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darkbluekies · 5 months

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GOLDEN TRIAL

Yandere!mafia x yandere!female!mafia x female!yandere x yandere!king x yandere!doctor x male!detective!reader

Summary: Its 1935 and you've been sent on the Liner Normandie to retrieve a stolen painting. You have six suspects and the clock is ticking — you only have four days before the ship reaches New York to find it. But soon, you find yourself caught up in something even more serious than you could have believed.

Warnings: getting hit in the head with a bottle, kidnapping, mentions of drugging, stalker behavior, light misogyny(?), guns, needles, violence

Word count: 11.7k

DAY 1 — Debark

The ship towers over you like a mad giant. Gray smoke rises from the two forward funnels. It’s the biggest in the world, bigger than any man made object that can float. You shake your head. Focus. You’re not here for pleasure. You continue your way over to the terminal. The agency sent you in hopes of finding the lost painting, no one else. You need to stay focused, they’re counting on you.

Without questioning, you give the fake ID to the man behind the desk. When you had started out as an agent, you were always nervous that your covers would be blown and you would be found out. Nowadays, you’ve noticed that if you look nervous, risk are that you’ll be asked questions.

You walk over the gangway with your bag in hand. You have just above four days to find the painting — a very famous portrait of a woman with her head slightly turned to the viewer, wearing a big, blank pearl earring. It was stolen from the Mauritshuis in the Netherlands two weeks ago, and details have revealed that it has been taken to France, and will be moved to America on the SS Normandie. The painting itself isn’t insanely big, but the fuss about it’s disappearance is. You have to find it at all cost.

Before you got here, you had time to take a look at the passenger list. There are six people you recognise, where of five could be your potential smugglers.

Silas Achilleos, a mob boss wanted by the police, and his second in command. A man like him was probably not interested in paintings, but he could have clients who did. And those could pay him heaps of money.

Edmund of Vesanus, a young king who likes the bachelor life. He surrounds himself with loads of women and alcohol, partying like nothing matters. He would take the painting because he doesn’t want anyone else to have it. He’s traveling with his doctor, a certain Karl Kry who you don’t know much about.

Hedwig Carter, a young heiress who’s father is noble, and who's mother is famous in the acting business is traveling with a young woman named Jerry Kim, someone you guess is Hedwig’s chaperone. Hedwig is known for getting whatever she wants with a snap of her fingers, and if she wants a painting … she will get it. Jerry, however, does not have much information out in the open. Everything about her before she started to work for Hedwig is wiped away. You want to know who she is and where she comes from, and what she would want a painting for.

You walk down the stairs to your cabin on A-deck and start to pack up, using the second bed in the room to store your bag. After settling in, you decide to take a look around this magnificent vessel to get familiar with it. You make your way up to the promenade deck and give the open cinema by the stairs a quick look. You guess that they’re going to put on movies once the ship reaches open water. If you’re lucky you’ll see something interesting. And hopefully, you have the time to watch it.

The promenade is enclosed decorated with a gray floor, comfortable deck chairs and clear windows. A line in the tricolor fashion runs along the floor, as if to show where to walk. You walk on the line, flashing a little childish smile. You’ve left Le Havre and are on your way out towards the Atlantic’s open arms. The clock is ticking.

Your eyes lock onto someone walking towards you and you immediately realize that it is Hedwig and her chaperone, an east asian girl … wearing pants and a long sleeved shirt. You don’t realize how obvious it is that you’re staring until the woman opens her mouth and you realize that they’ve stopped right in front of you.

“What are you staring at, sir?” she asks, raising her eyebrows and putting her hands in her pockets. “If you want to say something, do it.”

“No—no, sorry”, you say quickly, feeling your cheeks heat up. “I didn’t mean to stare.”

“Tell me, do you approve of women who wear pants?”

It sure looks weird, but is it? When you think about it, aren't pants just pieces of the same fabric as skirts, just sewn differently?

“Uh, I … suppose so.”

To that, Jerry nods approvingly.

“I don’t see why only men should wear pants”, she says.

“Well, I don't feel comfortable wearing them”, Hedwig chuckles nervously and smiles softly. “But they fit you, Jerry. They really do.”

“You must be miss Carter”, you say, as if you don't know, and shake her hand. “It’s nice to meet you.”

“Nice to meet you too, please call me Hedwig! Who are you?”

“I’m Axel Ainsworth, I'm in the art industry.”

Hedwig’s smile widens. “That is very interesting, I love art. Especially portraits. Capturing humanity’s differences and details are magical. Don’t you think so, Jerry?”

“I’m more for that new thing — surrealism, I think it’s called — where everything is here and there and weird to believe”, Jerry says, shrugging. “But portraits can be okay too, depending on what type.”

Hedwig has turned her eyes to you, glued them onto you as if you are the only thing she could ever see. “Are you traveling alone, mister Ainsworth?” she asks.

You have remembered your entire forged background and learned it skillfully. Even your fake name rolls off the tongue as smoothly as if it was your real name. You're traveling alone because you're on your way home to your fiancé from a business trip.

“I see”, Hedwig smiles and turns to the woman next to her. “Let me introduce you to my chaperone, miss Jerry Kim. You're always welcome to sit with us during dinner. We'd be more than happy to accompany you.”

“I'm grateful to know that, miss.”

With that said, the two women walk away. You frown and sigh. Hedwig seems like a very sweet young woman, it’d be a shame if it was her who was the culprit. Her chaperone, on the other hand, gives you weird vibes. Something about the look in her eyes … as if she’s looking right through you, scanning you.

You continue down the promenade until you turn into the Winter Garden, a half moon-shaped room full of plants and lamps and big, wide windows, overlooking the special shaped bow that has given Normandie the speed it has. Passengers have already started gathering in the Winter Garden to talk to friends and family and watch how Normandie makes her way out onto the Atlantic. None of them resembles the men you’re looking for. You continue your way through the ship, eventually finding yourself in the smoking room on the embarkment deck, where you had stepped onto the ship. You had only glanced at the room before, but now when you’re standing in the smoking room — and very well the lounge since they’re connected — you realize how stupid you must have been to miss it. There must be ten meters up to the ceiling, you think, and bigger than a concert hall. A long, grey staircase leads up to the outside deck. The art deco interior is modern and sleek, but the whip overall has a classic, conservative design that reminds you of the great liners of the old age. You sigh while thinking of the Mauretania and the Olympic, Britain's biggest rivals which now are laid up in Jarrowtown, side by side, ready to be scrapped. There’s something melancholy about it all, and at the same time something beautiful, starting as enemies and now ending it all under the same flag, together.

You shake your head. Focus. Your eyes catch someone standing by the windows, someone very familiar. Silas and his right hand man. You move closer, trying to hear what they’re talking about.

“I’m not complaining, I just think that it is annoying that it has to take four days to get to America”, Silas mutters and takes a whiff off his cigar.

“Any other ship would take double the time, sir”, his second in command says apologetically. “I doublechecked.”

“I don’t like being in one place for too long.”

“See it as a vacation. You’re deserving of it. Let’s enjoy some good food, alcohol and some company. It’ll do you good.”

“I don’t like to be in one place too long. Especially when we know that they're on board!”

You furrow your brows. Who?

“Nothing will happen.”

Silas hums and smokes again. You’ve stood by the windows a few meters away, pretending to be interested in the horizon. Silas turns his eyes to you.

“You, sir”, he says, pointing at you with his cigar.

You look away from the ocean. Both Silas and his second in command have turned to you, their dark eyes looking right at you.

“Yes?” you ask.

“Is it true that the Normandie keeps her speed?” Silas asks. “No matter the weather?”

“I believe so, sir.”

Silas nods in satisfaction. “Good.”

You decide to try to get some information out of him. You know who he is, but he doesn’t know who you are, doesn’t know that you’re out to get him. To him, you’re just another first class passenger.

“Are you in a hurry?” you wonder.

“You could say that”, Silas sighs and turns his eyes out the window again.

You hold out your hand. “I’m Axel Ainsworth.”

Silas second in command gives him a short look before his boss shakes your hand. His grip is hard, firm.

“You can call me Silas”, he says. “No need for a surname.” He takes another blow on the cigar. “What brings you out on the ocean like this?”

“I’ve been on a business trip, but now I’m going home to my fiancé”, you say, pretending to smile at the thought of your made up fiancé.

“What business are you in?”

“Art.”

Silas lifts one of black his eyebrows. “Art?”

His second in command straightens his back.

“Yes, sir”, you say.

“Are you a … painter?” Silas wonders.

“God no, I can’t handle a brush even if my life depended on it. I’m an art trader, I help people sell their paintings for the right price.”

“I see. Well, one can’t do everything.” He blows a cloud of smoke. “Have you traveled on this ship before, Axel?”

“No, it’s my first time. But I’m not unfamiliar with the ocean, I used to travel a lot on the older ships in my younger days.”

“Then I suppose you have a favorite?”

You think for a second. “I did like that Cunarder, the Lusitania … such a shame Germany sunk it.”

“You never know which ships are safe or not, just look at that Titanic fiasco. They thought it was the safest ship afloat. Yeah, sure it was.” Silas shrugs. “Wouldn’t surprise if this peace of junk also sinks. Why wouldn’t it?”

“Well …”

Silas’s second in command taps him on the shoulder and whispers something in his ear. Silas frowns and nods before turning to you.

“It was nice speaking with you, but I have some business to deal with”, he says shortly.

“Have a good day”, you say.

Silas nods politely and leaves. You follow him and his second in command with your eyes until they’ve left the smoking room. He was nicer than you had anticipated.

Your next suspect, you find in the dining hall that evening. You’ve met up with Hedwig and Jerry in the reception. Hedwig is wearing a pink evening gown with pink gloves. Her honey blonde hair is curled and put up with hairpins. Jerry is wearing a dark purple, sleeveless dress, showing a couple tattoos. In her short, black hair, there’s a little decoration that reminds you of a flower. She's wearing dark lipstick, in contrast to Hedwig who wears a Hollywood red.

“They wouldn’t let me in unless I dressed ladylike”, she mutters.

“I think that you look gorgeous, Jerry”, Hedwig smiles and takes her hand.

“I guess that it isn’t that bad.”

“I like your tattoos”, you say. “Where did you get them from?”

“A tattoo artist, of course.” She then twists her arm to show something on the inner side of her bicep. “Okay, I made this one myself.”

You step closer, seeing a small heart tattooed on her arm.

“That’s cute”, you smile.

“Thank you”, Jerry smiles smugly. “Hurts like hell though.”

“I can imagine.”

The stewards allow you into the dining room and — for what feels like the thousand time today — you’re amazed by the interior. Silver walls with golden ceiling and art decor wherever you could see. In the middle of the long dining hall, there’s a gigantic, golden statue of a woman.

Hedwig and Jerry leads you to a table and sit down. That’s when you see your last suspects. They’re walking through the dining hall, dressed in tuxedos. The king can’t be more than twenty years old. His doctor is a minimum of fifteen years older.

“You son of a bitch”, he says suddenly and looks at the table you’re sitting at. “Hedwig?”

Hedwig’s eyes widen in shock.

“Edmund, what are you doing here?” she asks with a smile. “Sit with us, please.”

The king and his doctor sit down at your table.

“Good evening”, the blonde doctor says and shakes yours and Jerry's hand before introducing himself. “I’m Doctor Kry.”

“Nice to meet you, I’m Axel Ainsworth”, you say.

“This is king Edmund.”

You’re about to shake his hand, but Doctor Kry removes your hand.

“I’m sorry, but he doesn’t shake people’s hands”, he whispers.

“Oh, I see”, you say.

The king gives you a bored look.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, your majesty”, you tell him politely.

“How do you know Hedwig?” he asks shortly. “I haven’t seen you before.”

“We met today”, Hedwig smiles. “Axel, Edmund is my relative. It’s been months since we last saw each other.”

“I’ve told you to visit.”

“I know.”

“Are you that much of a hypochondriac that you need a doctor to accompany you while you’re traveling?” Jerry chuckles.

“What are you doing here, Jerry?” Edmund mutters coldly.

“She’s my chaperone”, Hedwig explains.

“Oh fuck me.”

“Your majesty, maybe you should think about your language”, Doctor Kry says. “We are around others.”

Edmund rolls his eyes before looking at you in a bored manner.

“Tell me”, he says, “where do you come from, mister Ainsworth?”

You ramble your rehearsed background. Edmund nods along with you.

“I’ve always wanted to visit that place”, Doctor Kry says. “I’ve heard that it is a beautiful city.”

“It is”, you say.

“And now you’re going to America”, Edmund says. “What were you doing in France?”

“I was on a business trip.”

“What type?”

It strikes you as odd. He doesn’t sound interested, but still he asks you curious questions.

“I’m in the art business”, you say.

“What for?” Edmund wonders.

“Art is beautiful and should be getting what it is worth.”

“I like art”, Doctor Kry. “I would do anything to see the Mona Lisa.”

“Why didn’t you visit it when you were in France?” Hedwig wonders.

“We didn’t have time … Edmund didn’t want to go there.”

“Why should I squash together with other people to see paintings?” Edmund scoffs. “If I want to see a painting, I get it for myself. That’s that.”

“But do you like art, your majesty?” you ask.

“Everyone likes art”, Edmund replies nonchalantly. “That’s what gives life meaning.”

“Have you read a certain story, Edmund, called ‘The Picture of Dorian Gray’?” Jerry asks with a teasing smile. “Thought that it’d fit you.”

The story is about a man who wants nothing more than to remain youthful … to the point where he has a painting of himself where all of his sins can be seen. In the end, the picture is as gruesome as can be, but Dorian himself is as youthful as he started.

