#but over and over again because i was practicing my swedish by trying to learn all the words and sing along | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

oddpriest · 4 years

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Swedish Lessons (Five Hargreeves)

A/N: Based off of this prompt. I’m sorry if the Swedish is broken and/or incorrect, I don’t actually speak Swedish and had to translate the best I could :-( Please, if you speak Swedish, feel free to correct me!! Also sorry for the back to back dialogue in places. Translations are numbered at the bottom! Enjoy

Genre: Fluff

Warnings: S2 content

W.C: 1,478

Summary: You accompany Five, Diego, and Lila at the Mexican Consulate. While Diego and Lila search for the Majestic Twelve, Five decides it’s the perfect time to review a little Swedish.

An anthem of trumpets filled your ears as you entered the room, causing you to subconsciously sway with the melody as you followed close behind Five. The room was slightly crowded with elegant figures, poise and polite, incredibly well dressed. You told Five a silent ‘thank you’ for helping you with your look tonight, otherwise you might have felt out of place.

“I don’t see Dad anywhere.”, Diego announced.

“Just be on the lookout for the Majestic Twelve. You two can take upstairs, [Y/n] and I will keep an eye out down here.”, Five instructed, “Oh, and Diego, try not to do anything too stupid.”

Five matched his words with a sarcastic smile, making Lila to chuckle as they took off. This left just you and Five, alone together at one of the fanciest gatherings you’ve ever attended. The glistening chandelier hanging from the ceiling caught your eye, and you began to get lost in thought. So lost in thought, you hadn’t even noticed Five tugging on your hand.

He gestured toward the open floor, “Come dance with me.”

Only half paying attention, you blindly followed him with your hands still enclosed. Your face began to flush a bit as you both came to a standstill. Briefly, you examined your surroundings and your current position; you finally realized, Five had invited you to dance. At this point, your nerves had completely taken over, making your face redder by the minute as you started to shake. He seemed to notice your change in behavior because his resting deadpan face was replaced with one that was rarely seen. His gaze had softened, and the slight smile on his face was genuine.

“Follow my lead.”

His hand took to your waist, protectively gripping the small of your back. Your back straightened instinctively, your free hand moving to his shoulder. The other was preoccupied, tightly holding onto his hand. The dance began as simple swaying, taking small footsteps as you looked into each other’s eyes. A small, surprised squeak escaped you as you were twirled, and you hoped the quick hand over your mouth was enough to hide it.

“You know since we’re going against the Swedes now, I think it’d be best if you learned some Swedish.”, he broke the silence as he dipped you, “No better time than now for a quick lesson.”

“But, I have learned Swedish already.”, you said, confused.

He stopped, the deadpan expression returning, “Okej älskling. Säg mig då, vad säger jag till dig just nu?”1

You hesitated, “Okay… what did I just-”

He interrupted, “Exactly.”

Five turned you rather swiftly, your back suddenly pressed up against his chest. Your fingers were still intertwined, and his hand never left your waist. The dance was a little clumsy, feet stepping over and bumping into each other from time to time. However, you both kept a steady pace as you swayed back and forth.

“Now, repeat after me.”, he murmured into your ear, “Mitt namn ar [Y/n].”

You rolled your eyes, “Mitt namn ar [Y/n].”

He tsked, spinning you back around so you were facing him, “Repeat in English, please.”

“What?”, you questioned, “You didn’t say that. Why should I?”

“Because, how else am I supposed to know that you actually know what you’re saying?”, Five replied, his classic sarcastic smile returning.

“Fine.”, you huffed, “My name is [Y/n].”

He nodded, “Jag är den bäst utseende här, även om jag inte vet det.”

“I am the best looking here, even though I don’t know it.”

“Jag kanske inte heller vet detta, men jag gör Five också väldigt glada.”

That familiar heat returned to your face and ears as you replied, “I may not know this either, but I also make Five very happy.”

“Kanske den lyckligaste han har varit på länge.”, he smiled.

Your bodies were practically glued together, your heart beating against his chest. He tilted his head with a slightly confused expression, obviously waiting for you to continue.

“Perhaps the happiest he has been in a long time.”, your response was meek. The nervousness had returned to your voice and your head was dizzy, but you still managed to comprehend the unfamiliar sentence.

“Han älskar varje sekund han tillbringar med mig.”, he continued.

“He loves every.. second he spends with me?”, you were unsure of your answer.

“See? You got it.”, he said with a nod of his head, “Han vet inte vad han skulle göra om något hände med mig.”

You became more confused, yet still replied. “He does.. not know what he would do… if something happened to me.”

“Ja, [Y/n], det är rätt. Du gör ett bra jobb.”, his calm voice spoke unfamiliar words, “ Allt du just sa var förresten sant.” 2

“What?”, you asked, “Sorry, I don’t understand what you’re saying.”

The boy twirled you, yet again, pulling you back into his warm embrace. You felt his breath against your neck, your bodies still moving in unison. The other couples surrounding you swiftly avoided you as they danced past, but that was the least of your concerns. The music had become significantly smoother, the band’s melody resembling the sweet motion of honey dripping off a honey wand. His eyes were deep, gentle. You almost forgot what you were doing before his words yet again interrupted your running mind.

“That’s fine, I got a tad carried away.”, he acknowledged, “Just keep repeating what I say. Jag vet inte hur jag annars säger det här.”

“I do not know how else to say this.”, you repeated confidentently.

“Och så mycket som jag inte vill säga det, jag kan inte vänta längre.”, the words rolled off his tongue.

He pulled you in closer, lifting you off the ground ever so slightly. One of your legs was closer to the ground than the other, your foot pointed as it drug across the floor. Though he was spinning both of you, your eyes were locked with his. Despite your voice wavering, you tried to remain confident with your demeanor. You were struggling to.

“And as much as I don’t want to say it, I can’t wait any longer.”, you were genuinely confused.

“Jag kan ärligt talat inte dölja det längre”, he continued to speak, ignoring the confusion in your voice.

“Wait, what?”

“Keep repeating.”

The mix of the sentimental music and his delicate tone clashed in your brain, and the fuzzy feeling returned. You hesitated, “I honestly can’t hide it anymore.”

“Jag är ledsen om du inte känner på samma sätt.”

Your pace increased in harmony with the song’s tempo, furthering the haze.

“I’m sorry if you don’t feel the same way.”

The song came to a close as he dipped you a final time, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear with the hand that wasn’t holding you. Your heartbeat was loud in your ears, which were burning at this point.

“Men jag älskar dig, [Y/n].”

Clapping sounds filled the room as other partygoers showed their appreciation for the mariachi band. Five had gently positioned you upright, his hands still in their protective position. Your face kept its shocked expression as you continued to process his words. The situation would just become more awkward and a little embarrassing if you mistranslated this sentence, so you made sure to repeat it in your head as much as possible. Doubt continued to swell in your heart, but you could tell Five was becoming increasingly uncomfortable waiting for an answer. You two were still standing in the middle of the ballroom floor, pressed against each other, and others gave quick glances as they passed. Not wanting to keep him waiting any longer, you finally replied.

“But I love you, [Y/n].”, you choked out. He let out a weak chuckle at your response, and he began to let you go. You quickly pulled him back with a smile, “I love you too. I really didn’t know how to say it either.”

He smirked, “Well, I’m glad you finally understood. It took you long enough. For the record, this is the corniest thing I’ve ever done and I don’t think I could’ve kept it up much longer.”

You laughed, walking close beside him with your arms linked, “I sincerely doubt that’s the corniest thing you’ve done.”

“Yes, you’re right.”, he said, “In fact, I’ve wooed a woman in every language I know.”

You lightly elbowed him, continuing to giggle, “It must be nice to know more than one language.”

“Hey!”, Diego interrupted, “Are you two lovebirds gonna come help us, or what? We got a lead on where Dad might be.” He ushered for you both to join him before being drug away by Lila.

Five kissed your forehead before gripping your hand and guiding you in Diego’s direction, “And I can tell you I love you in all of them.”

1. “Okay, love. Tell me then, what am I saying to you right now?”

2. “Yes, [Y/n], that’s right. You’re doing a good job. By the way, everything you just said was true.”

#number five #number 5 #number five x reader #number five fanfiction #five hargreeves x reader #five hargreeves fanfiction #five hargreeves #tua x reader #tua fanfiction #diego hargreeves #lila pitts #the umbrella academy #the umbrella academy fanfiction #the umbrella academy x reader

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liviusofpella · 3 years

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2: Where do broken hearts grow?

Pairing: Tyril x MC (Selene) Word count: 6000 Warnings: cursing, alcohol usage, description of mental illness, mention of eating disorder, description of self-abusive behaviors. A/n: There is not even one gif of a bleeding heart flower on the Internet, and a simple picture would interfere with my aesthetic; therefore, the gif is not matching, but it's pretty, lol. Have a look at those beautiful babies, though.

If you are not in the best mental state or get triggered by the mention of things listed in the warnings, I advise you to skip this chapter altogether.

Tag list:@cashweasel @brycesgirl @sophie-summer @lazypartridge @watatsumi-island @mortemersgf

Bleeding hearts: shade-loving woodland plants that bloom in the cool of spring. Symbolize connection, sensitivity, and emotionality.

On September 15th, several hours after leaving Selene’s place, Tyril knocked on the heavy dark-wood door with a little golden number one above his head. Having walked over seven miles in the rain from her Brooklyn apartment, Tyril found himself in the district of Huston Yards, a place so well-known to him, where he had spent many hours hiding from the world. Just him and Jude. Ten years ago.

Jude, or rather Julian St. Clair, never liked his name, thus Tyril came up with a nickname for him. At first, everyone called him Jude ― for practical reasons, it was quicker and sounded better ― but as they grew up, Jude began to introduce himself as Julian again. The St. Clairs were held in high esteem, descendants of the first-wave Swedish immigrants in the 1850s, now a big family running the most prominent pharmaceutical research company in the world. ‘Julian’ was handpicked by Mrs. St. Clair, the ideal name for her youngest boy, named after kings and scientists. ‘Jude’ didn’t hold the same amount of esteem as ‘Julian.’ Now ‘Jude’ was reserved solely for Tyril.

The same Julian St. Clair, whom Mr. and Mrs. Starfury kindly advised to change schools once they had learned about his and his son’s affair, welcomed Tyril with open arms when he showed up after ten years. Soaked to the bone, tired, heartbroken, and beautiful with his shining baby blue eyes and luxuriant black hair, much longer than when they were only classmates. Now two inches taller than him and looking so devastated that Jude expected to hear about someone’s death. You look like shit, Jude, Tyril commented miserably, trying to lift the mood and failing instantly. Julian smirked. Back at you, Ty.

Despite the ten-year gap in their friendship, that visit was not uncomfortable or awkward. Neither that nor none of those to come. Tyril and Jude sat in the living room like old friends, talking nonsense deep into the night, never truly addressing the looming issue, simply enjoying each other’s presence. Tyril was impressed with Jude’s achievements, and Jude listened with concern to Tyril’s story of how he destroyed everything he’s ever worked for. Neither that nor any other night were uncomfortable because neither of them ever addressed any disturbing issues. They lived their idyllic dream for months, avoiding confrontations, burying issues, hiding within Jude’s apartment from everyone. Months of stay at home date nights, love confessions, love making, and pretending that everything’s alright. But one can pretend the issue isn't there only for so long.

In order to keep up the pretence, in the middle of December, Tyril decided to strike a deal with his ex-fiancée. They were to make several public appearances and get the press wrapped up around their fingers and eat out of their hands. This way Tyril shifted the media’s interest from Jude to Adeline, and Adeline earned free press for her family’s law firm, which just so happened to merge with the east-coast’s giant. The deal was simple – they hold hands, go on very fake and very public dates and give short and sweet interviews about them getting back together.

It was only three weeks, but more than enough to remind Tyril why he broke off their engagement. He wondered whether Adeline changed at a certain point and he didn’t notice or perhaps she’s always been self-centered, mean, materialistic, and cold. He wondered whether she ever loved him, and whether he ever loved her.

On December 25th, while searching for an old picture that Adrina asked him for, Tyril came across the image that reminded him of her. That only one picture he took during their whole trip, that one blurry, ill-lit picture of Selene on the beach. They waited since four in the morning for the sun to start its daily journey and turn the sky pink, and when the time came, they were too busy making out on the old, decayed green bench. He snapped the picture in a hurry, seconds before his phone died.

The corners of his lips lifted for a moment, seeing those windswept blonde locks, kiss-swollen lips and that beautiful, beautiful smile. Having peeked through his shoulder, Jude decided to finally address the issue for the first time.

“You’re thinking of her,” he started. Tyril apologized and interlaced their fingers, but Jude just smiled. “I’ve been following the news about you for the past ten years, Ty, and I’ve heard of your little escapade. Tell me about her.”

“There’s nothing to say, I just remembered something,” Tyril lied, putting absolutely no effort into trying to sound at least a little convincing. He sighed, then eyed his partner up as if looking for any sign of dishonesty, jealousy, perhaps reproach, but didn’t find any. He cleared his throat, and for the first time in months her name left his lips, leaving a bittersweet aftertaste. For the first time in months, he admitted the issue is there and apparently is not going anywhere.

“Selene’s just so sad, Jude. The sadness rolls off her in waves and engraves itself in your memory, and you can’t quite get rid of that thought. It’s always in the background – when she’s smiling, laughing, enjoying something, there’s this aura of boundless sadness around her,” Tyril finally spoke up. Jude’s eyebrow quirked slightly, for these words were the exact opposite of what he had expected to hear. Tyril’s words were as far from a summer love story as humanly possible. “I have an idea what could’ve broken her soul so much, but it’s just a wild guess. She never wanted to talk about herself.”

Jude squeezed Tyril’s hand reassuringly. “So, what do you think happened?”

“I think she was abused by a family member,” he sighed and looked away. It seemed plausible that Selene’s father was the one who did something to her.

First, it couldn’t have been the mother because Selene’s initial motivation for their trip was arriving in Miami and visiting her mother’s grave. Second – she had spent an entire day looking for the perfect flowers to put on the grave, so she obviously cared for her. The thing that worried him the most, though, and was in fact the incentive for this whole equation, was that Selene’s body was covered with suspicious-looking scars. But after all, it was just a guess – he could be completely wrong.

Tyril wished he was wrong.

“She cared for me. Even though she was terrified of putting a different label than friendship on it. Despite my initial inferiority, she wasn’t deterred, she still wanted to be my friend. And I must admit that she was a great friend.”

“Why isn’t she your friend any more then?”

Tyril chuckled sadly. “I wanted more. She wanted to stay friends.”

“So you left.”

Tyril nodded. “I don’t think there’s anything I regret more, Jude. I just left. Like an embittered child who was told ‘no.’ Even without the label of a relationship, we were a couple, and just because she didn’t want to call it this way I left.”

“Then call her,” the blonde proposed, but his idea was very quickly rejected. “Or text, or write her a letter. You can also visit her and apologize for being a dickhead,” he joked, but the joke seemed to get by Tyril completely. “Or you can sit here and be nostalgic, whatever floats your boat. Don’t beat yourself up, darling. You deserve a proper relationship with all those corny labels, public make outs, and rash, spontaneous trips.”

Feeling the need to cheer his boyfriend up, Jude started caressing his hand with a thumb, slowly, gently, tenderly. Tyril smiled weakly for a second. He thought that Jude’s words were ironic because he couldn’t give him all those things as well. Their relationship had no right to exist beside those four, very expensive walls.

“I just hope she’s not alone today.”

January 15th

“Took you long enough.”

“I told you the flight was delayed,” Tyril smiled at the man hovering over him. Jude smiled back and kissed him sweetly. “I love you.”

“I know.”

“Good.”

Jude nosed his way through Tyril’s cheek and then along his jaw, only to look up when he heard his lover’s chuckle. “What is it?”

Tyril shook his head dismissively, but couldn’t fight the grin on his face. Jude sighed wistfully.

“You have such a beautiful smile, Tyril. It’s a shame you try to hide it.”

“I don’t hide it,” Tyril protested, but Jude’s lips kept him from further argument. He sighed softly into the blond’s mouth and pulled him closer by the collar of his knitted turtleneck.

“I love you, too,” Jude whispered into Tyril’s mouth. “I’ve loved you all these years, Ty.”

January 24th

Tyril put away his phone once the clock displayed two in the morning and looked at the half-naked man sleeping on his stomach on the other side of the bed. He loved him, and Jude loved him back. After a decade spent in separation, they were finally together. So why do I keep thinking of others, he thought. Or a certain other, to be exact. Tyril couldn’t help but feel panic at the thought that their perfect bubble began to crack and that soon they will have to go their separate ways. They were usually in complete agreement, but not in this case. Jude preferred to live in the shadow. Nobody knew of Tyril or his previous boyfriends, and he wanted it to stay that way. Tyril was tired of hiding even as a teenager, and now he was starting to feel the exact same way, like a teenager trapped in a relationship which feels too perfect to be true.

He saw her when he closed his eyes. He would spend most weeks in California, away from his boyfriend, who due to his position as the CEO’s assistant worked very long hours and didn’t have much time for calls. At first he thought it was just a random memory, then when he caught himself thinking of her again, and again, he thought that he's simply missing his friend. Now Tyril couldn’t get Selene out of his mind – she accompanied him everywhere and in every situation, which proved to be challenging and awkward in intimate situations with Jude. He felt guilty of not thinking about Jude, but at the same time he knew why this was happening. Jude was to be only a temporary station, a short episode in his life, one he gets to finish after years. They weren’t to end up together and they both knew it.

Now he couldn’t stop thinking about the fact that for an unknown reason, Selene always smelled like water, and the summer, and comfort. A breath of fresh air, windswept waves, so intoxicating and unforgettable. Perhaps it was only the smell that he assigned to her based on the amount of time they had spent by the ocean, but he liked that thought nevertheless. Lately the sole thought of her would flood Tyril’s mind with the pictures of their early morning talks by the ocean, the nights they’ve spent together when there was an absolute downpour outside. Tyril found that metaphor quite fitting as Selene seemed to be followed everywhere by that symbolic rain cloud yet always refused to buckle under the rain, no matter how heavy it was. When the storm passed, she would grow and dazzle with her beauty. She was a flower. He remembered calling her that one night and Selene blushing upon hearing that. Fragile, free, joyous, yet ephemeral, made to be admired, not picked and put in a vase. Perhaps that was the reason for her refusal to form relationships? Would her soul die if she settled down?

In the whole of February Tyril visited Jude twice and both of those times their minds were somewhere else. Jude at least tried to keep up appearances of being there, while Tyril paid no attention to his surroundings or his boyfriend. Jude didn’t want to be the one to break Tyril’s heart again, thus he didn’t say a word and pretended everything was fine. Selfishly he also didn’t want to let him go yet, so he kept organizing small dates in his apartment.

On March 27th, however, the day after their first serious argument, Jude realized that their bubble had burst, and it was the high time to address that problem.

“I love you,” Tyril whispered before pecking Jude’s lips and proceeding to button up his shirt. He was already running late for brunch with his sister. Jude smiled sadly and looked at his boyfriend in the mirror.

“But you’re not happy with me anymore,” Jude said and threw his legs off the bed. Before Tyril could protest, he continued: “I’m not blind, Ty. You grew sad, you don’t talk to me anymore, you don’t even want to come here. Hiding with me here tires your soul, and I’d hate to be the reason for your wilting. I promised myself that I won’t do it to you again, but I can’t bear to look at your sad face. I’m afraid I need to let you go.”

Jude cupped Tyril’s cheek and caressed it with his thumb for a minute, looking into his glistening eyes. They knew this moment would finally come, that what they have is unique and perfect, soothing and comfortable, but not meant to last. Tyril swallowed, battling with himself whether he should fight or just give up.

“I don’t want to lose you again, Jude. I just got you back.”

