#bring me back to america i need better service to be able to look at fanart and rambles and get my brain juices flowing

[triglycercule]

the procrastinator's urge to not do any of the schoolwork i have to do because this is what happens when i miss only THREE days of school (loss of motivation and flow,,,,,,)

[buffywintersthevampireslayer]

this has been such a ROUGH year. aside from the job stuff - which has been brutal - there's all these little things about being an American living in China? I have so few food options, and then people are judgy and mean about me being a picky eater; people take photos or videos of me in the street, because they don't see many foreigners and I look strange, like the license to be rude that people feel that they have because I'm a foreigner is crazy (and I know they know they're being rude because sometimes they try to be discreet about recording me); there's the fact everyone makes phone calls for everything?? and I do get why (it's hard to write Chinese electronically so it's easier to call than text), but like, I can't answer the phone and when I do, it's useless, because I've been studying Chinese as much as I could before I got here and have been studying Chinese intensely while I'm here, but I'd have to be here for at least another year to be able to do phone calls

but the worst rn is that there are so many people who want to be my friend and are excited to offer their help until I actually need help, and then they say "you need to figure out how to do things on your own". I have had to move four times so far, soon to be five, and almost every time it's me carrying twenty heavy boxes or whatever by myself, as people gawk at the struggling foreigner. even when I hired a fucking moving service, he just dumped me on the curb with all my stuff and I had to bring it inside and up to my apartment by myself??? I broke the fucking elevator doors bc they kept trying to close on me and I couldn't both push the button to hold them open AND drag the massive heavy box inside the elevator. so I just had to do difficult physical labor while I was get chomped on by a massive metal mouth

and there's so much more. people here are pushy, both physically in queues and in terms of like. messaging you daily to push you to do the thing they want you to do? and people dismiss me when I don't speak Chinese but when I try to, they laugh at my attempts or get frustrated with me, and even with translation apps they get impatient and ignore me or get frustrated. I could go on for a while

there are a lot of things that I like about China, and I think my combination of homesickness (which again, people here kinda mock me for), my stress about unrelated things (like the US election), and so on, are making me feel more negatively about being here than I otherwise would. I'm hoping to arrive in America, hug my mom and dad, pet my brother's dog, get to eat the foods I've been craving for months, spend Christmas with my grandma, etc etc, and then have a clearer perspective of my time in China and be in a better place to decide if I want to return

but with how I feel right now? I would feel deeply relieved to never come back.

[pbandjesse]

Thankfully the airport pickups today went much smoother than yesterday. No one's flight was horrendously late. It was a little hard to coordinate getting three people and fitting their luggage in the car but besides that it went great. I had a pretty nice day overall. There were moments. But still a good day.

After I posted last night I went and got the boys and I had to coordinate them finding each other first. Which was fine. Aiden is younger and it's his first time in America. Dylan was here last year and kind of understood what was up. But the airport lost his luggage. So that was very stressful. And they were both tired and hungry. So I would take them to McDonald's and we would make it back to camp around 11:00. And then I was back on the road to go home and I was in a great mood and I got back around midnight and I took a shower and wash my hair and that made me feel a lot better and I was able to sleep pretty easily. James was mostly asleep already but woke up enough to help me fix up the bed and then they were back out.

Waking up was a little hard. I just didn't want to be awake. I stayed in bed longer than I planned but once I did get up James was making a scrapes and the other room and that was really exciting because I love their crepes. And they used the cheesecake pudding that I made for the party as the filling which was perfect.

I got dressed while they were finishing that. And my outfit wasn't super exciting today but I did get compliment on it by someone who was very fashionable looking so that feels pretty nice. And we had breakfast and then we just kind of hung out for a while. I didn't need to leave until noon to go to work so we were just kind of lazing about. I did work on some knitting and kind of just enjoyed not having much to do. But then all of a sudden I had to start coordinating with our internationals because they obviously don't have service and there were going to be three of them. I was able to get one of them and then I found the Instagrams of the other two and eventually I was able to get everyone on board and it was fine. But the poor two girls had three planes that they had to go on and thank God nobody lost their luggage this time.

I left the house at noon like I said. And I drove over to art with a heart to get my materials. I was not happy to find out that it was four bags. And they were not light bags. Three of them had canvases in them and the fourth one had all the paints and blues and brushes and everything that we could need. I asked the interns if I can have an extra bag and I used that one to string the bags of canvases together so that I can hold them with one arm. But it was a very heavy and I ended up bruising both my inner arms and broke some blood vessels in the one. I was not happy and by the time I got back to my car which was parked up the hill because of too many people being in the parking lot, I was literally seeing spots. I pushed myself way over my limit and I'm going to make a note of that in the report for the week that if it's going to be that many bags in the future to please tell me ahead of time so I can bring a cart.

And then I had a really hard time figuring out where I was supposed to go at the hospital. It wasn't in the place that we normally were and I didn't really understand the directions that they gave us because the address that they put put me on the back of the hospital which I knew was wrong because they said to park in the visitor lot which is on the other side. I did eventually figure it out and got to the children's hospital where I was supposed to be and headed downstairs. But my arms hurt really bad from carrying all the bags. It was just a lot. Though it was interesting the elevator was a Sabbath friendly elevator which I have never seen in my life. I thought that was very cool.

The class went fine. Not as many people as we needed canvases for. But the project was fun and we did acrylic washes and then clogged on top of them and while I enjoy the people in this class. I think the projects that they choose for them are kind of hokey. They're all about growth and stuff and like I get it but also these are adults and it feels cheesy. And it'd be different if it was my project that I came up with but it's really hard for me to talk about something when I think it's dumb. So I tried to jazz it up a little bit and make it more open-ended which is something I think they deserve to have. But they all enjoy doing the project and it was a good time.there was even a kid in the class and she was very sweet.

I was a little frustrated with the assistant I had. She was the one that I had the one other time I subbed and she's perfectly nice but she was late which is not a huge deal she and Mr Boss. But she was not super helpful. She just really wants to do the project which like I said in the past I don't mind if you do the project. But I had to like very much direct her to be helpful. Not everybody's good and understanding how to just jump in and help which is fine. My more annoyance was that at the end she offered to help carry the bags with me so that I didn't hurt myself again and then when I said yes she acted surprised that I said yes and was like well I have to carry my stuff. Just like whatever it's fine I'll carry them myself. That ann uity. I'm not going to make you feel better because that was rude what you just did. I hate when people offer things when they don't mean it.

I was starving after this class though. I got everything cleaned up and brought it back to art with a heart. There wasn't an accessible sink at the hospital so I brought all of the brushes and cups back to clean at the sinks at Art of the heart. And then once I was done that I headed back.

I texted James and asked if they would make me dumplings and mac and cheese. And they were working on that when I got back. They were very good. And James hung out with me until I got a message from Leon, one of the people I was picking up, that his flight was coming in almost an expected. Strange. But I don't care. One of the girls was landing in a few minutes anyway and had already known she was going to have to wait until the last person came at 7:00 so it didn't really matter. I told him I would still get there early and he kept saying no no it's okay. And I was just like I'll get there when I get there.

So I left the house and headed to the airport. There wasn't any traffic and I got there only a little bit later. And when I say there wasn't any traffic there wasn't any like grid traffic. There was still some back ups. And when I got there Katerina was just landing so I texted her and she said she was going to get something to eat and look around for a while. I said that's totally fine and I would hang out in the parking lot until she was ready. And then I just chilled and played on my phone and continue to coordinate because getting three people from three different countries on three different planes was definitely going to be a challenge.

Katerina eventually told me that she was bored and she asked if she could come and sit in my car. So we figured out where she was and I gave her the same instructions I gave the boys last night because that worked so well. And then I went and got her and it was so nice to see her. She gave me a big hug and we got her bag in the car and we drove back to the cell phone lot. We chatted for a while and then only a few minutes later Leon was coming out so we went to a find him.

He was a little bit more confused. He is newly 18. Literally his birthday was yesterday. And he's very sweet but he was a little confused. We got him in the car though and then we tried to figure out where Eva was. Her flight was coming in last and had just landed and so thankfully in the time that Leon was in customs she was coming through and was out and only a few minutes. We did have to send Katarina to go find her because she was confused about the number directions. But it was totally fine and then we got everybody in the car. We had to put one person's suitcase perpendicular in the middle seat in the back but it all worked out in the end.

driving back was a little bit more quiet than last night. I tried to engage them in conversation but I could tell they were all pretty tired. And so after a few minutes I let them go and they all just kind of rested their eyes. Katerina said the same thing that Aiden had said last night. Americans are so funny that will drive 40 minutes and not think it's very long. Aiden said that he's only driven 40 minutes one time and then he had to take the day off the next day. Which I thought was hilarious.

Katerina said that the longest she's ever been in the car was 5 hours and it was one of the hardest times on her body that she can remember. Wild.

But they were all so excited to be at camp. Eva and Katarina were your last year. And they were so excited to see everything and I drove everyone up to stockade and Annabelle was coming out to greet everyone. And then I helped them bring their bags upstairs and said goodbye. Until tomorrow.

I stopped at the office to talk to Alexi. Who was obviously stressed. I had offered to pick up a couple people tomorrow in the city to bring down that didn't have transportation. Totally fine. And then chatted with her for a few minutes before I headed out. And then I went to go get myself some dinner.

I went to Chipotle. And it was very quick. I feel like they under-filled my bowl a little bit but it's whatever. I am almost home now where I'm going to kiss on James and eat Chipotle and probably take a shower and oil my hair because it is very dry before we go to bed. Tomorrow is the first day of camp! I'm so excited. I'm not going to be slowly starting next week I will. Probably Monday. I'm really looking forward to it and all the weird terrible disgusting excellent things that happen at camp. I definitely have rose colored glasses for it but I'm going to keep him as long as I can.

I hope you all had an excellent day. I hope you sleep well tonight and that you're taking care of yourselves. Until next time.

[deliciousparadiserebel]

Free Dating free Messaging Meet new People! meet new people!

Online dating sites have revolutionized the world of relationships. If you've ever been curious about the world of online dating, you may have come across the term "Twitch." But what is Twitch, and how does it work? נערות ליווי בהרצליהShowing that you want to experience certain things together doesn't just help alert someone to the fact that they may be right for you, it sends signals that deter people who aren't. The Denver Dating Company is an all-inclusive service that helps you meet positive, personable individuals who are interested in developing real, tangible relationships who live, work, and socialize near you. When using Topface, you’ll see that you can meet with those who you want. I'm not sure either of us can remember. Relationships and dating Orlando can be hard especially if you’re no longer in the going out scene. Consequently, the other person doesn’t have to go through tracts of meandering text to find out if you’re what they’re looking for in a partner. Be honest about what kind of partner you’re looking for, and what preferences you’d like him/her to embody. Happy, because they're just like me! I like everything they do!

One misstep -- whether you smell like smoke because you had a quick cigarette to calm your nerves, or you accidentally spill ketchup down your shirt -- and you might not get another chance. No one is out of my league! There is no other script with such a wide range of functionality and such good UX/UI out of the box. Humidity is not good for horn bows and the humidity could affect the adhesives that held the layers of material together. To that end, he extracted the parsing code from his software, and released it as a library I could include in Yarns’s code, called Parse-This.21 As described earlier, parsing was the most laborious part of building Yarns, so this was a good way to avoid us overlapping work on the same task. This digital library was born out of a need to make resources about Black music history as comprehensive and accessible as possible. Building what one needs, and then sharing knowledge and resources that result from that endeavour, demonstrates a commitment to benevolence.

Then maybe "the popular type" is right for you. Which is right? Both. More relieved than proud right now. Or, maybe you're a super shy and quiet person who wants to date someone that can help you feel more confident. I can make a few exceptions. She’s only used a few characters, yet we already know she’s traveled extensively and has a pretty varied heritage. We interviewed a few singles across North America who have used matchmakers. This kind of person is considered a perfect 10 who has brains, charisma and an outgoing personality. What kind of guy do you really attract? When she’s not writing she loves hanging out with her cat, reading outdoors and scrolling the depths of TikTok. Hicks, Chris. "The Dog Days of Summer Bring Out Movies That Are Dogs." Deseret News. Only the kids, but we keep meaning to go out. Keep the swearing to yourself on a first date, just as a matter of politeness and decorum.

Absolutely not, except that one thing. We're like slightly frayed versions of the same thing. Maybe this type of partner makes you feel like you're on cloud nine, or maybe they challenge you more than a difficult game of Sudoku. How about 11 or more people? I'm the same but they got even more beautiful! Got a crush on that cute neighbor but don't know his or her name? Many things, but we got stronger. K39 is chemically identical to K40; the only way we can distinguish between them is to use a nonchemical technique like mass spectrometry. The less you fight back, the less power you can give them over you, the better,” she says. He says people who say phrases like this are trying to say "being on here does not mean that I have deficits as a person". Four days, but it felt like a year. We wont show your exact location, but you will be able to find people nearby who like the same things you do. Would you rather date someone who is funny or intelligent?

[boxofbonesfic]

Wedding planning with your soon to be husband has been nothing short of a breeze. With the leftover invitations, you addressed all your favorite celebrities- your fiancé insisting that the you send one off to Steve Rogers.

What you didn’t expect was to get an RSVP back from him, but you’ll accommodate anyone that can make your fiancé beam like that.

congrats on 7k, you deserve it and more 💚

Title: Something Blue

Pairing: Dark!Steve Rogers x Bride!Reader

Wordcount: 1,279

Warnings: Dark!Steve, is there a bride kink?, Wedding Crashing, Implied Smut, Manipulation, Implied NonCon

A/N: 👀 next up, a wedding, lol. i hope you all enjoy this one, it was really fun to write! love a good wedding-crashing.

Your sister squeezes your hand, and you pray her shrill whisper doesn’t carry all the way across the church. 

 “IS THAT STEVE ROGERS?”

You drag Hailey away from the double doors, your face flaming hot as you bunch the delicate train of your dress under your other arm so that you can waddle back to the dressing room as quickly as possible. 

 “Jesus, Hailey! Scream it, why don’t you,” you hiss, resting your back against the cool wood. 

 “Sorry, sorry, it’s just, well, fuck!” Your sister throws her hands into the air excitedly. “Like, Captain America is at your wedding!” 

 “Ex-Captain-America,” you remind her. “And besides, this was all Travis’ idea.” It was. Steve Rogers was your husband’s idol—Brooklyn born and bred, just like him. It went beyond healthy hero worship in your opinion, but you hadn’t been able to deny his request. 

 “If he doesn’t come, so what? It’s just an invitation! People send celebrities invitations to their weddings all the time! Look at J.Lo!”

 Well, it certainly isn’t J.Lo sitting in the second right pew,  you think with a sigh. 

 “Oh yeah. Damn, he should have brought the other guy, the new one, with the wings. He’s fine.” You elbow her, laughing. 

 “Do you think you could not troll for strange dick at my wedding?” You ask, turning around and motioning to the still loose laces on the back of your dress. 

 Your sister heaves a dramatic sigh, and you feel her gather up the laces, pulling them taut. “My work’s never done around here. And now no reward? What did I even come for?”

 “To see me marry the love of my life?”

 “I guess I’ll settle for that,” she grunts, and you exhale a strained breath as she ties off the corset. “Look at that, perfect.” You’re about to ask if your makeup needs touching up when there’s a soft rap at the door. Hailey peeks around you with a frown. “If that’s you, Trav,  you better get out of here and go wait at the altar before I punch you.” 

 “Then it’s probably a good thing Travis is still up at the pulpit, then.” The voice is familiar—not because you really know Steve Rogers, but because you’ve heard it on television so many times. Your sister covers her excited shriek with her hands while you fumble for the doorknob. You pull it open, and there he is, his tight-fitted tux bulging around his muscles as he raises a hand for you to shake, the other held behind his back.

 “Steve Rogers,” he says, as though you don’t know who he is. “Congratulations.” 

 “N-nice to meet you.” Your hand feels tiny in his. “I, I didn’t, um. Travis is a really big fan.” You stammer. “I didn’t think you would, um. Would come.” 

 “Well, maybe this is a little embarrassing, but I love weddings. Haven’t really been to a proper one since I came out of the ice.” He rubs the back of his neck, and his cheeks pinken ever so slightly. Cute. “Anyway, I thought I should bring something.” In his left hand is a thick envelope. 

 “You didn’t have to do that, really,” you protest, but he forces it into your hands with a gentle smile. “Thank you.” 

 “No, no, the pleasure is all mine. I’m sure the service will be lovely.” He gives you a polite nod, and about-faces, walking back into the chapel. Quickly, you tear open the envelope, and your eyes widen. The earrings inside are nothing short of lovely—they look like antiques; baby blue sapphires set in delicately twisting silver. 

 “Jesus christ,” says Hailey over your shoulder. “You think if I invite him to my birthday I’ll get some of the Queen’s jewels?” 

 “Hailey!” You chastise her as you replace the pearls in your ears with the sapphires Steve had gifted you, handing the discarded earrings off to your sister. You fix her with a conspiratorial grin before giggling. 

 “No, but send it anyway.” 

 —

 The ceremony was beautiful, and Travis’ vows brought tears to your eyes, which had utterly ruined your mascara. That was okay, though, because now you were his. And he was yours too; forever, just like he’d said. 

 “I didn’t think I could love someone as much as you. Could feel as much love as you give me.”

 It makes your chest ache with fullness just to think about it. 

 “We’ve got to be there in forty five minutes, you have everything?” Your mother asks you hurriedly as she rushes you to the car. “The dress is there already?” 

 “For the hundredth time, yes, mom. It’s at the suite. I just have to change and then we can go right to the reception hall. Ten minutes, tops.” Travis is already headed there, but he isn’t the one that has a twenty pound tulle demon to contend with. It’s only a few minutes back to the hotel, and you assure both your mother and Hailey that you can touch up your own makeup and shimmy into the skin-tight ivory number you’d chosen for the reception. 

 You leave them downstairs, gathering your skirts in your hands as you race to the elevator. 

 “Hold the door, please!” You’re surprised to see Steve jogging toward you, an apologetic smile on his face. “Thanks. Didn’t realize you were staying here too,” he says, taking care not to step on the train of your dress as he squeezes in beside you. 

 “No problem,” you grin. “Just going to get reception ready. Late, as per usual.” The bell dings, and you begin trying to clamor out of the elevator past him. 

 “Let me help.” Steve lifts the hem of your dress, high enough to keep the train from dragging as you speed-walk towards the hotel suite. With a swipe of your key-card the door opens, and you bustle into the room. 

 “Thank you, Steve, I really appreciate it. And the earrings are beautiful.” You turn to him with a grateful smile, expecting to see him bow out of the room and close the door behind him—

 But he doesn’t.

 Steve reaches up to slide the thick deadbolt down over the lock, that serene smile still on his face. 

 “You’re very welcome, doll. They look beautiful on you.” Steve Rogers is a hero, you tell yourself, swallowing down the rising bolt of fear that snakes up your throat. A hero. He takes a step closer to you. “You know, I fibbed a little earlier. And I am sorry for that.” Your mouth goes dry as he begins undoing the little gold cufflinks on the sleeves of his tux. 

 “W-what are you doing?” He ignores you, continuing to talk like you hadn’t asked him a question. 

 “I’ve been to lots of weddings. Turns out, you people love inviting strangers to your most private, personal moments—if they’re famous.” His fingers go to the buttons on his shirt after he unclips the tie from his collar. There is ice in your veins as you try to run for the phone on the bedside table, but Steve grabs for the back of your dress. You tumble backward, and the air leaves your lungs in a pained wheeze as you hit the floor. 

 You stare dizzily at the ceiling as he begins to crawl under the many layers of delicate tulle, his fingers tugging at your garters. 

 “I’m going to leave you something blue, sweetheart,” he says softly. His mouth is warm against the bare curve of your hip. “I know blue eyes are a recessive trait, but they all seem to have them.”

 fin

[gale-gentlepenguin]

ML Fic: Soulmate Survey Part 34

Man these parts are getting harder and harder to churn out. A lot of plot points converging and real life ramping up. Hopefully you all enjoy this. Please comment your thoughts on the chapter. And if you really liked it, Reblog it. Thats the best way to get others to see it. Also, Please let me know your thoughts. Your comments fuel me.