“Oh, shut up, Jerry”, Edmund mutters angrily. “One day, I’ll teach you manners, believe me.”

Jerry smirks.

You eat dinner together with the young king and the doctor. Afterward, to soothe your aching stomach, the five of you walk up to the outside promenade deck to get some fresh air. You strut under the lifeboats, under the stars. Above you, a big luminous sign spells out the name 'NORMANDIE’, casting a soft light on you. Doctor Kry has lent his blazer to Hedwig, and you’ve tried to offer yours to Jerry who refused before you had the time to open your mouth.

“Ladies, I think it’s time for you to retreat”, Edmund says, sounding sweeter than before. “It’s starting to get late.”

“The evening is young”, Jerry insists.

“I’m tired”, Hedwig yawns.

“Jerry, be a good girl and bring Hedwig to your cabin”, Edmund grits. “Please. I’m not fighting with you again.”

Jerry rolls her eyes, removes the doctor’s blazer and tells you goodnight. Hedwig gives you and Edmund a hug. Her flowery perfume clogs up your nose, dulls your head for a moment. The three of you wish the girls a pleasant evening and continue walking.

“Hedwig is a stupid girl”, Edmund says, strolling slowly. “One can’t help but want to take care of her.”

“She seems very sweet”, you admit.

“She is. Just very naive. I’ve promised her father that I’m going to take care of her whenever I meet her.”

“Her chaperone is … interesting”, Doctor Kry remarks.

“God, yes, I hate her!”

“What is it about her that you don’t like?” you ask curiously.

“I do not like girls like her. Did you see her tattoos? She often walks around in man’s clothing and I don’t think it’s fitting for a woman — especially someone that is close to my relative. I don’t want her influencing Hedwig.”

“I don’t think you have to worry, your majesty”, Doctor Kry says calmly. “I think Hedwig is going to be okay.”

“If there’s one thing I’m glad for, it is that Hedwig is predictable.” He groans. “I need a cigar. Let’s go to the smoking room.” Edmund turns around to give you a look. “Axel, are you joining?”

“I don’t know”, you reply. “It’s the first day, I’m still tired from embarking.”

“Don’t tell me that you’re going to bed now.” He looks at his expensive watch. “The clock is ten. Stay one hour.”

You give up and follow them to the smoking room. Maybe it is for the best. If you want to get close to them, you’ll need to spend as much time observing them as you can.

Sitting with them in the smoking room, you find that Silas and his second in command aren't here among the other men. You frown, thinking that they would be here since they were earlier.

When you’re allowed to leave, two hours later, your mind is fogged up by smoke and whiskey. You make your way through the empty corridors to your cabin, closing and locking it behind you. Tiredly, you sink down on your bed and sigh out. You have observed them, and talked with them the entire day, and yet you haven’t figured out who could be hiding the painting. They all seem interested in art. They all could have taken it.

There's so many questions. What kind of doctor is Kry? Where did Jerry come from and why is there no information about her? Why would someone like Hedwig hire her as her chaperone? And who is that person that Silas doesn't want on board? Is there someone you haven't accounted for, someone else that can have stolen the painting?

You hide your face in your hands and groan. Three days left.

DAY 2 — Sea

You wake up early, get ready and head out into the corridor. You lock the cabin door behind you, feeling the handle to make sure that it is locked and make your way to the Winter Garden to have a cup of coffee. The large windows give you a wide view of the calm ocean. The sun rises up from the blue water in a magical sense that has you hypnotized. It's all so very quiet and relaxing.

After your cup of coffee, you stretch your muscles, and contemplate going down to the swimming pool to take a few laps, to warm up your muscles and clear your head for the day's work. You pay the purser and make your way down to the swimming pool on D deck. The tile walls are covered with art that reminds you of ancient Greece and the new, abstract type of paint. The pool itself was formed as a long rectangle with curved corners, green steel ladders, and a steep and a shallow part. Throughout the shallow part, there were thick, dull spikes, likely to stop children from going out into the deep end.

Despite being the early hours of the first morning on board, someone is already in the water. Doctor Kry.

“Good morning”, he says. “You’re up early.”

“So are you”, you reply.

“I always need to clear my head before starting the day.”

“What about the king? Is he swimming too?”

“Don't kid around. He doesn’t wake up until nine. I wouldn’t be able to get him out of bed before that anyways. He’s a very deep sleeper and hates getting woken up.”

You feel your heart skip a beat.

“Where do you have your cabin?” you ask.

“On the promenade deck, one of the suites. A-54.”

Bingo.

“Why do you ask?” Doctor Kry wonders.

“I was just thinking that since the king doesn't want to be disturbed, choosing the right cabin place is important.”

“Did we choose a good cabin then?”

You nod, despite not knowing a single thing about cabin placements. The only thing you're aware of is to be as far away from the noisy engine room as possible.

Perhaps if you asked the purser, you could get the number of the other cabins. He, if anyone, should have the passenger list.

You glance back at Doctor Kry who's still hanging by the side of the pool. This is your time to investigate him. You slowly get into the water.

“Such a shame that you didn't get to visit the Mona Lisa”, you say as you start to swim. “It's a very pretty painting.”

“So I've heard”, Doctor Kry says slowly.

“My favorite painting is ‘the girl with the pearl earrings’, have you had the opportunity to see it?”

He's quiet for a second.

“I haven't”, he says, sounding low. “I guess that, an art trader like you, must be troubled by its disappearance.”

“Of course”, you answer.

At this point, a detective and an art trader don't seem like different things, especially since both would be looking for the same thing.

“Can I ask you something?” you wonder.

“It depends”, Doctor Kry says. “Go ahead.”

“Forgive me for being nosy, but why doesn't his majesty like Jerry?”

“He is very old fashioned. He doesn't think that women should be dressed in pants or have tattoos. Edmund is very self centered, yes, but he's also very possessive of the ones he holds dear — example being miss Hedwig. As you may know, his parents were murdered by enemies to the monarchy and ever since, the only relatives that have been in his life have been Hedwig and her family. They're very close in age too — Hedwig being eighteen and Edmund nineteen — which has been a very important thing for him. He sees her as a friend, maybe his only friend. So having someone that could potentially blemish his friend and only family is a threat to Edmund.”

“Then why does Hedwig have Jerry?”

“I don't know. It could be because of a teenage revolt. Jerry is different to everything that Hedwig has ever known … and now that she's eighteen she might want to try something new.”

“Do you think that Edmund is worried about her? Because of Jerry?”

“I wouldn't say worried, because the only thing the king worries about is himself, but I think that there's something along those lines. I think that he sees Hedwig as an extended part of himself rather than her own person.”

You nod carefully.

“I wonder where Hedwig found Jerry” you say. “How someone like her could get the job as Hedwig’s chaperone. Do you know where she comes from?”

Doctors Kry suddenly laughs.

“You ask an awful amount of questions this early in the morning”, he says and gets out of the water. “I'm sorry, I don't have more answers for you, Axel.”

You look up at him, where he stands on the tile floor. He looks down at you with a small smirk.

“You remind me of a little boy”, he says and lowers his eyes onto your physic. “You're awfully trained to be an art trader. One could think that you were an Olympian.”

“Shouldn't a doctor be pleased that I am taking care of myself?”

“I am. You look good, healthy. Just found it humorous.” He wipes away a few drops of water trying to go into his blue eyes. “I suppose that I will see you later. Goodbye, Axel.”

“Goodbye.”

You decide to do a few more laps around the swimming pool before getting up and drying yourself. Tomorrow morning, you will sneak into Edmund’s and Doctor Kry’s cabin to see if the painting is in there. But for now, you need to go to the purser.

You change into your suit. In the front pocket, you keep a little commonplace book to take notes. You make your way back to the pursers office. The man behind the desk gives you a service smile and asks how he can help you.

“Do you happen to have the passenger list?” you ask. “I would like to know where some people’s cabins are located.”

“What is your name?” the purser wonders.

“Axel Ainsworth.”

“Who are you wanting to find?”

“Hedwig Carter and Silas Achilleos.”

The purser disappears into his office. You wait impatiently, suddenly feeling watched. Carefully, you glance over your shoulder, but the only ones in eyesight are two men who are conversing. The purser returns. You fish out your notebook, ready to note it down.

“Miss Carter has cabin B-23 and Mister Achilleos has cabin A-11.”

You write it down. “Thank you.”

With that said, you leave to go to the staircase. You’re not sure where to go, so you decide to take a stroll down the enclosed promenade while thinking. Doctor Kry knows more, you think, but he doesn’t want to tell.

You sit down on one of the deck chairs to write down what you have gotten to know, so that you won’t forget any important information. You write down the suspects' motives to steal the painting, Silas’s weird enemy, their relation to each other — which only connects Edmund, Kry, Jerry and Hedwig — as well as the answers that you have gotten from Doctor Kry earlier today. Who has the painting? Your first instinct says that Doctor Kry doesn’t have it, because he’s not interested in that painting. Had it been the Mona Lisa, things would have been different, but this painting doesn’t interest him. That doesn’t mean that the painting couldn’t be in his room, though, because Edmund could still want to have it.

You stand up after a while and continue walking. Your eyes fixate on something in the distance. A woman dressed in pants talking to a man in a suit that seems to be hiding in the corner of the promenade. You frown.

What does Jerry have to do with Silas's second in command?

You want to move closer, but you don’t want to expose yourself. You’ll have to change the relations in your notes, because there’s clearly something more than you’ve been led to know.

What if Jerry’s lack of background has something to do with the mafia? It would explain her tattoos … that or being a sailor. But because of what you've just witnessed you can most likely scratch the latter. A shiver runs down your spine. If Jerry is dangerous, then Hedwig could be too. You stop in your tracks. Hedwig? Really? Edmund said it himself, she's a stupid, naive girl. Could she be dangerous?

You walk up to the open deck in the stern of the first class accommodations where you find a few kids playing something reminding you of curling. You sit down on the zig-zag benches placed out on the deck and watch them. They notice you looking and ask you to join them, so you do. You decide that maybe you can pleasure yourself in a harmless children's game for a few minutes, and continue the mission after.

When lunchtime rolls around, you make your way down to the dining hall. It's emptier than yesterday evening. You find Silas and his second in command sit by a table. Silas notices you and waves you over. Your feet bring you to him.

“Sorry to cut our talk short yesterday, Axel”, he says politely and gesticulates at the chair in front of him. “Sit down. Let me buy you lunch.”

And so, he does. You sit down and try your best not to glance at the second in command who’s black eyes burn through you. Your stomach twists.

You both get lamb, something you have eaten many times before. Still, it tastes better at sea.

“What did you say that you were here for again?” Silas asks suddenly as he’s cutting his meat.

His voice sounds different from yesterday. You clear your throat to make sure that your voice won’t shiver.

“I’ve been on a business trip”, you say. “And now I’m going home.”

“Yes, yes, I know that. What I mean is that you didn’t tell me why you were in France. What kind of business trip was it? What did you do? I know that you were there for art, but what do one do on an art business trip? You have to forgive me for being curious.”

“I was meeting some people from the Louvre.”

“I see. About what?”

“Art’s future, how to make sure they don’t break or smudge or get tainted by the sun. And how to protect them. You must have heard about ‘the girl with the pearl earrings’ missing?”

“Yes, of course. Isn’t it weird that someone would steal that painting? Why not a Monet painting? Or the Mona lisa?”

“I don’t know. Maybe taking one of them would be too big of a deal. Maybe the one taking the painting thought that since it isn’t one of the most cherished, they’d have an easier time taking it … that the commotion about it would die out sooner or later.”

“Perhaps.”

You’ve noticed that you haven’t heard the second in command’s voice at all, beside the talk he had with Silas yesterday. He doesn’t speak to anyone else than Silas … and Jerry. You still don’t dare look at him, scared that he will see right through you and know that you’ve seen him talk to her. You wonder what they were talking about.

“Did you have a good time yesterday?” Silas asks.

“Yes, I did”, you reply.

“Did you meet someone?”

“No, I didn’t. I chit-chatted with some people here and there, but kept mostly to myself.”

“You do good in that. You never know who you can trust on a big ship as this. You never know who wants you good or not.”

“Why are you traveling, Silas?” you ask innocently. “You said that you were impatient to get to America. Is there a reason?”

“Of course. Everything has a reason. But I don’t think I can share that with you. At least I shouldn’t.”

“Why not?”

Silas turns his black eyes to you and smiles slightly. His hungry gaze makes you freeze. He had seemed so sweet yesterday, but you finally see a slice of what makes him so terrifying.

“Because someone like you shouldn’t know that”, he smiles.

“I understand”, you say and take a piece of food into your mouth, to avoid speaking further.

“You have to excuse my man here”, Silas says and nods at his second in command. “He’s the shy type. He goes wherever I go, so you have to get used to him.”

“Is he your bodyguard?” you wonder.

“You could say that. But I’m always prepared in case someone wants to attack me.”

He opens his blazer, showing you a revolver tucked into the fabric. You have your own in your suitcase. Walking around with it feels too risky, but maybe you’ll have to go get it. In case anything happens.

After lunch, you’re left with a weird feeling in your stomach. You have talked with him for an hour, about everything between heaven and earth … and yet it feels like you have been having two conversations in one — one on the surface and one real.

You walk to your cabin and press down the door handle and walk into the room. The first thing that strikes you as odd is that there’s a new smell in the air. A flowery scent. You can swear that you have felt it before. Without a second to waste, you open your bag and pick up your gun, putting it in your suit. Quickly, you turn around, realizing something. Didn’t you lock the door when you went out this morning?