“You won’t, darling. I’ll always be there,” the blonde gently tapped Tyril’s temple and leaned over to kiss off the salty tear. “We made great memories, we had our time. Now there is someone who needs your love more than I do and who can love you properly.”

Tyril bit his lower lip and after a painfully long minute nodded. It was time to let go. He only wished that Jude hadn’t figured out that he missed Selene. He didn’t want him to feel betrayed even if he had every right to feel that way.

“Your subconsciousness is talking to you, but you don’t notice,” Jude continued, eyes still closed and lips touching Tyril’s when he spoke. As if sensing his confusion, he added. “The first thing you told me about her was that she’s a flower. Now you give me bouquets of flowers I’ve never seen or heard of, attach notes with beautiful words, but all I see is a cipher because they’re not addressed to me. Not really.”

Tyril shook his head as if trying to wake himself up, but this time the scene was very real and final. Just minutes earlier he was planning a date for that night, and now he had to say goodbye to his best friend, partner, and confidant. But Jude was right, it was time to stop living in the bubble and face the world.

“I’m sorry, Jude-”

“Don’t be,” he interrupted and stroked Tyril’s cheeks with his thumbs. “I am not sorry. I am glad that I’m not leaving you alone this time.”

Tyril left Jude’s apartment the same way he entered it seven months before. Heartbroken, tired, and lonely. Having just lost a great friend.

“It will be a huge step back if you do that,” she said to her mirror reflection. Selene in the mirror didn’t look impressed. Or impressive, for that matter. Unhealthily pale face with eyes surrounded by dark circles, her hair demanded brushing, and her ribs were slowly starting to poke out. “Idiot.”

Dull, unremarkable, lackluster. Quiet, weird, insular, boring, prude, dumb, a solid 5. Selene chuckled ruefully, remembering the task the school counselor forced her group to do in order to integrate. It was three weeks after school started. The counselor made them take out a piece of paper, sign it and give it to everyone, so they could anonymously write what they thought of everyone.

She sighed and took another swig from the bottle gifted by Tyril. The wine tasted alright, a little too sweet for her liking, but she didn’t exactly have much expertise in that field. It made her drunk pretty fast. It could be the meds, though.

“No wonder he left, you’re not a great catch. Always so focused on yourself. Pathetic.”

She moaned pathetically when a familiar rumbling came out of her stomach — it might’ve not been the greatest idea to mix medication with wine. A few deep breaths and she’s alright. Nights were like this— cold, dark, lonely — again, not that she remembered much after drinking herself to sleep.

“I didn’t raise you to be a snitch,” the woman spluttered indistinctly while reading the last two texts her daughter forgot to delete. Eight-year-old Selene stood in the kitchen door frame with tears dripping down onto her dirty shirt and nails diving into her sweaty palms. You didn’t raise me at all, she wanted to add, but being too afraid to stand up for herself, she apologized for seeking help. In retrospect, it really seemed to have been a stupid move – father didn’t help her, and now she was in trouble.

“I’m sorry, it was stupid, I won’t do it again.”

“Daddy won’t help you. He doesn’t care about you, he’s using you to make my life miserable. He’s the reason we have to live this way.”

Selene gritted her teeth and nodded meekly. She knew that this time Audrey was right – Audrey, not “mother,” and most certainly not “mom.” Mom cared about Selene, Audrey was an alcoholic. Mom wasn’t around too often, though. Selene separated these two individuals, used dissociation as a coping mechanism to run away from her daily struggles, not knowing that this procedure will have horrible consequences in the future. To her defense, though, Selene never thought of the future – not because she was a stupid child or because she didn’t want to think that she’ll have to live with a drunkard for the next ten years, but because she knew she won’t make it that far. In a household where the only adult can’t stand straight, let alone cook dinner or go to work, it’s only a matter of time before an accident happens. Then it's all over the news and people wonder why nobody helped the family, why nobody did anything. The tragedy could be easily avoided.

Selene wanted to scream and cry so loud that the concerned neighbors would call the police, but mom wouldn’t like it, so she only dove the nails deeper into her palms. The neighbors wouldn’t do anything, though, just like father. They’ve already shown several times that it’s easier to turn the TV loud enough to muffle a child’s cry for help than to help. Her palms hurt and bled, but she didn’t make a sound. She deserved the punishment for her carelessness. The next time, she’ll know better.

Audrey gazed upon the clock for a few minutes, then all of a sudden took a long sip of her beer and addressed her daughter, too ashamed to look at her. “Go to school, you’re already late.”

Selene wrinkled her nose and looked at the clock as well, only to learn that it is nine in the evening. “But it’s the evening.”

Audrey only shrugged and knowing the woman’s body language perfectly, Selene knew she was free to go. With her eyes glued to the dirty, sticky floor, she marched towards her room and closed the door as quietly as possible.

There are only so many things a girl can do in her room quietly, and pulling her hair out didn’t do it for her anymore. Screaming into the pillow was risky, slamming doors was out of the question, and her palms were already a battleground. Selene looked around the room, desperately searching for anything that would bring her relief, that would take her fury and sorrow away. She was a prisoner in this damn room, day after day, doing homework, watching TV to kill time, praying not to wake up the next morning, going to sleep. Waking up, sneaking out of her room to see whether any food miraculously appeared in the fridge at night and finding nothing, going to school, praying that something happens to her on the way back, so she doesn’t have to live like this anymore. Nothing ever happens. She’s lucky enough not to be hit by a car, but not to live in a normal family.

“Great, now she hates me. I'm so dumb, how could I forget to delete those texts. I knew she would see them. She hates me, she was getting better, and now she won’t stop drinking for another week.”

Her head hurt from crying, she could no longer breathe through her nose, and her eyes were red and swollen. But she couldn’t go to sleep before the punishment. She wouldn't be able to fall asleep with all this tension inside her body.

“The desk will make too much noise, but what about the window sill?” She thought, wiped her face with the wet sleeve of her shirt and knocked on the plastic sill. The empty sound resonated within the small, sad room. “Too loud. The wall will have to do, then.”

One, two, crap, it hurts. Do thirteen, it’s thirteenth today. Keep the count so it's fair. Three, four, five. Someone’s coming, sit down and pretend nothing's wrong. One minute, two, three. The front door slammed. Good, Audrey will be gone for the next twenty minutes.

Selene hid behind the curtains and peeked through them to see where Audrey was going. Sunglasses, swaying from one side of the pavement to the other, walking towards the market. She’s going to get more booze.

It’s your fault. Six, seven, eight, nine, ten. This one was really painful, now turn a little, don’t forget about the other side. One, two, three. Should I make it even on both sides?

Next time, it’s time to sleep. Good girl.

Imtura stirred awake as a loud thud and a muffled profanity reached her ears. The sky was still pitch-black, the outside world quiet, lonely, and scary; her watch displayed only three minutes past two when she heard sniffling and two more thuds. Having quickly rubbed her sleep-covered eyes, she rolled off the couch, approached the bathroom door and knocked gently.

“Doll, you okay?”

Selene closed her eyes and cursed again, this time in her mind, naively praying that the lack of answer will convince Imtura that she’s not there. Unfortunately for her, Imtura had a different plan in mind – she only gave a short warning before entering the room. The sight of her friend sitting cross-legged on the white bathroom mat with scarlet red blood lazily dripping from her knuckles was the exact sight she expected to encounter.

“Well, shit,” she commented and grabbed the supplies necessary to patch the wound up. “We should talk about it, you know,” Imtura added once she plopped down in front of her friend.

Selene shrugged. The purpose of Imtura staying overnight was that she would help in case of any unwanted reactions of her mind, like panic attacks, which lately have been following the recurring nightmares. They sat on the tiled floor for about ten minutes, and while Selene watched the slow and precise movements of her friend’s hands, Imtura wondered how many times Selene’s hurt herself before because she seemed to be indifferent to the pain. Moments later they were both lying in bed under a thick duvet, Selene wrapped in a bear hug yet still trembling from the emotional turmoil.

She didn’t want to talk about it, at least not when the wound was still very fresh. In the morning she will regain her strength and mother won’t be able to hurt her, not until the evening, at least.

Selene tried to focus on the howling wind outside and the gentle patting of the rain on the windows, but the sleep wouldn’t come. She took a few deep breaths to shoo away the frustration building up inside her and having made sure that Imtura was back asleep, she snuck out of her grip and made her way towards the couch in the living room. Half past two, time as good as any to read her own journal.

Selene sighed, rubbed her left temple and focused on the furry creature snuggling up to her in order to erase the sight of the blood stains on the green wall. She wondered how it was possible that she never suffered any brain damage from banging her head against the wall for years.

Then she checked her chat with Tyril, just like she’s done several times these past five days, wishing that this time she’d find a reply. “Read,” it said. He had read it immediately after receiving it and chose to ignore her. Well then.

Desperate to fall asleep, she turned on the TV quietly to tire her eyes, but paid no attention to the tarot reading. Her mind was occupied by the thought that there is a certain consensus among people suffering from depression, a sort of unwritten agreement, that the morning is the worst time of the day. There is an exception to every rule, and of course in this case Selene was the exception – mornings were her favourite part of the day. Mornings carried the inaudible promise of betterment – not exactly more happiness, but a little less pain, and she held onto it like grim death. She found nights cursed – or, to be more exact, — cursed and blessed at the same time. Selene loved the sight of the bustling city, its colourful flickering lights contrasted with the immensity of the sky’s nothingness. She found both comfort and terror in the stars, on one hand so distant and beautiful, burning so bright just to die, on the other the vastness, darkness, and solitude of this undiscovered void. Nights brought about unwanted memories and impetuous decisions, prayers for death, tear-stained pillows, and creative schemes for punishment.

New medications were yet to fully kick in, but due to extensive therapy meetings and support group sessions unnerving flashbacks would catch her off guard also in the middle of the day, the only moment she could be certain not to be bothered. She wasn’t safe anymore. Not in the morning, not in the afternoon, not in the presence of friends, and most definitely not in the middle of the night.

The truth was that despite hundreds of dollars spent on therapy and medication, Selene didn’t matter to herself. She was good at wearing convincing masks, but there hasn’t been a day in her life when she wouldn’t think of not waking up the next day. Or ever, to be exact. It’s always somewhere in the back of her head, no longer a sad or depressing thought, but just a natural course of events.

4:35 a.m.

“You’re not going to brag about it, are you? I’m sure grandma does this too. It’s only this one.”

Selene nodded sadly, careful not to let any tear slip, fiercely fighting against the stubborn muscles of her face. Don’t make a scene, nothing’s happening yet. The suffocating smell of a cigarette combined with the bright smell of carnations, peach pink petals in a simple marble vase. Mother Day’s gift. Pungent, musty smell coming from her glass.

Selene knew she was lying. Audrey could never stop at just one. On her way back to her room, she touched her mother’s bag, unsurprised to feel it filled with more bottles. She felt stupid for thinking this time might be any different and even more so for feeling excited about this weekend.

She spent an hour in the bathroom that night, 10 minutes on showering, 20 on looking in the mirror and searching for any resemblance to her mother, 30 on rubbing her knuckles against the grout between the light blue tiles on the walls. It hurt the most on the second and third day, and she already couldn’t wait. A punishment with a delayed response and a nasty habit to shake.

There was no denying she was her mother's daughter. She had her smile, her eyes, and the same nose as her.

I must be broken. People are getting better. People who went through unspeakable horrors are flourishing, and she’s still here, making little to no progress. And it’s not like what happened to her was that traumatic. She doesn’t even remember. She doesn’t even have the right to feel this way.

What scares you are the labels, am I right?

Selene groaned, shifting uncomfortably on the couch.

“It’s four in the morning, just shut up, for god’s sake.”

The therapist’s words reverberated in her head, forcing her brain to think of all the possible answers to that questions. She could’ve lied and said no, could’ve said she didn’t want to talk about it. It was not uncommon for her to lie or omit the truth in therapy, but the current problem was that the therapist hit home. Selene didn’t like labels. She didn’t feel the need to label her relationships, political views, sexuality, not even her dietary choices. Not because she was undecided, but because she was afraid of commitment and other people’s opinion of her choices.

The thing with relationships was that she never had anything other than friendship. Yes, there was this one date with the professor, but after it ended he admitted that while he’s looking for someone to finally settle down, she’s clearly looking for a friend. Whenever someone tried to flirt with her, she either assumed they’re making fun of her and laughed at them or didn’t even notice and thought they’re just being friendly. That’s why she found the relationship with Tyril so complicated – he was her first, in all possible meanings of this word. The first friend after a long time, first who simply accepted her crazy idea of going away for some time. The first man whom she admired and felt comfortable with, her first kiss, first lover, and first romantic heartbreak, even though she didn’t really want to admit the last part. Perhaps this was the exact reason why she was missing him this much.

The sound of an incoming call almost made her fall off the couch. Quickly, in order to avoid waking up Imtura, she answered the call, only later realizing whose name she saw on the screen.

“Are you insane? It’s half past four,” she opened quietly and rubbed her tired eyes. Tyril smiled.

“Come downstairs,” he asked, and Selene frowned.

“Have you thought of the possibility that I’m not home?”

“Your room lit up when I called.”

Selene bit her lip in order to mask the smile on her face. “Stalker.”

“We’ve already agreed upon that,” he chuckled nervously. “Come on, I want to show you something.”

Having taken a deep sigh, she agreed. Curiosity took over and minutes later she exited the building, only to find a tall, expensively-dressed man sitting on a curb.

“Hey,” she welcomed him, properly this time, and watched him raise to his feet. She forgot how tall he was.

Tyril couldn’t help but smile at her. She looked different yet somehow even more beautiful with shorter and darker hair, and apparently a few kilograms lighter. “Hey.”

“What is it that you want to show me?”

Selene could pinpoint the exact second the realization downed on Tyril’s face, and she crossed her arms, accidentally touching her fresh wound a little too heavily. She winced and Tyril immediately spotted the source of her pain.

“What happened?” he asked, pointing to her bandaged hand. Selene shook her head dismissively.

“Anger management,” she explained quickly and changed the subject. “Why are you here, Tyril?”

Realizing that Selene didn’t buy his excuse, he sighed and hid his hands in the pockets of his jacket. Somehow, the rain suddenly became the most fascinating thing in the world.

Selene averted her gaze, suddenly fully aware of the emotional distance between them. She couldn’t decide whether she was happy to see him or not.

“I miss you,” Tyril mumbled, with gaze glued to the nearby puddle. “I miss you a lot, Selene, and I came here to ask you to take me back.” Then, as if confused by the words that left his mouth, his eyebrows furrowed, and he shook his head slightly. “Wait, no, that’s not what I meant to say.”

Selene bit her lip, but did not manage to stop the tiny chuckle from escaping her lips. Having cleared his throat and straightened his back, Tyril regained his composure and resumed his confession with renewed energy. Then just as he opened his mouth to say that he wants to be in her life even if he were to be only a friend, the lamp post above their heads blinked several times and died, soon followed by three others, leaving the couple in wet and windy darkness.

“It’s okay, don’t worry, Tyril,” she consoled, fighting the urge to reach for his hand by closing her own in a fist. The annoyance disappeared from Tyril’s face merely for five seconds before the sound of an incoming call pierced the silence. Selene covered her lips with her hand when Tyril mumbled a quiet and almost incomprehensible, ‘bloody hell.’ She wondered whether one of his parents was English because his accent was heavily tinged with a little of such an influence. At times Tyril sounded like a pronunciation dictionary, and it made Selene think that it might just be a weird wealthy-people thing and Tyril was forced to take phonetics class as a kid.

“I think you should pick up. If they’re calling in the middle of the night, then it could be important.”

“No, shut up. It’s late, and I’m tired, and apparently the universe is telling me that it’s a bad decision, but I’m miserable without you. I refuse to believe that we weren’t supposed to end up together.”

She was happy to see him, and even more so to hear him say that he missed her. Her mind, though, already came up with three reasons why she should reject him and don't let this situation escalate any further.

“Why didn’t you text me back?”

Tyril felt as if his heart was about to jump out of his chest and drown in the puddle he's been staring at. He came to see her and set the record straight, but when the time came, he couldn't shake the thought that she'll reject him again. Even though she texted him. She's been thinking about him and she decided that she wants him in her life as well.

Deep breath in, and out.

“Because I wanted to tell you that I am in love with you, but that’s not something you should be told over a text.”

A quiet 'oh' left her lips. Tyril could tell he caught her off guard and despite the desperate need to touch her, take her into his arms and whisper how much he missed her into her ear, he remained in his place, observing the various emotions on Selene's face. It amazed him that for someone who's this closed-off, her face was an open book. You just had to learn to read it.

“I know I shouldn’t say ‘thank you’ now, but I don’t know what to do,” she mumbled, looking at him in a way that made him realized that his feelings are not reciprocated. At least not yet.

A thunder sounded in the background.

“Don’t be afraid, Selene. Don’t overthink,” he replied, and reached for Selene’s hand, the one clenched into a fist. Delicately yet surely he opened her hand and sighed quietly upon seeing that she’s already done some damage. Tyril watched as a raindrop smudged the blood stain on her hand. “It’s very easy to fall for you, Selene.”

“I don’t know what it means,” she admitted quietly, averting her gaze, ashamed that for once she couldn’t react the way people usually do. She didn’t expect to see Tyril that night, let alone hear such a confession from him. To be frank, she never expected to hear those words from anyone because she always made sure to let people know she doesn’t want it. Tyril must’ve not listened. “We never used that word in my home.”

Selene bit her lip and sloppily took her hand out of Tyril’s grip. “You see, it’s always about me and my home and the things they did to me. I’m not worth the trouble, Tyril.”

“It’s not up to you to decide that.”

“You don’t even know me.”

“I have all the time in the world to change that. I know you’re a good person, and I know that you hate loud people with all your might. I know that you’re scared of thunderstorms, but you’re standing here with me right now, and you haven’t even flinched once. That makes you brave and that was enough for me to fall for you,” Tyril kept convincing and encouraged by her shy gaze on his face, he continued. “I want to be around you, make you smile, and make you feel better. Support you when things are great and when they’re completely hopeless. To kiss your smart-mouth and give you flowers just so I can admire the way you’re taking care of them.”

The rain was nothing but a memory now, the thunderstorm was receiding by a minute, and Selene tried to remember every word her therapist said about opening herself to new experiences and keeping around good people.

While her mind tried to convince her that she could get hurt, and that - most probably - she will get hurt by the man in front of her, she kept reminding herself that she's already survived the worst. That while Tyril could hurt her, he was also going to make her very happy.

However strangely it sounded in her mind, she did deserve to be happy.

“I missed you too,” she whispered warily. “And I don’t want you to leave me again. Right now you're tired and so am I, so can we finish this conversation in the morning?"

Feeling as if an enormous weight has been lifted off his shoulders, Tyril nodded, and a relieved smile crept up upon his lips, one quickly reciprocated by Selene.

"I hope you liked sleeping on my couch, because my bed's currently taken by a terrifying bartender lady," she chuckled and slid her hand into Tyril's. She didn't bother explaining, but simply enjoyed watching the confusion, and a little bit of terror on his face.

The mornings carry an inaudible promise of betterment, and Selene hoped to make the good decision then. In the meantime, she hoped to get some long overdue hugs and a couple of hours of sleep. She never slept as well as back then in Pittsburgh with him.

#y'all i think i'm the master of writing 6k words about nothing #now i want to write a fic dedicated to tyril x jude im weak for them 🥺#tyril starfury #blades of light and shadow #tyril x mc #choices blades #the secret life of flowers #modern au #blades imtura

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starrybethany · 3 years

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I’m Sure - Adam Boqvist Imagine Part 3

Word count: 4.2K

Part 1

Part 2

Part 4

Part 5

He looks like the perfect mix of Adam and me. But ever since he started growing his blonde hair out, he’s started to look more like Adam. Sometimes when Holden isn’t acting like a grown up and he allows me to cuddle with him and run my hand through his hair, it brings me back to the times I’ve done the same thing with Adam.

