#Old pictures from an old visit to the Louvre I thought I might share

[onuen]

Victoire de Samothrace.

#original photography #art #sculpture #2nd century BC #Samothrace #Greece #Nike #Paros marble for the statue #Lartos marble for the prow #Old pictures from an old visit to the Louvre I thought I might share #my pictures

[just-here-for-the-moment]

You just had to bring the symbol of Victory into this didn't you?!???? Is this some sort of euphemism I should look forward to or!??!?!?????

Yes!! Let me “paint you a picture” (groan)... Also, I sat down to draft my response and it's somehow *gestures at this whole mess* 2300+ words!?? And confession time! I’ve never even SEEN "The Mentalist"! Everything I know about Marcus Pike has come from cute GIFs and the Internet and fanfics… so… I don’t even know what’s going on with me today. But thank you! :D

(This is leaking over from this post if anyone needs to play catch-up)

Paris

Word count: 2300+

Rating: mature, 18+ only

Outline: Marcus Pike x “You” in Paris, reader is an Art History Professor (cis/het female reader; “blank canvas”/no physical description/no name/no use of “Y/N”)

Warnings: slow burn; cute Marcus Pike; coffee and pastries; kissing and stuff; public-ish sex in the Louvre after hours; spontaneous P/V sex (probably unprotected, idek) we're all adults here, wrap it before YOU tap it!

It’s like, you and sweet Marcus have definitely hit it off and you’re really into each other after that field trip meet-cute and your date, but you haven’t slept together yet. He gets called away for a case, so you wish him good luck and hope that you can see each other again soon.

A few days later it’s spring break and you have a trip to Paris planned to complete some research for your next publication. You email Marcus while you're waiting to board. You let him know that you’re going to be out of town for a few days, but that you hope his case is going well, and maybe when he's back you two can pick up where you left off?

You land in Paris and check your messages, and you see that Marcus has replied to your email. He says he can't share the details of his case, but that he hopes he'll be wrapped up by the end of the week, and that he definitely wants to see you again. He asks about your research trip, so you shoot a quick email back to fill him in on the details.

You get to your hotel and sink into a hot bath with your phone. You open your emails, and your brain tells you that you're just checking to confirm the details of your appointment with your research contact in the morning... but the little uptick in your heart rate tells you that you're actually looking for another reply from Marcus. And it's there. He says that he loves Paris and that your research sounds exciting. He asks where you’re staying? You give him the name of your hotel, and tell him that you haven't stayed there before, but it's cute.

Before the water even gets cold you have another reply, sending the butterflies behind your navel into a tizzy. He says that he's stayed there once or twice and that the café in the lobby has excellent pastries. You smile and let yourself imagine a vacation with Marcus, here in Paris, sharing pain au chocolat over a little table in the café. You refill the tub with hot water and sit daydreaming for so long that your fingers prune up.

You get out of the bath and wrap yourself in a plush robe, and sit on the edge of the bed. You email Marcus back, wishing him a good night and telling him that it's late where you are, but that you promise to try one of the pastries in the morning with your breakfast coffee. By the time you're in your nightgown and ready to sleep he's responded, wishing you sweet dreams and hoping that your research goes well. You smile and reply, "Thanks," and then drift down into pleasant dreams.

The next morning you take yourself to the little lobby café and treat yourself to a café crème and an almond croissant. Marcus was right, and you nearly moan aloud as you wrap your mouth around the flaky pastry. You open your email and send him a picture of your croissant with one bite missing, and you joke that you blame him for ruining you for any other boulangeries you might visit during your trip. By the time you're done with breakfast he's responded with a wink emoji and a quick "Sorry I ruined you," and you desperately want to email him back and boldly ask him to ruin you in other ways. You stop yourself, and your brain can't think of anything appropriate, so you just don't respond and you leave to go to your research appointment.

The day is long, and the dusty archives and a few misfiled papers cause small irritations. But you find a few of the things that you needed, so you call it productive enough. You break at 3 p.m. and decide to start again fresh in the morning. Maybe an early dinner and another scalding hot bubble bath will set you right. You decide that the weather is nice, and that your hotel is close enough that you can stroll back and people watch, disconnect your brain from your work and transition into relaxation mode along the way.

You arrive back at your hotel and go to your room to change. There is a card slipped under your door, the front desk letting you know that you have a delivery of some kind to pick up. You try to remember if any of your colleagues or your boss mentioned that they would send you anything? Is it paperwork? Some kind of file for your research? You decide to shower and change into a nice dress to lift your mood, and then head back out for dinner.

You take the card to the lobby desk and hand it to the desk clerk and he disappears into the back office. When he returns you're surprised to see that he's holding a floral arrangement, not huge or ostentatious, but lovely and cheerful and somehow your favorite color exactly. The clerk sets the vase on the desk. You reach for the card and open it.

"Good luck on your research. -Marcus"

You break into a wide grin and you practically float back to your room. You set the flowers on the room table and open your email to thank him. You send him a photo and an effusive "Thank you!" and a winky kiss emoji. Is that too much? No - if one little emoji scares him off then he's not the guy you thought he was.

He responds within minutes, a quick "You're welcome. Glad they arrived in one piece." and his own winky kiss emoji. Your heart flutters and you reply immediately, "They're really lovely. Thank you for thinking of me."

A moment later his next email pops up: "Can I take you to dinner and pick up where we left off?"

You reply: "Absolutely! I'll let you know as soon as I'm back in town!"

He responds: "No, I meant tonight."

You hesitate, does he want to call you and chat on the phone while you eat dinner? Some kind of video call, like a virtual date? Before you can type your reply, a new message pops up: "I'm actually in Paris. My case is here and I arrived a few days before you did. I didn't want to scare you off or come to your hotel unannounced, but I'm free tonight and I'd love to see you."

You throw your head back and laugh. This is definitely way more fun than eating alone and people-watching. You message back an enthusiastic, "Yes! I'm ready when you are!" and he emails you and says he'll see you in 30 minutes in the lobby. When you get downstairs he's waiting by the front desk, all soft scruff and loosened tie and warm brown eyes, just as you remembered. You smile and hug him, and in that moment you feel like a fairy-tale princess meeting her prince, being swept off your feet in the most romantic city in the world.

You have dinner at a cozy bistro around the corner, Marcus making you bubble with laughter as you talk. He listens to you moan about the missing pieces of your research, your pressing need to track down a letter from one artist to another that was mentioned in an old diary but which hasn't yet surfaced. You're sure it's around the archives somewhere, just waiting for you to piece it together with the rest of your project. Marcus tells you that his case is almost wrapping up, and if you want he can arrange to catch the same flight home as you. You smile and tell him that would be nice.

You finish dinner and he asks if you want to go to the Louvre, and you check the time and say that they're almost closing. Marcus smiles at you and says, "Don't worry about it," and he looks a little mischievous. You tell him you're up for an adventure, and he takes your hand and ushers you into a taxi.

When you arrive he asks the desk staff for someone he knows, and you make a quick run to the restroom. When you return, Marcus has two laminated badges, special access for professionals and visiting staff that allows you to stay for a few hours past closing. You can't believe your luck, being allowed to spend extra time in one of the most special places in the world, not to mention that your escort is the most handsome and charismatic man you've ever met.

You start in the Denon wing and wander through the museum, talking and laughing quietly, enjoying the opportunity to see things that you would normally have to fight hordes of tourists to see. And maybe "enjoy" isn't the right word, because if someone asked you how you were feeling right now, you would say you were "on cloud nine" or "elated" or "floating." It feels like a dream, and you're not sure if you're going to remember all of it later, but you desperately want to, and you're trying so hard to file every sight away into your brain.

When you reach the Mona Lisa, an odd hush falls over you, and you realize it's the first time you've ever seen it without a crowd twenty deep in front of it. Marcus seems to know what you're feeling, because he takes your hand, almost shyly. And he keeps holding it, warming your fingers as the two of you walk on. You stop in front of Delacroix, "Liberty Leading the People," and you tell Marcus that it's the first painting you ever fell in love with, a million years ago in high school during your very first art history class. You look at the painting and he looks at you, and when you finally turn toward him he captures your mouth in a warm, urgent, soft kiss. You can feel your eyes sparkling at him when he pulls away, and you don't say a word, you just smile and hold his hand as you walk through doorways and up and down stairs.

You come around a corner and there it is, probably the most famous statue in the world: the Venus de Milo. She takes your breath away, and then Marcus does, too, stealing a kiss when you least expect it. And you're torn completely in half, unsure if you would rather keep kissing him or just stare at the curves and planes of her body. So you try to do both; you kiss him and keep one eye on the Venus and you start to feel dizzy, like you've overloaded on sugar, but it's just the impossible circumstances that you've found yourself in.

And you break apart from him, and take his hand again, leading him into a corner that's a little more private. You back yourself against a wall and pull him to you by his tie, and you kiss him the way he deserves, with your full attention and precision. Minutes pass slowly, and you only come up for air because you're afraid you're going to faint. Your thigh is blazing hot where Marcus's hand has raked up under your skirt, and the only reason you don't fuck him right there is because of a security camera keeping watch on the alcove.

You tell him that you both should finish your tour and go back to your hotel, and he agrees. You try to keep your mind on the art, and you tell Marcus about how awestruck you were as a student when you learned about the way that sculptors could depict every curve and dimple of a woman's body through the wet drapery technique; the sensuality of the human form made only slightly more modest when viewed through a veil of fabric; the sheer awesome impossibility of marble carved to look like gauze.

You both get lost in the conversation, and you wander up a staircase and around a corner, and there it is: your absolute favorite piece of art, the piece that you have studied and memorized and dreamed about. And you've seen it before: you've been to the Louvre a handful of times, but this time there are no noisy footsteps echoing off the marble, no tourists trying to capture the glory of it with their tiny and unworthy cameras and phones when there are perfectly good books and postcards available in the gift shop... the Nike to end all Nikes, the Winged Victory of Samothrace. You are, quite simply, blown away.

And if it had been a normal weekend walking tour of the sacred Louvre, if you had been there with anyone else... you wouldn't have ended up wedged against the wall of the archway to her left, skirt hiked up as Marcus pounded into you, one of your bare legs hooked over his hip and your arms wrapped around his neck. If it had been any other day or any other time, you would have stopped him before he unzipped his fly and pulled his erection out; you would have had some remaining shred of propriety, of decency. But it wasn't a normal day and he wasn't a normal man, and you really weren't yourself.

You had gotten carried away by the late hour and the thrill of being allowed to wander the empty museum, and if you were being honest, you really wouldn't have wanted to stop it. You wanted to give in to the romance of the city and the priceless treasures on display and the heady conversations with Marcus. You wanted to be exactly where you were, with exactly who he was, doing exactly what you were doing and feeling exactly how you felt as he thrust into you and grunted your name like a chant while you traced the lines of the Nike with your lust-blown eyes.

You didn't make it to the Richlieu wing until a year later, on a sunny Saturday morning with your new husband Marcus.

--- Just-here-for-the-moment’s masterlist

Roll call: please message me if you don't want to be on my "all fics" tag list!

@221bshrlocked @danniburgh @starlightmornings @honestly-shite @spacedilf @anaaaispunk @silverwolf319 @greeneyedblondie44 @maxwell–lord @nicolethered @the-queen-of-fools @driedgreentomatoes @juletheghoul @dihra-vesa @anxiousandboujee

#marcus pike x you #marcus pike x female reader #pedro pascal characters #marcus pike x female art history professor #idek dude #i just started writing and it all just went blaaaaah #i ain't even sorry

[saphyhowl]

Chapter one: Encounter

Here it is. I know it’s not very long but I will continue tomorrow for part two. The fic I asked your thoughts about. Hope you like it. Again sorry for the long wait.

Edit: I added part two

“And on your right, you may admire the work of Jacques-Louis David, “the Coronation of Napoleon” painted in 1807. It took the artist two years to finish the painting. It is not only imposing because of its size but also by the…”

A young woman in a formal suit guided a group of visitors through the gallery in the Denon part of the Louvre museum. While the visitors admired the painting, the guide waved discreetly at a young man standing on the sidelines. He looked visibly bored but managed a timid smile as the woman waved at him. He strode towards her, his boredom noticeable even in the way he walked.

“I’ll be done in a few hours, why don’t you grab something to eat or maybe take a stroll outside. I know museums are not the funniest thing to see for a 19-year-old,” the woman said with a chuckle.

“No worries sis, I’ll grab something to eat at the “Paul” bakery. Text me when you’re done?” the young man answered.

The sister nodded and went on to describe the other paintings to her group. She glanced one last time at her brother’s figure among the visitors. The young man put his headphones on as he strode towards the exit. He scrolled through his phone to find the playlist that would suit his mood and nearly bumped into an elegant-looking man.

“Sorry,” he mouthed at the elegant man and continued walking.

A moment later he sat on a bench munching on a sandwich. Someone sat next to him but he paid them no mind. A tap on his arm. He looked up. It was the elegant man from before.

“Well, we meet again,” said the elegant man.

The brother smiled politely and took another bite from his sandwich.

“You can call me Comte,” the gentleman added as he stretched out his hand.

“Louis,” answered the young man as he stared at Comte’s outstretched hand, visibly refusing to shake it.

“What is your favorite painting in the Louvre museum?” Comte asked.

“None. I don’t like museums,” Louis answered as he immediately took another bite from his sandwich. Hopefully, that way the weird man would stop talking to him.

“I thought so. A pity. Paintings are a heritage, they have many stories to tell us,” Comte commented.

“I am sure they do sir,” Louis said as he looked away in annoyance.

“Le Sacre de Napoleon is a masterpiece. However, you must visit the Musée d’Orsay as well. The paintings there are filled with life,”

“I will,” Louis said with a loud sigh.

“Make sure to go with a knowledgeable guide, otherwise you might miss a few gems,” Comte added.

Louis nodded and continued to munch on his sandwich.

“Well, then Louis. I bid you farewell. Take in my beautiful city of Paris, she has yet to offer you plenty of treasures,” Comte nodded his head and walked away.

“What a freak,” Louis mumbled to himself.

He was about to reach for his soda bottle as he noticed a leather wallet next to him. Louis cursed under his breath as he knew what he was about to do.

A few hours later.

“Are you sure he never left the Denon area?” a young woman asked the security guard as he replayed the security footage.

“No Mademoiselle Sophie,” the security guard answered.

Sophie saw the footage for the fifth time. There was her brother passing through the gates leading to the Denon area at 1:32 pm. She held her head in her hand.

“This cannot be happening,” she whispered.

“It’s been past closing time Mademoiselle. Have you tried his cellphone again?” the security guard inquired.

She nodded and took out her phone. She tapped on her brother’s contact and held her phone to her ear.

“Come on. Come on. Answer idiot…”

She heard the familiar beeping that announced her call had gone straight to voicemail.

“Maybe he went already home Sophie?” suggested someone behind her. It was Alicia, one of Sophie’s colleagues.

“Maybe you are right Alicia. I will go check and if not then I will go straight to the police. He knows nothing about Paris and it’s getting late,” Sophie decided as she went to grab her bag and coat.

Sophie watched the city lights pass by the window as she sat in the subway. The closer she got to her stop the more nervously her knees jumped up and down. She practically ran towards her tiny apartment. She dropped her keys a few times because her hands trembled with anticipation. She opened the door and shouted her brother’s name. She shouted again as she entered her apartment. The apartment was dark and was exactly as she had left it before heading to work this morning. She shouted her brother’s name again storming into each room. No one.

Sophie crouched down and called her brother’s phone one more time. Voicemail. She looked at her phone and selected another contact. The sharp light from her phone hurt her eyes or maybe the tears she held back started to sting her eyes.

“Hello?” a voice came out of the speaker.

“Mom? I-I lost Louis,” Sophie managed to say before bursting into tears.

A few hours later, Sophie sat in front of a police officer, telling the middle-aged officer what had occurred. Sophie tried her best to recall any detail that could be decisive for the investigation. Another officer handed her a paper cup with what seemed to be coffee. She gave them a faint smile. The middle-aged officer spoke with Sophie it took her a moment to understand their explanations. All of this seemed surreal. The busy police station even at night, the neon lights. The office was busy with people doing paperwork. Sophie was sitting there filing a missing person report for her younger brother just like in any trailer movie. However, the heavy truth was nowhere comparable to what any series could transmit. She had lost her brother for whom she had always looked out for. Sophie felt as if part of herself went missing for good that day as well.

The police officer gave her a business card with a number on it.

“If you need to talk, we have a few people here who are specialized in helping families cope with the situation,” the officer explained.

Sophie took the business card and thanked the police officer.

“We will be at the Louvre tomorrow to investigate possible leads. We will let you know if we find something,” the other officer added.

Sophie managed to blurt out a few words of gratitude and exited the station. She caught sight of a familiar man leaning against a car.

“Antoine,” Sophie whispered and smiled.

The man named Antoine held out his hands to take hers. She rested her forehead against his shoulder.

“This is a nightmare,” she said as series of sobs took over.

Antoine held her in his arms until she had calmed down a little.

“It is not your fault. He will show up again, ok? Let’s go back to your place and get some rest,” Antoine suggested as he opened the door of his car.

The next day, at the police station.

“Our colleagues have scanned every profile of the visitors and staff on that day and none of them match with the man we see here,” explained the policewoman to his lieutenant as she circled the zoomed face of an elegant-looking man.

The lieutenant gazed at the different screenshots from the security footage showing the missing Louis with an unidentified man.

“How could anyone pass the heavy security of the Museum?” the lieutenant wondered.

“We found something else,” the policewoman showed him another screenshot.

The lieutenant looked closer and recognized Louis. The young man was following the suspect through a door.

“Where does that door lead?”

The policewoman turned pale.

“Now now Marie, it cannot be that bad,” the lieutenant encouraged the policewoman.

“Nothing,” she answered.

“What do you mean exactly with nothing?” the lieutenant asked.

“A storage room for flyers and whatnot. There are no windows, no shafts, nothing that could lead them out, except the same door they went through,” Marie explained.

The lieutenant sat back in his chair. He had seen a lot of cases in his lengthy career. However, this one was fairly new and slightly worrying.

“I’ll make a call. This, dear Marie, is bigger than I anticipated,” the lieutenant added before getting up to make a call. This case was out of his hands.

 #Trouverlouis

Paris was on fire. At least the social network was. The social media of every Parisian was showing and sharing one hashtag, a plea for help from a desperate sister. Sophie was in the kitchen, her phone on the table could not stop buzzing ever since she had followed her friends' advice. She had placed her faith in the algorithms of Instagram and every other network that might help to obtain hints on her brother’s whereabouts. However, after a month, the shares and posts resulted in lots of public empathy but few leads.