That evening, you spend dinner with the two girls and stay in the smoking room with Edmund for what feels like an eternity. Edmund wants to play a deck of cards with you. He seems a bit more relaxed than yesterday and even smiles a bit.

After your games against Edmund, you decide to retreat. You walk down the long, dimly lit corridor. The narrow spaces feel almost ominous at night time, although barely any daylight reaches here at daytime either. You glance over your shoulder every tenth step, hesitating, can't help but feel watched. Your hand reaches for your gun, but before you have time to get it, someone reaches up behind you and smashes something heavy in your head. Everything turns black.

DAY 3 — SEA

“He's waking up.”

Your eyes feel like lead, and your head is even heavier. It takes a few tries to open your eyes and when you finally manage to, you want nothing more than to close them again. For a few seconds, you wonder if you're dreaming. They're all here, looking down at you. You look around and notice that they've tied your hands and feet, and left you on the floor at the end of the bed, with your back against the footrest.

You catch a glimpse of the clock on the wall. Just a bit past one in the morning. The third day has begun. You have been blacked out for three hours.

Your head is pounding, making it hard to think clearly.

Jerry bends down, grabs your chin and turns your head back and forth to inspect the damage caused on your head.

“He'll live”, she says and gives your cheek a quick, but harsh, tap.

“Well, well, Y/N”, Silas says, smirking. “You're a bit nosy aren't you?”

The mention of your name causes you to twitch and widen your eyes. In your dulled stage, you wonder if you've heard wrong, but the smirk in their faces confirm that you have, indeed, not lost your hearing.

“So, you were the agent”, Silas continues and shrugs. “I gotta admit, I was hoping that it wasn't you.”

“You were smart-”, Doctor Kry starts.

“But not smart enough”, Edmund cuts him off sharply with his arms crossed over his chest. “‘Art dealer’, yeah, sure. A detective dealing with art. That's not the same, Y/N, if you didn't know that.”

Silas picks up something from his pocket, a small commonplace book.

“‘Suspects are all interested in art, could be any of them’”, he reads out loud. “‘J involved with S? Talked with SIC.’ Jerry? Involved with me? Talked with my second in command? You seem to have it all written down.”

“I was involved with Silas”, Jerry says. “I know his second in command very well.”

“How—How did you … know?” you ask, baffled. “Were you all in on it?”

“Not from the start, no”, Doctor Kry says. “I only knew Edmund and had met Hedwig before. I didn’t even know Jerry, Silas or his second in command.”

You quickly realize that Jerry is the linking chain between them. She linked Hedwig, Edmund and Kry to Silas and his second in command.

“I had already been informed and knew that there would be someone on this ship out to get me”, Silas says. “I heard that Jerry was on board and caught up with her. She told me that she and Hedwig had met you. It was her that thought it was weird that you asked all of us about art. My men dug, and found out your real identity. My men saw you speaking with the purser, hearing you ask for our cabins and decided to tell it all to me and my second in command, who told Jerry … who told the others.”

“You have more men?” you ask and can’t hide how shocked you get.

“Of course. You don’t think I would go on board with only one man? Do you think I'm stupid, darling? You, on the other hand, probably should have had someone, at least.”

“Awfully inconsiderate of your bosses, don't you think, to send you all alone?” Jerry says.

“You were looking for this, weren’t you?” Edmund asks and pulls out something from a wooden box behind him.

You stare at it with wide eyes. The painting.

“Who—Who had it?” you can’t help but question, gulping between the first word.

“Me, of course”, Edmund says with an offended, yet proud scoff. “It will do nicely in my castle.”

“Now, little Y/N, you know”, Silas says. “Are you happy now? Your mystery is solved.”

Your head hurts too much to answer. You’re not sure if you’re happy. You have learned where the painting disappeared, but you’re tied and hurt, and in the enemies’ grasp. A mixed bag, so to say.

“I can’t watch the blood”, Hedwig suddenly says and stands up from the armchair she's sitting on.

She has been the only one that hasn’t smirked at you and seems genuinely apologetic that you're here, but you don't trust that damsel in distress look anymore. She pushes through the others to reach you with a wet handkerchief in her hands. Carefully, she kneels down in front of you and wipes the wet cloth against your forehead. She wipes away the dried blood gently.

“What are you going to do now?” you spit, coming your head to the side. “Throw me overboard?”

“Not exactly”, Silas says, smiling menacingly.

“Not yet, at least”, Jerry says, grinning.

“If I don't meet my contact in New York, people will know that something has happened to me”, you say coldly. “They'll hunt you down.”

“Oh, will they now? I didn't realize that we had stolen their golden boy.” Silas's cruel smile widens. “Well, Golden Boy, plans seem to have changed.”

You glare at him in confusion. Silas pets your head twice and you hiss at the painful touch. Whatever they hit you with, it must have caused a gigantic bruise.

“Seems like we have to keep you for a while”, he says. “But you will have to stay in here, I’m afraid. You probably understand that we cannot let someone like you wander around the ship.”

You glare at him.

“Do you really think ropes will stop me?” you ask. “I'll be out of here in no time.”

“I would very much like for you to see what we do to you if you decide to break free.” He gives you a testing look before turning to his new companions. “Oh, and one more thing …” He picks up a familiar revolver, spinning it around his hand. “... thank you for the free gun.”

You want to curse at him, but keep quiet for your own sake.

“It's late, the ladies should head to bed”, he says, gesturing for Hedwig and Jerry to leave. “We need to keep someone here to make sure that our little Golden Boy won't free himself and run around, causing trouble.”

“I can take the first shift”, Doctor Kry says and golds up a syringe filled with a translucent liquid.

“Do not harm him, you hear me?” Silas tells him warningly. “I want him alive, coherent and unharmed.”

“Where am I supposed to sleep?” Edmund questions angrily. “In this cabin? Now that I'll have people staring at me?”

“You and Doctor Kry will take Y/N’s cabin”, Silas says.

“Are you fucking kidding me?”

“Stop being so spoiled, your majesty.”

“Won't that be suspicious?” Silas’s second in command questions. “If they see the young king exit and enter someone else's cabin instead of his own?”

“No one knows his cabin”, Silas says as if things were obvious. “Besides, we're in New York tomorrow anyways. It won't be a problem.” He turns to the others. “Scatter.”

The five of them walk out, leaving you and Doctor Kry alone. The doctor sits down in one of the two armchairs in front of you with a long, tired sigh. In his hand, he twirls the syringe.

“What is that?” you mutter.

“Something that will make you go to sleep if you're trying to escape”, Doctor Kry says simply, as if he was talking about watering flowers.

“Why did you hit me in the head if you had that instead?” you ask bitterly.

“Because it wasn't me, it was the second in command and Jerry.”

“Did you lie down in the swimming pool? About not knowing where Jerry came from?”

“No, Y/N, why would I? I told you that I didn't know anything. I didn't get to know until this afternoon.”

“And yet you're quick to jump the wagon to get me killed. I thought doctors were supposed to be nice.”

“I’ve never said that I was nice.”

“What do you gain from this? Why do you want to engage in collusion with people like this? What kind of doctor even are you?”

“Still, with all these questions … look, Y/N, it’s late. You’d do good in trying to get some sleep.”

“On the floor? With my head pounding in pain? With my hands and feet tied?”

“Suit yourself.”

There’s a deadly silence after that. You listen to the sounds the Normandie creates, and somehow wishes that she could save you, but you’re trapped within her, there’s nothing to be done. You rest your head back onto the edge of the footrest and sigh heavily. Doctor Kry looks at his syringe as if it is the most interesting thing he has ever witnessed.

“I'm thirsty”, you say after a while.

Doctor Kry stands up, walks over to the dressing table where a crystal carafe is waiting and pours you a glass. He returns to you and holds the glass to your lips, making you drink. You gulp it down and breathe heavily. Doctor Kry returns to his armchair.

You don't know how long you've been sitting on the floor before you start to fall asleep. You thought that you wouldn't, not in this position (figuratively and literally) but you somehow fall asleep.

“Wakey wakey, Golden Boy.”

You feel someone poke your head to the side multiple times and open your eyes to see Jerry hold a stick in her hand which she's using to poke your head.

“It's morning”, she says.

You groan groggily. She imitates you and chuckles.

“Did you have a pleasant night?” she teases.

You decide not to answer, not to humor her further. Your eyes draft onto a silver tray on the table.

“Yes, that's your breakfast”, Jerry says and lifts the tray, putting it on the floor in front of you before sitting down.

She picks up a piece of toast and holds it to your mouth. You take a bite, feeling more humiliated than ever. If only you knew that this was where you'd end up when you stepped on board in France.

“We will be in New York tomorrow”, Jerry says, holding the toast to your lips. “And we'll sneak both you and the painting past your contact.”

“It's just a painting”, you say cluelessly. “Why do you all want it so much?”

“I’m not particularly interested in the painting, but I know that Edmund and Hedwig are.”

“Why?”

“Art nerds.”

“Is it even selling for much?”

“It is — if you give it to the right consumer.”

“And you? What do you gain from this?”

“The thing isn’t about what I gain, it is what I lose … in case I let you roam freely. I don’t trust what you will do with the painting or it’s contents. Plus, you know who I am. If you wouldn’t have stuck your nosy head in everything, you wouldn’t have any problem with me.”

You suddenly realize something.

“Jerry, I need to go to the bathroom”, you say. “I haven’t been to the bathroom since before you knocked me in the head.”

She sighs heavily. “Alright, come here.”

Before pulling you up on your feet, she unties them. You stumble, almost falling on Jerry.

“Watch it, big boy”, she warns you. “If you knock me down I’m kicking you between your legs until you can’t have children.”

“If you hadn’t tied my feet, I would actually have blood in them. I can’t feel them.”

She unties your hands bitterly. You make your way into the bathroom and catch a glimpse of yourself in the mirror. Hedwig had wiped away some of the blood, but there were still traces of it in your scalp. You sigh heavily. What should you do? Finally, your hands and feet are free, but you aren’t yet. And — after a quick look around — there’s no way out. The only way out is through the door which Jerry is guarding.

You could perhaps get out by defeating Jerry, but you have something against fighting women. But, then again, she had knocked you with — what you guess was — a glass bottle. You look around for something that can help you and lay your eyes on a metal bar over the bathtub, used to pull one up. Without a second thought and will all your might, you rip it off. You give it a few squeezes, feeling if it could be strong enough to be used as a weapon and trying to find a comfortable, yet strong, grip.

You open the door quickly and swing the metal bar towards Jerry. She tries to grab it out of your hands but you push her off and knock her to the ground with the bar. You're not sure how hard you are hitting her, but it's enough force to keep her down. Quickly, you make your way past her and storm out of the cabin, almost crashing into the opposite wall in the corridor. You look around quickly, trying to think of where to go. After what Silas said, that he has more men than just his second in command lurking around, you're not sure who you can be seen by. You need to find an officer. You need to get higher.

Shit, the painting!

Your heart is beating loudly in your chest as you scurry back into the cabin. Jerry is lying on the floor, unconscious, and you almost feel bad for knocking her, but you know that it had to be done. It was her or you. Quickly, you open the wooden box and fish out the painting, tucking it under your arm. You can't hide it in your cabin, not when they know about it. You have to dispose of it somewhere safe.

Every step you take is careful, planned and mortified. You clutch the painting tightly, as if it is life itself.

Moving through the long corridor, you're certain that someone will jump out behind a corner and knock you out, like yesterday. Adrenaline is pumping through your veins, almost making you nauseous. You continue through the corridor, over to the hall with the staircases. Your suit has dried blood on it, you look (and feel) manic, will anyone take you seriously?

You freeze as you see a pair of eyes on you. Kry. His blue eyes seem to darken as he notices you, and the painting.

Quickly, you throw yourself into the elevator, and press a random button, wanting the doors to close before Doctor Kry reaches you. And they do, but when you look at the display beside you, you're going the opposite to where you need to go. New plan, you think, I have to sneak into tourist class — or third class, whatever gets you furthest away.

While standing in the elevator, you take a look at the painting to make sure that it hasn’t been damaged in this mess. You turn it around to inspect the canvas and notice something stuck in the corner of the wooden brackets. Carefully, you reach your fingers in and pull out a folded paper. Tucking the painting between your arm and your waist, you unfold the paper to find a list of names and locations … some of which you recognize. They’re all wanted criminals and you guess that the ones you don’t recognize are criminals as well. And the locations …

Your body goes cold and stiff. For a few moments, it feels like the entire world has stopped spinning. This is suddenly more serious than you could ever expect. Quickly, you put the paper in the pocket of your black pants.

You make your way through corridors you haven’t been in before, through doors you’re sure you’re not allowed through. You can’t help but look around at the new environment. Despite being one of Normandie’s lower classes, the attention to detail had been given to every centimeter of the ship.

Focus!

You’re not sure where you’re going, but you need to find someone that can help you. You consider giving it to a random passenger and ask them to give them to an officer, but in your entire training, you have been told not to pull innocent civilians into your job. They could get seriously hurt and it would be completely your own fault.

You make your way through tourist class, making sure not to be seen by anyone. If Silas have more people than you thought, why wouldn’t they be in multiple classes? You’re not even sure why the painting have caused this big of a commotion, but there’s no way you can give up the painting now — not after everything you’ve gone through. Your head is still pounding from the glass bottle and your heart beating out of your chest by the sight of Doctor Kry. He knows that you’re roaming freely, and soon, they all will know … and they will look for you. Silas’s words still ring in your ear; “I would very much like for you to see what we do to you if you decide to break free” — well you surely don’t. But where can one run where the space is limited? It’s not like you can grab a lifeboat and sail your way to safety. The sea can be just as dangerous as the people you’re dealing with.

