumber and he closed his eyes hoping to join her. He had a feeling it would be a long night.

Senator Randall was startled by a tap on his shoulder and a note passed to him by his aide. It said Doctor Beauchamp had not gotten off her plane from Paris and was not answering her phone. Frank nodded to the aide and gathered his papers into a case leaving the meeting as quietly as possible. He was calling Claire when the door closed behind him. No answer. Claire was reliable, punctual, predictable, and always called when her plans changed. He felt a nervous twitch in his stomach as his phone vibrated continuously with messages delayed while his phone was turned off. He read through the text messages quickly and was jogging to find his driver and get back to his office.

Claire’s secretary and friend had bombed his phone about an explosion at Sotheby’s, part of the building collapsed, and Claire had not boarded her plane. Frank was feeling a surge of anxiety that was quite unfamiliar and unwanted. He kept his life sterile and empty of drama so he could pursue what made him happy, successful, and energized. He barked at the driver to find a way out of the traffic and back to his office. He couldn’t wait. The laptop lid flipped open and Frank searched for news of the Sotheby bombing. It was all over the internet and the pictures of the damage almost stopped his heart. He started dialing for his aides, giving orders to find her, book a flight to Paris tonight, and get him an emergency number for who was in charge at the auction house. He walked briskly to his office followed by jogging aides handing him notes with flight times, and phone numbers.

“Hello”

“Thank God! Jesus yer hard to find Frank. Ye know whats happened at Sotheby’s. Claire didn’t check-in at the airport, she didn’t return her rental or check out of the hotel. I’m sorry Frank, she is unaccounted for and …”

Frank clicked off of the call when Geillis was mid-sentence. He couldn’t deal with her at the moment, and punched in the numbers to Sotheby’s but couldn’t get through. He assigned two aids to keep calling the emergency number until one of them got a person on the phone.

The sixty-inch television in his office was streaming news of the explosion and the missing Rembrandt painting that was discovered. The explosion was reported as a possible diversion so the thief could get away. One of the aides held her phone out.

“Senator Bradley, sir. He says you won’t answer your own phone and he needs to speak with you.”

“Hello, yes, no I can’t meet tonight, I’m flying to Paris, my girl…” Pausing to listen, “sorry Gary, I can’t, it’s an emergency. No, I won’t be voting tomorrow, I have an emergency, I have to …”

Senator Bradley could be heard from across the room making the aides press into the farthest point in the office to complete their tasks. Frank drew his arm back to throw the phone into the wall and someone shrieked and grabbed her phone away from him. It might cost her job, but this was her brand-new iPhone and no cranky senator was going to smash it to pieces. She headed for the door and disappeared.

“It’s the manager at Sotheby’s, sir. Please don’t break my phone.”

Frank dropped into his chair and reported the news of his missing fiancé, Doctor Claire Beauchamp from the University of Chicago. The manager wanted the name of her rental car company, hotel, and time of day she was last heard from. Frank gave him Geillis’s cell phone number adding she would be the point of contact. Tomorrow would be a ball-breaker and he needed someone attached to their phone in case any news came in.

Hours later, Frank laid in bed in the dark and thought about Claire. So many hours after the explosion and no word from her. He didn’t want to believe it but found little hope she was alive. He closed his eyes.

Claire was shifting her weight trying to get comfortable on the lumpiest mattress ever made. When she moved to her side Jamie’s eyes slammed opened and he groaned loudly from her hip crushing his balls. He lifted her hip and moved her over three inches letting his hands rest on her hip and leg. The dress she wore was knit and very soft. It had pulled up above her knee so Jamie pulled it back down.

He didn’t know Claire, and would never see her again once they were free, but he did not like hearing about her fiancé and that made him feel weird. He closed his eyes again.

“Jesus Christ! What is that?”

Jamie was yanked to the surface of consciousness by a loud and panicked voice coming from a wiggling woman trying to move up his body. His arms came around her and he shushed her, asking what was wrong.

“Something crawled up my leg and it had sharp claws, small sharp claws. I need to sit on your chest.”

Jamie grunted and held her still while he talked her down from another panic. He had worried about rats in the building being attracted to their smell. He told Claire to breathe with him while he stroked her hair in the pitch darkness. She had wiggled up toward his head and now her cheek was pressed against his, her mouth only inches from his. He could feel her relaxing and truly hoped for no more surprises tonight. He fell asleep with his arms around Claire.

Jamie opened his eyes when the noise of pounding pulled him back to consciousness. He felt Claire pressed against him, their faces touching, and the morning erection that threatened what little dignity he had left. He willed it away, quite unsuccessfully. The banging started again and he smiled to himself, it won’t be long before they are back on their feet, he thought. The pounding gave way to ripping metal and the distinct sound of a backhoe.

Claire moaned and moved to her stomach, rolling her face so her mouth was smashed against Jamie’s. He didn’t want to breathe for fear she would wake up and take her lips away. The noise from moving heavy debris got louder and the light from the new day flooded their pocket. Claire opened her eyes and screamed, pushing away from Jamie and hitting her head hard.

“What the bloody hell!”

“I’ll have you know madam that you accosted me just now, taking advantage of my inability to move and get away. This assault comes after you nearly strangled me getting away from a mouse.”

Claire rubbed her head and looked at the most beautiful face she had ever seen on a man. He could be a movie star with looks like that, she thought. Jamie was trying to look indignant but started to chuckle when her mouth turned into a smile. She looked adorable with a mass of curls pouring over her face as she felt for a bump on her head.

“Do you need me to rub it for you?”

The laugh that followed was genuine, feminine, and he loved hearing it.

“I’ll let you know if I want you to rub it.”

She laid her head on his chest and listened to the cavalry above them. “Sounds like they are making progress Jamie. I think you will soon be free of me.”

“Let’s hope it’s before I die of dehydration. I have never felt thirst like this in my life.”

With nothing to do but wait for the rescuers, they dozed and tried not to move too much. Through the early morning, the efforts above them intensified. The crew boss called a halt to the noise so they could get a radar fix on the heartbeats again. The radar technician moved his finger in a circle above their location and the infrared tech nodded his agreement. The noise continued.

“Jamie?”

“Yes, Sassenach.”

“What is the first thing you want to do when we’re rescued?”

“Drink like an elephant.”

“How is that?”

“Someone hands them a hose and they use their trunk to place it in their mouth. An hour or so later, the elephant pulls it out.”

“I’m quite sure you made that up but it’s still funny.”

“It’s God’s truth, I swear. Next, I will jump into the hotel pool until my body temperature comes back to normal. You laying on me is like a giant quilt heating me through for the last twenty hours or so. What about you Sassenach?”

“I’m down for the elephant thing, and a bubble bath, while I pray there are no flights to Chicago today. I want to lose myself in the Louvre.”

“Your list is impressive but surely a phone call to the senator will be done first, even before you put the hose in your mouth?”

Claire was giggling at Jamie’s charm, “of course, the senator, and then the hose.”

“Your dress is so soft, I woke up petting it like a rabbit in the middle of the night.” Jamie ran his hands down her back for effect and then instantly dropped them to his sides while Claire laughed. He just wanted to make her laugh until they took her away from him forever.

“Don’t move Sassenach!”

“Why? Is something crawling on me?”

Jamie grunted when her knee made contact with his balls as she twisted to look for a bug, or worse.

“No, it’s a phone call is all.”

Jamie reached up and pulled a phone to his ear. He spoke to the rescue worker and described how they were trapped. The phone was then pulled upward through the remaining debris until it was out of sight.

“Wow, how do they know exactly where we are?”

Jamie watched her childlike wonder and smiled at her until the dangling section of wall that had been directly above his throat dropped onto the cinder block making a deafening noise. Claire screamed and held onto Jamie tightly. She buried her face in his chest and cried until he could calm her down again. Claire felt his hand stroking her hair, and his arm around her waist. It was so foreign to be held this way and she didn’t want it to stop but could not force more tears, so he let her go. Jamie smiled encouragingly at her and pointed to the crushed cinder block.

“You see, you saved my life. That means you’re responsible for me forever.”

“Wait. If I saved you, that means you owe me a life, I think.”

“Anybody’s life?”

“I’m not quite sure about that. Maybe it’s like a debt that is paid by saving my life.”

Jamie took a chance and twisted his body and hers until they were lying side by side looking at the other.

“I don’t imagine a professor of fine arts and future first lady of the United States finds her life in peril much. But if you did, I will be the first one there Claire.”

She looked so innocent and beautiful looking at him. He seized her mouth and gorged himself on the beautiful professor. She turned her head for better access to his lips and he felt the exhilaration of her interest, however brief it would be. Aside from inhalation, the kiss continued until a large section that had them pinned was ripped away.

Claire sat up smiling at the men that surrounded them about ten feet up. She waved and stretched her back. A harness was lowered, held still by the men until she was safely in it. She pulled her briefcase strap over her head and was lifted through the debris to safety. Jamie watched her legs until she was pulled from his view.

Jamie looked up at the men, “any of the art stolen yesterday?”

“One small painting is all,” said with a heavy accent.

His stomach suddenly felt like a rock grinder. He asked the man, “quelle peinture?” The man shrugged his shoulders and looked around at the other workers until someone yelled “Rembrandt”. The sling was lowered again and Jamie was tempted to wrap it around his neck, but then Casper would win. He buckled himself into the harness.

Claire was loaded into an ambulance and whisked off to the nearest hospital. She gripped her briefcase and tried to calm her sense of shock at being thrust back into normality and away from Jamie. The EMT bent the straw top of a bottle of water and placed it in her mouth. She pulled the cool water into her mouth and thought about the elephants.

Claire was released by nine in the morning and now sat on her hotel bed with the phone in her hand.

“Sweet heavens, I am glad to talk to ye Claire, I haven’t slept a wink!”

“You are such a good friend Geillis. I tried to call Frank but his phone is off. Is he on his way to Paris?”

“No, he tried to leave last night but there’s an important vote today, it couldn’t be missed. What do ye need me to do? I already checked flights and they are booked today and tomorrow, even first class. I booked ye on United, leaving Paris at ten in the morning on Friday. All your appointments are canceled because ye were missin from a building that was bombed and I dinna ken if you were dead or alive.”

Geillis sobbed through the last part of the sentence and continued to cry until Claire calmed her down.

“I have quite the war story from the experience. I spent almost twenty-four hours laying on top of a giant Scot with a gorgeous face and bulging muscles.”

Claire giggled at Geillis’s reaction, knowing her friend would find that part of the tragedy delicious. After the call, Claire pulled her filthy clothes off and dropped them in the wastebasket. Flipping the security bar on the door meant she would be undisturbed while she scrubbed the dirt away. Sinking into the hot fragrant bubbles, she exhaled and thought about the rest of her day. She would meet with her client later and conclude their business and then tomorrow was all for her. The silver-lining as it were.

The exquisite bed in Claire’s room was so expansive one might miss the 8x12 inch Rembrandt in the center. Soon it would be handed over to the client in exchange for a deed to an Italian property valued at three million dollars. All in a day’s work.

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lonelyreputation · 4 years

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Caught

A/N: Hello hello! Here’s some (more) fluff!! Who am I? But anyway, I wrote this from this sensory request and it was actually the first request I GOT ON THIS BLOG (!!!) so I'm so sorry that it’s coming so late!! But I’ll always remember this request bc it was the first🥺

Anywaayyyy thank you all so much for reading, sending me the nicest messages, reblog-ing, and requesting prompts!! I get so much motivation from you all it’s insane!! Thank you!! I appreciate every single one of you!!

PROMPT: Licking your fingers while eating Cheetos

Chat Chat Chat | MASTERLIST

Warnings: One (1) swear word & a bit of a heated make out session😶

Word Count: 3.9K

Being a twenty-year-old and playing sold out shows in stadiums around the world was abnormal. But what was more abnormal was that the twenty-year-old who spent most of his time on a tour bus than in his own apartment was your boyfriend. Not many people could say that their boyfriend was in Amsterdam one day and then Paris the next.

Shawn had spent spring in Europe on a tourbus and hotel rooms, and his summer wasn’t much different, except for the fact that he was on his North American leg of the tour. He had convinced you to come traveling across America; it was more in your budget and convenient with your university schedule.

Every now and then, Shawn would have some down time, but it wasn’t very often. He kept apologizing whenever he was pulled away and promised to spend time with you more. But you didn’t mind. Shawn had given you a front seat to his career and everything it entails. And it was fascinating. You would be in one city and everyone would already be advancing for a show that was two weeks away. The precision and detail of obscure jobs that some crew had gone over your head in the past, but seeing all the mechanics of everything that goes on for the show to happen…it made you appreciate Shawn’s performances even more.

You had gotten fairly close with Shawn’s head of tour merchandiser, Dane, and often found yourself helping him set up the merchandise stands when Shawn was off at a meet and greet, sound check, or wherever Andrew had pulled him away to.

“Are you playing in the little soccer match they have going on later today?” You asked Dane as you carried over a large brown cardboard box.

He held up a finger to you as he finished up his count in of tour posters and typed it on a tour merchandise app on his phone, “Yeah, you?”

You shook your head as you used a key to tear through the sealed box. Once the tape that held the box together was ripped, you opened the four flaps and saw that you were counting in some sweatshirts. Silently, you counted ten sweatshirts, put them in a pile on the side with a sticky note on top with a number ten circled and then counted out another ten sweatshirts.

“I’ve never been good with hand eye coordination,” you didn’t look up at him as you continued to count ten sweatshirts, “I’ve always been better at cheering people on from the sides.”

“Oh, I’ve noticed.”

You had just finished circling a ten on a neon green sticky note as you capped the sharpie and looked at Dane, “You’ve noticed?”

Dane nodded with a smile on his face as he hung up a piece of paper with a blown up image of a keychain; he stuck a large sticker with the price of the keychain on the corner of the paper. He hung it up on the black tapestry so that way fans would be able to see it before they got up to the front of the merchandise line.

“You’re always there for Shawn when he walks on and off stage. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you go to the bathroom when he’s performing.”

You blushed as you finished counting the last of the sweatshirts in the box you carried in, “It’s not that big of a deal.”

“He loves it,” Dane took a t-shirt and clipped the sleeves of it to the top of the tapestry, “The week before you came he literally wouldn’t shut up––Y/n’s coming next week, did you know? I just love her so much! I miss her so much!”

You bunched up a t-shirt and threw it at Dane as he miserably failed at impersonating Shawn’s voice, “He didn’t say that.”

“Ask him yourself.”

“Oh, I––“

“Ask who yourself?”

You spun your head around and came face to face with your boyfriend. You smiled at him and threw another balled up shirt at Dane.

“Hey! That’s merchandise we’re selling tonight!”

You waved Dane off and rested your hands on your hips, “Before I came on tour were you non-stop going around telling people I was coming and saying how much you love me and saying how much you missed me?”

Shawn still had a slight smile on his face as he gazed at you. His facial expression hadn’t changed since he walked up behind you, so you thought you had proved Dane wrong, but that wasn’t the case when Shawn spoke up.

He shrugged his shoulders, “Yeah, why?” He spoke as if it that information was public knowledge.

Before you had the chance to say anything, you felt a soft material collide with the back of your head. Your head slightly jerked forward from the contact of the t-shirt that was just thrown at you. You quickly picked the shirt off the dusty ground and glared at Dane, “This is merchandise that you’re selling tonight.”

Dane barked out a laugh as he finished setting up the merchandise display. He stood back and admired his work for a few seconds before informing Shawn he was going to check on the other stands and make sure everyone else on the merchandise team had completed their count in. They did some sort of bro handshake, before telling one another that they’d see each other shortly for the soccer game.

Shawn walked up to your side and threw an arm over your shoulder. You leaned your head back on his shoulder and looked up at him, “Excited for the match?”

“Yeah, just wish you were playing.”

Your eyes closed as Shawn lightly traced circles on your upper arm with the tips of his fingers. Shivers ran down your spine as you closed your eyes, “You’ve seen me play.”

Shawn let out a laugh as he started walking, guiding you around the main floor of the arena, “Even though it is probably a good idea that you’re not playing, it still would’ve been fun to be on the same team.”

You let out a snort as you snaked a hand around his back to pinch his hip. Shawn lightly jerked away from you before he tickled your shoulder in retaliation, “I’d make sure we’d be on separate teams.”

“Is that so?”

You hummed in response and let the conversation die down. Whenever a crew member passed, you offered a smile and Shawn greeted them by name. Seeing the dynamic he had with his crew was heartwarming because you had read of horror stories of main acts being absolute divas to their crew members.

Shawn led you backstage as the two of you wandered into his dressing room. You sat on the couch as he went over to a little duffle bag he packed just for the soccer game. Carefully, you watched him as he bent over, staring at how his shoulder blades could be seen through his white t-shirt as he rummaged through the bag.

Swiftly, he tore his white shirt off and you were graced with a second of seeing your boyfriend’s muscles. The sight didn’t last long because Shawn threw his t-shirt at your face. You scrunched your nose up at the slightly sweaty smell mixed in with his signature scent.

“Hey!”

It only took you a second to throw the shirt off your face, but it was a second too long because Shawn was already in a vintage t-shirt and sliding on a pair of athletic shorts up past his thighs.

“That’s not fair,” you whined.

Shawn threw his head back in laughter as he picked up his sneakers. He walked over to where you sat on the couch, picked up your legs without any hesitation, and as he sat down on the couch, he rested your calves on his thighs.

He hunched over your legs as you watched him slide his sneakers on and tie them up. The position couldn’t have been comfortable, but he managed to get his sneakers on without complaining for you to move your legs. And you weren’t complaining about the physical contact your legs had with his thighs.

Once he was done tying his shoes, he sat up and stretched his back, a few pops emitted from his body and you flinched, not liking the sounds of bones cracking together.

Shawn rested his hands on your knees as he leaned his head on top of the couch cushion, eyes closed he said, “I don’t wanna play.”

A small chuckle left your lips, “That’s a lie.”

He turned his head slightly towards you and opened one eye, “Yeah, I do wanna play,” he let out a sigh, “but sitting here with you is so nice.”

A loud laugh escaped your lips as you looked over at him, both of his eyes now opened and intently staring at you with adoration.

“We’re literally doing nothing.”

“As long as I’m with you,” he lifted his shoulders up in a shrug, “I don’t care what we’re doing.”

Your heart skipped a beat and you couldn’t help the smile that spread across your face. Truth is, you loved doing nothing with him. You savored the days when all Shawn wanted to do was spend all day tangled in your bedsheets. You adored the days when you would sit on your couch reading a book––in a similar position to how you were sitting now––and Shawn would be hunched over scribbling lyrics down in a journal, using your legs as a writing surface.

You leaned up and pressed a kiss to his cheek, “Too sweet.”

“Uh huh,” Shawn grumbled as he pointed to his lips with his index finger, “I want a real kiss.”

You pretended to think about it for a moment before swinging a leg over his lap, adjusting your knees on either side as you straddled him. Shawn’s hands instantly moved with your body as they landed on your waist. Unlike your hands that were pressed flat on his chest, Shawn’s hands slowly rubbed your lower back and come back around to your waist.

The only thing more heavenly than his touch was the feeling of his kiss.

Shawn craned his neck up to reach your teasing smile and captured your lips in a sweet kiss. Your smile was slow to disappear; being in Shawn’s presence was a reason for you to smile in itself, but once he pinched your hips silently telling you to focus on kissing him, you thought that was a good enough reason to stop smiling.

Your hands trailed up Shawn’s chest until they rounded his neck. He hummed as he pulled you closer to his chest and your fingers began to play with the small curls on the nape of his neck. He tilted his head to deepen the kiss at the same time his hands tightly balled up the bottom of your shirt. He lifted your shirt at a painstakingly slow pace to the point where you wanted to rip it off yourself.

Shawn had the shirt bunched up right under your bra. Breaking the kiss, you leaned back, untangled your arms from around his neck and raised them over your head to aid Shawn in taking your shirt off. Once the shirt was off, he carelessly threw it somewhere behind you, and without any hesitation, Shawn reattached his lips to yours as you felt a magnetic pull bring you closer to him.

His calloused fingertips were hot on your bare skin as they danced around.

Just as you lowered your body to grind against his, a loud single knock, followed by a Shawn, caused both of your heads to snap toward the door. Shawn practically threw you off him as he looked for your shirt––for anything––to cover up your exposed chest.

You were leaning back against the arm rest of the couch, trying to calm down your erratic breathing, as you watched Shawn’s eyes widened as the door handle rattled. It looked as if Shawn threw every ounce of common sense out the window as he threw a pillow that hit you in the face.

You clutched the pillow in your hands as you briefly looked down at it, and then back to Shawn, realizing what he wanted you to do with it, “I’m not––“

“Use it, Y/n––“

“Shawn!”

Your harsh whispers were cut off when Dane walked carelessly into the room. The pillow was still limp in your hands; in shock that Dane came into the room with little announcement. Shawn took notice of your chest still out for Dane to see––if he hadn’t seen it already––and with panicked eyes, he flung himself from the other end of the couch to lay on top of you.

You let out an oof as you felt Shawn’s full body weight collapsed on you; the pillow nestled between your stomachs. You had never complained about Shawn being on top of you, but with this position, the arm of the couch was digging into your back and you and causing you to cramp up.

“Shawn,” Dane said his name again as he continued to walk further into the dressing room, “Are you gonna come and warm up? The game starts in–––Oh.”

You tried to peak over Shawn’s shoulder to gauge Dane’s facial expression, but with the way Shawn was pressed up against you, you couldn’t see him. But from the suggestive tone of his voice, you knew that teasing would be soon to follow.

“Am I interrupting something?”

You squeaked out a not at all as Shawn let out a frustrated of fucking course.

You smacked Shawn’s back with his hand at his crude response.

Dane let out a bellowing laugh, “How ya feeling down there, y/n?” You heard his footsteps come closer and your hands clutched the fabric of Shawn’s shirt out of nervousness, “This is pure gold. Andrew has said that he’s never caught you two in the middle of doing something––I, of course, called total bull on that––and I’m so happy to have caught you two.”

“Dane,” You said as you drug out the vowels in his name.

His laughter rumbled through the room. Even though Dane was the person you were closest to on Shawn’s crew, it was still embarrassing to have been caught in a compromising position with your boyfriend. It felt like you were fifteen.

“I’ll be out in ten,” Shawn answered.

Dane’s laughter died down as you heard his footsteps carry themselves back over towards the door, “I’ll put a timer on, Oh, and Y/n––“ you could hear the smirk on his lips, “––I hope to see you on the sidelines, preferably with a shirt on.”

You dug your head into the crook of Shawn’s neck as you felt all of the blood rush to your face. Your hands were still tightly hanging onto the back of Shawn’s shirt for the next few minutes as he stayed in his position on top of you.

“At least it was Dane?”

At his weak attempt of lightening up the mood, you pushed him off and sat up on the couch, “At least?! He saw me without a shirt!”

“I covered you up!”

You shot a glare toward his direction as you got up from the couch and searched for your shirt. It was crumpled up in a ball on the coffee table. You let out a deep sigh, of course your shirt was thrown somewhere that was obvious. Lifting the shirt up by the sleeves, you frowned as you examined all of the wrinkles.

“Here,” Shawn was already walking over to his duffle bag, “You can wear my shirt––“

“I’m––No,” you answered him as you tugged on your shirt, “I’d rather wear a wrinkled shirt than have Dane point out that I’m in one of your shirts.”

“But––“

“Let’s go,” you were a few steps away from the door as you held your hand out for him to take, “I want to pick a snack from the vending machine before the game.”

Shawn let out a sigh and grumbled something about how he loved seeing you in his shirts, but he still took ahold of your hand. The two of you walked out the dressing room as you pressed a kiss to his cheek. A small smile overtook his face.

The two of you walked toward the backstage part of the arena where the vending machines were held. You brought up a finger to your chin, debating on what snack to pick, as the vending machine lights illuminated your face. Once you decided what snack you wanted, you pressed a knuckle to the letter L and then to the number 3.

You watched with excitement as the circular black rings slowly pushed your snack forward. And then as it was finally tipping over the edge, you smiled as the bag fell with a soft fmmp as it reached the bottom of the machine. You let go of Shawn’s hand to retrieve your snack from under the plastic black flap.

“Cheetos?” Shawn questioned just as you stood up and opened up the bag with a loud crinkle, “If I’d known you’d want Cheetos, I could’ve like added it to my rider and it would’ve been in the dressing room for you.”

You shrugged your shoulders as you held out the bag, offering your Cheetos to Shawn. He dug his hand into the bag and took one out. He popped it into his mouth with a loud crunch as he closed his eyes, “God, it’s been forever since I’ve had these.”

Shawn led you out of the vending machine room as you continued to share your Cheetos with him, “I remember having them as a snack after soccer games,” you shared, “You know how parents would sign up to bring snacks after games? I feel like every parent would buy that big value size pack of like twenty-four different chips, and I––“ you licked your fingers that were covered in Cheeto dust, “––Always picked Cheetos.”