Sophie sat on a chair and stared at a picture hanging on her fridge door. The unidentified man who took away her brother Louis. She remembered the day she went to the police station with her mother this time. After they had told them another unit had taken over the case because of the lack of leads, her mother had thrown a tantrum. She insulted every policeman with every imaginable name. However, all the commotion dulled out as she saw the portrait one police officer had handed to her, explaining that she was allowed to use it to see if anyone in her circle could identify him. Ironically, no one recognized him.

Sophie looked at the portrait, eyes filled with pure hate. The pure-hearted, art and history passionate Sophie had made a vow to personally strangle the life out of this man. She grabbed her purse and went to the Louvre as she did every day for work. However, this time she went to stand for the umpteenth time in front of the door through which her brother never came back.

The door looked insignificant as usual, noted Sophie. She was alone in the area, it was yet too early for the storm of visitors to invade the halls of the Louvre Museum. Sophie sighed. The police had explained that it was a mere storage room of two square feet. She had looked at it many times during the past weeks. She lazily put her hand on the doorknob and opened the door, she knew what to expect.

Sophie let out a scream. The stack of cardboard from yesterday was gone, the pile of flyers and maps as well. The storage room looked more like an old corridor from the Louvre with a velvet rug, old paintings on each side of the walls.

“Mademoiselle Sophie,” a voice whispered. It came from the far end of the corridor.

Sophie fumbled with her purse and took out her phone to take a picture.

“Mademoiselle Sophie,” the voice repeated.

Sophie searched through her phone and was about to leave a voice message to her boyfriend Antoine.

“Sophie” another voice whispered.

Sophie shuddered; she knew that voice very well. It belonged to Louis.

“Antoine, I think I found a lead. I’ll send you a picture,” Sophie whispered on her phone, her voice a mix of fear and joy.

She released her finger from the recording button. She was about to tap onto the picture she had just taken to send it to Antoine. Something or someone pushed her into the corridor causing her to drop her phone. The door slammed behind her and Sophie was drawn towards the other end.

“No no no no. Let me out! Let me go! Please let me go! Alicia! Anyone! Get me out of here, please!”

On the other side of the storage door, Sophie’s phone rested on the floor. The screen shifted as a call entered, the name “ANTOINE” appeared on the screen. The phone buzzed in the still empty museum.

#Ikemen Vampire #IkeVamp #ikevamp fics #ikemen vampire napoleon #ikemen vampire arthur #ikevamp sebastian #ikemen vampire theo #ikemen vampire le comte #ikemen vampire leonardo #ikemen vampire vincent #ikemen vampire isaac #ikemen vampire dazai #ikemen vampire jean

[iggy-of-fans]

Of Being a Ladybug part 2

So, Paris is about 6 hours ahead of Metropolis . So if Marinette sent the message at say… 8 pm, and Jagged got it at 9 because he was at dinner, then getting lawyers straightened out and all that ...say Marinette starts school at 10 am, then it would be approximately 4am in Metropolis. It would be a 7 hour flight, meaning she'd leave at noon on Monday, and arrive at 2am on Tuesday. 

The cons of being a reporter. 

TUESDAY 2AM Paris 

Lois was as excited as she was exhausted. Paris! She'd always wanted to go to Paris. As her taxi drove her past the Louvre and she could see the Eiffel tower in the distance, she couldn't help but remember the call she received yesterday. 

"I know it's early, Lois, but I have a job for you in Paris" Bruce said from the other line. 

"I'm listening." 

"The satellites from the Tower have been picking up irregularities. Burning buildings, the Eiffel Tower toppled or completely missing, then the next pass everything is normal. Hal even claims he saw a giant baby on cams once. I've gone over all the pictures of the last year, a couple of weeks ago there… I can't explain it. I'll send you the images and we'll try to find a believable cover story for going in the middle of the school year like this"

"I understand, thank you Bruce. I'll book the earliest flight I can." Burning buildings? The Eiffel tower toppled? Nothing had been said in the news. If something on a grand scale like that were happening, they would already know. 

"Thank you, Lois. I will of course pay for your accommodations while there," Bruce offered. A consolation for sending her around the globe for film effects. 

She barely got a "thank you" out, before he hung up. She flopped back onto the bed, Clark raising an eyebrow at her. Of course he'd heard both sides of the conversation, so he obviously had his own opinion to share. 

"Well? What do you think?" she asked him. If Clark gave it some weight, she might take it more seriously. 

"A video was sent by the Mayor of Paris about a year ago, asking for help because his city was being overrun by stone monsters and their only hope lay with a couple of kids. I watched it and it looked like some cheap special effects and deleted it like the other publicity stunts people pull. Diana was the one to notice the inconsistencies with the Eiffel tower, and she swears she saw a couple kids flying on rooftops. It's why Bruce started investigating. But he has no reason to be in Paris at all, since Wayne Enterprises doesn't have an hq there, and he wants to save that excuse for if there IS any trouble. Anyways, try to enjoy your little vacation while you're there" Clark smiled. 

"... Does Bruce know the mayor called for Justice League intervention?" Lois asked slowly. This… Was… Not… happening. 

"No? I mean, just some publicity stunts, Lois. We get 20 of them a day" Clark dismissed. Lois was beyond words so she got up and started packing, and turned on her civilian phone to call for a flight. Before she could get dialing she got a call incoming. 

"Penny? Is everything okay? WHAT? YES! Of course I do! That's huge! Yes, let me just call my boss…. Oh? Oh wow! Thank you! Yes, I'll see you tonight… Or I guess tomorrow for you…yes. I understand. Thank you" Lois couldn't believe her luck. She grabbed her JL phone and called Bruce. 

"Bruce! I've got a cover! I've been asked by an old college friend to interview her client and a few others on Parisian TV. Yes, totally legit, she just called me… Penny Rolling. Yes, yes Bruce! I will keep my eyes open. Did you know the Mayor tried to call for JL intervention a year ago? No? Clark told me there was a video but thought it was a publicity stunt. Maybe try to find it and give me a heads up… okay… Thank you Bruce. That'll be perfect! I'll get to the bottom of this… Okay, thank you."

Finally done with the update she rushed to call the airline. 

" NOON?!"

Before she could take in the breathtaking view any longer, the cab stopped. Lois paid the fare and stepped out and looked up. It was a beautiful hotel, owned by Mayor Bourgeois. The cabbie was loading her bags onto a trolley with a Bellhop waiting stoically by the doors. Just as Lois went to inquire about Penny, the door opened and out she came. 

"You cut your hair!" Lois exclaimed, giving her friend a hug and a LA Bise. 

"You, my beautiful ginger, are late! Had you arrived a few hours earlier you would have had quite the show!" Penny said with a smile. She'd always been jealous of Lois's hair. 

"It's Paris, Penny. How exciting could it possibly be?" Lois asked jokingly, wondering just what her visit here would truly reveal. 

I was going to end it here, but I believe I owe you all an action scene 😉 

MONDAY 10AM PARIS

Ladybug flew over buildings in the direction of the explosions. She really wished she'd had a chance to see the classroom before leaving to see if she would have to once again go up against Alya. Or Lila. 

Maybe if she was lucky it would be another unfortunate soul altogether. One she hopefully didn't know personally. Because it was starting to really take a toll on Ladybug, every time she came face to face with a friend or loved one. 

Before she was ready she was at the scene. And she was shocked. The Akuma of the day was a barely visible outline of a woman. She had a flowy garment on and only became visible when she touched a person. The person would immediately admit to bad deeds, anything from finishing the ice cream container to more horrible crimes. 

Ladybug watched as a couple hid behind a vehicle to escape the fate, only for the akuma to lift and throw the car, one handed, into another vehicle, creating another explosion. The akuma drifted ghost like towards the couple and became fully corporeal as she touched them, first the man ("I tapped your phone! I hated how much time you spent always going out!" he blurted out) then the woman ("I  can't stand being with you!" she screamed back). Ladybug swallowed. This was not good. A non corporeal being with the strength of ten men and the ability to… Spill secrets? Ladybug wasn't sure, but didn't want to get too close before she had the full story. She went to grab her yo-yo to call Chat, only for him to pop up, baton swinging. 

"What have we here? Another scary movie victim?" Chat asked, drawing all eyes to them. Ladybug wanted to scream. Or toss him off the building. Once! Just. ONCE! 

"I… am Guilty Conscience. That voice that should tell you not to do bad… It Is too quiet in most people's heads. So therefore I shall make you scream your misdeeds to the world. No longer shall there be hiding behind white lies for innocence" the ghost whispered, yet to Ladybug she may as well have screamed. 

"Che, you're out of your league! I have a picture perfect record!" Chat smirked, ever brash and fearless. Without a second thought, he jumped off the building towards the ghostly form. And just as Ladybug predicted, went right through her. She did not become solid upon contact with a human unless she so chose to. Great… 

"Chat! Fall back, we need a plan!" Ladybug called, stepping back from the roof and readying her yo-yo. 

"Just lucky charm her and we can go out for coffee!" Chat yelled back, swinging his baton uselessly through GC. Ladybug shook her head. She was almost 90% sure they'd need more backup. 

"Lucky Charm!" she cried, throwing her yo-yo high. Down fell a teapot. Back up it is, she sighed. 

"Chat! Fall back, I'm going for backup!" she called out again. 

"Awe, but M'lady, I thought I was the only one you needed in your life!" she was sure he thought he sounded charming. She cringed. 

"Not now Chat. I'll be back in a while, keep her from following me but keep your distance. No need to waste your energy for now." 

Had she looked down, or paid more attention to her surroundings, she may have seen Lila hiding in an alley not far from the akuma. She may have noticed her trying to follow her. She may even have taken another route to get where she was going. Later she would regret not being more vigilant. 

To be Continued...

Looks like me tag list is officially full. I'll try to send the rest in the comments!

@sidd-hit-my-butt-ham @kuroko26 @northernbluetongue @zelladane @chez-pezeater @luciferge @vixen-uchiha @bluerosette23 @mochinek0 @krunchy-tuna @treebrosha @geekydragonyt @vivilakitty @sassy-spocko @bluefiredemon-blog @mindfulmagics @thornangelic727 @sidefrienda @xxmadamjinxx @thepeacetea @pandocatxd @whomthefyck @lamestplaceintheworld @miraculous-ninja @mikantsume @unabashedbookworm @kandi-pie @2sunchild2 @redsparrow12 @shamefullove @cadencehood @thatonechickathottopic @yin-390 @tazanna-blythe @bb-basbusa @zazzlejazzle @fanfictionaddict13 @royalchaoticfangirl @god-is-dead-and-so-am-i @worlds-tiniest-spook-pastry @slytherinsheashire @imanerddealwith @tinybrie @angelisalise @graduatedmelon @trickstermiraculous @ayuchan07 @thatrandomfandomsgirl @sweatyruinsstudentbored @chloe-bourgeois-is-big-gay

#damian wayne #marinette x damian #daminette #marinette dupain cheng #maribat #marinette deserves better #maridami #marinette protection squad #Penny Rolling #Jagged Stone #uncle jagged #Aunty Clara #justice league #lois lane #clark kent #batman #batfam

[singledarkshade]

Draining The Swamp

Part Two

(Part One.)

 “Who is this?”

Rip looked up to see his new roommate studying the photo on Rip’s bedside cabinet.

“That’s Gideon,” he smiled fondly at her image.

John gave him a slow smile, “Girlfriend?”

“Best friend,” Rip replied, adding before John could ask, “Nothing more.”

Chuckling John demanded, “Nothing more, but you have her picture by your bed?”

Rip shrugged, “I promised her I would keep her picture with me at all times.”

John eyebrow shot up, “That seems a little…”

“Odd?”

“Not exactly the word I was going to use,” John replied, “But close enough.”

Rip rolled his eyes but didn’t reply. He knew people found his relationship with Gideon to be confusing, but they didn’t understand just how special she was and how much she depended on him. Pulling out the notebooks she’d bought for him, Rip saw the small laminated insert fall out onto the floor.

“What is that?” John grabbed it before he could.

Rip sighed, “Gideon gave me a list of things I’m not allowed to do while I’m here.”

“Number one,” John read, “Do not visit Paris.”

Rip gave a slight amused smile, “She’s always wanted to go there to visit the Eiffel Tower and the Louvre. We planned the trip years ago.”

“That makes sense,” John chuckled, “Some of the other ones not so much. Number six, no eating chocolate ice cream without me. With the addendum, mint flavoured is okay because it is the worst of the ice creams.”

“John…”

His new roommate continued, “You're not allowed to change your shampoo, if you do make sure you use your normal one before you come home.”

Rip frowned, “Enough.”

“It’s the final one,” John said as Rip snatched the list from his hands, “In capital letters, six exclamation points and what looks like gold stars around it, NO NEW BEST FRIEND!!!!!!”

While Rip tucked the list in his book again, he could feel John’s eyes on him.

“As good looking as this girl is,” John noted, “She sounds a little…obsessive.”

Rip grimaced, “Gideon is a genius. She looks at the world differently from everyone else, and I’m the one person in her life she trusts. She likes her world ordered and me leaving for the next six months has disrupted that.”

John winced, “Sorry, mate. I didn’t mean it.”

“Most people don’t get Gideon,” he continued, “If you ever get a chance to meet her then you’ll understand. She is special.”

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

 “Oh God no,” Harry sighed as he walked into the stadium and spotted Gideon sitting on the stage with another woman, “Why can we not just have one day without…” he caught himself and instead finished, with disdain dripping from every word, “The psychic.”

“Detective Wells, Detective Saunders,” Rip greeted them, “This is John Constantine, he’s the bands manager and an old friend of mine.”

“So, you’re not here…” Harry started.

“No,” Rip cut him off.

The bands manager John Constantine stepped forward, “Thanks for coming. Veronica is pretty shaken up by what happened.”

“And you’re sure it wasn’t an accident?” Kendra asked.

Constantine sighed, “We’re sure. We had three of the tech guys along with Rip check the light and where it was attached. Both showed tampering.”

Harry looked over to the band, saw Rip staring directly at him so he turned to Kendra, “Saunders, get the band together and organise the statements. Hunter,” he crooked his finger, “Can I talk to you for a minute?”

They headed outside, away from where anyone connected to the band could possibly overhear.

“You’re not just visiting, are you?” Harry demanded.

Rip sighed, “No. John hired us to find out who has been trying to hurt Veronica. This isn’t the first incident, but it is one of the more direct.”

Harry swore before asking, “Why didn’t you just tell me inside? You know lying to the police…”

“Because,” Rip cut him off again, “John doesn’t want anyone, especially whoever is doing this know that he hired a private detective. Or a psychic one.”

Rolling his eyes Harry sighed, “Just keep her under control.”

Starting back in, he heard Rip mutter, “Like anyone can control Gideon.”

   Gideon had been sitting with Veronica while everyone checked the lights before it was decided it wasn’t an accident and the police needed to be called.

“I know the police in Central City,” Gideon told the other woman, “They’re good.”

Veronica was shaking slightly when she asked, “Are they sure it wasn’t an accident?”

Gideon gently took the other woman’s hand in hers, “They are. Rip helped them check and I trust him more than anyone in the world.”

“Is he an electrician?”

“No, but he fixes everything in my apartment,” Gideon told her, “And his mum’s, and my sister’s and the office.”

“Office?” Veronica asked making Gideon wince inwardly.

She shrugged, “He should send for someone from maintenance at his work but always prefers to do things for himself.”

Veronica smiled, “Are you two…”

“What?”

“A couple?” Veronica finished amused.

Gideon frowned confused, “Why would you think that?”

Veronica shrugged, “Just the way you talk about him.”

“Rip’s my best friend,” Gideon told her, “We’ve known each other since we were kids.”

A shadow covered them, and a soft cough made them turn to where a young woman stood.

“I thought you might want some tea or a coffee,” she said to Veronica, another Londoner, “Since you’ve had such a fright.”

Veronica smiled, “Thank you, Freya. A tea would be wonderful. Gideon, do you want something to drink?”

“I’m fine, thanks,” Gideon stated, she had promised Rip only to drink coffee if he brought it, so he knew how much of it she was drinking. And she hated tea.

Freya gave a smile before disappearing.

“Is that your lackey?” Gideon teased, especially seeing the tattoo on the girl’s wrist of the bands logo although only Jordan’s name was showing.

Veronica chuckled, “Freya is the band’s PA. She gets drinks and snacks, keeps us on time as well as anything else John needs her to do.”

Gideon mused on this for a moment before asking, “How long has she been with you all?”

“Since the beginning of the tour,” Veronica asked, “She is so nice, and I don’t know what I would do without her encouragement.”

Smiling at her again, Gideon turned to where Rip was walking in with Harry. Unfortunately, she knew she couldn’t leave the other woman alone at the moment she caught her best friend’s eye making sure he knew she needed to talk to him as soon as possible.

“Miss Taylor,” Kendra appeared, “I need to take your statement.”

Veronica nodded nervously.

Gideon squeezed her hand, “It’s okay. Kendra is the best, she’ll look after you.”

Standing Veronica went with the Detective leaving Gideon to look around some more.

   Everyone was talking about the fallen light as she walked through. Some were trying to work out who could have done it while others were working to fix it. John was looking harassed when Gideon passed his office as he talked on the phone. Reaching the small kitchen Gideon found Freya fixing the tea for Veronica.

“Are you alright?” Gideon asked, seeing the other woman jump in surprise at her voice.

“Yes,” the younger woman smiled nervously, “Just…worried about what happened.”

Gideon nodded, taking another step inside, “Veronica said you’ve been a rock for her during this time.”

Freya gave another smile but said nothing.

“How did you start working with the band?” Gideon asked guilelessly, “It must be really exciting to be on the road with them and getting to see all the different cities, meeting new people all the time.”

“It is,” Freya replied, “I was just an intern working in the office and John needed someone to help out, their normal assistant wasn’t well. I volunteered and the band liked me. Since the tour began two days later, John asked me to take over as the band’s PA since the normal one wasn’t going to be well enough in time. Pure luck I was in that day.”

Gideon laughed, “Serendipity.”

“I should get this to Veronica,” Freya told her, “It was nice to meet you.”

As the young woman left the kitchen Gideon frowned in thought before heading to John’s office happy to find that he was still in there.

He looked up when she knocked and smiled, “Gideon, what can I do for you love?”

“The PA for the band,” she said softly.

John nodded, “Freya. Good kid, works hard and is very loyal to the band.”

“I’m sensing that she wasn’t always with them,” Gideon touched her temple as she squinted theatrically, “There’s a space. As though someone who is normally with them is missing.”

“Keane,” John supplied, “Keane Markson. He was the PA who normally works with the band but just before we left, he had a car accident.”

His phone rang again, and John sighed, “Sorry, Gideon I have to take this.”

Nodding she left him alone, she needed to talk to Rip.

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

 Rip spotted Gideon walking over to him and hung up the phone.

“Who were you talking to?” she asked, dropping into the seat at his side.

He shrugged, “Just my boss. I had to let him know where some files were.”