I can’t help but feel flashes of guilt in those moments. He’s shown no interest in his father, but I feel the urge to tell him about him. I don’t want him to get hurt by never having a relationship with his father, but I also don’t want to push him to have a relationship with his father just to get hurt. I’m stuck between a rock and a hard place.

Now is one of those rare times when he lets me hold him like I did when he was a baby. I convinced him to watch a movie with me, one of those cheesy Pixar films that I know that he loves. He looks up at me from between my arms, staring up at me with eyes that match my mother’s.

When he was born and opened his eyes for the first time, I was secretly relieved that his eyes didn’t match Adam’s. I just knew it would hurt to have to see a mini-Adam every day. But Holden’s eyes being the same as my mother’s hurt just slightly less than it would if they looked like Adam’s, considering I haven’t talked to my mother in over a decade after a rough childhood. It’s part of the reason that when I decided to keep Holden, I knew I had to go all in and do everything I could to provide for him and give him the best life possible.

“Mom, where did you live before you moved to Colorado?” He questions. Even though he’s lived in Philadelphia most of his life, he’s seen the photos of his toddler self cradled in my arms, the Rocky Mountains decorating the background.

“Chicago,” I answer.

“And why did you move from Chicago?”

My chest tightens at the question, but I shrug nonchalantly. I can’t just say hey kid, I was trying to escape your father. Then he would have more questions and I would put a preconceived idea of his father in his head before he even met him.

“I needed a change in scenery,” I decide on instead. It’s the truth, I did choose to go to Colorado over other states because Alex and Dylan used to show me photos of how beautiful it is.

“And what did you do in Chicago?”

“What is this, twenty questions?” I laugh.

“I’m trying to get to know you,” Holden responds.

“I’m your mother, how are you trying to get to know me?” I tickle him, causing him to giggle. “I worked for the Chicago Blackhawks as a suites advisor.”

“The hockey team?” He furrows his eyebrows. I nod. “Whoa, that’s cool. How the hell did you get that job?”

“Language,” I warn him. “I did an internship with them my senior year of college and got the job offered to me when I graduated.”

“Oh,” he yawns, snuggling closer to me. “That’s sick, mom.”

I laugh, kissing the top of his head. “Yes, it is sick.”

I pour the mixed eggs into the pan, waiting for them to sizzle. A wave of nausea suddenly hits me, and I grab onto the edge of the counter, trying to balance myself and swallow the bile that threatens to come up my throat.

I take deep breaths through my nose but that only makes it worse as I smell the scrambled eggs over and over again. I move the pan off of the stove and quickly turn it off, rushing out through the front door to take in gulps of fresh air.

Unfortunately, as soon as I open my mouth, everything that I ate last night comes up.

“Are you okay, honey?” A tender voice calls out.

I look over to see my neighbors, a kind elderly couple, staring at me with concern from their front stoop.

“I’m fine,” I choke out, trying to hide my red cheeks behind my hair. “Probably just the stomach bug that’s been going around.”

They nod, obviously not believing the answer but deciding not to push it. I ignore the little voice in my head telling me that the last time I was this sensitive to the smell of scrambled eggs, an embryo was growing in me.

I enter the house again, seeing Holden planted on the couch in front of the TV. He watches with a questioning expression as I dump the eggs into the trashcan, practically throwing the dirty pan into the sink.

I turn to my son. “New plan, we’re having cereal for breakfast.”

“Holden!” I throw his bedroom door open in excitement, totally forgetting our golden rule of privacy.

“Mom,” he exclaims in shock, turning his phone off and flipping it over so the screen is face down on his desk. “Have you ever heard of knocking?”

“Sorry,” I apologize, knowing better. He’s getting to the age of porn and masturbation and that is the last thing that I want to walk in on- having the birds and the bees talk with him was hard enough.

When I found out that I was having a boy and not a girl, that was one thing that I was not looking forward to. And it was just as bad as I thought it was going to be…

“What are you doing home this early?” He glances at the clock.

“Oh, yeah, that’s what I wanted to tell you!” I grin wildly, remembering the reason that I rushed into his bedroom in the first place. “I slept in this morning, like I totally missed my alarm and even when I woke up after ten hours of sleep, I was still exhausted. Anyways, I called work and they told me that it was slow, so I decided to take the whole day off and then I went back to sleep for four hours. When I woke up I went to Target to get some groceries but they have that Starbucks inside and I’ve been meaning to try two different drinks lately and I just decided to try them both and-“”Now you’re completely energized,” he gives me a look of amusement. “Yeah, I can tell.”

“Let’s go out for dinner tonight,” I initiate, “We can go to that cute new restaurant downtown that I meant to try with Winston.”

“Sure, mom,” he rolls his eyes but slowly rises from his bed.

“Oh, and just remember, real sex is never like porn,” I tell him before closing his door behind me.

I can still hear his whine of, “Mom!”

“I think I’m going to try the chicken alfredo,” I announce, closing the menu with my order picked out.

“You always get that,” Holden points out.

“And? It’s always good. If it’s not broken, don’t fix it,” I shrug, taking a sip from my cup of Pepsi.

I take a moment to look at my new surroundings. This is the type of restaurant that Winston would love. He loves restaurants that have the brick interior- he always used to say that restaurants that looked like this had the best food.

Maybe I made a mistake breaking up with him. I mean, all he was asking was for me to be honest with him about my feelings. He was trying to do was build a future with me and Holden. Plus, Holden liked him. He’s getting to that age where he might not like all of my boyfriends, shouldn’t I hold onto one that he does like?

“So,” Holden coughs, causing my eyes to snap back to him. He looks uncomfortable, like he doesn’t want to say what he’s about to say or ask what he’s about to ask. “I have to do a project for school on my parents’ lineage. I know all of your stuff, but what about my dad’s?”

I pause, my eyes laser focused on the boy sitting in front of me. He needs to know. But is he asking because he wants to know or because of this school project? Will this school project lead to more questions about his father? I obviously have to tell him the truth, but I wish I would have prepared myself more for this. I could’ve given myself a pep talk in the mirror before having to tell Holden all about his father.

It’s my turn to cough awkwardly. “He’s one hundred percent Swedish.”

“Swedish,” he repeats, nodding. “Okay.”

I freeze. Is that really all he wanted to know? “Do you want a name or something?”

“No,” he shakes his head, drinking from his cup now. “I’m good.”

I nod silently, not knowing what else to say. If he doesn’t want to learn more about his dad, I’m not going to force him. I just hope this project doesn’t bring out some feelings of resentment towards his father or me.

I shift on my feet, trying to sooth the searing pain without actually taking my shoes off to give myself a foot massage. But boy, what I would do for a good foot massage right now.

Lia and Rachel giggle to each other and I smile at them fondly, remembering when I was their age and working to be able to my college tuition.

“Lia, I ordered you two more shirts,” I inform the young girl, leaning against the counter to ease the pressure on my feet.

“Thanks, Y/N,” she flashes me a smile. “Hey, what time does the new girl start work today?”

I give her a confused expression. “What new girl?”

“Didn’t Tiffany say anything to you?” Now her expression morphs into one of confusion. “She popped in a couple of days ago and said that she hired another employee and that she was going to start Tuesday, today.”

I fight back the scowl that begs to come out and bite back the nasty words I want to say about the owner. She’s been a shitty owner for as long as I’ve worked here, and this is a good example. A new employee starts today and she’s nowhere in sight.

“She must’ve forgotten to mention it to me,” I settle on saying. I make small talk with the two, catching up on their studies and what they’re doing in their free time. I like to hear about their time in college, it reminds me of all of the all-nighters I used to pull and the times I would leave fraternity houses completely obliterated. Of course, I’m not gonna tell these girls that.

A small girl, younger than Lia and Rachel, appears in front of the counter with a shy look on her face. I recognize the expression as one that the two girls had on their first day here, so I give her a big smile and ask, “Hi! Are you the new employee?”

“Yeah, my name is Marcella,” she introduces herself. I introduce myself to her and usher her behind the counter, giving her an apron with a new nametag on it and show her a couple of things on the machines.

“But I don’t want to overwhelm you on your first day, so you can just observe us today and try it tomorrow, okay?” I request. She nods, a relieved smile on her face. “I’m going to go to the back and grab you some extra shirts that we have until we can order some for you.”

As I shuffle through the boxes in the back, trying to find some that would fit the small girl, I can hear the three talking in the front of the café.

“Is she the owner?” Marcella asks in a hushed tone.

“No, she’s the supervisor, but she might as well be the owner because she does everything the owner should be doing,” Rachel responds. I smile at her answer, glad that someone is seeing the hard work that I put in around here.

“Is she, like, chill?” Marcella questions.

“Oh, she’s very chill. Like you can be on your phone, she doesn’t care, she’s on her phone all of the time too,” Lia says.

“But she’s on her phone because she has a kid,” Rachel points out, “You’re on your phone because you’re Snapchatting the boy that you’ve been talking to for the past four months.”

The three girls giggle with each other as I emerge from the back, two shirts in my hand. My eyes immediately take in Marcella, who’s phone is grasped in her hand now.

That’s not what catches my attention. What catches my attention is her phone case. Tommy Hawk stares back at me with a “miss me?” look on his stupid bird face.

“You a Blackhawks fan?” I try to keep my tone casual as I set the shirts down on the counter next to her, turning to occupy my hands with a spray bottle and a rag.

“Yeah, are you?” She inquires.

I swallow the lump in my throat that appears with the question. Act cool, act casual. She doesn’t know anything about your past, none of the girls do. “No, not really a hockey fan. Just used to live in Chicago and would see the logo everywhere.”

It’s not a lie.

“It is everywhere,” she giggles.

“Well, now you’re going to have to be a Flyers fan,” I give her a smile, hoping she doesn’t see through it to my anxiety.

And when Lia begins to talk about how the guy she’s been talking to is a big Flyers fan, I feel relief flood through my body that I’ve made it through this conversation and into the clear.

I’ve been avoiding this for two weeks now. I can’t even remember when Adam and I had sex, but I remember the symptoms from eleven years ago. Swollen feet. Sensitive breasts. Aversions to certain foods- like scrambled eggs. God, I feel like throwing up just at the thought.

But I can’t avoid it forever. I need something to confirm or deny my beliefs. And now, instead of sitting on the shitty toilet in my loft in Chicago, I’m sitting on the toilet that actually works in my condo in Philadelphia.

Time has gone by, but I somehow find myself in this situation yet again. Instead of two tests balancing on the edge of the sink basin, there’s three tests sitting on paper towel on the counter.

I feel less nervous this time than I was when I found out that I was pregnant with Holden. I mean, now I know that I’m a good mom, I’m a good mom to Holden. Sure, I’m not in the best place financially still, but I could find a way to make it work- I did the first time around.

But before I make all of these decisions, I need to find out if I’m even pregnant first.

My phone alarm goes off and I quickly turn it off, taking a deep breath. The nerves start to set in, and I bite my lip in fear.

No matter what happens, I’ll figure it out.

I rise with shaky legs, turning to stand in front of the counter, my eyes meeting the mirror. Slowly, they move down to the three electronic tests.

Positive. Positive. Positive.

Fuck. I run a hand through my hair, lifting my gaze to stare at myself in the mirror. I’m going to be a mom again. I haven’t been a mom to a newborn in twelve years, will I even remember what it’s like to change poppy diapers and make a bottle? I’m older now- not that old- but still, will I want to wake up several times throughout the night to feed an infant?

I mean, at least in Colorado I had a steady boyfriend who willingly shared those shifts with me. Now it’d be me by myself. I’m sure I could get Holden to pitch in every once in a while- shit, Holden.

How the hell am I supposed to tell my twelve-year-old son that I’m knocked up? It’s embarrassing enough to be in middle school, but to have your mom be pregnant will make it all the more humiliating. And the age gap is going to be thirteen years, they’ll have nothing in common with each other. What the hell am I supposed to tell him when he asks me who the father is?

Guess what, kiddo? You two have the same biological father! “Mom,” the kid in question calls out from the other side of the bathroom door.

“Uh, just a minute, buddy,” I stutter, quickly shoving the tests into one of the cabinet drawers, burying it under some pads. He doesn’t go in my master bathroom in the first place, but if he did, I wouldn’t want him to find out about the pregnancy before I could tell him myself.

I throw the paper towel into the trash can and open the door breathlessly, the blonde on the other side of the door giving me a questioning look.

“Uh, you okay, mom?”

“I’m fine,” I answer, exiting the bathroom and plopping down on my bed, patting the spot next to me for him to take a seat. He does. “What’s up?”

“I want to ask you something,” he begins, picking at his overgrown fingernails. It’s his nervous habit, I’ve picked up on it over the past twelve years but haven’t said anything about it. I don’t want him to know that I realize it because then he can hide his emotions from me.

“Okay,” I nod encouraging.

“There’s this programming camp this summer, in Chicago, that I’d like to go to,” he stutters through.

My heart races at the thought of my baby boy in Chicago by himself. He’s grown up a lot in the past couples of months and I know that he’ll grow in the time that he has before he goes to the camp, but I can’t help but feel anxious at the thought of my son with no one to watch him in a big city like Chicago.

“It’s in June, and it’s only for two weeks,” he continues quickly.

“Honey... that’s in a month and a half,” I point out, “It’s kind of last minute to be bringing this up to me, don’t you think?”

“I know, mom, but I didn’t think I wanted to do it and I started thinking about it more and then I realized I really want to do it,” he pleads.

“I didn’t realize you were really into computer programming,” I state softly. If I don’t know about something that my son is so clearly passionate about, am I really that good of a mother?

“Yeah, well, it’s a, um, recent development.”

I nod. “Okay. We’ll sign you up for this camp tonight and then we’ll start getting you ready.”

“Thanks, mom!” He launches himself into my arms and I giggle with surprise, not ready for the sudden action. Nonetheless, I hug him back, cherishing the feeling of my older child in my arms.

“I love you, Holden.”

“I love you, too, mom.”

Later that night I lay in bed, darkness filling my room. As soon as Holden left my room earlier to play video games, I pulled out my phone, scheduling an appointment with my doctor to confirm the pregnancy and see how far along I am.

I reach over for my phone, opening Instagram. Adam’s follow request still sits there, untouched. It’s been weeks now, so I doubt that he remembers that he even sent it. Hell, I don’t even post that often, so if I confirmed it, he would barely be able to tell that he’s following me.

But do I confirm it for my son and our future, second child together? Do I message him and tell him that I’m 99% sure that he’s going to be a dad again?

I mean, his track record so far tells me that I shouldn’t do that. He doubted paternity when I told him that I was pregnant with Holden and basically told me to get rid of the baby. He didn’t bother to contact me for thirteen years, and when we did come into contact again, accidentally, he didn’t mention Holden at all or ask about him.

That tells me he’s still not ready to become a parent. It’s been over a decade and he hasn’t come to terms that he’s a dad and that he needs to step up and be there for his child- or children, now.

And I may be a bitch, but I don’t want to give him a chance to hurt this second baby. Even though Holden’s never shown any interest in getting to know Adam, what if this second child does?

What if this baby reaches out to Adam just to get told “sorry, I don’t want you and I never did.” I can’t imagine how much my heart would break for my child if that were to happen. So, with pain radiating in my heart, I decline Adam’s follow request. I’ve gone through one pregnancy without him, I can go through another.

Day by day, it’s getting harder to hide my pregnancy from Holden. I wanted to wait as long as I could, or at least until twelve weeks when I know it’s less likely to lose the baby, to tell him that I’m pregnant. I was eight weeks along when I found out but now, I’m fourteen weeks, beginning to show.

I’ve noticed that with this pregnancy I started showing a lot sooner than I did with Holden. My doctor told me that’s normal, that my uterus is already stretched out, so the baby already has space to grow.

I’ve been wearing baggy sweatshirts and T-shirts for weeks now, but I don’t think Holden’s caught on yet.

I stare at myself in the mirror, a prominent bump sticking out from my stomach. I can tell it’s only going to be days until I have to begin telling people about the baby, but I don’t have a few days with Holden.

I drop him off at the airport early tomorrow morning for his flight to Chicago. All he’s ben raving about for the past month and a half has been this computer programming camp- honestly, most of it goes over my head, but I smile whenever he talks about it to me because he gets so enthusiastic.

After seeing him lock himself in his room to play video games all day for months, it’s nice to see him be so passionate about something.

And I hate to tell him such big news right before he leaves for his camp, but if I don’t tell him now, he’ll definitely find out with his own eyes when he gets back.

I drop my shirt, walking hesitantly into the hallway and knocking on his bedroom door.

“Come in,” he calls out.

I open the door to find him hurriedly shoving shirts and shorts into his suitcase that’s laying on his bed.

“Hey, fold those properly so that you have more room in your suitcase,” I advise, taking some shirts from the luggage and folding it into a neat pattern. “And pack some pants, Chicago can still be chilly in June.”

“Okay,” he murmurs, rushing over to his dresser and pulling his pants drawer open.

“I want to talk to you about something,” I tell him, eyes focused on his back.

He freezes in his spot, a pair of black jeans in one hand and a pair of blue jeans in the other. “Okay?”

“Come sit with me.”

He slowly moves over towards me, sitting on the other side of his suitcase. “Okay.”

I take a deep breath, looking him in the eye. “I’m pregnant.”

“O-Okay.”

“Can you say something other than okay?” I question, throwing my hands up in frustration. “Well, is it, is it Winston’s?”

I shake my head, biting my lip.

“How far along are you?”

I squint in confusion, unsure of the sudden change from the questioning of paternity to how far along I am. “Fourteen weeks.”

“Do you know the sex yet?”

“No, I wasn’t sure if I wanted to find that out at all,” I admit.

“I think we should find that out when I get back from the camp, together,” he responds nonchalantly, folding a T-shirt laying on the bed.

I can’t help but feel surprised. I thought he would be shocked, upset, angry, I don’t know, but have a stronger reaction than the one that he’s giving me. I guess this camp really is putting him in a good mood, though. It makes me worried of what his reaction is going to be when he returns to Philadelphia after Chicago.

Will he still have that casual approach, or will it finally hit him that it won’t just be the two of us?

“So, you’re okay with it?” I confirm.

“Yeah. It’s about time we get some change around here.”

I chuckle at that, reaching for another shirt to fold. “Yeah, well, we’re about to get a whole lot of change.”

Please fill out this form on what you want the sex of baby #2 to be!!

#adam boqvist #adam boqvist imagine #adam boqvist x reader #Chicago Blackhawks imagine #NHL imagines

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gamergirl929 · 4 years

Text

The NEW #1 Goalkeeper In The World (Hope Solo x Reader)

Anonymous Request: Could you do a hope solo one? Like where the reader is the number 1 goalkeeper in the USWNT while Hope is the new trainer and they flirt or something like that?

Hope smirks, watching as you knock a ball effortlessly out of goal before again catching it when it was fired back at you the woman nodding.

You wipe your sweat covered face with your shirt, Hope’s blue orbs dropping to the sweat covered muscles on your torso.

She turns away with an arched brow, clearing her throat when you’re close enough to her to hear.

“You did good.” She shrugs and you turn to her, smiling softly. “But I could’ve done it better.” She winks and you chuckle.

The banter between the two of you was playful, being the new #1 goalkeeper in the world, Hope had to challenge you as much as she could, always telling you how she could’ve done it better.

“Well, Ms. Solo, maybe you’ll have to show me how it’s done?” You smirk and her brows arch, her lips splitting in a grin.

“Oh, I can show you something...”

You laugh, your cheeks pink from more than the exertion of practice as you take a swig of your water.

“Always willing to learn.” You wink and Hope licks her lips.

“Always willing to teach.”

***

Hope couldn’t keep her eyes off of you as you stretched, your muscle on full display, the retired goalkeeper would deny it if asked, but you incredibly distracted her, her blue orbs always drifting to you on field.

