There’s miles of memory between us- A FrUK ficlet

bucketsofcrazylove:

Yes, folks, I’m back from my hibernation and I decided it was time to post FrUK. I felt very historically touched at the time, and it resulted in this. I hope it doesn’t suck and that it makes sense.

~
I hate the Channel. It’s there, always there, angry and turbulent, dark and unforgiving. And I can’t swim. I can’t swim across it or away from you and the bloody Channel just haunts me. You’re right on the other side, legs crossed, lilies blooming, wine so dark in the glass in your hand and on your lips.

And then the Chunnel came. It’s like I touched you for the first time, when the tunnel was dug. I remember wanting to kiss your smiling lips. But I didn’t. I didn’t wipe the frown off my face until later that night when I went home and I remember grinning into my cup of Earl Grey, my cheek straining, long time unused. I close my eyes and I can’t get it out of my head, your smiling face, your blue eyes dark like the sea dividing us, shining like the night, staring down wide at me. I used to think you were a fairy, you know. But then you called me Albion and smiled and I knew fairies were never that beautiful.

And I remember Napoleon and his obsession, I remember you broken and shaking in Waterloo, crying, the gashes on your neck open and bleeding again. Gilbert was next to you apologising over and over, saying he didn’t mean, he didn’t want it and you were screaming at both of us, at the sky, at Bonaparte because, you said, you’d given half your soul to rid yourself of the kings. And then we came, you said, and you ruined everything. You were pulling on your hair, they were charred, you cut them and it was the first time I’d ever seen you with your hair short. You were still beautiful, bloodied and furious, but God, I’m so sorry.

You hated me again, like you hadn’t hated me since 1430 and I don’t know if you’ve forgiven me. I some ways I hope you didn’t, I hope you still despise me, so that I suffer.

And I dream. How would your skin feel under my fingertips? What would your lips look like red and swollen, kissed? What would my bites and bruises look like on your body? I blush and hunch my shoulders, hiding my face in a teacup when you smirk at me across the room, and I’ve seen you in my dreams like that.

It’s twisted and I shouldn’t, but I love you, you, my life-long enemy. I’ve seen your blood on the ground, I’ve seen you destroy and rebuild yourself from your ashes. But I love you, selfishly. I love you as I can, from afar, the sea between us, the tunnel connecting us. I love you like the moon loves the sun in the starless night. I love you like I shouldn’t. But I do, I will, and I always have.



rusamefics:

He honestly does wonder at times. He’s perfectly aware why he had fallen for her, but he’s never quite figured why she stayed with him for as long as she had. Even as the arguments and bickering between them grew, they would curl together in his small hovel of an apartment and sleep through the night clinging on to one another. She could have left at any moment, even the same night she asked if he could ever imagine them living outside of the city and he made half-baked responses about how profitable his line of work is really. Amelia hadn’t been pleased at his answer and left to stay with a friend. Ivan didn’t understand why until The Scare, the small time frame where all she did was cry until they learned it was nothing but a false alarm.

There was nothing growing inside of her, which left him feeling a bit sad, but she was overjoyed. She packed her bags and left that night.

image

mooliesauce:

ellieiero:

you know in like 20 or 30 years or so theres gonna be a section in history books dedicated to this time period where gays were fighting for their right to marry and suffering from discrimination

and the kids learning about it in class are going to be disgusted by the mere fact that gays had to even try to fight for what was rightfully theirs

I think about this a lot