Shawn tilted his head back in laughter as he pushed open a back exit door and held it open for you to walk through, “I was always more of a Fritos guy.”

You scrunched your nose up, “Fritos?”

“They’re good!” Shawn defended himself as the people from the tour crew, who were playing in the soccer match, came into view, “Don’t knock ‘em ’til you try ‘em.”

You scoffed, “There are literally dozens of other chips you could chose from,” you stopped walking when you and Shawn came up to the sideline his ‘team’ was on, “Doritos, Lays, Chex Mix––“

“Hey, Y/n!” Your eyes widened as you heard Dane yell out your name. His feet hit the pavement hard as he ran over, “Glad you could make it––fully clothed.” While he was talking in a calm soft voice, not raising it to cause suspicion, it still made Andrew’s head perk up.

“You caught them?” Andrew looked up from tying his shoes at Dane.

You blushed as Shawn’s manager looked between the two of you and then back at Dane as you tried to defend yourself, “He didn’t really see anything––“

“See any of what?” Brian had jogged over and started to stretch, lunging on his left leg as he reached down to touch the toes on his right foot.

“It was nothing––“

“Just Shawn and Y/n going at it in the dressing room,” Dane shrugged as he gave you a wink, “Boyfriend, girlfriend stuff.”

Andrew’s shoulders slumped as he reached over to his bag and pulled out a ten dollar bill and handed it to Dane, “I’m his day-to-day,” Andrew grumbled, “Can’t believe it was the merchandise manager who caught you two first.”

You stood there dumfounded, hand frozen in your bag of Cheetos. You and Shawn kept your relationship as private as possible––private from the media, your social medias, and made sure to keep your PDA to a minimum when you visited him on tour. So it was a bit comical to see how intrigued Andrew and Dane were in catching the two of you.

Brian straightened up from his stretching and held a fist out toward Shawn, “Sweet, man––Just like Denver last tour?”

Your bag of Cheetos dropped to the ground, the little you had left of your snack spilled, covering the pavement with an artificial orange color. You felt the heat of your oncoming blush rise up to your cheeks. With Brian being Shawn’s best friend, you had an inclination that he knew some––if not most––of your sexual relationship with Shawn. Which you were fine with because you told your best friend almost everything.

But it was always a topic you never discussed between the two of you. It was mutually understood that while you talked to your best friend’s about each other, you would never talk about it directly to each other. Shawn talked to Brian about you; You talked to your best friend about Shawn. But never would your best friend bring it up in front of Shawn. And never––did you think––Brian would bring it up in front of you.

The same thought seemed to be stirring within Shawn’s head as his eyes widened for a second. He was only shocked for a split second more before he let out a chuckle and returned the fist bump to Brian and chose to ignore his comment about what happened Denver, “Thanks, man.”

“Thanks man?!” You turned to face Shawn who had an amused smirk on his face.

You weren’t mad at the display of masculinity in front of you, in fact, you saw the humor in it, but it was still embarrassing having your boyfriend be congratulated in front of you for hooking up.

The sound of a high pitch whistle echoed off the pavement. With the sound of the start whistle, and players heading toward the makeshift field, it took away any chance you had of laying into Shawn more.

Brian ran away laughing, escaping the choice words you had for him, which just left you with Shawn. You crossed your arms over your chest stubbornly and tore your head away from Shawn as he lifted a finger under your chin to try and get you to look at him.

“Good luck kiss?”

With a playful sigh, you leaned up on your tip toes to press a peck to Shawn’s smile. His eyes were still closed when you pulled away and his smile grew wider, “You love me.”

“Unfortunately,” you said as you couldn’t fight Shawn’s contagious smile, “I love you a lot.”

Shawn let out a laugh as a few people hollered at him to come over, “How unfortunate for me,” he pressed another quick kiss to your lips before he started to walk backwards toward the game that had started without him, “Are you free tonight?”

You leaned your weight on your left leg as you tapped a finger on your cheek, “Hm…I’m watching my boyfriend sing at a little show,” Shawn stopped walking backwards, his full attention on you, and showed all his teeth in a grin, “But I’m free after.”

“It’s a date,” Shawn said before he spun around and ran toward the soccer ball.

#woot!!#some fluff #and a bit of teasing #:)#all in good fun #come tell me what you thought of it!! I love hearing what you all have to say!!#your messages make my day/night/mid-afternoon/whole year #🤩 🥰#thanks a million!!!#(the next piece of writing I post will be ANGST)#((or it'll be the prologue to my coffee shop au))#(((the angst needs some MAJOR editing so I think the prologue will come first lmao)))#which one would you want to read first?? okay im rambling I'll stop #enjoy!#Shawn mendes #Shawn Peter raul mendes #Shawn Mendes writing #Shawn Mendes writings #Shawn Mendes writer #Shawn Mendes fanfiction #Shawn Mendes fan fiction #Shawn Mendes ff #Shawn Mendes fic #Shawn Mendes blurb #Shawn Mendes fluff #Shawn Mendes x y/n #Shawn Mendes x you #Shawn Mendes reader insert #Shawn Mendes oneshot #Shawn Mendes one shot

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dasphinxone · 4 years

Note

I hope I'm not too late and asks are still open. But I wondered if you had any more thoughts/ideas/scenes/etc for the Mummy au? I totally love your contribution of Booker and Nicky as brothers and what that dynamic would look like. BAMF!Nile and Librarian!Booker give me life. Thanks for all your wonderful au ideas and fic!

Oh man, you are NEVER too late for Asks and they are currently open! In the meantime, allow me to ramble about my PURE AND UTTER LOVE FOR THE FRASER/WEISZ VERSIONS OF “THE MUMMY.”

You see, I had a mad HUGE crush on Brendan Fraser when the first one came out. Except it turned out that the entire damn cast was so beautiful (OMG, the Oded Fehr hotness. So glad they brought him back for the sequel). They all have wonderful chemistry too, and rather similar to the group dynamics of The Old Guard.

On top of that, I have always maintained that it’s Evie who is the real protagonist of the movie. Everyone else stays pretty much the same to their characters as when we’re introduced to them. Meanwhile, it’s Evie who goes from librarian to adventuress. She is thrown into all sorts of situations where she can prove to the world that librarians are just as damn smart and necessary as the brawns of Rick, the cunning of her brother Johnathan and the honorable warrior of Ardeth Bay.

It’s also Evie who comes out of the other end of the wild-ass adventure a changed person. It’s even more obvious in the sequel, where she takes a level in badassery. The best part about that? Rick adores her for it and they are clearly in a happy marriage versus the tired trope of married couples being all bitter.

(I pretend the third movie NEVER HAPPENED, you hear me?!)

ANYWAYS, As Evie and Jonathan grew up rich (the museum curator clearly says to Evie that the only reason he puts up with her is that her parents were the largest donors to the museum), I figure Booker can grow up pretty wealthy too.

Sébastien le Livre is an only child who spends his life around his Action and Adventure!French Parents who have moved to Egypt to be archeologists. While they are world famous archeologists? They’re not the best parents. For they drag Sébastien along on their archeological excursions because they don’t know any better. So Sébastien spends all of his childhood time around his parents and their eccentric adult friends. Yes, they should have sent Sébastien to boarding school, like other rich folks of their time. But what kind of boring-ass education is that as compared to going out into the real world for field study?

Sébastien’s field experience makes him brilliant child. Yet it also turns him into a socially awkward little boy. He’s rarely around other kids or attending school since he out on digs with his parents. On top of that, when his parents can’t bring him on digs, they leave him home in their great big house with his nanny, tutor and the servants for company. Since Sébastien doesn’t have kid friends, he’s always taking in stray animals, rescuing birds that fell out of their nests and doing precious sorts of things like that. He also LOVES reading. He’s fluent in French, English, Latin, Greek and conversational Arabic. Oh, and he can also read hieroglyphs with ease.

Again, Sébastien is a weird kid.

When Sébastien is around say, nine or so, he catches seven year-old orphan Nicky in the parlor of his and his parent’s grand house breaking in and trying to steal things. His parents are out of town on yet another dig, so Sébastien’s randomly wandering around the house by himself. Instead of panicking, Sébastien just invites spooked Nicky to kitchen for tea and sandwiches out of the sheer delight of having another child to talk to. Thoroughly used to Sébastien and his soft spot for strays, the kitchen staff sits the two boys in the corner and lets Nicky wolf down whatever he wants. Nicky eventually leaves after Sébastien swears he won’t tell his parents about the stealing. But only if Nicky promises to come back tomorrow to hang out with Booker.

Nicky actually shows up the next day. Mostly due to the promise of food. While he thinks Sébastien is clearly odd, he also realizes he’s just as lonely as he is (after all, street kid orphan Nicky hasn’t survived this long on his own without being able to see people for what they truly are). But whereas Nicky is aggressive with acting out due to his abandonment issues, Sébastien tends to implode on himself due to his own parental abandonment issues. Basically, they balance each other out.

Three weeks later, Sébastien’s parents come back from their latest dig down in Alexandria. They find Sébastien playing with this street kid out on the extensive grounds of their estate. Shocked at seeing their usually quiet and withdrawn son having a blast with this Italian ragamuffin of a child, due to being the impulsive types, Booker’s parents decide to adopt Nicky. So Sébastien gains a new brother. No matter that they’re not related by blood, Nicky is his brother.

Since Sébastien loves to read, he enjoys reading out loud to Nicky (who is nearly illiterate since he’s an orphan who never had formal education before being adopted). While Sébastien and Nicky have their own rooms at their parents’ estate, Nicky will often sneak into Sébastien’s room at night so that his older brother can read to him. Their nanny usually finds the two boys asleep together with a book sitting between them. Sébastien also helps Nicky learn to read far better than their tutor does. Mostly because Sébastien is so patient with his new little brother.

It’s because of this that Nicky comes up with the affectionate nickname of “Booker” for his new big brother.

Booker graduates from boarding school and attends The Sorbonne back in Paris. While he misses Nicky something fierce, everything will work itself out because he’ll be graduating from The Sorbonne at the same time Nicky will be finishing boarding school. That way, they both be archeologists together and follow in their parents’ footsteps. Booker plans to focus on the research side of things from either libraries or teaching. Nicky plans to actually go on digs and bring back things for Booker to study and catalogue.

Booker does eventually get sent off to British style boarding school in Cairo, as is expected of a wealthy child of his class. A couple of years later, Nicky is sent off to the same boarding school.

Nicky's always getting into fights. Mostly due to the other kids bullying him for his accent, heritage and defending Booker against bullies too. The only reason Nicky doesn’t’ get kicked out is because Booker is able to charm the teachers into looking the other way (remember, he was around mostly adults before he started attending school) when it comes to punishing Nicky. Also, their parents donate a ton of money to the school.

Except the Great War breaks out the same year Nicky graduates from boarding school. He signs up with his school chums for “a great adventure,” like all of the other young men of means did in the opening days of the war.

However, Booker refuses to come along. He’s studied history all of his life and intellectually knows how terrible war can be. As far as he’s concerned, the war is stupid. People are going to get themselves killed over all of these royal families of Europe who refuse to apologize to each other over the assassination of Archduke Ferdinand. He’s certainly not throwing his life away to get shot at, thank you very much. Besides, he didn’t grow up with much in the way of friends or camaraderie among the other boys while he was away at school. So he doesn’t feel like he’s going to miss out on anything.

Nicky thinks Booker is a coward who has no appreciation for a right proper great adventure. Booker thinks Nicky is a headstrong fool who doesn’t value the opportunities their parents have given them. They part ways on bad terms.

Booker eventually relents and writes to Nicky whenever he can. However, he never hears from his little brother. The only way he knows Nicky is alive is through their parents, who Nicky constantly writes to in Cairo. At the same time, Booker doesn’t return to Cairo because it would remind him too much of how much he misses his brother. So he throws himself into his work at the Egyptian Antiquities department of the Louvre. He also tries to ignore the raging war moving closer and closer to Paris.

Wars come and go, antiquities do not.

Except Nicky suddenly goes missing during the Battle of Verdun.

Still in Paris, Booker is dealing with his side of suffering through the war as a civilian. He suddenly gets frantic word from his parents (who still live in Cairo) that Nicky is MIA. The panic immediately starts to set in. He regrets that he didn’t do more to communicate with his little brother while he was away at war. To assuage his guilt, he goes down to the war office every single day to find out where the hell Nicky is.

After a few frantic weeks, Nicky turns up alive but injured. As a result, he’s evacuated to a Parisian hospital. Booker takes a sabbatical at the Louvre to attend to his beloved brother there. Nicky almost dies of an infection but pulls through. Too weak to go back to fighting, Nicky is honorably discharged and goes to live with Booker to convalesce.

Nicky’s not the same vivacious, passionate young man he was before the war. He’s the only one of a handful of his unit to survive both death and not losing a limb or having parts of his face blown off. So there’s the survivor’s guilt. He constantly has nightmares about his time on the front and in No Man’s Land where he wakes up screaming. Bouts of rage and grief hit him without warning.

In order to deal with the crushing swirl of ugliness that’s festering within him, Nicky starts spiraling. He starts heavily drinking. He skips meals. He starts hitting up gambling dens and whorehouses that can make your every wish come true in Paris.

Booker has no idea how to cope with it all. So he once again throws himself into his work. He feels disgusted with himself for silently judging his brother’s actions all while he absolutely has no clue how to deal with his own guilt of not being by Nicky’s side during the war. Perhaps it would have been better to have died together than exist in the sea of darkness they are trapped within now.

Within two years, the war is over. Everyone celebrates only to see the rise of the Spanish Flu Pandemic. It ends up killing Booker and Nicky’s parents, who die within days of each other back in Cairo.

Now, Booker and Nicky are alone in the world and with only each other to depend on. Wanting to escape all the pain they’ve seen in Paris, they head back to Cairo to put their parents’ estate in order. Since their parents split their inheritance evenly between them, they’ve inherited a hell of a lot of money. At the same time, money doesn’t fix their psychological problems.

Yet while they both have a difficult time dealing with their parents’ death and each other’s war trauma? It turns over a new milestone for them. For it allows Booker and Nicky to make their peace with each other since they're the only ones left of their family. They vow that they’ll try to go back to their dream of working together as an archeologist team.

Unfortunately, it never happens. Nicky is still dealing with the PTSD and acting out. Booker tries to manage his brother’s psychological issues and balance his work at the Cairo Museum. Problem is, it’s a job he knows he only managed to secure out of pity since their parents were the largest donors to the museum. The nepotism stings and makes Booker feel inadequate. All despite that he's a damn good researcher and brilliant at languages and hieroglyphics.

Booker once again throws himself into his work at the museum. He has no social life, rarely goes out for fun and no relationship lasts for more than a few months at a time. For he’s grieving his parents and the shell of a man Nicky has become. Meanwhile, Nicky drinks, gambles and whores his way through Egypt in between digs with folks no better than grave robbers. But he always comes back home to stay with Booker in the nice house they own together.

Booker is always there for Nicky and vice versa. No matter how hard it gets for both of them to deal with the losses in their lives, they are and will always be brothers to the end.

And then one day, Nicky finds Booker in the Cairo museum after he’s been rejected by the Benbridge Scholars yet again. All after Booker’s ruined the library and knocked over all the bookshelves after he nearly killed himself trying to get off that damn ladder while filing away books.

Nicky reveals to Booker an odd little box that he found on a dig down in Thebes. Turns out the box contains a map to the lost city of Hamunaptra…

#Book of nile #my asks #booker le livre #nicolo of genoa #the mummy au #booker x nile #the great war #sadness #because even in AUs we gotta have that angst #fanfic #fanfiction #the old guard #why are my answers to my asks so damn long tho?

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pradaxstyles · 4 years

Text

Silhouette // hs

In which Harry and Y/N relive their favorite memories before they part.

Word count: 3.7k

Song inspo: Silhouette by Aquilo

okay lovies. buckle up, this one is a bit rough. this is how it works bc it may seem a bit confusing. you have to listen to the song, otherwise it won’t make sense. listen before, during, whichever. there are lyrics throughout which are bold and italicized, these indicate memories. the memory portion is italicized. it is also stated when the memory ends. also!! please pay attention to the small details bc they come back in the end! i hope that helps. if anyone has any questions my inbox is open!!!

i apologize for any typos.

as always, feedback is greatly appreciated!

enjoy!!!!! xoxoxo

----

The bustling city of New York seemed silent, almost abandoned. It was 2 am and Harry was wandering the bright streets. He pressed his back against the cool stone of a building and closed his eyes. The recurring thoughts came into his mind like waves.

He had gotten into a fight with his long term girlfriend, Y/N. He couldn’t even remember what the fight was about. It was them against the world, at least that’s what he thought.

She was a wild soul, always needing to do something. For a while, Harry was that something. He provided the adventure and love she desired. Wherever he went, Harry took her with him, it was their thing. Y/N traveled the world before meeting Harry in Paris. Things escalated quickly and she moved in with him. She would talk about the things she saw and experienced while in Europe. Although she felt like she was on top of the world with Harry, she had an itch to go back. She needed to go back.

Y/N tried explaining to Harry that he didn’t understand and that he never would. He was thrown off by that statement. He spent the last two and a half years with her. He had traveled before meeting her, too. How could she say something like that? It was beyond him.

So here he is, her words echoing in his mind. He pulled himself off the wall and began walking to a nearby club. He needed the endless thoughts of Y/N gone from his mind for the night, he couldn’t handle it.

He pushed the heavy doors open and immediately went to the bar.

“Can I get a whiskey neat?” He yelled over the blasting music. The bartender nodded and placed a glass on the table. Harry brought it to his lips and let the golden liquid burn his throat.

He sighed and swiveled his chair so he was facing the large group of people sitting at small booths and on the dance floor. People were chatting away, laughing, dancing and having fun. Harry was damned if he wasn’t going to let loose tonight. He slammed the drink on the counter and moved toward the crowd.

Bright neon lights illuminated the room in different hues. Blues and purples lit up his face as he wandered through the pack of bodies. He was looking for someone to dance with, someone he could get lost in.

As he continued to make his way to the middle of the group, someone turned around and he was met with the one person he didn’t want to see, Y/N, his Y/N.

He stood there wide eyed, not knowing how to react. Y/N’s face fell at the sight of Harry and a wave of guilt washed over her.

In an instant, everything came back to him.

“Let’s go out in flames so everyone knows who we are”

Harry and Y/N had the love others only dreamed of having. They were the perfect fit, the match made in heaven. Harry remembers the moment he first laid eyes on Y/N.

He was in Paris for some music business with Mitch. On their last night, Harry suggested that they have dinner by the Eiffel Tower, so they did. They packed a small picnic and found a spot on the lawn to enjoy the time they had left in the beautiful city.

Harry was reaching for his drink when he glanced up and noticed a girl already looking at him. He choked on his sandwich and Mitch giggled.

“You good, H?” He followed Harry's gaze and realized not what but who he was looking at. “Go get her number. Don't miss your chance, Harry.”

Mitch was right. Harry wasn't sure if he was ever going to see her again, they met in Paris of all places. He got up from his position on the blanket and walked toward the girl. When she realized he was walking towards her, she quickly looked away and began talking to her friend.

Harry was nervous to say the least. He swore he had never seen someone so beautiful.

He cleared his throat, “H-hey. My name’s Harry.” She glanced up and smiled, “I’m Y/N.”

His heart fluttered, she was perfect.

“So uh, it’s my last day here and I was wondering if I could get your number?”

Mitch snorted at his friend's nervousness, Harry was usually the calm and collected one.

Y/N’s eyes widened and her cheeks flushed red. “Y-yeah of course. Here, let me-” She pulled out a piece of paper from her bag and scribbled her number down. Handing it to Harry she smiled and said, “Call me.”

Harry was beaming, “I will.”

He turned around quickly and thanked God he got her number. Mitch looked at Harry with the goofiest smile on his face knowing he got the girls number.

“What’s her name?” Mitch asked him. “Y/N. She’s literally perfect.” Harry couldn’t wipe the smile from his face, he felt like he was on cloud nine. “I’m glad you went for it, H. You need someone, bro. I hope she’s the one.” Mitch was being genuine. He felt like his best friend needed someone in his life to break him from his shell, someone he could get lost in.

Harry sat down and finished his sandwich. “We should get going. We still have to pack and our flight is early tomorrow.” Mitch nodded in agreement and put their things back into the picnic basket.

The sun had set by now, leaving the city beautifully lit. The Eiffel Tower was shining and sparkling in the warm summer air. There was something about being in different parts of the world that made Harry feel at ease. “I don’t want to leave.”

Mitch glanced over at Harry and noticed the look of calmness that his features held. “I don’t want to leave either, it’s so peaceful being away and not having to worry about anything.” Harry quietly nodded. He tried to permanently etch the view into his mind, he didn’t want to forget a single thing.

They began the walk back to the hotel and a feeling of sadness rushed over him. “Mitch, we have to come back soon, okay? I absolutely love it here.” “We will H, don’t worry.”

He looked back and took one last look at the Eiffel Tower. His eyes wandered over to where Y/N was and he smiled. She was still sitting on the grass laughing with her friend, sipping wine. It was like she felt his gaze. She glanced over her shoulder and met his stare. She shot him a small smile and waved. He waved back and swore he felt butterflies erupt in his stomach.

They got back to the hotel and packed their belongings.

Mitch walked into Harry’s room and mumbled tiredly, “I’m going to sleep. Please don’t be late getting up, we have an early flight.” With that, he walked out of the room and left Harry to his thoughts.

He glanced at his phone and the time read 12:45 am. He sighed and reached into his pocket for Y/N’s number. He typed it into his phone and debated texting her.

Fuck it.

“Hey Y/N, it’s Harry.” His thumb hovered over the send button until he decided that he had nothing to lose. He was going back to LA and was probably never going to see her again.

While lost in his thoughts, the phone buzzed in his hand. He immediately brought it to his face and saw her name pop up on the screen.

They talked for hours, the early flight slipped Harry’s mind completely. They talked about everything under the sun. She felt the same spark Harry did. She questioned if they would ever be anything. But what if they don’t work out? She had no clue where he was from.

His response ignited a fire she had never felt before, for anyone.

“Let’s just try and see what happens. If it doesn’t work, let’s go out in flames so everyone knows who we are.”

--end of memory--

“Harry? What are you doing here?” Y/N questioned. In all the time they’ve spent together, Harry had never touched a drop of alcohol. He stood there staring at her. The girl he fell in love with was no longer there.

“I came to forget about you tonight, Y/N. Your voice is all I can hear in my head and I need it to stop.” He said coldly. She had a blank look on her face, she was at a loss for words.

“You came to forget about me? After we had a small fight? So that’s it, we’re done?” Y/N reached for his arm but he took a step back.

“You don’t get to touch me, not anymore.” He tried to control his tone but he couldn’t, all the emotions he was feeling poured out. “I don’t know if we’re done, I just need a breather right now.”

Y/N kept her gaze on Harry trying to read his expression. The one person she used to see right through has put up so many walls, she doesn’t even recognize him anymore.

“’Cause these city walls never knew that we’d make it this far”

Harry and Y/N were on their usual late night dates in the heart of New York. They would park the car somewhere they’d forget and explore the city, even though they did that almost everyday. Y/N claimed there was something new to be found, something they hadn’t seen yet, so they went. They went and explored every nook and cranny the city had to offer.

“Harry! Look how cute this coffee shop is! Or there’s a book store down the street!”

They were on 5th Avenue, the most popular street in the city. The sun was just starting to set as warm colors of orange and yellow painted the sky. The intricate windows of the tall buildings around them reflected the sun almost perfectly.

"Do you wanna grab dinner at Claudette? You know it’s your favorite French restaurant, it’ll be like when we first met in front of the Eiffel Tower.” Y/N glanced up lovingly at Harry, “I would love to. Do you remember how nervous you were when you first came over? It was the cutest thing I’ve ever seen.” Harry’s cheeks burned a bright shade of pink and he mumbled, “It wasn’t cute, Y/N. I was so nervous and I never get nervous. That’s how you know I wanted things to work, and thank goodness they did.”

Harry laced his fingers with Y/N’s and led her through the glass doors of the restaurant. “Order whatever you want, my love. My treat.” Y/N’s eyes widened, “H, let me pay for at least some of it.” He narrowed his eyes at her and spoke, “It’s my treat, angel. Plus you can repay me at home.” He threw a wink her way and they ordered their meals.

A glass too many of some expensive champagne later and the two lovers were roaming the lit streets. The big clock posted at the corner read 3:27 am. Harry had a meeting and Y/N had an early shift but neither of them cared. They lived for the nights like these. Late night adventures in their favorite city, at least one of their favorites. Nothing could top Paris in Harry’s eyes.

People had their doubts when these two first got together. Everyone would say they were moving too fast, you can’t love someone you met 8 months ago. They said there was no way they were going to last.

Harry felt like he had known Y/N his entire life. It was almost like she was his other half, he felt complete with her by his side. Everyone’s opinions mattered nothing to him. The only thing that mattered was the girl with the brightest smile and the kindest eyes, his Y/N.