She rolled her eyes in boredom before moving onto why she was there, “I was talking with the bands PA and John. She wasn’t supposed to be with them on the tour but the guy who was, had a car accident a few days before.”

“That can’t be a coincidence,” Rip frowned.

Gideon grimaced, “I know.”

“Harry was not happy we’re here,” Rip told her.

She let out a sniff, “Harry loves us. Well he adores me, but he puts up with you.”

Rip chuckled.

“John is going to send everyone back to their hotel,” Rip told her, “Harry and Kendra will be putting an officer on all the bands rooms but I would suggest we stick with them until everyone is safe in their rooms.”

Gideon nodded before suggesting, “We could try and get a room in the same hotel.”

“I doubt we could,” Rip replied, “With the band staying there it’s probably full.”

“Why don’t you talk to John?” Gideon suggested, “See if he can do anything. We can share, it wouldn’t be the first time.”

Chuckling he leaned over and kissed her temple, “I’ll talk to John and Harry, stay with Veronica once Kendra has finished with her. And keep your phone on.”

   Rip reached John’s office and found his friend with his head on the desk.

“Should I ask,” Rip stepped inside, “Or just pour you a very large drink.”

John looked up, “There was a fire in the hotel.”

“Let me guess, Veronica’s room?” Rip grimaced.

“They’re not sure. All the luggage was together in a storage room,” John sighed before continuing, “But it spread and now the entire place has shut down. Meaning I now need to find a new hotel for everyone.”

“Well, find a room for me and Gideon as well,” Rip told him, “We were going to stick around anyway. This just means we were right to stick around tonight.”

John sighed, “Rip, I’m getting really worried what will happen if we don’t find this guy soon.”

Resting his hand on his friend’s shoulder, Rip promised, “We’ll find them.”

#fic #legends of tomorrow #ripfic #rip hunter #gideon #john constantine #harry wells #kendra saunders #psych au #psych verse

[ahmeddocuments]

Day 6, (Paris: Downtown; Place de la République, Place de la Bastille, Palais-Royal, Pont Alexandre III, Eiffel Tower, Gare de Lyon), 30-9-2019

Written by Ahmed Hassan, edited and corrected by Aya Ashraf.

I just woke up and it’s my last day in Paris. That feeling is always aching my soul yet I always plan to have all of the new places right after Paris just to feel less pain leaving this city behind. Today I’m doing nothing except visit some new places I haven’t visited before, meet a friend from Brazil and then start preparing for my departure to Italy.

I started moving from home at around 7:30 AM, It was that early because I wanted to say a fine goodbye to the city. For a change, I wanted to try taking the bus to the City, discover how it feels going through the suburbs of Paris to reach the city. Took a bus near the Aulnay-sous-Bois train station and switched for another bus till I reached my first destination; Place de la République.

At the center of the square is a bronze statue of Marianne, the personification of the French Republic. The square is well known for being a protesting spot as it can contain large numbers without severely affecting traffic.

I proceeded to Place de la Bastille, another spot I wanted to visit, the place is another square centered by July column, topped by a gold Génie de la Liberté.

The Bastille square in Paris is where the Bastille prison stood until the storming of the Bastille and its destruction during the French Revolution, and with no remains in sight at the moment.

I started moving by bus to Gare du Nord. A very interesting benefit of having a free day without itinerary is how free it feels to switch to buses or walking instead of quicker transportation methods like trains and metros. It gives you that feeling of being a resident for a while, even if it was only for a couple of minutes. One of the priceless benefits of travelling is remaining silent, observing and actually listening to nothing but street noises. I can’t remember that I’ve put headphones and listened to a song during the 33 days I’ve been outside Egypt. You don’t need to escape anything anymore, you’re just there to feel and enjoy the moment, and be proud of the present that’s happening and achieving everything you’ve ever planned and dreamed of.

Trying to waste time before meeting a Brazilian friend of mine, I had another walk from Gare du Nord. I passed by Église Saint-Vincent-de-Paul, the scene looked cinematic; people were sitting on the stairs leading to the building entrance in the middle of a Parisian street, and behind them a very symmetrical building of the church itself.

I continued my long walk and passed by the Opera again, nothing looks the same when you’re saying goodbye. I mean, I still remember how it felt leaving Paris the year before. The feeling is indescribable when you’re looking at anything knowing it’s the last time to do so. The image below might seem like a regular picture of a street in Paris, but it was me observing that golden statues, street noises and beautiful buildings for the last time for a long time.

In realization that I’m closer to visiting Palais-Royal, I started moving to the Palace to check another place I’ve never visited. Palais-Royal is a former French royal palace, and now it’s the headquarter of Ministry of Culture, the Conseil d'État and the Constitutional Council.

The Palace is famous for tourists for Les Deux Plateaux, which are rows of columns with different heights put in an old parking lot. The columns were put in this place between 1986 and 1985, and it’s been a touristic spot since then.

I mean come on, this looks like fun!

The palace also features very fine gardens, which I like to describe as gardens inside a building inside a city.

And like Versailles, the gardens had this set of trees aligned in a very symmetrical scene.

I was about to leave the palace, but couldn’t do it before stealing another symmetrical shot. (Okay it’s not very symmetrical and i’m personally hurt the lanterns aren’t perfectly aligned lol)

Moving on, the Palace’s exit was right in front of the Louvre’s side entrance. And no matter how stunning and breathtaking the main entrance with the pyramid looks, the side entrance fits the authenticity and classic side of the Louvre.

I started walking along the Seine, Moving towards Châtelet. I passed by Pont Neuf, Notre Dame, Fountain Saint-Michel, Hôtel de Ville, Centre Pompidou and ending my long walk at Les halls, the famous mall in Châtelet. I had a fast meal at a Burger King nearby, then started moving again to the Louvre.

The sky was very colorful and a bit clear that day, I had an amazing time sitting near the fountain of Jardin des tuileries. A fountain, ducks, fine architecture, good sky view, all in an indescribable harmony creating a scene I’ll never forget.

I finally received a notification of the arrival of Samuel, that Brazilian friend i’m meeting. We’ve met on Couchsurfing and agreed to tour the city together. He had just arrived from Madrid to Paris so he depended on me to show him around. In one trip, I showed the city to two people who briefly described me as a “local” because of the way I fully memorized city information like the landmarks and the streets.

We met and started to introduce each others, he started complementing my Instagram posts and telling me he’s been dying to see Paris the way I show it in my pictures. I was extremely happy because I’m someone who’s very proud of his Instagram account, I count it as one of my strongest assets of memory preservation. When I introduce or share this account with people, I always tend to mention that it’s like a museum for Ahmed Hassan, as my photographs capture my timeline for the past few years, showing the development of tastes and interests, also what i’ve lived, witnessed and documented during this time.

Continuing our conversation about pictures, Samuel asked me to photograph him near the Louvre. He was amazed of how he pays no effort in explaining what exactly he needs to see in the captured photos. We started discussing various topics like cultural difference, travelling and photography. Samuel wanted to visit the Eiffel tower so bad and start posing for photos next to it. He asked me for good shots for it, I suggested we take a walk along the Seine, crossing Pont Alexandre lll, passing by Les Invalides till hitting Champs de Mars right behind Eiffel Tower.

The below photo was the last photo I took for the Louvre, It was me saying goodbye to on of my favorite places on earth.

Moving from the Louvre, we walked and talked along the Seine, capturing some fine scenery for the landmarks, showing it all like a postcards you wanna receive so bad.

Below is Musée d'Orsay

Pont de la Concorde

And finally one of the best -and saddest- pictures ever, a sunset in Paris. Why saddest? It’s my last sunset there. It looks like an oil painting that has a presence that never fades, or even fails to remind you of what you’ve felt taking such picture.

We passed by Pont Alexandre lll, and the bridge never fails to be impressive at any time of the day. The timing was perfect because we got to capture a golden bridge under golden weather.

It’s my favorite bridge in Paris, and It never fails to remind me of the first time I recognized it in Adele’s “Someone like you” music video. I’m no drama queen, or maybe sometimes I am haha, but I slightly felt the same that day walking there, and yeah, nothing is the same when you’re saying goodbye. I’m intending to describe more on that matter, you feel like you’re aching in a way that doesn’t show a physical pain, everything you’re hearing sounds the same, yet you feel it’s distorted. It’s complicated, Anyway, here’s another picture of the bridge capturing Les Invalides.

Moving forward, He asked for amazing places to capture the Eiffel tower inside the city itself, so I suggested the below location I initially used for my Trip in 2018.

We continued walking towards Champs de Mars and when we arrived, Samuel was astonished of how the tower looks marvelous the closer you get closer, we arrived there a few minutes before it got all lit so we captured both moments.

And same way with the lights starting to glow

We got closer for a better shot, and captured one of my finest Eiffel tower photos ever!

We again moved to the Seine to pass to Trocadéro to capture my last photo of the tower, which started to light in purple in solidarity with Breast Cancer Awareness Month that occurs annually in October.

So, That was it. I said goodbye to Samuel as I had to move to prepare my luggage and head towards Gare de Lyon for my 6 AM train, which was pretty early to be there almost 7 hours before the train, but me and Mohamed thought it should be better for him not to pay another night for a few hours, and it was risky to depend on getting there on time less than one hour after the public transportation starts the next day.

On my way to Islem’s home though, I was stopped in the metro station and got fined 35 Euros for violating the Metro’s rules of having an image and a name on my transportation Card, the whole situation didn’t make my Paris ending any prettier, It was scary and worrying being stopped by metro officials, yet I gotta admit it was my fault as I was notified I should update both the photo and the name 5 days earlier.

Arriving at Islem’s, My luggage was Pre-Packed, I just showered and collected my belongings and started moving, I thanked Islem for his GREAT hospitality for the second year in a row! It was almost 11 PM when I started moving, I stopped and took a last look at the house before for my last RER ride to Gare de Lyon.

I arrived at Gare de Lyon, Mohamed arrived a couple of minutes after. We were ready for our more than 6 hours time of waiting. We tried to discover the station, discovering that, obviously, every single shop or store is closed. The only available items to purchase are the snacks of the vending machines. The only thing that broke the silence that night is a man playing piano closer to midnight.

We stayed and talked about what we’ve progressed so far in the trip, which is completely nothing to what’s coming up a head, before we were ordered by station security to exit the station as the station is “Closing” till the morning. That was another bullet to my head that night. We roamed the scary streets surrounding the station at night searching for any café or restaurant that might be working after midnight with no luck, we even tried our luck with fancy hotels like Holiday Inn to try and stay for a drink or something in the lobby which was refused as well. It was a scary couple of minutes before we decided to head up to the Station’s door and try our luck again, The security asked us to come back in and wait for the train as he’s been searching for us for a while to tell us to get back inside. We were a bit relieved knowing that we’ll be in a safer situation, we faced another hazard of creepy Algerians who were roaming the station searching for a cigarette or a lighter to smoke weed. We ran into a Brazilian guy  and his dad. They only spoke Portuguese so I used google translate to communicate. They were both heading to another French city and they were terrified by the creepy Algerians roaming the station. We stayed together for an hour or two, talked for a while. I gave him a souvenir of an Egyptian coin which he was crazy about given the fact that he was a coin collector.

It was finally around 5 AM when we noticed that our train was already in the station since before midnight, not ready to be entered though but we were finally that close. The doors are finally opened near 6 AM and we got on, in separate cars unfortunately but still, safer than ever.

Before the train moves, I wanted to take a moment to appreciate the Paris effect it has on me for the second year in a row now. The city attracts my senses and brings out the best of me, I’m thankful for it as it captured my first experience as a tourist the year before, and it’s the only city I visited twice, and intending to include in every Europe trip I’m intending to pursue. The city also confirmed and enriched my passion for architecture and art. Unlike most Egyptians, I don’t find it an ordinary “overrated” city, I find the streets talking with history and beauty, the bakeries are running and keeping history of recipes, preserving a significant European cuisine. The fact that I remember leaving the city in the two years I visited leaves me speechless. In both trips, Paris was the start of my tour, and even though it was followed by GREAT cities and countries after, It still doesn’t feel the same.

The train started moving and I finally felt safe and calm enough to sleep, The ride takes around 7 hours to Milan. I tried to ditch the previous night away and think about the amazing Italy adventure coming up ahead, the first country I’ve ever wanted to visit. I napped for an hour or two before the Police officers started passing and checking our passports, it’s a normal procedure for intercountry trains or transportation in general. Everything is going well and smooth now, Let’s hit Italy!

Self reflection:

I’m finalizing this blog post on October 9th from Egypt’s North Coast, nearly after three months of not blogging because of the heavy work load I have. And even though it’s all still packed with no time to take a proper break, I found a way to return and preserve moments like this because it’s all still there. Once I started writing, it took me less than a day to finalize the whole post.

So, hmm, a self reflection. I’m currently unaware of my feelings towards anything, I feel better than the last time I blogged, but I currently have a general understanding that everything isn’t worth the effort of thinking anymore. That doesn’t mean I’m not thinking anymore, Haha -I wish though-. by going through 2020, I’m developing weird facts about how everything should be understood and acted upon. Starting from relationships, work, personal spaces, caring, and everything. I feel like I’m still discovering these things for the first time, like a kid learning to walk in his first year. Nobody told me getting ready to turn into a 30 year old has a reset button of your whole belief system. You go through the same things you go through on daily basis, but with growing mind and easier letting go abilities. You go and evaluate friendships, actions, hobbies and whole life style, you check how responding differently can leave your mind in peace, how going an extra mile doesn’t always bring what you’ve been missing or expecting, how being a selfish person is not as bad as it’s been showed to us growing up.

Now we’re less than three months away from the end of 2020, I gotta say it’s still hurting me revealing all my scars at once to myself in one single year, and at the same time I’ve never been more thankful for such an evolution of thoughts in the same year. If I’m allowed to say a piece of non-cliché advice, I’d say go selfish to liberate yourself from the restrictions that keep you from discovering who you really am. Instead of unrolling yourself as a carpet for others to grow with whoever they wanna be, be your own red carpet.

Be your own superstar.

#Paris #France #Tourism #Travel #Travelling #Love #Adele #Someonelikeyou #Reflection #Louvre #Art #Tour #Eiffel #Tower #Bridge #Pont

[quicksilversquared]

Keeping Up With the Ladyblog

A reporter has to adapt and improvise. It's an important skill to learn, especially when one is a reporter who is still in school and can't skip out to film all of the akuma battles without getting grounded. So Alya gets creative and starts using old security camera footage of akuma attacks. It keeps the Ladyblog active and maybe, just maybe, she'll finally get her scoop of a lifetime.

links in the reblog

Initially, setting up the Ladyblog and getting a devoted userbase had been a bit of an uphill battle. Even though Alya had gotten noticed right away with her footage from the first fight, that didn't guarantee her a permanent position as the best-known blog on Paris's superheroes. Not covering a few fights would mean that someone else could sneak in and steal her spot, so that meant that even if she missed a little school here and there (or had to drag her sisters along during a fight), it was worth it. She had to stay on top of all things Ladybug and right then, that meant getting the best coverage of as many fights as she could physically manage and writing up good, thought-provoking articles for when there was a slow day or two.

(Of course, there were other problems that she had to deal with as well. Alya had to put together a functioning site that was user-friendly, could handle the traffic that she was getting, and offered everything that anyone could possibly want from an official superhero blog, because there was no. way. Alya was going to lose traffic just because some other blog had one option or another that she didn't have or because her blog went down from traffic overload at a critical moment. There were some places that she drew the line- she didn't accept fanfiction of the superheroes, because they were real people and therefore it would be weird, and only appropriate art was allowed- but she had to add all sorts of options so that people who visited the Ladyblog would come back over and over again. It was a lot of work and all had to be done fairly quickly, which meant that her homework sometimes got pushed off until later than it should have.)

Alya didn't consider setting up the blog itself to be that big of a problem, though. Software could usually be battered into submission if she worked on it for long enough, and as long as she didn't try any system updates to the Ladyblog when a lot of people were using it, short outages were usually not a big deal. It was the content that was more of a problem, especially now that her parents (and teachers) were on her back about not skipping school just to film attacks.

She just had to get creative.

Originally, Alya had considered trying to use her fame from being the sole moderator of the Ladyblog to see if she could get a get-out-of-class-free card during the attacks. Her teachers could just check her blog to make sure that she wasn't abusing the pass, she figured, and it wasn't as though most of her classes would be that hard to make up. But it didn't take long before Alya realized that that was just a pipe dream. No teacher would just let her go whenever just so she could keep up a blog when there were professional reporters out there as well that could film the attacks just as well (though Alya would argue with that). Besides, she sometimes had to bike across town to try to get footage, and there were times when it took so long that Ladybug and Chat Noir were already done when she got there. Without any footage, it was a waste of her time.

She had to play it smart. She couldn't just take footage from news channels, but what if there was other footage out there, unseen by most of the public? The Ladyblog already used fan submissions. People took pictures and videos of the superheroes all the time, and most didn't have any interest in starting their own superhero blog but were willing enough to share their superhero content online. Alya always spent a chunk of time every day sorting through the submissions and organizing them by akuma for easy reference.

Still, that wasn't quite enough. Alya had to go above and beyond if she didn't want to be replaceable.

Asking Mr. Kubdel about getting security camera footage from the Louvre partway through the year was a stroke of pure genius on her part. Getting it was a combination of luck, her fame as the Ladyblogger, and the fact that she knew Alix.

"They don't have the best angles in the world," Alya told Nino three days after Mr. Kubdel agreed to her request. She had just gotten the footage from all of the security cameras for the time frames of the last few akuma attacks that had gone through the museum, and digging through the video to find clips of the actual fight was taking a while. Some parts she could just fast-forward through, since the superheroes didn't go into that particular room, but she couldn't go too fast or she could miss the superheroes flashing by. "But I can't really complain. No one has any video of any of these fights yet, so this is incredible."

"It was super-nice of Mr. Kubdel to agree to it," Nino said as he watched the video over her shoulder. "Are you- whoop, there goes Chat Noir."

"Am I what?" Alya asked as she marked down the time Chat Noir entered and when he exited. "Ooh, look, that's a cool akuma!"

"It is a pretty cool design," Nino agreed. "Are you going to ask other places if you can get security camera videos from them, too? Like, there's some places that seem to have a lot of akuma fights go through them. School, the Eiffel Tower, the Grand Paris-"

Alya's eyes lit up at the mention of the last place. "Ooh! D'you think I could wrangle some footage of Chloe as Antibug? I kind of want to see some footage of her getting her ass handed to her by Ladybug and Chat Noir."

Nino cringed slightly. "...yeah, I wouldn't phrase it like that when you ask Mr. Bourgeois about it if I were you. He might say no just because of it." He considered that for a second, then added, "Actually, come to think of it, a lot of the akuma that pop up at his hotel tend to be after Chloe, right? So maybe he would say no if most of the footage you get is of Chloe being tormented, no matter how funny you find it. And he's not going to have anything from inside of the guest rooms, just the hallways and dining areas and whatnot."