(Master Post)

_____________________________________________________________

Masquerade surveyed the classroom. Her former classmates now her masked servants. It was fitting how they were all silent. Before, they listened to her because she told them exactly the things they wanted to hear, now they listened because she had power over them. It was kind of poetic in a way.

She looked across the classroom, she realized that there seemed to be more people missing than she initially realized.

“We are missing someone. Aside from Marinette, who is missing?”

The controlled classmates looked amongst themselves. Trying to figure out who was the one that was not in the class.

“Is it Chloé?” Miracular inquired, trying to answer her master’s request.

The akuma looked around.

“Huh… Oh yea, she isn’t here. Well she isn’t important. I was thinking someone else.” Masquerade answered. She looked to her most recently made akuma servant.

The Bubbler, the akumatized version of Nino stood motionless. As if he was not registering what was going on.

“Bubbler? Do you know who is missing?”

The multicolored akuma said nothing. Not even looking in the direction of the mask maiden.

“Bubbler! I order you to answer me!” She commanded with fiery rage.

The akuma turned to face his master, now responding.

“Adrien is missing.” The bubbler answered, his voice robotic and as emotive as a speak and spell.

“So, Adrien isn’t in the room. What a shame. I was planning on turning him into my handsome little knight.”

Masquerade thought for a moment.

Has Adrien been akumatized? Lila wasn’t sure she had ever seen or heard about him getting akumatized. She knew that the class had pretty much gotten hit at least once or twice at some point from what she had heard and read from the ladyblog. But if that goody-goody Marinette hadn’t been akumatized, Adrien likely hadn’t been akumatized either.

“Alright my servants! We have a new mission. I want you to lock this school down! No one is allowed in or out. Anyone you find, bring them to me. If they can be akumatized, then they are joining our cause.”

“Time breaker. Guard the perimeter outside of the school. Anyone outside of Ladybug and Chat noir trying to get in. Tag them, but only if they are suspicious of what’s going on. Stay hidden otherwise.”

“Timebreaker nodded and began skating out of the room in a rush.

“Horrificator, once Timebreaker is outside, seal all the exits in the main building.”

The masked monstress nodded and sped out of the room.

“Dark Cupid, Stoneheart, Princess Fragrance, Miracular and Reflekta. I want you to split up check all of the rooms and bring me potential akumas.”

The five akuma nodded and made their way out the door.

“Gamer and Robostus. I want you to hack into the airwaves. I want access to every Electric device in Paris when I give you the signal. But make sure to be subtle. I don’t want anyone to know about us until I tell you.”

The two nod and start working to get that ready for her.

She focuses her attention to the bubble making akuma that was giving her problems earlier.

Considering how hard it was to break him down, it was understandable. She had saved him for last for a reason. Because he was the hardest one to crack.

He was a relatively calm individual, able to keep a level head. But even he had his weakness. His confidence. Once that was shaken, seeing his entire class taken, knowing his girlfriend was under her control, he couldn't resist another moment. In a way, it was the most satisfying charm on her bracelet.

“Now Bubbler, you are going to go and locate Marinette and Adrien for me. Put them in a bubble and bring them to me. Help that girlfriend of yours.”

The bubbler nodded yes despite severe shaking. Seems even now he is trying to resist the control of the mask.

“Troublesome, but it is only temporary. He will break soon enough.” Masquerade mused to herself.

She looked at the near empty room with contempt. This was hardly a place where she could exact her vengeance. It was so… lame. Though a thought occurs as she realized who she had left standing at attention without orders.

“Evillustrator, I have a special request for you.”

________________________________________________________

“What is this?” Chloé screeched. “My daddy bought me the best phone plan in the city. How can I not have service right now?!”

The nurse felt a chill run down her spine. Could the akuma block out phone signals? Is that why there is no attention being given to the school? How could they call for help? How would anyone know of the akuma attack? Would Ladybug and Chat noir be able to help them?

The nurse started to feel herself going pale, she was just supposed to be a school nurse. Worst thing she needed to deal with was a scraped knee or give a kid an ice pack. Now she has a woman that collapsed on the bed and an akuma that is somewhere in the school. She had just moved to Paris a few months ago. It was her dream to live in the city of love, get her career going, find a nice guy, and just live the good life. But no one told her that supervillain attacks would be so personally connected to her situation? She had heard about this crap in New York and in America. But Paris? It was too much. What if Ladybug and Chat noir didn’t fix everything? What if this was where her story ended. What if…

“Hey!”

The nurse turned to her attention to the voice. It was the brash blonde teen that was complaining.

“You look like you’re going to pass out. Just a heads up, I am not taking care of you.” Chloé commented.

Angela felt her face heat up with annoyance.

“Listen you brat. I don’t have time to deal with your attitude. I have a woman that is out cold from exhaustion in a building with a hostile akuma.”

“Good, at least you aren’t going to faint. I don’t need any more whinny women fainting on me”

The nurse paused, did the girl say that just to help her not succumb to the grim situation?

Chloé started making her way to the door.

“Hey, where are you going?”

“You already got your hands full with the annoying assistant. I need to make a call to daddy. So, I am going to head out the building and try there. Try not to get ripped apart by an akuma, I still need more ice when I get back.”

Angela blinked. This girl wasn’t scared of the akuma. She was actually going out to do something reasonable. If she could call for help, it would mean that this whole thing blows over.

“Okay, I’ll stay here. Be safe.”

“Yea whatever.”

Chloé headed out the door.

Angela felt a ghost of a smile grace her face.

‘Maybe that girl isn’t a complete brat after all.’

__________________________________________________

The shapeshifting sentimonster growled as it smacked the locker. It lost both primary targets. And worst of all, Ladybug appeared to make this even harder. Masquerade needed to hear about this.

“Master, Marinette and Adrien have escaped my sight.”

The sentimonster heard a sigh of disappointment from the other end.

“It is fine Simularé, They wont be able to escape the school anyway. They will be found soon enough. If anything, this is a blessing in disguise. Having them be the last targets will have them bare witness to how devasting it will all be.” Masquerade answered. “Any news on Ladybug and Chat noir?”

“That’s the other bad news. Ladybug arrived, I am assuming that’s how Marinette managed to escape, and ladybug also took Adrien away as well. No sign of chat noir. But if you know one is here, the other is likely soon to follow.”

There was a brief moment of silence, as masquerade mulled over the information she had received.

“Actually, that works out well for us. Meet up at my location, I have the other students out looking for them, I need your power for something more important.”

“Yes master.”

Simularé shifted back into its phantom form, moving quickly down the hallway to obey her master’s request.

Just as it left, Ladybug popped out of a nearby locker. Relieved it didn’t notice.

“That’s not good, Masquerade likely got everyone in the classroom.” The red heroine said aloud.

She activated her communicator and tried to contact chat noir. But there was no sound.

“Damn it. No signal. Lila likely cut the communication as soon as she realized it.?”

“No worries Buggaboo, I happen to be on site.” A voice called out.

Chat noir jumped out of another locker to reveal he was there.

Ladybug felt a bit of relief at her partner’s appearance. She could tell he felt the same. Better a situation with two heroes.

“Been here the whole time?” The spotted heroine asked her cat crimefighting comrade.

“Just arrived a few minutes ago, I figured something was up, so I decided to take a quick peek. Cat curiosity and all that.”

“And you assumed it was with Collège Françoise Dupont?”

“It seemed like a solid guess.”

“Considering the track record, that is reasonable.” Ladybug conceded.

“Ever wonder why it is always this school and never any of the other schools? Paris is a big city. You would think Hawkmoth would decide to branch out to the other schools in the city.” Chat noir inquired as they started walking down the hall.

“I assumed its just a coincidence.”

“Shot in the dark, maybe he has a kid that goes here. He is pretty old” Chat noir dissed.

“I can’t imagine anyone that would want to date Hawkmoth.” Ladybug joked.

“What about the blue lady? She seemed crazy enough.”

“And now that image is burned in my mind. Thanks kitty.” Ladybug sarcastically commented. “Despite the mental scarring, I am glad you got here. Seems a repeat offender got herself an upgrade in the akuma powers department.”

“Lila.”

“How did you know?”

“I was reading the ladyblog, Alya did great work on that article.” Chat noir praised. He mentally applauded his quick thinking.

“Right, kind of the reason I felt the need to keep an eye on this place. But sadly, I was too slow.” Ladybug responded a tad gloomy.

“Hey, don’t sweat it. We will finish this akuma before lunch.”

Ladybug heard a footstep from the end of the hallway.

“Get down!”

Ladybug tackled the cat hero down. Just narrowly avoiding a neon pause symbol, which now suck on the wall.

“Looks like Lila has been busy.” Chat noir noted as he turned his face to the direction of the attacker.

Ladybug looked at the akuma. The white mask covering her friend’s face. Lady Wifi was back.

“Alya…”

The two heroes got into a fighting stance and prepared to take down this controlled akuma.

________________________________________________

The halls were empty and lifeless as the two visiting teens made their way cautiously down the halls.

“Oddly quiet in here.” The fencer commented. “What do you think Luka?”

“Well last time we entered a place with an akuma in it, it was brimming with armored minions. Maybe this akuma has more stealth?” The Musician commented. “So, I don’t think you will be fighting as directly as you are use to Kagami.”

Kagami nodded at that, not exactly happy or sad regarding that remark. Her plan was to see if she could help her friends get out of the building, grab her textbook, and get out. She wasn’t really that interested in fighting a superpowered foe at this moment in time.

The two ceased speaking when they heard approaching footsteps.

“Someone’s coming.” Luka noted.

The two duck into the nearest room.

The two stayed close to the door as they listened to the sound of the approaching figure.

Kagami dropped to the floor silently as to check and see if she could get a visual.

She could only see what appeared to be costume boots of a larger figure. Which made the expert fencer believe it was not friendly.

The figure stopped, looking at the door. The two teens felt their neck hairs stand on edge as they did their best not to make a sound.

After what felt like an eternity, the figure passed the door without checking. Once the sound of his footsteps could no longer be heard, they let out a sigh of relief.

“That was way too close for comfort.”

“Agreed. I would prefer a direct confrontation next time, much less nerve-racking. “

The two carefully open the door and exit the room.

“Seems we found the akuma.” Luka commented. “Now we just need to avoid it and.”

“You mean akumas.” Kagami corrected.

“Akumas?”

Kagami tilted the boys head to look in the same direction she was looking, and sure enough she saw a rather large rock like creature walking the halls.

“Oh… well that is bad.”

Kagami pushed him back into the room and closed the door. Locking it before the rock giant could notice them.

“I’m surprised.”

“By the fact there is an 8-foot-tall rock beast outside?”

“No, by the fact you didn’t try to fight it.”

“I don’t have a weapon.” Kagami replied flatly.

Luka raised a brow at the comment, unsure if the fencer was serious or not about fighting that thing if she had a foil.

“Is something wrong?” A third voice came from behind them.

The two teens turned around, preparing for the worst. Though they were relieved to see it was just an old janitor… in a Hawaiian shirt. Despite his odd dress, he did give off a kind aura. One of a trusting old grandpa.

They noticed that the room seemed to be a sort of teacher’s lounge, with a small counter with a sink and cabinets. As well as a fridge to keep food cold and stored. A place in the school where teachers would come to get a quick coffee or store their lunch.

“Oh good, you aren’t an akuma.” Luka sighed with relief.

“An akuma?” The old man asked.

“Yes, it is very dangerous out there right now. There are multiple villains outside. I would recommend staying put while we go out there and help handle things.” Kagami explained.

“Quite bold of you to go out there against those monsters.” The man responded.

“Don’t worry, we will be careful. We just need to make sure we can get as many people out as we can so Ladybug and Chat noir won’t need to worry.”

“Ah, how selfless of you. You both seem quite capable for ones so young.”

“You’re very kind, but we are just doing what we can. Our friends are out there and they need our help.”

Kagami goes to the door. Checking to ensure the coast is clear again.

The old man pats the musician’s shoulder.

“I am sure you two will figure a way to help your friends.”

“There are too many outside this room.” Kagami grumbled. If only I had a way to fight them.”

The mysterious janitor smiled.

“Say… I did happen to see Ladybug earlier.”

The two teens turned their attention to the old man.

“You did?” they asked in unison.

“Yes, she happened to drop something while rushing. Would you two be so kind as to return them to her when you see her.”

The two of them glance at each other and shrug. The old janitor might be senile.

“Sure… We can give it to her.” Luka assured the old man, trying to remain polite.

The old man moves to a closet, where out of view of the two teens, an elaborate chest with the symbol of the guardian’s decorates the top. He quickly gets two smaller boxes and closes the closet.

“Ah! Here they are.”

He hands the two a small box each. Their eyes go wide.

“They seemed important, so I didn’t want to just leave them on the floor. But I have a feeling you two will take good care of them.”

The two teens were engrossed by the boxes in their hands. They recognized them immediately. These were the boxes Ladybug used when handing out miraculous.

“Where did you find…?” Kagami tried to question, but noticed the old man was no longer there.

“He’s gone…”

“Actually, I am over here.”

The teens look in the opposite direction they were looking in order to see him at the end of the room getting a snack from the fridge.

The duo decided that maybe this old guy wasn’t all there after all and figured it would be best to go somewhere and utilize the ‘gift’ they were just given.

“Stay in the lounge where it’s safe okay?” Luka asked politely.

“Of course. I am not paid if I am not working.”

The two teens checked the door again, and once the coast was clear. They both slipped out of the room.

After he knew they were out of sight, the old man chuckled.

“The senile routine works every time.”

“Master, you really cut it close with that one.” A small turtle creature exclaimed as he popped out from the closet.

“The universe works in mysterious ways Wayzz. What are the odds that there would be an attack on the school the very day I decide to hide out as a janitor?”

“Considering the frequency of akuma attacks, very likely.”

“True, but how about running into two individuals that Marinette had picked to be heroes.” Fu followed up.

“That is quite a coincidence.”

The guardian pulled out his phone and noticed he didn’t have a signal.

“It seems I can’t get a signal to notify her of the reinforcements I sent her way. Likely it would be the same on her end. So, it is a good thing I acted in advance.”

Fu moved to the closet where he kept the miraculous.

“I can’t help but shake the feeling Ladybug and Chat noir will need all of the help they can get.

“Don’t worry master, I am sure Ladybug and Chat noir will be successful.

“Let us keep an eye on things. They might need another ally to turn the tide.

________________________________________________________

“I am guessing you are also familiar with what’s inside here?” Kagami inquired as the two stealthily moved in the hall.

“I may be familiar with it.” Luka commented.

Kagami contemplated the statement. She figured out the truth.

“Seems we both have used a miraculous then?”

“It appears we have. Though I am not sure Ladybug will be thrilled that someone knows I have helped her.”

“I understand the sentiment. Though lets simply agree to keep it between us.” Kagami answered. “Friends do keep secrets like that if I’m correct.”

Luka smiled at the comment.

“Your secret is safe with me.” Luka assured.

“As is yours.”

The two found the locker room and quickly moved inside.

“Coast is clear.”

The two opened the boxes and as they did two magical creatures appeared in front of them.

A floating creature with multiple spikes appeared in front of the fencer, while another floating creature that resembled a cobra stood in front of luka.

“It is a pleasure to see you again Mistress Kagami.”

“It’s been too long, Longg.” Kagami smiled. Happy to see her kwami friend.

“Hello Luka, itssss been a while.” The snake kwami greeted.

“Happy to see you too Sass.” Luka fist bumped his kwami.

The kwamis stop and turn to see the other kwami there.

“Does Ladybug know about this?” They both ask in unison.

“We will inform her after. Right now, there is a lot of danger.” Kagami exclaimed. “Ladybug needs our help.”

The two kwami nod and prepare to fight.

“Consssider us accomplissses.” Sass answered.

The two teens put on the miraculous.

“Sass! Scales Slither.”

“Longg! Bring the storm”

The two teens transform into their heroic alter egos.

Kagami shifting into the dragon miraculous hero Ryuuko, and Luka changing into the Snake hero Viperion.

The two stop to glance at the other.

“So, what should I call you.” The snake hero asked curiously.

“Call me Ryuuko. And what about you mister snake?”

“Viperion is what I am going with.”

“Fitting.”

“As is yours.”

The two give a nod of comradery before making their way out of the locker room. They had to go help Ladybug.

__________________________________________________

Ladybug dashed across the hallway, avoiding pause symbols being flung at her by the conniving akuma.

She slid underneath one of the symbols and preformed a daring slide kick to knock Lady Wifi off balance.

While she was unstable, Chat noir charged and used his baton to make contact with her white mask. Believing it was the obvious weak point.

“Got it!” Chat noir exclaimed triumphantly. The strike of the staff knocking Ladywifi a good several meters. Before lying flat on her back.

“Wow, that is a tough mask. I thought for sure that was the weak point.” Chat noir commented.

Lady Wifi stood up robotically.

“There must be a way to snap her out of it. Unless Hawkmoth is learning from his mistakes.” Ladybug hypothesized as she got up from the ground.

“Well I got nothing.” Chat noir shrugged.

Another set of footsteps approaching caught the hero’s attention. The recognized the multicolored bubble maker the moment they saw him.

“Nino… You too?” Chat noir said under his breath.

The Bubble maker used his bubble wand to summon two large bubbles to capture the heroes. Bringing back flashbacks of their first encounter with the bubble akuma.

Chat noir and Ladybug expertly slide between the gaps of the attack, resulting in Lady Wifi getting hit with the large bubbles and being sent flying into the wall via bubble prison.

Chat noir lunged at the Bubbler, his quick pounce pinning him down before he could attack.

“Maybe I can destroy his mask with…”

“Wait Chat noir!” Ladybug called out.

Chat noir paused.

“What if your cataclysm doesn’t free him?”

“And then I am left without the power before a recharge.”

“Exactly. We need to hold off on using our powers right now.”

Chat noir wanted to save his friend. But he knew his partner was right. They needed to conserve their powers before facing Lila.

The Bubbler managed to get the cat hero off of him with a burst of strength. Knocking Chat noir to the ground.

Lady Wifi had gotten free from the bubble attack and was now blocking the other entrance.

Ladybug and Chat noir moved back to back, Ladybug facing the ladyblogger turned mindless akuma slave and Chat noir facing the akumatized DJ.

“Any ideas, Buggaboo?”

“Seems they can’t adapt. They are pretty much mindless slaves. Which makes sense since Lila wouldn’t want them to think for themselves.”

“So you’re saying their movements are simple.”

“Which means they are exploitable.”

Chat noir felt relief watch over him. He knew Ladybug had a plan.

_____________________________________________________

“EWWWW!” Chloé screeched in disgust. The front entrance to the school had been covered in a pink slime.

She wiped her hand on the cleanest section of wall she could find. This was not her day.

“What is with this nasty gross akuma? First, I can’t call Daddy to come and pick me up. I can’t even post about it! How will Ladybug know to save me? Or better yet, get me the bee miraculous so I can help her save the day?”

Chloé decided to try another exit, since she had no plans of sticking around without knowing if she was going to be given a miraculous or not. Plus, she did say she would call for help, and doing that would make her look good in potential hero points.

As she was walking, she bumps into something in the middle of the hall. Which was bizzare since the hall was clear.

“Ouch, right on my bruise. What the hell is…”

Chloé felt her anger shift to fear when she watched as the empty hall now contained a familiar akuma.

“Sabrina?”

The akuma turned to her, her face covered with a white face mask.

“Eww. Your akuma form looks even tacker than before.”

“Take potential akuma to master.” The akumatized Sabrina stated in an emotionless tone. Repeating the order, she had been given.

“Oh no you don’t! Sabrina, I order you to listen to me!”

The akuma ignored the blonde’s command and slowly walked towards her.

“Sabrina… I am warning you. I am going to yell at you over this later if you don’t stop right now.”

Chloé started slowly backing away. She wasn’t sure of what to do.

“Listen… if you stop right now… I’ll uh… let you take a pick of one of my old sweaters.” Chloé bargained, not intending to let her pick one of the ones she actually liked.

Chloé felt her hand touch the sealed door, and knew she was at the end of the hall. She was boxed in.

“This is so unacceptable.” Chloé stated, preparing to get captured. But a flash of Red and Black came out of nowhere and kicked the akuma hard to the wall.