They stumbled upon a small band playing a random tune. Why they were playing at this time of night? The answer was unknown, but they didn’t care. Harry grabbed Y/N’s hand and began spinning her around. Her giggles filled the summer air and Harry smiled.

“May I have this dance, madame?” She looked at him with those sparkly eyes he absolutely adored. “Of course you may.” She wrapped her arms around his neck and his went to the small of her back. Even though the song was more upbeat, they slow danced like they were the only ones there.

He tugged her toward Central Park and she ran in front of him. Warm wind whipped through their hair as they raced to nowhere in particular. Y/N sat down at a park bench in front of a fountain trying to catch her breath. She waited for Harry to sit next to her before whispering, “I love you, Harry.” Y/N admired the way his tan skin shined in the moonlight. The way his eyelashes laid against his skin when he closed his eyes, or the way his nose scrunched when he laughed a little too hard. She loved everything about him.

“I love you more. I adore you, baby.” Harry wrapped his arms around her and she leaned her head against his shoulder.

“You know how everyone always doubted us? Even these city walls never knew that we’d make it this far.” She thought out loud. Harry craned his neck to look at her, a confused expression painted his features. “Yeah people doubted us but who cares. I mean look at us now. It’s us against the world, we’re unstoppable. The world is at our finger tips.” His fingers were combing through her hair now.

“Us against the world, I like the sound of that. Will it always be us?” She took a deep breath and closed her eyes.

“I promise, angel. Us against the world.”

--end of memory--

Harry and Y/N were stood in the middle of the pulsing club looking at each other. Neither of them knew what to do. Harry’s mind was screaming at him to turn around and walk away, but another part yelled to stay. Y/N knew she had to do something in order to save her relationship with the one boy she’s ever loved. She didn’t mean what she said during their argument but it slipped through her lips.

“Harry, you have to let me explain. I didn’t mean wha-” He cut her off quickly, “You have 5 minutes to explain. Either I accept your apology or I leave. I can’t promise anything.”

She held his hard gaze before reaching for his hand. Harry thought of pulling away, but he let her wrap her small fingers around his. The feeling of her hand in his felt foreign, almost wrong. But he ignored it and let her lead the way to a secluded booth away from the madness. They sat across from each other and Y/N hesitated to speak, unsure of her words.

“Harry, you have to believe me when I say that I didn’t mean what I said. You know me. I blew up and said some things I didn’t mean, and I can admit that. How many people can admit it when they’re wrong? In my experience, it hasn’t been very many.” She sat quietly waiting for his answer.

The faint sounds of music could be heard now that they both sat in silence.

A thousand things were running through Harry’s mind. He tried to decipher and organize his feelings but he couldn’t think straight. He wasn’t sure if what she was saying was true. Part of him was always torn when it came to deciding on situations like this.

“If you said it, there must’ve been a reason as to why. Can you think of any reason at all?” He asked her harshly. Y/N was taken aback by his tone. Harry never spoke to her like that. She bit her lip to stop the tears that were threatening to spill, desperately trying to think of something to say to bring her lover home.

“We’ve become echoes, but echoes are fading away”

Harry and Y/N were on their annual trip to the Grand Canyon. They started this trip during their first year of dating when Harry suggested it. Of course Y/N was down for it, she was always up for an adventure. Before they knew it, they were hiking across the canyon.

Y/N brought her disposable camera to capture every moment. Ever since they went on their late night adventure in New York, she took the camera every where they went.

“Wait Harry,” He stopped and turned to her. He was all sweaty and his cheeks were flushed, but he still looked stunning to her. “What’s up babe? We’re almost to the top.” He was worried she wasn’t feeling well or that something was wrong. “Can you stand right there,” She said pointing to a spot with a gorgeous view of the canyon. “I wanna take a picture.” Harry couldn’t resist when Y/N shot him her brightest smile. He obliged and stood there, smiling like a goof ball just to hear his girl laugh. “Okay I got it” She announced.

They continued up the trail and along the way they took pictures of each other, together, and of nature’s beautiful creation.

When they reached the top of the canyon, they were speechless. Y/N had never seen anything like it. She wandered ahead of Harry and sat down to admire her surroundings. While she sat, he stayed in his spot and felt his insides get tingly. It was one of those cliche moments of ‘she thought the view was pretty but she was prettier’ moments, but it was true.

Y/N drove Harry absolutely mad in a way that he loved. His girl had so much to offer the world and it blew his mind. He felt undeserving of her, but he knew that she was the one for him. She kept his mind at ease and his world at peace.

He moved to sit next to her and she giggled. “Are you okay?” She glanced at him with a look of curiosity in her eyes. “I’m more than okay. Do you wanna try something?” He looked at her expectantly and she nodded. “Come here.”

He lifted her from the spot on the rock and he led her more towards the edge so they could see the canyon in its entirety. “On the count of three, I want you to scream.”

She looked at him weirdly, “You want me to what?”

“One”

“Harry, I’m not screaming.”

He giggled, “Two”

“Harry what eve-”

“Three!”

Harry screamed like he never had before. Y/N could not believe she was dating someone like him, someone so pure.

His voice echoed all throughout the canyon and he was amazed. “Babe come on, that was so cool.” He looked at her pleadingly. “Fine fine, I’ll do it.”

Her scream turned into a fit of giggles as it echoed. “Wait, let’s get a picture right here.” He grinned and pulled her into his side. Y/N handed Harry the camera and he snapped the picture.

She moved to sit on the edge with her legs dangling off and she sighed. “I feel like I’m on top of the world when I’m with you.”

He could have melted on the spot, he was so in love with this girl. He joined her and laid his head on her shoulder.

She took a deep breath, “You know how echoes are made by the sound waves reflecting back?” He hummed quietly and waited for her to continue. “It’s almost like we’ve become echoes. I feel like we reflect one another and I love that. But you know echoes fade away. Do you think we’ll fade like echoes?”

Harry sat there silently, he didn’t know what to think. “I don’t think so. We’ve got that love that others wish they had.” Y/N giggled at his reassurance.

“I hope you’re right, bub. There’s still so many places I wanna go with you, Paris included.” She said. “Of course we’re going to go back, I need to take you on a date where we first met.”

“I love you, Harry”

“I love you more, angel. More than you’ll ever know.”

--end of memory--

Harry was waiting for Y/N to say something, anything. He wanted to believe her but he was torn. “Y/N, I don’t know what to say.”

She didn’t know what to say either, they were both at a loss for words.

Y/N’s mind was riddled with the thought that Harry didn’t love her anymore, but what she didn’t know was that it was a build up of things that got them to where they are now.

She had no clue Harry loved her so much, it hurt him to the point that he couldn’t live without her.

“So let's dance like two shadows, burning out a glory day” (this last part is not italicized, therefore it is in present time)

Harry sighed and took her smaller hand in his and led her back into the mosh of sweaty bodies. A random upbeat song was blasting through the speakers as the flashing lights painted the room different colors. Harry looked back at Y/N and hues of yellow and orange flashed on her cheeks, just like during their adventures in New York. The loud music had a slight echo, like their antics at the top of the Grand Canyon.

Everything they experienced had brought them to this exact moment.

Harry wrapped his arms around her waist and Y/N’s went to his neck. They slow danced like they were the only ones left in the world. It almost felt right, almost.

The match made in heaven had become silhouettes, echoes if you will. All their late night adventures and the beautiful memories that were made came back to the pair as they danced together.

Y/N’s eyes welled with salty tears as she realized this was the last time she would see Harry, this was their end, they had gone out in flames.

Harry’s grip on her waist tightened as he fought back tears. He meant every goddamn word he ever said to her. He was so in love with Y/N, but had to let her go.

They spent their last few moments together in each other’s embrace, swaying to the music, dancing like two shadows burning out a glory day.

#this one was rough #vvvv sad but so good #i loved it #please lmk your thoughts!!!#harry styles #harry x reader #harry styles x y/n #i loved writing this #harry x y/n #aae writes #i hope you guys love it #the song is also sooo good holy shit #harry styles imagine

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blueboxesandtrafficcones · 3 years

Text

The Christmas Tree Surprise

Day 12 of 2020′s 31 Days of Ficmas. Thanks to @doctorroseprompts for the list!

Prompt: Tree

Rating: G

Pairing: 12xRose AU; part of the Queen of Hearts universe

Summary: Ian surprises Rose with a Christmas tree for them to decorate that’s just for their eyes - but it’s the decorations he has ready that makes her melt.

2020 31 Days of Ficmas masterlist | Queen of Hearts masterlist

AO3

---

“Goodbye!” With a final wave to the schoolchildren gathered on the steps, Rose stepped into the town car, smiling and blowing kisses out the window as they pulled away from Arcadia Grammar School, waiting until they were out of sight to sink back into the leather. “I loved that.”

“I’m glad, ma’am,” her private secretary, Jo, said warmly. “And they loved you, of course. I suspect I know what they’ll go home telling their parents about at supper tonight.”

Rose smiled at the idea. “I hope so- that they enjoyed it, I mean. I’m just glad I was able to read the book without any mistakes. That’s my definition of a successful engagement, at least!” It was only in the last few weeks she’d graduated to doing solo events, and though terribly stressful, she was proud of how they’d gone – no incidents yet, though a few near misses. Most importantly to her, though, she hadn’t walked out of any yet, nor burst into tears. High standards you’ve got for yourself, Rose Tyler. “So, what’s next?”

Jo consulted her iPad, scrolling for only a moment. “The King has blocked off the next two hours of your schedule. No description was given, only to go directly to your suite – he’ll meet you there.”

“That’s odd.” Rose frowned, biting her lip as she thought. “Gosh, I’m not in trouble for anything, am I?”

“I doubt it,” Jo dismissed out of hand. “It’s the first of December – if I know him, you’ll be drowning in tinsel the moment you walk through the door. Decorating the Palace may be your responsibility, but he’ll handle your suite. Just you wait and see. I’m sure it’s fine.”

Rose chewed on that the rest of the drive back, hoping the other woman was right – not that she really doubted her, as she hadn’t been steered wrong yet, but a not-so-small part of her heart was convinced any moment they’d decide she wasn’t learning quickly enough, or performing well enough as Queen, and send her home with only the things she’d arrived with.

The Palace was bustling as they pulled up, the grounds crew decorating for the holiday season and transforming the normally-magical (to Rose) Palace into a winter wonderland. Fresh garland was being hung over every doorway and window frame on every level, complete with red, gold, and silver ornaments nestled amongst the sprigs.

“It’s beautiful,” Rose breathed as they entered, making Jo laugh. The page stationed just inside the door took her coat, and she headed up the stairs towards their suite of rooms making mental notes on the needed decorations; work hadn’t started indoors quite yet, as she was still pouring over pictures of previous years to get an idea of how it should look.

At the top of the stairs Jo peeled off towards her own office, and Rose traversed the last few meters to her door alone. Smiling at the guard who let her through, she was nearly overpowered by the scent of fir. Coughing slightly, she followed her nose to the end of the hall where their bedroom door was cracked open; pushing inside, she found her husband watching with his arms crossed as two teenaged pages wrapped lights around a tree.

Not just a tree- a gigantic tree. A good three or four meters high it stretched towards the ceiling, so straight she was certain supports were in use. It was terribly wide, though their bedroom was so large in and of itself that it felt perfectly at size. Blimey. Row after row of unlit lights wound from the top down, the sweaty pages finishing the last of it with relieved sighs.

“Right, let’s light her up, see how it looks,” Ian said.

One page went around the back towards the outlet while the other turned to face Ian; catching sight of Rose, his eyes widened, and he bowed to her. “Your Majesty.”

“Hi, Sam,” Rose said faintly, stepping up to Ian’s side. “Hey, you. What on Earth is this?”

“It’s our Christmas tree,” her husband grinned, kissing her hello. “Don’t worry, we’ll be decorating it together, but I’ve learned that there can be certain perks to this job, and getting someone else to do the bits I can’t stand is part of that. In this case, stringing lights on a tree.”

“Happy to do so, Sir,” Sam assured him as the lights flicked on, Josh stepping out from behind the tree and bowing to her as well. “What do you think?”

Arm in arm Rose and Ian stared at the tree; knowing he was probably examining it from a practical viewpoint, she just took in the beauty and the wonder – she’d never had a Christmas tree in her bedroom before, and certainly not with half a dozen others expected to be sprinkled throughout the house. Not that the 170-room palace she now called home counted as a house. Is this really my life?

“Rose? What do you think?”

“It’s perfect,” she said firmly. “Just as it is. Thank you, Sam, and Josh. Lovely job.”

Recognizing the dismissal for what it was both young men bowed, murmured, “Your Majesty”, and backed out of the room, shutting the door behind them and leaving Rose and Ian alone.

“Hello again,” he greeted her, turning to face her and wrapping his arms around her waist, drawing her close. “How’d it go at the school?”

She reached up to kiss him, just because she could, before leading him over to their sofa and curling up next to each other as she gushed. “Oh, it was wonderful! They were all so bright, and kind. I read the story, answered a few questions and asked some of my own, and they sang a Christmas carol – “We Wish You a Merry Christmas”, if you must know. It couldn’t have gone better.”

“I’m so glad to hear that.” His eyes crinkled, as he kissed her knuckles. “I was hoping it would. I know how important it is to you.”

Rose just smiled, glancing back over her shoulder towards the tree now dominating their living space. “Thanks. What’s the plan here, then?”

“When you’re ready, I thought we’d decorate it together. More of a homemade style, if you’re interested. Everything out there,” he gestured towards the doors, “will be prim and polished and befitting a royal Palace, but in here, I want it to be just a normal married couple celebrating their first Christmas together.”

“Normal, right,” she teased, elbowing him. “In our one hundred-plus square meter bedroom, with five-meter high ceilings and an army of staff. Not to mention real, actual, literal crown jewels. Not just a euphemism!”

Ian rolled his eyes in a good-natured way. “Decorations are over there, if you want to start.”

“Mhmm, not quite yet. Tell me about the tree – where did you find it?”

“Find it?” His tone was somewhat bewildered. “Didn’t anyone tell you- clearly not. No, I own some acreage in Germany, all of which is forest. Clearly we’ve had it zoned for cutting down Christmas trees, and it supplies the Palace and Arcadia’s Town Square with trees every year – sustainably, of course.”

Jaw dropping slightly, Rose wondered if it would ever cease to amaze her at how casually he could mention property and possessions – the land in France, where the family vineyard and winery stood, financing some of their royal lifestyle; a ski chalet in the Swiss Alps just over the border from Gallifrey; a “cottage” on Lake Como; and now this. “How international of you,” she managed, making him laugh.

“It’s a royalty thing,” Ian grinned. “Pretty much everything’s been in the family for centuries, at this point – especially land. Most of it’s dowries from various queens marrying in, back when Europe was littered with royal families. I think the most recent addition was the purchase of a flat in Paris in the Twenties. My great-grandmother was from Lyon, and met my great-grandfather by happenstance at the vineyard. As a wedding present he got her the flat, and they’d go up for weeks at a time.” He coughed. “It wasn’t the best investment in hindsight, but it’s still there and ours, though I don’t think anyone’s been since my parents honeymooned there. But we can visit at some point, if you like.”

“Not if it’s a problem, but yeah, I’d love that.” A glance at the tree refocused her. “Tell me more about the trees, though.”

“The parcel of land came into the family as part of a dowry, as I said, of a Württemberg princess, back when the area was a Duchy in the Holy Roman Empire. Over time, parts were sold off until just a dozen or so acres remained. The team that manages the site has been doing so for, oh, two hundred years, so they have it down to a science. Any excess trees that would be too big after another year of growth are sold – mostly to local governments or other high-ceilinged buildings. It’s not necessarily a moneymaker, but the sales bring in enough to keep everything operating, which is honestly all I care about.”

“It sounds wonderful,” Rose said truthfully. “Have you ever been up to see it?”

His brows furrowed in thought. “As a child, but not recently. I think Donna took the twins up two years ago to pick one out for Lungbarrow House. If you like, we can go up next year.”

“I’d like that.”

They fell silent then, admiring the lights strung on the tree. It was nearly hypnotizing, Ian’s steady heartbeat beneath her ear, his warm arms around her, the twinkling lights blinking in and out, all of it working together to lull her to sleep.

And when she slept, she dreamed of wandering through a forest, Ian’s hand in hers, a small child running ahead shrieking with joy.

It wasn’t until after dinner they had the opportunity to actually decorate. While Ian started an instrumental Christmas playlist, Rose opened the first storage container full of decorations – and froze.

“Surprise.” Her husband’s chuckle behind her made Rose spin, eyes wide.

“You- My- How?” Speechless, she gestured to the tub, full of her childhood ornaments.

Looking inordinately pleased with himself, he reached in and pulled out the top ornament- clearly school-made, it featured a four-year-old Rose and a toothy grin. “I called your mum a few weeks ago, and asked her if she had any ornaments you might want put on our tree. She shipped them out, and they arrived yesterday. Plus, we brought everything you had in your flat- it’s all combined in this container.” His smile faltered. “I hope that’s all right- that I didn’t overstep. I was very clear I was only asking for things she didn’t mind parting with.”

Overwhelmed, Rose threw her arms around his neck, hugging him tight. “Thank you.”

“Of course.” His arms went easily around her waist. “This is your home now, and I want it to feel that way. Over time we’ll build up our own supply of sentimental ornaments, but our individual childhood ones seemed a good start.”

“It is. I also want to set our own traditions, though. But you better have similar ones – I don’t want my baby pictures to be the only ones on there!”

Ian laughed. “They won’t be,” he reassured her. “I have plenty handmade, awkward picture ornaments as well, and they’re sitting in that box there,” he pointed to the one beneath her own. “Now, shall we start?” He handed over the one he’d originally picked up. “I confess to having rifled through them somewhat, and this was one of my favorites. I think it should be first on the tree- would you like the honors?”

“Together.”

Hand in hand they stepped up the tree, and by mutual, silent agreement, slid it onto a branch front and center.

“Perfect.”

And it was.

#bbatcfic #doctorroseprompts #31 Days of Ficmas #31 Days of Ficmas 2020 #ficandchips #Doctor Who #12xRose #Twelfth Doctor #Rose Tyler #AU #Queen of Hearts #royalty AU #The Christmas Tree Surprise

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docholligay · 4 years

Note

Pharah/Mercy!

This is really, largely, about a lot of what Pharah and Mercy see in each other, and what makes them so perfect for each other, and how that has to do so much with everything that came before int heir lives. Anyway I really love them. 2,200 words! I hope you enjoy

Ordinary, Routine, Typical

Pharah and Mercy were boring.

Every Friday night, they had a quiet dinner together before Mercy headed off to service. Every Sunday morning, Pharah brought Mercy coffee and a pastry and they sat in bed reading the newspaper or a journal or some book they had picked up, commenting one to the other from time to time on a point of interest. Every other Sunday night, they went to Winston’s for a family dinner, and, on the third Saturday night of every month, they went out on a date, nearly always the little Italian place, with the corner table, and Pharah always got the bolognese, and Mercy rarely strayed from the alfredo, and the waitress now brought the bottle of rose from the middle of the menu as soon as they sat down.

Their life was a series of mile markers on the highway, each as likely as the next, only the odd exit for snacks and a pee break in the form of a trip to Spain, a battle in Paris, the unspeakable daring of a new restaurant.

Every Valentine’s Day, Pharah brought her the same bouquet, with a card written of her virtues, and a small box of Swiss chocolate, with the dipped oranges she liked best.

Mercy did not think on this, often, but Tracer had teased her about it the day before, and left her thinking. Tracer was not this way, not at all. She had her pub, of course, and her family, anchors that she returned to when she needed a bit of grounding, but Tracer thrived on the novelty of it all. She was always taking Emily to exciting new bars with passwords and smoking cocktails, hip restaurants that she obtained entrance to by reminding them she had saved London, whisking her away for a weekend in Scotland, a school break in Iceland, anyplace with a landing strip and a hotel was open for consideration.

Mercy had moved from place to place after her parents were killed. Medical school in Zurich, internships in countries all across Europe in the summers--Italy, Sweden, Germany, and one very memorable summer in Ireland-- residencies in top-rated hospitals, never in the same place, and then a highly-regarded fellowship at a cutting edge hospital in California.

She had done it all by the age of twenty-five. And she had not been home since she was thirteen.

Oh there were places she lived, of course, sometimes for a few years at a time, and she had been in Zurich plenty, but home had disappeared for her on the day, replaced by a winding and twisting backroad of uncertainty and newness at each glance. Overwatch had changed none of this, only upped the ante on the whole operation, sometimes in a different place from month to month, always new people. It didn’t help that Mercy was, in some ways, very solitary--all those years being a teenager in medical school had taught her that it was normal--and so she spent most of her time in her lab, or her office, or checking on patients, consulting on cases.

She’d hadn’t even known she wanted to come home again until she had been walking through Boston one day with Fareeha Amari, and the light turned golden, and she felt a sudden shudder of fear that she would know loneliness again. That constant was no longer a comfort. No longer a little nitpick.

Pharah would be making dinner tonight, and it would be lamb, with pilaf and a burgundy wine.

Pharah and Mercy were boring. Well, that is not precisely how Pharah would put it. Mercy was a woman who worked very hard and so of course had little time to plan things or come up with ideas. Pharah would simply say: Pharah was boring, and Mercy paid the price for it.

She tried, sometimes, to do things that were impulsive and exciting, but she was a woman of routine, a woman of planning and order. They liked the Italian restaurant. The food was both good, and something they rarely ate at home. The service was excellent, and they knew Pharah and Mercy’s preferences. She wanted Mercy to know that she would be there every Sunday morning, bringing her coffee and a pastry she liked.

Whenever Pharah’s mother had shown up, it was always a surprise to her. Ana did important work, her grandmother had told her in a clipped, efficient way, the way she herself had as a younger woman, and so there was no sense in crying for her. She could feed Pharah breakfast just as well, and take her to her first day of school, so what did it matter what country her mother was in? Her aunt could take her in other times, depending on if her grandmother was needed at a meeting. There were family friends she could stay with. She would always be fed, and clothed, and helped with homework, but where and by whom was a bit more of a question. Amaris went where they were needed.

Pharah was the dedicated sort, even as a child, and so, not being given a framework to grow around, she built her own. She cooked her own breakfast as soon as she could reach the stove, her beans and eggs simple but nourishing, every morning. She pressed her school uniforms and kept them straight, and she kept her shoes shined and neatly lined. She cut her hair to one and a half inches exactly above the shoulder at eight, and had it trimmed every six weeks. She became a hall monitor, a student leader, a team captain. While her mother wandered in shaky loops and quick darts, Pharah raised herself up in a fine, strong line, where things were assured, whether Ana showed up to share dinner or not.

She had been so proud of her diligence, of how reliable and steady she was. But staring down at the lamb in her cart at the grocer’s, she wondered if she was too dull for Mercy, who had such a life of excitement and travel before she met Pharah. If the chocolate and poorly-arranged roses and daisies and card were too predictable.

Tracer was not this way, and everyone loved her, didn’t they? Tracer was exciting, you could never know what she would do or say next, where you would go to, and Emily seemed so pleased whenever Tracer sprung something upon her. Tracer was creative and impulsive and charming. Pharah was the filing cabinet, she thought, and this was not what she wanted for Mercy.

Pharah loved Mercy. Mercy deserved excitement.

Mercy wore the same pink dress she had worn on their first date, like she did every year, with a little purple wrap for the chill, and came downstairs. There were no candles lit on the table, and lamb did not fill the air, and Mercy was confused for a moment. Pharah had been so busy with trying to get Overwatch on track here in London, sending out releases to world governments, meetings. It would make sense that she might have forgotten, and still Mercy could not believe it. Her Pharah was steady as the tides.

Pharah came out of the kitchen in a red velvet blazer, a dark shirt with a burnout pattern on underneath it. She had pulled her hair into a pompadour for the occasion (or rather, had Dva do it, it not being on the list of three practical hairstyles Pharah had taught herself well) and stood smiling in front of Mercy.

For a moment, Angela Zeigler did not recognize her wife, or perhaps thought, even more briefly, that there had been a sort of Freaky Friday situation, and that Tracer was simply doing a very poor job of imitating her wife, who would be staring at a Tracer with her hair neatly parted in a presidentially blue suit with the same look on her face.

“You don’t like it.” Pharah’s voice was tinged with embarrassment, and Mercy saw her then, her kind and steadfast love desperately trying to be something new for Mercy.

“No, I--” She walked toward her, “I am thinking I have never seen you this way.”

Pharah nodded, and took a deep breath. “I managed to find a club for us. A private booth, with bottle service, and dancing.”

Pharah did not mention that it was Tracer’s sparkling sense of patter and complete lack of shame that had gotten it. Mercy would know anyhow. Hopefully she would see the love in asking Tracer for help.