“Distracted?” Julie teases when she sees Hope’s eyes on you, the ex-goalie clearing her throat.

“Not at all.” She shrugs looking at her clipboard and the blonde winks.

“Sureeeeeeee.”

Hope rolls her eyes, watching the blonde go with a glare before her eyes again drift to where you were, the woman frowning when she realizes you’re no longer there.

“Looking for me?”

Hope’s eyes widen when she turns to you, a smirk spreading across her face.

“Just making sure you’re doing the right stretches is all... Wouldn’t want the #1 goalkeeper in the world going soft.”

You roll your eyes, moving to stand in front of her, noting the way her eyes rake down your front.

“As you can tell, since you’re shamelessly ogling me... I’m doing the right stretches.” You wink, Hope grinning as you turn around, strutting away.

Hope watches you go, her blue orbs watch the muscles in your calves flex.

“Not distracted my ass.” Julie snorts on her way by and Hope’s eyes narrow.

“Shouldn’t you be practicing?”

“Shouldn’t you be doing trainer things?” She teases and Hope grumbles.

“Get out of here Ertz.”

***

You were pissed, jerking your gloves off of your sweaty hands.

The ref was entirely biased, not calling fouls and even going as far as to foul Alex in the box when she was nowhere near the Swedish player who went down.

You’d blocked the PK with ease, but the fact you had to do it because of the ref’s biased had pissed you off.

Hope’s eyes widen when she sees you send a glare to the ref much like her own that she was sending her.

“Fucking bullshit.” You snarl on your way by, Hope’s eyes widening when the ref turns to you, the woman calling your name, before you can turn around, Hope is at your side, a hand on your back.

“Pretend like you didn’t hear her.” She mumbles and you nod, muscle in your jaw jumping.

“I know you’re pissed. I’m pissed. Vlatko’s pissed. Everyone is pissed.” She mumbles, guiding you forward, the ref still calling your name.

“If she yells my name again I’m going to jail.” You snarl, the ref again calling your name.

Your Y/E/C orbs lock with Hope’s blue orbs and she shakes her head.

“No.”

You growl, but begrudgingly make your way to the locker room, Hope basically guiding you back there so you don’t turn around and snap the ref in half.

The second the locker room opens your back-line moves to their feet, but you hold a hand up, shaking your head.

“It’s not you guys, it’s the ref.” You growl angrily, flopping down in a nearby chair. “That PK was utter bullshit, and I’m pretty sure I’m getting a yellow card next half.” You mumble under your breath and Vlatko’s brows furrow.

“For what?”

“I said fucking bullshit, to myself, but the ref was trying to stop me from coming in the locker room.” You roll your eyes.

“Listen, I know you’re all incredibly angry, but the best thing we can do is take it to Sweden in the second half.” Vlatko says and the team nods, Hope giving you a pat on the back before she moves to stand beside him.

***

The second you step out of the locker room and onto the field the ref is on you.

“I don’t appreciate you speaking to me like you did.”

You swallow hard, willing to God to keep you from strangling a bitch.

“Listen, for one I wasn’t saying it to you, for two-

The ref retrieves a yellow card and your eyes widen, a grin spreading across your face.

“You have GOT to be kidding me.” You throw your head back with a groan, Vlatko and Hope immediately on either side of you.

“And may I ask what the yellow card is for exactly?” Hope asks, sending the ref a glare and she turns away.

“Profanity.”

You put your gloved hands together, looking up at the sky.

“God, forgive me for what I’m about to do...”

Just as the words leave your mouth, Hope grabs you, as does Vlatko, the two dragging you to the bench, your teammates watching with wide eyes.

“No Y/N, make her pay by demolishing the team she thinks so highly of...” Vlatko pats your back and you take a deep breath, glancing at Hope who nods.

“Embarrass her.”

You glance at the ref, who looks your way, her eyes narrowed as a grin spreads across your face.

“Oh, I’m going to do more than that.”

***

Embarrass her you did, swaggering passed the ref after a shutout game, a single goal hadn’t got passed you, but a few balls ended up in the back of the net on the other end.

You can’t help yourself, biting your tongue between your teeth as you send the ref a wink the woman sending you a deadly glare.

“She’s nearly just as cocky as you.”

Hope turns to Tobin, rolling her eyes at the forward’s grin.

"Eh, it takes a lot to be THAT cocky.” Alex giggles as she stands beside the two, watching with a grin as Sonnett goes to shake your hand, you jerk it back, pretending to slick your hair back.

Hope can’t hold back a chuckle as she, Lindsey and the other team’s children practically dog pile on you, though still, even with so many bodies on you, you don’t flinch, even when Sam climbs onto your back.

Hope’s smile softens at the grin on your face, the girls all grunting and groaning as you, somehow, manage to move, even with the girls hanging off of you.

Tobin’s eyes narrow as they dart from Hope, to you and back.

“Ms. Solo are you crushing on our #1 goalkeeper?” Tobin teases, earning a glare that would scare a starving bear off, but of course, it doesn’t deter Tobin Heath.

“I do not have a crush on her.” She growls, a loud snort sounding from someone nearby.

“Yeah, right.” Julie rolls her eyes on her way by and Hope snarls.

“I don’t.” She mumbles under her breath, but one look across field, at your massive smile her heart skips a beat.

Hope sighs.

“Fuck.”

***

You’d noticed after that, that Hope had put a significant amount of distance between the two of you, the playful banter and teasing between the two completely stopping, much to your consternation.

Hope’s eyes catch yours and your mouth drops open, ready to talk to the woman for the first time in weeks, but before you can she abruptly turns away.

You huff, head hanging in sadness as you move back towards goal.

“What’s wrong?”

You turn to Julie Ertz with a small frown.

“Hope won’t talk to me...” You swallow hard, taking a seat on the turf, Julie taking a seat beside you.

Julie’s blue orbs narrow as she looks across field, catching Hope’s blue orbs on her.

“Did something happen?” She asks and you shrug, fiddling with a blade of grass.

“Not that I’m aware of.” You shrug, swallowing hard.

Julie grimaces, her blue orbs locked with Hope’s.

“How long has this been going on?” She asks and you fidget nervously with the straps of your gloves.

“A couple weeks.”

Julie hums, still glaring at her old friend.

“I’m sure things will get back to how they were.” Julie grins and you shrug.

“I hope you’re right.”

***

Hope can’t help but scowl when she sees Lucy Bronze make a beeline towards you, a massive grin on the woman’s face as she throws her arms around you.

Hope scowl furthers when you lift the woman in the air, giving her a spin.

The two of you had been overseas for a while and needless to say, you’d gotten rather close.

Hope watches intently, her arms crossed across her chest as Lucy jumps up, pressing a kiss to your cheek, at least where she can reach and you throw your head back with a laugh.

The former goalie’s eyes widen when you point from Lucy to you, the two of you pulling your jerseys over your head, swapping them and slipping them on, your jersey a bit bigger on Lucy.

Hope swallows hard as you slip an arm around Lucy, the two of you walking around field, talking to USWNT plays and England players alike.

Hope didn’t realize though that she wasn't the ONLY one watching the interaction between you and Lucy Bronze, the media was watching as well.

***

You weren’t even off the field before pictures began to surface, and by the time you hit the hotel, fans and the media were in a frenzy, everyone questioning the relationship between you and Lucy Bronze.

“You have to admit, you two look cute together.” Emily gives you a nudge and you scoff, shaking your head as you follow your teammates into the hotel.

“Oh, trust me, I’ve definitely noticed and I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t thought about it...” You wink, the defender snickering.

“Ohhhh, are the rumors true!?” Kelley teases and you roll you eyes, smacking her shoulder.

“No, we’re just friends.”

“You’re just friends for nowwwwwwwwwww.” Megan pats your back and your cheeks flush.

“Shut up.”

Meanwhile, at the back of the group, Hope is walking between Julie and Tobin, the two sharing a glance.

“She won’t wait forever.” Tobin says as she leans towards the angry goalkeeper, the woman sending her a glare.

“And you aren’t talking to her anymore, why?” Julie asks and Hope growls.

“I know she won’t just back off.”

She moves a little further ahead, just catching the conversation between you and Emily.

“You have to admit, you two look cute together.”

“Oh, trust me, I’ve definitely noticed and I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t thought about it...”

Hope’s stomach twisted in jealousy, and regret.

Maybe she was too late?

***

You weren’t going to lie, you missed Hope Solo.

You missed the playful banter between the two of you, you missed the way her eyes would sparkle when the two of you talked, and the cocky smirk on her face.

“You look a little lost.”

You glance up, clearing your throat remembering you were in the locker room talking before the game, your eyes just happened to drift to Hope and your thoughts took over.

You clear your throat again, smiling at Tobin.

“Just spaced out.” You shrug and the forward hums, glancing at Hope who you’d been staring at before you spaced out.

“Happens to the best of us.”

Hope’s eyes dart from Tobin, to you and back, the woman frowning at the crestfallen look on your face.

It had been nearly two months since the two of you talked and you were off you game, missing shots on goal that you would NEVER miss.

Tactic talks for the game end and you move to your feet, rubbing the back of your neck and taking a deep breath.

Canada had always been a formidable foe, and you worried that you would again mess up like you had the following game against Japan, missing an easily blockable goal.

The sound of someone clearing their throat makes you turn around, your eyes widening when you see the USWNT former #1 goalkeeper standing before you, wearing a small smile.

“Good luck today, I hope you impress me.” She smirks and your eyes widen. You biting your bottom lip to stave a grin, your cheeks flushing.

“Oh, I will.”

***

And impress her you did, you were on fire, blocking ball after ball, blocking shots most would never be able to, but you were the #1 goalkeeper after all.

The game had ended in a shut out for you, the score 3-0 with USWNT the overall winners.

Something so simple as Hope speaking to you rejuvenated you in a way you didn’t think was possible, but with that rejuvenation came the feelings you’d been suppressing.

You thought of the former goalie as more than just a trainer, more than just a friend, you were falling for the woman and falling hard.

“Excuse me Y/N, may we get a word?”

You turn to a grinning reporter, the camera man behind you giving you an equally toothy grin.

“Of course.”

“First off congrats on an amazing performance, you blocked goals I thought myself were unblockable.” She beams and you smile.

“Thank you so much.”

“I’m sure you’ve seen the fans reaction to your performance in the Japan game, but with a shutout game against one of the USNWT biggest rivals, what do you say to your doubters?”

You hum, smiling when you feel a pat on the back.

“Honestly, I’d say everyone has off days, I was off my game then, we all have days like that, but I’d like to think that’s past me.”

“I’d be remissed to not ask about certain photos surfacing of you and Lucy Bronze, England’s WNT’s defender... What’s going on there?”

You open your mouth to respond, but are cut off when someone moves to stand beside you, that someone being Hope Solo.

“Do you have any RELEVANT questions about the game?” She asks fiercely and your eyes widen, darting to the reporter who swallows hard.

“I ummm...”

“Well then this interview is over.” Hope sneers, glancing at you before taking her leave.

You watch her go in utter confusion, mouth agape and eyes wide before you turn to the reporter.

“I’m sorry, I have no idea what that was about, but I’m going to find out.”

***

“What the hell was that? That wasn’t necessary.” You yell as you chase after the woman who’d tried to disappear within the arena’s backrooms.

“First off, I don’t need you telling me what’s necessary, and secondly are you not tired of getting questioned about Bronze?” She asks, arms crossed across her chest. “Unless you actually ARE into her.”

Your eyes narrow.

“I mean she is cute.” You shrug, noting the spark of something in Hope’s blue orbs.

“Well, then maybe you should talk to her about that.” She rolls her eyes, turning away but you grab her wrist, stopping her before she can take even take a step.

“Are you jealous?” You ask, surprised the words left your mouth and Hope turns towards you abruptly.

“Why the hell would I be jealous?” She snarls. “Jealous of what? Of who?”

You glance around, pulling the woman, who puts up no fight into a nearby room so your conversation doesn��t have any prying eyes.

"What’s the problem? You may have been ignoring me, but I’ve never seen you act like... That.” You motion to the door and Hope growls.

“There is no problem, I’m sick of hearing about Lucy Bronze! Lucy Bronze this, Lucy Bronze that.” She throws her arms up in the air and your eyes widen.

A familiar spark in Hope’s blue orbs make your Y/E/C orbs widen further.

“Are you jealous?”

Hope turns to you with a loud laugh.

“Jealous of what? Of you?!” She snickers. “Why would I be jealous of you?” She asks and you smirk.

“I didn’t say you were jealous of me...” Your eyes dart around her face. “I meant jealous of Lucy.” Your smirk widens and she laughs even louder, a humorless laugh.

“There is no way I’m jealous of Lucy Bronze!”

“Really? Because you seem pretty jealous to me.”

“Who would be jealous when you’re just a cocky ass...”

You scoff.

“Oh, I’m the cocky one, what about you?”

“What about me!?” Hope growls and your lip curls in a snarl as you move closer.

“You’re self-centered!”

Hope pokes your chest.

“And you’re arrogant.”

“Condescending.” You spit back and Hope snarls.

“ANNOYING!”

The door abruptly swings open, Alex’s blue orbs wide as they dart from you, to Hope and back.

“I heard yell- I'll just go now.” She clears her throat, going to shut the door behind her.

You turn to Hope, the veteran goalie snarling before she shoves past Alex and moves out of the room, leaving you behind.

“What the hell just happened?” Alex asks and you shrug.

“I have no idea.”

***

You bury your face in your gloved hands, taking a deep breath.

The whistle signaling half time had already begun, but you still haven’t moved.

The game had been absolutely brutal, so much so that the USWNT were down 0-3 against Brazil, which was mostly your fault, you knew it was your fault and STILL you were missing shots on goal.

“Hey, come on.”

You glance up the former #1 goalkeeper in the world holding her hand out to you, a hand that you reluctantly take.

Hope slips an arm around you as the two of you make your way across the field.

“You’re getting inside your head too much.” She whispers and you shake your head.

“It’s my fault we’re losing.”

Hope huffs.

“That’s exactly what I’m talking about, it’s not just you making mistakes, this isn’t all on you Y/N, get out of your head and focus on the game, I know you can do it, you’re not the #1 goalkeeper in the world for nothing. You’re the most talented goalkeeper in the world and I am so proud to have you on our team, to be your trainer.”

You stop, your eyes glazing over as you stare into Hope’s blue orbs.

“Do you...” You swallow hard, glancing down at your feet. “Do you mean that?” You ask, voice below a whisper and she nods, grinning.

“Of course, I do.”

***

The second you get back in goal you nod to yourself, glancing around the stadium.

Slowly, your eyes drift to Hope, the woman giving you a nod and a smile.

“Let’s fucking do this.” You jump up and down, smacking both of the goalposts. “Let’s FUCKING do this.” You say under your breath, Hope grinning as you jump up and slap the top of the goalpost.

“LET’S GO.”

***

You flop onto the ground as the final whistle blows, this time though it’s not out of dismay, it’s out of relief.

The second half the USWNT came back from out of nowhere, scoring 5 goals, 2 courtesy of Christen Press’s boot.

You hadn’t missed a single shot on goal after getting back between the goal posts having been rejuvenated by Hope’s pep talk.

“Hope.” You mumble under your breath before leaping to your feet and running off field, towards the former goalie with a massive grin.

“I couldn’t have done with without you.” You shake your head, cheeks flushed, your face covered in sweat.

Hope shakes her head, taking a step towards you, the last thing you see is an eye roll before the woman leans in, pressing her lips against yours.

You inhale sharply, the air leaving your lungs as the woman’s lips meet yours. Hope smiles the second your lips start moving, the woman’s arms wrapped around your neck as she pulls you close.

The two of you eventually part, neither going far as Hope rests her forehead against yours.

“Yes, you could’ve done it without me Y/N.” She whispers and you grin.

“I knew you were jealous.” You tease, Hope again rolling her eyes.

“Shut up.”

#uswnt #uswnt x reader #hope solo #hope solo x reader #hope solo imagine

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spine-buster · 4 years

Text

The President Wears Prada (William Nylander) | Chapter 28

A/N: Thanks for all the love this past week ❤️ It meant a lot to me. Here’s 4600 words of subpar writing 😝 And FYI, we’re not getting too sad around here. This is the only chapter they’ll be apart. That means reunification next week!

April 12th, 2020

Aberdeen Bloom was with her family.

It was Easter, and they were celebrating together, thankfully. She was more grateful for it now more than ever, considering the state of the world. She had stayed camped out at her apartment for the last two weeks with Kasha, who had come back from Evan’s place and was none the wiser about William being there for the fourteen days prior. It made the most sense to Aberdeen because she still had to pay rent, and because she didn’t want to put Minerva through a stressful move again. So, she stayed put. Plus, now that she was living on her own, she’d know she’d go crazy if she lived with her family again. Especially with Siena back from Ottawa because of classes in some weird state of limbo. The sisters were thankful that Camden was independent enough to be able to learn on his own and not be constantly watched – and so was Orla. She had enough to tackle, having her grade one class turned into online learning until further notice. Everything was messy, and unprecedented, and weird, and not understandable, and weird, and chaotic, and confused.

But Aberdeen had her family. And Aberdeen had Willy.

They’d kept their promise about calling each other every night. Aberdeen would lay in bed and put in her headphones (so Kasha wouldn’t hear) and they’d FaceTime each other for a majority of the night, alone in their rooms, talking about anything and everything. Sometimes they’d fall asleep talking, and their phones wouldn’t shut off, and Aberdeen would wake up an hour later and see the brightness of her phone screen still lit up, and she’d see William sleeping on the other end, his face so peaceful yet so burdened with responsibility of caring for his siblings while his parents and other siblings were eight hours and an entire continent and ocean away, and she wouldn’t have the heart to end the call.

Things were fine in Tampa, from what he told her. Jacquie had calmed down considerably. Alex was…Alex – always trying to make jokes and make light of the situation. They barely left their house, but because there were three of them there, it wasn’t too bad. There were a lot of board games played, a lot of Netflix series watched. From across the countries, Aberdeen and William were watching Tiger King together. She didn’t think she’d watched anything as horrifyingly crazy. William would crack jokes about her putting him in a meat grinder and feeding him to tigers. She could only giggle.

She knew that today the siblings were going to go for their first “outing”, just to get some sunshine, along the Courtney Campbell Bridge. She hoped the weather would cooperate for them. And once they were all home, and once Aberdeen was back at her place, the routine would begin, and she’d crawl into bed, and she’d FaceTime Willy to hear all about it.

Good Friday meant they had fish. Easter Monday meant Orla’s roasted lamb and much of the same sides that were prepared on Christmas. They’d still video chat with their grandparents, Camden would still play hockey in the driveway, and Aberdeen and Siena would go down into the basement and watch episodes of Brooklyn 9-9 or another show. Routines, in a time of a global pandemic that brought so much uncertainty, were accepted with warmth. Even for just a day, life was going to feel normal. Orla and Mirza had even gone so far as to get their kids chocolate eggs. It didn’t matter that the youngest didn’t believe in the Easter Bunny anymore or that the girls were in their early twenties – the gesture went farther than that. They were all together again, even if it was just for the day.

When Orla placed the roasted lamb at the centre of the table, asking Mirza for his plate first, Aberdeen took a giant whiff of the smell and immediately felt more relaxed. She filled her plate with carrots and asparagus and Yorkshire pudding before her mom piled on the lamb and sauce.

“So where’s our good friend William these days?” Orla asked as she finished serving everybody and sat down in her seat. She immediately grabbed her knife and fork to dig in. “He didn’t want to come for Easter?”

“I’m sure he wanted to come and have your lamb, darling,” Mirza said.

“He’s in Tampa,” Aberdeen answered, smiling slightly at her parents’ interaction. “His brother and his sister went there at the start of lockdown, and so when he was good to go too, he went.”

“William quarantined for fourteen days too?” Mirza asked. “Why?”