Alya sniffed. "I'd be professional and include as much of the fight as I could find. Any compilations of Chloe being pursued by angry akumas would be completely unofficial and only posted to an anonymous YouTube account. Which I would then share with you guys, of course."

Nino laughed.

"I think I could persuade him to help, though," Alya decided, going back to the Louvre videos. "He's nice enough when Chloe isn't pushing him around. I'd just have to ask when Chloe isn't there. Maybe I could ask Sabrina's father for help to get footage from other places." She squinted at the screen, then stopped the video for a moment. Nino looked over and saw that it had gone all blurry and pixilated.

He frowned. "Uh, what happened to it? Is the file corrupted?"

"I don't know. It's happened a couple times before on other files, once near the start of this fight and twice again near the end of the first fight I looked at. I don't know what causes it." Alya rewound a little so she could get the last good frame of the superheroes and record the time so she could cut it there. "And... I know I kind of gave up on exposing Ladybug and Chat Noir's identities on the Ladyblog, but I kind of thought that I might catch them detransforming on the security cams. I wasn't going to post that part online, of course, but still..."

"Maybe they're just really good at moving out of the area first," Nino suggested. "That's gotta be tough, actually. I never thought about it. But there's so many cameras in buildings like that nowadays that they have to be super-careful so they don't get seen by others or by cameras!"

"They're bound to slip up sometime," Alya grumbled, opening another file and starting to fast-forward through it. "I really hope I don't miss an attack when I'm working on this. Like, it's gonna be great for my blog to have this footage and all, but it's the live stuff that people like the most."

  The first of the spliced-together security camera footage hit the Ladyblog almost a week after Alya got the first batch of raw video. There was an immediate spike of interest, though, as Alya complained to Nino as they waited for Adrien and Marinette to arrive to work on their group project, some people were whining about favoritism getting her the tapes.

"It was just because I asked first," Alya grumbled, scrolling through the comments. "Because I thought of it first. And- oh! I forgot to tell you! Mr. Bourgeois said yes, I just have to figure out the dates and times of old attacks myself and give them to his security people. And I talked to the principal too, and to Sabrina's father. Mr. Damocles said yes, and Sabrina's father said that he would ask his supervisor and also people at Notre Dame and the Eiffel Tower about the security cameras at their individual sites." She was grinning now, momentary irritation gone. "It's gonna be a beast going through everything and getting my homework done, but it'll be worth it."

Nino frowned. "Are all of them gonna give you footage from past attacks? Some might discard video once a certain amount of time passes, or they might think that it's too much work to go back that far to get you the files."

Alya shrugged, face dropping slightly. "Yeah, I guess you're right. Still, going through the past stuff I do get plus new stuff is gonna be hard. At least spring break is coming up soon. Ish. Kinda. And then I can really plow through stuff once it's summer."

"You're gonna vanish into your room and never come out again," Nino joked. "You'll get all pale from lack of sun."

"I still gotta go out for livestreaming attacks," Alya reminded him. "And once I don't have homework to do, I don't think it'll take that long to mark and edit stuff. I can get through one per day for sure, maybe more. I can do it while I babysit my sisters, as long as they don't want to go anywhere."

Nino snorted. "Right, and the chances that they won't want to go out to the park or on a walk?" He shook his head at her. "But I can help with the timing stuff, so you can just focus on the splicing things together."

Alya grinned and leaned forward to press a kiss to his lips. "That would be great, Nino! Thank you so much!"

"You'll have to tell me how you want it done sometime before I start, but it really shouldn't be a problem," Nino assured her, grinning as he returned the kiss. "Though maybe we'll have time for you to show me before Adrien and Marinette arrive. Where are they, anyway?"

Alya just shrugged. "Who knows. I texted Marinette ten minutes ago to remind her we would be meeting, but no response yet. She might be in the middle of a project, and if she is, I don't wanna startle her. Last time I called her when she was busy sewing, she got started by her phone ringing and stabbed herself with a pin."

Nino cringed. "Ow. Yeah, I texted Adrien too, but no dice. No idea what he might be doing- oh, wait, here they come. Finally."

"And from the same direction too, hmm? Interesting!" Alya slid her laptop back into her bag and stood up, grinning as she watched Adrien and Marinette approach. "And neither of their houses are in that direction, either."

"We're here to study, not interrogate them," Nino reminded her. "Midterms, remember?"

"Oh, but come on-"

"You can interrogate them after, once we've gotten our studying done," Nino pointed out, grinning. "But I actually want to pass my classes, thank you very much."

  There were times when Alya almost regretted starting to post the security camera footage. It was a lot to handle and process, and it ended up cutting into her article-writing time, which, well, she really liked writing those articles. It was one of the things that set the Ladyblog apart. But the old footage was popular, particularly when there was no good news coverage of the fight, and she could always prioritize which fights to edit together and which could maybe be set aside until she had more time.

It was after Alya was first tapped to become Rena Rouge when she realized how great of an idea it had been to start including the security footage from attacks on the Ladyblog. She couldn't cover her own fights- well, not that she was called for many of the akuma attacks, really- but she could still provide that footage, and it wasn't as though she had only started with that kind of footage after she became a superhero, so it wasn't going to raise any suspicion.

Well. Much suspicion, at least. There might be a few people who wondered why she could never cover Rena Rouge's fights, but there had been few enough of them so far that the pattern wouldn't be apparent. And if it continued- which, well, she hoped that it would- then she could always use her much improved video editing skills to "interview" Rena Rouge in person.

She was sure that Ladybug would let her borrow the Miraculous for a little extra time if she mentioned the need to throw people off of her trail. After all, Ladybug was very big on secrecy.

Most of the time, though, Alya loved her stroke of brilliance. It had been worth the security checks to make sure that she could be trusted with the security footage, and she had managed to shore up her views again. Future employers would see that she was focused and willing to put in the work, and well, she had gotten herself a fabulous reputation at the Louvre after she had spotted a shoplifter on the footage and let them know about it right away. It made her feel like a detective of sorts, discovering things that she wouldn't have otherwise.

And, well, summer was coming. Soon, she could get all caught up, and then Alya was sure that it wouldn't be quite so overwhelming.

  "I figured it out!"

Nino glanced up at Alya as she slid into the empty spot at the table he was sitting at. From the other side of the table, Adrien and Marinette looked over at the reporter as well.

"What did you figure out?" Marinette asked, gaze immediately going to the tablet Alya was holding. She looked interested and inched closer. "Is it something to do with the Ladyblog?"

"It is!" Alya held up her tablet. "So you know how I've been putting together footage of the akuma fights from security cameras?"

Nino nodded. Both Adrien and Marinette looked puzzled. Alya groaned at them.

"Seriously? Have neither of you looked at the Ladyblog in weeks?! It's my big new thing!"

"I've been busy," they both claimed at once, before shooting each other startled looks. Alya narrowed her eyes at them both.

"Too busy to even glance at the Ladyblog once in a while, even now that school is almost out? Really?"

"I've glanced, but not looked into the archives at all," Marinette corrected herself. Then she frowned. "Wait, what do you mean, security camera footage?"

"Huh, I guess I must not have mentioned it to you before, either," Alya said, looking thoughtful. "Hm. Anyway, I've been contacting people at the Louvre and at the Eiffel Tower and Chloe's dad and Sabrina's dad and the principal to ask if I can get the raw security camera footage from the akuma fights that go through there, and they all said yes! So I've been going through that and splicing together stuff from different cameras to try to get as much of the fight covered as possible."

Now Adrien was frowning, too. "Really? They just happen to know which cameras Ladybug and Chat Noir have gone past?"

Now Nino snorted. "Of course not. They just basically give Alya all the footage from the cameras for the duration of the fight and she- well, we, I've been helping- have to go through and find which cameras Ladybug and Chat Noir went past and when."

For some reason, both Adrien and Marinette now looked deeply alarmed.

"Anyway, we've been noticing some weirdness on some of the clips," Alya told them. "It get corrupted for a bit, mostly near the start of the fight before the superheroes show up or after the akuma's been defeated but sometimes in the middle, too. I've been puzzling over it for the longest time, and I think I've finally figured it out!"

"Really?" Nino asked, interested and finally distracted from his strangely pale friends. "How?"

Alya grinned. "It was some comments on the Ladyblog that finally got me to notice the pattern. The corruption is either before Ladybug and Chat Noir show up or right after they vanish- or, in the middle of the fight, if one of them has to go recharge, then it happens then, too."

Nino blinked, then caught on. "So you're saying that somehow their magic is interfering with the cameras and protecting their secret identities?"

Alya pointed at him. "Exactly! I thought when I started all this that I might accidentally catch them transforming or see someone where they weren't meant to be, but their magic just means that they can't be caught on camera. It kind of makes me wonder if they always have that effect on cameras when they aren't transformed, or if it only pops up when they're about to transform or just detransformed."

Nino was so caught up in thinking about it that he completely missed Adrien and Marinette's identical sighs of relief as they both slumped in their seats. "It's gotta be the latter. Otherwise how would you explain people never getting a good picture of you, if it happened all the time?"

"Maybe Juleka is Ladybug, then," Marinette offered, giggling a little. "Remember, she was convinced that she had some sort of photo curse?"

"And now she's figured out how to manipulate the magic so that she can get normal photos again," Alya joked, sounding serious for a moment before she laughed. "Nah, she can't be, she was akumatized and fought Ladybug and Chat Noir. Remember that?"

Nino shuddered. "How could I forget? I was stuck in a skirt and high heels for ages!"

"I rocked the platforms," Adrien bragged. He grinned at Nino's raised eyebrow. "What? Sure, they were hard at first, but with a little practice..."

Nino just shook his head and groaned. "You would, dude. You must have been hidden, though. I couldn't find you after Reflecta left."

"Yeah, the outfit and the makeup would do that, probably," Adrien pointed out with a laugh. "I mostly decided to stay out of the way. And that fight didn't last that long. Ladybug and Chat Noir defeated her within an hour."

"Okay, fair."

"What would you do if you found something that told you who Ladybug or Chat Noir are?" Marinette asked, pulling the conversation back on track. "I mean, you can't see them transforming or detransforming, but if..."

Alya waved a hand. "Oh, I would destroy the footage as fast as possible. Hopefully I wouldn't recognize them-" though she wasn't certain about the probability of that, considering that Nino had been picked as a temporary superhero, too. What were the chances of that happening if Ladybug at least didn't know them to some extent? Unless of course it was a coincidence since she was the well-known Ladyblogger and Nino had already been out in the middle of the fight before Ladybug grabbed him- "and so it wouldn't matter if I saw them for two seconds."

Adrien looked astonished. "Really? I thought that was your dream, to figure out who they are! Not that I don't support the deleting thing," he added quickly. "That's probably safer for them. But what made you decide to change your mind?"

Well, she had become a superhero herself, for one. She had realized that she didn't really want the city to know her identity, because what if the akumas targeted her family and friends? And then Nino was a superhero, too, and what if people knew that and she became a target? She had figured that if she didn't want the city knowing her secret identity, she should probably extend the same courtesy to Ladybug and Chat Noir. And Heroes Day had proved that even superheroes knowing the secret identity of other superheroes wasn't necessarily safe. But instead of saying any of that, Alya just said "Well, I realized that it wouldn't be safe for them. And I figured that we should probably respect our superheroes' wishes since they've done so much for the city."

Adrien grinned. "That's very mature of you, Alya."

Alya just shrugged. Really, there had been so much more to it than she had let on. He was probably giving her too much credit, considering it had taken her being in the superheroes' shoes to realize what she had. "Yeah, well. I'll get a big scoop someday. I just refuse to have it at the superheroes' expense."

  With the start of summer came more free time, and Alya attacked her backlog of footage with gusto. It was slowly shrinking as she and Nino dug into it with occasional help from Adrien or Marinette, deleting the superhero-less footage out and discarding it. It had become a bit of an obsession now that she had plenty of free time, and Alya had finally- finally!- figured out how to have several streams going at once on her screen and how to pause the others and switch to just one when there was footage that she wanted to watch more closely.

It made things go a lot faster, that was for sure. She was getting through a couple akuma attacks per day, and she finally had to start queuing things up so that the Ladyblog wouldn't get overwhelmed. One per day would be good, maybe two if they were short fights. Alya prioritized newer fights, too, knowing that the old ones were interesting but also old news. The newer fights generated more views and more interest, but it wouldn't be long before the next wave of akumas took over public interest.

Still, Alya loved having that old footage. She loved watching Ladybug and Chat Noir facing up against the akuma, and she loved seeing Ladybug's creativity when faced with a strange Lucky Charm. Their teamwork was so strong, and the way that they absorbed the occasional extra teammate and worked in those powers- yeah, it was pretty obvious why they had been chosen to be the city's main superheroes.

She was digging through her folders of akuma fight footage when she spotted a particularly large one. Alya frowned, puzzled- what, had the entire city been involved in the fight?- when she noticed the date. It was from Heroes Day.

"Oh yeah," Alya said eagerly, grinning as she clicked on the folder. This had been one of the battles that she really wanted footage for. All five superheroes at once in the boss battle? Yes please. All of the existing footage of the fight had been filled by possessed people, so it would be great to get literally anything else.

It was going to be difficult to piece together all of the bits of footage that were bound to be all over the city, but hey, it was summer and Alya could probably rope her friends into helping. And hey, if she could get Adrien roped in, he had several computer monitors. He could use all of them at once and have a ridiculous number of feeds going all at once. But Alya was impatient and wanted to get another look at the fight, so she flipped through the camera files until she found a set on the Eiffel Tower. They opened right before a fox-themed supervillain got there- and ugh, Alya immediately found herself annoyed. Another Volpina? Why were there so many people in Paris who seemed to have some sort of design on the Fox Miraculous?

Ugh. She was going to scour the footage to see if she could get a glance at this new Volpina's unakumatized identity. One Fox villain before Rena Rouge had showed up was one thing, but again? Nuh-uh.

Alya watched as once again, chaos descended on Paris. Volpina detransformed- uh, could Hawkmoth recall akumas? Then why had the baby akuma actually happened at all?- and revealed- uh, was that Lila? What was Lila doing in Paris? She had told the class that she was out of the country and wasn't going to be returning yet!

Okay, something was definitely up there. Maybe Marinette was on to something when she said that she didn't trust Lila. Especially when- they had talked to Lila on Heroes' Day, hadn't they? They had video chatted with her as a class. She had said that she was abroad, and it had looked like she was, too.

Strange. Alya was going to have to do some digging there for sure.

On-screen, the red butterflies descended on Paris. Alya winced as she remembered the terror that had reigned. They had been tricked by Volpina's illusions- and wait wait wait. Alya rewound the footage to when Lila detransformed and- oh, she looked disappointed when she was detransformed, as though she knew what she had been doing and had wanted to continue.

Even stranger. Also really, really concerning. Alya was going to put a hold on making any plans with Lila until she figured out what was going on there.

Alya continued watching. Red akumas found their mark, and Hawkmoth emerged, watching over the panic. Red bubbles bloomed into oversized akumas, and then... well, more chaos. There was screaming in the streets as people were turned into akumas and everyone else fled- well, there looked like there was screaming in the streets, at least. The cameras didn't pick up sound, which did take away from the experience, just a bit, but she could imagine what it would have sounded like.

The sheer amount of footage that Alya was getting from just the Eiffel Tower was astounding. She could only imagine how much she was going to get across the city, though the ice appearing now from the re-akumatized Frozer probably took at least a few of the feeds out. If she just played it all one camera at a time, it would be an insanely long video.

She might have to learn how to play several streams at once in a split screen. Hawkmoth would have to be shown at all times, Alya thought, and then she could do flashes of different akumas and also show the superheroes. They would fill the screen when they were doing an intense fight, maybe and-

Oh, Alya had so many ideas for the video already and she had only watched part of four streams so far. The number of akumas and the civilian resistance- which, by the way, amazing- meant that she could really play with angles and video cuts and oh, it was gonna be great.

It was also going to be a whole lot of work. Alya was probably going to spend the entire week picking out clips and then deciding which ones she wanted to use, and then it was going to be another few days of editing.

Hopefully her friends would be willing to help her out. They could blast through mostly-boring feeds in no time and get stuff trimmed down for her to review. Maybe she could even get Max to help her with the split-screen editing stuff, since he understood all of that technical talk.

Smiling widely, Alya turned back to her computer. Most of the footage at the moment was just Hawkmoth standing up on the Eiffel Tower with his two singers- and boy was Alya going to rake him over the coals for that, it was ridiculous- and so she had to wait for Ladybug and Chat Noir to head up like she knew they had. Thankfully the camera on that level wasn't iced over at all, like the ones on the lower levels were. This time, she had a front-row seat (abet at a bad angle) as she saw Lila get akumatized again (and boy was it interesting that Lila didn't look at all alarmed about the butterfly approaching her- she looked eager) and Volpina conjured up a second Hawkmoth while the real one hid.

And boy, was that ever an anxiety-inducing experience, watching Ladybug and Chat Noir approach the decoy while the real Hawkmoth hid down below, ready to surprise them from behind. Somehow Ladybug noticed him creeping up on them- and how, Alya had no idea how, she and Chat Noir seemed a bit distracted by trying to get Hawkmoth to do the right thing by turning over his Miraculous- and then they were fighting. Hawkmoth's cane-sword went down, but he didn't go down with it.

Alya sat up and watched as the three secondary users re-joined the fight just in time. She wondered where they had gone wrong, where they might have messed up and could have done better. The next bit was also the only example they had so far of the mysterious Peacock user's powers, and they needed to know what to expect in case they came into play again.

It wasn't that the Peacock's powers seemed that dangerous, at least not from what they had seen so far. Their team had just been taken off guard, and that gave Hawkmoth enough of a distraction to run off like the coward he was. Alya watched the giant moth vanish after Ladybug hit it, and she wondered if it would have vanished so easily if Ladybug had hit it when Hawkmoth was still there. Had the Peacock backed off as soon as Hawkmoth had retreated?

On one of the streams, the superheroes glanced around, trying to figure out where Hawkmoth had gone. Meanwhile, a Hawkmoth-shaped blob limped- had he been injured? They should have looked for him!- past one of the iced-over cameras, and then slumped down against a wall. Alya leaned forward, eager, as Hawkmoth sat there for a few seconds, likely shaken by the whole run-in.

Was he going to detransform? Had they really caught Hawkmoth on camera, after nearly a year of attacks? The ice on the camera would make it hard to see exactly who it was, but Ladybug's Miraculous Cure was bound to come zipping past any moment now. Was this her big scoop-?

"Ugh, and there's that distortion," Alya complained, flopping back in her chair as the already-fuzzy footage got even worse as a burst of purple lit up the screen. "C'mon, really? Can't his kwami not provide magical protection for him? The dude doesn't deserve it."