“Oh,” Angela giggled, “so new! I am not in the clubs very often”

Pharah took her hand. “And there is a restaurant, with food I think neither of us could know. I am sure that I think they know. It seems very experimental.”

Angela nodded gamely. “I am a scientist, after all.”

“This will be a different Valentine’s Day,” Pharah brushed at her shiny, loud blazer, “I want--I want to make things exciting for you.”

“Fareeha, I am never wanting you to be exciting.” It was soft, when she said it, and I bit mumbled at the edges, and she hadn’t realized until she said it that it was true.

Pharah was dedicated in all areas of her life, and never more did she want to do well than in this. She had gone too far, and become silly, but--

“I can do this better.”

Mercy shook her head and put both hands in Pharah’s. “No. I--” she stumbled over the words, “Fareeha, my life has been too exciting. You are not doing badly. I only want that…” she looked away for a moment, “I only want that you are, how you are. I love your shoes lined up and you are like a calendar. I feel safe, knowing that I can set my watch to you.”

She looked back at Pharah, and the honesty and love in her eyes was almost more than Pharah could bear. Even in these years that they’d been married, it surprised Pharah that someone could love her so much for what she was, rather than in spite of it.

“Tracer--”

Mercy laughed. “I had my chance to be with Lena and I was so quickly saying no,” She put her hand on the back of Pharah’s neck as she looked at her, “She is different to you. Not better.”

Fareeha Amari had not realized, until that very moment in time, that sometimes she could be truly jealous of Tracer. Tracer was jealous of her, and admitted to it fairly often. Pharah was tall, Pharah was focused, Pharah was a legacy Overwatch leader, Pharah could remember where she put her keys three minutes ago. Tracer expressed all these things Pharah was, that she wished she were, and Pharah had never expressed the same. Tracer was charming and easy to like, Tracer was funny, Tracer had a constant sense of her family and her place. Yes, Pharah knew, she was just as jealous of Lena Oxton as she was of Pharah.

“Beside that,” Mercy smiled, “I am boring, too.”

Pharah chuckled. “No, you traveled--”

“I moved so much, and there I would eat delivery food always and the same box of wine, and read my medical journals, Fareeha, I am not fun, I just wandered.”

She said it with a sense of sadness and amusement, as if she could believe how silly she was for herself, not to mention saying all this to Pharah.

Pharah stroked her hair, in the same bun, with the same little enamel flower pin in it, the one Pharah had given her from the Cairo market.

“We are boring.”

“Yes,” Mercy stepped closer to her, nose to nose, “together, we are very boring. I like it. I am always knowing where home is.”

Pharah kissed her, and knew this is what she had always wanted, a wife who was always there, a little bit of a mess but who reveled in Pharah’s sense of structure, who loved the steadiness of her, who saw the same things Pharah saw in the routine: A sense that she would always be caught. That some things could be counted upon. Mercy was the constant person Pharah had always sought, a light at the end of a long journey that still sometimes seemed like a mirage.

“I will cancel the club,” Pharah nodded, “We are too old.”

“We are.”

“But!” Pharah smiled and gave a decisive nod, “We will go to the restaurant. Even boring people like us, should be exciting sometimes.”

“I am feeling very brave,” Mercy offered her arm, “If you are.”

Pharah and Mercy were boring. They went to the same restaurants, ordered the same things off the menu, and spent the weekends in the exact same way. They did their chores on the same days, and settled in to read the same magazines and papers with their matching reading lights at night. Their routine rarely changed, only side stops on the larger highway of their lives. They were so very dull, so very steady, and so very predictable.

And so very at home, and so very, very happy.

#valentine's ficlets #HON HON HON #seolh

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alj4890 · 4 years

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Prompt Request/Ross Gellar Friends Prompt

(Thomas Hunt x OC*Amanda) with the prompt: "You could not be any more wrong. You could try, but you would not be successful." As requested by @krsnlove. And a request for a reconciliation between the pair by Anonymous.

(Thomas x Amanda) A Choices Red Carpet Diaries/The Royal Romance Fan Fic.

A/N One shot for this pair. Not set in any particular AU, yet another look at a possible dating relationship between this pair. A little angsty in parts. It takes place during Book 2 of The Royal Romance.

Song inspiration: Lonely For You Only (I'm not a big country music fan, but this song caught my attention when I checked for possible song titles. Angsty/need a shot of whiskey sound was perfect, LOL.)

@lxaah11 @alleksa16 @penguininapinktuxedo @blackcoffee85 @stopforamoment @hopefulmoonobject @krsnlove @annekebbphotography @hopelessromantic1352 . @sunflowergirl05 @desireepow-1986 @greywitchyshots @lilyofchoices @moodyvalentinestories @emceesynonymroll @dr-nancy-house @aworldoffandoms @ab1901 @lolablackwrites @flyawayboo @i-bloody-love-drake-walker . @trappedinfandoms @kate-mckenzie

Masterlist

Lonely For You Only

A Los Angeles Bar...

Rachel drummed her fingers on the scarred wood table. She glanced repeatedly at her watch while her lips firmed into a slight frown.

"Where is he?" She muttered.

Each time the door opened, she rose slightly out of her seat to see if it was her brother.

Another ten minutes passed until she saw the familar head of black hair. She held her hand up and waved.

Thomas scanned the crowded bar and relaxed somewhat when he saw his sister. He slowly made his way over to the table she had secured in a secluded corner.

"Finally." She said once he sat down across from her. "I was beginning to think you weren't coming."

"I told you I had to finish up a few things before I came." He grumbled. He got the waiter's attention and placed his drink order.

A few minutes later he relaxed in his chair, sipping his old fashioned, and focused his attention on his sister. "Now. Why was it so dire that I meet you tonight?"

Rachel twirled her swizzle stick around the rim of her martini glass. "I'm worried about you."

He cocked an eyebrow. "Worried?" He took another swallow of his cocktail. "Why?"

"Because," she began impatiently. "You're lonely."

He set his glass down with a thud. "I am not."

"Yes, you are." She persisted. "And I think it is over Amanda."

He hesistated. A hardness seemed to infuse his features as he glared at her. "You could not be any more wrong. You could try, but you would not be successful."

She narrowed her eyes. "I'm right!"

"Look," he bit out. "Amanda and I dated briefly. When she had to take part in that ridiculous search for the next queen of Cordonia, she and I realized there was nothing else we could do except part ways."

Rachel shook her head. "You should have told her you were in love."

"I--" he cursed under his breath while downing the rest of his drink. "I wasn't in love. We dated barely six weeks." His frown deepened when he recalled how easily Amanda distracted him from everything but her. It wasn't as if she demanded attention. He simply had been unable to resist her.

"It doesn't always take years for two people to fall in love." Rachel snapped. "And you were in love! I've never seen you as happy as you were with her."

He waved toward the waiter and ordered a refill. "It doesn't matter what I felt. She's back in her country and I'm here. End of story."

"Her prince picked someone else." Rachel told him. "The entire court is touring around Europe." She leaned forward. "I think this is your chance."

"For what?" He asked.

"For you two to get back together!" She rolled her eyes at his stupidity. "Go to her, make some grand gesture, and be with the one that makes you truly happy!"

Thomas leaned back in his chair, silently glaring at his sister. "It's too late for that."

"It is never too late." Rachel snatched his glass out of his hand. "Stop being an idiot and do something." She gestured toward him. "Stop wallowing in misery."

"Wallowing?" He bit out. "Who said I've been wallowing?"

"Everyone that truly knows you has seen how you've been since Amanda left." Rachel gentled her tone. "She's not happy either."

His hardened heart softened at hearing that. "She's not? How do you--"

"I have friends and colleagues all over Europe." She replied. "They have seen her. She smiles for the cameras, but once they are turned elsewhere, her smile disappears completely." She placed her hand over his. "Go fix this. You'll never forgive yourself if you don't at least try."

Thomas looked down and thought through everything. "I--I can't just accost her on this tour."

"Of course you can!" Rachel encouraged. She pulled out her phone and scrolled through the schedule she had downloaded. "They will be in Paris tomorrow. That city is designed for romance to be rekindled."

He ran a hand over his face, scratching at his stubbled chin. "I suppose I could fly over for a visit."

"Good." Rachel patted his hand. "Your flight leaves in two hours."

"What?!" He stared at her with his mouth agape.

"Your bags are already on the plane." She stood up, paid for their drinks, and took his arm. "A private plane is waiting just for you to plan out what you will say when you see her."

"Rachel." He grumbled between clinched teeth.

"Yes?" She paused outside.

He pulled her into a hug. "Thank you."

***************

Fashion Show, Paris...

"Where have you been?" Olivia hissed.

Amanda slid into the chair next to her and softly groaned at the glaring disapproval Madeleine leveled on her from across the room.

"I overslept." She admitted. "Plus I hate fashion shows."

Olivia hmphed and focused on Riley and Hana walking down the runway. "They are boring."

"Very." Amanda covered her mouth as she yawned.

As the show continued, she began to look around the room at the number of people attending. She noticed Liam staring longingly at Riley while Madeleine held court with a number of dignitaries. Drake looked as miserable as she felt. Maxwell was laughing with Hana and Riley.

"How much longer?" Amanda groaned, stretching her legs out in front of her.

"You've barely been here an hour." Olivia reminded her.

Amanda tried to sit still. Her nerves were on edge. It seemed that the last few months she had lost her ability to remain patient and content. Her fidgeting drew a frown form Olivia.

"I can't take it anymore." Amanda whispered. "I'm leaving."

"Where are you going?" Olivia asked, eyes wide. She had never seen her friend act like this.

"Anywhere that's not here. I'm not wasting my time in Paris watching this." Amanda apologized as she edged her way sideways down the aisle of seats.

She met Liam's eyes and gave a brief wave goodbye on her way out before Madeleine had a chance to corner her.

The queen to be had begun to hint that Amanda should join Hana, Kiara, and Penelope in finding a suitable match.

As if making an arranged marriage was what was really important in life.

How little Madeleine knew that marriage to anyone was impossible. She had made the mistake of falling in love and leaving her shattered heart in California.

Amanda slipped out the exit and breathed a sigh of relief. She was free. Free to do something that would keep her actively engaged and hopefully keep her mind from drifting to Thomas.

For now, she could simply do whatever she wanted.

At least until the dinner party this evening.

She waved a taxi down and felt her lips curve somewhat as the fashion show disappeared from view.

If only she had exited a few minutes later, she would have seen the very one she couldn't completely forget.

************

"Hunt?" Drake held his hand out. "I thought that was you."

Thomas shook his hand. "Good to see you again." He searched through the audience as models continued to strut down the runway.

"I never figured you for a fashionista." Drake remarked.

"I'm not." He replied dryly. "Since this is a charitable function for Cordonia, I thought that," he hesistated, "I thought Amanda might be here."

"She made a brief appearance." Drake explained. "Then did the very thing I had planned: she escaped."

Thomas checked the schedule Rachel had sent. He wasn't sure when he would have another opportunity to casually bump into her again. "Are there any plans this evening?"

"Some dinner party at the hotel we're at." Drake frowned at the thought of yet another stuffy event. He noticed Thomas's frown. "Why do you ask?"

Thomas realized he needed help if he was to have a moment alone with her. "I had hoped to have a chance to talk to Amanda."

"About?" Drake persisted.

"About a possible reconciliation." Thomas reluctantly answered.

Drake studied him silently for a few seconds. "Wait here."

Thomas quirked an eyebrow while he watched Drake go to where Liam sat. The king glanced over at Thomas and nodded in greeting. After a few more words were exchanged, Liam's lips eased into a smile as he walked over to him.

"Good to see you again, Thomas." Liam shook his hand. "I would like to formally invite you to our dinner tonight. It is blacktie and in Le Salon Haute Couture of The Plaza Athénée. It starts at seven."

Liam waved Bastien over and explained that Thomas should be added to the list of guests.

As he stepped away to return to Madeleine's side, he looked back at the director. "By the way, Amanda's in suite 878 in case you don't feel like joining us this evening."

Drake thumped Thomas on the back. "Good luck." He too disappeared into the crowd.

************

The Plaza Athénée, Suite 878...

Amanda burst into her suite, quickly yanking her clothes off while trying to talk on the phone. "I'm hurrying!" Her yell was muffled in her shirt. "I spent too much time wandering around the Louvre."

"Madeleine was ticked that you were not only late to the fashion show but also left early. The only thing that distracted her was Penelope forgetting her donation." Maxwell explained. "You should probably try and get downstairs on time."

"I will." She ended the call and started the shower. Once she was free of distraction, her mind returned to her tormented thoughts.

"I could call and say I'm sick." She mumbled, tempted to crawl into bed and never leave again.

Her head dropped back for a moment. She took a deep breath and forced herself to get ready.

She didn't know why she bothered anymore.

It wasn't like she had anything else going for her. No one was waiting in anticipation to see her.

No one here held her heart.

With a moan of frustration, she began the process of dressing up for a formal dinner.

She finished applying her lipstick and did a final twirl. Her midnight blue gown swirled perfectly, settling around her feet.

She paused on her way out of the bathroom when she heard a persistent knock.

Her brow furrowed as she looked through the peep hole. Baffled at what she saw, she opened her door.

"Yes?" Her gaze dropped down to the number of covered dishes the porter had on a cart.

"Mademoiselle Bridgerton?" He asked.

"Yes." She stepped back as he motioned for her to move. "I'm afraid you have the wrong room. I--"

"This is room 878, no?" He asked.

"Yes," She replied, "but I didn't order room service."

He spoke quickly, telling her that someone must have ordered for her as he set a romantic table for two in front of the windows looking out toward the Eiffel Tower.

Her eyes widened when he lit a candlabra and turned the lamps off. He took a step back to study his creation and nodded his approval. He bowed and left without another word.

Amanda stared speechless at the table. She stepped forward intending to blow the candles out, when there was another knock.

She opened the door and had bouquets of tulips thrust in her arms.

"What?" She mumbled. "Who--"

A different porter walked past her and set vases down at different end tables then took the bouquets from her.

"There's been some mistake." Amanda began. Her temper snapped when the porter shushed her as he finished arranging the flowers.

"Now see here--" her mouth dropped open as he bowed and left.

"What is going on?" She said to the empty room.

Another knock at her door had her stomping over. She whipped it open, ready to deny entrance to the next porter.

She raised a hand to her chest as she tried to comprehend the sight before her. Thomas was casually leaning against the doorframe. He was dressed in his tuxeudo and held a single red tulip.

"Thomas! Did you--how--what are you doing here?" She stuttered.

"May I come in?" He asked.

"Yes, of course." She snapped out of her daze and stepped back.

He walked over to the table and checked that all he requested had been done. He opened the bottle of champagne and poured them each a glass.

She watched him in utter confusion. "Did you send all this to my room?"

"I did." He admitted handing her a glass.

"Why?" Her brow was furrowed.

"Rachel." He replied.

"I beg your pardon?" She felt like she had been thrust into some sort of farce and was missing the first twenty pages of the storyline.

"My sister,” he began, “had a revelation.”

"She did?" Amanda wondered what on earth his younger sister had to do with any of this.

"Yes." He set his glass down then plucked hers out of her numb fingers to place beside his. He took both of her hands in his warm grip.

She watched as he struggled to explain. She gently squeezed his hands. "Thomas?"

He raised his eyes to hers. "She made me realize a few things."

"Such as?" Amanda prompted when he became silent again. His steady gaze held her mesmerized.

"That I'm lonely." He replied. "I'm lonely for you."

Her lips parted in surprise. "You are?"

"Second, that I am in love with you. Which in itself makes the first of being lonely more feasible." Thomas pointed out.

"Feasible." She repeated, completely stunned with his confession.

He stepped closer and cupped her cheek. His thumb softly carressed her skin as his intense gaze held hers. "These last few months have been some of the worst of my life. I should have never let you go."

Amanda closed her eyes when his lips tenderly met hers. She wrapped her arms around him while his hands cradled her face.

He lifted his head and softly smiled. "I hope you feel some of the emotions I do."

"I don't." She said, pulling him closer to her. "I feel them all just as deeply. I love you and wish that I had never felt obligated to return to Cordonia for that courtship season." She softly kissed him. "I've regretted it every single day since I left you."

He whispered her name as his lips crashed down on hers.

She felt her heart sing with each touch and each word he spoke. Her eyes drifted down his tux and she froze as her memory of tonight's schedule returned.

"The dinner! I was supposed to--" she saw what time it was and dropped her head forward in frustration. "I'm not in the mood to hear Madeleine berate me for missing that ridiculous dinner."

Thomas tugged her over to the table. "I believe Liam made our excuses."

"You do?" She asked.

"He gave me your room number in case we didn't quite feel up to joining everyone." He explained, holding a chair out for her. "He must have known I would want you all to myself."

"Now you've given me one more reason to love you." Amanda teased. She sat down and closed her eyes when he lowered his head and kissed her neck.

She turned her face to meet his lips. Her hand caressed his cheek, marveling that he was truly here.

He tried to frown at her when they broke apart. "I see you are already back to distracting me."

Her smile was warm and filled with joy. "I'm sorry. I will behave and stop doing so from now on."

He leaned down and kissed her once more. "You better not."

#thomas hunt #thomas hunt x oc #thomas hunt x amanda #rcd thomas hunt #choices thomas hunt #ross gellar prompt #reconciliation

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babayagatestblog · 4 years

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Ivory snuffbox showing the Abduction of Io, 1825. V&A Museum, London.

Over the last few weeks, during my lockdown drift, I’ve been browsing through a collection of pocket snuffboxes held at the Victoria and Albert Museum in London. Snuffboxes were lavishly decorated containers used to store pulverized tobacco, a popular stimulant and panacea for the aches and pains of the European aristocracy during the colonial period. The boxes at the V&A – available to view in intricate detail online – are glitzy, ostentatious combinations of gold, silver, tortoise shell, fine wood, diamonds, and semi-precious stones. Many include tiny porcelain paintings of lovers or tales from antiquity. This one, made in London in 1825, features an elaborately carved ivory depicting the rape of Io, a priestess of the goddess Hera, seduced by Zeus in the form of a cloud. Another box from Germany in 1765, made of a lawn-green chrysoprase and diamonds laid over pink, orange, and yellow tinsel, slightly resembles a rose garden, or a really gaudy Claire’s compact.

Before the French revolution, the most sought-after architects, designers and craftsmen in Paris had workshops for the production of little boxes and trinkets. At the height of the craze for courtly elegance, these ‘toys’ could be found all over Europe and Russia, in pockets newly sewn into trousers and skirts. King Frederick of Prussia, a huge collector of little boxes, carried one around with him at all times. It was even said that his snuffbox stopped a bullet from killing him during the Seven Years War. Later, before he died, he had them all laid out in his room, surrounding him like reliquaries, or miniature tombs.

I don’t know what got me thinking about this object, but now it won’t leave me alone. It keeps coming into my mind, troubling me during moments I least expect it. Maybe it has something to do with the word. ‘Snuffbox’ conjures up all sorts of unsettling associations. ‘Snuff out,’ ‘snuff film,’ putting something in a box, a casket. In addition to keeping someone’s hands busy, offering snuff evolved into a secret social code of wordless gestures, the ‘Language of the Tabatière.’ I can’t help but imagine that these boxes were somehow a precursor to the iPhone, their role as addictive distraction well outliving the form.

Chrysoprase & diamond snuffbox owned by Frederick II, 1765. V&A Museum.

Although hugely popular in Europe, snuff was originally used by indigenous populations across Brazil and the West Indies. While traveling the New World as part of Columbus’ second voyage, a Franciscan monk came upon a priest in Haiti snorting pulverized tobacco. The still mysterious herb was then introduced to the Spanish court and promoted as a cure for headaches. Under the reign of Queen Anne, snuff was called the “final reason for the human nose,” while Catherine de Medici proclaimed it the “Herba Regina.” By the 17th century, England, Portugal, and Spain all had colonies in the Americas in order to satisfy a growing demand in Europe. Having exhausted the labor of native populations, roughly 10.5 million Africans were transported to work on tobacco, rice, and sugar plantations in South America and the Caribbean. (For comparison, only about 6% of people enslaved as part of the Trans-Atlantic Slave Trade were shipped to North America). In retrospect, the winsome décor of the snuffbox seems to contradict, obscure, or deny this wider history of cultural robbery and enslavement.

“Jack and the Golden Snuffbox” is an English fairy tale recorded by folklorist Joseph Jacobs in an 1890 anthology of English children's stories. In the story, Jack, a young boy, decides to leave his provincial home in order to explore the world and discover a new life for himself. To help him along his journey, his father gives him a magical snuffbox. After wandering for some time, Jack is taken in by a maid and her father. Jack falls in love with the maid, but her father won’t let him marry unless the boy satisfies an impossible demand. “At eight o’clock in the morning,” he says, “I must have a great lake and some of the largest man-of-war vessels sailing before my mansions, and one of the largest vessels must fire a royal salute, and the last round must break the leg of the bed before where my young daughter is sleeping. And if you don’t do that, you will have to forfeit your life.” Without any recourse, Jack decides to open up the golden snuffbox. Out come three little red men, who build him a large, supernaturally endowed war vessel floating on a lake.

Rococo engraving by Jean Mondon, 1740.

I’m no authority on folklore, and this is just the beginning of the tale. But the imagery is striking. It isn’t surprising that the snuffbox would be considered an enchanted object. The powder, originating from the Haitian ritual, was thought to have mysterious healing properties. The box could also be considered a protection from death, as the legend of King Frederick shows. But what about the psychological drama behind Jack and his future father-in-law? I’m reminded of a passage from Toni Morrison’s Playing in the Dark: Whiteness and the Literary Imagination, in which she investigates the allure of the New World as an opening for Englishmen looking to escape the “powerlessness felt before the gates of class, caste, and cunning persecution.” One could move from “discipline and punishment to disciplining and punishing; from social ostracism to social rank.” We are told that the pressures Jack faces are inordinately difficult, blown out of realistic proportion. Essentially a penniless boy, he builds himself a war vessel, clears a piece of land, travels the world, but only through the help of the red men, imagined to be otherworldly, mute, exploitable.

When I started investigating the snuffbox, an object I came across more or less at random, I did not expect to discover such a layered history. It’s colonial background, magical suggestion, and excessive decoration are rooted in a historical time and place, but it isn’t disconnected from the here and now. “Sometimes first impressions gather up some of the residue of centuries,” says John Berger. Maybe it isn’t so strange I would have thought about this object when white Europe and America are again realizing how far off the mark they are in attempting to right the wrongs of the colonial past. This highly crafted, dazzling, revealing little object makes me consider the difference between a beauty that seeks to conceal or compensate for brutality, versus the kind of beauty in art that challenges violence, rejects it, and ultimately enables us to see more clearly our own tendencies for both violence and compassion. These are questions I am thinking about in the wake of George Floyd’s murder, when the virality surrounding his death – as well as Breonna Taylor, Ahmaud Arbery, Elijah McClain – has been such a prominent part of current visual culture.

Death has never had a mimetic afterlife quite like this. It is there in our hand-held devices, flattened to fit into a stream of other images. Names of people who have lost lives to police brutality have occasionally been aestheticized with the help of colorful graphics for wider sharing. Are there conflicting desires behind these pictures – to both reveal and obscure? Many writers have recently challenged us to think harder about sharing on social media, including Allissa V. Richardson in her new book, Bearing Witness While Black. In her brilliant film essay and lecture, “The Black Meme,” Legacy Russell points out that there has been a certain amount of ‘gamifying’ in attempts to fit Breonna Taylor’s name into clever tweets, grocery lists, and crossword puzzles. We do not yet have the ability to look back and see what the real-life outcome of widespread sharing on social media will be. But I wondered, when scrolling through the images of the boxes on the V&A’s website, whether it wasn’t possible for people to give more consideration to what it was they are holding in their hands, and the meanings behind their own rituals of sharing. Do trends on social media somehow anesthetize us to the pain of the story? Are they themselves a form of distraction? Could I be involved in more pro-active forms of justice, and working on a more transformative form of art? The past filters into the present in ways we least expect it. It is there to help, if only we can tune in and listen.

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trashboatprince · 4 years

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Just a one-shot of a silly idea that came to mind the other day while I was at work.

A trip to Paris to remember a friend from the past leads to an angel and a demon sitting in a cathedral for a chat.

And it takes an awkward plan to get said demon inside of the holy building.

This clearly takes place long before the recent fire at Notre Dame, this is more of just a random little trip during the 90s.

And yes, I tagged it with ship stuff, obvious, but let’s face it, anything I write with Aziraphale and Crowley is always gonna be Ineffable Husbands, even if it’s just implied or hinted at.

On with the fic!

Can Demons Sit in Pews?

“Paris? Really? Got another desire for the best crepes in the world, angel?”

Aziraphale smiled, despite the obvious jab at a previous action from well over two hundred years ago, turning around to face the approaching demon. His smile faltered into an annoyed pout when Crowley waved his hand, a few meters away a souvenir stand operator suddenly dashed off when an officer just so happened to notice that his items might be counterfeit.