You look around for someone in black uniform, desperately wanting to find someone to help you before you get a bullet through your head. Finally, you find a steward carrying a metal tray. Like lightning had struck through you, you barge forward and grab his arm.

“Sir, you have to help me!” you hiss and pull him into an empty corridor.

“What are you doing-?” he gasps.

“Please listen and listen quickly”, you whisper in pure panic. The words fall out of your mouth incoherently, but you somehow manage to create the sentences you need for the steward to listen to you. “I have to get to the Captain! Like … now! It’s really, really urgent! Please, just trust me!”

You look around with wide eyes, heart now pounding in your throat. The steward nods in confusion and signals for you to come with him. You’re not sure why he decides to trust you, but you’re ever so grateful for it. He takes you through hidden passages used for staff so that none of the paying passengers will have to see them, up a couple of steep stairs and through some more doors. You hug the painting tightly against your roaring chest. Every corner makes your heart stop, terrified that someone will stand on the other side and knock you out the second you turn.

The steward points at a door with a golden sign on it — ‘Officers’ quarters’. You pound on the door until you’re sure your knuckles bleed. A stern looking man in neat uniform opens, giving you a dark look.

“Who are you?” he questions. “What do you want?”

“I’m Y/N L/N, I’m an agent of the crown and this is the missing painting that has been all over the news … you have to keep it secure until we reach New York.”

The officer looks confused as he takes the painting in his hands and lets you into the quarters.

“You’re bloody, what happened to you, sir?”

“There’s six passengers — Mr Achilleos and his man, His Majesty Edmund of Vesanus, Doctor Karl Kry, Miss Hedwig Carter and Miss Jerry Kim. They knocked me out and kept me in a cabin the entire night. They’re working together. They want this painting …”

… and probably my life by now.

“ … keep it safe”, you beg the officer and feel your voice quiver. “Please. If i can’t meet you at the harbor when we dock tomorrow, please give it to my contact — I will write down his name — and tell him that he can find further information on board the ship.”

“I will tell the captain about the passengers, they will be taken care of and kept in arrest until we reach land where the police will deal with them”, the officer says.

“Thank you. A lot. Really.”

“You can stay here if you want.”

You feel for the note in your pocket and shake your head. “I have to do something first.”

The officer nodded. On shaky legs, you open the door and walk out into the corridor again. The steward is long gone and you’re alone in an unfamiliar corridor. You suddenly feel exhausted and decide to stay close to the door for a few moments to catch your breath, as if the officers’ quarter was a safe place.

The note has to be hidden somewhere across the ship so that your contact can find it in case you don’t make it out alive. The note is more important than the painting and can, under no circumstances, go in the wrong hands. These names have to reach your contact. The group will look for the painting in belief that the note is still there, so the note has to be hidden separately so that they won’t find it.

You make your way through the corridors slowly, making sure not to be caught with the list of names on you. In a weird, panic filled daze, you make your way through corridors, through lounges and dining halls where you hide the note. Underneath a chair, stuck to the corner. You deice to find your way back to the officers’ quarters and somehow find yourself out on deck. The wind is grabbing at you, pulling you left and right. You have a hard time keeping yourself on your feet. No one else is outside and you suspect it has to do with the fact that it’s early in the morning and the dark gray sky above you threat of rain.

“Y/N, don’t move.”

You turn to see the second in command with a gun in his hand.

“If you shoot me you'll ruin your life”, you say to him as confidentially as you can muster, but you can't help but worry if he's going to pull the trigger.

“Do you think I care?” the second in command questions with a scoff. “I serve my boss until my last breath, I couldn't care less about other trivial matters. Where's the painting?”

“You don't care for the painting. Ask me instead where the note is.”

His eyebrow twitches.

“You know about the note, huh?” he says, eyes narrowing. “Seems like I'll have to get that out of you.”

“Why don't you have your boss do it? Or is he in arrest?”

“Don't worry about him, he always comes out on top. Come with me now or I will shoot you-”

“Shoot me then. The note is hidden and the painting is with trusted people.”

“Idiot. Do you think I was born yesterday? If I shoot you, I can't get the note. You may be stupid, but i dont think youre careless enough To sacrifice yourself for such a trivial thing. Get over here. Now.”

You're unarmed and alone, but if there's one thing you've been taught, it is to not give up without a fight. Your eyes catch onto an officer patrolling the upper deck and whistle. As the second in command takes his eyes off of you, you dive head first into the swimming pool. From his perspective, you don't think — wish — that he sees the man above him. The water wraps around you like a cold blanket and for a few seconds you can't even feel the wetness, only biting cold that almost makes you gasp under the surface. Somewhere, you think that you can hear a gunshot and see something whooshing past you in the water. And then another, and another. And then nothing.

You don't return to the surface until you're sure that the bullet rain has stopped. Your burning lungs gasp for air and you grip the ladder to your left. The second in command has been wrestled down on the deck by the same officer you saw. A smile tugs at your lips as the second in command glares at you from the floor, smashed against the planks.

“Sir, are you alright?” the officer asks, panting.

“I'm okay”, you reply, panting heavier.

An ice cold wind cuts right through you.

“Go inside”, the officer tells you.

“Y/N!” the second in command shouts as you've started to walk. “Don't forget that there are more. You barely know half of the people we have on board. Don't think for a second that you are safe!”

You pretend not to hear him and make your way inside for warmth. Unsure of where to go because of the second in command’s words, you return to the officers’ quarters.

That evening, you make your way down to the arrest. There are still two questions you haven’t gotten an answer to. You've gotten your gun back from a steward and have tucked it in your blazer. Nausea is eating you up from the inside as you walk into the room, watching the cell and its habitants.

“Look who it is”, you hear Jerry snicker. “Change your mind, Golden Boy? Do you want us out?”

You don't even bother to answer.

“The painting is in a safe place, and so are the note”, you say. “I suppose that Jerry, Silas and your second in command wanted the note and not the painting … and Edmund and Hedwig wanted the painting … but what did the Doctor want?”

“Me?” Kry asks coldly and walks over to the bars with his arms crossed. “What I wanted?”

“Yes”, you reply.

“You, of course. Imagine, my own little lab rat that I could do whatever I wanted with … no one would even bat an eye if both you and the painting disappeared.”

“You won't get any of it.” You let your eyes wander over the six people. “Not the painting, not the note, and absolutely not me. Jail is what you will get.”

You can hear Hedwig start to sob in the corner of the cell. She has sunken down along the wall with her head hanging between her knees, body shaking with sobs. Edmund sighs and walks over to her side, grabbing her shoulders and trying to pull her up on her feet.

“Don't cry”, he says quietly. “We won't go to jail, I will make sure of that. I won't allow it.”

“Did you just come down here to revel in our misery?” Silas asks you.

You're not sure why you came down here. Did you want to make sure to yourself that they were behind bars? Or make you feel more powerful? Or even just get to see them?

“You do know that we will have our revenge, don’t you?” Edmund says and looks at you. “This is not the end.”

“I hope that you like being a dog, because that's what you're going to be, leash and all”, Silas scoffs.

“Tattooed”, Jerry adds on with a tilted smile. “Marked. Would Golden boy like that?”

You ignore her, and walk over to the cells bars, eyes glued onto Hedwig.

“What were you doing in my cabin?” you ask.

She freezes, looking cluelessly at you through her teary eyes.

“What?” she asks in shock.

“Your perfume was all over my cabin”, you say coldly. “Why were you in my cabin?”

“I-I’m sorry, Y/N!” she cries and runs over to the bars, reaching out for you.

You back away.

“I’m sorry, I-I … I looked through your things. I couldn’t help it, I just … I really, really wanted to hold you. I didn’t take anything, I promise! Please believe me, Y/N, I just wanted to- … it doesn’t matter. Forgive me.”

You don’t answer. Maybe Hedwig isn’t as sweet and innocent as you thought.

DAY 4 — End of voyage

After your hell night last night you couldn't be more grateful for the somewhat pleasant night you had. Every single sound and movement woke you up, preparing you to see one of the six criminals or their acquaintances. And since a ship is in constant movement and makes sounds only God knows about, you barely slept for an hour straight. But at least you were in a warm bed.

You can't eat anything during breakfast. You stare at the sandwich and steaming coffee in front of you with a twisted stomach. The room is filled with passengers, like normal, but the bright room can’t be more dark and sinister. It is as if someone has drained it of color. Any of the smiling guests can be one that want to put a bullet through your skull, and is waiting for you to rise from your chair and follow you outside.

When a waiter comes over to your table, the coffee has stopped steaming.

“Good morning, sir”, he says politely and places a silver tray with a silver cloche on your table.

“What is this?” you ask in confusion.

“A gentleman told me to give this to you. He has paid for it and everything.”

With that said, he smiles and walks away to continue his job. You glance down at the dome looking metal and feel your heart sink. Although you don’t want to, your heart reaches out to pull it away and reveal whatever is lying on the silver tray underneath. You’re not sure what you are expecting but a small, folded paper is certainly not it. As if on autopilot, you open the paper to see only a line.

“We will be waiting for you when we dock, you won’t get past us. We are watching you.”

You were right. A knot appears in your throat. Your legs go numb. You will be killed.

The air is hard to breathe in and you have to get out before you suffocate. You get out on the deck with the lifeboats hanging above your head and lean against the railing. In a few hours, Normandie would dock and you would be caught. You’re not sure that the steward who had helped you before would be able to save you, and you don’t want to put him in more danger … but you can’t step off the ship in New York’s harbor. The lifeboat above your head gives you an idea. A stupid, right out ridiculous idea …

You look around you before your shaking hands release the lifeboat from its holds. You have been taught the most outrageous things to rescue yourself — including lowering an ocean liner’s lifeboat. The davits slowly bring the lifeboat downwards and you climb in, lying down to avoid being seen. Your body trembles with fear, unsure of what this will bring you … or where it will bring you.

There's nothing on the ship that you should bring with you. There's no guarantee that the lifeboat will reach the harbor safely, but its a try. The painting will be more secure with the steward.

You feel a ‘thump’ from when the lifeboat hits the waves underneath you. You see how Normandie towers above you, the black steel never seeming to end. A pair of heads stick out from the side and something hits the water beside you. Quickly, you cover your body with your arms and legs, curling up until all vital organs are covered. Hitting you with bullets on this distance are harder than one can think, but not impossible. The second you’re sure that they can’t reach you, you get up and start to paddle. If the men tell a steward about the missing lifeboat, they’ll steer their ship over here to get you.

Your arms quickly grow sore. From now on, you’re entirely alone. There’s no one to save you in case anything happens and you will have to find your way to land by yourself. But it's better than being on board the ship.

The sea around you feels abnormally calm. There’s no distinctive sounds apart from the waves hitting the side of the lifeboat.

You sit for a moment, taking the time to think. This case has been different from all the others you have done. More personal than you could ever have anticipated. You’re not sure why, but something with this case told you that things wouldn’t be over if they got their way. It was more than just materia, they want you too … to use as they please. Doctor Kry was right. Who would bat an eye if you disappeared along with the painting? They wouldn’t call it a kidnapping, it would be a disappearance that could be explained by the painting. And now they have none of it. Not the painting, not the list of criminals and not you. Pretty successful, you think. Maybe you succeeded this mission after all?

You hiss as you touch your sensitive head. You’ll have to find a doctor in New York.

Hours go by. You row, you rest, row, rest, row, rest. Throw up. Damn if you have gotten a concussion, you think, but it’s probably just the sea air making you nauseous.

How things had turned out. You thought that you would have had to deal with one or two criminals … not six. Ad how Silas had seen right through you …

It’s over now. It will be over soon. Is it over?

You continue to row.

in the distance, you see a fishing ship pulling up their net and you wave with your arms in hope for them to see you, which they inevitably do. Your exhausted, cold body is picked up and wrapped in an old blanket.

“What were you doing out in a lifeboat like that?” one of the old sailors asks. “Which ship has sunk?”

“It’s the Normandie!” another one says as he reads the name on the wooden planks. “Has the Normandie sunk?!”

You tell them that it hasn’t suck — in fact, it’s steaming on better ad stronger than ever — but that an accident had happened, which resulted in you all alone in a lifeboat in the middle of the ocean.

They give you a yellow rain coat that you use to hide in and join the sailors to New York’s harbor that evening. In the distance, you see the different ocean liner piers. Cunard-White Star Line, United States Lines, HAPAG, Italian Lines, Swedish-American Lines … and finally, Compagnie Générale Transatlantique. Normandie was towering above all the other liners and you stood there on the pier, looking at it. Four days ago, you had been standing in the harbor at Le Havre and been excited to step on board. But now, that you are looking at it from afar, in the dim lights, there’s something unsettling about the her. It looks like she’s apologizing to you for everything that she allowed to happen between her walls. You almost start to cry.

You turn around and walk without giving the ship one more glance, hoping that it will be the last time you get to see the Normandie.

You meet up with your contact in a small warehouse that following morning and tell him what you have hidden on the ship. He promises to retrieve it. He already has the painting and has secured it, had gotten it from the very steward you had left it with.

“I have something else too”, he says and gives you an apologetic look.

“What?” you ask and watch him closely as he takes out a paper from his pocket.

“I’m sorry, Y/N.”

You open the paper and feel your blood go icy cold. The handwriting is unfamiliar, but the nickname you see written in black …

“Thought you could lock us in? Think twice, Golden boy, we’re already out. We’ll find you, be so sure of that. Don’t think that we will let you slip away. You will look good in a leash.