“Ladybug! I knew you would like save me!” Chloé jumped and hugged her savior.

“Im not ladybug.” The heroine spoke.”

Chloé released the hug as she examined who her savior was.

“Who the hell are you?”

Chloé had never bothered to learn the names of any of the other miraculous heroes. She sometimes forgets chat noir’s name.

“Ryuuko.” The dragon heroine stated calmly, almost regretting saving Chloé.

“Did Ladybug send you? Cause it would have been better if she got me to help.”

Ryuuko decided to ignore Chloé’s comment.

“Now we need to leave before she… Where did she go?” Looking at the dented locker that no longer had an akuma lying on the ground.

Suddenly the akuma popped out of nowhere about to strike from above with her tonfa and steal Ryuuko’s powers, but was stopped when a small harp smacked her face.

“She appears to have invisibility.” A voice called out.

The two turn to see the snake hero as he caught his harp on the rebound.

Chloé took a moment to look over the snake hero. She had to admit, he was pretty cute. Not Adrien cute, maybe she would start learning the names of the other heroes.

“Quick thinking Viperion.” Ryuuko thanked the snake teen.

“Just following your lead.” Viperion responded. The two giving eachother a respectful smile. They both seemed to have gotten used to working together.

The akuma got up. Its white face mask making the akuma’s expression unreadable. But its body language exuded rage.

“Seems we aren’t going anywhere until she is taken care of.” Ryuuko said as she stared down the akuma.

Viperion turned to chloé.

“You need to go and get to safety.”

“Okay!” Chloé says as she runs off.

“How come she didn’t give you any sass?”

“Because I already have him.”

Kagami had to admit that was a clever response.

“Not what I meant, but Chat noir would love that joke.”

“I will be sure to tell him it later.”

“Stick to playing guitar. You’re a better musician than comedian.”

Before they could get off anymore banter. The akuma went for another attack.

________________________________________________________

Simularé entered Ms.Bustier’s classroom.

“I am here.” The ghostly sentimonster announced.

“Excellent.”

The sentimonster looked up to see that the classroom it was expeciting to see had been altered into what appeared to be a rather glamourous throne room. The windows covered by white curtains with the design of an akuma in black. The platforms and stairs had been altered to be marble. And at the top, where Lila’s desk once was was now a golden throne akin to something one would see in a castle. Though despite the impressive change in the classroom it was still being designed. The akuma known as the evillustrator was still creating more furnishings for the room.

“Simulare, I have an order for you.” Masquerade stated as she sat on the new throne. Clearly confident in her position.

The sentimonster approached her master. Stopping only a few feet away.

“I want you to create a mirage over the school. Since Ladybug is already in the school. It would be best if you made sure no one notices whats happening here. I don’t need any additional heroes popping in yet. Let’s handle her before making things public.”

Simularé nodded.

“Understood. But what should we do if she…”

“I have everything under control. Just follow my orders.”

Simularé ceased her questioning.

“As you wish master.”

The sentimonster shifted into her Volpina form and headed out of the classroom.

“She is getting arrogant in her power. If things do go south, I will need to step in.” Simularé said to herself. But for now, she knew she had a role to play.

_____________________________________________________________

And that ends part 34.

Seems things are REALLY heating up. Will Viperion and Ryuuko be able to help Ladybug and Chat noir?

Will Ladybug and Chat noir be able to get through to their brainwashed friends?

Will Masquerade's gambit be enough for her to get her vengeance?

Whats Simularé's deal?

Find out by staying tuned and sharing. Remember Reblogs help content creators and if you do enjoy my content, the support really does help

[simsadventures]

Gilded: Chapter 1: To Bride or Not to Bride

Mob! Steve x Reader

Summary: Your life is a mess and you need a little help from time to time. But, when somebody proposes a plan to rid you of all your problems all the way to the far future, you’re suddenly not so sure it is worth it. Especially since the plan is proposed to you by the most notorious gangster America has seen since Al Capone: Steve fucking Rogers. 

Warnings: mafia AU, swearing (like, a lot this time), angst, struggles with money, loan-shark, sleazy men, harassing

Word Count: 7969

A/N: It’s finally here! It only took me around 6 months to bring it, and I apologise for the delay, but I hope I will make up for it with introductory this chapter :) Share your thoughts, let me know what you thought and what do you think will happen next :) xx

Series Masterlist __ Masterlist 

“Just, wait a second,” you said, your brows knitting together as you tried to piece together all the information the man in front of you had just given you. He was gorgeous, there was no question about that, but that wasn’t the issue here. There were many gorgeous people in New York, and you didn’t marry any of them. Yet, that was. 

“You want to marry me. But you still haven’t told me why, so?” You asked for what felt like the hundredth time that evening, and the man just smirked again, playing with his cuffs, never answering to your satisfaction. 

“I told you, honey, what I want, I get, and I decided that I wanted you, so, what is going to be? Are you gonna be a good girl for me or am I gonna have to force you, hm?” He smiled sweetly, but even you knew better. Behind that oh-very-sweet smile, there was venom and a ton of it. You rubbed your temples and plopped down on the nice-looking couch, thinking about what he was proposing. 

2 weeks ago

“Coming!” You yelled through the loud music at the guests seated by the table number 5 where a group of guys was seated, hollering at you every two seconds as if you didn’t hear them the first time. You rolled your eyes at your colleague, who just laughed under her breath as you strode towards the clients. You put on your best fake smile as you approached them, and from the whistles, you assumed they appreciated it. 

“Thank God you came, sweets. We thought you were getting tired of us,” the loudest of them laughed, and the group followed his suit, making your clench your jaw even more. Oh, how you hated this type of men, who had nothing better to do than calling a woman pet-names, making her feel uncomfortable just so his friends could have a laugh and a story to tell. 

“What can I get you, gentleman? Another round of the same?” You asked as sweetly as you could, but it was getting harder by the second as they all eyed you like a piece of raw meat, ready to be devoured. 

“I mean, that would be nice, and could you serve us a piece of that sweet ass of course as well? We’d really appreciate it, pretty face,” the loud guy smirked sleazily, and you fought the urge to vomit in your face. One of the guys made the mistake of actually making a move to swat you across your butt, but your reflexes were quicker. 

You took a step back and breathed in, trying to calm your beating heart. This was, however, nothing new in your line of work, and you just learned to ignore it, or, at best, politely turn them down. Because, as you learned very early on, the manager didn’t appreciate if his “girls” were nasty to his customers. He almost made it sound like you were to provide your bodies with the beers, but you told him straightforwardly that that wouldn’t happen, and if his pub was one of these, you wanted to have nothing to do with it. All you were there to do was to work the evening and night shift to get some extra money on top of your regular job, and that was it. He even made a few remarks how he wanted you all to himself, but you politely declined every time and just tried to ignore it altogether.

“This ass is not for sale, I’m sorry, boys. But, the vodka shots are coming right up,” you tried to give them your best wink but didn’t wait long enough to see if they accepted their loss or not. You genuinely didn’t care. 

The night continued in a similar manner, some people being inappropriate and you just ignoring their behaviour, and some people actually nice, even leaving you a few tips which always made you smile. You were beat when it was 11, and your shift ended, and you were thrilled today wasn’t one of those days when you had to stay there till 4 AM. It was then that people got really disgusting and you even had to resolve to hit a guy this one time because otherwise, you were pretty sure he’d manage to rape you. You sighed at the memory as you continued on your way home, just now remembering you left the tips meant for you in your locker.

Sighing you turned around and walked back towards the bar, and when you were in, you noticed three men in black suits talking to your coworker, who looked stunned and scared at the same time. You cocked a brow at her, and she discreetly shook her head, telling you that you shouldn’t come nearer. 

This time, you really frowned and looked around, but the rest of the pub looked exactly the way you left it, even with the assholes by the fifth table. But you listened to her and took a step back to one of the dark corners, watching what was going on by the bar. It didn’t take long, definitely not longer than 5 minutes before the men turned around and left the building. 

Your coworker looked positively alarmed by now, and you almost ran to her to ask what the fuck did just happen. 

“I have no idea, Y/N. I noticed them by table 10 like an hour ago, but I didn’t pay them any attention because that was Christy’s sector tonight and I had the veranda. And when you left they just came here asking about you,” she breathed out, and it was your turn to look alarmed. 

“The fuck? Why would they ask about me when it was Christy who took care of them?” You screeched, your brain not really comprehending the situation. 

“I have no fucking idea, Y/N. But, like, they asked your name and stuff, and like, if you were a regular waitress here or what. I didn’t want to tell them anything, I swear, but they didn’t take no for an answer. So I just told them your first name, I wouldn’t budge on your last, I promise, and told them that you sometimes worked here but that I didn’t know when was your next shift,” she finished, a little scared of your reaction now, but from the look of those guys, you knew they were bad news and that Anja did the best she could.

“Nah, it’s ok, An. I would do the same. I’m really grateful that you didn’t give them my last name, though, that was really thoughtful of you,” you smiled at her, and it obviously put her at ease as she hugged and hurried back to the veranda, where you both saw a few guests waving that they needed a refill. 

The hell did just happen, and why would three mysterious men ask about you? 

It couldn’t be that they found out, right? No… you made sure all the traces were hidden, forever, so, that wasn’t an option. 

No, you told yourself, there must be another reason for them to ask about you. But you didn’t want to find out. It was a one-time thing, these men were just confused, or one of them liked you or something like that, and you would never see them again. This actually calmed you down enough to start functioning again, and you remembered that you came for something specific, took the money and went straight home. 

“This can’t be happening,” you muttered as you looked over your bills. There was so much to pay and so little money on your account that you actually started to sweat. You worked two jobs and still wasn’t able to afford to live a life where you didn’t have to worry about money. What was more, with the high taxes, your rent, subway card and food you went into red numbers, and that was something you definitely didn’t want. Nobody told you that as an Arts Major, you could still be struggling to stay alive in the city of New York. 

You went over the bills again even though you knew your math was correct and that you didn’t have enough to pay your landlord this month. 

Fuck, you muttered again and considered your options. You could ask your friends, but you didn’t want to bother them since you knew they were struggling as much as you were. You shared your apartment with two of your best friends who you considered a family by now, Caroline and Aidan. And while you knew they would do anything to help you, neither of their jobs paid enough to be able to help you as much as you needed this month. 

Your other option was asking your landlord to give you some more time before more money arrived, but just imagining the conversation gave you goosebumps because you could picture the kind of service he’d want from you, and you’d literally rather go and beg on the street than to sleep with that middle-aged pig. 

So, as you summarised it, the only option remained the loan shark. Tony was actually a nice guy, once you got to know him, and he was nice to you because you always paid precisely what he told you to when he told you to, and never asked too many questions or begged for more time. You were smarter than that, and, besides, you’ve seen too many movies with loan sharks to know what could happen to you. 

The first time you went to him was probably 2 years ago, straight from university when you still thought you could make it big in New York. Well, safe to say that you didn’t make it, and while you remained hopeful, you had bigger problems than becoming a renown painter, like not starving to death and other fun stuff like that. 

You were awfully scared to go to Tony, he had a reputation of being kind of an ass, but people also said that, compared to the other guys in the business, he actually had the fairest demands, and as you had no other choice, you just went to him. And because life was a bitch, you ended up going there on more occasions. Tony was kind enough always to lend even small amounts of money because you really didn’t need 100K. No, you always need like 1 or 2 thousand, and while the other loan sharks turned people like you down, Tony didn’t, and he never wanted more than like 400$ as a return, which seemed quite fair as the other guys always wanted 100% or more. 

Well, Tony, it was, as you sighed looking around your room, thinking how you even got where you were. But there was no time to waste pitying yourself, and so you shot Tony a quick message, as you always did, and to no surprise, he was very quick to respond that you should come by later that afternoon. 

You were just getting ready when Aidan burst through your door. He stopped mid-step, looking at you confusedly because you didn’t tell him you were going somewhere. 

“Got a date or what? You never go out on Saturday afternoon, not if you can help it,” he said sceptically, looking around the room as his eyes landed on the fumbled papers on your table, and the look of realisation hit him. 

“You going to Tony again? Y/N, we told you, we can help you, babe! Let us help just this once, please?” He pleaded with you even though he knew it was useless. 

“C’mon, babe, you know you and Caroline are not making much either, and you’re both glad to get by another month. Tony is like an old friend by now, really. I don’t mind it that much, and it’s definitely a better option than burying you two with me under this pile of shit,” you huffed as you finished applying mascara, but you didn’t even check yourself in the mirror, really not caring that much how you looked. You went to Manhattan just to meet Tony and would go straight back, quick mission, in and out. 

“You need to find a better job, Y/N,” Aidan smirked at you, and you just laughed because you both knew it was pretty much impossible, especially since you loved your day job with the only issue that it paid like shit. 

“You know this is my chance to be close to art and I really want it. I mean, it could happen that they promote me from being a receptionist to like, I dunno, being a secretary to one of the curators of the gallery, right?” 

He just huffed and kissed the top of your head, striding towards the door. It was only then that you noticed he was dressed to go out as well. 

“And where are you going, mister?” You asked with a mother-like tone, and he just laughed, turning around as if he was caught in the act. 

“So, you remember John?” He asked, sitting on your bed, and you actually laughed out loud at him. 

“Which one? I mean, there has been so many Johns and Peters that I swear to God I’m starting to think there are only men called John and Peter in the whole fucking New York. So, more info, babe, please,” you scooted to him and listened to which John it actually was he was meeting and was pretty excited about this. This was John the Ballet dancer, and he looked really nice, so far. 

John the Fake Mobster was a lying bastard, John the Hairdresser wanted Aidan for just that one thing but would never admit it, and then you didn’t even have John-the for the guys because they were all just idiots who didn’t see your best friend for what he was: an amazing, although a little extra person with a very good heart, great sense of humour and amazing hair. 

“Alright, well, you know the drill. Keep your phone on data so we can use Find your Friend if needed, keep your eyes open for anything sketchy going on, but, most importantly, enjoy yourself, babe. I’ll see you tonight,” you hugged him tightly and walked out of the apartment and into the busy streets. 

If it were all up to you, you’d live in a secluded place, somewhere in the north probably, like outside Seattle, where you’d have a lovely little house, maybe by a river or by the ocean or something, where you’d have enough inspiration for your art and where you wouldn’t be annoyed by the little things, like the car horns blaring all the way to the night, people shouting underneath your bedroom’s window, and little things like that. 

But life was not a factory for fulfilled wishes, and you had to endure another day trying to make it in New York. You thought about all of this as you walked down the street to where you knew you could find Tony. You weren’t happy that you had to go to him, again, but you also knew that you didn’t need to worry anymore. You would have the money for your landlord by the end of the week, and when the gallery paid you, you would pay Tony back. Again. 

“If it isn’t my favourite girl!” You heard a familiar voice hollering from the shop, and you laughed lightly as you walked into the pawnshop Tony had set up in the lower Manhattan. 

“Hello to you too, Tony. Today a yellow day, or what?” You greeted him as you looked at his outfit, which was just a canary yellow tracksuit and a matching hat. He looked like a character from a bad movie, but you knew better than to say anything like that. 

“Yellow is very classy and trendy, thank you very much! Yesterday I wore this really nice green velvet tracksuit, and you should have seen some ladies walking by, they almost ate me with their eyes! I swear!” He added as he saw you stifling a laugh, but you just nodded in fake understanding, and both of you shared a relaxed laugh. 

“So, what can I do for you today, sweetheart?” He drawled, and you shuffled on the spot, always feeling slightly uncomfortable when it came to this part. 

“I need a thousand this week. Ton. I’ve been working my ass off, but the bills keep building up, and every time I think I’m out of it and I can live normally, there is always something holding me back,” you sighed, scratching your arms which was a nervous habit of yours that Tony grew quite fond of. 

He was almost sorry for saying the next thing, but this was way above his pay grade, and while he really did take some liking to you, and he would always give you enough time to pay him off, he knew who he couldn’t piss off. 

“Listen, Y/N, I have a proposal for you,” Tony started, and you frowned, not really knowing where this was going, but from the look on Tony’s face, you could tell it was nothing good. 

“There is somebody who would like to get to know you, and he has a proposal for you that he believes you can’t refuse. I don’t know any specifics, I just know he is willing to pay you a lot of money, and I’m talking thousands and thousands, Y/N. He said that nothing sexual would be involved because I told him that if he was looking for a one night stand, you weren’t his girl, but he assured me that this wasn’t it. He would like to meet with you and tell you all the details if you let him. And before you say no, Y/N, think about it. All you gotta do now is to meet him and listen to him, and he is one of those guys who don’t take no for an answer,” Tony finished, and while you saw it pained him to give you the message, you were too stunned to care. 

“What the hell are you talking about, Tony? Is this some kind of a sick joke? Like, did this guy tell you he wanted to talk to me specifically or just a girl desperate enough to come here?” You blurted, still not getting what he was about. 

“He asked for you, sweetie. I don’t know how, but he knew you’d come and told me when you did to give you the message and give you his address. Which is here,” he said, handing you a piece of paper with an address and a date with the time written on it, “and he told me that if you came and agreed to his plan, you wouldn’t have to worry about money this week or any other week. It could be your chance, Y/N. Look, the guy is extremely powerful, so, please, just go and meet him, and you’ll see, ok?” He was scared, and it made you scoff out loud. 

Great, so a loan shark was giving you a message to meet some mysterious, powerful asshole who wouldn’t take no for an answer and who probably stalked you as he knew you would be coming to Tony sooner or later. Just great, really. 

“It seems I don’t really have a choice, do I? Sheesh, Tony, at least tell me who this guy is and like how scared I should be. You gotta give me something because I can’t just go to some random house and be totally ok with it. Nobody can’t expect me to do so,” you pointed out, and Tony nodded in understanding. 

“Totally, yeah. I even asked if I should come with you, but I was told you should be alone. You should be alert, let’s put it that way. If I were you, I’d really think before I speak, because this guy doesn’t take anything lightly. And I think it would be best if you didn’t know his name, Y/N. Just… he doesn’t want to hurt you, all he wants to do is speak to you, so please, just do it,” Tony finished just as some customer came into the shop. 

You waited patiently because the conversation was far from over, but you knew better than to start shit in front of some stranger. Tony was evidently scared shitless of the guy, and it only fuelled your already growing anxiety. Tony was determined not to share too much information with you, but you didn’t understand why. Why could you not at least know the guy’s name? Who could it be? 

Your brain took a detour to a few nights ago back at the pub where you saw the men asking about you, and a cold sweat broke on your skin. It must have been connected, there was no doubt in your mind about that, and it filled you with so much dread you actually had to catch your right hand with your left to stop yourself from shaking violently. 

The doorbell rang signalling the customer left, and your eyes gazed at Tony, who was already staring at you apologetically. 

“And what about the money, Tony? It’s Saturday, and I need to pay my rent by Friday next week. Nice of the guy, whoever the fuck he is, that he wants to see me, but he won’t if I’m on a fucking street next weekend,” you seethed, and Tony was quick to walk around the counter behind which he was standing this whole time and walked closer to you. 

“He wants to see you on Wednesday, Y/N, and he specifically told me not to lend you any money, that he would take care of it. Whatever the fuck it means.”

“The fuck? I don’t even know his fucking name, and he will stop me from getting money to survive? What the actual hell, Tony? You can’t be serious right now,” you cried out in utter desperation because none of this was supposed to happen. You were supposed to come, chat a little with the goatee man, get the money and walk back home, where you’d watch some stupid TV show and drink shitty wine. 

But no, of all the people living in New York this shit must be happening to you. As you didn’t have enough on your fucking plate as was, some mysterious fucker had to be interested in you for whatever reason, and he wouldn’t let you live without talking to him first. 

“Can’t you just call him and tell him that I want to have nothing to do with him?” You asked when you felt calm enough to talk again. You didn’t even know whether you were scared or desperate or angry, but at best, you were feeling a mix of all these and some more, that was for sure. 

“No can do, sweetie, but I promise it will be alright, ok? You’re a strong one, I know that and whatever he wants from you, you can either give or can talk to him,” Tony smiled sweetly, and while you knew he was full of bullshit you let it slide because you just didn’t have it in you to fight with him when he was clearly just the messenger. Whoever wanted to speak to you, however, he would hear it from you because where were we that a guy just asks for a girl and the whole of New York delivers her to him on a silver platter?