“Now, my dear, was that really necessary?” He asked as he crossed his arms, getting a smirk in return.

“No, but it was funny. So, what are you doing here?”

“I really should be asking you that question, how did you know I was here?”

Crowley gave a shrug. “I always know, and don’t avoid my question.

With a turn, Aziraphale gestured to the large structure he had been strolling towards before he heard the all-too-familiar voice of his oldest companion. Crowley looked at it and pulled a face. “A church.”

“Ah,” The angel smiled, “not just any old church! Notre Dame! One of the most famous cathedrals in all the world!”

“I like the one in Prague better, you know, the one that looks spooky.” Crowley spoke. “Or that one in Cologne, the one that claims to have the bones of the Three Kings and they’re covered in gold and gems.”

Aziraphale huffed. “You’ve never even been inside, you silly fool.”

“Been in one church in all my life, and it was to save you from a stupid death.” The demon replied, missing the look that crossed Aziraphale’s face. That moment was… rather important to the Principality, it was when feelings were made certain for him. He glanced at Crowley, who seemed to be rambling now, having corrected himself.

He had been in more churches, apparently, but they were ones where devil worshippers or demons had found ways to ruin the holiness of them. And nine out of ten, Crowley only ended up there cause some idiot summoned him while drunk.

“Well, while you wander down memory lane of foolish teenagers and dark ‘warlocks’, I shall wander into the cathedral.” Aziraphale spoke up as he turned on his heel, making his way over before he felt long fingers gently grab his shoulder. “Yes, dear?”

“Can I come with?”

This made the angel pause and give the taller man a funny look. “Crowley, did your melted shoes and me anointing your feet for hours to help heal them not make it obvious that you cannot walk on consecrated ground?”

“I think me howling in pain from having to peel my melted shoes and damaged socks off was the clue, or me making a total arse outta myself in front of stupid nazis as I practically tap danced to keep from standing still for too long, but I’d still like to see it. Been so much buzz about it for centuries, and there were all those films that came out about it, even one recently, been wanting to see this place for myself. Plus, it’s a gothic cathedral, that’s got to account for something, right? You know, what with it being demonic looking and the like.”

“Crowley…” Aziraphale started, but the demon walked past him towards the entrance. “My dear, I don’t think that’s a very good idea-!”

One foot was on the first step up to the door and Crowley buckled, dropping with a sharp hiss, falling on his back as he clutched his foot. Aziraphale was quick to come to his side, ignoring the looks of Parisians and tourists nearby. “Oh gracious, are you alright?! Did you not realize that this is still Catholic, despite how spooky it looks? It’s going to be a bit worse than a little church in Germany.”

“No shit, angel!” Crowley snapped at him, sitting up and removing his boot and sock, looking at his foot. Aside from the scales, the only thing different about it to a normal person would be what looked like a red sunburn, but to Aziraphale, it was clearly a burn of holy grounds. It had only been a moment for the burn to take place, not like he had stood there for a while, so Aziraphale was able to remove the pain with a snap of his fingers.

“Crowley, maybe you can wander around while I’m inside. I know there is a lovely bakery not too far, and the Seines is nice to drop things on people while on one of the bridges, I’d rather you not suffer.”

“Nope.” He shook his head, putting on his sock. “I’m too curious, it’s in my nature.”

“That it is.” Aziraphale sighed as he looked about, waiting for the man to finish getting his boot back on and to regain his pride from that little display. He spotted a family where a little boy was saying something to his father, who then crouched down, the child climbed up his back. Aziraphale grinned at this before turning his attention to his friend. “My dear, I just had the most brilliant idea for you to get inside!”

“You’ll go inside and draw a satanic symbol on the floor, thus corrupting it for a bit?”

“No! I mean…” He moved, turning his back to Crowley as he rested his knees on the ground. “Climb on my back.”

Crowley just looked at him. “What?”

The angel sighed loudly. “Get on my back, I will hold onto you, and this way you can go inside with no problems.”

“Can you even lift me?”

“Crowley, I am a Principality, I am much stronger than I look. Besides, how many times have I carried your drunken and or sleeping self around while you were practically dead weight?”

The snake demon shrugged. “Alright, but if you complain of back aches later, that’s your fault.” He got up and moved to get on the other’s back, before nearly yelping when Aziraphale suddenly stood up, making Crowley wrap his legs around the other’s stomach, his arms around his shoulders. “Damn, angel! It’s like I weigh nothing to you!”

“I’ve carried stacks of books that weigh more than you ever will, my dear.” Aziraphale said with a bit of smug pride as he walked up the stairs, ignoring more stares from people as he opened the doors.

Crowley’s eyes widened a bit behind his shades as he looked inside. He could sense the Godly blessings of this place, felt a bit like when one touched an old television screen when it was on static, a light tingle under the skin. The inside was massive, beautiful, and made Crowley feel so tiny. He was in a house of God, and it felt wrong, yet… with Aziraphale here, giving him permission, it felt a bit right.

He wasn’t here to cause trouble, his natural curiosity, which got him into the whole demon shtick anyway, was too strong for him to ignore being in here. He hadn’t paid too much attention when he was in that church in 1941, he was too worried about Aziraphale, and the other ones he had wandered into (or were summoned into) were damaged.

Here he was now though, inside of one of Europe’s most famous gothic buildings, kept alive by a writer who didn’t want to see it go to waste in the 1800s.

The demon paused and looked at Aziraphale, who seemed lost in his own thoughts as he walked about, seeming to let Crowley look around from his perch. “Do you wanna take a seat?” He asked the blond, who looked at him out of the corner of his eye.

“Can you sit on a pew?”

“We’ll find out.”

Aziraphale made his way over to one near the front, a woman stopped him for a moment, asking in English, an American tourist, if his friend was alright.

“Ah,” Aziraphale smiled, “he’s alright, he stepped wrong outside and now his foot hurts, but he didn’t want to wait for it to stop aching.” Crowley nearly groaned out loud at the excuse the other had come up with to explain why he was carrying a grown man on his back.

She seemed to believe the lie, damn curious humans, and Aziraphale stepped away to allow Crowley to take a seat. It wasn’t easy, Crowley didn’t dare put his feet on the ground, it would be ten times worse than it was outside, so he had to step on the pew.

There was no burn, just more of the television static, so it was safe. Who the hell would bless a seat anyway? He sat down, cross-legged, and the angel sat down next to him with a small, content sigh as he looked up at the sight before them. Clearly the back of the cathedral was where the holy men in charge would speak to the masses, under beautiful stain glass, and symbols of God, The Son, and The Holy Ghost.

Aziraphale put a hand on Crowley’s knee, turning to him to whisper. “What do you think?”

“It’s beautiful, I’ll give your lot’s fan club that. Probably the first demon in history to really appreciate what humans can do when building homes for God. Wonder if She has a favorite somewhere in the world.”

“Lots of them, actually.” Aziraphale replied. “So many have a little something that just makes Her love them more than some others. I don’t blame Her, I can be the same with my books, and I know you are with your plants.”

“You know nothing about me and my plants.” Crowley grumbled, his eyes drifting about. “Speaking of books. We’re here because of Victor, aren’t we?”

Aziraphale blinked, his cheeks suddenly a bit pink from embarrassment. “Yes, uhh… I do try to stop by once a year, to pay my respects.”

“Why not at his grave?”

“Oh, I do, but as an angel, I think the most respect can be paid towards the building he saved from neglect.”

Crowley couldn’t argue with that, so he nodded. Aziraphale had been good friends with the write Victor Hugo, and even Crowley couldn’t deny that he had read through a few of his books, even the ones that could very well be mistaken for bricks. He was rather shocked at how dark The Hunchback of Notre Dame was as a book, young girls being preyed on by creepy older men, a deformed human being treated as a mistake and a monster, a holy man who was doing things that demons were known to influence, dark stuff.

When Victor had died, he remember Aziraphale had spent the day in his shop, just reading away at one of the man’s works. He did go to the funeral, Crowley did not. He had gone back to sleep, seeing as it had been the 1800s and Crowley spent most of it asleep, outside of a few rare times where he couldn’t sleep and pestered humans and Aziraphale.

He had been awake the day the author died, and he just sat with his angel as he quietly mourned in his own way. Aziraphale could be emotional when he wanted to be, but sometimes his more obvious expression of grief was being silent and reading with a frown on his face, Crowley knew his friend all too well. He remembered taking Aziraphale out for dinner that evening, his treat, and they spent the night in the bookshop, toasting wine to humans who have changed things for the better, even in little ways.

“He was an excellent poet and artist.” Crowley spoke softly, hearing Aziraphale hum in agreement. “And apparently a hell of a sex fiend, so many mistresses. His little black book is more infamous than anything he’s ever written.” He deserved the punch to the arm from the angel, but he still got a laugh from Aziraphale.

“Yes, well, he was still a respectful man. He stood for what he believed in, for freedom and liberty, to be one’s self, to stand up for what was right.” Aziraphale replied as he looked at Crowley, there seemed to be something on the man’s face, like there was a weight to his words, a personal one.

“Yeah.” The demon put his hand over the one that rested on his knee. “‘To love is to act’. That was his, seems like a good idea, even if the word love is… meh.” There wasn’t any venom or hate in Crowley’s voice at the last part of his statement, and Aziraphale didn’t comment on it.

“Right, my dear. You are correct, that is his.” A smile came to Aziraphale. “When we’re done here, would you like to go out for lunch? My treat, afterwards, we can do to the Louver. I’d love for you to tell me more silly stories about Da Vinci.”

“Sounds good. Besides, this place is making my limbs feel numb, and that probably means it’s time to go.”

The angel let the demon get on his back once more, walking out as they discussed where would the best place for lunch was and if Crowley should be allowed to make loud, lewd jokes about naked people in religious art when they got to the museum.

END

Originally, this was just an excuse to write the hilarious mental image of Aziraphale taking Crowley into a church on his back, but I did a bit of research of Victor Hugo and found the quote and damnit, I had to throw that in.

(Also, yes, he was a hell of a womanizer and every brothel in Paris closed for his funeral cause a lot of ladies attended).

Thanks for reading

(this is also posted on ao3, under the same title and by me, RiYuYami and I really need to change that name lol)

#good omens #ineffable husbands #aziraphale #anthony j crowley #john's drabbles

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boywizardscanbecute · 5 years

Text

A Lovely Surprise

I COME BEARING GIFTS MY BEAUTIFUL FOLLOWERS

It wasn’t requested but here’s a Newt x pregnant! reader that I wrote in one sitting yesterday. The idea just came to me and I couldn’t stop writing it! Anyways I really hope you beautiful people enjoy! 2 notes:

Requests open

Feedback always wanted/appreciated (Even just reblogs :))

Word count: 11,500

Summary: You traveled with Newt to New York, being his girlfriend and the illustrator of his book. You and Newt were childhood friends, and you grew up near him and Theseus, being in Newt’s year at Hogwarts. Him and Tina were only really close friends. As a result, Newt is trying to lift his travel ban so the two of you can continue your research, and visit your friends. So when Dumbledore asks Newt to go to Paris, he decides to go. For the sake of the story Jacob comes to Newt for help, Queenie having already gone after Tina. So Newt brings him along to try and save Credence. Meanwhile back in London you get hit with an awful surprise. Side note- Theseus and Leta are engaged, but because Newt has you he is no longer Jealous. Tina is also not jealous, instead having become really close friends with both you and Newt. Plot only altered slightly.

“Newt wake up,” you whispered to his sleeping form. He groaned and rolled over. Laughing you climb on top of him, peppering kisses to his face. “Wake up sleepy head,” you giggle between kisses. He moans and gets up, taking you with him. Your arms were wrapped around his neck, legs wrapped around his hips and he walked to the bathroom as you planted kisses on his bare chest. He laughs, “I can’t exactly get ready when you wrap yourself around me like this.” He bends down and sets you on the toilet, planting a sleepy kiss on your forehead before brushing his teeth. “Do you think they’ll give you the permits this time?” you ask. He shakes his head, “I don’t know darling. I know you’re anxious to continue our research and so am I.” You groan, “It’s not only that. Tina keeps complaining in her letters, asking when we’re going to come back and visit them. She wants to introduce us to the real Percival Graves.” You smirk smugly, making Newt laugh. “Think they’re dating yet?” he asks your opinion. You ponder the thought, “Oh I don’t know. I know she had a personal relationship with him before Grindelwald impersonated him. But don’t you think that would be kind of traumatic? Knowing at some point that was actually Grindelwald?” Newt answers, “Maybe. I’m not sure. But they could be quite the crime fighting duo.” You nod in agreement. Newt wanders back into your bedroom, slipping on his usual outfit. You smile at him. “Could you grab my tie off of the dresser?” he asks you. Padding over, you take the bow tie and bring it to Newt. You watch as he quickly ties it up. “What?” he asks when he realizes you’re staring at him. You grin, “I just think you look so cute in bow ties.” He blushes at your compliment. “Thanks,” he mumbles. You giggle, “Newt Scamander you’re going to have to get used to getting complimented. Especially now with all your adoring fans.” Newt scowls, “I didn’t ask for adoring fans.” You take his hands and look him in the eyes. “Newt your book was amazing. Of course you’re going to have fans.” He shrugs, “I guess.” Checking his watch he curses, “Merlin’s beard I have to go. I’ll come back as soon as I’m done. Please feed the creatures since we woke up late.” You nod. Pausing at the door he plants a swift kiss on your lips and says, “Goodbye darling I love you. See you soon.” You watch him as he goes, crossing your fingers that this time might be different.

10 minutes later you walked your rounds through Newt’s basement, feeding everyone. “There you go guys,” you talk to the mooncalves. They happily take their breakfast. You’re about to go upstairs when there is a rustling near Newt’s workstation. Wandering over, you shake your head at Einstein, one of the baby Nifflers nosing through a drawer of the desk. “Einstein you rascal,” you scold him as you pull him out of the drawer. His pouch was awfully full. Tickling him, you let the treasure fall out onto the desk. When he’s empty you return him to his cage with his other brothers and sisters. “Better put this stuff back in the safe,” you mutter to yourself. Sweeping the gold into your hand, your eyes freeze on a silver glint in the pile. Frowning, you pick it up. “Oh my god,” you gasp. Staring back at you in your palm was a silver engagement ring. Elegant but simple, it had a main stone with two side stones. “Oh my god. I wasn’t supposed to find this,” you shove the ring back in the desk drawer out of sight. “Oh god, oh god, oh god,” you panic. Backing against the wall, you tear your gaze away from Newt’s desk and bound up the stairs, slamming the door behind you.

It took a hot bath and a nice cup of tea to slow your breathing, but you still felt upset, and your stomach was unsettled. Climbing out of the bathtub, you dry yourself off and put on a pair of black, wide legged trousers, tucking in your white dress shirt. Your hair hung down off of your shoulders in soft waves. The doorbell rings. “Coming,” you call. Walking to the door, you swing it open and find the last person you expected to see. “Jacob?” you shout in disbelief. He smiles, roping you into a hug. “Y/n. It’s so great to see you,” he replies. Letting him inside you say confused, “It’s great to see you too. But how am I seeing you?” Jacob hangs his coat and plops down on the couch. “Well all of my memories I had of wizards were good, so they weren’t forgotten. Queenie helped me fill in the blanks,” he explains. Suddenly you look around asking, “Where is Queenie?” Jacob sighs, “That’s why I’m here. I need Newt and your help. I think Queenie went to Paris. To find Tina.” “Tina’s in Paris?” you exclaim. Jacob nods, “Well at least she was at one point. All the aurors in the world are looking for Credence. They all want him dead.” You furrow your brows in confusion. “But Credence is dead,” you state. Jacob objects, “Apparently he’s not.” You jump to your feet saying, “We have to find him before the other aurors.” Jacob smiles, “I figured you would say that. So where’s Newt? I’d like to come with to find Queenie.” You frown and stop midstep, “He’s still at his meeting at the ministry.” As if on cue Newt steps through the door.

“Jacob?” he asks, doubting his own eyes. Jacob hugs him, “Newt. Great to see you.” Newt slowly nods, trying to wrap his head around his muggle friend returning. “You were supposed to have been obliviated,” Newt comments. Jacob responds, “Yeah, only thing was all my memories of magic were happy, so I didn’t forget. Queenie helped me fill in the blanks but we had a fight and now she’s gone to Paris after Tina.” Newt nods, “Makes sense. Everyone’s in Paris looking for Credence.” It’s here that you interject, “We have to save him Newt.” Newt gulps and nods. Turning to Jacob he says, “Jacob please make yourself at home. I’ve got to speak with y/n for a few minutes.” Jacob nods and sits back down. Confused, you follow Newt.

“What’s going on?” you call after him as he jogs down the stairs to the basement. He doesn’t answer right away. “Newt?” you call again. He leans against his desk and turns to you. “Well?” you wait for him to say something. He looks at you, and guilt boils to the surface. “I didn’t get the travel ban lifted,” he states. Your stomach swirls with confusion and turmoil. “Oh god,” you choke, your face turning a ghastly shade of green. Newt’s intuition moves him to grab a bucket. He holds it out, barely reaching you in time. You grab the bucket and wretch repeatedly into the tin bucket. Newt watches you with concern. When you finish throwing up, you set the bucket down. Waving your wand it disappears. Taking a shaky breath, you wipe the sweat from your forehead. “Are you okay?” Newt brushes a hair from your face, his eyes glued to you, studying you intensely. You gulp, still nauseous, but reply, “I’m fine.” Newt stares at you, not quite convinced. Breaking the silence you ask, “So if we can’t travel, what will we do?” Newt looks like he already knows the answer. “What is it?” you implore him. He sighs, “After my meeting at the ministry, Dumbledore approached me. He asked me to do the same thing, to go to Paris and rescue Credence from the bloodthirsty aurors.” “Did you tell him know?” you question. Newt gulps, averting his gaze. It’s clear he’s already decided. “So we’re going,” you state. It’s then that Newt looks at you, with an extremely pained expression. Passing his wand back and forth between his hands he sighs, “I’m going. You’re staying here.” Immediately you shout, “To hell I am! I’m coming with you. We’re partners remember?” He reaches for you, but you step away hurt. “Y/n please listen to me,” he begs. Rolling your eyes, you huff, “Fine.” Newt pleads, “Someone has to stay here and take care of the creatures. You’re the only person I can trust to do that.” You shoot back, “Bring them in the case. That’s what we did in New York.” He shakes his head, “It’s not just that darling. Every auror in Europe and from America is after Credence. It’s extremely dangerous and I don’t want you in harms way.” You argue, “Newt you know I can take care of myself.” He steps forward and tilts your chin up, forcing you to look at him. “Y/n,” the green in his eyes flashes with unshed emotion. He continues, “My darling I’ve been with you long enough to know that I don’t want to live without you. I have a future planned for us and I don’t want to lose that future.” Blush creeps to the tip of your nose thinking about the future he was referring to and the ring you found earlier. Growing up with Newt, he knew exactly what this look meant. He smirks at you, “Y/n what do you know?” You turn away from him, cursing yourself for being so easy to read. He laughs and spins you back around, pinning you inside his arms. “Newt, let me go,” you giggle as he kisses you all over your face. “Then tell me what you know,” he laughs back. “Newt,” you squeal as he continues to attack you with kisses, his lips brushing against your hair. Finally you give in, “Alright alright I’ll tell you.” He smiles triumphantly. His hands moved to your waist, cradling you in his grasp. Looking up at him you plead, “But you have to promise not to get mad.” He raises his eyebrows, “You certainly have me intrigued now my love. I couldn’t ever get mad at you. Now, please tell me,” there was a hint of nervousness in his voice.

Sighing, you walk over to the desk and open the drawer, pulling out the ring. Newt’s face is red as a cherry. “How did you know where that was?” he asks in awe. You blubber, “Newt I’m really sorry. I didn’t mean to find it. The baby nifflers got out and one was in the desk drawer. When I made him empty his pouch, the ring fell out.” Newt nods silently, running a hand through his cinnamon curls. He stands there and thinks. “Newt please say something,” you plead. He’s shaken from his daze and steps forward, meeting you at the desk. The ring is held out in your palm, and you watch as Newt takes it in his own. His voice cracking he says, “I was going to make it really special. But now that I’m going away, now seems as good of a time as any.” You gasp, realizing what he meant. Newt, someone who was naturally extremely nervous, was implying he was going to do something spontaneous. “Oh god,” you breathe, suddenly filled with anxiety. “Here goes nothing,” his voice shakes with nerves. His fingers close around the ring as he slowly kneels down. “Y/n l/n,” he begins. You’re already crying and Newt’s tears soon begin after your own. “We grew up together. I-I’ve known you for a long while. And everyday I am so thankful that I get to know you. I couldn’t imagine my life without you. You’re my w-w-world, my whole world. I never want to live a day without you by my s-s-side. So y/n, will you marry me?” His phrases rush together, coming out in a nervous stream of speech. It was Newt, but it meant it was sincere. Newt runs a hand through his curls, anxiously awaiting your answer. You beam, “Of course I’ll marry you Newt. Nothing would make me happier!” Relief floods across his face as he slips the ring on your finger. Standing back up, he kisses you deeply, picking you up and holding you in his arms. Your toes barely grazed the ground as he swayed with you in his arms, kissing you sweetly. Reluctantly you pull away and whisper, “As much as I want you to stay here with me, I think it’s time for you to go.” Newt sadly nods. Taking his hand, you lead him back up to the bedroom to pack.

He arranged for a portkey to take him and Jacob to Paris under the radar in two hours. When he’s done packing, he turns to you and commits your image to memory. He lets out a low whistle, quite uncharacteristically. “What?” you giggle, looking back at him. He walks over to you and brushes a strand of hair away from your face. “I just can’t believe you’re my fiance now,” he breathes. You blush at his compliment. Standing above where you sat on the bed he tilts your chin up again to study you. “You are so beautiful, you know that?” he tells you. You shrug the comment off. “No, you are. You’re so beautiful my y/n,” he forces you to look at him. Leaning down, he kisses you deeply. Jacob calls from the other room, “I think it’s time to go Newt!” Newt pulls away from your lips, muttering slews of swears under his breath. He pulls you up with him. Desperately you ask, “Are you sure I can’t come with?” Newt smiles but says, “It’s better this way. I promise I’ll return safely.” You playfully poke his chest, “You better Newton Scamander. Because I’m not letting go of our future.” He grins and says, “Good because I’m not either. I’ll be home with you and planning our wedding before you know it.” You nod, too choked up to speak just then. With one last passionate kiss, he exits the bedroom, briefcase in hand. When him and Jacob reach the front door, despair fills your chest. “Be safe,” you manage to choke out. He wipes a tear from your cheek and says, “I promise.” Wordlessly you nod at his reassurance. He pulls you into a tight hug, his head resting on the top of your own head. When he pulls away, he kisses your forehead sweetly and turns away, leaving with Jacob. He was too pained to look back, knowing that if he saw you standing there, tears and all, he wouldn’t go. You watch as the turn the corner and walk out of your sight.

Two weeks later you found yourself missing Newt now more than ever. The creatures sensed your sadness as well as his absence. Newt wrote to you, assuring you he was safe, but the letters were incredibly vague for security reasons. Rereading his last letter, you sat in the basement, stroking Dougal’s fur. Dougal climbs in your lap, placing his hands on your stomach. “Dougal cut it out you’re being weird,” you push his hands away. He immediately puts them back. “Oh Dougal you weirdo,” you laugh. You tear Dougal away from you and walk upstairs to the bedroom, getting ready to take a bath. Pausing in the mirror, you glance at your reflection. Your stomach looked extremely bloated and it made you feel self conscious. “Ughhh,” you groan. Forcing yourself away from the mirror, you take your bath.

When nightime rolls around you go back down to the case to feed the creatures dinner. Dougal again is attached at your hip, his hands wrapped around your belly. “Dougal come on what is it?” you raise your voice in annoyance. Usually Dougal would be hurt by this, but he insists on continuing to pat your belly. Sighing you tell him, “I can’t understand what you’re trying to tell me.” He looks up into your eyes and realizes you’re finally listening. Content that you were, he hops down from your lap and makes a cradling motion with his arms. “What you want me to cradle you?” you ask confused. Dougal shakes his head, but continues the cradling motion. Then he points to your belly and repeats the motion. “He thinks I’m pregnant? That’s absolutely crazy,” You tell yourself. Then your mind wanders back through the previous weeks. You gasp, “Oh shit,” and sprint up the stairs. Dougal follows.

Running into the kitchen you look at the calendar on the wall, counting back in your mind. You were supposed to get your period three weeks ago, but you were distracted with Newt trying to lift the travel ban.When you thought back farther, you couldn’t remember getting your period for at least two months, if not more. “Oh no oh no oh no oh no,” you pace the kitchen, thoughts swarming your head. Dougal looks to you. Walking over to him you bend down to reach his eyesight, “Thank you Dougal. I would have never realized if it weren’t for you.” He kisses your cheek. Carrying him back downstairs you set him down but ask, “Dougal honey, do you know how long?” He ponders the thought. His soft paws graze your belly once again, as if communicating with the baby. When he looks back to you he holds up three fingers. You choke loudly in surprise. “Three months?” you gasp. Dougal nods. “Why don’t you stay with me?” you ask the creature shyly. He nods, taking your hand and leading you back up the stairs.