Alya sulked at the screen as a rush of red went by, clearing off the ice but doing nothing for the magical distortion. She could make out a bit of a shape on the screen, and colors- red and white- but no details, and static regularly cut across the already blurry picture. The static stayed there for longer than normal, and then the blurry, pixilated shape of civilian Hawkmoth finally got up, heading for the stairs. It was only once he had fully exited the frame that the picture finally snapped back into focus, one last bit of static cutting across the screen before the picture stabilized for good.

"Oh, come on," Alya groaned, flopping back on her bed. "That's so unfair that we were so close, and this freaking arse just- just waltzes out of there? Just walks away down the stairs and off of the tower and- and- ugh!" She slapped her fist down on the bed next to her- and then she froze. "Wait. Wait, wait, wait. He walked off of the Eiffel Tower. There have to be more cameras on the staircase and at the bottom. If he didn't detransform in front of those, would they have gone out, too?"

She didn't know. She had never really tracked other cameras from the area after the fights ended, so she didn't know if they had caught the civilian Ladybug and Chat Noir or not and she wasn't going to go back and look, not now that she knew now how dangerous it could be to have other people knowing a superhero's secret identity.

But now? There was absolutely no downside to finding out Hawkmoth's secret identity. It would be the biggest break of Alya's journalistic career.

Re-energized and laser-focused, Alya clicked back to her files, looking for the other cameras. It took a few tries for her to find the footage from the stair cameras and then she fast-forwarded to close to the end. There was a minute of anxious waiting, where Alya scanned the entire screen in case Hawkmoth had tried climbing down the side of the stairs or something ridiculous like that, and then a pair of feet appeared, headed slowly and almost unsteadily down the stairs. Before the feet could go down any further, though, the footage came to an end.

Alya let out a frustrated snarl and rewound the video a few seconds, pausing it right before it came to an end. Only a pair of perfectly white shoes and the hem of bright red pants came into view.

Those... those pants looked really familiar. Alya frowned as she stared at them. She couldn't quite place them, but maybe Marinette could, if Alya brought the footage over the next time that she went to Marinette's house. But that was stupid, Alya decided after a moment of mulling it over. Maybe they knew someone with pants like that, but there were several million people living in Paris. There was no guarantee that there weren't other people making the same (awful) fashion choices.

"So close," Alya complained aloud, glaring at her screen. If only Mr. Raincomprix had sent footage that was a few seconds longer! Except- oh, that was it! All she had to do was email him and ask for the footage from the lower-level cameras running from maybe a minute before the end of the fight to several minutes after the current end time. That would be sure to get her lots of footage of Hawkmoth, and surely he would be recognizable in some of it.

She had to hope that the footage still existed and it hadn't been written over at all. It would be close- it had been over two months since that battle- but Alya knew that she had gotten older footage from the Eiffel Tower before.

Hopefully that stuff hadn't just been saved for longer because of the akuma attack.

Excited, Alya turned back to her computer. If she was going to file a request for more footage and hoped to get it in a reasonable amount of time, she needed to have all of the information possible- what the camera IDS were, the exact date and times that she wanted were, everything. Just to be sure, Alya checked her other files to see which cameras would be focused on either the place where Hawkmoth detransformed or the stairs that he had gone down, writing the code for every last one down. Once she had that, she folded up the list and stuffed it in her pocket as she raced for the door.

"Alya, remember that you're going to be babysitting the twins in two hours," he mom called out as Alya raced past. "You'll be back by then, right?"

Alya had to bite down the frustrated noise that nearly escaped because even though this was critical, this was huge, it wasn't as though she couldn't wait a little longer to review the footage. And she could review the footage while sitting out at the kitchen counter with her sisters watching a movie in the living room, it would just be harder. "Yeah, I'll be back!"

And hopefully, she would come back with the footage that would change everything.

  Officer Raincomprix was all too willing to bring Alya over to the Eiffel Tower to get more of the footage, all without her having to explain anything. He showed her to the people she needed to talk to and then trotted off to deal with a littering teenager while Alya was ushered inside of the office. The staff were all helpful, and soon Alya was leaving with everything she needed, with no questions asked.

She supposed that it was good that all of the adults were so busy, because she didn't exactly want to explain. Really, Ladybug and Chat Noir should be the first ones to know about Hawkmoth's identity.

Alya jogged back towards her family's apartment, memory stick clutched tightly in her hand. On it, she hoped, would be evidence that would show her Hawkmoth's identity. She was nearly back to her building when she ran smack-dab into a very familiar figure.

"Yo, I was just looking for you!" Nino exclaimed, pulling Alya up. He bent back over to grab the memory stick that she had dropped before the passing pedestrians could kick it away and handed it back to her. "I was trying to text you earlier, but I didn't get any response."

Alya winced. "I'm so sorry! I just got really distracted by my video editing. I opened up the folder for Heroes' Day and I got really distracted."

"Oh, that was a crazy fight. I bet there was a ton of footage. Well, until everything got all icy, at least." Nino glanced down at her as they continued down the sidewalk. "So can I ask why you were out? You look out of breath."

"Not out here," Alya warned immediately. She didn't want a passerby overhearing and trying to grab the memory stick to grab the discovery for themselves. "Come inside with me. I can tell you there, and at any rate I have to be back in-" she checked her phone- "fifteen minutes anyway to babysit my sisters."

Nino followed without question, looking interested.

"So did you find something interesting in the footage?" Nino asked curiously. "You must have. Or was there footage missing, was that why you were out?"

"Not quite," Alya told him, grinning. "I needed more footage, yeah, but it wasn't during the middle of the fight. It was at the end, because I almost had Hawkmoth's civilian self on tape."

"You- what?" Nino asked, freezing for a few seconds before jogging up the stairs alongside her again. "You think you have Hawkmoth on tape? I thought that the magic messed with the cameras!"

Alya grinned. "It does. But where he detransformed- he had to go down the stairs, and there's another camera there. Before, I could see his shoes and the hems of his pants, but now I have an extended clip of the video! It should show him coming down the stairs into sight."

Nino looked impressed. "Oh, that is amazing. But what if it's not someone you know? I mean, there's a lot of people in Paris."

"Well, I'll turn the video over to Ladybug and Chat Noir. They can decide if they want to get the police involved. They might recognize the guy, too." Alya was assuming that she wouldn't recognize Hawkmoth, but she supposed that it was a possibility. "Or we could help by asking Max if he can run some sort of face recognition thing, so that they don't have to go to the police. I'm worried that the police might try to take over themselves and end up getting really hurt by underestimating him."

"Yeah, they might try to do that. Freaking adults, thinking that they know better than the actual experts." Nino shook his head, disgusted. "But do you think Max can do that? I mean, I know he's good at computers, but face recognition- that sounds like he would have to tap into files from, like, ID cards or something."

Alya shrugged. She supposed that was true, but Max was crazy smart and also had Markov. She was sure that if she asked, he would try to see what he could do for her.

"So are you gonna look at the footage now?" Nino asked as they reached her floor. "I thought you said that you have babysitting to do."

"I do, but I wanna at least look at the footage first, if I can." Alya pulled out her keys to open the apartment door. "And I was planning on just putting on a movie and some snacks for my sisters so that they stay out of trouble while I work. They should stay out of trouble that way."

Nino gave her a supremely dubious look. "Your sisters, staying out of trouble?"

"I'd still be in the room! And it's not like I would have headphones in or anything."

"...would you like me to stay there while you do your video stuff?"

"That would be amazing," Alya told Nino, leading him into the apartment. She waved to her mom as they headed down the hallway. "But I still have time to get this done before my mom has to leave!"

Nino glanced at the clock on the wall. "Uh, babe, you only have ten minutes."

"Do you really think I can't get this done in ten minutes?" Alya led the way into her room and wriggled her mouse, waking her laptop up. "You know me better than that. I know exactly where to look in the footage."

"And you really think you'll be able to focus on looking after kids once you've seen Hawkmoth's face?"

...Alya had to admit that that was a very good point.

"I can show you the footage leading up to the end while the computer recognizes my memory stick," Alya told Nino as she plugged the new flash drive in. She rewound the footage. "See, here's Hawkmoth escaping- but he didn't go far!"

"That ice on the cameras is annoying," Nino commented as the footage played. "Is all of it like that?"

"A few cameras were spared, I think," Alya told him. "Including the one on the main level, thank goodness. I mean, there's a few blurry spots from where the ice extended onto the lens a little bit, but it's mostly clear."

"Oh, and now it's worse," Nino added. "He detransformed right in front of the camera, holy cow."

"Yeah, I was really hoping that the distortion would go away since he seemed to be hanging around, but no such luck." Alya watched as on-screen, the ice cleared away and Hawkmoth finally got up, heading for the stairs. "So watch here- there's no one besides him and the superheroes on the Tower, right? Well, them and Lila, but that's beside the point. It got evacuated pretty fast, and anyone who didn't get off got akumatized or hit by Dark Cupid. So he's headed for those stairs."

"So whoever comes down is Hawkmoth, right," Nino agreed. Then he paused. "Wait, you said Lila? But she was abroad!"

"Apparently she lied." Alya stopped the tapes right where Hawkmoth's feet appeared on the stairs. "Okay, so the stuff that I got should start about thirty seconds before the end of these, so there's some overlap."

A tension rose in the room as Alya got the new files set up to play. She kept glancing at the clock while things loaded, watching as the time for her to move into the living room ticked closer and closer.

She wouldn't be able to stand it if she had to stop at this point. Even if it was only for a short break while she said good-bye to her mom and got the twins set up with their movie and their snacks, she couldn't. She was so, so close.

This had to work.

"Loaded," Alya announced as soon as the program was ready. "And here we go!"

She and Nino leaned forward as they watched the feed from the stairs on the screen. There were thirty seconds of anxious waiting, and then Hawkmoth's shoes appeared on the stairs. They headed down unevenly, revealing the red pants cuffs once again.

"Oh, he's shaken," Nino murmured, a grin evident in his voice. "Super shaken. Serves the asshole right."

Another step, more of the pants were revealed. They watched in anxious silence as the red pants gave way to a very familiar ivory jacket, then a striped necktie, and then Hawkmoth took one more step down the stairs, head hanging down as he made his way down the Eiffel Tower.

And much to Alya's surprise, she recognized the face that went with those atrocious fashion choices, even at this angle. And from Nino's sharp inhale, she knew that he had, too.

"Well," Nino managed after a minute of trying to find his words. "This is bad."

And with that, Alya could only agree.

#Miraculous Ladybug #My writing #alya cesaire #nino lahiffe #in which Alya actually acts like a reporter

[lostinfic]

5. New York, Fall

Summary: Travel writer/photojournalist AU, slow burn, mutual pining, angst, fluff and adventures around the world.

Pairing: Alec Hardy x Hannah Baxter Rating: Mature Word count: 1.6k

Prologue  |  Chap. 1  |  2  |  3  |  4  | Ao3  

Hannah was too fond of clothing and accessories to be a minimalist packer. She kept her wardrobe well organized, divided by climates and types of activities, but used creativity to select the right clothes. It was an art. One that began with a theme, a story she wanted her pictures to tell. (She’d once packed only retro-inspired clothes for a long weekend in Paris during which she visited movie-famous locations.) And since, on a cruise, hauling a heavy suitcase around wasn’t an issue, she may have gone a little overboard (pun intended) with the nautical theme: white and navy stripes, tiny anchors, big anchors, sailor collars, mermaids...

“I have nothing to wear,” she whined, dumping half her suitcase on the floor of her cabin.

The ship would dock in Manhattan soon, and she still hadn’t found the perfect outfit to go to Hardy’s photography exhibition. Something that looked irresistible yet like she hadn’t made an effort at all. Not like she worked in a theme park.

The whole thing was ridiculous anyway. Her contract with the cruise line gave her a choice among four destinations and ten dates— she could have gone to Alaska!— but she’d chosen a place she’d already visited on somewhat inconvenient dates in October, just on the off chance she might run into him. He didn’t even know she was going to be there. She couldn’t decide whether to tell him. Whether she wanted to see him again. She didn’t usually keep in touch with people she met abroad. The moments they shared were perfect as they were. Meeting again just wouldn’t be the same. Why ruin a perfectly good memory?

But Alec…

She’d said before she wanted a man who would challenge her, but parachuting or strange foods was what she had in mind, not ethical dilemmas.

At least she had a fantastic leather jacket.

The World Press Photo event took place in Brooklyn whereas the ship docked on the west side of Manhattan. It didn’t look that far on the map but, once again, she’d underestimated distances in America. Google Maps informed her it was an hour-long public transport journey to the building where the conference took place. They docked at 10am, and she had to be back on board by 4pm. What kind of cruise stays only six hours in New York but stays overnight in Nova Scotia?

She was familiar with the subway from previous visits, and seamlessly joined the crowd on the platform. She wore her headphones even if her music barely pierced the metal grinding of the old subway cars. She tapped her feet, at first to the beat of Lana Del Rey, but then out of nervousness. What would she even say to him? Oh, hi, funny meeting you here.

By the time she walked out of the subway station, her skin was clammy and smelled of rust and other people’s sweat. An autumnal breeze refreshed her and chased dead leaves around her feet.

She washed her hands and face, sprayed some perfume on her neck and shook her hair for volume. With a sigh, she blew a strand off her face.

Beside the door, a banner announced: “Alec Hardy, a retrospective”. A black and white portrait of him, with a hand tugging back his hair and an annoyed look on his face, told visitors he didn’t appreciate having the viewfinder turned on him. The lights and shadows in the picture revealed his physical flaws: the fine lines at the corners of his eyes, freckles on his cheeks and nose, even some greying hair at his temples and in his beard. She only ever used black and white to hide a too-red face or unflattering light. He didn’t hide anything, and the photo was stunning.

She read the short biography next to it. Forty-two years old, ten years older than her. She filed the information away. Everything else she knew from looking him up already.

In the high-ceilinged, white room, his photographs, in various sizes, lined the walls and hung from the ceiling to create corridors.

Hannah scanned the crowd of art students, photography enthusiasts and other conference attendees with lanyards around their necks. She didn’t see him, and couldn’t tell which of relief or disappointment swelled in her chest.

The exhibition began with Alec’s early work on the streets of Glasgow in the 90s: poverty, union strikes, and the punk scene. Domestic moments caught through dusty windows, spike-haired lovers in a park, and children playing among burning rubbish bins. She smiled at a self-portrait, his reflection in a broken mirror, an old Leica covered half his face, wire-frame glasses and smoke from a hand-rolled cigarette covered the other half.

Political protests and revolts followed. From Ireland to South Africa. He’d been right in the eye of it, among the armed men, the bleeding noses and mouths shouting for justice. In the rage and lust.

Hannah walked from one to the other, heart beating fast as if watching an action movie. How many times had he been threatened? Held at gunpoint? Kicked and punched? He really made a habit of putting himself in danger’s way. His recklessness scared her, in a good way.

His later work shifted away from the action towards the devastation left in their wake. Destroyed villages, grieving families, scarred men, empty-eyed women. More children featured in his photos. She recognized Pulau Kesuma: a pile of discarded monogrammed hotel towels among flowers, new fishing gear left to rust, an old fisherman with the sea etched on his skin. With every picture, Hannah’s heart grew heavier. By the last photo, tears threatened to ruin her mascara. And yet, something in the way he showcased sunlight gave her hope.

Hannah rounded a corner and gasped: there was a photo of her. Taken at night, darkness hid her face, but she recognized her leg kicking an arch of bioluminescent plankton. She raised her cell phone to take a picture of it and share it on social media, but changed her mind. She looked at it closer. She wasn’t used to seeing herself through someone else’s camera. An image over which she had no control. A moment of unstaged spontaneity. She wasn’t used to feeling humbled. She watched other people’s reaction to it. They didn’t know what it meant.

The picture of her was part of a special section dedicated to his more artistic work. Random snapshots he’d never dedicated an entire series to before now. Breathtaking landscapes, powerful oceans, a colorful Indian wedding, elephants in Thailand, coal-smeared Congolese children smiling bright, several photos of a baby girl. Through his lens, even the streets of London became poetic. And she thought that pain and misery did not diminish the beauty of the world, if anything, the fact that people endured and kept laughing and creating, was all the more wondrous because of it.

She went around the room a second time, always on the lookout for Hardy. She did a double-take at every brown-haired or bearded man, only to be disappointed. Before she knew it, she’d spent more time there than at the Louvre. She lingered in the building for as long as she could, visited the other exhibitions, but had to get back to the port soon. She decided to leave a message in the guest book, leaving it up to fate whether he would see it.

Outside the building, golden sunshine trickled between fiery leaves and alighted every raindrop falling across its beams. Umbrellas bloomed and children laughed, and Hannah was keenly aware that each person around her had their own story, their own unique perspective on life.

Like light shining through a prism, daily life was dissolved into millions of shades by the people experiencing it.

Hannah walked two subway stations farther, fascinated by the city thrumming with life around her.

To capture that variety, she used to write in-depth articles about encounters with one person. She’d gradually abandoned those in favor of shorter pieces for the attention-deficient social media users, and marketing disguised as personal anecdotes. Perhaps she should do that again.

She smiled at the young latina woman walking her dog, but only received a wary look in return.

This strange hyper-awareness followed her on board the cruise ship, but morphed into introspection once alone in her cabin. Seeing Hardy’s journey made her consider her own.

When asked why she started traveling, she always told the same story. She, Ben and Erin formed an inseparable trio of best friends in secondary school. They dreamed of backpacking through Europe. Once in uni, they kept postponing their plans for all sorts of reasons. Unfortunately, Erin died abruptly during their second year. Realizing how short and unpredictable life is, Hannah had packed her bags and left England.

It was a nice story, but it wasn’t the whole truth. She never said how her friend died, that she left even before the funeral, that she stayed too long in Amsterdam to numb her guilt, that there was a reason she didn’t keep in touch with the people she met while traveling.

The rocking waves failed to lull her to sleep. She nearly called Hardy twice, but her longing scared her. Her emotions felt too close to the surface, too easy to bruise.

She wrote all night and deleted the file in the morning.

They docked in Boston next. She filled a travel mug with black coffee and headed off the boat with the firm intention of being her former, professional self. She hadn’t even posted on Instagram yesterday. It really was for the best that she hadn’t encountered Hardy. They had shared a moment in Asia and that was the end of it. She had to focus on rebuilding her reputation after what happened with Elite Travelers.

Outside the cruise terminal, where buses awaited passengers for day tours, the marketing liaison waved her over. Before she’d even said hi to him, someone else called her name.

“Baxter!”

Her heart melted.

#Hardy x Hannah #Teninch fic #Broadchurch #Secret Diary of a call girl #travelers AU #lostinfic writes stuff

[garamonder]

Said and Done

Peter pays Pepper and Morgan a visit for the first time since the funeral. Set just before Far From Home.