Wednesday 

“You gotta be kidding me, Y/N. Are you seriously considering going there? For all you know it might be some elaborate trap and somebody’s gonna jump you and kill you in some dark alley,” Caroline screeched at you as she saw you getting ready after you came home from work. 

You had to ask for a night off from the pub since mister nobody wanted to meet you on your night of work. But you knew you couldn’t say no. Whoever it was, Tony was afraid of him, and Tony was a tough guy. And not that you wouldn’t be brave, but your bravery was mostly concentrated on being able to throw a spider out of the apartment or walk the corridor with the lights out, not really crossing some powerful guy who could do God-knows-what to you if you didn’t come. 

“C’mon, guys. You know I gotta do it. And I honestly think if they wanted to kill me, they would have already done it,” you muttered, trying to pick something to wear, that wasn’t too revealing, but you also didn’t want to go wherever you were going in a pair of baggy sweatpants you were currently rocking. 

“But like, what if they want to make a personal slave out of you, huh? Like, cuff you to a ceiling and serve them with your body, like a personal kind of slave, you know what I mean? You were not made to be strapped to a ceiling, babe,” Aidan panicked, and you actually had to laugh. 

“Your imagination never ceases to astonish me, Aid. Or are you speaking from personal experience?” You smirked as both you and Caroline laughed out loud at Aidan’s expression of utter disgust. 

“You two are disgusting, and I hate you, but that doesn’t change the fact you still don’t know where the fuck you’re going,” Aidan countered and you rolled your eyes at him. 

“I’ll keep my data on so you can see me this whole time, and if I don’t call you by 9 PM you can send the cops there, deal?” 

They both nodded in agreement, knowing this was the best they were getting. You were glad you had them in your life and that you had people caring enough to try and stop you from doing something stupid, but something in your told you that your life would be even worse if you didn’t go. At least this way you’d know the whole story, and you would be able to make an educated decision based on all the variables. 

“A’ight, but if anything sketchy happens, you run, ok? We can figure out the money, but we can’t figure out shit if you’re not here with us,” Caroline reminded you, and you nodded solemnly. 

God, you just hoped you weren’t making a mistake by listening to Tony. He even shot you a message in the afternoon, reminding you to go there because if you didn’t, it could end up badly for both of you. And it was actually one of the decisive arguments in the whole thing, surprisingly. You didn’t want anything happening to Tony, especially not because of you and your decisions, and so you just told yourself to suck it and prepared for the evening. 

You really couldn’t afford the cab, so you had to leave super early to be at the given address at precisely 7 PM. You also grabbed the book you were currently reading, Kim Stanley Robinson’s New York 2140, so that the ride to Manhattan wouldn’t be as dull and dreadful. You could think of the utopian future he depicts rather than thinking of your journey to the lion’s den, and that was the most promising image you created in your head about the place where you were headed. 

Not that you didn’t try to find the place on Google maps, but all the buildings on the address looked the same, and, actually, quite nice, so you had no idea what you were getting yourself into. 

Meanwhile, Tony texted you again since you didn’t reply to his previous text, and this time you took the time to craft a message telling him that yes, you were indeed headed to the manor and he didn’t need to worry about his own neck because you wouldn’t let others be hurt because of your incompetence or your cowardice. 

You knew you were getting off on Chambers St station and you actually took the time to think how many people living in Tribeca had to take the subway. The answer was, very obviously, zero, as the majority of the people in the subway were either passing or were clothed in a way you knew they worked in either one of the restaurants there or as a help. And you felt like one of them, because you too didn’t live in the wealthiest village in New York, and you too were going there mainly for business. Well, at least you hope you did. 

Checking every house number when you got to the street you were supposed to meet the mysterious guy at, you tried to find where exactly was the bat cave, and when you saw the number 112, you knew you found it. 

Your breath came in ragged huffs as you tried to gather the last remnants of your bravery as you walked up the stairs and buzzed on the door. Your head was spinning lightly, and you actually had to lean against the wall beside you to regain your composure. 

The door soon revealed a massive man dressed in a black turtleneck and a pair of black jeans, and you were actually quite surprised not to see him with sunglasses and an earpiece. If the situation weren’t so tense, you’d probably joke about it, but as it was, you just followed his lead as he beckoned you inside. 

“Miss Y/L/N, I presume? I need to see your phone and your belongings, ma’am,” he stated, and you raised a brow at him. 

“Excuse me?”

“It’s a standard procedure, ma’am. Everybody here to see the boss needs to be checked, just in case,” he stated, leaving no room for discussion, and while you sighed exasperatedly, you still handed him your bag and made a point by fishing out the phone and shoving it in his outstretched hand. He took a quick look through your belongings, pushing it against what you assumed was some kind of a metal detector before he pulled out another device. This looked like a big phone, and he scanned your bag once again. 

“What is that?” You asked, unable to stop your curiosity. 

“Checking if you’re not bugged,” he answered matter-of-factly as he continued before he put the device down, clearly not finding anything. Where would you even get a bug, and why would you do it? You rolled your eyes inwardly but kept a straight face in front of the man, just in case he was watching. Which he was, as you found out by him waving in front of your face and showing you to follow him. 

You braced yourself for whatever was awaiting upstairs and obediently walked behind him. 

As you walked through the house, you got the impression that whoever lived there was wealthy, but that kind that didn’t really put on a flashy show. There were no chandeliers, no heavy curtains and stuff you pretty much imagined this place would look like and that image had nothing to do with the Beast and the Beauty dance room, nothing at all. 

But this was… modest. Everything was very contemporary, some prominent brick here and there with mostly grey floors and the furniture was most definitely customary but, again, it was plain yet luxurious. You assumed that’s how the really rich people lived. They knew they had the money, and the people around them knew it as well, so there was no need for diamond stairs and a golden toilet. 

A few names surged from memory as you heard your coworkers discuss the wealthy New Yorkers, but you didn’t want to assume anything before you actually saw the person, so you just walked by the halls before the man stopped in front one of the rooms and quietly knocked. 

It was not surprising when another man dressed exactly like the guy leading you appeared from the room and took a quick look at you before he said something to whoever was behind him. When the affirmative came that you could indeed go in there, they shoved the door open and what you assumed was a living room appeared in front of you. It corresponded with the whole house, but your attention was caught by one specific thing. Your brain had its own world, and when you saw one of Tunji Adeniyi-Jones’s paintings from his last year’s exhibit, you almost fainted. He was your favourite contemporary artist. And seeing his work outside of the gallery was practically an otherworldly feeling. You gaped at the beautiful play of colours, and your heart swooned at the perfection of the brush strokes. 

“Ehm,” you heard somebody cough beside you, and it startled you so much you actually jumped to the side, your hand flying to your chest in a feeble attempt to will your heart to stay calm. 

You took the intruder in and found out that unlike every other man in the room (and there were a few, as you noticed) this guy wasn’t wearing all-black attire. He was in a comfortable-looking creme sweater and a pair of dark blue jeans, everything fitting him as if the clothes were sawn to his body. 

Which, as far as you could tell, was the body of a Greek God. 

“See something you like, honey?” The man interrupted thoughts, and it just crossed your mind that he was really rude, not letting you breathe even for a second before he had to make his presence known. 

“Yes, actually. I’m quite a big fan of the artist whose painting you have there, so I admired that. And you are?” You trailed at the end, signalling that while he was very handsome, you had no idea who he was and why it was that you needed to come to him this evening. 

“Straight to business, huh? I like that. I’m quite surprised Tony didn’t tell you who I was. Was he scared you wouldn’t have come if you knew?” He didn’t wait for your answer, however. “Well, honey, I’m Steve Rogers, and I am very pleased to meet you,” he smirked at your stomach dropped. 

Steve Rogers? That Steve Rogers? It wasn’t possible. 

“You gotta be kidding me,” you muttered as you scratched your arms nervously. 

“Oh no, on the contrary. I’m all too real, Miss Y/L/N, and from the looks of it, I’m glad Tony didn’t tell you, you look like you might faint. Are you feeling alright?” He asked like the smug asshole he was, and you just turned away from him, taking a deep breath before you finally turned back around to face him with a pokerface. 

“I’m alright, thank you. So now, can I know what it is you want from me so much you stalked me and made me come here, pretty much by force?” 

He scoffed but showed you to follow him to the sofa. When you didn’t budge, he simply took you by your elbow and pretty much shoved you down to the plump sofa. 

“Force, I have no idea what you’re talking about. I simply asked you to come visit me, is it so wrong? But yes, you are right, we should talk about why I invited you here. You see, Y/N, I’m in need of a wife, and after long calculations, I came to the conclusion you would be perfect for the job,” he said straightforwardly, and it was now that you felt like you’d faint. 

“Marry me? Are you fucking insane?” You couldn’t hold it in any longer. Form the pissed off expression on his face, you could see it was not the right move, but he couldn’t expect any other reaction, really. 

“Easy, honey or I might have to use the said force to shut that smart mouth of yours,” Steve mumbled dangerously, and you swallowed harshly. 

“Right, you’re a notorious mobster, and I’m literally nobody, and if you killed me, nobody would miss me. Good, now that’s out of the table, why do you want to marry me? And what does it mean you are in need of a wife? I mean… you are notorious for dating a different girl every week, can’t you just marry one of them if you’re in such a great hurry?” 

“No, honey, I can’t. All you need to know right now is my proposal. So, here it is. You will marry me, we will stay married for a year and then get a divorce. You will have everything every girl ever wanted: loads of clothes, all the time in the world to do whatever the fuck you want, you won’t have to work, and I will pay for everything and more. You will live here so you won’t have to worry about your rent money, and I will also pay your student loan, on top of which you will be paid 20.000$ every month for playing your role. And when the year is over, you will walk away rich, without any debts slowing you down and you will be able to do anything you want. How does that sound?” 

“It sounds like it’s not a proposal but a directive,” you smiled sweetly and stood up, pacing the room and scratching your hands like crazy. This was not happening, no, no, no!

You needed the money, you really did, and getting rid of the debt from your student loan that would have been sweet too, but at what price? On the other hand, you thought, how bad could it be to just be somebody’s wife for a year? He did make it sound pretty easy. 

“What would be expected of me?” 

“Well, you would go with me to every event and pretty much listen to everything I say,” he shrugged as if it was the most natural thing to say to another human being. 

“Like, you’d ask me to spread my legs for you here, and I would do it?” You asked, suddenly very angry that the man just assumed what kind of a person you were. You were desperate, but not that desperate. 

“Oh, no, honey. That is one of the reasons why I chose you: I’m not attracted to you, so no, I wouldn’t ask you for any sexual favours. We could even put that to our contract if you’d feel better, but, really, you have nothing to worry from me,” he again said with ease, and you didn’t know if you were glad he just told you this or really pissed and ashamed.

Not that you thought you were some kind of a beauty, far from it, but he also didn’t have to be so upfront about it. And now you understood it even less why the hell he chose you.

“Just, wait a second,” you said, your brows knitting together as you tried to piece together all the information the man in front of you had just given you. He was gorgeous, there was no question about that, but that wasn’t the issue here. There were many gorgeous people in New York, and you didn’t marry any of them. Yet, that was. 

“You want to marry me. But you still haven’t told me why, so?” You asked for like the hundredth time that evening, and the man just smirked again, playing with his cuffs, never answering to your satisfaction. 

“Honey, what I want, I get, and I decided that I wanted you, so, what is going to be? Are you gonna be a good girl for me or am I gonna have to force you, hm?” He smiled sweetly, but even you knew better. Behind that oh-very-sweet smile, there was venom and a ton of it. You rubbed your temples and plopped down on the nice-looking couch, thinking about what he was proposing.

“Then why choosing me if you don’t find me attractive? Not that it’s an issue, I’m just really trying to understand the situation here,” you said, totally ignoring the threat in his voice as you needed some much valuable answers. 

“Right, well, first of all, as I already mentioned, what I want, I get, honey, and you should always remember that. Secondly, it was your ability to keep a straight face, even though I can see the ability is not endless. I need somebody who will be sickly sweet to both my friends and enemies alike, who won’t mind a few sleazy comments from the old fuckers, and who will look like an obedient wife. I need somebody who will blend in and who will look trustworthy, and not like she was to stay only for a week. And when I saw you in that pub where you used to work, I could see you had what it took to be in this life, even if only for a year,” he finished, and you were glad you were right at least about the guy, Steve, also sending the people to sniff around your workplace. But then it hit you. 

“Where I used to work? I still work there,” you said dumbfounded, and Steve chuckled humorously. 

“Oh no, you don’t. You see, I need my wife free all the time and I need her here with me. Look, Y/N, this is getting tiring, and I really need an answer now. What is it gonna be, huh?”

“Like I even have a choice. You just said you would use force if I said no, so, what am I supposed to say, huh? I don’t want to get married, but I don’t have any money and your snoopy ass is getting in the way of my life, and you ended one of my jobs, and before you say you terminated my contract in the gallery, please think about it again. That job is very important to me, it has always been my dream to be in a gallery surrounded by beautiful art, and, by chance, having my art there as well. 

I don’t know Steve, your offer is very generous, it really is, but I don’t think I’m the right one,” you sighed finally and looked around the room, ignoring the boring looks from Steve. Then you saw the clock and you almost panicked, it was two minutes before 9. 

“Oh my God, I need to call my friends, or they’re gonna call the cops,” you said quickly already dialling Caroline’s number. You told her you were fine and that no, you weren’t a personal slave yet, but that you’d tell them everything when you got home. When the call ended, the venom was back in Steve’s eyes. 

“If you think you can talk to people about anything I have just said, you are terribly wrong, doll,” he seethed, and you were taken aback, but you didn’t want him to think he intimidated you.

“Well, if you think I’m not gonna tell my family about this, then it’s you who is terribly wrong, Steve. We tell each other everything, and if I considered this proposal of yours, it would mean Aidan and Caroline would know about this, at least that I’m marrying you for more than my undying love for you,” you spat back, and Steve saw the determination in your eyes. He knew he had to compromise with you, even if only a little bit. 

He already found out everything about you, he knew your whole life, your past, everything his people could find on the internet. And what he got from the search was that you and the people you lived with were extremely close. He considered getting rid of them but realised it would only push you away from what he needed from you. And he needed a wife ASAP. 

The mafia was still very conservative, and as he was the only boss without a constant woman by his side, he was sometimes excluded from important meetings that happened on “family retreats.” And he needed all the info there was if he wanted to be the best of the best. Or, the worst of the worst, if we were being literal. 

“Fine, but they will need to sign a contract saying that they will keep their mouths shut,” Steve smiled back, and you nodded, your head already spinning. 

Were you really considering it? But was there any other option? You needed the money, and it would’ve be great if you didn’t have to care about your student loan for the rest of your life. You would see the world, just like you wanted, you would have time for your art, and you would be free after only a year. That didn’t sound that bad. Sure, you’d be affiliated with a known mafia boss, but that was nothing you couldn’t handle. But there was still a question Steve didn’t answer. 

“What about my job at the gallery? If you made them fire me and I’m gonna find out tomorrow, I can’t even begin to consider this. I want that job, I want to work at that gallery, Steve.” 

“Fucking hell, I could buy you the gallery if you agreed!” He shouted, exasperated that it was taking so long. He really didn’t get it. He was proposing a life in luxury, and he knew that the majority of women in New York would be more than happy to be seen by his side. But you? You had to be difficult and even demand stuff. Fucking hell…

“But whatever, you wanna work there, fine. Whatever, I don’t give a fuck. Do we have a deal or not? I have better things to do with my evening than just bargain with you, honey,” he accentuated the pet name that you already hated.

Well, this wasn’t how you imagined your proposal to go. Not that you were too keen on the whole idea of a marriage, but still, a girl could dream. Yet, here you were, actually considering getting tied up with a mobster for a year just because he offered you enough money and a life that you felt like could be interesting, if only for a year and with a man who blatantly told you he wasn’t interested in you in that way. This was the only reason you didn’t feel as dirty as you expected because you knew he would never touch you and never want you to do something sexual against your will. 

You were used to lying through your teeth ever since you were little, your parents made sure you knew how important it was to keep your secret, and dangerous life wasn’t something you only heard of on TV. All this made the decision slightly easier, as you finally made up your mind. 

“Fine, but we still have a lot to talk about, Mr Rogers,” you set your jaw and outstretched your hand to shake on it with him. 

“Whatever, Mrs Rogers. Consider your rent paid and I’ll see you on Friday when we discuss our matter in greater detail. Now, if you excuse me,” he kissed the top of your hand and walked away. 

Well, this would be fun, you told yourself as you watched the man you would soon call your husband walk away from you, and contemplated whether you made the right choice. But your life wasn’t great as was, as much as you tried to fill it with laughter and happiness, and, in a sense, Steve offered you an out, even if only for a little bit. 

Here was to nothing, you hollered at yourself in your mind and followed one of the turtleneck-guys out of the manor and into the chilly air of evening New York.

/ Next Chapter >

Tags will be in reblogs. Taglist for this series is open, all you have to do is send an ask or a message to me :) x Thank you for reading!

[zedecksiew]

Kriegsmesser

When I received Kriegsmesser in the mail I finally googled "kriegsmesser", and found out it meant "war knife". Which makes sense; Gregor Vuga's ZineQuest 2021 project is a tribute to "roleplaying games named after medieval weapons".

I love Warhammer Fantasy Roleplay's piss-renaissance Old World setting. I tend to pick up WFRP-a-likes sight unseen:

Warlock (quality);

Small But Vicious Dog (yesss);

Zweihander (which I have come to hate); etc.

Anyway: I backed Kriegsmesser without really knowing anything about it. So Kriegsmesser surprised me.

+

Kriegsmesser grew out of a Troika! cutting. Its 36 backgrounds are compatible with that system: each come with a couple of lines of description; a list of skills and possessions; an a visual cameo cropped from actual 16th-Century woodcut art.

Cohesive and competently flavourful. My favourite is the Labourer, who always starts with "an empty pine box":

"You've spent your life breaking your back, working hard for other people's profit. You have nothing to show for it but a spectre of the future."

(The obligatory ratcatcher-analogue , called the Vermin Snatcher, is here -- check that box!)

+

Kriegsmesser also comes with its own ruleset. Hits all the notes it needs to, with lots of orientation and advice for how to run a game -- but ultimately super-simple, mechanically:

Roll d6s equal to the value in a relevant skill, look at the highest result. 6 means you get what you want; 5 or 4 means you get what you want, at a cost.

It's not quite a dice pool, since only the highest result matters. No opposed tests.

+

Kriegsmesser intends to have this base mechanic handle fights, too. The combat rules - with armour, toughness and weapon values -- are nested in an optional section.

For a WFRP-a-like, this feels like a purposeful departure.

Many of WFRP's most celebrated adventures are celebrated for bits that their underlying ruleset does little to support: the investigative structure of "Shadows Over Bogenhafen"; the complicated timetable of "Rough Night At Three Feathers".

Ludwig von Wittgenstein never needed a statblock to be memorable.

Not to say that lethal, hyper-detailed fights isn't super Warhammer-y. (Kriegsmesser includes an injury table, broken down by body-part -- check that box!)

But here it feels like Gregor is saying: "I'm not Games Workshop and Roleplay isn't an ancillary of Warhammer Fantasy Battle; we can evoke grim-and-perilous-ness even if we fork away from heavy combat rules."

+

It has become ritual for me to read my partner Sharon to sleep.

Sometimes I read her RPG things. The other night, after I read her Kriegsmesser's introduction --

" The Empire wages an eternal war against Chaos. Its priests preach of Chaos as an intrusion, something unnatural ... These men see Chaos in anything that does not buttress their rule. They call it disorder, anarchy, corruption. They say that to rebel against their order is to rebel against god and nature. That the current arrangement is natural, rather than artificial.

" Meanwhile, the common people look to the Empire to deliver the justice that they were promised and they find none. They look to the Empire and do not see themselves reflected in it. They look around at what they were taught was right and good and see only misery.

" Their world begins to unravel. Chaos comes to reside in every heart and mind sound enough to look at the world and conclude it is broken. "

-- Sharon remarked: "Nice one."