A few hours later you sat at the kitchen table, trying to write a letter to Newt. You immediately knew you wouldn’t tell him. Not through a letter. So you settled for short and sweet.

Dear Newt,

I am missing you terribly back here in London. It’s been raining an awful lot, which doesn’t make things much better. Do you have any idea when you’ll be coming home? I know it’s selfish of me to ask, you’ve only been gone for two weeks. Wishing you well. Hopefully you’ve at least found Tina or Queenie by now. Be safe.

All my love, your fiance,

y/n.

Summoning an owl, you immediately send the letter off. Across the continent in Paris, France Newt sat at the kitchen table of the home of Nicholas Flamel. He rested his head in his hands, groaning. “Newt what’s wrong?” Tina cautiously approaches. He doesn’t even lift his head, muffling, “I miss y/n. I should have brought her with me. It’s wrong to be away from my fiance.” Tina’s eyes widen in shock. “Your fiance?” she squeals with delight. Newt looks up and realized he let the secret slip. “Yeah, we’re engaged. But we haven’t told anyone yet. I just want to get back to her,” he explains. Tina nods. “You will,” Tina declares. Newt laughs at her bluntness, “And how do you know that Tina?” Tina smiles, “Because I just know it. You two were meant to be together.” Newt sheepishly grins.

Another two weeks pass and you’re lucky that you have Dougal to take care of you, because you felt useless. Flipping over on your bed you moan, “Dougal. I need someone to talk to.” He pads silently out of the room, returning a moment later with a frame in his hand. It was a picture of you, Newt, and Theseus as kids. Dougal’s furry white paw points to Theseus. Grabbing the frame you shout, “Dougal you’re a genius!” He smiles and follows you into the living room, watching you as you send a patronus message to Theseus at work.

Theseus sits at his desk combing over paperwork, when a bright light pulls his gaze up to look at your patronus. Leta stands in the doorway and says, “Isn’t that y/n’s patronus?” Theseus nods. Your voice came through, the anxiety evident in your voice that spoke, “Theseus it’s y/n. Please come to Newt’s immediately. It’s important, I need someone to talk to.” Leta ponders the message as Theseus gets up, no hesitation, pulling on his coat. “Do you want me to come with?” Leta asks him. He shakes his head, “That’s sweet darling but no. Y/n is a private person and the only person she trusts more than me is Newt, so this is probably something she’s going to have trouble with.” Leta nods. Theseus stops in the doorway and kisses her on the cheek. “Please be careful,” Leta asks. He nods, “I will. I’ll be careful.” And then he leaves.

You stood in the living room, twiddling your thumbs nervously. A knock comes from the door, making you jump. Dougal heads for the door but you stop him, “It’s okay Dougal I got it.” He steps back returning to the couch. Opening the door, you smile into your old friends eyes. “Theseus,” you breathe a sigh of relief. He pushes through the door into the house and hugs you close to him. “I came as soon as I got your message. You sounded worried. What’s going on?” You pulled him over to the couch, sitting him down. He eyes Dougal and says, “I thought they all stayed in your magical menagerie of a basement?” You reply cautiously, “I sort of needed a caretaker.” “Why?” he replies, his voice laced with concern. You bite your lip, “Because….” Theseus sits forward eagerly, “Because why? Merlin’s beard y/n you’re scaring me.” “FIne,” you groan, taking off the loose robe you had around your body. As soon as you set it down the answer becomes clear to Theseus. “Oh my god,” he gasps. At almost four months pregnant your belly bump was becoming increasingly noticeable to anyone who looked at you. Soon loose fitting clothes wouldn’t even hide it.

The first thing Theseus does is hug you. He then sits you down on the couch across from him. “How long?” he asks first. You gulp, “Almost four months.” He nods, his mouth suddenly dry. He studies you carefully, as you sit there biting your lip mercilessly. He connects the dots and exclaims, “You haven’t told Newt have you?” You shake your head guiltily. “Oh y/n,” he groans. Tears prick your eyes and you shout, “Well what was I supposed to do Thes? He’s needed in Paris right now! I can’t just tell him in a letter!” Theseus hushes you, letting you cry on his shoulders. He squeezes your hand, his fingers brushing against the diamond on your finger. He lifts the ring up to peer closer at it. “And you’re engaged?” he asks. You nod. “Y/n you have to tell Newt,” he pleads. You shake your head, “I can’t. I can’t do it.” “Why not?” he asks you curiously. You answer honestly, “I won’t pull him away from the fight to save Credence. He’s just a boy.” Theseus argues, “But you have a tiny child inside you know. It could be your own little boy. Newt deserves to know he has a child on the way.” You stand your ground saying stubbornly, “Theseus, I know it doesn’t make sense. But I can’t tell him. Not yet. Please don’t say anything,” you beg. Theseus groans, “If you really don’t want me to say anything I won’t. But for the record I don’t agree with this.” “Thank you,” you sob, hugging him tightly. He stands and says, “I have to get back to the ministry. Leta and I can drop by on occasion for visits, checking up on you, does that sound good?” You nod, “Yes I would like that very much.” Theseus kisses you on top of your head and says sternly, “Rest up. You need to keep my niece or nephew healthy.” “Of course,” you smile and watch him depart. The next morning a letter arrives from Paris from Newt.

My dear y/n,

I am missing you terribly as well. It feels wrong to be apart from my fiance. I’m hoping you’re not too bored out of your mind. Theseus says he visits you sometimes. I’m glad you have the company. It makes me very sad to say this, but there is still no sign of Credence. It looks like I’m going to be here for a while. I’m sorry I didn’t let you come with, for there is nothing I would love more than to kiss your sweet lips right now. Tina and Queenie send their congratulations, I accidentally let the engagement slip. We’ll be together soon. I’m being safe.

I love you,

-Newt

You clung to his letter like your life depended on it. They were the only things you looked forward to now, besides Theseus and Leta visiting. “Oh Newt. I miss you,” you silently sob, tears dropping onto the letter and smearing the ink. Immediately you write your reply.

My dearest Newt,

I miss you terribly as well. Tell Tina and Queenie I say thank you. I must admit I was going a little insane at the lack of human interaction. Luckily Theseus and Leta saved me from insanity and have dinner with me frequently. But nothing compares to your company. Come home soon, so I can kiss you again. My love for you grows endlessly. I’ll send you my luck that you find Credence soon and rescue him.

Love from London,

y/n

A few weeks later, Leta knocks at your door. “Coming,” you call, teetering over to the front door. 5 months pregnant and there was no hiding it. The only thing that still fit you was your pajamas. Opening the door you smile, “Leta, a lovely surprise as always. Please come in.” Leta steps in, bags in hand and says, “I come bearing gifts.” You laugh, following her into the kitchen. “Do tell,” you implore her. Pulling out piles of clothes she replies, “I got you maternity clothes, so you don’t have to keep wearing your pajamas.” You hug her tightly, “Leta you’re a lifesaver!” you thank her. They fit perfectly and were extremely comfortable. At dinner Theseus states, “They’re getting closer to finding Credence.” You beam at the thought. Suddenly you ask, “Thes, if the ministry knows that Newt is in Paris, why haven’t you arrested him yet?” Theseus grins, “They don’t know. Only I know. Newt’s smart. He’s laying low.” You tease him, “Mr. head auror going against the rules.” Theseus shrugs, “He’s my brother. I’d do anything to protect him.” You smile at the sentiment. And when dinner is finished and Theseus and Leta turn to leave you ask, “Please keep me updated on the situation in Paris.” “We will,” they respond and depart.

The next month you fall into a smooth, albeit depressed state. It was common place for Leta and Theseus to check on you 3 times a week. Other than that you threw yourself into new illustrations, stuffing down the pain of missing Newt. Dougal was perhaps your greatest caretaker who seemed to understand just exactly what you needed. One day, Dougal rubs your belly bump affectionately, this being not out of the normal. You smile and pat his head, “What would I do without you Dougal?” He kisses your belly. A thought suddenly occurs to you and you bend down to Dougal’s eye level. “Dougal, I have a question to ask you,” you say calmly. Dougal stares back at you, and you continue, “Dougal do you know what I’m having? Do you know, if it’s a boy or girl?” Slowly, he nods. Breathlessly you ask, “Will you tell me?” Dougal again shakes his head yes. Laying a hand on your belly again, Dougal closes his eyes in concentration. Blinking them open, he points to you, then to your belly. You shake your head in confusion. He repeats the gesture and the meaning dawns on you. “Oh. You mean I’m having a girl?” you squeak excitedly. Dougal nods. Tears of joy prick your eyes and you kiss Dougal on the cheek, thanking him. Before you can think about your little girl, Leta bursts through the door.

She’s a wreck, her hair sticking up everywhere as she slams the door shut behind her. “Leta what is it?” you squeeze her hand, trying to calm her down. Breathlessly she answers, “Theseus… went to Paris.. Grindelwald is rallying.” You gasp, immediately panicking. Running into your bedroom, you change into wide legged dress pants and manage to pull a striped long sleeve shirt over your growing bump. You return to Leta and she eyes you questioningly. “I’m going to Paris,” you tell her. Leta shakes her head, “Absolutely not. You are six months pregnant you are not doing this.” Grabbing one of Newt’s coats, you pull it on, hastily buttoning it. “Leta I’m doing this,” you tell her firmly. Leta groans in frustration, “If anyone asks I didn’t tell. Inevitably I’ll see in Paris.” You nod and she disapparates. You glance in the mirror before leaving and take in the sight. You wore Newt’s old favorite coat, the navy blue still brightly colored. Your belly strained against the buttons and you decided to undo them. The striped shirt you wore underneath clearly showcased your bump and hung over your black dress pants. Your hair was pulled back in a low ponytail. You place a hand to your belly and say, “I’ll keep you safe baby girl. I promise.” Grabbing your wand, you think of Newt and disapparate on the spot.

You reappeared in an ancient looking house. “Newt?” you call out. There was no answer. “Newt?” you call out again. An extremely old wizard approached you. “Can I help you?” he asks kindly. You rush up to him and beg, “Please I’m looking for my fiance Newt Scamander. Please have you seen him?” He calmly responds, “They’ve gone to the Lestrange Tomb but-” you cut him off saying, “Thank you, thank you so much!” and you disapparate. “Oh dear,” Nicholas Flamel mutters with worry.

You reappear in a dark graveyard and look around. But you could barely see anything. Looking up, you saw the marked Lestrange tomb. Fear quivered through. Placing your own hand protectively on your belly, you swallow your fear and enter the tomb. It was empty, but there was a light coming from a staircase. “Newt?” you hiss, your voice echoing in the stone chamber. There was no answer. A rush of footsteps sounds outside the tomb and you hastily press yourself against the wall, shrinking as best you could. A swarm of aurors enter. Theseus announces to his employees, “It isn’t illegal to listen to him. Use minimum force on the crowd. We mustn’t be what he says we are.” His aurors nod and descend into the unknown chamber. Theseus goes to follow, but hears a scuffling from your hiding spot. He turns and mutters, “Lumos,” shining the light on where you stood.

“Y/n my god what are you doing here?” he scolds you. You step forward as fast as you can and say, “Theseus if my fiance dies tonight and I don’t get to say goodbye, I would never forgive myself. I can’t sit by and watch the people I love fight this alone. Please don’t try and stop me.” Theseus groans, “Y/n you are a heavily pregnant woman about to enter your third trimester. You cannot be serious, asking me to let you go in there.” You gently squeeze his hand, “You know I’m going to do this whether you try to stop me or not.” Theseus sighs in frustration, “You better stick close behind me.” You nod and follow him down the steps.

Immediately you grow scared. Grindelwald had thousands of followers. Thousands of people willing to follow his orders. Gulping, you grab the back of Theseus’s jacket and stick close behind him. It’s when Grindelwald states that aurors were present that Theseus whispers to you, “Please, for the love of Merlin, please stay back. I don’t want Newt to lose you. I don’t want to lose family.” You reluctantly listen, standing back against the wall at the top of the amphitheater.

In a flash, a follower is killed by an auror and there’s an outrage. Grindelwald declares, “Take this warrior home. Now go forth from this place and spread the word. It is not we who are violent. It is not we who destroy.” Thousands of followers disapparate leaving just you, the aurors, Newt, Tina, and Queenie and Jacob. “Aurors. Join me know, contribute to a legacy of greatness. Or die,” Grindelwald’s voice echoed through the chamber. Many try to run, but his blue conjured flames engulf them. “No cheating children!” he shouts. The adrenaline of the situation moved you forward. Across from you another form also moved forward, but in the direction of Grindelwald. “Credence!” you freeze. It was Newt’s voice. Newt called desperately to the boy as Grindelwald blocked his path with blue flames. The sight of Grindelwald shooting deadly spells at your fiance inspired an anger like you’d never known inside of you. Running down the steps you shout, “Newt!” as you run to his defense.

Turning in disbelief towards the sound of your voice, Newt is filled with conflicting emotions. He feels joy at seeing his beloved, but the joy quickly turns to horror as his eyes freeze over your belly. You were very clearly, heavily pregnant with his child. Theseus steps down to join his brother, fighting off the expanding flames. You don’t give yourself time to mourn as you watch Credence pass through the flames to Grindelwald. Reaching Newt, you stand beside the Scamander brothers and fend off the blue flames. Then Queenie crosses over. “Queenie!” you shriek her name into the air, trying to pull her back with the sound of your voice. But she too crosses over. Tina sprints forward and grabs Jacob, disapparating him to safety. “Mr. Scamander, do you think Dumbledore will mourn for you?” Grindelwald’s voice is cold, void of emotion. Fending off the flames, you feel the energy begin to drain out of you. Newt shouts over the flames, “Get out of here! Y/n get out of here now!” Desperation fills his voice. “I won’t leave you,” you shout back, “I can do this!” Catching a glimpse of Newt out of the corner of your eye, you see him shaking with emotion while trying to plead with you and fend off Grindelwald’s flames at the same time. “You need to go now, save our child!” he begs you. Your response is broken off by a loud but stern voice calling, “Grindelwald STOP!” He turns to look and so do the rest of you. Leta Lestrange descended the amphitheater stairs, nearing the circle. Theseus calls out to her desperately, “Leta!” She briefly looks at her fiance before continuing towards the dark wizard. Theseus pushes against the flames, trying to get to her. “Leta Lestrange. Hated by all wizards, always out of place. You have greatness within you. Time to come home,” he offers her his hand. She takes it. Newt is frozen in his surprise. Theseus continues to call desperately, “Leta please!” Grindelwald turns and moves to bring her towards the circle, but she drops her hand from his. She turns to Theseus and says, “I love you. Now get out of here. Go.” Theseus screams, blasting spells into the air, fighting desperately, to get to his beloved. Leta blasts a spell, effectively destroying the skull Grindelwald used to show his vision. She shot another spell at him, only to be deflected. The flames quickly fanned out of the circle, growing increasingly out of control. Coming to his senses Newt pulls you back and shouts, “We have to get out of here. Now!” Unable to tear your eyes away from the scene, you watch as your friend Leta Lestrange disintegrates into nothing. Newt grabs your hand and pulls you towards him. Theseus is frozen in place. And in a split second, you pull Newt towards Theseus, securing his hand in your own. The blue flames grow closer as the three of you disapparate.

Appearing outside the tomb, you run as the flames quickly follow the three of you through the entrance. Newt pulls you against his chest, tucking the two of you into the corner of a wall, away from the flames. You breath heavily against his chest, crying into his shirt. Wordlessly, he places his arms around you and holds you close, taking in the presence of you that he’d missed so terribly the past three and a half months. The rest of the aurors and Tina contained the flames, banishing them back into the tomb. Newt wouldn’t leave your side. And when the tomb is sealed, there’s a strangled cry that echoes through the air. “Theseus,” you thought. Your heart went out to him. He’d just lost his fiance. You finally look up at Newt for this first time since he was in London. His eyes were filled with emotion as he looked down at you, the shock of the news still being processed in his head. Your voice comes out hoarse, “Newt you should go to Theseus.” He shakes his head no. “Newt, he needs you. I’m here, I’m alive,” and placing a hand on your stomach you add, “We’re okay. Please go comfort your brother.” Reluctantly Newt nods and goes to Theseus. Sighing, you turn to go find Tina.

You find her sitting with Jacob in the grass, the two of them dead silent. Waddling over, because that's how you walked now, you whisper, “Tina, I’m so sorry.” Tina looks up at the sound of your voice and her eyes nearly pop out of her head. “Oh my god!” she shouts, jumping up. She immediately steps over to you, searching you for injuries. “Are you okay?” she asks. “I’m okay Tina. Really I am,” you reassure her. “And I’m really sorry about Queenie and Credence.” Tina nods, suppressing her sobs. You gently take her hand and sit down next to her in the grass. You each lean your head on each other’s shoulder, silently bringing one another comfort. You close your eyes and concentrate on comforting your friend.

The grass crunches and you open your eyes to see that familiar pair of hazel green ones staring back at you. Newt looks at you lovingly. “Can we talk?” he asks softly. Nodding, you take his offered hand, and you let him lead you away to a more private area. Finally he turns and takes your hands in his, briefly smiling at the ring on your finger. He chokes on his tears, “When were you going to tell me?” It breaks you to see him so upset. You whimper, “I’m sorry Newt. I really am. But I couldn’t write to you that I was pregnant in a letter. I asked Theseus not to tell either. I knew you would fight until Credence was found and I didn’t want to take you away from that.” The words reach him, but his face is blank. “Newt please,” you cry, “I know I messed up. But we’re here now. You and I both just watched Theseus lose his fiance. Please don’t be angry with him, or me. Please don’t let this come between us.” He considers your plea and reaches a hand forward, shaking, as he brushes your tears from your cheeks. And gently he kisses you, a kiss full of sorrow and longing and love all wrapped into one. Breaking the kiss, you look up at him asking, “Does this mean you forgive me?” Newt laughs out loud, “Of course I forgive you. You are my one and only and I can’t stay mad at you, if you thought you were doing what was right.” And then for the first time ever, he places a hand on your belly. Immediately, your daughter kicks her foot up to meet her Daddy’s hand. Newt gasps, “Oh goodness.” You giggle, “She’s quite the kicker.” Newt freezes, his eyes flashing up to yours. “She?” he wonders. You nod, tears filling your own eyes. “Yep. We’re having a little baby girl,” you tell your fiance. Newt beams with pride at you. “You are such a trooper,” he praises you. Your face flushes. Newt’s voice comes out strangled as he asks, “So is she okay?” His hand moves to your stomach again. You place your hand on top of his as you say, “Yes, she's okay. I can feel it.” And suddenly Newt lifts you up, wrapping his arms around you tightly, cradling you against his body. You giggle, “Newt honey, you should probably put me down.” He panics, “Of course,” and gently sets you down. “I’m gonna be a dad,” he smiles radiantly, joy ebbing from every inch of him. You nod, pressing your forehead against his. “You’re gonna be a dad,” you confirm his thoughts. And the two of you stand there for god knows how long, wrapped in a tight embrace, your baby kicking joyfully at the reunion of her parents.

The weeks following Grindelwald’s rally were not easy. Sorrow could be felt throughout the ministry and everyone in your house. And when Theseus doesn’t return to work after two weeks, you and Newt decide to pay him a visit. Knocking softly on the door of his rather large home, you wait to hear an answer. There is none. “Alohomora,” you whisper, unlocking the front door. You step inside, Newt following. “Theseus?” you call out his name. There’s no understandable reply, only a grown that comes from the couch. Following the noise, you gasp as you happen upon Theseus who lays on his stomach on his sofa, a bottle of whiskey dangling in his hand. “Oh merlin,” you sigh. Newt groans and walks over to his brother. “Theseus get up,” Newt commands. Theseus looks at his brother curiously, it was rare to for Newt to be bossy. “Come on, get up!” Newt tears the bottle from his brother’s hand and forces him to sit up. You approach the two boys and sit them both down on the couch. “Newt,” you order, “Be gentle.” Then you turn to your future brother-in law, “Theseus. You can’t turn to the bottle. You need to come back to work. The ministry needs you now more than ever. The world needs you.” Theseus looks up at you and sighs, “How am I supposed to do it now that Leta’s gone.” Your heart breaks for him, and you squeeze his hands. “We’ll help you,” you promise. “Right Newt?” you add. Newt chimes in, “Of course we will.” Theseus, suddenly embarrassed picks himself up off the couch and walks into the kitchen. You and Newt follow. “I’ll return to the ministry tomorrow. Thank you,” he says sincerely. Newt awkwardly hugs his brother and then lets you say goodbye. “You can do this,” you tell him, planting a kiss to his cheek. He smiles at your encouragement. Turning back to Newt, you let him grab your hand and disapparate.

For you and Newt you spent most days doing research on blood pacts, determined to break the one Dumbledore had with Grindelwald. One sunny March day, you wake up next to Newt, and have to have him pull you up out of bed. “God this is getting so difficult,” you groan as he helps you stand up. Rubbing a hand on your sore stretching belly, you sigh. Wandering over to the closet you put on black trousers and a soft, thin, long sleeve lavender sweater. You insisted on wearing Newt’s old coat, it still smelled like him and New York. Placing a hand on your knee, you reach down and try to pick up your shoes. “Come on,” you mutter under your breath, trying to reach your fingers towards them. Behind you Newt looks on, slightly amused. “Almost got them,” you sweat. Newt strolls in beside you and sweeps your shoes up with one try. “Not fair,” you moan. Newt laughs and says, “Come darling. Let me help.” So you let him. Sitting on the bed, he gently slips the boots on your feet. Pulling you up, he brushes the hair from your face and says, “Ready to go my love?” You nod breathlessly. Everything was tiring these days. Newt wraps a protective arm around you and disapparates.

The two of you reappear in the waiting room of St. Mungo’s. “You go ahead and sit down, I’ll let the nurse know we’re here.” “Thanks,” you breathe as you sit down. Shortly Newt returns and places his hand in yours, waiting anxiously for the doctor. His leg thumped mercilessly, his whole demeanor exuding nervousness. “Newt honey,” you squeeze his hand, “This is normal to get a check up. Everything is fine. She’s going to be fine. I promise.” He nods, and lifts your hand to his lips, kissing it with gratitude. Soon the healer calls you into his office. Newt pulls you up from your seat and you walk to the room.

“And how are we today Scamander’s?” he asks cheerily. You smile, “We’re okay. I can move pretty well, except when I have to bend over.” The healer nods knowingly and says, “Yes that will happen towards the end.” Newt asks anxiously, “How far along is she exactly?” The healer passes his wand over your belly briefly before answering, “36 weeks.” Newt gulps audibly. Finishing up the appointment the healer declares, “Well you’re fine to continue regular activity. Just try not to overextend your energy okay?” You nod. “Thank you so much,” Newt shakes his hand. Returning to the waiting room you ask, “Ready to go see Albus?” Today was one of the days you would compare research on the blood pact with Dumbledore, so you would have to travel to Hogwarts. Newt moans, “I’m going to have to meet you there unfortunately darling. I need to check up with Theseus on any suspicious sightings.” You nod, “Okay. Just don’t be too long.” Newt kisses your forehead promising, “I won’t be. I love you darling.” “I love you too Newt,” you squeeze his hand and leave, disapparating for Hogwarts.

You met Dumbledore in his office, smiling at your former professor entranced in his work. “Professor Dumbledore?” you knock on the open door. He beams at you, “Y/n it’s so lovely to see you. And look how you glow.” You smile at his compliment. “Thank you,” you step into the office. Albus offers you a seat and a cup of tea. You take it gratefully. “Newt should be here in a few minutes,” you tell him. He nods. “How is your pregnancy going?” he asks politely. You smile, “Much faster now that Newt knows.” Dumbledore laughs lightheartedly saying, “Yes I imagine it would be.” Taking a sip of tea he continues, “Newt never got a chance to tell me, what are you having?” Beaming with pride you reply, “We’re having a girl.” Dumbledore breathes in awe, “That’s wonderful news. Congratulations.” Silence follows and the minutes tick by each second Newt doesn’t arrive. Breaking the silence Albus continues, “Have you thought of a name?” Grinning sheepishly you say, “I have.” He laughs and responds, “Well? Care to indulge me?” You lightly blush as you say the name you’d thought of in your head. “Demi.” Dumbledore nods thoughtfully, looking somewhat puzzled. You explain, “When I was pregnant, before the rally in Paris, I didn’t have anyone to talk care of me. Dougal, our demiguise stepped up and watched over me when Theseus couldn’t. I don’t think the baby would be here without him.” “That’s a beautiful sentiment,” Dumbledore tells you, briefly holding your hand.