“He spoke to one of his Swedish friends on the Predators so he had to. I bet the whole team did,” she explained.

“Did you guys quarantine together?” Siena asked.

Aberdeen rolled her eyes. “Hah. Good one.”

“William has sisters?” Camden asked.

“He has three,” Aberdeen smiled. “All of them are younger than him.”

“I can’t imagine three of you and Siena.”

Everybody at the table snorted. “We can’t imagine three of you either, buddy,” Siena quipped back.

Camden smiled, then focused his attention back to Aberdeen. “So what’s he doing in Tampa?”

“I don’t know. Hanging out with his brother and sister.”

“Why don’t you call him and ask?”

“Camden,” Aberdeen said, “I can’t just call William Nylander and ask him what he’s doing so my little brother can know,” her tone made it seem like it was the most out-of-this-world idea. But it was a total lie. William would be at her beck and call – he always was. If she called him right now, he’d answer. If she called him and asked him what he was doing because Camden wanted to know, he’d answer her and tell Camden what he was doing. He was just like that.

“I think the most important question we should be asking about William, considering the circumstances in our world right now, is whether or not he’s safe in Tampa,” Mirza interjected. He stuffed a roasted potato into his mouth. “Is he safe?”

Aberdeen nodded. “He’s safe. And he’s with his family, just like we are.”

***

Aberdeen could hear the video game sounds coming out of Camden’s Nintendo Switch as she lay in his bed, cuddled up to him while browsing through her phone. It was later – later than she thought – but she wanted to stay at home for a little while longer, at least until Camden went to bed, because, well…it was a global pandemic and she wanted to see her family. Her dad would drive her home eventually – she knew that. But she wanted to spend some time with her younger brother, even if it was just cuddling with him while he played video games and she browsed Instagram. Sometimes physical contact was the best contact; sometimes nothing needed to be said.

“Hey Aberdeen?” he whispered.

Apparently something needed to be said.

She looked over at him and saw that he’d placed the Switch face-down on his chest. He was looking up at her. “Yeah bud?”

“Are you scared about the pandemic?”

Aberdeen softened immediately. God, she wished he could stay this age forever. She didn’t want him to grow up and turn into a moody teenager. She wanted him like this forever: young and innocent and the little boy who cries over meeting Kyle Lowry. “Of course I’m scared,” she admitted. “Are you scared?” she asked.

“Yeah,” he nodded. “Mom’s home so it’s okay but I’m scared about dad. What if the virus is on one of the envelopes or packages he has to deliver? Or, like, on a mailbox?”

Aberdeen cuddled closer to her brother, if only to provide physical assurance. There were so many unknowns about the virus. It didn’t help that there was wall-to-wall coverage of it on the TV all the time. “I don’t think the virus works that way, Cam. I think—”

“But did you see how fast it spread in New York City? Mom and dad were watching the news one night and the number of people who have it is so high,” he was so concerned.

“I think dad’s work put a lot of, like, safety rules in place so nobody will catch it,” she tried to calm his nerves. “Dad wouldn’t be working if it wasn’t safe. Look at my work. They’re not letting me work because it’s not safe.”

Camden considered his sister’s words. She could practically see the gears shifting in his mind. “I guess so,” he acquiesced. “But I still think about dad a lot when he’s working. Mom’s even praying a lot more now.”

“I figured she would be,” Aberdeen nodded. “Listen Cam, I’m scared about everything too, but the reason why I’m not worried about dad is because dad’s a really smart guy, and we’re a family that listens to doctors and public health experts who are trying to make everything better,” she explained.

“And don’t forget the epado…epid…”

“Epidemiologists,” she smiled, saying the word for him. “Them too. I’m listening to them.”

“Mom thinks I won’t go back to school this year at all. She told me I’m gonna help her teacher her first graders,” he giggled. “Imagine that! At least I don’t have to take EQAO this year.”

“Lucky you,” Aberdeen wiggled her eyebrows at him. “Hey, if I order some masks, what designs do you want on them?”

“Raptors and Leafs, obviously,” he smiled. “Do you even need to ask?”

“Well excuuuuuuse me—”

Their conversation was interrupted by Aberdeen’s phone ringing from its place on her chest. When she flipped it over to see who would be calling her at this hour, she should have known better than to wonder. It was William. It would only be William. But he was requesting to FaceTime her. Just as she was about to reject the call, she heard Cam gasp. “Is that William Nylander? He’s calling you?!”

She gulped. “Cam—”

“Answer it! Answer it!”

She swiped her screen. She prayed to every saint that he wasn’t already topless. When he finally appeared on the screen, he was wearing an oversized t-shirt. She’d have to pray the rosary tonight. “Hi William,” she greeted formally – no “Hi baby” or “Heeeeeyyyyy” like she usually did, hoping he’d get the hint.

“Hello…” he answered back awkwardly, not realizing immediately why she was being so formal. When she tilted the camera and he saw Camden lying beside her smiling from ear-to-ear, waving frantically at him, he understood. “Heeeyyy Camden,” he greeted, waving back.

“Hi William!” Camden said. “How are you?”

“I’m good, buddy, how are you?”

“I’m okay,” he shrugged. “Aberdeen told me you’re in Tampa Bay with your brother and sisters.”

“I am,” William nodded, shooting the quickest of looks to Aberdeen. “She texted me to let me know you guys were apparently missing me today at lunch. I already know my lunch wasn’t as great as the one your mom made.”

Camden giggled slightly. “It definitely wasn’t. Mom made lamb today. Hey William?”

“Yeah bud?”

“Aberdeen told me you have three younger sisters. I have two older ones. How do you do it?!”

William burst out laughing, as did Aberdeen. “Ooooooh Camden. If I knew, I’d tell you.”

***

“How are you, minskatt?” William asked as he watched Aberdeen get into her bed. He’d called her again when he knew it was safe – when she was back at her apartment after her dad drove her home. He hadn’t expected Camden to be on his earlier phone call, of course, but they’d spoken for about ten minutes until Camden was satisfied.

Aberdeen took a deep breath. She was going for it. ��Jag mår bra hur mår du?” she replied in near-perfect Swedish.

She watched as William’s eyes bulged out dramatically and smiled mischievously. “Minskatt?!” he gasped dramatically, even going so far as to sit up in bed. She could only giggle. “Minskatt where did that come from? Are you…”

“Mhm,” she nodded before he could finish his thought. “I ordered a bunch of Swedish language books and I’ve been learning since you left. I wanted to surprise you.”

“Minskaaaaatt,” he repeated, except this time in a more playful accusatory tone. “What have you taught yourself?”

“Just the most basic stuff,” she said. “Hello, how are you, where is the washroom, that kind of stuff. Verb conjugations are going to come later. And…” she trailed off.

“And?”

She smiled again. “Jag tänker på dig när jag inte ens tanker,” she whispered.

It was the most amazing thing William had ever heard. It didn’t matter that the pronunciation was a bit off – it was incredible. Incredible. So incredible that he couldn’t handle it. He smiled from ear to ear and buried his face in his pillow as he giggled. “Minskatt…you have no idea how beautiful that sounds,” he said. “Like…you honestly have no idea.”

“Do you like the surprise?” she asked.

“I fucking love it,” he said. “Minskatt, you’re too good to me.”

“I want to learn more. I want…I want to like, become as fluent as I can so that I can speak to your family in Swedish. You know, when we’re in Sweden. Whenever that is.”

William’s heart practically burst in his chest. If it was possible, he would have spontaneously self-combusted right then and there at her words and their sweetness. “If I could take you to Sweden tomorrow, I would. God minskatt, I miss you so much. I’m dying over here.”

“Me too.”

“I want to touch you so bad,” he admitted. “I was dreaming about it the other night but then I woke up, and I couldn’t fall back asleep again.”

Her heart fluttered. She’d dreamt about the same thing too last night and woke up sweating. She’d never been this sexually frustrated before, even in her single days. To think of the time they spent together during quarantine, only to have him leave and be unable to do those same thing…it was a lot to miss. A lot to look forward too, as well, once they reunited. But for now, she could only miss it. “How were you touching me?” she asked, biting her bottom lip.

She could see his Adam’s apple bob in his throat. “You know how,” he whispered.

“Tell me,” she said, slipping her hand underneath the covers. She snaked it down her body and underneath her pajama pants and underwear. “Tell me how you were touching me.”

William watched as he watched her one arm move and her hand disappear. He gulped at the sight of it. “I was touching your pussy,” he huffed, slipping his own hand under the covers.

“Was it wet for you?”

“Of course,” he said, grabbing hold of his cock, stroking it almost immediately. “Is…is it wet right now?”

“Getting there,” she nodded.

“Are you touching yourself?”

“Mhm,” she said, her eyes drooping slightly. She waited a few moments as she continued to touch herself before she finally continued. “Tell me how you were touching me. What were you doing?”

“I was fingering you. And my thumb was rubbing your clit…how you like it,” his voice was low.

“Mmmmm,” Aberdeen hummed, mimicking what he was saying and doing it to herself as best she could. She’d done it for so long as a single woman that she’d practically mastered it, but ever since she’d been with William, he’d mastered it in the short amount of time too. There was nothing he did that didn’t turn her on. “I had your cock down my throat in my dream last night.”

“Oh fuck,” William huffed, not expecting that at all. He thought, as always, this was gonna be about pleasuring her by some good old-fashioned phone sex. He didn’t think she’d go so far as to include him too, considering how new the experience was. But they were doing this. “Was it deep in your throat?” he asked.

Aberdeen nodded. “It hit the back.”

“Fuuuuuck Aberdeen,” he huffed. He imagined the feeling and it sent shivers down his spine. He got hard almost immediately at the thought as he kept stroking himself, but ever since he’d been with Aberdeen, his own hand didn’t fucking cut it anymore. She gave him the best handjobs, the best blowjobs…everything she did was the best to him.

“Remember when I sucked you off in the backseat of your car?” she asked, her voice sugary sweet. William nodded his head quickly. “Remember how you came in my mouth? You tasted sooooo good, Willy.”

“Ab—Aberdeen—fuck, don’t—”

“I can’t wait to taste it again.”

William’s eyes rolled back. “I can’t wait to taste your pussy again.”

“When you come back home, I want you to fuck me like you did during quarantine,” she continued. “Fuck me hard how I like it, Willy.”

“Ab—are you—look at me when you cum, Aberdeen,” William demanded. He could tell by just a quick look that she was almost there. “Look at me when you cum.”

“Are you close?”

“Y—Yeah.”

“Cum with me, Willy. Think of my tight pussy when you cum.”

She could see his face contort slightly as he closed his eyes. She bit her bottom lip and tried to suppress a loud moan, writhing in her bed and squeezing her legs together as her orgasm took over her body. She heard William moan too, low and guttural, and when she saw his chest heaving just as much as hers was, she knew he came too.

As her breathing steadied out, Aberdeen couldn’t help but giggle slightly. “I can’t believe we just did that,” she admitted. “That was—”

“That was really hot,” William finished her sentence, albeit more bluntly than her tone. “That was—we did that quick but God it was hot.”

“Yeah,” Aberdeen nodded. “Nothing compares to the real thing though.”

“No, it doesn’t,” William agreed. “The second I land in Toronto – finish quarantine – whatever, I’m taking you to my place and I’m fucking you senseless.”

Aberdeen couldn’t help but giggle and smirk at his words. “Promise?”

“Promise.”

***

April 14th, 2020

“What did you and your brother do that day?” Aberdeen practically screamed into the phone as the video played on what seemed like an infinite loop on her laptop. “Seriously. What made you think to film that?”

“We practiced for a long time!”

“Oh yeah, I’m sure the Toosie Slide dance took a lot of practice.”

“It does!”

“Your poor sister.”

“She lived.”

Aberdeen snorted. “And what are those shorts, William?!”

“Um, excuse me? Are you making fun of my shorts?” he giggled. “I thought you’d like them, seeing as they show off my thighs. We both know how much you like my thighs…”

“Stop it.”

“No.”

***

April 20th, 2020

“Did you get some sun today?” Aberdeen asked sarcastically, seeing William on FaceTime looking redder than a tomato.

“You’re funny.”

“Have you heard of sunscreen?”

“I wore sunscreen,” he grumbled.

“Sure you did.”

***

April 25th, 2020

“Have you been writing a lot, minskatt?” William asked as he watched Aberdeen concentrating on her screen, hearing her furious typing through the microphone. They were on the type of call where the participants just went about their business, connected through the screen, watching the other do their work while also doing their own. William was just being dumb and scrolling through golfing websites, but Aberdeen was actually being productive.

“Mhm,” she nodded. “I just…well, you saw how much I wrote when we were together too. In between the sex,” she chuckled slightly. “But after you left, there was just this huge burst of inspiration and energy.”

“I think it was the sex,” William deadpanned, causing Aberdeen to laugh. “The sex inspired you.”

“Well you definitely gave me the energy,” she smiled. “Too bad what I’m writing isn’t a sex diary or something.”

“What are you writing, minskatt?” he asked, genuinely interested.

“Um…” Aberdeen began, trying to formulate what she was writing into words. “It’s about a girl. Well, a group of girls.”

“You mean like that TV show Girls?”

“Better,” Aberdeen huffed. “Lena Dunham is awful.”

William smiled. “So a group of girls?”

“A group of girls and their relationships with each other. And the expectations they have for each other that sometimes may not work in their favour.”

“So is it semi-autobiographical?”

Aberdeen side-eyed him. Everything in writing was at least somewhat autobiographical. But he didn’t need to know that. “Maybe.”

***

April 27th, 2020

“I miss you so much,” William mumbled, his voice sleepy.

“I miss you too,” Aberdeen said, equally as tired. “I can’t wait for you to hold me. I can’t wait to just cuddle.”

“Me too.”

***

April 30th, 2020

For the first time in weeks, Aberdeen wasn’t doomscrolling about COVID-19. She was doomscrolling about William.

It started innocently enough, by Aberdeen reminiscing on the first time he drove her home from the airport and he spoke about his contract negotiations and how they turned a lot of people sour on him. She believed him right then and there, but she didn’t go looking. Now, with nothing to do and a curious mind, she went looking.

And she hated what she found.

Entire articles, practically one written every week, about his trade value. Those same articles devalkuing him as a player and downplaying his role on the team as a top-six forward. Panels of analysts and experts demanding that the Leafs trade him. Entire Twitter accounts dedicated to blasting every single little thing he did on the ice. Men with nothing better to do than to obsess over him and call him every name in the book.

And then there was the video from Tim & Sid, the popular sports radio duo in Toronto that Aberdeen listened to for fifteen minutes once, but couldn’t get past Sid Seixeiro’s dumbass opinions. In the video she watched, he took a less than 10-second clip of something William had said in a post-game interview during a loss against the Panthers and asked, indignantly, “What the hell is wrong with him?” He then proceeded to go on a five-minute rant about the entire locker room having an attitude problem, how Willy had an attitude problem, how he didn’t care about the team…and people believed it. She knew it. People gobbled it up. It was their serotonin while they hated him and called him a pussy on the internet and threw glasses at him in bars while drunk. She felt sick to her stomach that these people felt this way about him.

She’d been crying for a while before she picked up her phone to call him. Her hands were shaking as she dialled his number, waiting for him to answer. “Hi minskatt,” he cooed after the fourth ring.

“Willy,” she greeted, her voice shaky.

The last time she’d called him in such a state, she was being followed from her apartment. William’s mind immediately went into overdrive. “Minskatt? What’s wrong?”

“Willy you know I love you, right?”

He softened slightly. “Of course I do. Why would you—”

“—I love you every way you are—"

“—Aberdeen—”

“—And I know you’re a good person and I love you so much, more than anything—”

“—Aberdeen—Aberdeen—stop. What is this about?”

She took a quick breath. “What everyone says about you, Willy. They’re horrible. Horrible. I was reading and I was watching these videos and they’re just awful to you and—”

“Aberdeen, I told you not to watch those videos,” he said.

“Willy, please,” she begged. “How could they say those things about you and not even know you? How can they still be so bitter after your contract negotiations?!”

“Aberdeen—”

“I love you, Willy. I love you every way you are,” she repeated. “I don’t care what anybody has to say about you. I love you. I love you.”

“I love you too, Aberdeen,” he said calmly but fiercely. “Aberdeen, you can’t listen to them. I learned how to tune them out a long time ago. Even if I did…I don’t care what they say about me. I know who I am, Aberdeen. I know the truth, and they don’t. And you do too.”

“I do, but I just…they’re so awful, Willy. I don’t know how you can stand it.”

“Like I said…I know my truth. My family knows. And you do. The most important people in my life know the truth and that’s all that matters. I don’t give a fuck about what they think of me,” he said.

Aberdeen stayed silent. She knew she was overreacting, but damnit, she needed to overreact. She’d been a part of the hockey world now for what felt like a century, and if what she had with William was going to last, it would be a major part of her life for years to come. She needed to learn to roll with the punches. But at the same time, she felt like if those punches were unjustified, then she was justified in being upset about them and wanting to speak out. “I just love you so much,” she whispered, her voice much calmer now but still a bit shaky. “God, I’m such a horrible girlfriend. I’m calling you crying about the stupid Toronto media on the night before your birthday—”

“It’s okay, minskatt,” he interrupted. “I would rather you call me then cry alone. Besides, my birthday isn’t going to be special because you won’t be here.”

“Willy, don’t say that.”

“I mean it,” he replied. “I wish I could spend it with you. Fuck, I wish I could fly you down to Florida on a private fucking plane just so I could spend time with you. I’d kill someone just to hold your hand right now.”

Her heart fluttered. “I wish you’d come back to Toronto,” she whispered. “When you get back, Willy…I’m gonna let you hold my hand so hard.”

They both snorted. “I’ll be eagerly awaiting my gift, by the way,” he said, knowing that whatever she had in store for him for his birthday would be waiting for him when he got back to Toronto. She made it that way – she promised, and he’d accepted. He was dying in anticipation, but he’d accepted.

“Want a little piece of it now?” she asked.

He smiled. “You know I do.”