S.A”

You fold the paper just as quick and breathe out a shaky breath.

“Don’t worry, Y/N, you will be protected”, your contact promises. “It will not be any problem, I assure you.”

With the six people’s contacts and power, you doubt that your protection will do much, but you nod. The painting is safe and the note is safe. They may have escaped jail and are looking for you, but you succeeded with your mission. And that is all that matters.

#yandere #yandere x reader #yandere x you #yandere imagines #yandere drabbles #yandere oc x you #yandere mafia #yandere oc x reader #yandere fics #yandere stories #yandere doctor #yandere king #yandere female #female yandere #yandere rich girl #yandere oneshot #yandere ocs #yandere ocs x reader #male reader

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samdeancass · 3 months

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Grounding Him

Requested by @thelirofnorthlands

Pairing: Homelander x reader

Genre: Fluff, Slight Angst

Characters: Homelander, Y/N

Description: Homelander keeps his anger brimming at the surface whenever he's in an uncomfortable situation, but he can always count on you to keep him grounded.

A/N: Look at that lil' cuties face <3

Everybody always walked on eggshells around Homelander, afraid he would pop and laser someone's head off—everyone, that is, apart from you. Every time he raised his voice at you, you would flash him a look, and he would know how to tone it down. He was incredibly grateful to have you in his life; you kept him grounded and gave him love he had never had. He showed a different side to him when you were by his side, and everyone could see it, much to his dismay. He was happier and treated everyone better, even humans. Homelander would still occasionally kill someone if they got in his way or said something that really angered him. He did always keep his anger at the surface, but he always knew that you would pull him back. Homelander let out a nervous, shaky breath as he prepared to step onto the stage for yet another PR campaign for The Seven. He wished you were by his side, but you were in another country making deals with Vought's international clients. He closed his eyes, took deep, slow breaths to slow down his ever-quickening heart, and replayed your calming words in his head. He was always more nervous when you weren't around to ensure everything went okay. Homelander knew that if just one person said one wrong thing, his anger would take over, and he would kill everyone standing before him. He heard his cue to go on and made his way but stopped when he heard a flurry of footsteps hurrying behind him. His eyes lit up as he smiled wide. When he turned, he saw your flustered form hurrying towards him. "I'm so glad I'm not too late." Homelander gathered you in his arms and kissed you deeply. "I can't believe you're here; I thought you were still out of the country." He placed his hands on your cheeks, pecked your lips once more and grabbed your hand to go on stage. "I was up until 30 minutes ago. A-Train rushed me here, and he did a good job. Otherwise, I wouldn't have made it." You both plastered on smiles and walked on stage to a mixture of applause and boos from the audience. Homelander waved at the crowd and took a patriotic stance, still holding your hand. He began making a speech about the importance of The Seven and how America still needed them. He was doing an excellent job until somebody interrupted him and started hurling insults. Homelanders expression immediately changed, his lips forming a thin, straight line, an instant indicator that he was becoming increasingly angry, especially as others began to join in. You rubbed circles into his hand, which usually calmed him down, but it wasn't enough this time. Homelander's whole body began to shake with anger as he closed his eyes to try and contain it. Still, they shot back open again when somebody mentioned your name, and the rest of the crowd joined in. His eyes glowed red, but you managed to distract and pull him off stage before he could do anything disastrous. "Hey, calm down. C'mon, baby. I'm right here, they're not going to do anything." You hugged him and ran your fingers through his hair, a loving gesture that always calmed him down. "I know, but the things they were saying about you, I couldn't contain it any longer. They need to keep your name out of their fucking mouths! There would be a room full of dead fucking corpses if you weren't here, so thank you." He finally calmed down and pecked your lips before taking your hand and leading you out of the building. An angry mob surrounded the two of you as you opened the door to the outside. "Move out of the fucking way before the ground gets covered in your fucking guts." Homelander kept a stoic expression as he warned the group of people, who stepped a whole way back, letting you jump into his arms and fly to Vought Tower. You jumped down from his arms and linked your arm with his. "Thank you for being my rock; I would be in a whole ton of shit right now if it wasn't for you." "Anytime, honey."

#homelander #homelander x reader #homelander fluff #homelander angst #homelander imagine #homelander fanfiction #the boys #the boys imagine #the boys fanfiction #the boys fluff #the boys angst

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muiitoloko · 2 months

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Dangerous Games

Summary: As a mob boss's fixation grows, a courageous waitress finds herself entangled in a perilous struggle for control within the dark corners of his empire.

Pairing: Mobster! Hans Gruber × Fem! Reader

Warnings: Obsession, power games, mention of harassment.

Author's Notes: Here's another gem from my "started but never finished" draft pile. I decided to post it because my idea well is currently running dry! 😅

Also read on Ao3

Hans took a sip of his whiskey, the amber liquid burning slightly as it slid down his throat. He stood in the VIP room on the second floor of The Mister, his nightclub, and his keen eyes watched through the glass as you moved gracefully among the tables below. The dim lighting cast a soft glow over your figure, and despite your ordinary beauty, there was something about you that captivated him entirely. Perhaps it was the way you were clearly afraid of him, yet still found the courage to reject his advances.

Hans' obsession with you was all-consuming. He didn't fully understand why you had captured his attention so completely. Maybe it was the way your fear mixed with defiance, a tantalizing combination that made you more intriguing than anyone else he had encountered. He had gone so far as to change all the waitresses' uniforms to shorter skirts, purely to see more of your legs. The sight of the fabric skimming your thighs as you moved about the club was something he relished, yet now he was beginning to regret that decision. Watching some customers groping you, harassing you, made his blood boil. You were his, even if you didn't know it yet.

Hans' hooked nose crinkled with disdain as he saw a man reach out and grab your arm, pulling you closer. He set his whiskey down with a dangerous calm, his baritone voice low and menacing as he spoke to one of his men. "Remove that piece of trash," he ordered, his German accent pronounced in his anger. "And make sure he understands why he will never return here."

His eyes never left you as the thug moved quickly to obey. The customer, oblivious to his impending fate, continued to leer at you, his hand sliding down your arm. Hans' jaw tightened as he saw you pull away, fear and anger flashing in your eyes.

You were special. Not because of any grand beauty or extraordinary talent, but because you stood up to him, resisted him, despite the clear danger. Hans had everything—wealth, power, control over the New York underworld—but you eluded him, and that was a challenge he found irresistible.

As the thug approached the offending customer, Hans' gaze softened slightly as it returned to you. The short skirt accentuated your legs perfectly, drawing the eyes of everyone around. But those eyes, those hands, had no right to touch you. You were his, and soon, you would understand that.

Down below, you felt a chill run down your spine as you saw Hans watching you. You knew what kind of man he was—the most dangerous mobster in America, controlling the entire New York underworld with a ruthless efficiency. His intelligence and charisma were undeniable, but it was his cold, calculating nature that terrified you the most. And yet, despite your fear, you had always rejected his advances, determined not to become another one of his possessions.

Tonight, you wore the new uniform, the short skirt riding up uncomfortably as you moved among the tables. You had already had to deal with several customers' wandering hands, each touch making you more anxious. But you were surprised when one particularly persistent man was suddenly hauled out by one of Hans' thugs. You glanced up, and your heart skipped a beat as you saw Hans watching you intently from the VIP room.

Hans' lips curled into a small, satisfied smile as he saw the recognition and fear in your eyes. He relished the power he held over you, the way your defiance only made you more enticing. He took another sip of his whiskey, savoring the moment, imagining the day you would finally be his, completely and utterly.

As the night wore on, you tried to avoid his gaze, focusing on your work. But you could feel his eyes on you, following your every move. It was as if an invisible thread connected you to him, pulling you inexorably closer. You hated the way it made you feel, the way it seemed to strip away your control.

You continued working, going to get more drinks from the bar to serve. As you approached the counter, one of your co-workers, Lisa, was already there. She noticed the nervous tension in your posture and the way your eyes darted around the room.

"Hey, what's wrong?" Lisa asked, her voice filled with genuine concern. "You look like you've seen a ghost."

You sighed, glancing up towards the VIP room where Hans sat. "It's him," you whispered, barely audible over the clinking glasses and soft hum of conversation. "The boss is staring at me again."

Lisa followed your gaze, her eyes widening slightly as she saw Hans seated in an armchair near the glass, his eyes fixed on you. She quickly looked away, her face a mix of fear and pity. "At least he never forced himself on you," she said softly, trying to offer some comfort.

You shook your head, still feeling the weight of his gaze on you. "I know, but I don't like the way he looks at me. It makes me nervous."

Lisa bit her lip, feeling a twinge of sympathy for you. "I heard the dancers talking earlier," she said quietly, leaning in so only you could hear. "Apparently, Tiffany's giving him a private dance tonight. That should take his attention away from you for a while, maybe even all night."

You felt a small sense of relief at the news. "Thank God," you muttered. "But I've heard he fucks some of the dancers during those private sessions."

Lisa nodded, her expression grim. "Yeah, I've heard that too. Some of the girls think they're gaining power by sleeping with him. It's disgusting."

You sighed, your shoulders slumping slightly as you picked up a tray of drinks. "He used to do it with the waitresses too," you said, your voice filled with bitterness. "A few of them still talk about it, like it was some kind of honor."

Lisa shook her head, her eyes filled with anger. "It's not an honor," she said fiercely. "It's manipulation and control. He gets off on it, knowing he has that kind of power over them."

You nodded, feeling a wave of anger and helplessness wash over you. "I just wish there was a way to make him stop," you whispered, more to yourself than to Lisa.

As you walked back to the tables, you couldn't shake the feeling of being watched, the oppressive weight of Hans' gaze bearing down on you. Even with the knowledge that Tiffany would be occupying his attention, you still felt a deep sense of unease. The way he looked at you, the way he controlled everything and everyone around him—it was suffocating.

Hans looked away from you when he heard a knock on the door of the VIP room. He ordered the visitor in with a curt nod and watched as one of the dancers entered, her outfit leaving little to the imagination. She wore a short, tight skirt that barely covered her hips and a top that clung to her curves. Hans motioned for her to begin, his eyes darkening with anticipation.

The dancer moved gracefully, her hips swaying seductively as she approached the pole dance bar. Hans got up and walked over to the armchair near the pole, his movements slow and deliberate, like a predator stalking its prey. He sat down, crossing his legs and leaning back, his hooked nose casting a shadow over his face as he watched her with intense interest.

"Show me what you can do," he ordered, his baritone voice dripping with authority.

The dancer began to move, her body twisting and turning with practiced ease. She wrapped her leg around the pole, sliding down slowly, her eyes locked onto Hans'. He watched her every move, his gaze predatory and unyielding. The sight of her body, exposed and vulnerable, stirred something dark within him.

As she danced, Hans let his mind wander back to you. The way you had rejected his advances, the fear and defiance in your eyes—it was intoxicating. He imagined you in the dancer's place, your body writhing under his command. The thought sent a thrill through him, and he shifted in his seat, his desire growing stronger.

The dancer continued her routine, her movements becoming more daring and explicit. She unzipped her skirt, letting it fall to the floor, revealing a lacy thong that barely covered her. Hans' eyes narrowed, his pulse quickening as he watched her. She reached behind her back, unclasping her top and letting it drop, exposing her breasts to his hungry gaze.

"Come closer," Hans commanded, his voice low and dangerous.

She obeyed, crawling towards him on all fours, her eyes filled with a mix of fear and excitement. Hans reached out, running a hand through her hair, pulling her closer. He could feel her breath on his skin, her body trembling with anticipation.

"Do you know why you're here?" he asked, his tone soft yet menacing.

"Yes, Mr. Gruber," she whispered, her voice barely audible.

"Good," he replied, his fingers tightening in her hair. "Then you know what I expect."

He pulled her up, forcing her to straddle his lap. The dancer gasped, her body pressing against his, but she didn't resist. Hans ran his hands down her back, savoring the feel of her skin under his fingertips. He leaned in, his lips brushing against her ear.

"You will do exactly as I say," he murmured, his breath hot against her skin. "And if you please me, there will be rewards. But if you disobey..." He let the threat hang in the air, his meaning clear.

He stormed out of the VIP room, his mind already calculating the best approach to diffuse the situation. His men trailed behind him, knowing better than to speak when their boss was in such a foul mood. As Hans descended the stairs to the basement, the sounds of shouting and scuffling grew louder. The dim, flickering lights cast eerie shadows on the concrete walls, adding to the tense atmosphere.

The dancer nodded, her body tense with fear and desire. Hans smiled, satisfied with her submission. He would enjoy this, but his thoughts kept drifting back to you. The challenge you presented, the way you resisted him—it only made him want you more. And he was determined to have you, no matter what it took.

Hans explored the dancer’s body with a deliberate, almost clinical precision. His fingers traced the curves of her waist and hips as he kissed down her neck to her collarbone, ignoring the soft laugh that escaped her lips. His touch was authoritative, a reminder of who held the power in the room. He reveled in the way she shivered under his control, every inch of her a testament to his dominance.

Just as he was about to continue, a sharp knock on the door interrupted the moment. Hans growled in irritation, his hooked nose crinkling with displeasure. He looked up as one of his men entered, a nervous expression on his face.

“What is it?” Hans demanded, his baritone voice dripping with annoyance.

“There’s trouble in the basement, Mr. Gruber,” the man stammered. “Two heads of allied mafia families are fighting each other.”

Hans rolled his eyes, shoving the dancer off his lap with a rough push. He stood up, his tall, thin frame casting a long shadow in the dim light. “I don’t have time for this,” he muttered, buttoning his shirt with quick, angry movements.