When you finish your tea, you stand and begin to pace the floor of your old Professor’s office. “I’m sure he’ll be here soon,” he tries to reassure you. But Dumbledore can’t hide the flicker of concern on his own face. Biting your nails you decide not to comment. Because Newt should have been here by now, there was no doubt about that. You subconsciously place a hand on your belly whispering, “Don’t worry. Daddy will be here soon, I promise.” As if on cue, the cinnamon haired, freckled faced Magizoologist bursts through the door.

Dumbledore immediately urges, “What is it?” Newt replies breathless, “Grindelwald’s called his followers to Moscow. Another rally, but this time they plan to stand against the muggles.” “Oh god,” you gasp. This wasn’t good. “Then you must go,” Dumbledore announces. Newt sighs, “I suppose you’re right. And you still haven’t broken the pact?” Dumbledore shakes his head, “No. I still can’t fight against him.” Groaning in frustration Newt says, “Alright I’ll go.”

With heavy steps, you move forward and ask softly, “I suppose you’ll insist that I stay back here?” You’re shocked to hear Newt reply, “Absolutely not. I don’t want you out of my sight. Besides that I know you’ll follow no matter what and I would rather be able to protect you.” You grin like a fool. “Well let’s go then,” you close the distance and take his arm. Dumbledore approaches the both of you and says, “Please be careful. Don’t lose sight of what’s important.” Newt gulps and nods. And as he presses a kiss to your forehead, you disapparate to Russia.

When you arrive, Newt immediately pulls you into an alleyway. “What are you doing?” you hiss at him. He replies urgently, “Y/n, this isn’t like the other rallies. They’re going after muggles this time which means that they’re not holding back. They won’t hesitate to kill.” Gulping you respond, “Newt I know it’s scary, but I’m not sitting on the sidelines okay? It’s not gonna happen.” He groans loudly, cursing audibly. “Fine. Please stick close to me. And button up, I don’t want you to be a target,” Newt says trying to button his old coat over your belly. You laugh, “Newt it’s not gonna work. I’m 8 months pregnant. It’s not gonna button.” He doesn’t hide the fear on his face. There’s a loud blast that sounds from not that far away. “Stay close to me,” he repeats. He swiftly walks down the street, and you follow close behind.

Seconds later there was another loud blast and you watch with horror as a building not 100 feet away crumples. There’s wailing in the street as hundreds of injured muggles and wizards lay in the dust. Another loud crash and there’s more collapsing structures. “Oh god,” you gag as the smell of blood begins to fill the air. Theseus comes sprinting up to the two of you. “Search for survivors!” he shouts. So you reluctantly walk away from Newt, moving aside the rubble with your wand to check for any injured victims. Most of the bodies around you were already dead. Then there’s a tiny wailing coming from beneath a fallen door. Walking over as fast as you can, you lift the door with your wand and discover a tiny 4 year old boy, crying softly. Despite your massive belly, you bend down on your knees and grab the child’s hand. “Hey,” you get his attention. He flinches. “I’m not gonna hurt you,” you reassure him. His shockingly blue eyes stare up at you from underneath a pile of sandy locks. The boy had a large gash in his cheek, and various cuts and bruises, but other than that he seemed okay. He was petrified. “Let me help you. Can I take you to a safe place?” you ask him. Wordlessly, he nods. Channeling your motherly instincts, you scoop the boy into your arms, carrying away from the destruction.

Moving down the city block you call out, “Theseus? Newt? Anyone?” There’s a thick layer of smoke lying in the air. Coughing, you try to peer through it. A figure jogs up to you. It’s Theseus. “What’s going on? Where’s Newt?” he questions. You shake your head, “I don’t know, I don’t know. But where are we bringing the survivors? I need to get him to safety,” you gesture to the scared little boy in your arms. Theseus informs you, “There’s a tent set up with healers from St. Mungo’s down the block and around the corner. Keep looking for survivors when you’re done. I’m going to try and find Newt.” He doesn’t wait for a reply and instead turns and runs back into the smoke.

“Come on, let’s take you somewhere safe,” you murmur in the boys ear, trying to comfort him as you waddled down the block. He cries and whimpers into your shoulder. Trying to distract him you ask, “What’s your name?” He sniffles, “Dima.” You readjust him in your arms and say, “Well Dima we’re almost there.” Sure enough you round the corner and there’s a large tent with St. Mungo’s healers. “Dima before I let the nurses check on you, did you have any other family members with you back there?” He sobs, “No. I was out getting food for my momma and sister. Then that building collapsed.” You offer reassuring cooes and walk up to the first healer you see. Smiling, she waits for you to tell her the situation. “This is Dima,” you tell her, “He was found in the rubble under one of the collapsed buildings. I’m going to look for his family. Please watch over him.” The healer replies, “Of course we will take excellent care of Dima.” You set him down gently and kneel in front of him. “You’re going to go with this nice lady now okay? She’s going to make sure everything is alright.” He nods, sniffling. You wipe the tears from his cheeks and say, “Be safe Dima.” He wraps his small arms around you and gives you one last hug before taking the healer’s hand and walking away with her.

The smoke grew thicker. Covering your nose with the sleeve of Newt’s coat you cough, and push forward. “Newt! Theseus!” you shout into the air. It was eerily quiet. Then a female calls out, struggling to form words, “Y/n! Over here!” Following the voice you gasp as you happen upon Tina, who is lodged underneath piles of stone from one of the falling structures. Swallowing your nausea, you notice a bone protruding from her thigh, her leg clearly broken. Bending down to check on her you ask, “Tina are you alright?” She struggles to put words together, coughing profusely. Her eyes widen at the sight behind you and she manages to choke out, “Behind you!” Whipping around, you watched as one of Grindelwald’s followers approached. Their eyes were glued hungrily to Tina, a murderous glint in them. As they raise their wand, you shout, “Bombarda Maxima!” Stone rains around the woman, but she continues to advance towards you. “Protego!” you shield yourself and Tina from a lethal spell. Panic rises up in your throat. “Confringo!” you bellow. The woman is blasted back and knocked into a stone wall, becoming unconscious. Coughing you turn to Tina, “I have to obliviate her. Then you need medical attention.” Rushing forward to obliviate said woman, you’re stopped by a shooting pain running through your stomach. “Oh god!” you wail in pain. Worriedly, you press a hand to your stomach, concerned for your baby. A thick sense of dread fills you as you feel your pants grow wet. “Oh no,” you begin crying. You felt the baby drop. Another blast in the distance pulls your from your daze and you pull yourself together, suppressing your sense of impending doom.

Ignoring the woman who attacked Tina, you walk doubled over to Tina, as a contraction washes over you. “Ahhh!” you moan in pain. When you reach Tina she looks at you worriedly. Standing above her, the rubble left dirt all over your face and your hair falls around you in frizzy strands. You clutch your stomach and groan out, “Tina. The baby. She’s coming.” Still useless with her broken leg Tina doesn’t hesitate in telling you, “Go!” You shake your head, “But Tina you’ll be trapped here!” She objects, “Y/n, someone will find me. Your baby is coming now. Grindelwald is here, you need to go. Now!” It takes everything you have in you to tear yourself away from her but you leave her with a promise, “I’ll come back. I’ll make sure someone finds you!” She simply responds, “Go!”

As you struggled to continue you, the contractions grew more intense. You soon realize you’re not going to be able to keep walking like this. Another contraction hits you and you squeeze your eyes shut, willing away the pain. Your legs give out beneath you and you cry out in pain. “Newt!” you shriek your fiance’s name into the air. Muttering through the contractions you whisper to your belly, “Just hold on baby girl. Please hold on.” “Newt!” you shriek again, hopeless. “Merlin’s beard,” you grit your teeth. Pulling out your wand you send a patronus to Newt, only managing to get out the phrase, “She’s coming now. St. Mungo’s tent.” Sending the patronus off with your last bit of energy you close your eyes briefly. In a last ditch effort you send red sparks up into the air, above the smoke, signaling you needed help.

Time crawled as you pushed through your contractions, swallowing the pain. “Please baby girl just hold on a little longer,” you speak down to your bump. Another contraction hits and you moan in agony, your surroundings beginning to spin. “Oh no,” you slap your cheek, trying to stay focused. You could not faint now. Absolutely not. Footsteps echo in your ear, seemingly surreal. Looking up, you see Theseus standing above you.

The sleeve of his suit jacket was torn and blood dripped from a gash on his forehead, but he was there. He found you. “Thes,” you grunt, reaching for his hand. His eyes nearly drill a hole in your head, his look filled with worry. “Y/n what’s happening?” he pleads. Sweat dripping from your forehead you manage to gasp out, “Baby. She’s coming. Now.” Theseus’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. He babbles, “We’ll get you to the medical tent. Come on.” He grabs your hand to disapparate but you stop him. “Theseus I can’t disapparate. The baby,” you beg. Without a second thought your future brother-inlaw scoops your heavily pregnant body into his arms and carries you away. He jogs as quickly as he can towards the medical tent.

Meanwhile Newt finished fending off another one of Grindelwald’s followers. And before he can even breathe a sigh of relief, your glowing white patronus approaches him. His mind goes fuzzy as he hears you utter, “She’s coming now. St. Mungo’s tent.” “Oh god,” he runs a hand through his hair, his worry consuming him.

Theseus rushes into the tent, nearly dropping you. “I need a healer!” he shouts frantically. A young woman approaches and quickly assesses the situation. “How many contractions?” she asks as her and Theseus move you onto a cot. Theseus looks to you to answer the question. “Maybe 20,” you grunt as another one hits. Another healer comes with a wet cloth and wipes the sweat from your eyes. “Deep breathes,” she urges. Theseus politely turns away as they assess how far along you are in delivering. The first healer declares, “You’re nearly there. Just a couple more contractions and it’ll be time to deliver.” Panic fiils you. “Where’s Newt? I sent him a message,” you moan and squirm in pain. Theseus crashes to his knees beside you, letting you squeeze his hand. “He’ll be here. He’ll be here,” he reassures you. Squeezing his hand till it’s purple you push through another contraction. “Theseus,” you begin. Knowing you well he shakes his head immediately, “I’m not leaving you alone. I won’t leave. At least not until Newt gets here.”

Not knowing where it is, Newt apparates to where the two of you first arrived and searches around desperately for any sign of medical staff. “Y/n!” he cries out. He feels hopeless, but then a ministry wizard passes him. Grabbing him by the collar Newt begs, “Where is the medical tent?” The man wordlessly points to the left. Newt races in that direction and sees the tent growing closer, pushing him to run harder to get to his girls.

“Aghhh!” you cry out in pain, this time pulling at fists of fabric on Theseus’s suit jacket. Theseus dabs your forehead with the cloth, murmuring comforting thoughts. “Newt’s not here yet,” you sob helplessly. The healer checks you and announces, “She’s ready to come out. You’re going to have to push now.” Despair fills you. “Please he’s not here yet!” you beg. The healer sympathizes but states, “I can’t slow this baby down.” Suddenly your prayers were answered as your tall fiance with cinnamon hair barrelled towards you. “I’m here my love I’m here,” he announces, crashing onto his knees beside you. “Y/n 20 seconds until you push,” the healer declares. Groaning, you grab Theseus by his tie and plead between sharp gasps, “Thes. Tina. Trapped under rubble. Her leg. Broken. Find her!” Theseus nods and promises, “I’ll find her.” He leaves without a second look.

Newt knelt beside you whispering a thousand apologies in your ear. “Y/n it’s time to push,” the healer declares. “I can’t. I can’t do this. I can’t be a mother,” you sob into Newt’s chest, admitting your worst fears. Newt assures you, “If anyone can do this you can. I’m right here. I won’t let anything happen to her. You can do this. Now push, push as hard as you can.” Nodding at your fiance, you squeeze your eyes shut tight, grinding your teeth. White hot pain flashes through your lower half as you deliver your precious child. And then the pain is replaced by an immediate release of pressure. Sighing, you collapse against Newt’s upper body, which leaned over the cot supporting you. Then your world shifted.

Soft, tiny wails fill your senses. Immediately you blink your eyes open, searching for you daughter. Turning your neck, you see her lying in her father’s arms who stood above you, cradling her so gently. The sight stole all of your breath away. Newt’s mixed green eyes were filled with emotion as he stared down at his child. You’d never seen him so transfixed before. Watching silently, you listen as Newt’s voice shakes, “You are so beautiful. Just like your mother.” You manage a small laugh, “Thanks.” Newt’s eyes shoot down to you and he smiles. Scooting over, you motion for Newt to sit down beside you with your daughter. He sits next to you and croaks, “I never thought I could love something so much.” You nod knowingly, “I know what you mean.” Newt presses a kiss to your forehead and asks, “Do you want to hold your daughter?” You nod, overcome with emotion. Newt hands you your beautiful girl and you look upon your bundle of joy for the first time.

She instantly moved you to tears. With tiny cinnamon curls and freckles just like her father, her eyes blinked back at you, the same color as your own. She scrunched her nose and cooed softly. “Oh she’s perfect,” you breathe. Newt nods. “I love her so much,” Newt brushes the soft baby curls from his daughter’s forehead. Then he asks, “What should we call her?” You immediately respond, “Demi. It has to be Demi. When you were in Paris Dougal took care of me. She wouldn’t be alive without his help.” Newt is overcome with emotion but manages to choke out, “This is why I love you,” at the idea of you naming your child after one of his creatures. “So Demi?” you ask. “Demi,” he confirms. Demi seems to like this as she cooes with contentment, flashing her large eyes at you. “I would do anything for her,” Newt states. You nod, agreeing with him. A crash pulls you from your daze to the entrance of the tent. Theseus stumbles in, carrying Tina in his arms. “Oh thank god,” you sigh in relief at Tina finally getting medical attention. Once she’s tended to Theseus starts to walk over.

His gaze falls to his niece and you hear him take in a sharp gasp. “My god she’s gorgeous,” he whispers. You smile, “I know.” Newt asks his brother, “Would you like to hold her?” Theseus nods eagerly. So Newt hands his brother his newborn daughter and watches as he stares adoringly at his niece. “What’s happening out there?” you cautiously ask Theseus. Tearing his gaze from Demi he says, “The situation is contained. For now. The department of the Statute of Secrecy as well as the healers will take it from here. We have 30 attackers in custody. I have to go to the ministry soon. But I couldn’t without meeting my niece first.” You grin at his affection for the tiny girl. Looking to Newt, you both think the same thing. Newt nods his head in approval so you ask, “Thes? Will you be her godfather?” Moved to tears, he nods his head emphatically. After another five minutes of staring at his godchild, Theseus sighs, “I have to get going. But I want you two to stay home and enjoy this. Keep her safe.” Handing Demi back to you Theseus asks, “What’s her name?” You grin, “You might not get it. But her name’s Demi.” Theseus manages to suppress an eyeroll and replies, “I grew up with Newt. I understand exactly.” Smiling you whisper, “Thank you Theseus. For finding me earlier.” He nods. Pressing a kiss to Demi’s tiny forehead, he reluctantly leaves.

Hours pass as you and Newt stare lovingly at your child while you regain your energy. After introducing Tina to your precious baby girl, Newt admits, “I would very much like to go back home with your now.” “Me too,” you sigh. You hand the baby to Newt, trusting him to disapparate with her. Taking his other hand, your brand new family goes home.

It felt good to be back in your London home. You sit on the couch in the living room, cradling Demi, while Newt puts your coats away. A thought occurs to you. “Newt?” He walks over to you planting a kiss to your cheek before answering with a soft, “Hmmm?” You laugh, “We don’t have a nursery.” Newt laughs with you, “No we don’t do we.” A small paw tugs at your pants and you look down to see your daughter’s namesake, Dougal the Demiguise. “Dougal what is it?” you ask him. He turns and saunters off, leaving you and Newt to follow.

He walks into the bedroom you share with Newt and proudly presents a white wicker baby bassinet. “Dougal it’s beautiful,” you praise him. He smiles proudly. Gently, you sit on your bed and rock Demi as she softly mewls. Newt watches on, transfixed by the beauty of you holding his child, the girl that was as much like you as she was like him. His daughter. He felt an overwhelming sense of pride. Wordlessly he sits down beside you, draping an arm around your shoulders. Dougal tip toes with curiosity, anxious to see the child he protected inside you. Holding her down to his height you tell him, “Dougal, this is Demi. Our baby.” Dougal brushes her tiny curl from her face and smiles widely at the tiny child. He gently squeezes her tiny hand with his own and admires her quietly. When he’s content, he walks back down stairs.

You could sit there for hours, staring at this gorgeous human being. “I love that she has your curls and freckles,” you confess to Newt. He chuckles, “And I love that she has your eyes.” Leaning into Newt’s chest, you let your daughter rest in between the two of you. “We’re so unbelievably lucky,” you whisper. Newt replies, “I’m lucky. I have the two most beautiful girls in the world.” He presses a kiss to the side of your head and breathes in your ear, “I love you so much. You have given me the greatest gift.” You beam with pride, “I love you too Newt.” And neither of you sleep that night. Instead, you both watch from the bed, snuggled tightly together, gazing upon your sleeping angel.

#newt scamander #newt scamander x reader #newt x reader #newt x pregant! reader #fbcog #theseus x reader #theseus scamander #newtina #fbawtft #newt x tina #newt scamander imagine

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clansayeed · 4 years

Text

Bound by Choice ― II.i. The Prestige Waltz

PAIRING: OC x OC x OC (Valdas x Isseya x Cynbel) RATING: Mature (reader discretion advised)

⥼ MASTERLIST ⥽

⥼ Bound by Choice ⥽

Before there were Clans and Councils, before the fate of the world rested in certain hands, before the rise and fall of a Shadow King ― there was the Trinity. Three souls intertwined in the early hands of the universe who came to define the concept of eternity together. Because that was how they began and how they hoped to end; together. For over 2,000 years Valdas, Cynbel, and Isseya have walked through histories both mortal and supernatural. But in the early years of the 20th century something happened―something terrible. Their story has a beginning, and this is the end.

Bound by Choice and the rest of the Oblivion Bound series is an ongoing dramatic retelling project of the Bloodbound series. Find out more [HERE].

Note: Choice is the only book in the series not based on an existing Choices story. It is set in the Bloodbound universe and features many canon characters.

*Let me know if you would like to be added to the Choice/series tag list!

⥼ PART II ⥽

— Paris, 1582. Vampires across Europe gather beneath the bones of Paris for merriment, reverence, and to honor the lives lost in a holy war. But some see this not as meace, but as an opportunity to decimate the enemy ranks no matter the price. And, as Serafine Dupont comes to learn, other's lives are a sacrifice the Trinity is willing to make.

⥼ Chapter Summary ⥽

Beneath the streets of Paris the dead dwell restless. They take up masks and dance through the night. They celebrate freedom and life. And do so, unknowingly, for the last time.

[READ IT ON AO3]

Paris, 1582

She’s a breathtaking thing on his arm. Of course in this the age of beautiful things she still glows radiant; the star that outshines the moon.

As she always has. As she always will.

Long fingers wind through Cynbel’s golden locks absent and curious. She leaves it up to him to solve the labyrinth of the dead and instead finds herself contented in gazing upon him.

“You haven’t worn your hair this long since Venice.”

“Kind of you to notice.”

“I like it.”

“I should hope so. You spend countless hours in my company, darling mine. If you found me repulsive I can’t imagine what I would do with myself.”

Not a heartbeat passes and Isseya’s grip grows violent; feral. Nails digging into his scalp and a sudden tickling warmth on the back of his neck where blood drips down and threatens to stain his collar.

“Really, Iss’,” his sigh is long-suffering, yet he does not decline her apology of handkerchief dabbing away the mess, “do try and keep civil tonight. You know how important the evening is to me.”

Yet he knows her too well not to feel the falter in her footsteps. The way her mockery of breathing stills and leaves them as permanent and dust-covered as the rest of the catacombs through which they wander with purpose.

“Indeed.”

He would ask if she was having second thoughts about the whole affair but what would that change? Nothing.

What’s done is done. And by the end of the night he will reap what has been sown with a madman’s delight.

Up ahead the darkness gives way to shadows dancing in ritual abreast of the walls of stone and bone. Before they get too close Cynbel stops them; pulls his darling girl against him — allows himself to be pinned against the tunnel and knows her natural desires of dominance will placate her.

Even now.

And she falls into the role as easily as he gives it. Pulling his arms up, up against the linen of his sleeves catching on the stone, to hold him in place. She inhales harsh against the confines of her corset and he, too, feels suddenly tight in the chest.

“You know what this reminds me of?” she practically sings into his neck — has him sofuckingglad he decided to forgo that awful stiff collar and luckily she doesn’t mind that he can’t possibly form words right then.

“London,” Isseya answers her own question in bites across his throat, “and the rack Our Beloved had brought from the Tower… how you stretched and begged for it to end.”

Glad though he is that the attempt at distracting her with delightful things has worked Cynbel can’t help but wonder what price he’s about to pay for it. Not that he isn’t stiff in his hose — but they do have to make an appearance at some point in the night.

And Valdas will start to get worried if they do not show their faces soon.

She pulls back with eyes dark and greedy. Not too far, though, when he snaps blunted teeth forward to claim her lower lip for his own. Watching, transfixed, the way it comes back to her shining wet under the distant candlelight.

“Because I wasn’t tall enough already?”

“Are you complaining?”

“Not in the slightest.”

Cynbel snakes an arm around his lover’s waist and, all teasing aside, claims her in a familiar kiss. Familiar in that they have explored one another so intimately and so often that their bodies are one in the same; that the fabric and flesh between them no more than a false reality.

They part; trade lips for foreheads, and breathe in the silence together. As one.

“Should this night be our last night…”

He stops her there. A finger to her lips that curls to lift her chin. She is a proud creature, his darling Isseya; her head simply demands to be held high.

“Stop. You think me so foolish—nay—so weak? This is merely another night, one of many passed and many to come.”

“You cannot control everything.”

“Watch me.”

He has every confidence that they will survive the trials soon to come. They have weathered every storm, every war, every plague. This, too, they will overcome.

The masques they take from their hips to fasten are as rich as they are detailed. Perfectly carved to their features and even now he gazes upon her with a reverence. Such beauty, and to be seen beautiful by it, was worth living for.

She takes his offered hand and with it some of the fire in his eyes. No words between them, they move as one to round the last steps before the tunnel opens outward and upward into splendor.

The vaulted ceilings are a surprise; as far down beneath the earth as they are. A promise of life and freedom that the world above could never truly give them not even in the nighttime. Chandeliers hang high overhead with candles deep in their flames.

Across the ballroom — they are not the last to arrive. Similarly decorated vampires coming alone and with companions at two doorways just as open and inviting. From all corners of Paris they flock here tonight.

He looks and finds Isseya surveying him warily. So much for distraction.

“A bit cramped in here, wouldn’t you say?” There are more attendees than you assumed.

“We’re under the greatest city in the world my love. I’m sure we’ll find the room.” Then we improvise. Nothing has changed.

Nothing has. If anything their chances of living through the things to come have only grown higher.

Even in the crowd their hearts yearn for who they know stands within. Can feel themselves drawn to him, pulled along by a force more powerful than their understanding.

Yet in crossing the length of the room they are seen; more than that they are witnessed. The status their masques signify earns them collective gasps and bows alike; lesser hoping to placate what they only understand to be more than they are. More than they ever will be; for some tonight.

There are always casualties in war.

Together Cynbel and Isseya come across the only masque that could earn their respect; the only thing older than they. Would bow together anyway, would dirty the hems and knees of their finery if that was what he asked of them. Because that is the proper way to treat a god.

That is the proper way to treat their god.

Valdas looks them over with warmth that quickly ignites hot, passionate. He has always appreciated the beauty of his beloveds but this night there is a sense of urgency and finality with every action in which they partake. The greater the risk the greater the reward.

Hungry is their god — who cannot wait even for Cynbel to come up from his bow of respect before grabbing onto the man’s doublet to pull their mouths together. A kiss met with equal fervor and delight, and no less devoted when shared to their darling.

Those old enough enough to remember the days before reservation and propriety, few and far between though they are, say nothing. Those left avert their gaze and know better than to challenge masques so revealing.

“I was starting to worry you’d lost your way.” Valdas glances between his lovers; their mischief not lost on him.

“We simply took a scenic path.”

“And did it suit you?”

“As only death could.”

When they turn out to observe the party so far it is as they do everything — together as one. His gods touch finds its way into his hair and Cynbel pays no thought to it. It is sacrament, after all.

“Were the rumors true?” asks Isseya in a low breath. It earns the pair of them a heavy sigh.

“Indeed.”

“Then we should away.”

Cynbel stifles a derisive snort. “Absolutely not.”

“What you have set in motion is all the more reason.” When she speaks it is earnest and out of love. They know this. But equally she knows they are warriors first. That they crave blood for sport as well as feast.

“While the idea of the Godmaker’s head on one of their silver blades is enough to send me into a passionate heat —”

“Cynbel.”

“We’re among alike company, Valdas.”

“You don’t know that for certain.”

“Really,” the taller man scans the crowd with a knowing eye, “I do.”