.

“Of course, Peter,” she'd said over the phone, “we'd love to see you.”

Peter had to give her the benefit of the doubt and hope she meant it. He couldn't blame her if she didn't. He hadn't seen Ms. Potts since the funeral. Even then they had spoken only briefly, Peter almost afraid to look at Morgan as he mumbled his condolences, shoving down his own misery and forcing himself to smile at the four-year-old. Her big eyes stared back, unsure of this stranger who'd shown up to her father's memorial. He must have appeared an adult to her.

Ms. Potts seemed to know Peter better than he would have expected, having never actually interacted with her before that day. But she'd also had a five-year head start on getting to know him. Peter kind of wondered at that until Ms. Potts told him that Tony had often talked about Peter to her.

For some reason it surprised him. Maybe because he'd spent more time dead than as Mr. Stark's 'intern' and Tony was not such a stranger to tragedy that Peter would've assumed he'd take up the lion's share of Mr. Stark's grief.

Then again, he'd recognized the look on Tony's face when Peter began to stagger toward him on Titan. It was the same instant, deep dread Peter was sure he'd worn himself at the sight of police lights flashing red and blue one night, and the horrified crowd gathered near a car he recognized as Uncle Ben's.

Peter was used to being the one standing graveside. He felt robbed, of course. But it was nothing next to losing a husband and father.

Peter hadn't explained his reason for visiting Ms. Potts and Morgan. Holding his cell and nervously fiddling with some machinery on his desk, he'd called with the intention of explaining everything then, but once he began to try he remembered who he was talking to and got glue in his throat. He only got so far as saying there was something he thought Mr. Stark would want Morgan to have.

Truthfully, he'd stopped himself clarifying because he'd been afraid Ms. Potts would refuse. Everyone dealt with their grief differently. What might seem a ghastly reminder to a widow would mean something entirely different to a four-year-old.

So here he was again, at the house in the woods. May had to work so Peter took a bus, forgetting to wear his earbuds while gazing at the city turning into trees, and easily covered the remaining distance. Happy could probably have driven him but Peter didn't really want to explain this to anyone else, no matter how sympathetic the ear.

He looked around. This place must have felt like an escape after the Snap. A born-and-bred city kid, Peter never lost a kind of marvel at unfenced green spaces. Gravel crunched under his sneakers. He'd always liked the sound of gravel.

Peter kind of had trouble picturing the flashy billionaire abandoning the penthouse view for a forest. But anyone who'd known Tony longer might have said the same if asked to envision him with a wife and daughter after all the supermodels who'd cycled through his life in an endless parade back out the door.

Ms. Potts walked out on the porch to meet him, dressed in a casual sweater and long pants. She looked around for the car that had brought him and Peter realized he hadn't said how he was getting there.

“I took the bus,” he said lamely.

“Oh,” she said in surprise, “you didn't need to do that. We could've come to the city.”

“No, it's fine. I don't mind,” Peter told her.

Mindlessly he'd stopped at the foot of the porch. Ms. Potts came forward and hugged him warmly. “How are you?” she asked.

“Okay,” he said, adjusting the strap of his backpack slung over one shoulder. “Um—you?”

“Okay,” she repeated, with a small smile and a shrug. “Sad. Making Morgan a lot of cheeseburgers.”

Despite himself Peter gave her a faint grin. He'd had occasion to witness Tony's fondness for them.

“Happy says you're going on a school trip soon,” said Ms. Potts, turning to invite him inside. “To Europe. Wow.”

“I don't think it's going to be that fancy,” Peter said. He'd looked up the hostels on the itinerary, and after seeing the foreboding Yelp reviews had updated his booster shots accordingly.

“Oh, but it's Europe,” Ms. Potts said fondly.

“Have you been?”

“Uh huh. I dragged Tony to the Louvre and he complained the whole time. I told him he needed to appreciate art outside of heavy metal album covers.”

Peter grinned again. He suspected she was trying to lighten the mood. “We're supposed to see Paris.”

“You'll have to find a cute girl to give a rose,” she teased.

He was hoping to do better than a rose. Besides, the cute girl preferred black dahlias.

Dishes sat in a drying rack. Though of fine quality, everything in the house exuded homey comfort. It was a funny mix of old-fashioned furnishings with evidence of high-tech gadgetry spotting bookshelves and side tables. If Peter ever retired, maybe he'd like a place like this. Provided it had good wifi. And a lab. And pizza within deliverable distance.

As though she'd read his mind, Ms. Potts said, “Pizza's in the oven. We're a little out of the delivery range. You like the works, right?”

Another one of the tiny things Mr. Stark must have remembered and told her. Peter Parker had liked pizza. He always got the works.

(Actually, what Tony had said to Pepper was: “I once watched Parker demolish a giant pizza in one sitting. Before wolfing down a bouquet of churros for dessert. It was like watching an anaconda devour a goat.”)

Touched, Peter said: “Yeah, but you didn't have to go to any trouble, Ms. Potts—”

“Pepper, please,” she corrected him. “And it's no trouble. Eat first?”

“Sure. Thanks.” Maybe it was better for Morgan to get her bearings around him anyway, before he started asking her odd questions.

The table was set already. When was the last time she'd set the table for three? Yikes, don't think about that. Peter was a little nervy being the only guest now, no strangers to act as a buffer between him and Mr. Stark's widow. He leaned his backpack carefully against a recliner.

“Morgan!” Pepper called down a hall. “Pizza!”

Moments later a bright-eyed girl emerged from the hall, carrying an action figure with her. “Morgan, this is Peter,” her mom told her, brushing aside a strand of fine dark hair from the girl's forehead. “You met him a few months ago.”

She remembered. “You're a friend of my dad's,” she declared with certainty.

Peter nodded. “That's right.”

He was glad she remembered, because it boded well for what he'd ask her soon.

Dinner ended up being a lot less awkward than he'd feared. Pepper had a knack for guiding the conversation without forcing small talk, and before he knew it Peter was chatting away almost comfortably. Morgan divided her attention between the guest, her pizza and her action figure, which she rearranged in different poses throughout the meal. Tony Stark was, conversationally speaking, the elephant in the room, and they skirted mention of him in their discussion with the delicacy of probing around a flesh wound.

Peter helped Pepper clear the dishes, wiping them off with a flowery towel. Once the drying rack was full again, Pepper sat on the couch with an arm around Morgan and watched Peter dig restlessly through his backpack.

Finally he withdrew a funny-looking contraption that comprised of a set of glasses, on which perched a recording device wired to a hard drive. The glasses were tiny, designed for a child. The device was a somewhat hodge-podge Frankenstein of tech cobbled from Mr. Stark's files with some additions of Peter's own.

“So, um,” he started, suddenly nervous again, “I borrowed from some of Mr. Stark's B.A.R.F. software. You know he's got it so it doesn't need an implanted chip anymore? It works on a proximity basis now. So when someone wears the glasses, it'll, like, recognize the user and act as a kind of Bluetooth for their brain.”

Pepper nodded, following along. Half-sunk into the cushy pillows, Morgan was gazing at the pink, child-sized glasses, which Peter had bought cheap in Flushing.

Peter turned the small headset around in his hands. “I thought Morgan could use it.”

Surprised, Pepper said: “Morgan? Why?” At the mention of her name, the little girl peered at Peter curiously.

“Have you heard of childhood amnesia?” Peter asked Ms. Potts. “You know how you just...forget stuff from when you were really little? Maybe there's flashes here and there, but it's hard to hold on to much.”

As if prompted, Pepper's eyes flicked to the side in an unconscious effort to recall early memories. She nodded again thoughtfully.

Peter went on, relaxing a little: “As we get older it's hard to retain memories from early childhood. Some stuff will stick out but the little things, the day-to-day stuff, gets lost. There's a lot of debate about how it happens, whether it's”—animatedly, he started waving a hand around— “developing cognitive behavior or because the GABA neurotransmitter acts as a gatekeeper for early memory retrieval—” He stopped as Pepper's eyes began to glaze over and started over with an apologetic grin. “Sorry. Anyway, it happens.”

He held up the gadgetry. “Morgan's actually at a really good age for memory retrieval. She's old enough to form autobiographical memories and young enough that they haven't been rewritten yet. Even better, she's able to process memory without emotion acting like, I don't know, rose-colored glasses. It's kind of hard to separate long-term memory from emotion, and that can almost change, um, your whole recollection of something.”

“Okay,” said Pepper, who was probably used to Tony babbling at her about this. “Tony mentioned some of these things during the early stages of B.A.R.F.”

Morgan giggled at the word 'barf.'

Smiling at her, Pepper added: “He said even though the system hijacks the brain, what it pulls back out might not actually be what happened—it's just our impressions. Even the holograms in his demonstration at MIT had to be padded out retroactively by computer modeling. I'm pretty sure he tried to make his younger self a little taller in the demo.”

Peter stifled a grin. “Well, maybe I would too.”

Pepper's eyes fell on the glasses. “What do you want Morgan to remember?” she said quietly. Maybe she knew the answer already.

“Her dad,” said Peter.

Faltering before the sudden silence, Peter fumbled for the hard drive and kept talking. “I uh, I've got this hooked up to a drive. Instead of projecting a hologram, the memories she consciously processes will be recorded on this. So you can, um—play it back. Like a movie, I guess.”

Pepper stared at him with an expression he couldn't decipher. Morgan abandoned her action figure to gaze up at her mother, alert to the change in demeanor.

Would Pepper tell him no? Thanks, but I don't really know if that's the healthy way for a child to process her father's death. It's the thought that counts. We appreciate you visiting, and please have a wonderful time in Europe.

A little desperately, Peter said: “It's hard to know now what memories Morgan's going to hang on to. Pictures and YouTube clips are good but they aren't really a substitute.”

He was speaking from experience, of course, but he didn't mention that.

“I thought maybe she could try it out. And if it works OK, you can spend a few weeks adding memories to the drive. The code is kind of complicated so I'll have to convert the files myself.”

When he looked up he saw Pepper blinking quickly. There was a long moment.

She turned to the little girl. “What do you say, Morgan? Wanna make a photo album of Daddy?”

“OK,” Morgan replied, still a little uncertain but it seemed to be the answer expected of her.

Peter blew his breath out. “OK,” he repeated, relieved. “Here, um—why don't you try these on?”

He passed the glasses to Pepper, who, gingerly considering the delicate tech barnacled to the frames, perched them on Morgan's nose. Perhaps knowing it drew from Tony's tech, and wasn't totally derived from a high-schooler's notebook scribbling, gave her confidence. “Stylish,” she told her daughter. Morgan preened.

Meanwhile Peter withdrew a laptop from his bag and opened it, setting it aside on the coffee table and attaching a cord to the hard drive wired to the pink spectacles. He'd already pulled up the software he'd use for conversion. He rubbed his hands together, suddenly energized as he always was when beginning a lab experiment. “Let's give it a test. So um, Morgan, what's your favorite animal?”

“A hippogriff,” she said promptly.

Pepper mouthed silently, “Don't tell her.”

“Oh—good choice. OK, can you picture a hippogriff? The last time you, um, saw one? You can close your eyes if it helps.”

Obediently Morgan squeezed her eyes shut. “Concentrate and think about all the different parts of the animal,” said Peter, scooting his laptop closer. “Like, what color is it? How big is it? You can answer by thinking about it.”

Morgan thought for a few moments. “OK,” she announced when presumably a hippogriff filled her vision.

Peter watched his screen as live data collected on the drive and took shape. It did not process like a movie file so much as a rendered model writ in code. She evidently had a very good recollection of what she thought hippogriffs looked like. When the stream tapered off he said: “Okay, pause your brain.” Morgan giggled.

Pepper watched Peter as he tapped away at his computer. “I honestly think Tony lost the ability to type,” she informed him. “It'd been so long since he actually needed a keyboard.”

Peter snorted. Tony must have thought it very confining, typing out one line when his brain was leaping ten lines ahead already.

“Let's take a took,” he said once he'd converted the file. “They take a while to render totally so it's low res for now.”

He took a miniature hologram projector Tony had once tossed him and hooked it to the laptop, which now resembled a nerve cluster with so many cords branching out. Then he pressed a series of buttons and a second later the slightly shimmering image of a hippogriff spun slowly above the device. Morgan had surpassed expectations: not only was the image of the creature clear (and a near-perfect replica of the one from Harry Potter) but she'd even envisioned its environment in the form of a forested clearing.

Morgan was delighted. “That came out of my head!”

Peter was familiar with the tech but he still marveled at its ability to draw out subconscious detail. Brains weren't a bank; they didn't store everything, but the software was very good at rounding out the model.

“That's awesome, Morgan. Now, let's try something a little harder. Can you turn your brain on again?”

Like an astronaut conducting a pre-launch checklist, she nodded, straight-faced.

Normally he'd run tests gradually building in complexity but this time he jumped ahead.

“This time, I uh, want you to think about something your dad's said to you. You don't have to say it out loud.” He shot a glance at Pepper, who merely gave him a small smile. “Think about when this was. Where were you? What were you wearing? What did he say, and how did he say it? Can you put it in order? What else was in the room? Go around the memory like you're looking everywhere in a room and memorizing it.”

He was half-afraid he was pelting her with too many questions. While her memory skills were developed enough for the device, it was a lot for a not-yet-five-year-old to juggle at once. But she didn't say anything, just sat with a face comically scrunched up from shutting her eyes so tightly.

Data began flooding through the drive. Peter sat and watched it materialize into characters on his screen. He waited patiently so his typing wouldn't disrupt her concentration.

While she sat and thought, Peter couldn't help letting his eyes wander around the living room, across family mementos.

It was just so different. Had Tony relocated here to escape the city? Following the Snap, it would have been full of shell-shocked mourners. When blows were so sudden sometimes the pain came belatedly, like a thunderclap following the lightning flash. The horror must have been worst the day after, when it became clear the disappearances were, in fact, deaths. Every day he would have encountered so many people he must have felt he'd failed.

What would I have done? Peter thought suddenly, startling himself.

Well, he'd failed people before too, and probably wasn't done yet.

Eventually the data slowed to a trickle. Peter cut it off after it'd leveled. “Brain off,” he said, and Morgan opened her eyes.

Pepper watched him work quietly. Peter felt tense again for a reason he couldn't explain. The data was much more complicated this time and required longer to convert to a viewable format. In the meantime, Morgan toyed with her action figure again, though her interest in it seemed feigned.

Finally Peter looked up. “Um—it's more 2D than anything,” he said, “for now. But I can project it. Just to show you.”

He picked up the hologram projector again and toyed with it. Light emanated from a lens and Peter looked up to see Tony Stark's face loom above.

Morgan watched with rapt attention. Her mother's hands were tightly entwined in her lap.

In the memory, Mr. Stark was putting Morgan to bed. It must have been very recently. For a four-year-old's recollection the image was quite sharp, though it was imperfect, vague in some areas, unrefined and lacked true three-dimensional modeling. The color was muted. You could see what he looked like and how his voice sounded. That was important; Peter had wanted her to retain that herself rather than having to round it out with computer modeling from archived data.

“I love you 3000,” Peter heard her childish voice say, tinny coming from the small speakers.

Tony seemed impressed. 3000 was a high grade, apparently. After telling her to go to bed or he'd sell all her toys, he went out and closed her door behind him.

As memories do, the hologram faded into an obscure, indistinct image and Peter shut it off wordlessly.

The room was hushed. Peter was startled to see tears falling down Pepper's cheeks. He felt uncomfortably like he'd witnessed something private. It seemed a little like eavesdropping.

“Play it again,” Morgan commanded him, and Peter dutifully played it back.

After they watched it again Peter said to Morgan, “You can keep those glasses.”

“Really?” she asked, eyes wide.

“Yeah. When you think of something you want to remember, you can put them on and think really hard about it, the way you did just now. Then I'll get the drive back and make it so you can watch them later.”

“Okay,” said Morgan. She might have started right away to try and think of other pennies to put in the memory bank. Still silent, Pepper nudged her. “Thank you,” she added, remembering her manners.

Peter smiled. “Sure.”

There was a danger to this kind of technology, of course. Peter was never really sure about the therapeutic benefits of B.A.R.F. He was never tempted to use it himself. When you couldn't actually go back and change anything, what was the point to reliving it and pretending otherwise? It almost seemed another way to kick yourself for roads not taken.

It was easy to get lost in the past, but a child was less susceptible. He knew Pepper would never use the technology to recreate her husband. Once they'd collected a garden of Morgan's memories, she'd give him the glasses.

For the first time he realized how late it'd gotten. The summer evening had grown dark. “Oh geez, I should go,” he said quickly after glancing at his watch. The last bus would be leaving before long, and he had two miles to swing before he reached the stop. He disconnected the laptop and hologram projector, leaving the glasses and the drive they were attached to.

Pepper stood up with him, carefully removing Morgan's glasses and setting them on a shelf until they were ready for round two. “I'll walk you out,” she told him. Something in her voice was restrained. “Say goodnight to Peter, hon,” she said over her shoulder. “Then it's bedtime.”

“G'nite,” said Morgan, wiggling her little fingers goodbye.

“'Night,” he said back.

As he glanced back on his way to the door he saw that Morgan had not yet picked up her action figure, but sat instead concentrating on something they could not see.

The summer evening was pleasant out on the deck. A light breeze ruffled the tops of the trees. As a child Peter had found this sound ominous, but maybe it had meant something else to Tony and Pepper. He could hear an owl hooting.

They walked across the deck to the top of the stairs, where Pepper drifted to a stop. Peter stopped too.

“Um,” he said, words sounding flat in the dark air, “So in a few weeks I'll get the drive back—or you can send it, whatever you want—and I'll convert them to a better quality. I thought maybe I'd have to add some archival data to flesh it out, but her memory's pretty good and I might just leave it. It's not, you know, polished, but I think it's more authentic.”

Recorded memories were a distant second to the real deal, but repetition was instrumental to memory retention. If Morgan saw the recordings every once in a while, it'd bolster her real recall—he hoped.

Pepper nodded minutely. Her tears had gone and she seemed to study him a moment. Then, without speaking, she stepped forward and pulled him into a hug.

“This is a gift,” she whispered over his shoulder. “Thank you.”

After a long moment she drew back, keeping her hands on his shoulders like Aunt May sometimes did. “What made you think to do this?”

“Oh.” Peter shrugged. “Ah, it was just an idea I had. That's all.”

It wasn't, and Pepper knew that full well. He felt dumb; she had to know about the plane crash. Richard and Mary Parker had died when their son was no older than Morgan. Mr. Stark would have told her that too.

Pepper wore a bittersweet smile. Just then he knew she was wondering whether he remembered them at all. If she asked, he'd lie and say he did. Why upset her?

It was different with Uncle Ben. Peter could remember the things he'd said and done. In a way, they showed the way forward. So, too, would he remember Tony.