The RPG things I read her generally leave Sharon lukewarm. She has enjoyed a couple -- but, yeah: for many of these books, text isn't their strong point.

Kriegsmesser is the only time I can recall Sharon praising the writing of an RPG book without my prompting.

Nice one.

+

That introduction surprised me. It underlines Kriegsmesser's biggest departure from its WFRP-a-like pedigree: how it characterises Chaos.

Corruption, a mainstay of most grim-dark-y games, is made an optional rule, like combat. Explaining this, Gregor writes:

" Kriegsmesser partially subverts or deconstructs the traditional conceit of Warhammer where the characters are threatened by the forces of Chaos. In this game it is the player characters who are the agents of 'Chaos': they are likely to become the 'rats' under the streets, and the wild 'beast-men' in the woods bringing civilisation down. It's the Empire and its nobles and priests that are corrupt ... "

Describing the Empire, Gregor writes:

" The Empire encompasses the world yet is terrified of the without. It enforces itself with steel and fire yet considers itself benevolent. It consumes the labour of others with bottomless hunger yet calls its subalterns lazy, or wasteful, or greedy. "

Holy shit this is the first time I've seen the word "subaltern" in an RPG thing, I think?

I love this.

+

Rant incoming:

With every passing decade Warhammer abridges its Moorcockian roots more and more; nowadays it is "Order = Good" and "Chaos = Evulz", pretty much.

Gone are the days when chaos berserkers are implied to grant safe passage to the helpless (because Khorne is as much a god of martial honour as he is a god of bloodletting); Or that the succor of Papa Nurgle is a genuine comfort to the downtrodden; Or that Tzeentch could unironically embody the principle of hope, of change for the better.

As Chaos is distilled into unequivocal villainy, Order goons get painted as Good Guys by default --

Giving rise to Warhammer's contemporary problem, wherein fans are no longer able to recognise satire.

+

When I was introduced to 40K, it seemed pretty clear that the Imperium was a Brazil-esque absurdist-fascist bureaucratic state: planets are exterminatus-ed due to clerical error; the way it stamps out rebellions is the reason why rebellions begin in the first place.

Tragi-comic grimdarkness. That was the point.

Nowadays that tone has shifted -- and you're more likely than not going to encounter a 40K fan who argues that the Imperium's evils are a justified necessity, to prevent worse wrongs.

We went from:

"Space Nazis because insane dumbass fuckery, also chainswords vroom vroom rule of badass!"

To:

"Space Nazis because it makes sense actually, and also chainswords make sense because [insert convoluted rationalisation here]."

+

Even Fantasy Flight's Black Crusade line, which ostensibly offers a look at 40K from the perspective of Chaos, never truly commits to its conceit.

With prep you could play a heroic band of mutant freedom fighters, resisting the tyranny of the Evil Imperium --

But I don't remember Black Crusade giving that kind of campaign any actual support. Its supplements service the relatively more conventional "You can play villains!" angle; the Screaming Vortex is a squarely Daemons-vs-Daemons setting.

+

This tonal drift culminates, in my mind, with Age of Sigmar, Games Workshop's heroic-fantasy replacement of the old WFRP / WHFB setting.

Here's the framing narrative for AoS's recently-launched Third Edition. Let's see whether I've got things right:

A highly professionalised, technologically-superior tip-of-the-spear fighting force (the Stormcast Eternals);

Backed by an imperialist military-industrial complex (Azyrheim);

"Liberating" rich new territories (Ghur) for exploitation by a civilised settler culture (Settlers of Sig-- I mean, Free Cities);

Justified because the locals are irredeemable heathens (Chaos and Kruleboyz).

I mean, that's a sweet-ass Warhammer setting. It's contemporary, laser-guided lampoon. Except it is played totally straight.

In AoS, a literal crusade is justified as the moral good.

+

I think Kriegsmesser surprised me because its framing of Chaos -- as a promise, as the light of hope shining through cracks of a broken world --

It feels so fucking right.

Yes: its a subaltern deconstruction of the conventional moral universe of Warhammer -- but it is a take that is also already implied / all but supported in the various depictions of the setting: from WFRP to the modified title-crawl of Black Crusade.

I'm annoyed I didn't think of it, myself. Damn you, Gregor!

And I'm annoyed that more Warhammer fans aren't thinking it, also.

+

lmagine if Kriegsmesser's perspective stood on equal standing as the GW orthodoxy. Imagine if, instead of simplifying stuff into "Order = Good" and "Chaos = Evulz", GW did a Gregor Vuga.

You'd have a Rashomon-ed Warhammer, where villainy depends on perspective:

You are fearful villagers, huddled around your priest, muttering prayers against the wild braying coming from the trees beyond your gates.

You are Aqshyian tribeswomen, defying the thunder warrior towering over you, the foreigner demanding you bow to his foreign god.

You are a Tzeentchian revolutionary cell, desperately trying to disrupt a Inquisitor's transmissions so your home planet isn't destroyed by fascist orbital fire.

+

Get Kriegsmesser HERE.

+++

( Image sources: https://theenemywithinremixed.wordpress.com/2021/05/21/thoughts-on-the-4e-death-on-the-reik/ https://www.criterion.com/current/posts/59-brazil https://www.deviantart.com/faroldjo/art/Warhammer-40k-Black-Crusade-273596035 https://www.warhammer-community.com/2021/06/09/fancy-a-new-life-bringing-order-to-the-mortal-realms-join-a-dawnbringer-crusade-today/ https://www.nme.com/blogs/the-movies-blog/team-america-15-anniversary-south-park-2558750 https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Palestinian_children_and_Israeli_wall.jpg )

[honestlyfrance]

just feel; let’s exist

ship: sam/bucky

warnings: hurt/comfort, suicidal implications

summary:

“Where are you, Sam?” Bucky whispered, dragging his hand on Sam’s back, rubbing careful circles to ease the tension in his man’s muscles.

Sam shuddered at the touch, murmuring, “I don’t know,”

or

Bucky tries to keep Sam grounded for the night.

—■—■—

We’d all like to know what’s it like living in the Avengers Mansion secluded in the vast forest, the same mansion that you could only reach with a rocky dirt path, the same one where it stretches with its landing strips and pools, the same one where it looked more like a castle lost in the 16th century than one in the 21st century, and the same one where the sunrises were almost as perfect as the ones in Wakanda. Despite this description, Sam Wilson would tell you it was a noisy place, always full of fights and silent conversations—other times it’s a game of cat and mouse on who can eat the last platter of brownies before the super-soldiers can get to them. 

Everyone wanted to know what it felt like to live at the top of the world, unbothered and untethered. Not even touched by the weather, god gifted and forever immaculate: What does heaven feel like? They’ll say it tastes like copper blood, everlasting and stained. Others would say that heaven does not exist, and it’s hell on earth in the Avengers Compound; constant tension in the hallways, there’s always a reason for thunder to break through the walls and shatter the mirrors. It doesn’t sound like heaven, and maybe it shouldn’t be called as such.

Most nights it did feel like heaven on earth, when the room was just the right cold, the water pressure was just right, and the hallways were peaceful as it can be on a Thursday, it’s almost as if you were on top of the world. Damned those who think not, it was better when it was empty and vast as it should always be. 

It was always so full of life, and other times it was full of sorrow, resentfulness, and even, death.

This was one of those nights, the nights when Sam feels decayed and broken to the bone , almost numb at the overriding sensation throughout his body. It should’ve been illegal to feel this way, empty and vulnerable to even air, feeling as if you may crumble at the very touch of kindness. It shouldn’t be like this, but it always has to be; c'est la vie. What can anyone do?

Sam sat on the rounded couch in the vast living area. It had high ceilings, two chandeliers hanging precariously with its heavy diamonds and crystals; the couch was in an unlevel flooring, shaped for the large rounded velvet couch; the moonlight was streaming in the drawn open French windows that reached the arches of the walls; the rose bushes were in full bloom in view of the windows, full and lovely; the TV screen was sat atop a long desk, decorated with picture frames of the members of the Avengers all smiling and serious; the room was dim lit except for the moonlight, and there’s an uneasiness in the room. It was nearing midnight, and Sam didn’t make any plans to go back to bed.

Everything seemed to swallow him whole, and the vastness was only eating at his sides, bringing him down just to build him back up again with hope; it’s a sickening plot to take him down but his mind was almost peeling at the seams, and there’s a need to kill his overwhelmed senses before dawn, because there’s a ticking in his head that he had interpreted as a ticking bomb that would implode him and his thoughts when the sun would rise.

It’s saddening, how the world could beat him down into a pulp, taking his mentality and sensibility. The world has stripped him down to the bone and left his soul to burst into flames, an open-to-all show for the world to see. This is your Captain America! and you’ve let him burn to ashes! The world has left him to drown like an Icarus, burnt to a crisp and broken like glass. Nothing could ever piece him back together except for death, and even then it wouldn’t be the same. There’ll be an aftertaste in his mouth that would taste like gunfire and carcasses, and he wouldn’t be able to wash that foul taste without burying himself six-feet-under.

In the silence of the mansion and the dimness of the night, it’s here that he let himself daze into nothingness, feeling the void wrap itself into his bones, etching his fate with a pen-knife and salt, embracing his wounds as if the Mona Lisa to its Louvre. Sam lets himself decay with the stars, and if his fate leads him into his bed, then so be it; he’s lived long enough, won’t that mean he’d die short enough?

The silence seemed to ring in his ears, and there’s an ache in his chest he couldn’t cater to; it seemed too far away for him to reach, and if it was close enough for his fingers to grasp, it would turn futile. He would let it be; who’s going to tell him otherwise? There’s not a person in the world who decided to let Sam thrive, and even if they did, it was obviously not enough. Sam knew his worth, but did he know this could save him? Months of spiraling into the void, Sam has finally recollected and called himself “extinct.” Reminiscing would lead him nowhere, and the happy thoughts he had clutched onto had become stone; Sam did know his worth, but it only became his enemy.

Sam knew what it meant to know things and had felt things to conflict it, in the end burying himself in his own grave from the pressure of the world. Life has offered him endless tragedies and he has offered nothing but service, ruthlessly nice and angelic to the halo and wings, and it’d be a shame to have him drown in Atlas and the world’s burdens, but that’s what people make him do; stripped down to “support” and “partner” all in one, the world will forever see him in this facade.

As the ache in his chest began to sear him, Sam suppressed his cries to beg mercy at the world; he’s been abused to the bone that he’d let himself get down on his knees to beg for a sliver of mercy from the world. There’s tears rolling down his cheeks as he gritted his teeth, clenching his jaw at every sensation he felt. There was the need to numb himself, and he’d do that even if he has to physically hurt himself, to ache at the skin— yes, maybe that would work…

Footsteps approach Sam, breaking his soliloquies. Sam was left with ragged breaths, wiping his tears away with his bare hands when Bucky Barnes had plopped down right beside him, invading his personal space. Bucky was panting, wiping his forehead with a face towel before facing Sam with a splitting grin; it disappeared when Bucky saw the red in Sam’s eyes, and so Bucky immediately gave the man some space.

“Hey,” Bucky gently spoke, his hands wringing in between his thighs, “You— You don’t have to say anything,” he put on a small smile for Sam, but the man only sniffled, turning into convulsive sobs, “Do you want me to leave? I can give you more space. Do you want me to stay? I have some, uh, few ideas to get your mind off things…”

Sam turned to the rough fabric of the couch for comfort, crying into it as he choked on his sobs. Bucky sat beside the man, resting his chin on his crossed arms on the backrest of the couch; he had fear glinting in his eyes as he watched one of the strongest men he knew break down in pieces. There’s an unmistakable anguish in the air, one that brittles the strong with crashing waves, and Bucky feared for it.

“What do you need right now, Sam,” Bucky whispered into the darkness, and there’s a softness in his tone that just breaks Sam even more.

Sam looked up from his arms, a glare burying Bucky to the ground as he says, “Don’t treat me like I’m fragile,”

Bucky took a double-take, but nonetheless nodded carefully, afraid he’d hurt Sam even more. There’s an unspoken rule about comforting someone: Don’t hurt them even more . Bucky stood up, arms in awkward positions as Sam went back sniffling into his arms. Bucky’s heartstrings chimed to the tune of a love song, one that sings just for Sam; there’s now the only goal he had in mind: make Sam happy .

“Everyone’s fragile, Sam,” Bucky whispered, his voice barely above a murmur, but Sam must’ve heard it, because he stopped his whimpers and stayed robotically still, “Their brokenness only depends on how people handle them,”

Sam looked up, his lips twisted as his eyes searched for something in Bucky. “Stay,” he whimpered.

Bucky warily comes back in his seat, Sam inching towards the warmth of Bucky. Bucky wrapped his arms around Sam’s waist as the man leaned into Bucky’s body, nestling his head on Bucky’s chest. They lied down like this for minutes long, feeling each other’s breathing blend into each other. Bucky tries to even his breathing, already fearing the way his own heart beats deafeningly into the night; does Sam hear the fear and anxiety Bucky feels for him revibrate in his chest, or was Sam too deep into his thoughts to feel anything outside of him?

Bucky planted a soft and gentle kiss on the top of Sam’s head, and Sam instinctively groaned at the action; Sam’s body reacted by burying himself deeper into Bucky, as if it was still possible. If anything, they were practically connected into each other, atoms sharing and merging with one another they wouldn’t be surprised if they had melted into each other's souls by dawn.

Dawn .

Sam lifted his head, and Bucky whimpered at the loss of heat. Sam set his hands on Bucky’s knees as he blinked at the darkness, trying to figure out the murky shapes in the living area; he almost jumped when he saw something move in the darkness, only to realize it was Natasha Romanoff’s cat, Liho, moving around by the carpet. Bucky watched the back of Sam’s head, his eyebrows knitted together as he tried to decipher Sam. It seemed like everyday that Sam was jumpy and spaced out, almost like an astronaut from the many times he’s been into the void — Bucky just wanted to bring him back down with him on Earth.

“Where are you, Sam?” Bucky whispered, dragging his hand on Sam’s back, rubbing careful circles to ease the tension in his man’s muscles.

Sam shuddered at the touch, murmuring, “I don’t know,”

Liho is now on the other end of the couch joined by the other cats, Alpine, Goose, and Figaro; so that’s what those menaces do at night.

Bucky sighed, bringing back his grip on Sam’s shoulder, easing out the ache of the world out of him; if it was only possible. Bucky wished it was that easy, because Sam didn’t deserve an inch of this bullcrap, however the world seemed fit, angels just don’t need the burden of Atlas as if it wasn’t from different religions in the first place. If there was just a magic word Bucky could say to bring Sam back down on base, he'd make a song out of it— Anything. Anything that would give back Sam his control, Bucky would pick it out from hell itself if it could bring Sam peace and comfort.

“Why do I bother,” Sam murmured, his voice raspy and ragged.

Bucky hesitantly set his forehead on Sam’s back, breathing in the scent of him; he exhaled, saying, “We bother because we care,” he breathed in once more, his eyes shut closed, “Sometimes we care too much to feel anything. Which is why we rest… Feel… Breathe in…”

“I know,” Sam’s eyebrows furrowed, staring into the void of darkness as his idle hands grew sweatier and colder, “I… I can’t seem to do anything right now…”

“Then let’s just exist, Sam. Come back down for you.”

Bucky rested his head right on Sam’s back, eyes upwards as he heard the mewling of the four cats approaching them. They both chuckled at that, and for a moment, the world stopped spinning and had rested just for the two of them. Sam lied back down, bringing Bucky down with him; Sam curled himself deeper into Bucky’s chest as the other rested his feet on top of the mahogany coffee table before them. Liho finds a spot between Bucky’s legs and Alpine is soon behind him; the other two cats, Bucky thinks, should scram before the two of them do anything more.

They sat down for a moment, overwhelmed by the silence to move, and it feels nice to have the weight be lifted from one’s chest; there’s a pang of pain to breathe but there’s also the love that revibrates within the heart, and it blares so loudly between these two it shouldn’t be hard enough to stay oblivious to this. 

“You don’t have to talk,” Bucky whispered in Sam’s ear; Sam hummed in acknowledgement, “I know. I know it’s hard, and it’s fine to be fragile,” he rubbed circles on Sam’s back with his palm, then his fingers, feeling Sam sigh deeply into his chest, “One thing I’ve learned is that… You should just exist. Alone or together, any is fine; just breathe and feel, Sam. The pain leaves like a bandaid,”

It’s probably near two in the morning when Natasha emerges from her bedroom on the other side of the mansion to retrieve Liho, scooping up the noir feline from Bucky’s legs. In exchange, Natasha had brought the two a blanket, and apparently Bucky had requested to bring his laptop and secret stash of champagne. No sooner had she left with her cat, Goose had followed as well, meowing all the way down the hallway.

“What are you doing?” Sam drawled out, suppressing a grin as Bucky laid out the blanket around them.

Bucky had set down his laptop on his lap, opening up a browser and going incognito; Sam watched Bucky enter a website that had too many ads for one’s liking, entering a movie title that had only disappeared from the cinemas just yesterday. The movie began to play and Bucky raised the volume, Alpine setting her paws on his arm as he did this. Chuckling, Sam popped open the champagne with surprising ease, laughing fully as some of it spilled; Figaro crawled on top of his legs, and Sam had run a hand across his cat’s fur as Bucky snuggled deeper into the duvet.

They took turns drinking the alcohol straight from the bottle, and no sooner had Bucky seen a smile form on Sam’s face, all gap-tooth and wide, it was too beautiful to miss, even in the darkness. Everything fell back into place, but there’s a new atmosphere surrounding them as explosions and guns blared from the speakers, their two cats purring in the background making everything harder to move, and their breathing was too close to each other to ignore.

They didn’t know who was the first one to lean into the kiss, but they both knew they wanted this. Long and languid  kisses ensued between them, and Bucky’s advice ringed in their heads: Just feel , and they did; they felt each other’s skin against each other as their hands found their way to cup the other man’s cheek and bring them closer with a hand on the neck. They rested against each other’s foreheads as they breathed heavily, eyes still closed as they let the taste of the other be ingrained into their heads, never wanting to forget what love finally tasted like: it tasted like champagne turned into wine and the living room into an abandoned movie theatre, and it felt ten times colder but they were too warm in their hearts to complain.

They stayed like this for another movie, just existing together and alone, and if the world has decided that enough was enough and that they should break apart, just know this: though they were both fragile, in each other’s presence they felt too strong to even believe they were weak in the first place. Dawn had just arrived, and they could say they’ve stayed for another day.

[eatyourchancletas]

SUMMARY |  y/n l/n; the trauma surgeon who was in the wrong place at the wrong time and is taken hostage by the terrifying mafia known as ateez. despite their situations, love arises between the doctor and san; but when an enemy comes in between the group, breaking trust and belief between the members, what will san choose to save; his newfound love or his brothers?

PAIRING | choi san x male reader

INFO/CATEGORY | mafia au, fluff, light angst

WARNINGS | violence, weapon usage/mention, foul language, lower case writing

[chapter index] [playlist] [previous chapter]

AUTHOR’S NOTE | woops, finally have chapter 3 here! alex wasn’t able to finish it so i (monnie) did, but alex edited it so it was a smooth process. please like and reblog!! feedback is greatly appreciated!! please excuse any mistakes!

WORD COUNT | 4.7k

TAG LIST :; @jonghoshoe​  if you’d like to be added to the list please say so in our inbox/ask box!

hongjoong had gathered everyone around, gaze settled upon his members. “this mission is very important. we’ve managed to get a good deal. he says if he manages to make a good first impression with us, he’ll be willing to work with us at a smaller price.”

everyone nodded along, understanding what he was trying to say: don’t mess this up. 

the leader continued as everyone seemed to catch the drift, “but we’re going to be very careful with this. we don’t put ourselves out there, so i don’t know how he knows our reputation enough to want to further business before we’ve even started.”

seonghwa perked up, arms tightening around himself, “that means old business is talking.” hongjoong nodded, letting him know they were both on the same page.

after a moment of silence, hongjoong sucked his teeth and looked up at y/n, eyes holding an emotion the older couldn’t read. the two held eye contact for barely 3 seconds before hongjoong spoke in yeosang’s direction. “i want you to stay here with y/n,” at those words, the younger gave a look that explained his feelings very well, y/n thought.  

yeosang thought this was bullshit, but he couldn’t speak out on it because he trusted hongjoong knew well enough. “don’t take it personal, i don’t trust y/n fully. we don’t know what can happen.”

yeosang could only nod, deciding against disobeying hongjoong’s orders. 