A hush falls over the crowded ballroom — dashes away Isseya’s idle fancies of fleeing before they are found. None other than the man himself could garner such a reaction.

Between them the Made-God grows tense. His lovers share arms around him on instinct — natural and without hesitation.

They enter in deadly beauty, arms lain together with an air of presentation. See us, it says, and know your place under our heel. The response it draws is immediate. None dare allow themselves to be in the way of the King and Queen of Vampires.

And they bask in the attention like gluttons. The Bloodqueen smiles much in the same way as when they last had met — the sultry curve of lips that keeps the viewer in a trance only so that they cannot gaze up to see how it does not reach her eyes. And him — he smiles because he means it. Because he need not ask for respect from the masses, not anymore.

They stop in the middle of the floor and are given a wide berth. Gaius tightens his grip on the handle of his masque before he lets it fall from his face; the only one who could dare to pull off such an outrageous act in present company.

“Friends, subjects, loyalists;” he addresses the gathering with pride already swollen in his chest, “your welcome to this our finest achievement has been a gracious one. To see you all gathered here, to see so many of our kind in one place and pridefully so, is a gift the value of I could never have imagined.”

“Always the wordsmith, Gaius mon chér.”

She emerges from the adoring crowd a vision in red. Velvet gown swept up in dainty hand as she comes up on Cynbel’s open side without so much as a glance. The filigree of her masque dazzles in the firelight; intimate gold that frames the upper half of her face to both conceal and reveal.

A bold choice none but the hostess of the evening could aspire to.

She greets Kamilah as an old friend; takes their hands together and presses delicate Parisian kisses on either cheek. Knows the eyes of nearly every vampire in Europe are upon her as she gives a flourishing curtsy with the kiss she bestows on Gaius’ ring.

“I cannot tell you how pleased I am you could attend us tonight,” continues she, “though I will admit I was near to giving up — what with my last five invitations all met with refusal.”

Something flashes in Kamilah’s eye. Has her hand back on that of her King quickly — in restraint.

“Not refusal, Serafine. We were merely indisposed.”

And she understands. “You shall have to regale me the tales.”

“Shall we now?” asks Gaius with a raised brow. It earns him a coy smirk from the Lady Serafine.

“I insist. But now is the time for revelry! Continuer, mes amis!” On her signal the musicians resume their tune, tentative conversation growing strong once again.

To hide would be a fool’s notion. And the Trinity have been called many things, but fools not a word among them.

Demons and the Devil himself. Bloodthirsty pagans. Hellish temptations.

But never fools. The world knows better than that.

The Godmaker and his firstborn share a long look even as heads in their decorated masques and boisterous dress weave between them. Kamilah’s stare goes hard at the sight of him and for that Cynbel cannot help but feel accomplished in some way.

And because he’s in such a delightfully cheery mood — because he knows — he grins and dares a cheeky wink.

Dares only in that the sudden sting of Isseya’s claws on his upper arm is so very very worth it.

They know what must be done, now. At their god’s back the lovers stand as they approach.

“Valdemaras,” Gaius says as he offers his ring in the same way. And without hesitation—he knows better by now, they all do; this tenuous arrangement of theirs—Valdas bestows his kiss.

“Augustine.”

Nothing could ruin the Golden Son’s jubilance. Nothing.

“Little lotus,” he croons to Kamilah even as her mouth turns downward, “you’re looking in good health.”

Whatever she wants to say, she doesn’t. Bites her tongue enough for the brightest flash of copper to make the tip of his nose twitch.

Their darling goes still as stone when the Godmaker bows to her; nothing reverent but more of a courtly finesse. But as he waits she comes to realize it is her he waits upon; offers up the back of her hand clutching her fan in pale knuckles for him to kiss.

See, we can be civil. Now you must be, too.

Palpable tension such as theirs isn’t lost on the other guests, though, especially on one so close as their hostess. Who takes everyone by surprise when she dares speak of it.

“Ah, c'est intéressant,” as a loose curl falls in the eyeline of her masque, “the stories those looks could tell. Friends of yours, Kamilah chérie?”

She hesitates, as if deciding whether or not to answer.

“I believe you know of them by reputation,” — obviously, as Isseya made quite sure of that upon their arrival earlier that season — “what is that silly name of yours again, Cynbel?”

Lucky his masque hides the curl of his upper lip.

“If we’re to speak of silly things —”

“I present my lovers; Cynbel and Isseya,” Valdas interrupts, probably best for them all, and takes both of their hands in offering to the Lady, “you may call me Valdas.”

A flash of recognition in the Frenchwoman’s calculating gaze.

“Ah… Les Trois Amants.”

Isseya’s chin raises with pride. “And you can be no other than tonight’s hostess, no? Mademoiselle Dupont.”

“Please, call me Serafine.”

“Such informality…”

“It breeds a certain… intimacy, non?”

Her lovers need not worry of her — but what they know and what they do are different things. None in their little circle miss the way Valdas’ hand tightens over hers and the angle of Cynbel’s body as if to cover her from such intimate eyes. Instinct for them both; to claim and be claimed by one another for all to see.

Thankfully the pleasantries are made to end there. The soft tunes of conversation dying on instrumental lips as the concert prepares to begin playing for the first dance of the midnight hour.

“Mademoiselle, may I have he honor of your prestige?”

Even Gaius has a hard time concealing his surprise when Serafine’s hand comes out in offering to Isseya. Objectively they all understand — know the worth of a millennia by virtue of living it. But some things just simply aren’t fucking done.

Isseya knows this and still accepts. Takes their hands with a sparkle of mischief in her eye before they away to take up positions within the circle gathering on the dance floor.

Paranoia only begins to breed when Cynbel watches the Godmaker’s hand fall on the middle of Valdas’ lower back. “My prestige is yours, Valdemaras.” Not that he is given the choice — is already being led to follow.

Which leaves…

“No.”

Cynbel’s eyebrows barely raise in surprise. Not that he’s entirely inclined to do so with her, either, but they seem to have little say in the matter.

“You would rather take the first dance with someone so mundane?” He sweeps a lazy gesture across the floor. “You know none save our companions are even close enough in age.”

Kamilah’s eyes narrow; she scans the floor for those left unpartnered as though someone will spring miraculous from the stone with enough years under their belt to not serve as a grave insult to her.

He doesn’t have to look. No one else will do.

“I doubt one dance will be the end of you, little lotus.” Offering his hand in defeat for them both.

“You give yourself too much credit.”

“Luckily ‘tis not my credit you need, but my prestige.”

They slide in together, hand in hand, moments before the waltz begins. No effort made on behalf of either to keep the disdain from bleeding through their garb to stain the floor at their feet.

This is simply the way things are done in polite society. They know this. Both of them helped shape it in their own way. They’ve certainly had the time to.

With their betters paired off it was simply the only way to save face. For either of them to dance with one of the lesser attendees would have been tantamount to suicide of status. No other vampire in attendance could have been over a millennium—not even the Lady Serafine. But being a hostess had its perks, and Cynbel could attest… his darling Isseya was so very worth it.

One of the violinists drags the first note out; a true delight to perform for an audience with hearing unsurpassed.

Cynbel lays his hand on the cusp of her waist. Kamilah squeezes his hand hard enough to grind bone. Good, he would expect nothing less than resistance.

Humans held court to catch a glimpse of their betters. For their kind it was this — La Valse de Prestige, the Prestige Waltz. Faces trained on their partners all around but eyes unable to help themselves in how they wander.

There is no slow build. There is only the abrupt beginning, and the flurry of the dance.

Here lay the ability—nay the obligation—to pass judgment on one another. On who danced with whom; on what masque partnered with another. For many it was a matter of life and death. For the likes of the Trinity, of the Godmaker and his Queen it was a chance to see a new breed of blooded potential. For the rest; a fruitless attempt to climb the staircase.

Only it wasn’t so much a staircase as a sheer cliff dropping off into an abyss.

Even in the confines of her dress Kamilah’s movements are limber and fluid. He hardly has to guide her at all.

“You look well.”

“If you are attempting to make me falter —”

“Which would look terrible on behalf of us both. Can I not give a simple compliment?”

“No, you cannot.”

Hands joined they follow the motions; fling themselves outward with faces turned away. Cynbel sees Isseya in almost direct opposite. Their eyes meet and as one they see their beloved focused on his own movements on the far curve of the room.

And they pity him. Know firsthand how beautifully he can dance… but in the hands of the Godmaker he is made mortal again — if only for a short while.

His exact argument against coming tonight, and why they had never ventured to the crypts with their beautiful promises of community before.

If they were lucky, perhaps the events of the night would change that.

What was the phrase, ah yes. To kill two birds with one stone.

“For a man so craven to violence, you feign deep thought quite well.”

Blue eyes unfix themselves from a rapidly-changing distance to lay on the Bloodqueen. “Was that you asking what my mind wanders to?”

“Of course not.”

“Then why say anything at all?”

Of course he knows why; the din of hushed conversation is all around them. Attuned ears catch the familiar bell of Isseya’s laughter. A couple at his back carry on a hissed debate over Cynbel and Kamilah’s statuses — why their masques are so revealing and embellished.

They are a gaping void of silence in comparison. But he’d rather she say it.

She doesn’t give him the satisfaction.

“Very well,” clicking his tongue—he dares to be civil with the woman who nearly left him to join the ashes that littered Pompeii, “when did you and the Godmaker set sights on Paris?”

“France has been home to our court for several decades now.”

Our court. Two words that drag his sights along the room. Surely not this court, not with the surprise at his attendance as there had been. “And before that?”

“What does it matter to you?”

“I’m writing a memoir.”

“Of course you are. Always such a learned thing you were, preferring the company of books over bloodshed.”

Rouged lips tick in her effort not to smirk. Personally he finds her wit humorless and dry.

“If you must know… we only recently came up from the Mediterranean. There was rumor out of Venice that sent us into hiding; a hunter who had felled the great Bloodqueen.”

She is strong but still so young. What a difference two thousand years makes; in the eyes and in the mind, in the control of the body. But there is still a mystery that can render even the oldest of their line a prisoner to their impulses.

He knows it well.

He lets their eyes meet; holds her captive with the light stroke of his thumb along the outside of her index finger. A direct touch; a private one. But enough to release the sudden grasp of iron at his words.

There is a part of Cynbel that relishes in her silent suffering. Because even the sight of her reminds him of Rome, of his Lord taking a knee to keep his lovers alive.

And then there is a part that feels her pain as his own. Who remembers the howl of his own bleeding lungs at the sight of the sword that nearly came down on Isseya’s neck. Too soon, too soon.

“I’m sorry for your loss,” is all he says. And he hopes that, even if for the rest of their dance, she believes him.

The music ends as abrupt as it began. Almost as if the musicians were taken in the middle of the piece — but they all know better. The Prestige Waltz is a symbol as much as it is a dance. And are they not all to be ended with a swift act of a cruel fate?

Around them bows and curtsies of thanks. The orchestra starts up a far more leisurely tune. The formalities are done.

Cynbel gently pries himself from the little lotus’ grasp. Kisses the back of her hand and risks everything to whisper against her skin.

“I would not be displeased if you survived tonight.”

Kamilah tugs her hand back and the inevitable question that he will not answer is poised on her lips — but the return of his lovers is reason enough for Cynbel to take a more permanent leave of her.

“I like her.”

He snaps a look to Isseya, very nearly alarmed, before the realization that she stares at Serafine with delight edging on desire.

“She certainly knows how to throw a party.”

They both linger in a half-silence; so familiar now that a voice should follow but it does not. And has them turning, in sync, to Valdas’ silence with curiosity.

They comfort him as only they can; her touch on a cheek, his hand at a waist. Giving him only the praise and adoration their Made-God deserves even when he looks as he does now — when he looks as though he does not.

Such times are when he needs it most.

When Valdas finally speaks it is with crimson eyes. Once following the Godmaker’s eyes move across the floor now given just as intensely to Cynbel much to his surprise.

“Your amusement for tonight must be postponed.”

Surely he speaks madness. “Not even your divinity could do such, darling.”

“Do whatever you must — but none shall come upon us tonight.”

So foreign is how Valdas pulls from his lovers’ touches that they are left, for a moment, unmoored.

“It cannot be done.” Cynbel repeats in fewer words. Harder, clipped.

“It must.”

“It. cannot.”

The hand Valdas runs over his own face trembles with the weight of him. “Then we are all doomed.”

He tries all he can; reaches out but finds his touch rejected — outright rejected. Tries to speak but the words simply never ring right in his ears. Companionship for as long as they have had comes with its share of arguments but this…

Something so small, so inconsequential. Yet the disappointment brimming from his Love and Light is… rattling to say the least.

Yet the answer is as plain as day.

“Does he know?”

Here in their secrecy they dare not chance a look. Cynbel has already risked enough saying what he has to his consort.

It’s a relief to them all when Valdas shakes his head. “Not quite. But that means so little. And with him here… they could never hope to win anyway.”

“It isn’t my intent to let them win. And should he fall prey to their righteous hands… well all the better.”

Not for the first time Valdas silences him with a kiss. Bruising and harsh; holding his jaw in place because he is commanded to accept such a gift. As if he could do anything less.

“Cynbel, my Golden Son…” They pull from one another with obvious reluctance. Foreheads resting as their blind hands search and find sanctuary in that of their third.

He isn’t prepared to hear the crack in his love’s voice. It wounds him far worse than a stake ever could.

“Please. Save your appetite for another night.”

“What is done cannot be undone.”

Isseya steps between them. Steals a kiss in offering from them both. The temple of her always demanding more, more, more that they give her without hesitation.

“You cannot fault him for that.” Because she knows her strengths Isseya punctuates her words with a forlorn twinkle of the eye. Squeezes Cynbel’s hand behind her and he knows — knows even gods are made pliable under such a gaze.

The music picks back up before Valdas can speak. All around them the cacophony of merriment and delight and they cannot let their worries cut through such a veil lest they be discovered… something even their Maker knows.

“On your head be it.”

His dismissal is clear. And something Cynbel will not take lightly. He takes that benevolent hand up to his lips for a kiss. “Trust that I will keep you safe, my Light, my Love. As I always have.” He dares to look upwards and is met with tragedy in dark eyes. “As I always will.”

A shock of red pulls from the dancing crowd towards them and the Trinity pull from one another — close but not uneasily so.

When the Lady Serafine takes them in her mirth wavers for the briefest moment. Something that cannot be helped — something about them has always roused suspicion even in the merriest of souls.

They are close; closer than can be defined with words in any language, closer than anyone can understand. That kind of devotion creates a wall between them and the world.

It is meant to.

“I had hope to pull you into the revelry… but perhaps it would be out of turn of me.” Even with half of her face hidden her hesitance is transparent.

Valdas steps forward — one breath quicker than his lovers — and offers their hostess his arm.

“We would be the ones out of turn to decline the lady her dance.” He muses; smiles down as she takes his upper arm softly, tugs him towards the mingling array.

The look he throws back to his lovers is a reassuring one.

Enjoy the night while you can.

The intent is to take the hands of the next partner — something the rest of the circle does with ease.

Yet as Cynbel looks down… down… down until he rests his eyes on his would-be partner he stops and finds himself unsure.

How is he to proceed when his partner is…

“Are you well, monsieur?” Yet even when the child asks it is clear he has no intention of letting the taller vampire get away so easily. Grasps Cynbel’s hands with his own and the comparison in size is almost astounding enough to trip his feet. As it is — he’s now more conscious of every step than ever.

“Quite.” Not as smooth of a save as he would prefer, but better than none.

A familiar trilling laughter whirls his head to the sight of Isseya with an unfamiliar man. Her eyes, as ever, fixated on her golden lover. Much to her partner’s obvious chagrin.

The child whirls the pair of them wild and free and with all the abandon of youth.

“The pleasure is all mine!”

“Indeed.”

Help me, his silent cry to Valdas; who has taken up with a slim woman obscured fully by her masque. His act of generosity for the night.

As predicted the moment his lover pulls himself from her grasp she is flocked by other, less prestigious attendees eager to bask in the attention given by someone so old.

He approaches them calmly — calmer than Cynbel would like but appearance is everything even at the eleventh hour — and easily slides his lover from the young man’s embrace.

“Forgive me, Marcel,” he muses to the child, “but I find myself wilting without my beloved’s touch.”

Marcel, with an air of familiarity Cynbel doesn’t quite understand, coos at the pair of them before skipping off to a different part of the room. His boisterous demeanor seems equally repulsive to his chosen victim; a surly man with a surlier masque in armor that doesn’t quite shine like it should.

He keeps note of that. The only one adequately prepared for what is to come.

“I know that look.”

A crooked finger under his chin draws Cynbel’s attention away and to the center of his world. To the hesitance he sees still but not without its own resignation. That his god humors him still is a blessing without compare.

“What look?” He’s always feigned innocence terribly.

He interrupts the purse of Valdas’ lips with a kiss. Tangles his fingers in dark hair like staining himself with shadow and cares little for anyone who might be watching. Their kind may try to keep up with the social niceties of humanity but they will never be ruled by it.

“You are not the only soldier here, my Golden One.”

“Good, then they may stand a fighting chance.”

“And will you rally them?”

“Hardly. This is between Baltasar and myself; another battle in our seemingly endless war.”

He continues even when a hand claps over his mouth. Even when his god’s eyes bleed red and chance hasty looks to assure they are unheard.

To utter such a name in present company may very well doom them all.

“Relax, my divine love — I would not speak were I worried of discovery.”

“I doubt that.”

“You doubt me?”

“Only in that I know your desire for bloodshed is enough to fill the Seine to brimming.”

The smile such a compliment earns is, obviously, not meant for so. Yet even at the pout of Valdas’ bottom lip Cynbel cannot help but feel proud to be known as such.

He gathers his Maker close with one arm; protects him from the world as he always has. As he always will. “Everything I do, I do for you and Isseya.” Peppering kisses across his tanned throat just shy of the stiff collar. “Even now it may seem petty or trifling, but when we are free of their wretched hounds at our heels you will understand.”

It takes longer than he’s used to but eventually the inevitable comes — eventually Valdas does yield to each touch. Though not without a sigh of his own; his own way of saying he does not approve, but he will not stand in the way.

It is a middle ground to which they have grown familiar.

He is always forgiven.

It is a break in the heavy clouds which have hung over the vampires of Paris for too long. A brief flicker of moonlight which they bathe in, frolic through not unlike the pagans of old. There are even a few times in which — only to be certain there is no suspicion to be found — Cynbel looks to see true enjoyment on the Godmaker’s carved features.

A sight that makes him ill.

Following a dance that certainly could have been performed with the entirety of her ensemble but was much better enjoyed in nothing but her underclothes, Isseya drapes herself over the back of the chair both her lovers occupy. Not a space to fit two grown men but like everything they make it work.

She leans forward expectantly and devoted as they are the men comply; showering her throat with kisses and bites worthy of the envy the less prestigious among their kind have thrown their way all evening.

“Do you think they might begin to grow suspicious?” she asks idle; winding her clutches at the backs of their heads as possessive as they are thoughtless. An act of instinct.

Cynbel flicks the tip of his tongue over the shell of her ear. “Why would they?”

“We’ve a reputation for abandoning these affairs for our own.”

“They should be honored by our continued presence.”

“And yet whispers abound.”

He pulls back to watch his lovers where their temples touch. To bask in the glow they create together. Almost seems a shame to ruin an evening of their radiance but… no.

That’s just a little seed of doubt. Something to carve out of him like fleshrot.

“That my heart —” thumb brushing over Isseya’s lips, “— and my soul —” other hand cupping the strong angle of Valdas’ jaw, “— continue to doubt me so is insult enough. Lest they forget that I do this for them and the pleasure I take from it is not solely selfish in nature.”

Walking away from them is a difficult thing; always has been, always will be. But difficult things are merely difficult — not impossible. And one more word from them against him may just be the spark that ignites his smothered temper.

He hears them call out but resists the impulse to turn back. Leaves the merriment through one of the few doorways and casts off his masque as he does. Prestige, masques; he could care less for the things that can be bought and bribed into.

Let them meet him across a battlefield with naught but their hands as fists and see, then, that he will always win. Such is the way of the soldier, of the hunter. Of the primordial creatures they are yet seem to have forgotten.

He throws a fist in a fit of rage. Watches it collide with the wall of bone with a sickeningly delighted crunch that breaks the face of a skull off into little pieces. So fragile, so withering.

So fucking satisfying to see.

“At what point do they cease to become faces?”

Without her masque she is of the same beauty, though perhaps with more emotion about her now no longer hidden.

Serafine’s fingertips trail along the rows of foreheads; some still with places for the eyes and jawbones and some not unlike the poor victim of Cynbel’s rage.

Dirt and bone dust gathers on the heavy fabric at the train of her dress. She doesn’t seem to mind.

He holds her gaze as he reaches out to an almost perfectly preserved skull. Caresses the voided eyes with his fingertips and hooks his thumb through a gap in the teeth. All it takes is the slightest twitch of muscle — no longer preserved almost or not.

Serafine flinches; a telling thing he does not miss.

“I would assume when I do that.”

“I mean the faces behind the bone. To whom these lonely heads once belonged.”

He regards her with a glint in his eye. “I heard tell of the far-reaching influence of the Mademoiselle Dupont but I had no idea she knew so many.”

The coy smile that tugs at her lips is forced. An easy thing — the hallmark of a woman used to the machinations of courtly intrigue. She could learn a thing or two from his darling girl; she does so without tell.

But the silence between them echoes. Hard and bright. It makes him sigh.

“If one sees a sea of bones and plucks them by identity, they will do so regardless of whether they are alive or dead.”

A bold thing to admit. There is power in truth but when the truth is soaked in the blood of ages…

“I am sorry if this is not the answer you were looking for.”

“Non, no… I would rather the reality than a beautiful lie. We carry such lies enough, do we not?” Cynbel raises an eyebrow; there is no vanity in the way she tucks a lock of curls behind her ear. “You and I would be no different than these bones, were our bodies to show the years. Yet we remain beautiful well into eternity.”

“Some more than others.”

“Indeed.”

But that isn’t the reason the hostess abandoned her own affair. Now is it?

When she looks from one dead thing to another Serafine is met with expectant eyes. She has the decency to feign a flush.

“Forgive me—but what sort of hostess would I be were I not to entertain all of my guests?”

“You have entertained us enough.”

“‘Us?’”

Cynbel stills his exploratory hand. “My lovers and I.”

Us — we — always a unity. Together even when they are apart.

The woman nods. “Ah, oui. I count myself among the lucky few to have been graced with their prestige this night. But not yet from you. It leaves a woman to wonder why.”

“I doubt it has escaped your keen notice, Mademoiselle Dupont, that my social skills are lackluster in comparison to my better selves.”

“And you would not stray from such notions even for the sake of propriety?”

It makes him snort a laugh — a noise that takes his companion by surprise. Brings an easily-detectable pity to his eyes.

“Now it is I who must be forgiven.”

“For what, monsieur?”

“For in any way giving you the impression that I am proper.”

Laughable, really. A joke he will think of fondly for years to come when all this is done.

And should she have any doubts in his words he would have those cast aside, too. Closing the gap between them in a single stride. Escape through such narrow corridors more than a fleeting whimsy as he leans against the burial wall to take her in.

Cynbel would be lying if he said the minute trembling of her under the touch of his thumb was not exciting.

There is a different fear in their kind than that of humans. Humans are always afraid. But vampires… no no. Vampires fear with reason, cause; knowledge. They fear things that deserve to be feared. Things that have earned it.

And he has earned it so.

“A room full of admirers, the progenitor of our lineage, the prestige of the Bloodqueen—of Les Trois Amants, or two of three anyway, tucked beneath your skirts…”

With thumb and forefinger Cynbel raises her chin; easily tilted upwards to his unabashed amusement, “I find it hard to believe a hostess with such pretty achievements to crown herself with would willingly follow a single solemn soul because of something as silly as duty.”

The change under his hand is equally a delight. How Serafine steels herself; hardened eyes and a clenched jaw and command dripping from painted lips.

“Believe me, or do not. That is —”

“I do not believe you, no. I believe someone sent you out here to me. A little lotus, perhaps?”

Regret, like a shooting star in the endless sky. There one moment and gone in a flash; burned behind the eyelids but never to be seen again.

He should not have told her.

Inconsequential.

“You would do well to back. away.”

The chance to answer—or act—never comes. Not when the ground rumbles over their heads and noises foreign to all but the valiant begin to trail in on the same chord as the silenced orchestra. Then the thundering boom of a cannon, of doors blown from their hinges and the singing opera of swords torn from their sheaths.

“Finally…” Cynbel exhales like ecstasy; picturesque like the trembling waif on her wedding night.

The armies of the faithful have arrived.

#bloodbound #bloodbound fanfiction #choices fanfiction #gaius augustine #kamilah sayeed #serafine dupont #oc: cynbel #oc: valdas #oc: isseya #oblv: bound by choice #oblv: new chapter #; my fics

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