***

May 1st, 2020

Happy birthday I know you’re spending the day with your brother so it’s okay if you don’t text back I just want you to know how much I love you. I’m sorry that I waited so long. I’m sorry I denied it for so long. You have been so good to me Willy. I hope I’m half as good to you as you are to me. I’ve never felt the love that you give me every single day from another person and I think that’s because the universe was saving it for ~you, for ~you to show me, because I can’t picture it being from anyone else. I love you so much and I miss you. Jag tänker på dig när jag inte ens tanker.

i love u more than anything minskatt Jag tänker på dig när jag inte ens tanker Jag tänker på dig när jag inte ens tanker always i will always love u i wish u were here with me nothing is the same without u

nothing is the same without you either I love you so much Willy

i love u aberdeen

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haunted-medievalist · 3 years

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hi! i’m very interested in history and would love to study it in college, but i don’t know what careers i could get with a history major besides being a teacher. are you planning on becoming a teacher, or do you have other career suggestions for those studying history? tysm if you respond!

so, here's a testament to how terrible i am at running this ramshackle blog - i just found this in my drafts after goodness knows how long and frankly i dread to count back and find out. but it is a very good question and i am very, very sorry for taking probably months to do this, and even if this no longer interests you (i apologise again) i'm going to post anyway in case it interests somebody else. going under the cut because this might become a tad long-winded - there's also a tl;dr at the very end of the post for those who don't want to sift through my stream of thoughts.

i am not personally planning on becoming a teacher, at least not in a high school level or younger - still have far too many Spicy Memories from that age to want to return to a school setting in any capacity. academia does appeal to me a lot more as an option - i'm loving my dissertation work and there are lots of areas within my broad field of medieval northern europe with room for fresh, new research. i could specialise in any number of areas, but right now what appeals to me most is literary history and archaeology. unfortunately, my course isn't running the archaeology paper it usually offers as part of the second year setup this year, so i won't get to try out specialising in it, but it's something that's grabbed my attention more and more over the course of my first year of study.

beyond remaining within academia or going into archaeology, i've also considered museum work and archival work. my interest in working in a museum has sprung from a similar place to my interest in archaeology - i've discovered that staying holed up writing at a desk all day, every day can be very draining and, more importantly, that working with physical, material history right in my hands and before my very eyes is Really Super Cool and Exciting. i would very happily look into options for working in a museum in curation or conservation, helping to preserve artefacts and make them accessible to the general public. archival work comes from a similar place, too - i guess it combines my interest in literary history with the feeling of intimacy and immediacy that comes with working with material history.

steering away from fields directly relevant to history, i'd also love to spend some time working in a library - any kind at all, from my local public library to something more academic. one of the papers i'm taking is palaeography, the study of manuscripts, which i've developed a much greater fondness for than i expected to when i started. it's made me really interested in working in an academic library that curates and cares for collections of older manuscripts, i guess like a crossover of a library and a museum.

there's a few areas too that aren't directly related to my degree, but are helped and supplemented by it - these are translation, publishing, and creative writing. languages and literature have always been my strongest subject in school, so it helps a lot for me that my course is interdisciplinary, combining study of medieval languages, literature, and history rather than being strictly a history degree. i maintain a good standard of french and german from when i studied them at school and i'm also learning danish, norwegian, and swedish on the side. the last three are mainly just for reading purposes as i sometimes get set academic articles to read in those languages, but i'd love to work and study in norway some day so i'm practicing norwegian to a more proficient/practical level. at some stage, probably once i've completed my degree, i'd like to save some money aside to take exams and hopefully get qualifications in some of those languages - probably german and norwegian - just to have some formal acknowledgement of my work to hand if i ever want to pursue any programmes or qualifications in translation studies. literary translation, working with creative literature rather than formal documents or academic writing, is something i'm very sure i would enjoy.

publishing is harder to describe, i guess. i have a small role as the editor of my department's silly little student magazine and i'd like to expand and apply to editorial positions at other, marginally more respectable student publications - it's certainly a role i'm enjoying a lot, although i haven't done much research into the professional publishing industry yet. it's on the backburner until i pull my life together enough to properly research career options there.

alternatively, the one thing that has always been my go-to dream job since i was a kid is just 'writer'. i love writing fiction and poetry, i have spent at least some of my free time each week writing whatever comes to mind for as long as i can remember. i have a big fantasy project on the go at the moment that i don't really talk about on this blog, but i do now have the beginnings of a world anvil page talking about it which is linked in my pinned post. i'm not banking on it or considering it as a very reliable option, but i will keep slowly and lovingly building it until it's ready to share, and then i'll simply see what happens next.

(if it took off though, i would drop everything else in my life like a hot plate and live out my silly little childhood dream to its fullest potential. tween magnus deserves some justice in this life.)

anyways - TL;DR now:

jobs i'm personally interested in:

academia/professional scholar

museum curator or conservator

archaeology

archivist

librarian

literary translator

something in the publishing industry idk

writer

general history-degree-related advice:

there are more options out there than just teaching which are directly related to the field of history. the more you dig into your area of interest, the more weird and whacky jobs you never expected to exist will crop up on your radar - i'm sure there are plenty of obscure things i've missed out here. unless you become a tenured professor or senior curator or secure a job at a particularly fancy/prestigious institution, none of these jobs pay particularly well, and academia especially is known for treating everyone who isn't a tenured senior academic like mud. therefore you pretty much have to be in these jobs out of passion rather than a desire to live comfortably and with above-average financial success. finally, most people i know at university, regardless of their field, aren't aiming to find careers directly relevant to said fields (apart from like, med students and lawyers and that kind of thing). especially in the humanities. none of us really know what we're doing. if you're comfortable studying these subjects for the pure passion and joy of it, fantastic, i'm right there the same with you - if you want something that has a more stable degree-to-career progression, humanities right now probably aren't top subjects. there's a whole ongoing cultural debate about how criminally undervalued humanities degrees and jobs are, and i hope that soon we'll see some tangible results from this - among them that all of the jobs i've listed above will be marginally better paid, and junior academics better treated within their fields.

history is wonderful. come join us. (also if anyone else doing humanities has points or advice that i've missed out, please feel free to add them, my scope of experience is still very limited)

#ask #medievalish #history #studyblr #medieval history #history student #history studyblr #the greatest tragedy of any humanities subject is that under capitalism they are all written off as 'useless' or 'worthless'#i hate it here i just want to read my silly little books and fawn over my silly little artefacts and dig around in the dirt #for the simple love of people and human history and life and art and culture #and all of the things that make being alive worthwhile #thinking about careers and work and humanities always sends me on a bit of spiral #which is. probably why i forgot to answer this for so long sdkfjsfggs #i'm deeply sorry #i hope this helps somewhat #tulipteahouse

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simonalkenmayer · 3 years

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Good day Simon! Apologies if this has been answered before. You said that for a long time you wouldn’t speak to humans for fear of showing off your teeth, when did you start learning to speak and have actual conversations with others?

I taught myself. French. Which mind you was the single most difficult language I’ve ever had to learn to speak and so all the ones after it came remarkably easily. My tongue hates French. Hates it.

I think I began as soon as I came to Marseilles. I remember being in some attic space. I don’t recall what building but it was a semi-public one. I’d listen to the people below me speaking and then try to mimic the sounds with my mouth. All I could manage were a few small words here and there. Sounded mostly like grunting.

But that was just the French.

Turns out Latin was a lot easier, Castilian too. And German and English were the easiest by far. Thought the English part has more to do with the time I learned it. It was right as there were massive crowds of people coming over to the isles from the mainland. We had Dutch, Swedish, French, Portuguese, and even one Egyptian on my street alone. Everyone had an accent so I blended right in, and the English of the time was very different to now, so my natural mouth easily matched it and made sense of it. I think that’s likely why there is still so much London to my voice.

After about oh...I’d say the 1540’s, I spoke all the time to people I was about to eat, to practice. Or people who were traveling or whatever. People I didn’t ever want to see again. But it’s was a few odd things here or there. I don’t think I began having actual conversations until the mid...oh 1800’s

I didn’t speak at length until the 70’s. And even now I seldom speak. Having humans around has forced me to, but normally when I am alone which was all the time, I seldom spoke. I don’t think I could even manage the audio books without the several months of training that the quarantine put me through in the talking channel of my discord. Even now as I’m recording, I have to stop all the time and clear my throat or growl a bit, because about a third the way through reading my voice starts to slip from the falsetto. The other night I finally had to stop and give myself a day of break because when I played the recording back I sounded like a warthog trying out Demosthenes’ public speaking tricks.

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theheelerbooklifereads · 3 years

Text

Rating: ⭐️⭐️⭐️

“Stella Lane thinks math is the only thing that unites the universe. She comes up with algorithms to predict customer purchases—a job that has given her more money than she knows what to do with, and way less experience in the dating department than the average thirty-year-old.

It doesn't help that Stella has Asperger's and French kissing reminds her of a shark getting its teeth cleaned by pilot fish. Her conclusion: she needs lots of practice—with a professional. Which is why she hires escort Michael Phan. The Vietnamese and Swedish stunner can't afford to turn down Stella's offer, and agrees to help her check off all the boxes on her lesson plan—from foreplay to more-than-missionary position...

Before long, Stella not only learns to appreciate his kisses, but crave all of the other things he's making her feel. Their no-nonsense partnership starts making a strange kind of sense. And the pattern that emerges will convince Stella that love is the best kind of logic...”

I originally read this when it came out because of Book of the Month. Anyway, I dnfed it after 200 pages and only had 114 pages left in the book. In my original review I said there was a lot of awkward dialogue. As well as not feeling a connection between our main characters. Then, I said there was a lot of repetitive thoughts over and over again. So, I finally finished the book via audiobook. Here is the reason why I picked it up again. I tried The Bride Test when it came out a few years ago and fell in love with it and then I just picked up The Heart Principle from Book of the Month. So, I decided I need to try it again. I did find things awkward again, but I associated it to because the main character is on the autism spectrum and at the time of reading this I had not had much experience with people who are on the spectrum like I have experienced now for my job. I did find this book to be a little lackluster compared to The Bride Test, but there were cute parts of this book and I listened to it within a day, so that says something. I do recommend this series.

#bookstagram #book review #booklover #bookworm #bibliophile #bookish #book #booklr #books #must read books

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mediocrelanguagelearner · 3 years

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Language log 8.3. – 14.3.2021

I set my status on Tandem to “online” again, after many months, because I wanted to practice with more people, and I can see again why I wanted to be offline in the first place. There's just this wave of guys messaging you, not even reading your profile, asking you all the same questions every time, flirting...It also makes me check my phone all the time, so I guess I'll set my status to offline pretty soon.

For German, I didn't do a lot, really. I just went to classes (where I had a hard time focusing), did homework...and talked to my friend.

For Spanish, I finally opened a textbook after many months. I haven't really done anything new, I just reviewed a lot of older chapters, I want to continue doing that and then maybe continue with new stuff. I also keep watching Velvet a bit by bit. The episodes are very long and for some reason I'm doing a good job pacing myself, so I'm watching about one episode per week. I also tried to brush up on verb conjugation on conjuguemos.

For Swedish, I of course continue watching Farmen. But it's the last week of Farmen, I don't want it to end...it's such a great resource for me. But fortunately I can watch Fröken Frimans krig when Farmen's over. I also worked with Rivstart, practicing pronunciation, trying to learn grammar...I really like working with it. On Thursday I tried to speak with myself and since I have trouble focusing when doing that, I decided to record myself so that I have something that keeps my mind from wandering. And I ended up talking 14 minutes? I could be talking for longer if I wanted, but the time went by so fast, I didn't even realise I was speaking for this long.

#language log #langblr

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iceslushii · 3 years

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So, I'm writing this to document what I can only assume is my sudden descent into insanity. I can't possibly be THAT bad a navigator, and yet as I write this I've been trapped in Ikea for 2 days. I haven't seen another person in the entire time I've been here. I thought it was a prank at first. Turn the place into a maze, get all the people out and see how long it takes me to get lost, then everyone has a good old laugh. Realised that wasn't the case when I tried to backtrack. Everything had changed, so I ended up lost. Instead of the exit, it was just row after row of bookcases.

So, I'm trapped in Ikea. Sounds like the setup for a bad joke. The lights went out at 10pm. Nearly gave me a fucking heart attack, that loud electrical THUNK sound and then pitch blackness. Place is full of beds though and my phone has a torch on it - but no damn signal - so I found a bed and went to sleep. Spent most of the next day trying to find my way out with no luck. Did find a restaurant serving those meatballs though, so at least I won't starve. That's probably the punchline to that joke. Anyway they were still warm and fresh, but I haven't seen anyone around who could have cooked them. Made my way back to the beds before the lights cut out again since it's too dark to search with them off.

It's 9.10am now, the lights came back on a little while ago. I'm sure I've searched the entire area around where I came in now and the exit obviously isn't here, so I'm going to pick a direction and hope for the best.

Day 3 of my magical Ikea mystery adventure. If I wasn't sure that there was something seriously weird about this place before, I am now. Walked for 3 hours in a more or less straight line (insert Ikea joke here) before I came across a ladder next to one of those huge stock shelves they have here. Climbed up to get my bearings, and it looks like this place just stretches on forever. Like that scene from the Lion King, except instead of trees and grass it was all shelves and tables and crap. I did see a person moving not too far away though, so I headed over.

Thought it was a staff member at first - it was wearing the uniform. And hell maybe it was, maybe freakish 7ft tall monsters with long arms, short legs and no faces are just the kinds of thing they want working at Super Ikea. Damn thing completely ignored me though, and with no eyes or ears I can't even be sure it knew I was there. Thought about shoving it or something to get its attention, but its hands were big enough to crush a water melon so I decided against it. It just kept moving along and eventually I lost sight of it so I decided to carry on the way I was going.

Anyway, no comfy bed for me tonight. Looks like I've entered the Improbably Hard and Pointy Table section of the store. Guess I'll have to make do with some bunched up tablecloths. Phone battery died during the day too. Didn't work anyway, but I feel like I've just lost some vital lifeline.

You ever see one of those cartoons where they're going through doors in a hallway and they just pop out of another door in the same hallway? That's how I feel right now. I've seen nothing but the same identical bookshelf for 2 days now. Just row after row after row of them. I mean, come on. I love books as much as the next guy, but this is excessive. I'm obviously still moving forwards though, I can see the signs hanging overhead passing by. Too bad none of them say "Exit".

Not sure who I was addressing that question to. Lets just say it was practice for the autobiography I'm going to write when I get out of here. I'll call it "My perfectly normal trip to a regular old Ikea".

If I ever get out o

Finally found some other people! Yeah, turns out I'm not the only poor bastard trapped in here. Lucky for me, I guess. My 6th night here, 2 of those staff things came at me in the dark. Different from the first one I saw, but still messed up. Heard them coming, they were saying that the store was closed and I had to leave the building, all nice and polite like. I'm not sure which part of that was weirder, that they don't have mouths or that they were apparently trying to kill me while they were saying it. Came at me like rabid dogs.

So, I legged it. Sprinting through ikea in the dark like a fucking madman. I saw it when I cleared another stand of those giant stock shelves, all lit up with torches and floodlights. They've built a whole town in here! Got a massive wall built out of shelves and beds and tables and whatever else. I swear to god it was the most beautiful thing I've ever seen. Anyway I guess they saw me coming (or maybe they heard my girlish manly bellows of fear), because they had a gate open and 2 people were there waving me in. Heard the staff things slam into the gate behind me after it closed, still politely informing us all that the store was now closed. They wandered off eventually though.

They call the town Exchange, because that's whats on the sign hanging from the ceiling directly above it. Exchange and Returns. All lit up against the night using lights they've found and plugged into the power lines. And there are beds and food and people. Over 50 wonderful people with regular sized limbs and a full set of facial features. It's now my 7th night here, and the first one not spent in darkness. A full week living in Ikea. There's probably a TV show in that somewhere.

Now that I'm around other people, I'm starting to feel more normal. Maybe normal isn't the word. But after a week with only the sound of my own footsteps for company, I was becoming increasingly sure that I'd just gone nuts. That I was tied up in some padded room somewhere, banging my head against the wall. But no, I feel quite sane now, thank you very much!

Apparently there are other towns out there. Some with more people, some with less. I found that fairly mind-boggling - how can that many people go missing with no one noticing. Surely someone would have noticed that everyone who goes to ikea seems to fucking vanish. Or maybe it's not everyone. Maybe we're just the lucky ones.

The people here just call those staff monster things the Staff. Apparently they are fine during the day, minding their own business walking the aisles. As soon as those lights go out though, they go fucking bonkers. So during the day people go out to find food, water and whatever else they need. Apparently there are restaurants and shops around that randomly get restocked. No one knows how. Maybe the staff do it. Apparently they aren't very good at their jobs though because the restocking sometimes takes a while, which means the food needs to be rationed. Maybe if they weren't so busy chasing people around in the dark they'd get more done.

Anyway when night comes the staff go nuts and everyone holds up inside the walls. Apparently it's the same everywhere in this place, whatever this place is. The Ur-Ikea, from whence all other Ikeas sprang. Or maybe we're all still just in the regular ikea and this is all some fever dream brought on by mind-numbing boredom. Who knows.

Been here for 10 days now. Most of the people I asked said they stopped keeping track a long time ago and one guy, Chris, said he'd been in here for years.

Years.

[ILLEGIBLE SCRIBBLES]

Apparently there are rumours of people who do manage to get out. And of people who see the exit, only to have it vanish before their very eyes. I get the feeling not everyone believes that, but I do. Explains how we got stuck in here in the first place (sort of). And I mean, come on. Staff monsters, row after endless row of high quality Swedish furniture. I don't know why they would find a disappearing door so hard to believe in.

Anyway, I went out scavenging for food at a nearby shop with Sandra and Jerry today. Once you learn the landmarks of this place it's not so hard to navigate. The overhead signs help a lot, but there are others; not too far in the distance a huge section of those giant stock shelves has collapsed against each other and way off in the east (we all assume it's east anyway - apparently Ikea doesn't sell compasses) is some kind of tower that looks like its made of wood, reaches all the way to the ceiling. Maybe they were trying to break out through the roof. Lights up at night so there must be people there, but its apparently a few days walk (which means it must be miles away) so no one here really knows for sure. Apparently I got incredibly lucky sleeping out in the open for a week without getting ripped to bits by the staff. That's me. Lucky lucky lucky.

We found some food in the shop. Guess the staff restocked it during the night, which was nice of them. There was a telephone on the wall, so I figured I'd try it out. There was a voice on the other end, but they were just talking nonsense. Random words strung together with no real meaning. You ever see a video of someone with aphasia? Kind of sounded like that. Didn't answer me when I spoke to them anyway. Sandra says all the phones in here are the same.

Oops, asking the journal questions again!

I was thinking last night. The ceiling on this place is pretty high and as far as anyone can tell it goes on forever. Shouldn't there be some kind of weather in here? I'm sure I read about some NASA building that was so big it had its own weather patterns, with clouds and stuff. This place is definitely bigger than that, but now that I think about it I'm pretty sure I've never felt so much as a temperature change in here.

I'll add it to the Grand List of Weird Bullshit.

The staff attacked the Exchange last night. Must have been 20 or 30 of them all just asking us to leave the store calm as you like, while trying to smash the walls down with their bare hands. Apparently this happens pretty regularly, so everyone is prepared for it. Knives from the restaurants, lawn mower blades made into hatchets, a fire axe. One guy, Wasim, even made a functional crossbow. Anyway the walls have holes in them, which I hadn't noticed before, specifically so we can stab out at the staff when they attack. Took a couple of them down myself. They don't seem to bleed, which is weird, but they go down as easy as a regular person once you start sticking holes in them.

We had to haul the bodies away in the morning. Apparently the dead ones will attract more during the night, so we had to get them away from Exchange. We have a couple of those trolley things they use to move big boxes around, so we loaded them up and took them over to Pickup. Apparently people just name everything in here after whatever sign is hanging overhead.

Pickup was grisly. There were hundreds, maybe thousands of dead staff all piled up. There was no smell, which was a blessing. Apparently in addition to not bleeding, these things don't rot either. My curiosity got the better of me while we were unloading them, so I took a look at one of the more cut-up ones. They're just skin, or something that looks like skin, all the way through. No muscle, no bone, no organs. Are they even really alive in the first place? They certainly seem like they have bones when they are moving around, pounding on the walls. And I'm sure I felt more resistance than just skin when the knife went in during the night. Maybe something happens to them when they die. Just one more thing on the ever-increasing list of Weird Shit that goes on in here, I guess.

Something occurred to me, after the staff attack the other night. Every time you see a situation like this on TV or in a film, like its the end of the world or everyone is trapped on an island or whatever, once groups like ours start to form people always seem to turn on each other. Fighting for food or dominance or whatever else. That hasn't happened here. Apparently people from other towns come by from time to time, just to check in or occasionally to trade if they are short on something. But everything is always cordial. Friendly, even. Maybe its the threat of the staff, or perhaps the constant restocking of supplies in the shops means there's nothing much to fight over.

Maybe people are just better than they are generally given credit for. That's a nice thought. I think I'll go with that one.

A dozen people showed up at the gates this afternoon from a town called Trolleys. Apparently the staff broke through the walls and tore the town apart during the night. These 12 are the only survivors out of over a hundred. We let them in, obviously. One more point in the human decency column. Later, I asked if anyone knew how many of these towns there were out there. Between us and the new folks, we managed to come up with over 20 names. 20 towns filled with people, and who knows how many beyond that.

The motto for this place should be "How Is That Even Possible". Surely someone, somewhere must be looking for the thousands of people that must be in here.