“alright, everyone get ready. we leave in an hour, i wanna get there early. scope out the place.”

y/n felt ashamed and angry. 

ever since the group left for the mission, almost an hour ago, yeosang has been rude and treating him like he was the cause of all his problems. he felt ashamed because yeosang’s bruteness made him feel, somewhat, small and embarrassed, like it was his fault they were in this situation.

“get out of my way,” yeosang had shoved y/n on the way to the kitchen. the older stared dumbfounded, patience wearing thin.

“a simple excuse me would’ve been nice.”

yeosang scoffed, opening the refrigerator. if there was one thing that bothered him, it was being on babysitting duty. 

“yeah, well i’m not exactly in the mood to play around and be all goody-two-shoes. so you know what would be nice?” he directed a sharp glare to y/n, not giving him a chance to answer his rhetorical question, “if you would fuck off.”

y/n bit his tongue, sizing up the smaller. his thoughts blocked his irritation, taking in the fact that yeosang was a gang member. he’s pretty sure size wouldn’t inconvenience the younger when handling a physical situation, much less a verbal one.

the doctor went to walk away as yeosang placed a plate in the microwave, until he noticed red markings on the skin of yeosang’s wrist, his shirt sleeve sliding down as his arm lifted. “are you okay?”

“last i checked, i didn’t ask for some psychological evaluation. so for the love of god-”

“no- i meant your wrist… is your wrist okay?”

a barely noticeable blush covered yeosang’s ears, “i’m fine. it’s nothing.” 

y/n’s head tilted, an unsure look on his face.“do… do you mind if i take a look at it?” 

yeosang stilled, the low hum of the microwave filling in the silence. he hesitated, but decided against it, knowing yunho had told him he needed to get it looked at because there wasn’t much he could do.

his eyes drifted to y/n, his arm slowly gravitating in the direction of y/n, a silent approval. the doctor carefully walked forward, gently grabbing yeosang’s hand and pulling the sleeve slightly. a small gasp left his mouth, the sleeve barely pulled back but the wound already looked pretty bad. “do you have a first aid kit?”

the metal lid of the small trash can clinked as it swung back and forth, ointment-clotted swabs and bandage wrappers crinkling within the confinement. “thank you,” yeosang’s voice was small, his upset mood dissipating as time went on. 

“it’s no problem,” y/n finished wrapping yeosang’s wrist, careful not to make it too tight, “that was a second degree burn though… how’d you get it?”

yeosang looked down, a blush settling on his cheeks. his head dropped and his feet swung under the medical cot he sat on. he mumbled something, biting his lip afterwards, and y/n’s eyebrows furrowed. “i’m sorry, what was that?” and yeosang mumbled once more, y/n still not hearing what he said. “huh?”

“i said i burned myself trying to help seognhwa hyung make your meals!”

y/n blinked, “oh.”

and for the next few moments, it was deadly silent, the ticking of the wall clock echoing. y/n couldn’t take the awkwardness any longer, clearing his throat, “well, next time you get hurt, please don’t be afraid to come to me. it’d give me something to do, i already feel pretty useless and lonely here, to be honest.”

yeosang looked up, his feet no longer swinging, and a confused look on his face. “you’re not useless. we wouldn’t have kept you alive if you were.”

at that moment y/n inhaled, not knowing how to respond to that. “uh, jeez, that uh… hm, that makes me feel better… i guess?” a moment passed before the two chuckled, a comedic break turning out to be a lot more comforting than they expected. 

minutes passed, their conversation dying down into light replies and subtle smiles when yeosang asked a question that threw the doctor off. “do you know anyone by the name of heeseung?”

dozens of thoughts raced through y/n’s mind; why does he want to know? is heeseung okay? did he do something he wasn’t supposed to? 

“. . . yes.” but y/n couldn’t ask any further because before he knew it, yeosang had nodded and gotten down from the cot, walking out of the infirmary area.

meanwhile, miles away the others had arrived at the meeting spot, every member cautiously looking out for anything strange. seonghwa began pulling in closer to the black van adjacent to theirs, letting hongjoong and wooyoung scout to make sure this was the man they were meeting with.

after confirmation that this was dongwoo, they holstered their weapons within the waistbands of their trousers and exited the van. 

“have you got it?” hongjoong cut to the chase; he was quite a brute person when it came to work. and dongwoo and his people wanted to make a good first impression? he’d see how well he could handle him.

“yep, got a truckload of ak-47’s, m16’s, and a couple 9mm’s. all smuggled from america.”

hongjoong pursed his lips, an impressed nod making dongwoo’s ego subtly inflate. word on the street said no one had successfully managed to smuggle weapons, specifically guns, to ateez without the korean law getting too heavily involved. the trader always got caught, and ateez always made sure to utilize their connections and silence those who they couldn’t trust to keep their mouths shut. 

hongjoong had to go to some expensive lengths just to get the glock 17’s they used now. the quality of the gun proved its worth though, they learned. however, it was rare that they resorted to guns—they didn’t rely on them unless they themselves were in danger or if someone needed to be silenced quickly.

“looks good to me,” hongjoong complimented, turning his head slightly toward wooyoung, “bring out their payment.” 

wooyoung nodded briefly, bringing his hands from behind his back, a large herbal drink-branded bag being showcased. dongwoo raised a brow, peeking over and catching a glimpse of the rolls of cash that filled the bag to the brim.

“thank you for your service,” hongjoong beckoned wooyoung to hand the bag to dongwoo, before he went to step toward his shipment.

“wait, what?”

at dongwoo’s abruptness, san stepped forward, “what do you mean ‘what’? take the deal or leav—” his words died down and he cowered back when hongjoong’s sharp glare met his eyes, immediately silencing him. 

the leader clasped his hands behind his back and made a sharp turn toward the man. “is there something wrong?” his head was tilted and a curious look was on his face, there shouldn’t have been anything wrong with this offer and if there was, there was only a problem on dongwoo’s side. call it being ignorant, but hongjoong didn’t say he never had a problem because he wanted to be cocky and egotistic. it was simply the truth. 

out of every issue he and the others had encountered with a deal, none had gone wrong on their part. it was part of the reason their group was at the top—they were efficient business partners and leaders. something only went wrong when non-mutual expectations weren’t met.

“there’s no ‘we’re looking forward to doing future business with you’?”

a small smirk had taken over hongjoong’s lips, hidden by the hanging of his head. “mr. yoo, we further business with those of the same intentions as us. do you, perhaps, know what those intentions are?”

dongwoo stood dumbfounded; of everything he heard about ateez and their leader, he didn’t think to find out just what their goal was.

“it seems you don’t know, so i’ll tell you. we, ateez, have come this far from one thing and one thing only—loyalty. when i heard your proposition of your first impression leading to cheaper traders, something was a little off,” his eyes squinted and he bought his pointer finger and thumb to barely touch, “you know a little too much, don’t you think?”

dongwoo’s eyes widened slightly but he recovered, however, it was noticeable. “what are you talking about?” 

“someone’s been talking, haven’t they? leaking information about us that they, most certainly, weren’t warranted to give, but you probably don’t know much—you’re not the loose tie that needs to be cut off,” he looked dongwoo dead in the eyes as his own narrowed, “i hope.”

his intimidating stare lasted for a few moments more before a light smile covered his face, eye lightening. “take your payment, we’ll be taking our things and leaving.”

hongjoong gave a nod of his head, him and the rest of ateez splitting up to hook the small weapon-filled-trailer to their own vehicle, dongwoo and his men pulling off once it was unattached. 

“boss, i don’t feel so good about this right now. i think we should hurry and get out of here.” yunho spoke, a hand rubbing at the hairs that stood on the back of his neck. hongjoong didn’t question further, sharing the suspenseful feeling that creeped up his spine, giving a prompt nod.

after 5 minutes were spent attaching the trailer and making sure they were ready to go, seonghwa started the engine and waited for everyone to get in. just as san and mingi were about to get in the van, the screeching of tires sounded nearby.

“get down!” and bullets went flying.

“do you like raisin bran?”

y/n gave a slight nod, folding his hands in front of him. “sure!” yeosang held the box in the air, stopping mid-grab.

“aren’t you a doctor? raisin bran has a lot of sugar…”

y/n shrugged his shoulders, standing to get bowls for the both of them, “i’m a doctor, not a dentist. besides, i’m quite the sugar addict. with the injuries i see and multiple hour surgeries i perform, i need some type of a high—so sugar high it is!”

yeosang laughed, shaking his head and setting the cereal box on the counter before grabbing the milk from the fridge. “quick question doc,” yeosang began and y/n looked at him, setting the bowls and spoons down. “milk first or cereal?”

yeosang held a laugh in when y/n had a visibly offended look on his face, a hand pressing to his chest. “yeosang, please tell me you put cereal fi—”

“shit! y/n where the fuck are you?!” someone had frantically shouted from the front of the house, yeosang and y/n giving each other a worried look before tripping over their own feet to reach the living room.

“oh my—what happened?!”

“fuck,” hongjoong let out a belligerent roar, “get him to the infirmary!”

y/n panicked, grabbing onto the injured man and hoisting him up into his arms, rushing to the infirmary. he looked down at the paled man in his arms, huffing out a breath of air, “don’t worry san, i’ve got you!”

san lies on the medical cot, eyes still and closed and chest rising and falling in a calming pattern. y/n is sitting next to him, checking his vitals every few minutes and making sure his labs are okay. after verifying everything is stable, he sat the clipboard down, closing his own eyes and lying his head in his arms on the cot, dozing off. 

it’d been about 3 hours since san was bought in like this. y/n could’ve laughed at how freaked out he was earlier—san’s injuries weren’t even the worst he’s ever seen or treated, but your emotions and professionalism change when the person lying on your operating table is someone you have a nice relationship with… and when said patient’s fellow gang members are breathing down your neck, reminding you that there’s no other option than survival for him...

“how is he?” hongjoong’s voice startled y/n out of his exhausted haze, the older jumping in his spot.

“he’s fine now. if you’d have been any later, he would have coded… and i can’t do much for coding outside a hospital.”

the leader nodded his head, his chest and shoulders dropping slightly as if he could finally breathe. y/n watched him, watched how hongjoong toed around the cot, staring san’s unconscious form down.

y/n fumbled with his fingers, running over his next words in his head before just blurting them. “is it hard?”

“what do you mean?”

he shrugged his shoulders, looking at the shorter, “being a leader… having to watch over everyone,” he held eye contact with the leader, trying to read his expression, “it must be suffocating when something happens to one of them.”

hongjoong’s tongue swiped over his teeth as he stared the taller down. the air around them was tense—hongjoong knew y/n meant good by his words, but he’s not the type of person to just get emotional with people, especially those who aren’t exactly close to him. the others may see y/n as someone more than a hostage, but to hongjoong, he was just that. a person they were taking advantage of—a person who was only cooperative because his life was on the line.

“we’re going to head back to the shooting scene and see if we can find anything that’ll lead us to dongwoo, son-of-a-bitch. wooyoung and yeosang will stay with you and san… so let them know if you or san needs anything.” y/n cleared his throat, giving a curt nod before standing up and walking toward the cabinets, desperate to escape the awkward and tense aura. 

when he heard the door to the infirmary shut, signaling hongjoong had left, he let out a sigh before starting to occupy himself again. he opened a cabinet, grabbing a roll of gauze—it was time to change san’s dressings.

as he made his way back to the cot, he noticed san was now awake and it caused him to stop in his tracks. “when did you wake up?”

“unfortunately, when it got awkward,” san watched y/n’s face fall, a look of embarrassment overtaking his tired features. he held back a teasing smile, leaning back on his arms, although hissing in pain and sitting back up when the pressure sent a stabbing pain through his side and shoulder. he watched y/n walk toward him and lift his clean shirt to start snipping at the dirtied gauze anchored around his naked shoulder.

a few moments went by of y/n re-bandaging and wrapping san’s wounds before the injured boy’s head tilted to the side. he didn’t know if it was because he was high off pain meds or if it was because he’s been so deprived of seeing an unfamiliar face… but y/n looked really handsome and flattering. even thinking about feeling that way sent a drunk feeling to san’s head, his mind getting lost and going blank in the echoing cavity of his skull. it was no secret to himself that he was rather flexible when it came to his romantic relationships and feelings, but he was still foreign to it.

he decided to push it to the back of his mind, feeling rather rushed and irrational at the moment, “y/n hyung… are you feeling better now?”

the older turned to look at him, an eyebrow raised in confusion, “i should be asking that—you’re the one who got shot in the shoulder and stomach,” he pulled san’s shirt back down, careful not to put pressure on his shoulder. he turned around for a moment before turning back and wrapping san’s arm in a sling.

“thank you,” the younger softly spoke, before continuing, “i just noticed you’re more at ease with all of...this. it’s almost a complete 180 from when we first met.”

the doctor’s hands froze against his own lap, a sigh leaving his mouth and his eyes fluttering in a blink of realization, “i guess so.”

“they’re not here—”

hongjoong sighed through his nose, looking rather composed; and the others thought it wasn’t much of a deal until the leader kicked the seat in front of him, scaring seonghwa, who was in the driver’s seat. “call yeosang.”

“been here for a while, what’s up.” said male spoke through their communicator, sounding calm and unbothered.

“can you please stop doing th—can you find anything about dongwoo’s whereabouts?”

“give me a sec,” the boy registered, the clicking of a keyboard sounding into the communication device.

“alright so while yeosang’s doing what should have been done, please tell me why there wasn’t an extensive amount of research on this client?” hongjoong was pissed. not only did their transaction end in a one-sided gunfight, it ended up with one of their own having more than one bullet wound.

wooyoung swallowed, knowing damn well the question was aimed at him. “hyung, i did do research. i made sure to look up what links he has with other businesses and everything that i could think of. i’ve never failed at doing so-”

“then why did you fail this time?”

it got heavily quiet, seonghwa looking at his boyfriend through the rear-view mirror. no one uttered a breath and looked away from a fidgeting wooyoung.

“aight i’m back.”

hongjoong ignored seonghwa’s prompting  gaze, “what did you find?”

“nothing. they’re good at covering their tracks and maybe that’s why wooyoung couldn't find much. usually, we resort to hacking, but i’ve never seen these sorts of codes before and if you want me to break the wall down it will take longer than what you’d want.”

the leader sighed once more, pinching the bridge of his nose while bouncing his right leg. “No it’s fine, we’ll just hope dongwoo and his crew don’t appear again.”

“but hyung, isn’t that a little reckless-”

“you shouldn’t be one to speak right now.” hongjoong turned to glare at wooyoung, the younger male pursing his lips and nodding. “everyone get in the car, we're going back.”

“...so i’m not going to try and hack this? aw.”

“what’s wrong?” san frowned as wooyoung sulked while sitting next to him on the cot.

“hyung’s mad with me…”

y/n had his back facing them, trying to arrange the mess that was on the counter where all the ointments and supplies were. yunho had came in earlier to apologize for not keeping it organized, his exact words being “i just clean up their wounds as best as i can, and i’m not really in here unless it’s an emergency.”

san lingered a glance at y/n as if the older would do the same. “is it because of dongwoo?”

the younger nodded with a pout, leaning on san’s side. “mhm, and he hasn’t talked to me since.”

“well you know joong-hyung, he’s…” san thought for a few seconds, and when he couldn't find the words, he bit the inside of his cheek. “ he’ll get over it, just give it time. or talk to seonghwa-hyung, he’ll know what to do, he always does.”

wooyoung whined, “i already did! and he said ‘i can’t do anything’ with that pained smile of his!”

san blinked, “what? you’re lying, hwa-hyung would never fail us-”

“no no, i was there. he talked to hongjoong-hyung before wooyoung came up to him...or at least tried. joong-hyung isn’t talking to anyone right now. that’s why hwa-hyung told you he can’t do anything.”

“yeo, i swear you’re the nosiest person ever. like, please, i’m not sure if that’s good or bad sometimes.” san grimaced after processing yeosang’s comment through the earpiece.

“as far as i know it’s done us more good than bad. plus, it’s my job to be nosy, remember? we all get paid for things, and i get paid for sticking my nose up yall’s business.”

“wait you do that 24/7?” wooyoung frowned.

“uh, no. sometimes i don’t even intend to do it, ya’ll loud as fuck so sometimes i don’t even need the communicators. and i only comment on things that mean something. and before you ask this did not mean anything, i just wanted to join in the conversation.”

san snorted, “then why didn’t you just walk in here?”

“cus i’m busy right now.”

“doing what?” wooyoung grabbed san’s hand and played with his friend’s fingers.

“doing what i was not authorized to do—hack that wall.”

“won’t you get in trouble?”

“maybe,” the sound of him smacking his lips sounded, “but at least i won’t be given the silent treatment.”

wooyoung sat up. “yah! yeosang i will come down there and kick you!” when he heard no response he jumped off the cot and walked out the room, “yeosang i warned you!”

while hearing his best friend yell down the hall, san laughed. his attention returned to y/n who had his head tilted and a confused look on his face. “what’s wrong, hyung?”

“how...were you two talking to yeosang?” 

san hummed, smiling while tapping the clear earpiece in his ear. “we have them on unless we’re showering and sleeping or something. but when we’re on duty we have them on, speaking of that, i’ll tell jongho to get you one-”

y/n shook his hands in front of him as san was about to move, “you shouldn’t move too much, you might reopen a wound. i’ll call him…” y/n’s voice died down when he realized what he was volunteering to do.

at the sudden look of horror on y/n’s face, san laughed. 

“don’t worry, jongho’s just a buff teddy bear unless in danger. but for now, i’ll call him over.” san raised his hand to his earpiece, making y/n question why he couldn’t do that before. “jongho, can you bring an earpiece for y/n?”

san nodded when the younger agreed, saying he’ll be there shortly. he lowered his hand and rested it on his lap. “have you gotten along with anyone here yet?” he tried to spark conversation with the doctor, highly interested in him and feeling the need to know more about him.

“aside from yeosang, seonghwa and you, uh, not really. maybe yunho? i mean, he’s never showed any sign of hatred towards me so i guess we get along decent too...but i haven’t really had a chance to meet the others.”

the younger nodded, “well we may look tough and all, but i promise we’re all chill. hongjoong-hyung is only tough and straightforward when he’s on the lookout. just give him some time and you’ll see how nice and caring he is.”

y/n hummed, “i guess..”

“i have arrived with the product~” jongho smiled while walking inside the room, a box in hand. “once you put it on it will send yeosang a message and he’ll grant access to it.”

san watched jongho gesture y/n to grab it, but he took it before the doctor did. “here, i’ll put it in for you.”

jongho did his best to not snort or laugh, leaning against the wall instead. he watched san help y/n with setting up the earpiece, amused at how san seemed interested in the doctor.

“ok done, yeosang should grant access soon.” san smiled at y/n, the doctor returning it with his own.

a few minutes of quiet tension passed and jongho felt the need to do something; he pressed the button on the side of his earpiece. “yeosang-hyung, are you not going to-”

“give me a second, i just kicked wooyoung out. if he goes up there with a black eye don’t question it, he’ll say what happened without you asking.”

“you didn’t actually give him a black eye did you-”

“if he did then that can easily be taken care of…” y/n commented while watching jongho roll his eyes.

“yeah i did-”

“no he didn’t.” wooyoung butted in, it sounded like he was munching on something. “it was the other way around-”

san chuckled, shaking his head at his friend's bickering. he realized y/n’s earpiece was successfully connected when he saw the older grin. 

“i bet they both have a black eye.” y/n nodded to himself.

jongho rose a brow, a grin prominent on his features. “and how much are we betting?”

y/n hummed, “thirty bucks.”

“i wanna bet too~,” san grinned, “let’s check it out then. can i move now?”

“hmm...i’d say no but you probably wouldn’t really listen to me so... as long as you don’t make sharp movements.” 

san cheered, extending his free arm to get help in getting off the cot. “let’s go then!”