The basement of The Mister was a sanctuary for the most dangerous guests—bandits, mafia families, and any allies willing to pay for the “special treatment” the underground offered. It was a place where deals were made, alliances forged, and disputes settled. But Hans couldn’t afford to let two smaller gangs fall out with each other; his strength depended on the unity of his network. The police had been relentless in their efforts lately, and any sign of weakness could be disastrous.

When he entered the basement, the scene before him was chaotic. Two men, heads of their respective families, were grappling with each other, surrounded by their equally enraged followers. The air was thick with tension, the smell of sweat and aggression almost palpable.

“Enough!” Hans shouted, his voice cutting through the noise like a knife. The room fell silent, all eyes turning to him. He walked forward with an air of authority, his presence commanding respect and fear. “What is the meaning of this?"

One of the men, a burly figure with a scar running down his cheek, pointed angrily at his opponent. “This bastard tried to cheat me out of my share!” he growled.

His opponent, a lean man with a tattooed neck, shot back, “You’re the one who reneged on the deal! Don’t think you can pull one over on me, you piece of shit!”

Hans sighed, rubbing his temples in frustration. “I don’t care who started it,” he said coldly. “You’re both acting like children, and I won’t have it in my establishment.”

He stepped between them, his eyes cold and unyielding. “You will resolve this matter peacefully, or I will resolve it for you. And trust me, you won’t like my methods.”

The two men glared at each other but remained silent, their anger simmering beneath the surface. Hans knew he had to be firm. Any sign of weakness would only embolden them.

“Sit down,” he ordered, pointing to a nearby table. “We’re going to settle this now.”

Reluctantly, the men obeyed, sitting across from each other with their respective followers standing close by. Hans remained standing, his gaze shifting between them.

“Now, tell me exactly what happened,” he said, his voice calm but deadly serious. As the men began to explain their grievances, Hans listened intently, his mind working quickly to find a solution that would satisfy both parties and restore order.

After hearing both sides, he made his decision. “Here’s what we’ll do,” he said, his tone brokering no argument. “You will split the profits evenly, and I will oversee the transaction personally to ensure there is no further dishonesty. Any deviation from this agreement, and you will answer to me directly.”

Both men nodded reluctantly, understanding the gravity of Hans’ words. The tension in the room eased slightly as they realized that disobeying Hans was not an option.

“Good,” Hans said, satisfied. “Now, shake hands and let’s put this behind us.”

The men hesitated but eventually complied, shaking hands with forced civility. Hans watched them closely, ensuring that the truce was genuine. Once he was satisfied, he turned to his men.

“Keep an eye on them,” he ordered. “Make sure they adhere to the agreement.”

Hans turned to leave and went up the stairs, almost bumping into you as you came down with a box. You staggered slightly, managing to keep your balance as you looked up and saw him standing there, his eyes narrowing in surprise and suspicion.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Gruber," you said quickly, your voice trembling slightly as you tried to pass him. The large box in your hands wobbled precariously, and you could feel the weight of his gaze bearing down on you. "I didn't mean to—"

Hans blocked your path, his expression unreadable as he looked down at you. "What are you doing down here?" he questioned, his baritone voice low and commanding. "You are not one of the waitresses assigned to serve the drinks in the basement."

You kept your head down, feeling a wave of anxiety wash over you. "The drink supply was running low in the basement," you explained, stuttering slightly. "I was told to bring this box of drinks to replace them."

Hans' hooked nose crinkled slightly as he studied you, his eyes narrowing. "And who, exactly, told you to do this?"

You hesitated, unsure of how much to reveal. "One of the supervisors," you said finally, your voice barely above a whisper. "I didn't catch his name."

Hans took a step closer, his presence intimidating. "Look at me when you speak," he commanded, his voice soft yet menacing.

You lifted your head, meeting his gaze with trepidation. The intensity in his eyes sent a shiver down your spine, and you could feel your heart pounding in your chest. "I-I didn't mean any disrespect," you stammered. "I just wanted to help."

For a moment, Hans said nothing, his eyes boring into yours as if searching for any sign of deceit. Then, he sighed, his expression softening slightly. "Very well," he said, stepping aside to let you pass. "But next time, inform me before you venture down here. Understood?"

You nodded quickly, grateful for the reprieve. "Yes, Mr. Gruber. Thank you."

As you made your way down the stairs, you could feel his eyes on you, a reminder of the power he held over everyone in the club. The encounter left you shaken, and you wondered how much longer you could continue to resist him. The fear and defiance that had kept you safe so far seemed fragile in the face of his relentless pursuit.

Hans watched you go, a thoughtful expression on his face. There was something about you, something that drew him in despite your attempts to distance yourself. He admired your courage, your defiance, but he also found it frustrating. No one defied Hans Gruber and remained unscathed.

As he turned to leave, he made a mental note to keep a closer eye on you. You were an enigma, a challenge that he was determined to unravel. And in the dangerous game of power and control that he played, you were a prize worth pursuing.

Down in the basement, you placed the box of drinks on the counter, trying to steady your trembling hands. The brief encounter with Hans had left you rattled, and you couldn't shake the feeling of his eyes on you. You took a deep breath, trying to calm yourself. You had to stay strong, had to keep resisting.

But as you worked, the doubts crept in. How long could you continue to resist the most dangerous man in America? How long before you succumbed to the pressure, the fear? The thought filled you with a sense of helplessness, and for the first time, you wondered if you would ever be free of his shadow.

Meanwhile, Hans returned to the VIP room, his mind still preoccupied with thoughts of you. He poured himself another glass of whiskey, savoring the burn as it slid down his throat. You were a puzzle, a challenge that intrigued him more than he cared to admit. And he was determined to solve it, no matter what it took.

As he sat back, watching the dancer continue her routine, his mind wandered back to you. The way you had looked at him, the fear and defiance in your eyes—it was intoxicating. Hans smiled to himself, a cold, calculating smile. You would be his, eventually. And when that day came, you would understand the true meaning of power and control.

#alan rickman #alan rickman x reader #hans gruber x reader #hans gruber

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dollarstoreartsupplies · 2 months

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Hey hello I’ve never seen a single episode of dungeons and daddies but the Italian cat man has piqued my interest what the hell is going on?

hm. okay so... i do not know how to explain this coherently. like at all.

(post this is referring to)

so, no spoilers tldr:

this most recent season is called the peachyville horror, which is a culthlu style horror campaign in which a four person bowling team and a 12 year old girl dectective have to face the Horrors in a shiny, perfect 1950's town, it FUCKS, it's very fun

and tony collette, the italian former-cat man, is a member of said bowling team, and owns a used car rental service and in the most recent episode he got in an accident where his whole life flashed before his eyes

THEN, THE INCREDIBLE SPOILER VERSION SO SPOILER-Y FULL SPOILERS YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED:

SO, in the last episode, he was shot by a secret communist agent while driving away (becuase he accidently convinced her that he was also a communist) (and then also accidently started to work with MI6 to capture said communist, and got a favor from The Queen of England in the process).

He then careened into the freeway, and had his entire life flash before his eyes, in which it was revealed he was raised in the italian countryside by two gay witch dads and a talking cat mother. His dads then gave him up to the mob to save the life of their talking cat and so on his 13th birthday he came back and kidnapped the cat as revenge. EXCEPT! plot twist the talking cat was actually a human boy who was going to turn human again that day, on Tony's 13th birthday.

Later that year, him and the former cat reunite with his gay dads right before he immigrates to America, and one of his dad's shoots him dead as double revenge for having taken that cat, and then magically bestow his name and memories onto the former cat boy. So, HE is now tony collette and always has been.

He then, years later, in america, signs up to go to war after pearl harbor, but fucks a woman the night before he ships out and the pussy was so good that he then dodges the draft HE SIGNED UP FOR and moves to Dewar, Ohio (so whenever someone asks where he was he can say he was in 'dewar'.)

then, back in the present, he gets hit by a semi truck and flies out of the car directly onto a hospital bed where his gay witch dads (under disguise as doctors becuase they were nazi sympathizers who fought under Mussolini) bestow upon him his ninth and final life to save him and he's... okay-ish

#DO NOT let this dissuade you the season is so so so good #the entire backstory was a round table improv game essentially it was a fucking mess #but GOD was it funny #the peachyville horror spoilers #dndads spoilers #tony collette #it made about as much sense here as it did in canon

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hoshologies · 1 year

Text

10:14 pm, choi s.

genres &&. warnings — timestamp, fluff, established relationship &&. lapslock intended, crying, soobin being adorable.

word count — 1.8k

note — happy one week anniversary to me and txt san antonio d1. miss existing in the same room as txt so much. anyways i started writing this on saturday night after la d1 because i was just. so completely overwhelmed with emotions. i'm so proud of txt. i always will be.

the second your boyfriend and his friends have taken their bows, said their seemingly never-ending goodbyes to fans, and disappeared behind the divider that allows them to slip backstage unseen, you’re winding your way out of the crowd. fans are packing their things away, a cacophony of lightsticks powering down ringing out around you, and you smile at unsuspecting fans as you move past, making for the stairs as fast as possible without tripping.

you break out into the halls of the stadium and while you’ve made it out of the crowd in the stands, you’re met with the exiting mob. it’s like swimming against the current, just on land rather than water. and you’re trying desperately not to push anyone, sticking close to the outskirts so you’re not fighting against too many people, taking your time to pick your way through the throngs of concertgoers.

but the closer you get to the backstage entrance yeonjun showed you earlier, the more restless you become. you haven’t seen soobin in a month because of this tour, and facetime calls are a sad excuse of a compromise; you’ve missed seeing the real thing in person since he kissed you goodbye in the entrance to your apartment with a promise of calling you the second he touched down in america. more important than anything right now is to see him face to face, to hold him to your chest and not let go for minutes on end.

what transpired tonight feels like a fever dream: stadium show, sold out, every single seat filled. this is what soobin and the boys have been working towards their entire career, and they made it. and you were here for it. when you’d initially booked your flight to la, you hadn’t considered the milestone tonight and tomorrow night would be for the boys; you simply missed soobin and you’d wanted to see him. but halfway through the show, it hit you just how monumental all of this really is.

and that realization now is manifesting into an incessant need to see choi soobin right this second. you barely stop long enough to flash the security guards at the backstage entrance your badge, proving that you’re allowed to be back there, before you’re taking off again in the direction of the dressing rooms. away from the fans, your tears, happy as they may be, flow freely and you nearly get lost a couple of times before the green room finally comes into view, door wide open and laughter pouring out like audible warmth, steady and comforting and like home.

you dash towards the room, coming to a short stop in the threshold, a hand braced against the cool metal frame. the five boys are goofing off, wiping sweat from their faces and munching on snacks to tide them over until they get back to their hotel, laughing and shoving at one another as they joke around in a bid to burn off adrenaline. they’re so wrapped up in their own little world that not a single one notices you. something or other about taking matters into your own hands, you suppose.

“hey! choi soobin!” you call, out of breath and wild with anticipation and excitement. a month apart is coming to a very surprise close and when the boy in question whips around, eyes wide and round like a deer in headlights, it’s all you can do not to melt under his discerning gaze, watching as he blinks once, twice, three times while he registers that you stand before him, eyes just as wide and breathing just as heavy. but when he finally catches up to reality, the expression that crosses his face is priceless.

“oh my god!” he says, blindly setting down whatever he was eating on the table behind him before he rushes across the room to you. his embrace comes in hot and fast, arms wrapped tight around your waist in the blink of an eye, so much momentum that the two of you stumble into the hallway, still locked together. “oh my god, what are you doing here?”

he pulls his face away from your neck to really get a look at you. his eyes shine with tears and stardust, catching stray beams of light in the hallway. he looks like he can’t believe any of this is real and honestly, you don’t blame him because it doesn’t feel real at all to you either.

“i came to see you, silly,” you respond, smiling up at your precious boyfriend. you sink your fingers into the hair at the nape of his neck, wrap your arms a little tighter around him, shuffle a little closer. you’ve wished to be back in his embrace every night for weeks and now you’re here and it feels like the first time all over again: special and warm and one of a kind. “i missed you and i couldn’t wait anymore, so… here i am.”

soobin smiles brightly and who are you to not return it?

“here you are,” he repeats, untangling his arms from around your waist, only to cup your cheeks in his hands to leave a million and one kisses on your face. he giggles the whole time, nuzzling his nose along your skin and whispering sweet nothings between every one. “‘m glad you’re here. thank you for coming.”

when his mission of pressing kisses to every square inch of your face is complete, he winds his arms around you again, leaning his cheek against the top of your head. he rocks you back and forth in that hallway for so long, just holding you against his chest, his heartbeat strong and steady under your cheek. you missed this, you missed him, but you’re glad that he went away to chase his dreams.

“‘m so proud of you, binnie. you did so well tonight,” you say quietly, voice trembling on the last few syllables. your fingers curl tight into the back of his shirt, not so much to wrinkle it but enough to anchor yourself against him as you feel the tears bubbling up.

soobin smiles, felt in the way his cheek rustles against your hair. one hand presses warm and comforting into the small of your back, the other soothing the space above. it’s a little ridiculous, the way you’re the one crying when he’s the one who just played a three hour concert to a sold out stadium of over twenty thousand people, but you are so overcome with pride that you can’t help it. he’s fought so hard to get here, he deserves this more than anyone you know (the other four boys excluded).

soobin shushes you softly when he feels the first few tears seep through his shirt. “shh, darling. you don’t need to cry. it’s okay.”

he coos at you over and over, breathy little chuckles wracking through him every once in a while, whispering about how cute and sweet and lovely you are. he reiterates time and time again that really, there’s no reason to cry, but through your attempts to catch your breath, you tell him that you can’t help it, that you’re so overwhelmed with pride and love that the only way your body knows how to release it is through tears, which makes him giggle even more and hold you even tighter.