I've been here for a little over 2 months now. Not that much changes, as it turns out. A couple of new people showed up, same story as the rest of us. Nice little trip to Ikea and suddenly they're trapped in Billy Bookcase's House of Faceless Weirdos. The staff attack the Exchange once or twice a week. We kill them and haul their bodies off, sometimes they hurt some of us first. They killed a guy called Jared a couple of weeks back. It was awful, frankly. Turns out regular humans still bleed in here, even if the staff don't. We tried our best, but none of us are doctors.

Jared was a good guy. He deserved better. We all do.

It occurred to me a couple of days after that, none of us were really looking for a way out of here. I don't even know where we'd start.

One of those quad copter things with a camera attached buzzed passed Exchange today. I thought it meant that someone was finally looking for us, that help was on the way. Apparently it's not the first time this has happened, though. Same thing happened a few months ago, and everyone is still here.

No idea if it saw us, it didn't stop if it did. Just kept flying until we could no longer see it.

Note: Based on recovery time of the journal, this entry appears to line up approximately with our first successful test piloting a drone inside SCP-3008-1. Analysis of footage shows a walled settlement under a sign labelled "Exchange and Returns". Attempts to relocate the settlement failed. Origin of previously sighted drones is unknown.

I started talking to people about the stuff they miss from home during dinner today. Probably not the best idea I've ever had, everyone seemed pretty down after. A bunch of people here have families. Husbands and wives, kids. Dogs. Franklin apparently has a pet llama, though I'm not sure I buy that.

But apparently some of the people here have some seriously odd gaps in their knowledge. 3 of them had never heard of the International Space Station, 2 of them seemed to think █████ ███████ was the Prime Minister, and one of them had apparently never heard of the Statue of Liberty. I believe them, too. They seemed just as confused as the rest of us.

The more I thought about it though, the more it started to explain a few things. What if the reason no one is looking for all us missing people is because we haven't all come from the same place. This is going to sound weird (maybe that should be the motto for this place) but what if all the people here have come from different dimensions? Realities? Whatever you call it. I've seen enough TV shows to know the drill. Sarah comes from a place where there is no Statue of Liberty. They didn't launch a space station where Wasim is from. If everyone here came from different places, even from ones that seem identical, there'd be no huge missing persons panic. No mass search. We'd just be a blip, a single missing person in a world of non-stop news.

Well. That was a fun train of thought.

Just realised that yesterday was the six month anniversary of my arrival here. I wonder if Ikea sells party hats. The routine around here has remained more or less the same. More new folk show up, one every couple of weeks or so. Food supplies go up and down, but we've never actually had a major shortage. Occasionally we get a visitor from one of the nearby towns, usually Checkouts or Aisle 630. We check in with each other from time to time, occasionally trade supplies if someone gets particularly low on something. It's comforting, in a way. A reminder that we aren't alone in here, some small glimmer of civilisation. Sometimes they bring medical supplies. Apparently there's a pharmacy a few towns down from Checkouts that gets restocked every now and then, so they share out what they can. I've never heard of an Ikea with a pharmacy before but at this point I wouldn't be surprised if someone stumbled on an Ikea Organ Harvesting Lab. Would certainly explain the staff.

Speaking of our faceless jailers, their attacks have been getting worse lately. 3 or 4 times a week now, with twice as many staff as there used to be. No idea where they all come from, or why the attacks have increased. We tried following one of them during the day a few weeks ago, me and Sarah. Wanted to see if they lead back to a staff room or something. Didn't seem to go anywhere though, just randomly walked through the aisles. We had to turn back before we found anything.

We've been reinforcing the walls, trying to arm ourselves better. Certainly no lack of materials to use. Wasim has been making more crossbows, but it's pretty slow going.

Too bad Ikea doesn't sell guns.

Note: No new personnel have entered SCP-3008 at Site-██ in the time span indicated in this entry.

The attacks are getting bad now. Almost every night, and with so many staff that the bodies almost pile high enough for others to climb the walls. I think we're in real trouble here.

Exchange is

I think Exchange is done. We got hit pretty bad last night. Not many casualties, but the wall is wrecked. We finally figured out why the attacks had been escalating, too. A box of supplies had a chunk of one of the staff in there. No idea how it happened but apparently a piece of one will draw them as well as a full body. Too late now in any case, there's too many bodies for us to haul away and still have time to fix the wall before night. Candace has called a meeting. I suspect there will be talk of abandoning Exchange, maybe try and get shelter at Checkouts or something.

It's already getting late though. I don't think we'll have time to make it. Maybe some of us will. I was fine for that first week out in the dark, after all. But then, how often can I keep getting lucky.

I'm only writing this for a sense of closure, I guess. For me, or for anyone who finds this. If this is the final entry here, I hope whoever is reading this is doing so from outside of this place.

My biggest fear? If I do die tonight, I'll just wake up here again in the morning.

Note: This is the last entry. It is assumed that while attempting to reach the "Checkouts" settlement he was separated from the rest of his group by a pursuing SCP-3008-2 instance and happened upon the exit.

We're no strangers to love You know the rules and so do I A full commitment's what I'm thinking of You wouldn't get this from any other guy I just wanna tell you how I'm feeling Gotta make you understand Never gonna give you up Never gonna let you down Never gonna run around and desert you Never gonna make you cry Never gonna say goodbye Never gonna tell a lie and hurt you We've known each other for so long Your heart's been aching but you're too shy to say it Inside we both know what's been going on We know the game and we're gonna play it And if you ask me how I'm feeling Don't tell me you're too blind to see

Never gonna give you up Never gonna let you down Never gonna run around and desert you Never gonna make you cry Never gonna say goodbye Never gonna tell a lie and hurt you Never gonna give you up Never gonna let you down Never gonna run around and desert you Never gonna make you cry Never gonna say goodbye Never gonna tell a lie and hurt you Never gonna give, never gonna give (Give you up) We've known each other for so long Your heart's been aching but you're too shy to say it Inside we both know what's been going on We know the game and we're gonna play it I just wanna tell you how I'm feeling Gotta make you understand Never gonna give you up Never gonna let you down Never gonna run around and desert you Never gonna make you cry Never gonna say goodbye Never gonna tell a lie and hurt you Never gonna give you up Never gonna let you down Never gonna run around and desert you Never gonna make you cry Never gonna say goodbye Never gonna tell a lie and hurt you Never gonna give you up Never gonna let you down Never gonna run around and desert you Never gonna make you cry Never gonna say goodbye

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piccadilly-lilly · 3 years

Text

“The predicament in which Isolde and I found ourselves seemed fictional, fantastic right from the start. 　 We met while I was on holiday behind the Iron Curtain. I was a Swedish student working for my doctorate in political science. She was a medical student from East Berlin: beautiful, slender with dark hair and smiling eyes. In a few days we were in love and, three months later, visiting her at her flat in East Berlin, I asked her to marry me. 　 "But that is impossible," Isolde said, her eyes brimming with tears. "The authorities would never let me leave the country." 　 I refused to take no for an answer, and finally convinced her that she must try to escape. On a map, we examined the communist borders stretching from the Baltic to the Black Sea and considered how we'd slip out. By that time (July 1965), all the standard means of escape such as a break through the Berlin Wall, were too risky. 　 Suddenly, to my own astonishment, I heard myself say, "I'll fly you out Isolde." 　 Her eyebrows shot up. "But I didn't know you were a pilot." 　 "I'm not," I admitted. I had never been in a cockpit in my life. But I will go back to Sweden and learn to fly, and then I'll fetch you." Isolde looked at me as if I were crazy but before the evening was over, she agreed that a small plane was our best chance. 　 The trouble was that, within an hour of my first lesson in Stockholm, I learned that flying definitely was not my strong point. My coordination was poor, my depth perception and sense of balance wretched. 　 But I kept at it, and eventually I was learning how to execute ludicrously inept landings. My instructor, however, was not encouraging. My persistence in flying too low over the treetops (one day I would have to fly that low to get in under the Communist radar beams) especially upset him. "Higher, higher!" he'd shout. "We don't want to lose our plane!" 　 It took me nearly a year, 40 training hours in the air, to get my pilot's certificate. One August day in 1966, I got the precious document. I also succeeded in obtaining a tourist visa valid for two entries to Czechoslovakia, which we had decided was the country best suited for the rescue flight. 　 Next morning, Sunday, August 14, I took the train to Vienna and on Monday drove from there to the nearby check border in a hired car. The frontier police examined my visa and painstakingly checked my car and luggage. I made myself relax. How were they to know that my real mission here was to find a suitable out of the way field in which to land and pick up Isolde? 　 I selected an abandoned pasture north of Bratislava and about 25 miles east of Vienna, near a point where the sombre, wooden guard towers were a little farther apart than usual. 　 Although there were no Cessnas - the only plane with which I was familiar - available in Vienna, I learned that I could hire one in Salzburg, 155 miles away. I took the train there, and proved to an inspector at the airport that I could handle the plane. Then I managed to navigate the little aircraft back over the unfamiliar landscape to Vienna. 　 Everything was now ready. From Salzburg I had sent Isolde the coded telegram she had waited so long for. "MAGNUS ARRIVES AT 16.40 BRUNO." In the Swedish calendar, of which Isolde had a copy, each day has a special Christian name. Magnus was the following day, Friday, August 19 and I was asking Isoldeto meet me at the railway station in Brno, Czechoslovakia. 　 On Friday afternoon, I sped by car to Brno, 68 miles away. Isolde was there at the station. In our joy at being together again we forgot for an hour or so that the night held any problems for us. 　 By dinner, our laughter was hollow, our smiles frozen. We were aware that we might be celebrating our last meal. After dark we drove to the "escape field." I switched off the lights before leaving the road and crossed the pasture in the dark. 　 There was no time to waste. At any moment the tower's searchlight, slashing about in circles just 330 yards away, might spot the car. 　 "Hide there in the trees until morning," I told Isolde. "I"ll come just before dawn. When you see my plane, wave your scarf to show me where you are. And remember , whatever happens, I love you." 　 Back in Vienna two hours later, I was far too excited to sleep. instead, I wrote a letter to my parents in Sweden, telling them for the first time about Isolde, and asking for their understanding in case anything went wrong. At about 3 a.m. I checked out of the hotel and went to the airport where I explained that "urgent business in Salzburg" required me to take off just as soon as it was light. But I had hardly settled in the cockpit when the sky was split by jagged forks of lightning, followed by tremendous thunderclaps. Then the rain began to fall and I was unable to take off. 　 For two more hours I fumed and fretted, waiting for the storm to abate. Finally, at 8 o'clock sharp, I was cleared for takeoff. 　 Once outside the traffic pattern, I dived to treetop level to slip under the radar surveillance at the border. Hedge-hopping, I followed the main railway into Czechoslovakia, swept in between the two guard towers I'd chosen and skimmed over the empty pasture at an altitude of only 65 feet. 　 No familiar jumper, no waving red scarf. Isolde was not there. I banked, and rolled back towards the two guard towers. Terrified, I fully expected the soldiers, plainly visible on the towers, to open fire. But I had caught them off guard. 　 Safely back in Vienna I was utterly exhausted and worried sick about what might have happened to Isolde. There was only one thing to do. I hired another car and rushed back to Czechoslovakia, to the Bratislava hotel where we had planned to meet if anything went wrong. She was there, safe though badly shaken. 　 In her hiding place she had been drenched with rain, frightened by unfamiliar night sounds, and terrified when, at dawn, she had heard a burst of shots from the near-by border. Remembering our agreement that I would arrive shortly after the dawn she was afraid something had happened to me. Yet she had waited for me until full daylight, only then had she left her hiding place and found a road where, eventually, a motorist picked her up. 　 Despite her ordeal and knowing that a second attempt might be twice as dangerous, Isolde was eager to try again. "What other chance will we ever have, Hans?" She asked. 　 The following morning we set out north along the border searching for a new "escape field". We found it near the little town of Mikulow. It was well marked by a small lake and a tall pine grove which I believed I could easily see from the air. 　 I left Isolde there about 3.30 p.m., again promising to pick her up at dawn the next day, Monday August 22. 　 On the way back to Vienna I stopped briefly in several towns to make small sketches of the distinctive church steeples in each. These, I hoped, would help lead me back to the meadow. It was late afternoon when I stopped at the airport. Because the airport people were still friendly, I knew the Czech authorities had not lodged a complaint about my illegal morning flight. 　 Trying to sound casual, I asked the meteorologist, "What about the flying weather tomorrow, good?" 　 "No," he said. "Low hanging clouds are moving in early tonight." This meant that with my limited experience, takeoff and landing might be impossible by morning. The news hit me like a blow in the stomach. If all our efforts were not to be in vain, I would have to act quickly. It was now 5.30 and soon it would be getting dark. 　 I rushed over to the flight operations desk and tried to keep my voice level as I said, "I'd like to take a little exercise flight just to see the sunset." "Alright," said the flight dispatcher, but since you are not cleared for night flying you must be back by dusk-no later!" I knew I couldn't get back before dark, and I've never flown at night. But there was no time to worry about it. I dashed for my plane and took off. 　 Following the church steeples I'd sketched, I found my stretch of frontier, dived to an altitude of only 30 feet and leapfrogged a hill between two guard towers. Suddenly, right in front of me and less than 100 yards away, was a third tower I hadn't seen before. I missed the tower top by what seemed inches. A soldier opened his eyes wide with terror as I practically flew into his open mouth. 　 But the near-miss disorientated me. Where was the little lake, the tall pine grove where I had left Isolde. Circling, I found one lake, then another, but neither was ours. I broke into a cold sweat the light was fading fast. 　 With shaking hands, I took out my map and saw that there were only three lakes in the whole area. Climbing to get a broader view, I suddenly saw it, and saw to my enormous relief, OUR field beside it, our pine grove… and a tiny figure frantically waving a red scarf. 　 it was certainly one of the worst landings I ever made. I came in too high, overshot the field and had to break heavily to stop. Without a word Isolde jumped into the seat beside me. Almost instantly we were roaring up into the dusk in a take off as bad as the landing. I could almost hear the sound of machine-gun fire as I spiralled up as fast as I could. It was now quite dark and all the familiar landmarks had vanished. I did the only thing I could: took a compass heading of the opposite direction from which I had come. 　 Luck was with us. After some 20 acutely anxious minutes, we spotted in the distance a cluster of jewelled lights – Vienna! – then the straight, beaded string of lights that marked the airport runway. I made my approach just as if it were daytime. When I thought the runway lights whizzing by looked big enough, I pulled up the plane's nose and made an amazingly smooth landing. 　 One last hurdle remained: the airport authorities must not see Isolde or back she might go. We had planned for her to slip away into the darkness of the big field. But just as she was getting out, a car from the control tower board down on us with blazing headlights. 　 "Hide!" I whispered. Isolde scrambled back into the baggage compartment and disappeared just before a furious air control officer pulled up. 　 "You've put us to a lot of bother tonight," he snapped. "We even contacted Czech Air Control to see if they'd seen or heard you." My heart sank. "They said they had, but only over Austria, and that's a good thing for you, mister. You can get into serious trouble blundering across the border!" 　 He drove away, and I taxied the plane to a hangar. As an attendant blinded by my lights, opened the hangar door, I told Isolde, "Quick run for it." She did, without being seen. I met her outside the field and we drove jubilantly into town. 　 Next morning I sneaked Isolde back aboard and flew her to West Germany, where I landed in a field and let her out. After returning my plane to Salzburg I rejoined her. It took her a month to get her papers, and on her 25th birthday she arrived in Stockholm. We were married in the white stone church where I'd been christened, and we left on our honeymoon by car. I no longer fly planes.”

-Hans Christian Cars, from a translation of “Flykten över järnridån”

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bigbrotherlouis · 3 years

Note

for director’s cut: the raleigh/airport scene in ‘i can’t find nothin’...’ if you would like to!!!!

ANGELA you’re gonna make me talk about sex scenes on main?! let’s DO IT

(director’s cut meme)

andrei understands, on some level, why they have to fly commercial, (i’m always going to make players fly commercial in fic if i can. direct action.) even with a job like theirs, but in practicality, when he’s wandering around the raleigh airport at six am after their flight out is delayed, he doesn’t.

marty’s laughing at him in the way that means he’s trying to be subtle about it, but andrei’s too grumpy to care. (this was for la.) it’s too fucking early and the line for coffee is too fucking long.

“it’s too early,” he whines. marty flips over the book in his hands to read the back cover.

“boo fuckin’ hoo, bud.”

“i’m tired.” and again, in russian, “я устал.”

“не— не— i don’t care,” (i couldn’t remember how to phrase this properly and i didn’t want to look it up, plus it’s funny) marty snaps back. “it’s your own fault for watching tv until one in the morning.”

“it was gossip girl,” he mutters. “important american culture.” (in one of my transition workshops where we learned to handle moving countries, we watched mean girls as an example of american culture. true story.)

“uh huh, and degrassi is exactly how canadian high school was like.” (didn’t like the flow on this sentence but i couldn’t figure out how else to phrase it. oh well.)

andrei is, like, ninety percent sure marty didn’t finish high school in canada, but he’s not willing to take the chance that he’s wrong and get teased about it. “please, can we go to starbucks now? давай, давай.” [let’s go, let’s go] (translation is always a struggle, and even more so when it’s a different alphabet like russian. i decided to include translations when context isn’t immediately clear for the reader’s comfort. also, this is something my family does-- use a different language when we want to stress something, like svechy stressing that he wants to leave)

“talking in russian won’t get me to go any faster, svechy,” marty says, placid for the early morning, and shoves a book into andrei’s hands. “here. read this and distract yourself.”

“i don’t read until i awake.” (svechy’s syntax was hard for me to write, because i want it to be clear, true to character, and respectful all at once which is hard to balance. it’s why svech’s grammar can sometimes seem a little inconsistent-- sometimes, i chose respect and readability over true to characterization. also, transliteration of accents can make people seem childish or dumb which is absolutely not what i want!)

“sucks to suck.”

andrei grumbles under his breath, a mixture of russian and english and some of sebastian’s favourite swedish (this should be finnish. oops.) curses thrown in there too, absently drumming his fingers on the cover of the book he’s still holding. marty is paying him no attention, which almost bothers him as much as the lack of caffeine does.

he’s cocking his head to read the spines of the books in the airport store when he feels the heat of someone step behind him, too close for politeness, and he’s whirling before he can even really think about it. (there really aren’t a lot of places spies can meet up by accident without getting too repetitive, especially in something that’s supposed to be silly and short, but an airport felt plausible.)

“whoa,” says joel, stepping back out of andrei’s elbows. “easy there.”

“joel?”

“in the flesh,” he says with a grin, and andrei’s thinking about how twice is a coincidence but three times is a pattern when (this is me lampshading their constant meetups because i didn’t feel like expounding on it LOL)— “is that twilight?”

“i— what?”

“the book you’re reading.”

andrei looks down at his hands and then scowls in the general direction of the shelves. fucking marty. (this is the whole reason they’re in the bookstore. for me to make this joke about svech holding twilight.)

joel tips his head to the side and grins wider. “didn’t peg (haha peg) you for a vampire guy, but i can see it. wait, fuck, are you from transylvania?” (apologies to americans but this is a little jab at your general geography abilities)

“no, not in in russia,” he says absently. “siberia, yes. transylvania, no. why you here?”

“well, i just like to lurk around airports for fun. you see interesting people like this.”

“really.”

joel snorts. “no, i have a flight, dumbass. i’m a business bitch.” (my rule of thumb for writing joel’s dialogue is to think of the most ridiculous thing i can imagine a person saying in any given circumstance and then assigning him that line.)

“a business bitch?”

“yeah, dude. makin’ money moves n’shit.”

“you’re not following me?” andrei asks, aiming for teasing, pretending it’s not a real question. (more lampshading. i was lazy.) joel makes his eyes go wide and innocent, and mostly doesn’t succeed.

“andrew,” he says, outraged. “are you accusing me of being a stalker?”

“yes.”