“hello?” 

“mrs. l/n! how are you? it’s heeseung...lim heeseung.”

the woman on the other end of the phone gasped in what sounded like happiness, “heeseung! It’s been a while since i last heard of you, is something wrong?”

the nurse leaned back into his couch, “well i called to ask if you've seen y/n…”

“i see...well we haven’t heard of him for quite some time now. we thought it was because of work you know? but you two are close aren’t you, i assumed you would know about his whereabouts”

heeseung sighs softly, “well we were close before we broke up...i called because he hasn’t appeared at work for almost two weeks now. everyone knows y/n is a workaholic so it’s rare for him to miss days. and i wanted to ask if i can go to the police and file a report.”

“have you checked his apartment? you do know where he lives right?”

“i do...”

“well if he isn’t there then yes, go to the police station. please let us know if you find anything!”

“of course, thank you.” heeseung smiled painfully to himself, bidding farewell to y/n’s mother before hanging up. soon after he turned off his phone and sighed, he really hopes y/n is at his apartment and only took a vacation.

y/n couldn’t help but bust out laughing when the three of them walked inside the kitchen. wooyoung did indeed have a black eye and so did yeosang. 

"darn it." jongho huffed as y/n ended up winning the bet.

seonghwa stood there confused, spatula in hand as he's setting out their plates for dinner.  "and what's this about?" 

san grinned, "we made a bet to see if yeosang and wooyoung gave each other a black eye or not. and luckily y/n ended up winning." 

"would that be called a doctors intuition?" yeosang rose a brow while glaring at the plates seonghwa handed him. 

"good question." y/n chuckled while walking up to the second oldest. "need help?" 

"oh, yeah, thanks." seonghwa smiled while gesturing to the drinks. "set them on the table, everyone will serve their own drinks."

"got it. oh, and after dinner, i'll need you two to come with me so we can take care of those shiners." 

“yeah yeah...”

[typical-simplelove]

I'll Always Fly Back Home to You - 40s AU (R. Hintz)

Summary: With the threat of a Soviet Union invasion, the Hintz family moves to America to escape death and war. What happens when Roope moves in next door to you?

Series Masterlist

A/n: This is the fourth installment and one of the best things I've ever written, I believe. This fic exists in the same universe in the Jamie Oleksiak fic that comes later on. I hope you enjoy this!

Warnings: mentions of war, death, breaking up, the Soviet Union (?), suggestive photos

Word Count: 9.1k

November 20, 1939

You could do this. Yeah, you could. All you had to do was bring a tray of cookies to the new neighbors next door. This was going to be simple, right? Introduce yourself, offer any help, give them the cookies, and welcome them to the neighborhood. You walk over to their house, and you instantly catch a whiff of something that smells amazing. You walk up the steps and knock on the door. You weren’t sure what you were expecting, but it wasn’t the person who opened the door.

“Hi, my name is Yn, and I live next door,” you begin after overcoming the initial shock. “My mom is also the one who works for the agency you and your family used to come here.”

“Oh, hi Yn,” this boy tells you. He was really cute, you thought to yourself. “My name is --”

“Mrs. Yln, thank you so much for coming,” someone interrupts. “I was going to ring you up. Can you help us figure out how to use the oven?”

“Mom, this is her daughter, yn,” the boy who answered the door corrects. He gives you a smile and your face warms under his gaze.

“Oh you’re right. Yn, forgive me, please. Roope, welcome her in, please.”

So his name is Roope.

“Come on in?” Roope asks.

“Oh, sure. I made cookies for you guys as a welcome gift.”

“Thank you, so much,” Roope’s mother gushes. “I hate to ask, but do you know how to use the oven?”

“Maybe? I mean, I had to use the oven in order to bake these cookies.” You walk over to the oven and notice that it’s exactly like yours. You begin to explain how it works and strike up a conversation with Roope’s mother who tells you to call her Mrs. Hintz. You learned that the Hintz family immigrated from Finland because of the aggression of the Soviet Union. Most of the extended family was able to immigrate over and are now spread across the Dallas area.

You left about an hour after you arrived happy that your mother sent you to welcome the new family.

. . .

. . .

The next morning, you were walking out the door to go to the grocery store. It was a morning out of a novel. The sun was out shining and the temperature wasn’t too hot or too cold. It was absolutely perfect. There was dew sitting on the grass, and it seemed like a day full of potential. You walk out of your lawn and turn right; incidentally, you’d have to go past the Hintz house. You are about to pass their walkway when you hear someone call out to you.

“Yn,” you turn around and see Roope walking out the door towards you. You stop and smile and wait for him. “Where are you headed?”

“The grocery store, you?”

“Yeah, me too.”

“Go with her,” Roope’s mother yells from the door. “She knows where to go; you don’t.”

You smile and look at Roope. A soft blush is now covering his face; you laugh softly. “Do you want to come with me?”

“Is that okay? I have no idea where I’m going.”

You laugh at his comment. “Of course. It is my job as a neighbor to help you assimilate to the town best you can.”

Roope looks at you. “And I thought you wanted to be my first friend here.”

“I can do that as well, if you’d like.”

“I wouldn’t want to inconvenience you in any way..”

“I doubt that being friends would inconvenience me, Roope.”

“You say that now, but, let me tell you, you might regret that sentence one day,” Roope says and winks at you. You feel the warmth reach your face as you look away bashfully. What was it with Roope?

. . .

In the days that followed your trip to the grocery store, a budding friendship blossomed. One day, you walked to your backyard to escape the rowdiness of your sisters and brothers. Sometimes, all you needed was to just leave for a bit.

You walk to the edge of your backyard where there is a giant tree that sits on both your family’s property and the Hintz property. You walk out and see Roope sitting under the tree. Opting not to bother him, you turn around and walk away. You thought that Roope didn’t see you; however, when he calls out to you, you know he saw you.

“You’re allowed to sit under the tree, too, yn,” Roope tells you as you sit.

“Yeah, I know,” you begin. “I just didn’t want to disturb you. I’m not sure why you’re sitting under the tree.”

“Well, don’t worry. You can sit. Why do you want to sit here?”

“Because you told me I could.”

Roope laughs. “That’s not what I meant.”

You smile at him. “Yeah, I knew that. No, I come out here at nights to get away from the loud and rowdy behavior of my family. Why are you out here?”

“Because you come out here often.”

You raise your eyebrow at him. “So, you notice when I sit out here?”

Roope blushes under your words and the sunset behind you. “My bedroom faces the tree here, and I always see you.”

“So, you decided to come and sit with me?”

“I can leave if you want.”

“No, Roope, I’m only teasing. You can stay.”

“Maybe we can make a habit out of this.”

“How so?” you question.

“This can be our escape. You can escape from your family, and I can escape from the prying eyes of my family.”

“Yeah? Let’s do that. I like that idea.”

Roope smiles at you. He was starting not to mind the move to the US.

. . .

December 1, 1939

“Hey, Roope?”

“Yes, Yn.”

“The other day, you said that you wanted to escape the prying eyes of your family. What did you mean by that?”

Roope sighed heavily and you instantly felt bad. “They aren’t sure if I’m happy here. I mean, I am. We are safe and alive which is more than many can say considering the invasion.”

“But it’s hard being new.”

Roope nods. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m happy with the friends I made, and you, but sometimes I miss where we lived.”

You nod. “So, that’s why you want an escape.”

“Mhm, but not the only reason.”

“What’s the other reason?” you ask inquisitively.

“Oh, it’s not a big deal. Don’t worry.” How was Roope supposed to tell you that his family wants him to ask you out but don’t realize that the two of you were just friends? He didn’t want anything else but a friendship with you. His family couldn’t understand that.

“Oh, okay. Well, is there anything I can do to help you with homesickness you’re feeling?”

Roope smiles at your concern. “Just be my friend?”

You smile at him. “That I can do.”

. . .

June 14, 1940

“Did you see?” you say to Roope as you walk up to him where he’s sitting under the tree.

“I mean, I can see what’s in front of me,” Roope teases.

“Haha very funny. No, did you see that the Germans are marching into Paris?” you sit down next to him and he puts an arm around you.

“Yeah, I saw that.”

“Are you worried?” you ask. Roope knows you well enough that you’re only asking because you’re worried and want reassurance.

“It depends. On the fate of the Parisians? Yeah, I’m terrified for them. On another war? I mean, it’s already started. What are you worried about?”

“Probably another war because that means that the people I love will be enlisting. You, my brothers, cousins, friends. It’s just worrisome.”

Roope begins stroking your arm in an attempt to try to calm your nerves. “Well, I promise you, that I’ll always find my way back home to you. Whether it be flying, driving, running, walking, or skating. I’ll be by your side.”

You look up at Roope and your eyes meet his. You always felt safe in his embrace and knew that he wasn’t lying. He’ll always find a way back home to you.

. . .

September 19, 1940 - the US Congress passes the Selective Service Act

“Well, I guess we can’t escape war, Roope. I mean, you knew that.”

“How so?”

“You are the same person that moved to the US from Finland because of the Soviet Union, right?” you joke lightly.

“Oh, right. Yeah. So, your brothers are enlisting?”

You nod. “Only the older ones. My younger brother is a bit too young, but he’ll be enlisting after his nineteenth birthday in a few months. What about you?”

“Not right now. They told me that I should wait until war was declared because I’m not a US-born citizen.”

“I guess that makes sense.”

“Yeah, look, let’s forget about the worries of the world for right now, okay? My mother made some cookies, and I brought some out. Let’s just relax and live in our own bubble, okay?” Roope says to you as he offers you a cookie.

“Okay,” you nod and take a cookie that Roope is offering to you. “Oh, these are good.”

“I mean, they aren’t as good as the ones you made for us when we first moved in, but sure.”

“You remember those?” you ask comically.

“Of course I remember those! A pretty girl showing up at my doorstep offering us cookies? Kind of hard to forget. A pretty girl who is quite young that my mother mistakes as being the girl's mother? Even more memorable.”

You laugh audibly remembering the memory. “You know, I don’t know what I was expecting, but it wasn’t you.”

Roope gives you a look of mock offence. “What does that mean?”

“I wasn’t expecting someone my age; I was expecting a family with young children that I could babysit or watch not you and your family.”

“Do you wish I was younger?”

“Absolutely not. Who else would be my best friend?”

Roope smiles at you and pulls you into his embrace. Best friends forever, they said.

. . .

October 28, 1940 - the Italians invade Greece

On a normal October day, you always made sure to have a sweater on you in the event you grew chilly. However, today, you forgot. By the time you walked into the backyard, your arms were cold, and you wanted to turn around. You were running late to meet Roope, though. You decided that if you got sick, then it’d be fine.

“You’re late,” Roope tells you from across the backyard. If you didn’t know him so well, you would have thought he was mad. However, you knew better.

“Yeah, I know, sorry. My sister wanted to go to the cinema, and she picked a long movie.”

“How was it?” Roope asks you as you sit down.

“Pretty good, I liked it. If you want to go see it, I’d definitely go and see it with you.”

Roope smiles at you and wraps his arm around you but flinches the moment he touches you. “Yn, why is your arm so cold?”

“Oh, I’m cold; it’s fine, though.”

Roope immediately shakes his head and begins shrugging off his jacket for you. “Here.”

“Roope, no.”

“Yn, yes. You’re cold, and I’m not. Just take it.”

You look at him and see that there’s a red tint coating his cheeks. Huh, you wonder what that’s about. “Fine, but only because I’m cold.”

“Why else would you take my jacket?”

“I, okay, whatever,” you deflect. What were you supposed to say? Giving a girl your jacket was what boyfriends did not friends.

When you and Roope both said goodnight that night, you walked towards your house and were about to step inside when you realized you were still wearing his jacket. You were about to turn around but you hear Roope call out to you.

“Keep it, it looks better on you, anyways.”

You laugh. The coat sat on the hook in your bedroom; you looked at it each morning and smiled at the memory of your best friend.

. . .

April 13, 1941 - Japan and the Soviet Union sign a neutrality pact.

“How was your date last night?” you ask Roope when you’re both settled under the tree.

He shrugs.

“That’s it?”

“Yeah, I mean, she was nice. It was nice. I walked her home, but she told me that she didn’t want to see me again as on a date.”

“Oh, did you want me to talk to her?”

“No, that’s okay.”

“Do you think you know why she doesn’t want to see you again?”

“Not sure, probably something along the lines of there just isn’t a spark.”

“Did you want me to vouch for you? Tell her how amazing you are?”

Roope laughs. “No, don’t worry about it.” He wasn’t going to let you talk to her because she told Roope that it wasn’t fair for him to be dating other women when he was in love with you. Roope denied it, but as he walked home that night, he realized she was right. Roope was in love with you, his best friend. The first person he met when he moved to Dallas. He loved you. The one person who would probably only ever see him as a friend.

. . .

December 6, 1941

You were sitting under the tree reading a book while you waited for Roope one evening. It was a chilly evening, and you were starting to get cold. You contemplated going inside and getting a jacket, his jacket. However, when you saw Roope exit from his back porch, you decided against it. Anyways, the warmth that filled you by seeing your best friend made you forget about the cold.

“Hey,” you say to him as you close your book.

“Hey, ynn,” he says to you. “This is for you from my mom. She was going through some of her old stuff and found this. No one else wanted it, so I thought that you might like it.”

“Oh, wow, just giving me things your family doesn’t want anymore.”

Roope laughs at your teasing remark. “No, I didn’t know about it until before dinner, and mom asked if I wanted it. I obviously don’t but that doesn’t mean I don’t think you will.”

“What is it?” you ask, taking the box from his hands.

“Why don’t you just open it?”

“Wow, sassy. I wasn’t expecting that tonight.”

“Just open the box.”

“Fine,” you retort and open the box. You gasp and look at Roope. “I can’t take this.”

“Yes, you can. I think you will have a better use for it then the cabinet shelf in the basement.”

“But, it must have been so expensive. Don’t you want to keep it in the family?”

“You are family, yn.”

“I mean blood family, Roope,” you say. He has given you the most stunning teapot you have ever seen.

“If my mother wasn’t okay with me giving it to you, then she would’ve said something.”

“What about your aunts?”

“Same. They all think we’re going to get married one day, so what’s the point if it’s going to be back in our family again.”

You look up at Roope, and you have a weird feeling in your stomach that you can’t explain. Did you want to marry Roope? No, you were both just friends, right? “Well, too bad we aren’t going to be getting married.”

“Yeah, too bad.” You were surprised with the tone that Roope had in his voice. Was he feeling the same conflicting feelings you were?

“Well, thank your mother for me. This is beautiful.”

“I’m glad you like it.”

“I love it, Roope, thank you!”

“Of course, anything for you.” And, he’d do anything for you.

. . .

December 11th, 1941 - Germany and Italy declare war on the United States

After getting the teapot from Roope a few days ago, you decided to bring lemon squares to the Hintz household to thank them. You pack them into a tray and head out the door. You walk over to the Hintz house and knock on the door. Roope’s mother opens the door for you and wraps you into a large hug and begins to sob.

“Mrs. Hintz, are you okay?” you ask clearly knowing she isn’t.

“I’m not sure. Oh, come in, come in. Roope’s not here right now.”

“Oh, that’s okay. I’m here to see you, actually. I made lemon squares to thank you for the teapot. It’s beautiful, and I love it.”

“I’m glad, sweetheart.”

“Um, Mrs. Hintz?” you ask cautiously. She looks at you, and you know it’s safe for you to continue. “May I ask why you were crying?”

“Oh,” she says and the tears slowly start again. “Roope went to the navy offices to enlist. He’s going to war, and he’s going to be a navy pilot. You obviously knew that though because he tells you everything.”

The heat drains from your face. Roope was going off to war. You knew that eventually this would happen as your two older brothers went to bootcamp a few months ago and your younger brother’s number came up just yesterday. However, you weren’t expecting for Roope to be enlisting right away. It made sense, though, considering that the Soviets invaded his home. The one thing, though, that’s sticking out to you is that Mrs. Hintz thinks that you knew. This means that he definitely made the decision without talking to anyone, even you. “No, I didn’t know that, but he’s doing what he feels is best, right?”

“I know that, it’s just going to hurt when he leaves.”

You nod. “Did you want me to make some tea, and we can have the lemon squares I made?”

“Would that be okay?” she asks.

You smile. “More than okay.”

Roope enlisting is not your sadness to be felt. You were going to help his family in any way you could.

. . .

December 15th, 1941

“Do you miss home?” you asked Roope. Roope never not talked about his time back home, but he also wasn’t the most open about it. You never pried and you never asked for more. You were willing to just take as much information as he would give you.

“Like my bedroom?” Roope asks.

You laugh and Roope smiles at you. There was something about your laugh that made Roope melt. “No, like Finland.”

“Oh,” Roope’s smile fades and you instantly feel bad for bringing it up. “I miss some of the older extended family that couldn’t come with us and some friends, but I’m not sure about the rest of it.”

You nod. “Well, for what it’s worth, I’m happy that you’re here.”

“You are the best thing that came out of my move to the States,” Roope tells you and you feel the warmth spread to your face. “Yn, I have something to tell you. You might not like what I have to say.”

You knew what he was talking about; his mother told you. “You’re joining the navy and are going to be a navy pilot.”

Roope sits up and looks at you. The two of you were laying down under the large tree in your backyard. “How did you know that?”

“Your mother told me.”

Roope laughs sarcastically and shakes his head. “Of course she did, when you brought the lemon squares?”

You nod. “She was crying when I went over, and she told me. Don’t be mad at her.”

“I’m not, don’t worry. Did you cry too?”

“No, I didn’t,” you say but your voice wobbles. Roope looks at you and puts his hands on your cheeks to catch any tears that might fall.

Roope smiles at you; he looks like he’s contemplating something. He looks down at your lips and you feel the warmth rush to your face again. “Can I kiss you, yn?”

You nod. “Yeah, please kiss me.”

He leans down and gently places his lips on yours. The kiss lasted for a few seconds, but it’s enough for you to know you don’t want to kiss anyone else ever again. When you both pull away, you stare into each other’s eyes, and you know you’ve made a tremendous shift in your relationship. No longer were you and Roope good friends. No, now you were two people who finally realized their feelings after a few years. You know that there was no one else for you, and you hoped that Roope felt the same.

“Can I kiss you again?” Roope eagerly asks. He wants nothing in the world except to kiss you again but doesn’t want to overstep his boundaries.

“Of course.”

He kisses you again, and you’re pretty sure you melt. How could just one touch make you so happy and giddy and excited at the same time? This time, the kiss is longer, and you both deepen the kiss not wanting to separate. You couldn’t be without him and he without you.

“About time,” your sister yells from the porch. You pull away from Roope and giggle.

“I guess so,” you say to Roope and he smiles back at you.

. . .

The days leading up to when Roope was set to go to bootcamp were spent together. You both tried to fit years of couple things into three days. It was hard. You both knew that navy pilots were one of the most dangerous positions in the military, and they might not make it home.

On the day that Roope was set to leave, he asked his family to go to the train station on their own so that you and him could walk together. How romantic, you thought, despite the circumstances.

“Do you promise to write to me?” Roope asks before he’s about to get on the train.

You smile. “Of course, silly. I’ll write to you all the time that you’ll ask me to stop.”

“I highly doubt that,” Roope tells you and kisses you. “Goodbye, my love.”

“Goodbye, Roope,” you tell him with tears in your eyes. “Fly back home to me?”

Roope smiles and kisses your forehead. “I’ll always fly back home to you.” He gives you one last kiss and picks up his bag and walks away. He turns around one last time to wave. His last thought is wondering if this’ll be the last time he sees your face.

. . .

Dear Roope,

This letter might take a while to get to you, but you knew that. Now that you’re overseas, it might take a bit for my letters to come to you. Let me tell you, though, just because they are further apart or might take some time doesn’t mean I’m going to stop. Why would I? Why would I ever stop writing to the man I love? I hope I’m not jumping to any conclusions by telling you I love you because I do. I think I always did. The minute you moved in next door, I think I fell for you. It just took some time for me to realize how I felt. Let’s be glad that we finally realized, right?