“my baby, always so sweet to me.” his voice is soft and gentle, warm against the top of your head. “i made it this far because you always believed in me. i’m glad you were here to see it all.”

you sniffle and nod in assent, muttering a “me too,” voice still thick with tears. you’re gradually coming down off the adrenaline of the night, glad to have the sweetest boy in front of you holding your pieces together. when you finally do calm down enough, he leans back, arms still linked around you and a soft smile on his face.

“it’s about time for us to clear out of here for the night. wanna come back to the hotel and have dinner?” he asks, tilting his head to meet your gaze, eyes still shining with that silver stardust. you nod again and he smiles that pouty little smile of his. his hands take their rightful place on your cheeks, soft thumbs wiping away stray tears, and he kisses you slow and gentle. “so cute… c’mon. let’s get out of here.”

soobin moves away reluctantly, but links your hands together when he turns back towards the green room where yeonjun, beomgyu, taehyun, and kai have been watching it all unfold. you’d be lying if you said it doesn’t look like all four of them are a little misty eyed themselves, but you won’t embarrass them like that.

: : bonus

soobin lays on his side facing you, his eyelashes fluttering against the soft skin of his cheeks as he sleeps. his breathing is slow and steady, comforting even when his exhales breeze across your face. he looks peaceful like this, a sight that you’ve missed since the moment he left you in korea.

as you study his features, you’re overcome with that pride again because it still hasn’t set in that tonight has been monumental. it feels like a dream you’re about to wake up from but don’t want to, but how could it be anything but real? he and the boys have worked so hard to get to this point. you saw the old tweets fans were bringing up. this has been the dream since day one and it’s come true. how special is that?

you can feel the tears welling again, pricking at the back of your eyes in the dark, and you sniffle as quietly as possible. but as though he has a radar for your emotions, soobin shifts, cracks an eye open and then the other when he realizes you’re about to cry again. he giggles breathily in the near-pitch black of the hotel room and scoots in closer, wrapping his arms tight around you.

“no more crying,” he whispers, nuzzling his nose against your hairline. the amusement in his voice is nothing short of sincere and playful; it’s not chastizing or annoyed, just simply warm because you care about him so much that you feel affected the same way he does. he presses you soft to his chest, a hand rubbing soothingly at your back. “no more tears tonight. go to sleep.”

you nod against him, snuggling in close and melting into a warmth that is distinctly his. you can’t ever be apart from him again; you miss this when he’s away, never able to get good sleep because you’re always hyperfixated on the cool, empty space next to you. but now, you’re slipping away like it’s the easiest thing in the world.

“missed you, soob,” you say quietly. “don’t leave me again.”

he laughs silently, just a little tremble of his shoulders to prove it ever happened, and scoots impossibly closer. “next time, you’re coming with me, i promise. but at least you’re here now.”

he’s right. at least you’re here now. and you don’t plan on leaving again for a while.

#soobin x reader #choi soobin x reader #txt x reader #soobin timestamp #txt timestamp #kpop x reader #kpop timestamp #txt.fic #soobin.fic #timestamp.fic #writing.fic

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szmacblog · 6 months

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Roundtable: Sunshine on Leith

Sunshine on Leith tells the story of two soldiers, Ally and Davy, returning home to Edinburgh after a tour of duty in Afghanistan.

The social aspects of "Sunshine on Leith" are mirrored perfectly by the film's soundtrack, which consists mainly of songs by “The Proclaimers.” Some of the principal themes that we can see being explored in the movie are community, relationships, social class and identity, and the songs play a huge role in telling the stories. For example, “I’m gonna be (500 miles)” highlights the relationships, communal, familial, and romantic, between the characters. The flash-mob scene in Edinburgh's Princess Street reflects the importance of community and support networks while the cut to the other two scenes offers a much more intimate perspective on the struggles of having a loved one far away from home and/or being the person who returned home and finding a community and identity after living through such a traumatic experience. Similarly, “Letter from America”, speaks to feelings of longing, home, belonging, and the comfort found in familiar places. It underlines the importance of their hometown as a source of not only instability and solitude but also solace and familiarity—ironically.

youtube

The established history of The Proclaimers' songs adds another layer of meaning to "Sunshine on Leith" for audiences familiar with the band's earlier work, but it can reframe the audience's understanding of the songs, which are delivered in a much less punchy/rock style than their original versions. For instance, "Sunshine on Leith," a song traditionally played at funerals, adds depth to the emotional impact of the film. It is not played during a particular important scene but it is often playing softly during a scene of reflection or longing for home. On the other hand, a song like "Letter from America," written about long-distance relationships in general, becomes more poignant when applied to the specific context of war and separation after Jean and Liz’s intimate conversation in the film.

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The music that drives the score of "Sunshine on Leith'' can be classified as a combination of folk rock and pub rock. The latter is a genre associated with The Proclaimers' music, which forms the backbone of the film's soundtrack. It often features acoustic guitars, sing-along choruses, and lyrics that deal with issues of the social realm, working-class experiences, and everyday life, which are elements that perfectly capture the film’s essence and the social fabric of it. On the other hand, while the film might not have full-blown pub scenes, the pub rock elements we find in the songs add a sense of vibrancy and camaraderie to the story.

“Sunshine on Leith" redefines the film as a musical by adding songs that provide a sense of gritty realism, reflecting the character’s working-class lives and the challenges they face after coming back from war. Folk rock and pub rock often have a more raw and unpolished sound compared to traditional musical scores. This choice adds a sense of gritty realism to the film, reflecting the characters' working-class lives and the challenges they face. The familiar melodies and relatable lyrics create a sense of shared experience within the film but also the audience, and unlike some musicals where the music takes center stage, this film uses its folk rock and pub rock score to enhance the story and characters. The music isn't just entertainment; it's an integral part of the narrative.

#@theuncannyprofessoro #oxyfilmmusical #disguisedmusical #Youtube

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2p-hcmaker · 2 years

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How Socially Anxious are the 2p!s?

2p! Italy: Only thing he wouldn't do is take off his clothes. (1/10)

2p! Romano: Doesn't buy something he wants because he doesn't want people to look at him weirdly. (6/10)

2p! Germany: More than excited to join a flash mob. (2/10)

2p! Japan: Will not walk into a aisle if he knows someone else is there. (7/10)

2p! America: Will go up to strangers who look lost of confused and try to help them, sometimes. (3/10)

2p! Canada: Doesn't go to a store unless they have self-checkout. (9/10)

2p! France: Couldn't even function as a human before same-day shipping became a thing. (10/10)

2p! Russia: Won't walk back into a store if he forgot to buy something. (8/10)

2p! China: Has forgotten and doesn't care to remember all the shit he's done in public. (0/10)

2p! England: Would rather spend longer looking for something instead of asking for help. (5/10)

#2p china #2p russia #hetalia 2p #2p hetalia #2p england #2p america #2p germany #2p japan #2p canada #2ptalia #2p italy #2p romano #2p france #2p! hetlaia #2p! hetalia

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justinspoliticalcorner · 5 months

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Adam Wren at Politico Magazine:

NEW YORK CITY — Brian Glenn was about to go live. Amid the hundreds of reporters crowded outside a Manhattan courthouse on the first morning of Donald Trump’s criminal trial last week, Glenn, the director of programming for Right Side Broadcasting Network, would be delivering the news from the circus straight to hundreds of thousands of faithful MAGA viewers. Glenn looked like a typical television newscaster, but a bright blue and white pin he wore on the lapel of his suit set him apart from others in the press corral: It featured a big, bold “47” — a nod to Trump’s possible return to the presidency, which was gifted to him by the Trump campaign. Surrounded by Trump fans, Glenn cut the figure of a former homecoming king navigating the crowd at the big game. People wearing red caps kept coming up asking to be interviewed, a request he repeatedly obliged. In between, he pulled out his iPhone and flashed me photos from when he had shown up at this same spot to cover Trump’s arraignment last April. Pointing to one image, he singled out his girlfriend, Rep. Marjorie Taylor Greene. (He calls himself the other half of “MAGA America’s favorite couple.”) He recounted how his crew had to cut their coverage short that day after Greene was mobbed by press and onlookers. “I probably physically bulldozed a dozen people getting her out of there,” Glenn said.

As Glenn spoke, he stopped mid-sentence, a voice breaking through his AirPods. “30 seconds?” I heard him say. He quickly returned to his mark and began to broadcast to an audience of what would soon blossom into more than 200,000 RSBN viewers spread across YouTube and Rumble, the right-coded video service. “This is Biden’s witch hunt,” Glenn told his viewers. “This is what this is. This is Biden’s trial. This is his ability, or effort right now, to take President Trump off the campaign trail.” Right Side Broadcasting Network dates back to 2016, when stay-at-home dad Joe Seales launched the online channel in order to live stream Trump rallies. Eight years later, RSBN has grown into a full outlet that employs roughly a dozen people and features a website full of stories. RSBN is like NFL RedZone for Trump rallies, covering them hours before any speakers approach the dais. Now, as Trump’s general election campaign kicks into high gear, it has also cemented itself as the pro-Trump media outlet of record for the MAGA base. The network boasts 1.64 million subscribers on YouTube (a larger subscribership than One America News Network) and another half a million on Rumble.

Glenn is the star who Seales has largely handed control over to. He is the Trump rally gameday host who plumbs the depths of MAGA America in the crowds wherever Trump goes. Glenn is fast becoming one of Trump’s favorite reporters, likely racking up more one-on-one interviews with Trump in the last year than any other journalist. During gaggles, Trump often singles him out for positive-slanted questions after entertaining a series of hardballs from other reporters. Christina Bobb, one of Trump’s revolving cast of attorneys, is a regular guest alongside Glenn on RSBN’s coverage of the trials.

[...]

RSBN has developed a reputation for going nearly everywhere that Trump ends up. Thanks to that flood-the-zone mentality of documenting Trump’s every move, it’s likely your favorite mainstream media reporter’s go-to method for keeping tabs on Trump on days that they’re off the campaign trail. Filipkowski and Glenn have formed an unlikely friendship online over direct messages that have spanned years, something I did not expect when I reached out to Filipkowski, a prominent X personality who made his name by spending almost every waking moment dunking on Trump and the MAGA movement. “I actually have found them to be the most valuable resource over the last four years to understanding MAGA — more than any other source,” Filipkowski told me. “I’ve probably posted 50 or 100 Brian Glenn interview clips of Trump, probably even 200. I find those clips incredibly valuable, because you’re getting it unvarnished. That’s when [Trump] lets his guard down a little, when he’s got a friendly face.”

What Filipkowski and many reporters most appreciate about Glenn’s coverage is a simple open-ended question he asks MAGA stans: What is it that you love most about Donald Trump? “If you say ‘I’m from the New York Times,’ his fans at rallies say ‘you’re fake news’ and don’t talk to you,” Dave Weigel, a Semafor politics reporter who relies on the site, told me. “That’s obviously less interesting than somebody saying, ‘We love you guys. Let me explain to you all my views in an interesting way,’ which is what Right Side Broadcasting does.” RSBN has “replaced mainstream media in the needs of your average Trump supporter: Why would you turn on Fox where they’re going to cut away when you can watch this website, and they’ve also got more access,” Weigel said.

Politico Magazine reports on Brian Glenn, the boyfriend of far-right extremist Congresswoman Marjorie Taylor Greene (R-GA). Glenn is a host for far-right MAGA propaganda outlet Right Side Broadcasting Network (RSBN).

#Brian Glenn #Marjorie Taylor Greene #RSBN #Right Side Broadcasting Network #Conservative Media Apparatus #Joe Seales #Christina Bobb #Ron Filipkowski

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spaghettificationandpretzels · 1 year

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A Voice Through the Nothingness Part 1

Series Masterlist

Contains: Near-death injury, angst, coma, disease outbreak, mild fluff, and more angst.

3.3 K words

Comment if you want to be tagged or follow #a voice through the nothingness

“Nothing is predestined. The obstacles of your past can become the gateways that lead to new beginnings.”- Ralph Blum

It was meant to be routine, nothing was supposed to go wrong, but it did, and now Frank was waiting in the hospital waiting room, covered in his best friend's blood because one of their rich clients lied to them.

He was going over the whole thing in his head, where they went wrong, what could have been done better, but every time he closed his eyes, all he could see was the bomb going off spitting distance from Billy.

And the noise, the horrendous sound of fracturing glass and Billy's screams flew around his brain from ear to ear like a sadistic butterfly. Everything washed into focus when Karen appeared in front of him, "Frank, what happened? It's all over the news, there was some kind of bomb."

Frank swallowed, "Hill lied about everything, and our checks missed it. He tried to come clean about it, but by the time he had shown us the accounts, it was too late. That fucker got Billy blown up over a few million bucks, who the fuck tries to pull over on the fucking Russian mob?"

Karen sat beside him and placed her hand on his thigh, "tell me everything."

"It wasn't on their books. Their biggest backer is a shot caller from Brighton Beach. Hill was skimming from the beginning. He said he hired us because they had been getting threats because they wouldn't merge with Telcorp. I don't know how the fuck we missed it."

Karen reached up and stroked Frank's face, "cash in hand is hard to track and if this player never showed his face, there's no way you could have known. Telcorp is one of the worst companies in America, you didn't look any further because his explanation made sense. This isn't your fault Frank, this is that shot callers fault."