“oh, so you’re definitely team edward. (this joke fell into my lap) i see how it is. can’t a bro say hi to his bro in an airport, especially after getting a decent brojob the last time they saw each other?”

andrei mouths the word brojob (i crack up every time this term is used and joel would absolutely say it) and then shakes his head. “no.”

“tough crowd. what are you doing here, buddy?”

“waiting for marty to finish so we can go to starbucks. too early and he is too slow.”

“yeah?” joel looks over at where marty is now examining the overpriced souvenirs with a very careful air, taking them off the shelves and putting them gently back. (i was very into this image) “wanna go stand in line with me?” (high romance there, bee)

strictly speaking, marty and andrei are supposed to be together when travelling, just in case someone gets snatched. it’s happened before, but andrei really, really wants something to drink before they fly out to fucking vancouver, or wherever they’re going. he can’t even remember. besides, if joel was going to snatch him, he would’ve done it earlier, in the hotel when andrei was fucked out and happy. he shrugs. (listen. i didn’t want to do any worldbuilding because it was a fun au so i did the bare minimum.)

“sure. marty, i go to stand in line,” he yells and marty waves a hand without looking up. the line stretches down the hallway, too many people patiently waiting for a rush. (i’m so familiar with this and it makes me sad just writing about it) andrei can’t fault them; he’s tired too, which is why he doesn’t realise that joel’s pulling him towards the bathrooms instead of the coffee shop, pushing him into the family stall and shoving the door closed. (i’m gonna be honest: i have absolutely no idea why i made this a sex scene. like none. i remember being halfway through and being like “....i’m writing?? airport sex??” but i don’t remember why i decided it was a good idea.)

for a second, andrei thinks this is when he gets kidnapped and killed, a rival taking him out in the crowded airport where no one can see. the bulgarian maneuver would’ve been a lot less conspicuous, but oh well. (this is referring to the bulgarian assassins who killed a journalist in the 80s? i think? with a poison-tipped umbrella and i’m just now realising that’s probably not common knowledge)

instead, joel clicks the lock in place and presses up close, plastered to the front of andrei.

“wha—” says andrei, but it’s swallowed up in joel’s mouth, swallowed up in the kiss that joel gives him. he kisses back, of course he does, because it’s a fucking good kiss. joel hums, coaxing his mouth open for a minute and then biting on his lower lip before pulling away. he doesn’t go far, hands skimming down andrei’s body until he drops to his knees on the dirty bathroom floor.

“we are in a toilet,” andrei hisses. “in an airport.” (svech has the practical response)

joel shrugs, giving him the biggest shit-eating grin as he undoes his belt. (joel is never not going to be smug) “guess you have to be fast, then. besides, i owe you one.”

technically, he still got off last time, even if it was pretty basic, it’s not like andrei’s going to say no, not when joel is looking so eager and mischievous.

“don’t make too much noise,” instructs joel, (i realised after i posted the fic that both blowjobs start with someone giving instructions and i’m gonna say it’s because it’s a literary parallel and not because i don’t know how to transition into sexual acts) and then he’s got his mouth on andrei’s dick and andrei can’t think of anything else to say. he bangs his head against the door and clamps a hand over his mouth, digging his fingers of his other hand into the wood behind him.

joel is good enough that andrei’s not going to last long, not like this, getting off on the secrecy of it all. (read: i just didn’t want to write a lot. but also i think svechy has an exhibitionist streak in him and joel definitely does) it’s a tiny bit shameful in the way that makes him groan into his palm, makes him rock his hips into joel’s hot mouth. joel just hums around andrei’s dick and that’s— okay, that’s a lot. andrei’s gonna get a splinter under his nails from digging so hard, or maybe he’s gonna die on the spot, or like something because joel pulls off to just go right back in again and fuck. (fun fact! i’ve never had sex i don’t know what i’m writing)

“fuck,” he hisses through the meat of his hand. “fuck!”

it’s too loud, probably, and joel’s eyes flick up to his with a warning.

“sorry,” andrei breathes. joel pinches his thigh, sharp enough to sting, and embarrassingly, that’s what makes him come with a noise between a breath and a whine.

“baller,” (joel pick something less sexy to say i dare you) joel says smugly when andrei comes back to earth, enough of a douche move that andrei can’t help but roll his eyes. he flicks joel on the cheek.

“you suck.”

he grins. “well, yeah. obviously.” (low hanging fruit but he’d say it so i wrote it)

“idiot,” andrei mutters and then tugs on joel’s shoulders until he stands up, pulls him in until he can nudge at joel’s jaw with his nose. “i help you?”

joel shakes his head, his hair tickling the side of andrei’s cheek. “nah, i like it when you owe me. hey, does it count as being part of the mile high club if we’re still on the ground?” (i was literally in the middle of posting this fic to ao3 before i realised i had not made a mile high joke which was unacceptable. typed it right into the text box)

“no?”

“damn. it’s on my bucket list.”

“you so weird,” andrei tells him, not managing to keep the fondness out of his voice, and then yawns so hard his jaw cracks. “i’ll pay you back with a drink.”

“oh my god,” says joel and then pinches andrei in the side so he twitches. “i just gave you the best airport blowjob—”

“only airport blowjob.”

“the best fucking airport blowjob of your life, and you’re thinking about drinks? fuckin’ ridiculous, andrew.”

“not andrew, yo-el.” (this is svech getting back at joel as best he can. trying to give it as good as he gets it. establishing banter!!)

“sure, bro,” joel mumbles and andrei shoves at him so he can get his pants back on, fumbling with the door. “next time better be fuckin’ phenomenal. you owe me big time.”

“excuse me, you said it was payback. we equal.”

“maybe i changed my mind,” joel says with a grin, bumping him with his hip.

“maybe i disappear forever,” he replies, halfway between teasing and halfway to serious. joel reaches up to fix his snapback (this is also for la.) and shrugs.

“nah, you’re too sweet to do that.”

“i’m not sweet.”

“uh huh, bro. keep tellin’ yourself that shit.”

the line’s gone down, incredibly, and they’re close enough to the counter that andrei has to start thinking about what to order. he should probably get something for marty, or risk getting whined at all flight.

“yo,” says joel when they’re two people away from the barista. “you got digits?”

andrei hesitates and then holds up his hands, wriggling his fingers. “uh. yes?” (it’s probably more in character for real life joel to ask for instagram instead but this joke made me laugh so much that i couldn’t bear to leave it out. also it’s a little fun second language moment)

joel blinks at him for a long second and then breaks out into a wide smile, shaking his head. “nah, not those. i mean, like, a phone number.”

“i don’t have a phone,” he mutters and then pulls one out of his pocket. (YES this is a tumblr post ripoff but svech wasn’t just going to give it up so easily so in it went) “okay, give.”

he dutifully types out the sequence joel rattles off and then sends a smiley face to the number when joel makes him text.

“cool. now we can text instead of ambushing each other in public.”

“that not me,” andrei tells him. “all you.”

“you’re jumpy and it’s cute.”

“i’ll delete your number. block it.” he warns and joel waves a hand.

“yeah, yeah,” he says cheerfully and then leans over to tell the barista what he wants to drink. it’s the most ridiculous sugary concoction, hardly any coffee, and andrei stares at him in horror. (this is projection for my horror at some of the things i’ve seen in american coffee shops. that’s just. so much sugar. also prime chirping opportunity to show their personalities and dynamic a little)

“you gonna drink that?” he asks and joel frowns a little. “is just sugar. candy.”

“yeah, so? it tastes so good.”

“you not gonna have teeth.” he orders two cold brews and pays. “you gonna die early from sugar.”

“somehow,” joel says with a sparkle in his eye, “i don’t think it’s gonna be the sugar that’ll nerf me in the end.” (minor foreshadowing here! also lmao @ the thought of joel saying nerf)

he gets his vanilla bean java chip unicorn whatever frappuccino— literally, what the fuck— and takes a satisfied sip.

“disgusting,” says andrei. “no more kissing for you.”

“aw, bud, how am i gonna practice? you said i needed it.” (it’s not stated in the fic but joel learned how to flirt from watching tk and patty and i think it shows)

“lost cause,” he tells him airily. he’s about to suggest something— he’s not even sure what— when someone appears over joel’s shoulder.

“farabee,” the guy says. he looks stern, but that might be the impressive beard. or the death glare he’s levelling andrei’s way. “where the fuck have you been?”

joel brandishes his drink. “caffeinating it up, g. stayin’ alert and awake.” (real life joel has said this at least once to claude, and i will stand by that statement)

g’s frown gets deeper. “we’re going to miss our flight.”

“nah, we’ve got time— oh, shit. yeah, we gotta bounce, bruh, but i’ll catch you later? text me.” (inelegant departure but my goal was to not overthink things in this fic, like i’m prone to do, so i left it) he almost literally get pulled away by his elbow, towed by his ginger friend through the airport so he can enthusiastically wave his goodbye.

“well,” marty says out of nowhere, reaching for his cold brew and making andrei jump. “there’s good news and bad news.”

“okay.”

“the good news is that he’s cute and somehow into your stupid face.” he takes a long drink, conscious that andrei is about to hit him for making him wait and enjoying it very much. (he’s dramatic and also i wanted to draw out the surprise a little) andrei needs new teammates.

“the bad news?” he prompts.

“the bad news,” repeats marty, grimacing. “the bad news is that he’s definitely in the same line of work as us.”([john mulaney voice] the other shoe just dropped.)

everything in andrei’s head grinds to a stop. “uh. what?”

“i recognize his handler. giroux, french canadian division.” (i’m gonna work g into fic when i can bc i love him)

“joel’s american,” he says absently and marty takes another drink, shrugging.

“so philly’s an international cooperation team. (this was my way of making the international aspect of the spy teams make sense, and also to not have this be enemies-to-lovers, as much as i love that trope) can’t imagine that ever happening.” he gives svech a look which, yes, andrei knows they work together because of a treaty or whatever, but still. he wants marty to be wrong about joel, for so many reasons.

mainly because he doesn’t like feeling like he’s been conned, not when he’s so good at doing the conning, and this is a big one. (it’s not my fic if there’s not at least a little angst!)

“fuck,” he says glumly. marty pats him on the shoulder.

“well,” he says. “at least he’s cute.” (marty’s trying to show his support for svech here! he just wants good things for his friend :)))

that was so fun to do, thank you so much for asking! ily!! <3 <3 <3

#personal issues #fic talk #hockey fic #hockey #hockey bros #my fic #long post #selkiefinalist

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imnotwolverine · 4 years

Text

The marriage pact - Hitch

Henry Cavill x OC Alice - multi-chapter

< Part 17 | Part 18 Hitch | Part 19 >

Disclaimer: sad fluff, some body insecurities

Author’s note: Can you tell it’s Monday? It’s Monday. Gosh I feel like I need a hug after writing this. 😭

Word count: 1.764

(Link to my Masterlist)

Dear readers,

Do you ever look in the mirror, just to study the way you are slowly changing? I don’t want to say older. Just, changing. My eyes are practically always the same shade of brown, like milk chocolate, and my hair is often an equally chocolaty mess, pulled up in a bun. And I like it like that, too.

And then there is my skin. Sometimes pale like porcelain, sometimes sun kissed with a hundred small freckles, dusted over my cheeks and nose. I don’t understand why people wouldn’t like their freckles by the way. I absolutely love mine. Unfortunately now that winter has come, I mostly look tired. Thank heavens for concealer!

I wonder by the way if men also look at themselves in the mirror like that. Especially since it’s generally far less accepted and normalised for them to wear make-up, even if it is just a simple concealer.

Anyways. It’s winter and I look like a walking, talking zombie, my once fresh looking skin now showing some mean little creases and fine lines. Admittedly, I do sometimes rub my skin with a little bit of extra cream when I see those lines. Not that I am willing to invest in those luxury treatments or get my panties in a twist, but still. It does, in some way or form, influence the way you feel about yourself.

I embrace change, but today? I am most definitely wearing make-up. Thank you very much.

Done-with-winter-already,

Ali

With the loudest of sighs I flung the refrigerator door closed, my shoulders slumping visibly as I plopped down on my chair at the dinner table, dinner long cleared away from the table but my parents still sitting there.

My mom was the first to pick up on my sulking mood, her careful eyebrow raising up over her reading glasses as she put down her Swedish crossword, pen still in hand.

‘Looking for something?’ She asked casually.

‘No.’ I grumbled, looking over at dad who was still hiding himself behind a folded open newspaper. Mom sniffled and shook her head. ‘Then what is it, Ali dear?’

‘It’s just…’ My lip trembled - not even make-up could make me feel any better today. ‘..things are not working out like I want them to and..’ Sniff. ‘..it’s so frustrating.’

Slowly my dad lowered his newspaper. Usually it was my mom who dealt with any off-days on my end, which truly were sparingly. I didn’t really wish to share my troubles and thoughts with my parents too much, fearing they’d continue to see me as “their little girl”. I wasn’t a little girl for crying out loud. I was a grown woman of 37-years. I shouldn’t need my parents anymore, right?

‘Is this about eh..’ My dad started, squinting his eyes as if looking for any signs that I would go for his jugular right here and now. I didn’t. ‘..eh..Henry?’ He swallowed as I started to cry, shaking my head no.

Mom quickly moved aside her crossword and pen, reaching out her arms to smooth her warm palms over my shoulders. Even through the tight knit of my dark grey sweater I could feel the soothing calm of her touch. ‘What’s the matter baby? Tell us.’

‘UGH..it’s just.’ I sniffled and angrily wiped a few rogue tears away. ‘I..ugh..this feels so stupid. I just thought I had found a place of my own. I’ve been looking at some apartments..and..I thought I had found one. Ten minutes from here. Perfect. Finally. But..’ I furrowed my brows. ‘..I couldn’t get it. The owners chose someone else, despite me being first choice. I just got the news.’

Mom was quiet for a moment and dad swallowed harshly, the two of them deciding on how to go about it. I sniffled again and looked up. First at mom, then at dad, the both at them suddenly looking even older then I remembered them to be.

‘Oh..’ Mom finally exclaimed, seemingly relieved. ‘I thought it had to do with Henry. Woof! Thank god for that.’ She quickly pushed her chair closer to mine, wrapping a bony arm around my shoulder and pulling me in for a mom hug. ‘Come here.’ She hummed, squeezing me even tighter to her chest. ‘Hmmm! Well, you know you can stay here for as long as you want. We love having you here with us. Close to us. It gives our life a bit of…’ She leaned back and smiled, shrugging slightly. ‘..joie-de-vivre!’

I snickered, shaking my head in disbelief. ‘You could get a dog too, you know.’

‘Hahah oh we might, we might. We actually discussed it the other day. Would you like that, a dog?’ She asked at me, dad snuffing in amusement - either because he absolutely didn’t want a dog or because this whole shift of moods was amusing him.

Women.

‘That is yours to decide mom…dad.’ I gave him an exasperated look and he chuckled, quickly grabbing his newspaper again, hiding the cheeky grin that lingered on his lips.

‘But really, I am just glad that it’s not Henry. You and him are just such a fine couple together.’

‘Thanks mom.’ I smiled, wiping the last remains of my tears. I laughed. ‘I eh..actually confessed I love him the other day.’

‘OOOHHH.’ Mom near jumped with excitement and my dad quickly duck even further away behind his newspaper - he really felt uncomfortable with all this girl chat. Me and mom both grinned and before long we were deep in conversation about what had transpired between me and Henry the past few weeks. A talk that was long overdue honestly, because of course mom had HEARD a gazillion things, but in her motherly role she had decided to wait for me to spill the beans.

Well. The beans were spilled. And I couldn’t be happier to hear how enthused and adoring my mom was about everything Henry concerned.

—

Henry carefully read the words on the screen of my phone, the both of us sitting on my parents couch, the rest of the house quiet as my parents were out.

It was an e-mail I had received that afternoon. Bad news. Again. As if losing that house wasn’t enough, of course more shit had to happen. He slowly furrowed his brows as he licked his lips, scrolling back up - as if checking he didn’t miss anything in his careful read.

‘O..kay..’ He finally said slowly, sighing visibly. ‘Yea..’ I bit my lower lip and reached out for my phone, retrieving it from his hesitant fingers. ‘Are they even allowed to..’ He raised his eyebrows. ‘..make such a suggestion?’

‘I don’t know Hen. Ugh. What is it with this week?! I hate it. Two weeks ago it was all fine and now this? Please let it be over..’ I sulked, reopening the e-mail of the fertility clinic and giving it a once-over. Yep, there it was really in black and white; due to a rapidly growing waiting list they suggested that me and Henry would perhaps first check out “other means of fertilisation”, before enlisting for a sperm donor. Meaning, most probably and quite rudely; just forgo the condom and see where that takes you.

There went my plan B. My back-up plan. At least for another extra 6 months of extended waiting as they had simply pushed me back on the list now I had a “partner”. Could they do that? I don’t know, but it sure was a blow in the gut.

‘What would you do in this situation, Hen?’ I asked quietly, seeing him shift his weight to turn towards me. ‘Well, believe it or not. I think this is my situation too now.’ He swallowed and reached out for my hand, tentative fingertips stroking my palm.

‘True.’ I smiled with watery eyes.

We were after all a team now. Together. Boyfriend and girlfriend.

‘I eh..’ He shook his head. ‘Okay this is going to sound so stupid now, but I want to get it off my chest. Before I did the Durrell challenge, just really a few weeks before, I had a chat with a..’ He sighed. ‘..a woman who would wish to surrogate a ..-’

‘WHAT?!’ I sat up a bit and swatted his hand away.

‘No no..Ali. It..nothing happened. I just..’ He swallowed awkwardly. ‘I guess I just started my very own path in trying to become a father. It’s a thing that’s been on my mind for a long time now. I want it. Though it immediately became clear after that conversation with that woman that I could not do it like that.’ His eyes searched mine, hoping I would not hate him for it, understand him.

I sighed. ’Gosh..I thought you were going to say you had like a kid on the way and..-’

‘Ali.’ He grabbed my wrist and looked me even deeper in the eyes. ‘There is nobody else. There is no kid on the way. It’s just you and I.’ - ‘Okay.’ I quietly nodded and swam through the depths of his stormy blue eyes. I near drowned in them.

‘So, you want to be a dad, hmm?’ A tear rolled down my cheek before I could stop it and Henry’s eyes instantly tracked it as it moved over my cold skin. With a tender finger he brushed it off, his lips curling in a sad smile. ‘Badly.’ He swallowed harshly.

He suddenly looked so fragile, like I could see right through those big bulking muscles and handsome features and see within, see the most deep and hidden away piece of Henry that I had ever gotten to see.

With pensive blue eyes he was looking down, his hand re-interlocking with mine, his other hand now aimlessly hanging by his waist. He looked a bit forlorn, lost at the sea that I had found in his cerulean gaze.

The sea that was Henry. Sometimes calm and soothing, something strong and unbending.

A sea that wanted what I wanted. Badly.

Without words I crawled over to him, using whatever strength I had to pull him into my chest, his head resting in the crook of my neck and his breath slightly shallow. He was such a large man that it was hard to actually make him surrender and lean into me. Usually he was the one who was to protect and be strong. Now it was the other way around. Sighing harshly he finally gave in, his nose sniffing as his arms slowly folded around my waist.

‘All I learned is that I don’t want to do it alone.’ He finally gulped, softly.

I closed my eyes and let a hand roam over the soft material of his sand coloured cable knit sweater. Poor bear. My poor bear. I nodded.

‘Neither do I, Hen. Neither do I.’ I pushed my nose in his neck and whispered into his skin: ‘And I think you are going to be an absolutely great dad.’

He swallowed back a cry.

‘In fact I KNOW it is so.’ I smiled, pressing up a number of kisses on his skin until I reached his lips. ‘And all other things are just a hitch, a hiccup. What I really, really need.. is.. you. Let’s..let’s make this work.’ I sniffled.

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