Sometimes Uncle Ben would fondly mention his late brother Richard. Once, when Peter was in fifth grade, Ben had asked if Peter remembered the way his dad would swing him side to side, making a seat from his hands and whirling his cackling son around. Amused by the story, Peter had said no. He never forgot the flash of disappointment that crossed his uncle's face before Ben's usual cheer reasserted itself.

He hadn't wanted that for Morgan, that was all.

“Come see us anytime,” Pepper said kindly. “And have fun in Europe. Make the most out of Paris. I know there's a girl.”

Peter laughed. “Will do.”

He went to Europe and came back. It was a hair-raising experience. He did give a girl a flower, even though it wasn't a rose and it was in London, not Paris.

“Hot dogs sound good?” said Pepper over the phone. Morgan had recorded several more memories, and they were ready for conversion. “I got some Nathan's from the store. Relish or no relish?”

“Relish, totally,” said Peter. “I'm civilized, aren't I?”

“Hawkeye's kid puts mayonnaise on his,” confided Pepper.

“Ugh.”

Hot dogs sounded great. He'd catch the bus upstate later, right after his date with MJ. He was going to take her swinging for the first time.

.

.

(I actually put ketchup on my hot dogs, I don’t like relish)

#peter parker #spider-man #mcu #tony stark #pepper potts #fic

[theairportau]

the airport AU, part 121 by rjdaae and hopsjollyhigh

Previous parts: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, 17, 18, 19, 20 21, 22, 23, 24, 25, 26, 27, 28, 29, 30 31, 32, 33, 34, 35, 36, 37, 38, 39, 40 41, 42, 43, 44, 45, 46, 47, 48, 49, 50 51, 52, 53, 54, 55, 56, 57, 58, 59, 60 61, 62, 63, 64, 65, 66, 67, 68, 69, 70 71, 72, 73, 74, 75, 76, 77, 78, 79, 80 81, 82, 83, 84, 85, 86, 87, 88, 89, 90 91, 92, 93, 94, 95, 96, 97, 98, 99, 100 101, 02, 03, 04, 05, 06, 07, 08, 09, 10 111, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, 17, 18, 19, 20

---

DARIUS

“Ah, there are plenty of performers with tattoos,” Darius says, waving a hand dismissively. “Makeup can do wonders to hide them.”

He takes a rather large bite of his lemon bread, spilling crumbs on the wrought iron table, where they slip through the little holes and onto the ground. A pair of opportunistic sparrows hop over and start boldly picking around his feet, which he subconsciously tucks under his chair to make more room for them.

“But I get it. I mean, more important things to think about. I was always kind of obsessed with my grades, until I got out of school- and I spent so much time volunteering with local hospitals, thinking I’d go into medical school. That dream ate up a lot of time, even when I was young. But- I’m glad I’m doing this instead. Things like that change sometimes. And even after I changed my mind, I wanted to do well in school and everything. Time just goes by fast, really,” he says, taking another thoughtful bite of his lemon bread and pausing to sip his coffee.

It’s a delicate subject, and even Darius knows it- the reason that his particular dream died. That one detail that they have in common, but that he has a nagging feeling he can’t bring up. In a way, it eats at him. He has never befriended someone who knows the unique pain of losing both of their parents so young- another orphaned person. But for all that they have in common, it feels tactless, even to him, to bring it up- ‘so, your parents died too!’ No. Especially not in public. He smiles, and looks down at his hands folded on the table. One of his feet inches back and touches a shopping bag; the sparrows startle and flutter away, breadcrumbs sticking to their tiny beaks.

---

CHRISTINE

“Yeah,” she says with a small nod.

Christine had intended to say something more, but potential topics of conversation spread out in front of her like an expanse of closely-set snares—school; studies; lost time; the reason Darius shifted his ambitions; the similar reason that has driven her own—and as seconds continue to tick past in silence, she finally surrenders to an awkward sort of grin and another long sip of tea. Through the filigree gaps in the table, she watches the little birds as they hop nimbly between scattered crumbs and bits of rough grit, looking carefully at each fleck before deciding which to peck up; she can relate.

A rustle of paper and plastic suddenly sends them winging. Christine can’t so easily flutter away from an awkward moment, though—nor would she *want* to leave her friend. Picking up a paper napkin, she wipes at the sticky crumbs on her fingers. “So, um, what’s next?” she asks, leaving the question intentionally broad.

---

DARIUS

“Well, what time is it?” he wonders aloud, touching first his breast pockets, and then his jacket pockets, frowning as he pats at his legs for a few moments until he finds his phone sitting very simply in his front pocket. “I was never good at keeping track of my phone before, and since I met Erik it’s even worse,” he mutters, but there is a smile in his voice as he talks about it, contrary to his words that seem to express irritation. It’s not something he can bring himself to be annoyed about. “Does he steal your things yet? He will. He loves to shock people like that. Khan and I are never shocked by anything anymore, but if he can’t surprise us, it seems he thinks it’s fun to annoy us. I have to admit, though, it is amazing what he can do without anyone noticing. He takes my ring on a regular basis, and I mean, it’s not a loose ring, it’s on there pretty tight…” he trails off, looking at his phone as he talks, and goes quiet for a moment as he reads the message that Khan left a few minutes ago. It’s welcome news, hearing that Erik is sleeping soundly.

“Just Khan checking in,” he tells Christine over his phone. “Seems like everything is going well there… Erik’s asleep, so that’s good…”

He types as he talks.

Good here, too. Having a nice time. See you later.

Once he sends the message, he checks the time and looks back at Christine. “It’s just past noon, so we could go down towards the Rue de Rivoli and walk by the Louvre. That’s one major Parisian thing that you could check off your list. Or, if you want to take a longer walk, we could actually go by the Opera. I don’t know if you want to go there right now, but it’s an option, and it’s in easy walking distance.”

---

CHRISTINE

It hadn’t occurred to her that Erik might still be asleep; she nods a bit awkwardly at the news from Khan, crumpling up the leftover napkin and wax paper from her pastry, and hoping that her text hadn’t disturbed Erik’s rest.

On the plus side, he seems to be *getting* rest. And Khan is keeping an eye on him.

“I’m sure Mama will be disappointed if I don’t have *something* touristy to tell her about the next time we talk,” Christine says, happy for the change in subject. “Maybe…not the Opera, though; I’m not sure if I’m quite ready for that, yet.”

---

DARIUS

“The Louvre, then!” Darius says cheerfully, slinging his messenger bag back over his shoulder and standing up from his seat. He throws back the remainder of his drink, and scoops up Christine’s trash as well as his own. Their seats are taken almost as soon as they vacate them- it seems that everyone is out enjoying the rare autumn sun.

Tourists and locals alike are out in droves, but the streets aren’t excessively crowded. It’s a lovely day to walk, and Darius is glad that they didn’t spend too much of the day underground in the mall. The tourist crowd gets denser as they get closer to the Rue de Rivoli; along the way, they pause as Darius chatters about random buildings and architecture. He’d be a better tour guide for Tehran, he thinks, but he knows a good amount about Paris. They look perfectly normal like this- nothing but two friends enjoying the bright day, taking in the sights and experiencing the city. It feels normal. Once again, it strikes Darius how seldom he really interacts with anyone his age. Being a business owner so young, and trying to take care of both Khan and Erik- it’s rare that he can leave those burdens behind, but for once, everything seems to be working on its own, if only for a day. And he has a friend to share that day with. There really isn’t much more that he would feel right in asking for.

The city’s dense and historic architecture is interrupted rudely as they round a corner, and the iconic pyramid that marks the entrance of the Louvre looms unnaturally over them, a stark contrast to all of the stonework that surrounds it. Darius pauses for a moment to look at it; he has seen it plenty of times before, but it never ceases to alarm him- such a bizarre structure in the middle of such an old city. He looks over at Christine.

“Some people still don’t like the pyramids, but I love them. They’re a bold choice, for certain. Even Erik admits that he admires the architect, and it can take a lot to pull praise for a famous landmark out of him,” he says cheerfully as they begin to walk again. He instinctively leads them towards the reflection pools, where a few people are already sitting. The line to enter the museum stretches far out the door; he doubts whether they could even get in if they intended to, with the amount of traffic there today.

---

CHRISTINE

There’s a strange, magical feeling to it—to turn, and suddenly see a thing that one knows only from pictures. Like coming out of the metro station and seeing the Opera standing on the other side of the square, solid and right ahead. She really *had* known the Opera, though—as much as one possibly *could* without actually having visited it; other than the wonder of *being* there, there hadn’t been anything in the sight of it to particularly *surprise* her. Now, though, staring past the famous glass pyramids that represent the entirety of her mental image of ’the Louvre’, Christine finally understands what none of the closely-cropped pictures she’d seen of the place had ever communicated: the immense scale of *the museum itself*. Finally remembering to breathe, she follows Darius to a seat at the edge of the nearest reflecting pool, still too much in awe to speak.

“I…never realised that there was…so *much* of it,” Christine says once they’re settled on the stone bank, her head turning back over her shoulder, still struggling to absorb the sight of the massive building that encloses the plaza on three sides. “It’s hard to believe that it’s just a museum; it looks more like Dröttningholm palace.” Finally turning forwards again, she explains, “Where the royal family lives, in the skärgård.” Her phone finds its way out of her purse again, but the disappointingly-narrow view on the screen discourages her from taking more than a few pictures. “I guess they had to do something with the palaces, didn’t they,” she muses, turning slowly to give another thoughtful glance around; this time, her eyes settle on the large pyramid, finally giving it her full attention.

“Erik likes them?” she asks, trying to square what she knows of him and his own home with the sharp, minimalistic lines of glass and metal. It raises another question in her mind, before Darius hardly has time to answer the first. “What are *his* buildings like? He’s mentioned designing houses—‘boring houses’, he said,” her lip quirks as she remembers his obvious disdain for *those* clients, “—but I keep forgetting to ask more about it. And I’m even more curious, after seeing that drawing of his at the restaurant.”

---

DARIUS

Darius chuckles. “You should see Versailles. The French love their palaces,” he says, leaning over and dipping a finger in the reflecting pool, watching as the ripples criss-cross the paths of other disturbances. He isn’t the only one sitting who couldn’t resist touching the water. He smiles at Christine’s question, thinking of Erik’s open disdain for the ideas of so many of his clients.

“The buildings he makes are different from the ones that he likes,” he says. “He tries to pick projects that interest him a little bit, but honestly, he doesn’t even like working in cities. In most cases, he wouldn’t like the pyramids at all. He doesn’t like plain unadorned shapes like this, it’s more the boldness of it that he admires. He wouldn’t design something like this. He likes the engineering challenges of building into natural structures. At least, that’s what his drawings show me. I’m not an architect or anything, but he pays attention to, like… that golden ratio stuff, which I guess happens in nature all the time, and all the technical parts of it are confusing, but he really seems to like figuring out the problems that homes in unexpected places would cause. He showed me a few drawings once, of a house he could’ve built into a seaside cove, only accessible by boat- and, he said, all in the least invasive possible way. He makes everything energy efficient and sustainable, tries to find weird places to put gardens… I don’t know why he brought us to Paris at all, to be honest. He just likes nature a lot. He ends up designing plenty of modern geometric stuff, but that’s just because it’s what the market wants right now. He has money, sure, but he can’t afford to just build random architectural oddities out in the forests because he wants to. Nobody can do that.”

The thought of Erik’s passion had been enough to make Darius smile, but there is a note of uncertainty in his voice as he continues- like a person recalling the unhappy ending to a beloved story. He looks down at the water, fingers drumming its surface again, creating little waves that don’t quite become droplets flung in the air, but hang for a fraction of a second of tension before spreading into a ripple.

“Really, though, I don’t know why he brought us to a city. He was the one who decided to come here, but he seemed so happy when we went camping through the mountains and everything. I just feel like maybe he’d go outside more if we lived in a smaller town somewhere. It doesn’t really matter, living in a cultural center of art and music if you never leave your house. And I don’t think he’s been outside without a mask on since the day we got to Paris, like- he at least needs a vitamin D lamp or something,” he mutters. He takes his hand out of the pool and wipes the tips of his fingers on the side of his pants. “I guess his building sketches just remind me of how much happier he seemed not in a city.”

---

CHRISTINE

Christine nods pensively, watching the ripples echo away across the water, her mind on another who had always seemed happiest in the wilderness.

“Maybe…” she begins, but lets the thought fade into a sigh before she can finish it.

‘Maybe he *shouldn’t* live in the city.’

'Maybe he should find a place where his vision would be appreciated.’

'Maybe he should go somewhere that he can be outside.’

But Erik clearly must have *some* reason for having chosen to live where he does, and it doesn’t fall to *her* to speculate, or to make suggestions that he do *differently*—especially when he isn’t even *present* to say his own part; hasn’t she already criticized the *others* for speaking about Erik as though he weren’t an adult capable of making his own choices?

“Maybe…next time we talk, I’ll remember to ask him to show me some of his designs,” she finishes, trying to pull the conversation back onto more level—and less disheartening—ground. “They sound wonderful. Well, the ones that he does for himself.”

---

DARIUS

There is a hint of something in her voice that makes Darius feel even closer to Christine than he did a moment ago. Her sigh is a sound that he recognizes; a sound he’s made himself, frustrated by the futility of trying to help, sometimes. He wants what’s best for Erik, but it seems like a dead-end situation sometimes. He catches himself lying awake at night, wondering if he could do or say something that would make some major difference- but there is never anything. At the end of the day, Erik’s decisions are his own, and he doesn’t take well to criticism. Plus, there is some logic to living in a city, where everything is so close and available. He just wishes that he could make things better.

That magical solution doesn’t exist, as much as he wants it to. He can feel Christine’s hesitation, but he doesn’t want to bring it back up when she’s already changed the topic. He doesn’t want her to feel alone; he knows the feeling of watching someone in pain, wanting to do something but being unable. All he can offer, though, is a warm smile.

“They are wonderful,” he says. “And it seems to cheer him up, talking about them. He’s never better than when there’s music, though. I’m sure you’ve seen that. After resting all day, I’m sure you’ll go back to lessons tomorrow. It’ll be good for both of you,” he says, and he stands from his seat on the edge of the pool, stretching his arms up over his head. He checks the time on his phone, and looks up at the sky. It’s clear and blue as ever, but the changing seasons are evident in the way that it already seems a bit darker than it had an hour ago. “I have a stop closer to home to show you, if you want to get back on the metro. We can talk while we walk.” 

---

CHRISTINE

Christine is slower to stand than Darius, turning to give one last glance back across the reflecting pool before getting to her feet.

“It’ll be wonderful to get back to work,” she agrees, face lighting with eagerness, “There’s so much that I need to learn!”; her smile runs deeper than the words that accompany it.

‘He’s never better than when there’s music…’

Faced with all the problems that she can’t fix, it’s good to be reminded of one way that she *does* make things better.

Straightening her jacket and purse, Christine nods cheerfully towards her friend, “Lead the way!”

---

DARIUS

“Well, I don’t know anything about music,” Darius admits as they set off. “It seems like a lot of work. I like to listen to it, but I can’t sing worth anything. I do anyway, of course. A few of us in the restaurant sing when we’re prepping for the day, we always have a radio on. But it’s nothing compared to what you and Erik do. I mean, I’ve heard Erik’s music, and it does some things that I wasn’t even sure music could do. I never really imagined him as the teaching type, but I don’t think you could find a better musician in all of Paris. He really seems to like it. It’s a weird string of events that lead you here, but I’m glad it happened.”

He leads them down the street, past crowds of tourists burdened with dozens of brightly colored shopping bags. Where the sidewalks are wide enough, Parisians hawk trinkets out of carts; little baubles like keychains of the Eiffel Tower, and shot glasses featuring the masterpieces of the Louvre. Darius dodges around the crowds with practiced effortlessness; it’s an area where it is easy to tell a local from a tourist. Locals walk with purpose, but visitors tend to move with a sense of wonder about them. He doesn’t resent them the way that some local people do- it’s nice, he thinks, to see people getting to visit a city that, perhaps, they have always dreamed of. When he looks at Christine, he wonders whether Paris has always been a dream for her, too- or does she not care where she sings, as long as she is singing?

He waits until it’s easier to talk- they get down the stairs to the metro and through the turnstiles. The platform is relatively empty, and he leans back against the wall, waiting for the train to arrive.

“Has Paris always been the goal for you?” he asks, treading with a bit of caution- he doesn’t want to bring up her failed audition. “Would you perform in, I don’t know, like, London, if you had the chance? Or do you want to be here?” 

---

CHRISTINE

She lets Darius lead the way forward, out of the wide courtyard—happy for his naturally-quick pace, and the slight distance that allows her to conceal the bashful wrinkling of her nose. Darius has yet to hear her sing a single note, has no reason whatsoever to so readily draw a comparison between her own abilities and those of *Erik*—other than the confidence than Erik would not spend his time on an unworthy pupil. She shrugs her new jacket farther up against her shoulders, pretending as if the pink tinge in her cheeks is on account of the slight chill in the air.

“I’m glad, too.”

This afternoon isn’t that different than it was when she first arrived: a rare glimmer of sunlight peeking through the November gloom, the streets packed with people intent on making the most of the break in the rain. And, despite the radical change in her circumstances, there’s a part of *her* that feels the same as well—a part that wonders, now more than ever, where it is that she fits in in this new place.

Tagging quickly after Darius past the tourist-swarmed souvenir carts, she can no more spare a glance at their wares than she could on that day nearly two weeks ago. The vendors had looked up at her hopefully, clearly spotting some telling trace of overwhelm in her wide blue eyes as she glanced between street signs; but she hadn’t had any spare money for souvenirs; no spare *time* to dawdle, to *be* a tourist: she had come to Paris with a clear *mission*, and it was unthinkable to browse through postcards and trinkets when it was so much more important to seek out the small office building where she’d been told her audition would be held.

(It had only been when, all too briefly, she’d stood at the foot of the Opera itself, that she had allowed herself a moment of unrestrained awe.)

What is she *now*, she wonders? No longer the pursuant of some simple and clear-cut goal. Perhaps even-less of a tourist than she was before—isn’t she *staying*?—but certainly no nearer to being a *local*.

The crowds and carts slip out of view as Christine follows her friend back down into the metro station. Maybe she’ll come back and look for them again later—when there’s no rush, nowhere else to be. She could buy a present for Mama; something small and simple to send in the mail; some tiny bit of Paris for her to flaunt to the other ladies at the coffee house.

A question from Darius tugs Christine away from her contemplation of how one might safely mail a miniature snow-globe; she glances across at him where he leans against the wall of the station, and a small smile quirks her mouth at his words.