Frank's face hardened, "don't worry, I know."

It took five hours for someone to come out to give them an update, by that time, the hospital had moved them into a private waiting room, and everyone was there, half of Anvil, Curtis, Mat and Foggy, David, Sarah and the kids.

Frank could tell by the look on the doctor's face that things weren't good, but he asked nonetheless, "how is he doc?"

The doctor took a deep breath, "your friend is still in surgery, it's likely he'll be in there for a few more hours. He had some deep lacerations to his face but we're hopeful that his vision is still fully intact, and it doesn't look like there is any damage to the underlying essential nerves or structures, so while he may still have numbness, he will be able to move his face."

There was more, "his jaw and throat are also fine. The breaks in his arm and leg are minor considering everything and set easy. The issue is with his brain, there's swelling and multiple skull fractures. The Neurosurgeon is still working to control bleeding and patching what she can, but right now, we're not sure if he will wake up or what condition he'll be in if he does."

Frank nodded, "thanks, keep us updated please?"

The doctor nodded, "of course, we're trying our best Mr Castle, someone will be out in a few hours when the neurosurgeon knows more."

****

It took eleven hours for them to put Billy back together, cutting, gluing and sticking for Billy to come out with his head wrapped in bandages and a tube down his throat so he could breathe. Sarah had taken the kids home to sleep, but no one else had left and there was a slowly growing pile of coffee cups in the bin.

The same doctor came out looking haggard but assured and despite Frank's sire muscles, he was up in a flash, "what's the news?"

The doctors didn't offer him a smile, but it wasn't a frown either, "we don't know. He has a brain injury, a very serious one at that, but, he did maintain his airway when we did a breathing trial. We have him in a medically induced coma right now to give him brain and body time to rest but the fact that he was breathing on his own, even if it was for thirty seconds, is a good thing."

The whole waiting room relaxed, "right now, we have no idea if or when he'll wake up, it could be in a week, it could be never. If he does wake up and has function, he will need significant rehab to be able to return to some semblance of normal life. We don't want to give you false hope right now, but so far, the signs are good."

****

Billy was in the ICU for a month. On day five, they brought him out of the coma and pulled the tube from his throat. On day ten, he started to show some signs of activity but a twitch here and there was nothing special occurring to the neurosurgeon.

They had taken shifts, a constant rotation of people in and out so Billy was never alone. The nurses even put a cot in the room so someone could stay there overnight.

Every day for a month, they spent hours hanging on the doctor's every word, watching the nurses turn him to prevent bed sores, getting updates from the physiotherapists as they worked on him to keep his body working and talking to Billy in hopes that it kept his brain active.

Come the end of the month, there was a sadness in the air as they moved him to the long term care ward. The doctors would tell them every day that they were hopeful, that there were tiny improvements here and there that showed he might be getting better but deep down, they all thought the same thing, he had a few months of the same care in the hospital before he was shipped off some else to rot and die.

Frank refused to leave Billy's side the day of his move, sitting there with a bobbing leg holding his hand while he lives on coffee and cheap hospital food. When Curtis came for his shift, Frank's leg refused to carry him out.

Curtis placed a warm hand on Frank's back and sat on the chair next to him, hoping to give him some comforting words, "this is Billy we're talking about here Frank, he's going to get through this."

Frank shook his head, "and if he does and wakes up a zombie? He's said it before Curt, he doesn't want to turn out like his mother."

Curtis shook his head, "when Bily wakes up, we both know he will work like a dog until he can leave here on his own two feet."

Frank swallowed, his eyes filling with tears, "I can't lose him Curt, he's.."

Curtis cut him off, "Billy's one tough motherfucker, he'll pull through, I can feel it in my bones." He gave Frank and hearty slap, "now go home, or I'll call Karen and have her drag you home."

That had Frank up, "alright, no need to call in backup, I'm going."

Curt stood up and wrapped his arms around his friend, "we're going to get through this, don't worry."

Five months later

Hazel sighed, her eyes heavy as she dragged her feet from her station in the peds ward to long term care across the sky bridge and down the hall. It's a journey she had made every day since she started working two at the hospital years ago. She followed the same routine each time, arrive at the ward, grab a coffee and take her break with her best friend, Lizabeth.

She leaned against the table in the breakroom and rubbed her face, the double shift hitting her like a truck as she watched the people outside, "Who's the new patient? He seems pretty popular."

Hazel sipped her coffee as Lizabeth spoke, "Willaim Russo, some hot shot military contractor. He got a face full of glass and a TBI in that bomb blast a few months ago."

Hazel thought for a moment, "wait, does he run a company called Anvil?"

She nodded, "yeah, most of his visiters are his friends, why do you ask?"

Hazel sighed, "because it's a small world."

"Excuse me," no response, so she tried someone else, "miss.." People were rude here. Hazel really didn't want to be late, she couldn't imagine it would look good if she didn't show up to get the keys to her shoebox apartment.

She was going to give up when a man caught her eye, he was handsome, almost insultingly so but even in his very nice suit, he looked like he had lived a thousand years without sleep. She stuck out her hand and waved, "Sir, sir, can I please have a moment of your time, I just need some directions."

To her relief, the man smiled and slowed, "of course ma'am, where were you headed?" He gave her an easy smile, his teeth blindly white,

Halez pulled out her huge map and pointed to a street "Newport Properties, they said to go to seventh but then someone at seventh said to come here, I'm about as lost as a bee in the dark."

The man laughed, "you're on the right track. Get on the next train and then get off in seven stops, it should be easy from there."

Hazel smiled, "thank you so much, you're a saint."

The man smiled, "no worried ma'am, take care of yourself."

Hazel walked away only to realise that she had a million more questions and if her track record was anything to go by, she wasn't going to find someone else to answer them.

"Wait."

He turned around and walked back over, "still lost?" There was a charm in his voice.

She nodded, "yep, like I said, as a bee in the dark."

He gave her a look, "how about I sit next to you, you can ask me all the questions you want?"

She smiled, but her brain caught up to her good nature, "you're not a serial killer, are you?"

He chuckled, "no, ma'am, I'm not, I promise."

Hazel sighed, "I really don't want to take up any more of your time."

The man shook his head and stuck out his hand, "it's no bother, ma'am. I'm Billy."

Hazel accepted his hand, it was warm and calloused, "Hazel, it's nice to meet you Billy."

The train arrived soon after and they got on, Billy pushing way to get them both a seat, "so what do you want to know Hazel?"

She shrugged, "how do I get from Hell's Kitchen to New york General?"

Billy held back his smile and pointed to the map in her hand, she passed it to him and he opened it across their laps, taking time to answer her questions as he showed her where to go.

"You working there?"

She nodded, "I'm a nurse in the peds ward, it's meant to be one of the best."

Billy looked her over, she was beautiful, "yeah, I've heard that too. How long have you been a nurse?"

She smiled softly, "ten years, I love it. What do you do?"

Billy's face was a neutral mask, "I just got out of the Marines, I'm actually on my way to look at a property for my new company."

Hazel's face changed as if she was trying to read his thoughts, "you're starting your own company, that's awesome, good for you."

Billy smiled, "thanks, most people pick up the Marine thing."

She shook her head, "I'm sure you hear thank you for your service all the time, most of the time, it doesn't mean anything. I'm guessing you're a bit sick of the platitude."

For the first time in a long time, Billy was stumped, "wow, people usually aren't that honest. And yeah, I do get a bit sick of hearing it, most people don't mean it."

Hazel huffed, "humans aren't known for their understanding."

There was a sadness in her voice that Billy understood, "I'm sure you've been on the receiving end of the same thing a few times before?

She nodded, "yep, you can only eat so much cheap pizza before you realise that the pizza should be a raise and more paid time off."

Billy laughed, it was hearty and filled with warmth, "don't I know that. Speaking of which, have you tried any yet?"

Hazel shook her head, "I've been too busy, plus, everyone says to go somewhere different, and bad pizza is just sad."

Billy pointed to the man, "Mama Magda's, you won't get anywhere better."

Hazel's smile grew, "ok, I trust you, even though I only met you," she looked at her watch, "fifteen minutes ago."

Billy shook his head, "what else to you want to know?"

She blinked, "so much."

They talked for what seemed like seconds but it wasn't, with the last chime, Billy's smile faded, "this is your stop."

Hazel mirrored him, "oh, that was so fast, I though it was going to take ages."

Billy shook his head, "nah. You better go, you don't want to be late."

She stood up, and the train slowed, and then Billy pulled something from his pocket, "here's my number, call if you get lost again."

He passed her the card and she smiled again, "thank you Billy, you're a lifesaver."

Hazel sighed, the money fading. "I met him on the train on my first day in the city. I had no idea where I was going, so he sat next to me until I got to the right stop. I always meant to send something to his office to thank him but I lost his card unpacking, I'm glad he has people."

Lizabeth smiled, "yeah, it's good to see. How's it over in the land of little ones?"

Hazel chuckled and sighed, "great, we had one of those petting zoos in the yard today, the kids had fun."

Lizabeth raised an eyebrow, "and you didn't?"

"You know I did, there's no need to make fun of me." Hazel's tone held no offence.

"I'm not making fun of you, I just know how you get around poor little things in need of love." She could tell Lizabeth didn't just mean animals and children.

"Oh shut up Lizzy."

Three weeks later

"Can we at least move between wards?" No one was happy about the meeting, but the joy of outbreaks meant they had to.

The director nodded, "You can move between wards if you are fully vaccinated and follow infection protocol, but we ask that you use discretion and don't go where there aren't infections already. It might only be measles but we can't take any chances."

Hazel rolled her eyes and turned to her friend sitting next to her, "well Lizzy, looks like we need to bring back teased hair and rainbow pants because we're back in the eighties."

Lizabeth huffed, "we're on infection number two, I don't think it will be long before half the ward goes down."

Hazel rubbed her face, "let's hope it doesn't last long, they said it would be three weeks until we reassess, but who knows."

"We can only hope, there's only so many of us and you know how fast my guys go down without company." Lizabeth's tone was a mix of anger and worry.

Hazel sighed, "you don't need to tell me, maybe you'll get more staff?"

The look Lizzy gave her took Hazel all she needed to know.

Six weeks later

The walk between wards had become less of a way to pass the time and turned into a lifeline, a few moments away from the bright colours and loud noise to rest in the quiet of a place now devoid of anyone else but unconscious patients and staff.

Hazel and Lizabeth clinked their paper cups together and swigged their coffees, "so much for three weeks, it's looking grim here."

Lizabeth rubbed her face, "yeah, it's feeling grim too but we're trying."

Hazel drummed her fingers against the wall, "I know I'm not suppose to ask but how's Mr Russo doing?"

Lizabeth looked at her friend, she noticed how her eyes would flick to his room every now and then, "like the rest of them. My day is a mess of backsliding and fielding calls from people wanting to come and see their loved ones."

A few moments passed before Hazel spoke, "you need more people right?" Her friend nodded, "I'll come in, admin will be fine with me coming in as long as they don't need to pay me. I'll finish my shift then start a four hour volunteer one. Give me two patients and I'll read to them."

Lizabeth smiled, "as long as Russo's one of them?"

She knew Hazel didn't mean anything malicious by it, she just wanted to return the favour for helping her on the train. "Yeah, I owe him and I never got to thank him for helping me, better that that never right?"

Lizabeth chuckled, "sure. I'll get the paperwork for you when we walk by the desk."

Hazled smiled, "thank you Lizzy."

Two days later

Hazel took a deep breath, book in hand and walked into Billy's room. She had no idea where she was going to start or what to say, she felt kind of silly but nevertheless, she owed him something and she was going to pay him back.

She pulled up a chair and sat by the bed, taking his hand in hers, "I'm Hazel, you probably don't remember but you helped me a few years ago on the train when I got lost. I meant to call you but I lost your card when I was unpacking and when I looked up your company but I couldn't find your direct line and I didn't want to be weird."

Billy could hear her voice as her name entered his ears and her face flashed through his skull, "as lost as a bee in the dark." He wanted to respond, squeeze the warm hand in his, do anything to let her know he was there but he couldn't

Hazel sighed, "I know you have people but they're not allowed here right now so I thought I'd fill in, not that I'm much of a substitute. I brought a book, I didn't want to pick anything that would bore you but I was worried about nightmares, so I picked Murder on the Orient Express. I figure if you haven't read it, working out who the killer is will give your brain something to do."

Billy wanted desperately to speak, to let her know that nothing could be worse than the darkness he felt as the hours passed him.

She cleared her throat, "I spend most of my time reading to children, so you'll have to forgive if you feel like you're listening to a Disney movie."

"Better that Frank reading me the paper." Billy thought to himself.

"It was five o’clock on a winter’s morning in Syria. Alongside the platform at Aleppo stood the train grandly designated in railway guides as the Taurus Express. It consisted of a kitchen and dining-car, a sleeping-car and two local coaches.

By the step leading up into the sleeping-car stood a young French lieutenant, resplendent in uniform conversing, with a small man muffled up to the ears of whom nothing was visible but a pink-tipped nose and the two points of an upward-curled moustache."

The story went on and Billy felt like he had a movie playing in his head, her voice faded in and out but he always managed to stay tethered to its strands until a buzzing sent him flying back into his withering shell, "I'm sorry Billy, that's my cue to leave but I'll be back tomorrow ok and we'll pick up where we left off."

She squeezed his hand one last time and stood up, and Billy willed himself to move at least one finger, and to his despair, it happened just as her footsteps faded away.

Part 2

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