“I’d sing anywhere,” she says, with a bright toss of her head. “I was happy singing in shopping plazas, when I was little. The thought of going somewhere like London, or New York…singing in one of the great theatres there, the concert halls…*any* of them…” she trails off, her awed expression speaking more eloquently than words ever could; she sighs softly. “But Paris. *Yes*: Paris has always been the goal. And…not just Paris—but, the Opera, specifically.“

Here, she turns, leaning her own back against the wall, her gaze moving to regard a colourful poster at the opposite side of the tunnel, her expression once more bashful as she considers how best to continue her story.

“It…it’s kind of silly. I used to have this friend, years ago. His–his aunt was the one who got me interested in opera. She had an old album, all different great opera pieces, that she had us listen to one day. She was always playing things for us—hoping to save the next generation from the scourge of pop music, I think,” Christine says, lip curled in fond amusement, “and…I guess it finally worked that day. I’d never heard anything so beautiful.”

From somewhere farther along the track, a low grumble heralds the approach of a train, and Christine hastens to finish her story while she can still be heard.

“They were French; she had been here, to the Opera, years before she moved to Halland; she said it was the greatest opera house in the world—that that was how it had gotten the name ’palace’. I remember, she had this old postcard with pictures of the building on it, that she showed me once—and I thought it was so beautiful—as beautiful as the music itself—that she had to be right, about it being *special*… I knew I wanted to be, to be *part* of that someday…"

Christine lets the whine of the incoming train save her from rambling further, chewing at her lip as the hulk of metal pulls towards the platform, almost thankful for the interruption.

---

(Part 122)

#/airport au

[masklinu-blog]

The longest day. Part two.

For the next hour, my phone kept on ringing. The bus being 3 hours late meant that our whole schedule (which by then I knew) had to be delayed by 3 hours. Luckily, that was an easy day: guided tour of Paris, lunch in the Montmartre area and at the end a visit in the Versailles palace. The program office took care of everything and called all the restaurants and the guide to reschedule (and then called me to confirm, thus making Amir from the program office my best friend that morning), while all I had to do was to find a solution to keeping 45 teenagers safe for 3 hours. How to keep some teenagers in the same room for 3 hours, without setting it on fire? Easy, give them internet access. What if, as my luck had it, there was none? Well, that would prove a little more challenging….   I discussed the problem with the teachers over and over again. We even came up with the idea of travelling by metro until the middle of the city, where we would meet our guide and rendezvous with the bus later on. We dropped the idea after a cereal bowl flew past our heads and smashed on the wall next to us as part of a dare between two students. Obviously the one dared won. While one of the teachers was disciplining (using the great scientific-proven method of yelling) the great winner, the rest of us came up with a great idea: a Europe quiz, based on the stuff they already saw and were supposed to know, with promises (which we never intended to keep) of prizes! Given the competitive nature of teenagers, this not only gained their attention but actually hyped them up a little. The next few hours passed quite fast and proved to be lots of fun as they all got into the game. We even had a lightning round at the end as a tiebreaker. They were of course still loud, with the whole hotel resonating with their yelling, laughter and giggling, but at least Paris was once again a safe city.   After what seemed to be an eternity, the bus driver finally called me to let me know that he was pulling up in the parking place in front of the hotel. I was so relieved I could hear the angels sing up high in the sky and, as I shared the great news with the kids, I swear I could see the goddess Fortuna with the corner of my eye, smiling upon me. I quickly told the students to make sure they have everything they need for the day ahead of us and asked the teachers to organize them and take them outside as soon as they are ready to go. In the meanwhile, I ran ahead to meet our new bus driver and arrange the schedule for the day with him.     From the outside, the bus looked like a typical, regular bus. From the inside, though, it was just like the room of a typical 16 year old boy (yes, even mine was like that!): extremely dirty, with garbage thrown around everywhere and all sprayed with the wonderful scent of dirty, sweaty, smelly feet. The only thing missing was the basked of undone laundry thrown in a corner. The driver, a short, bald Austrian with a van-dyke beard called Franz apologized for the mess but, since his other group just got dropped at the airport and he then rushed to our hotel, he didn’t have the time to clean the mess. I didn’t care at the moment anyway, I was just happy he was there and tried to ignore the fact that the bus looked as though it hadn’t been cleaned in ages and rather hope that his previous group consisted predominantly of wild baboons who created the mess in just a short drive until the airport. We talked for just a few seconds before the group joined us on the bus, accompanied by loud remarks like “phew, this stinks!” “Jason, I told you to brush your teeth!” or “hey, it smells just like Mike’s room!”. I simply exchanged a “this could be worse” look with the teachers and I told Franz that we were ready to go. Day two of our Parisian adventure was ready to begin! As I reached for the microphone to talk a little to the kids about our day and other useless stuff, I noticed that the mic was covered in sticky duct tape. Franz noticed my rather curious look so he tried explaining: - Ja, it happened during the previous group. The teachers always grabbed the mic from one another to yell back at the kids so the wires came loose and I didn’t have time to glue them back together. I’m not sure if it still works. “Yup, definitely a group of baboons”. I thought. “How do you call a group of baboons anyway? Is it a congress? Or a troop? Or just a group? A herd! A herd of baboons. That would be funny…hmmm…”. Making a mental note to check that later, I discovered that the mic was in fact not functioning, so I just put it back, got on my seat and closed my eyes for a few minutes, trying to relax.

  Luckily, because of the delay, we missed the morning rush hour traffic, so all the streets were more or less empty (to Parisian standards anyway) and we got to our meeting point with the tour guide in no time. The guide, a short plumpy French woman was already there waiting for us. Now, I’m not really that good at reading other people, but she didn’t look all too happy about the whole delay. She didn’t seem to be much better once she reached the foul-smelling inside of the bus either. However, I’m 99% sure she was completely outraged by the broken microphone.

- And how am I supposed to do my job?! she was actually waiting for a response from me.

- Uhm…well…ahm..pfff…I …a…grdjlgfgmlt? where did all my words go? I used to be able to do this thing when they came out of my mouth and formed sentences. I looked towards Franz, hoping that he might have an answer.

- Ja…I think it works if you play with the wires a little. Let me try.

  He took the microphone and started moving the wires around while also tapping on it, hoping it will suddenly start working. Meanwhile, I sat useless with a dumb smile on my face while the guide tried introducing herself to the group by raising her voice. It didn’t really work; half of the kids didn’t pay any attention to her. However, Franz managed to show us all his technology genius and found a specific way to hold the wires and make the microphone work. It was however tricky so, the only solution was for me to hold the wires tight together while the wonderful French lady was talking on the microphone with a clear sign of delight on her face. Or was it disgust? As I said, I’m not that good with reading people. We were back on our way around Paris and try imagining this: the lady had the microphone in her hand, talking to the kids, looking straight ahead (and probably pondering how did she manage to sink that low) and from time to time giving Franz instructions on which street to take. Meanwhile, I was crouched next to her, holding the wires of the microphone, being continuously bumped against the dashboard of the bus, as I had nothing to hold on to while Franz drove as a truck driver around Paris. Two of the teachers were sleeping and I can only guess that the number of students paying attention was no higher than my number of toes. But that didn’t matter. We were on our way, we were making progress and slowly but surely this day was going to end at one point.

  Now, initially we were supposed to make 2 stops while in our guided tour: one at Trocadero square where the students could take pictures with the Eiffel tower on the background and a longer one at Notre-Dame Cathedral, where we would even visit the inside. We had to skip the first stop, though, so we headed straight to the home of the famous hunchback. She told Franz to stop somewhere across the river from the Cathedral and told him to come back and pick us up in one hour.  

- Well…can I park here?

- Obviously not; you should go to the parking lot at the Louvre.

- And how do I get there?

Seriously?! How can you be a bus driver without having the slightest sense of direction? The guide seemed to think the same thing and rolled her eyes before answering:

- Give me your map and I’ll point it out.

- I don’t have a map.

HOW THE ACTUAL F213K DON’T YOU OWN A MAP OF THE CITY YOU ARE DRIVING IN?!

- Then just drive around in circles until we come back. and with that she turned around and got off the bus.

You know what, I was starting to like this woman.

  We got the group organized and headed to the cathedral.

- I know it’s not your fault for all of this, and I actually feel sorry for you. At least I will finish dealing with all these at the end of the day but you still have a few weeks on the road with them.

- Thanks, I answered with a shy smile on my face. They’re actually not that bad once you get to know them….

- I’m sure they are, but I really don’t want to stick around that long to find out.

Well, I couldn’t blame her.

- Anyway, this is the plan: I will tell them a few things about the Notre-Dame cathedral, and then we will visit the inside of the church. Because of the sheer amount of people it will take us around 10 minutes before we actually manage to get inside, and then around half an hour to visit the whole thing. You don’t have to come with us, if you don’t want to, you can take some time off and just meet me in front of the cathedral in 45 minutes. Is that fine with you?

- That’s …. Great! Amazing! Thanks!

  I was actually looking forward for some alone time. I told the group to follow her and I started looking around for a place to buy myself a snack from.

- Hey, Daaaan?

  I turned around. In front of me was Mike, one of the kids and, at 12 years old, the youngest of the group.

- What’s up, buddy?

- I need to use the restroom and Larissa told me to go talk to you.

  Damn!! Thanks, Larissa!

- Well…uhm…is it really urgent?

- Yeah, I’ve been holding since the hotel. I would’ve went but we were playing the game, and then we had to go and I didn’t want to cause any more delays. I reaaaaaaaally need to go!!!

- Fine, let’s go find you a WC.

  Fortuna smiled upon me once more, with a public underground WC just next to the church. I quickly took him there and my heart suddenly sank once we got inside. The line of people was so long the people were waiting on the stairs that lead to the tunnel and then to the restroom itself. I sighed and looked at the time: still 40 minutes to go. That was fine, we still have time. We just sat in the line and tried to chit-chat about various stuff to take his mind away from his soon-to-be bursting bladder. 30 minutes, and we made really slow progress. But we were getting there. 25 minutes and we were halfway through. I checked my phone and discovered that I had no network connection underground. The group could’ve been sold to the slave traders by now and there was no way for me to know. 20 minutes left and in an unprecedented turn of events, there was no more line to the women’s restroom; only for the men’s. I saw my chance and went to negotiate with the two ladies that were working there, cleaning and taking the money. I showed them Mike, and probably being impressed by his angelic look and bulging eyes (clearly a sign of an imploding bladder) they agreed to let him jump the line and go to the ladies room. Ah, the sound of singing Angels was never sweeter than when Mike rushed to the WC.

  With 18 minutes to go, I went outside to check my phone and was relieved I only had a message from Amir (from the program office) regarding the girl that had to visit the Eiffel Tower later that day. In all the madness of the day, I even forgot about her. I went back inside thinking Mike would’ve been done by now. 15 minutes and he was still in there. Wow, he REALLY needed to go. 10 minutes. Was he alright in there? 5 minutes and my heart started beating faster on a crazy fast rhythm while my palms were sweating more than Eminem’s. 2 minutes and still no sign of Mike. What was going on? Now we were officially late and I was really worried. First because of his safety, second because the group was probably waiting outside for me, with no way of contacting me. And also, there was a crazy bus driver driving around in circles, with also no way of getting in touch with me…

[onuen]

#original photography #louvre museum #academia #statue #Old pictures from an old visit to the Louvre I thought I might share

[trespiratesque]

Day 6

Sunday, 4/16

Today was Easter. Beck slept in, as he likes to do on Sundays, and I again spent the morning writing. The bananas I'd gotten from Monoprix yesterday were not as perfect and spotless as I'm used to, only about half to two-thirds of the meat was unbruised, so I ate them both for breakfast. We went out hoping for bread - it is truly irresistible - but found a convenience store, where we got some juice, garlic and onion, things like that. Across the street from the convenience store was a curious place - a store called Picard, populated entirely by freezers. (Sorry I haven't watched enough TNG to know if there's a good Picard/freezer reference to make, please email me if you can enlighten me on this matter.) Their stock was 95% frozen food and 5% cookies/crackers. The variety was impressive (obviously we went in), to the point where they have a catalog you can take home (obviously we took one). We also bought a few backup meals in case we wound up in another "everything is closed" situation.

Not everything was closed. But the French take days off very seriously, in that nearly every worker expects to work no more than six days per week. I get the sense that part-time jobs here are a lot more stable than back home - you won't work TThFSu one week and MTWF the next week, you have a regular schedule. Even the Louvre is closed on Tuesdays. So many things close on Sundays, and they especially aren't open at 9:45am on Easter Sunday. When I went back out much later, I would see that more things were open. In the morning, though, we walked a long way and didn't find an open bakery We occasionally spotted a person holding a baguette and peer down the tiny alley whence they came, trying to see where the Precious came from.

When we got home, the next item to tackle was the laundry machine. The night before, it had just run and run and run, with wet clothes coming out at the end. We downloaded an English manual for a similar model and pored over its pages, trying to interpret the unfamiliar symbols. We began an experiment with it under controlled conditions. I told my parents via email that I would call them at 4pm my time, since I hadn't spoken with them since we arrived.

And then my friend Lauren, who is living in Paris this month with her dog and her fiance, asked if I wanted to join her at Les Puces de Saint-Ouen. Les puces means flea market, and knowing nothing more than that I heartily assented. Beck was welcome, but decided to stay home and enjoy some quiet time. We arranged to meet just outside the nearest Metro station, the terminus of the 4 line - all the exits are helpfully labeled and named, so you can say exit #2 and everyone will be able to find it. So I got my shit together, including a bag for any potential purchases. I was thinking maybe a straight-edged knife and a wooden spoon, both of which I wanted for the kitchen and were things I would easily be able to find at the flea markets I've been to in my life.

I met Lauren exactly as promised, outside a store called La Corner de la Recyclerie. I was buoyed by seeing her and by having a new adventure companion - not that I'd been down, or that Beck is anything less than sterling. But adventures take on a different tone, depending who's in the adventuring party, and I'm always interested in sampling new methods. For instance, Lauren might feel confident visiting a place where I might otherwise be afraid to go. She may pause to look at objects I would have passed by. But I'm getting ahead of myself.

The region between the Metro and Les Puces is presently occupied by a lot of construction work, followed by a huge sprawl of people selling newly-manufactured junk. Clothes and purses knocked off from recognized brands, bongs, wall hangings, caps. Men stood stationary in the passing crowd beneath a wide highway, wearing garlands of sunglasses and pushing cell phone cases under strangers' noses. I can't imagine that's a very successful business model, but they're still there so it must be working on someone. It took us some time to penetrate this outer layer, and I admit I began to feel disappointment when I thought that this might be what we had come to see. But Lauren's sense of adventure (and direction) led us onwards, past more and more rickety stalls, until we started to see more permanent structures clustering around the small streets.

These were the wonderlands. We wandered squat alleys lined with plate glass and open doorways, turning sideways to pass mannequins loaded with antique hats, brooches, pins, scarves, vests, bags. Card tables covered in wooden boxes of beads or chandelier crystals, postcards, comic books. It reminded me of the Portobello Road scene from Bedknobs and Broomsticks. (Dang, Disney has Youtube locked down so hard that I can't find a link to the original version.) I cannot overstate the quantity, and for the most part, quality of the things we found there. We spent hours visiting stores, and must have walked right by hundreds barely able to glance at their contents. Toys, books, art, records, furniture (oh God the furniture), tools, lace...everything. I abandoned the hunt for a knife and a wooden spoon as soon as I realized what we had really found, and devoted myself to looking at (and touching, when appropriate) all of the beautiful things rescued from history. I saw surprisingly few items that made me cringe at their racism, and no weapons or war memorabilia apart from some pins.

Lauren was fascinated by the many chandeliers we saw, and I enjoyed her enthusiasm. I bought two pins for myself, one of Link in the style of the old NES game manuals, and a bottlecap pin I thought was cool. I also bought one for Lauren, a tiny lipstick. All of the shopkeepers were very kind, and are clearly used to tourists, though we did both practice some of our French. Lauren and her fiance are doing an intensive French class while they're here, which I think is so wonderful. It's a little out of my price range while I'm not working, but I can't remember the last time I was so interested in the idea of a class. Espcecially since there's very little homework.

One place I especially want to mention is a huge vintage/antique clothing store on the second floor of one of the indoor-ish markets. It was staffed by a man in a Napoleonic-era soldier's uniform and a statuesque woman dressed like an Art Deco Vogue cover illustration. You weren't allowed to touch much, but they had tons of undergarments from a variety of eras - corsets, bustiers, girdles - that I know would give some of my friends fits to see. There were beautiful jackets over on the men's side, and so much more that I was honestly too intimidated to approach.

(Remember when I told my parents I would call them at 4? Haha neither did I until about 2. I texted Beck to see if he would be willing to proxy for me, and he did. He spoke with them for 17 minutes, where my later phone call with them was more like six. Ah well, good that they like him!)

After a couple hours of enchanted browsing, we found me a kebab sandwich and we were able to catch up with a little more focus. Conversations inside the markets were frequently interrupted by "oh, look over there" and "pardonnez-moi," making it difficult to hold onto threads. Lauren had some local queer info to share with me, and we talked about a lot of things. I was very grateful that she had invited me out, and I felt revitalized (if footsore) by the time we wandered out of the market's limits. In fact, we wandered outside the city limits. Les Puces are juuuust at the border of Paris, and walking just a few blocks had taken us into the suburbs. We sat in a park and discussed the future, and how to share happiness and excitement without guilt when the world is in such a dark place. And then we found our way back to the Metro - fortunately, Lauren is a better navigator than I am. And before parting ways, we agreed to plan another meeting with our partners in tow. What a pleasurable outing this was!

Pictures, I hear you demanding. Photos! Well, I didn't take any pictures of anything. Not one single picture all day. Many places had signs precluding photography, and I didn't feel up to asking for permission in the others. So I just tucked the memories away for myself. Sorry, you'll just have to visit! Or maybe next time I will feel emboldened - because I absolutely must visit this place again with Beck. He will like it as much as I do, if not more.

When I got home, I took a short walk with Beck, after which he rubbed my tired feet. I called my parents (who are enjoying the weather down the shore). We played a new Alice-themed card game called Parade. I trounced him in the first round, and he won the next two. He made some potatoes for dinner to go with the leftover lentils, and I threw a simple salad together. We started a game of Scrabble over the meal, but grew tired before we could finish. It felt nice to be able to leave the game unfinished overnight.

#les puces #flea market #antiquing #paris #travel #queer

[onuen]

#original photography #gold #jewel #greek antiquities #piece of a necklace? #1st or 2nd century CE #so beautiful #look at those incredible details #Old pictures from an old visit to the Louvre I thought I might share #my pictures

[onuen]

#original photography #good doggo #fragment of a mosaic #limestone opus tessellatum #between 475 and 525 CE #Syria #depicting a hunting dog running along side a lion #Old pictures from an old visit to the Louvre I thought I might share #my pictures

[onuen]

#original photography #Dinos #Vase de Pergame #marbre #2nd century BC #academia #Old pictures from an old visit to the Louvre I thought I might share