Did you know that my sister is getting married? She is settling down with her childhood sweetheart. Isn’t that so romantic? Can you imagine marrying your childhood sweetheart? I have a question. Feel free to ignore this question. Did you have someone you loved back home? Did you love her and think you’ll marry her? If you don’t want to answer, feel free not to. I’m just curious. You don’t often talk about your life before moving to the US, and I just want to know more. Care to share? Please? How about for the woman who loves you to pieces?

What's flying like? You don’t have to tell me where you’re flying over or anything like that. Just tell me, is it beautiful? Have you touched a cloud? Is the sun just absolutely beautiful? Is looking at the ground from the sky put everything in perspective?

Fly back home to me, right?

With love all the way from Dallas,

Yn

Dearest Yn,

Just know, I love every letter you write to me even if they are weeks apart. I don’t care. Any letter makes me so happy. Some of the other members in my company always make fun of me for having a girl I love, but I don’t care. Mail call is always the best part of my day because I get to hear from you. The anticipation I feel is unbelievable. And no, it’s not too presumptuous to tell me you love me because guess what? I love you, too! More than you could possibly know. The minute I laid my eyes on you, I knew you were special. Every time I saw you and we hung out, my heart always had this weird feeling. I thought it was just nerves of being in a new country or having a new friend. However, as the months went on and I got to know you, the feeling didn’t go away. It took for a war to be declared for me to make a move and tell you I loved you and not just in a best friend's way. I hope that’s not too presumptuous, but, then again, you did say it first.

Send my congratulations to your sister from me. That must be awfully romantic for childhood sweethearts to be falling in love and getting married. And now, to answer your question. Let me quote you first. You said “did you have someone you loved back home?” Let me tell you, you are that girl back home. Home is in Dallas now because it’s where my family is and where you are. You are that girl back home that I dream about marrying one day. I know that you mean in Finland, and, let me tell you, no, there was never anyone who I loved as much as I love you. You are the girl back home that I want to marry one day. As for stories from Finland, what do you want to know?

Flying is beautiful. To answer you questions: it’s absolutely beautiful (but not as much as you). No, I haven’t touched a cloud. Just so you know, I’m not sticking my hand outside the window or cockpit in order to do that. From that far up, the sun is still bright, so I’m not sure if it’s beautiful. I try not to stare at it. However, if you’re talking about the sun in my life, then it’s beautiful because you are the sun and center of my life. Looking at the ground truly does put it into perspective. It makes me realize how much I want to be with you when this hellish war is over.

I’ll always fly back home to you.

With love from the sky,

Roope.

Dear Roope,

I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. Oh, you want me to say it again? Gladly. I love you, Roope Hintz, and I can’t wait to spend every single day with you after this war. Getting my letters is the best part of your day, huh? Maybe I should send more to boost your morale. (or maybe something a little bit more suggestive? Actually, no, my mother would kill me if I did that and considering I still live in her house, nope. Sorry.). I’m glad, though, that you have something to look forward to everyday. I can’t imagine what it must be like over there. If you want (and can) please do share. I want to hear about everything. You don’t even have to tell me about the combat or any of that stuff. How about what you do on your days off? Who are the men in your unit? Tell me all about any friends you made. I’m not sure where you are because, you know, classified and all, but tell me, have you been able to see any of the sights? How beautiful are they? I don’t care what you tell me; I just want to read about what you’re doing because I miss you so much. There is not a day that goes by that I don’t head to the backyard to wait for you. Everyday. Like clockwork. I go to where our backyards meet and wait. It always takes me a moment to realize that you’re not coming to meet me and it makes me sad. Just know that I think about you all the time.

My sister is grateful for your congratulations to her. She told me to tell you that she is expecting our wedding next and that you should get on it, Roope. I only laughed at her. I’m sure you have other things going on in your life, so don’t worry! A wedding can wait. All I want is that you one day promise to love me for all my life because I promise to love you all my life.

Finland. What do I want to know about your life in Finland? How about, what did your house look like? Is it anything like where your family lives now in Dallas? What did your bedroom look like? Is it similar to your room here? What did you do in your free time? I want to know it all, Roope. Everything there is to know.

Your words about me being the girl back home? Melted my heart. I reread them every night before I go to bed. I didn’t know you were such a romantic, Roope. I guess it takes a war for your true romantic side to come out. Well, you’re my guy overseas that I’m waiting for.

Flying sounds so beautiful. Maybe, one day, you could take me up with you? But for now, I just have to experience flying through your words.

Fly back home to me?

Love,

Yn

Dear Yn,

I’d write how much I love but then I’d be writing for all of time and we wouldn’t want that, right? If that were the case, then I’d never win this war and come home to you! Even then, I wouldn’t be able to ever spend time with you. Because you asked, let me tell you about some of the other pilots in my unit. My CO (commanding officer) is Tyler Seguin, and he’s great. Believe it or not, there are two other men who are also from Finland. They moved away at a young age so not as recently as me but still. Esa and Miro. It’s nice having people to talk to about Finland who have a slight inkling about what I’m talking about. There are other guys in my unit - Jamie Oleksiak, Denis Gurianov, Ben Bishop, and more. This unit is like a family, and I hope that they get to meet you one day. Actually, not Jamie Oleksiak. I feel like he has the charm and looks to take you away from me. However, he has a Red Cross worker that he’s absolutely in love with who wants nothing to do with him, so maybe not that much of a threat. On my days off, I normally just hang around the base. I often reread you letters to me and it almost makes up for me not being by your side each day. Sometimes I’ll venture into town and go for walks or to a local restaurant. Before you ask again, yes, I have seen some of the sights. I’ve seen some beautiful, grand buildings that are just so beautiful. I hope, one day, I can bring you back here to show you the beauty. There might be a war but the beauty and glamour are still there. Some of the palaces or mansions are just beautiful but not as much as you! Sometimes I’ll go for a walk and see a big tree and I will sit under it thinking you’re going to join me. Every day at the time we would normally meet, I always take a step outside, if possible, and just sit there thinking about you. Because of the time difference, it’s probably early afternoon for you but know that there is not a day that goes by without me thinking about you, darling. (Don’t feel the need to send me anything suggestive; I’d rather your parents not have a negative opinion of me one day if I am to be their son-in-law. We all know that I’ll be doing worse things to you once we get married. How else are babies made?)

You can tell your sister that a wedding can be arranged the minute she can get Hitler to surrender. If she can manage that, then I’ll marry you the minute I touch Dallas soil and can get you into my arms. Better yet! Why don’t I meet you at the church and we just get married right away?

My house in Finland was slightly smaller than my family’s house in Dallas. It wasn’t painted the vibrant yellow like in Dallas; it was a beige hue that was fairly bland. I far prefer the color of the house in Dallas because it’s the same color as your house and reminds me of you. Whenever I see something yellow, I always think of you. Most things in the world that I see go back to you. My bedroom in Finland? Pretty bland and similar to the one back in Dallas. When we made the trip, we only carried what we could so many of the posters or books I had stayed there. I did get to keep a few mementos; however, I’d rather fill a home with memories and mementos of you and our relationship. My free time? Same as before. I did play more hockey, however. There aren’t many frozen ponds in Dallas, but it’s okay. Playing on the road with the neighbors is fun! Maybe I should get you to play. What do you say?

My darling yn, you should know that I can be awfully romantic. I used to charm all the girls back in Finland. Actually, that’s a lie. You’re the only one. Maybe I should be more romantic. Just wait and see, my love, I’m going to be so romantic that you’re going to get sick of it! You’ll forever be the girl I’m going home to! When asked about if I have anyone back home, it’s always you. No one else. I guess my family, but you’re always first.

With love from the sky,

Roope

. . .

August 14, 1943

Roope took to the sky as normal one morning. Mail call was just before his scheduled time to fly, so he saved your letter for later. Flying over occupied France was always dangerous, and Roope’s CO told the unit to make sure that their wills were in check for the worst case scenario. The men were expecting the worst, so it’s only important they prepared for the worst.

After flying for twenty minutes, Nazi fighter pilots began shooting at Roope and his men. To his right, Roope’s wingman went down. He didn’t see a parachute which likely means he didn’t make it out. This really shocked Roope. He knew that there was a possibility that he might die or his friends. However, this was the first time that someone so close to Roope died. It could have easily been him.

Once he touched down, Roope headed to his barracks to read your letter. Only your letters could shake away the horrors of war.

Dearest Roope,

How are you, darling?

He read the first six words, and he instantly broke down. He couldn’t do this. He couldn’t keep writing to you when he knew that he’d be dying next. It didn’t matter if he loved you more than anyone or anything in the world. It didn’t matter if he had been sending money back to his mother to put aside so that he can buy you a ring. None of it mattered if he died and you were heartbroken. Nothing mattered. Roope knew that he was going to be gone soon; it was part of the job being in the military but especially a pilot. There was only one thing he could do: he had to let you go.

Dear Yn,

It pains me to write this; however, just know that I love you. I’m doing this because I love you. I think that you should stop writing to me. I believe that it will be easier for you when I’m gone if we weren’t in contact. You should be out and having fun. You should be the young woman in your twenties doing things young women do. You should be going on dates, going out dancing, and not writing to a pilot whose life is short. It pains me to write this. Please, forgive me. I’m doing this because I love you. I love you so much that I want you to be happy when I’m gone. Please, I’m sorry. Forgive me.

With all my love,

Roope.

He sealed up the short letter into an envelope, wrote your address and put a stamp on it immediately. He knew that he would regret this later on, but he knew that it was for the best. He knew that you were going to write him one last letter asking him to change his mind. He wasn’t going to. Roope was doing this because he loved you. There was nothing else. He couldn’t fathom the idea that he might die in combat one day, and you’ll never move on because you dreamed of marrying him. He couldn’t. That would be so much worse than dying. He loved you so much that letting you go was what was for the best. Roope walked to the post office; he took a deep breath and gave the mail person his letter.

Now, he was awaiting your letter that would absolutely break his heart.

. . .

You received his letter three weeks after he sent it. You opened your mailbox and smiled widely to see it. You sat on the porch swing with your sister, heavily pregnant, sitting next to you. You carefully opened the envelope and pulled out the letter. At first glance, the letter looked really small, but you didn’t think anything of it. He was fighting a war; it makes sense if his letters weren’t as long as yours.

You read the first line, and you felt the tears begin to fall down your face. Did he find someone else? Did he not love you anymore? Deciding to ignore your thoughts, you decide to continue to read.

No, this was so much worse than Roope finding someone else. This was the worst. No, he was telling you to stop writing to him.

You finish the letter and cry out. Your sister looks up next to you. She grabs the letter out of your hand and begins reading. She briefly skims it but understands the overall message. Roope wanted you to stop writing to him; he wanted you to stop talking to him. Roope was letting you go. Your sister wraps her arm around you and begins to console you. You brush her off, excuse yourself, and run to your bedroom. How could Roope do this to you? Does he not understand that it didn’t matter what happened? You would always love him no matter what? You instantly pull out a sheet of stationary and begin to write your reply. You knew that he asked you not to write to him, but you felt he should know the pain he was putting you through.

It took you four times to finally put words to paper.

Dear Roope,

I know that you asked me not to write to you, but I feel like you should know how much you are breaking my heart. I apologize that this paper is tear-stained. I was going to write it without the tear-stains, but I feel that you should be able to see firsthand the pain and heartbreak you’re putting me through because you are the cause of it. How could you feel that this is any better? Is this what you wanted? For me to be crying in my bedroom? Did you see me being okay with your letter? Am I supposed to be okay with the fact that you don’t care enough about how I feel? Just so you know, I love you more than anything in the world. So, tell me, how does me crying in my bedroom and getting over heartbreak equal what you wanted? You tell me you want me to stop writing to you and enjoy my evenings as a young woman. How am I supposed to do that when I’m sitting here with a broken heart? The idea of me going out tomorrow? No, nonexistent. You hurt me and I don’t want to do anything. Just the idea of being with someone else makes me sad and sick. Is this what you wanted? For me to be heartbroken?

Do you remember what you told me the day you left? You told me that you would always fly back home to me. Always. You added that always. What happened to that?

Let me say one last thing: who are you to tell me what I want? I think I am perfectly capable of knowing who or what I want.

Yn

You were angry now. How dare Roope assume he knows what you want? Why can’t he understand that you love him and would do anything for him? Why would he do this to you? You angrily seal up the letter and add a stamp. You set it on your dresser to be put in the mailbox the next morning. What were you going to do now? What do you do when the person who you love more than anything in the world doesn’t care for you anymore? What do you do when the person who you’ve been dreaming about marrying says he can’t give you the same thing? Why would he do this to you?

. . .

Roope isn’t surprised to see your letter. He knows you; he knows you well enough that you definitely gave him a piece of your mind. However, what he wasn’t expecting was to see a tear-stained letter. It immediately breaks his heart knowing that he is probably the cause of your tears. Roope can’t read the letter in front of his friends, so he walks into the barracks. They’d be disappointed in him. They’d tell Roope that he was being an idiot. He was head over heels hopelessly in love with you, so why would he ruin that?

Roope reads your letter and there are tears in his eyes. What hurt the most was the way you signed the letter. You just signed it “yn”. There was no “love” or “yours”. It was just your name. What was he expecting? He basically broke up with you; there was no reason for you to remind him of your love.

“Where did you run off to?” Esa says as he barges into the barracks. “Your girl send any suggestive photos for your pleasure?”

When Roope doesn’t answer, Esa gets nervous. Roope was always very smiley and happy after he got one of your letters. Esa takes the letter out of Roope’s hand and reads it. When he sees the stained writing and what it contains, Esa instantly knows why Roope is upset.

“You love her, so why did you do this to her?”

“Because I’m not going to be able to give her what she wants. She wants to marry me one day.”

“Isn’t that what you want?”

Roope nods. “I can’t marry her, though, if I’m dead.”

“Who says you’re going to die?”

“I think the fact that pilots have the highest death rate speaks for that.”

Esa sighs and sits on the bed next to Roope. “We’re in a war. We should be able to have our dreams right next to us, right? You shouldn’t have to give up everything. You’re giving up your twenties, happiness, and strength to fight a war you didn’t start. The one thing you should be able to have is your dream. The letter you wrote her? Ruined that dream. Why did you do it?”

“I don’t want her to love a man who is going to die one day. I don’t want her to dream and imagine what our wedding would look like. I don’t want her to dream about the life we will have together one day. That’s not true. I want her to dream about those things. However, I don’t want her to dream about those things if I can’t be there. I don’t want to get shot down only for her dream life not to be able to happen. More than anything in the world, I want her to be happy. I don’t think I can give her that if I die. I want to give her a life in which she can be happy.”

“Roope, from what I can tell, you made her sad and miserable.”

“If I end things with her now, then when I die, she’ll already have a mended heart and be able to move on.”

“I don’t think so.”

Roope looks up. “What?”

“Firstly, you keep talking as if you’re going to die tomorrow. There is no definite evidence that points to that. You know, she could always die in a car accident tomorrow, God forbid. Secondly, from this letter, she loves you and you broke her heart.”

A look of realization crosses Roope’s face. “Damn, you’re right. I ruined everything, didn’t I?”

“Maybe when you go home you can fix things?”

Roope nods. He only hopes that whenever this war ends you’ll still love him enough to give him a second chance.

. . .

September 13, 1945

A knock on your parent’s door has you shocked. You were sitting in the kitchen making a pie to bring over to the Hintz’s house. Despite not talking to Roope in two years, your family and the Hintz family were still close. You clean your hands on the dish rag and walk over to the door. You don’t take the time to check who it is before you open the door. When you see the person on the other side of the door, you gasp and slam the door in their face.

It was Roope.

The love of your life who told you two years ago that the two of you shouldn’t write to each other. He threw away years of love and friendship in one letter. However, it was rude to shut the door in his face, right? You open the door again carefully. Part of you is hoping he took the hint and walked away; however, the majority of you is hoping that he’s still there. Despite him breaking your heart, you still loved him with your entire heart and being. You doubted you would ever love anyone as much as you loved Roope.

So, you open the door. Thankfully, he’s still out there. “Hi, Roope.”

“Hi, Yn,” he says nervously. “Um, these are for you. Your favorites.”

You take the flowers he’s handing to you and smile. Of course he remembered. “Thank you. Why don’t you come in, and I’ll put them into water and a vase.”

Roope nods and follows you into the house.

“When did you get home?”

“Oh, um, just a few days ago,” Roope is confused at the friendliness of the way this conversation is going. He figured you would have some harsh words for him considering what he did to you.

“And you’re only stopping by to say hi now?” you tease.

“I mean, I’m not sure how much you hate me considering I broke your heart.”

“Oh, so we are addressing the elephant in the room, then.”

“Look, yn, I’m really sorry; I didn’t mean to hurt you. I just wanted what’s best for you.”

“So, you broke my heart?”

“No, that’s not what I wanted to do.”

“Then what did you want to do.”

Roope sighs and looks at you. “I wanted your heart to get over me earlier, so that when I died, it wouldn’t hurt as much. I didn’t want you to dream of this life with me after the war only for it to be destroyed by me dying in combat.”

“What would have happened if you didn’t die?”

“Like before I wrote that letter or after?”

“Both, Roope.”

“Before? I would have flown back home to you as promised and married you. After? Well, this.”

“Oh yeah? And what’s this?”

“An apology tour?”

“A tour? Who else’s heart did you break?” you tease.

“My mother’s.”

You giggle softly. “What?”

“My mother was heartbroken to know what I did. She was so upset and sad that you wouldn’t be her daughter-in-law one day.”

“Oh.”

Roope isn’t sure how to take this. “If you’ll forgive me, yn, then that would make me so happy. I know it’s not me fixing what I did but it’s a start. Even if you don’t love me as much as I love you or at all, that’s okay. I just need you to forgive me.”

“If I forgive you, what comes next?” you add on.

Roope knows you well enough to know that this means that you’re leaning to forgiving him. “Well, I’d probably ask you out for dinner and then another and another and another and that pattern would continue. After a while, I hope, you’ll realize that I never stopped loving you and still want to marry you one day. When you finally realize that, I’ll ask you to marry me and we’ll live the life you always dreamed about.”

Roope’s words put tears in your eyes. He still loves you? He still wants to marry you? “I forgive you, Roope. I could never stay mad at you,” you say as you jump into his arms.

Roope smiles and wraps his arms around you. He strokes your back as you cry into his chest and softly kisses your forehead. When you finally stop crying, Roope decides to test the waters. “Does this mean I can take you out for dinner?”

You laugh. “Yes, Roope, you can take me out for dinner.”

“I did promise to always fly back home to you, yn.”

You smile. “And that you did.”

. . .

June 15, 1946

“Hey, step outside for a moment?” Roope whispers into your ear. You were sitting in your living room celebrating the birthday of your sister’s son. You nod and take Roope’s hand. After that day he came home and visited you, Roope has spent every single day since then showing you how sorry he is and reminding you everyday of his love for you. There was not a single day in which you doubted his love for you. Roope leads you out your back door and out to the tree in your backyard. When you walk out, you notice that there’s a blanket sitting on the grass underneath it and small lights hanging from the large branches.

“Roope, what’s this?” you ask.

“The last part of my apology tour.”

“Roope, we’ve gone over this verbatim. I forgive you; there is no need to keep trying to prove you’re sorry or love me.”

“You say that now but I think you’ll like this final part. Come sit?” Roope sits on the blankets and opens his arms so that you can join him. You do. You sit with your back to him and he wraps his arms around you. You can feel how fast his heart is beating on your back.

“Before you say anything, I need you to know, I am truly sorry for all of the heartbreak I put you through. That’s the one thing I will regret for the rest of my life. There is nothing I can do to ever make it up to you. However, I hope that marrying you will help me make it up to you.”

“You’re going to have to prop-- oh!” you’re interrupted when Roope places a small velvet box in your hand. “Roope.”

“When my parents told me we were moving to Dallas, I wasn’t sure if I’d like it. I knew why we were moving, but I didn’t want to. But then, you showed up on my doorstep with a plate of cookies in your hand and my life changed forever. My family knew before I did just how much I loved you. It took some time, but I wouldn’t change a single thing. Actually, I’d change the letter I wrote during the war but nothing else. I wouldn’t change the friendship we had and the meetings under this very tree. None of it. I only wish that we didn’t lose so many years together because of the war. Yes, I’ll admit, I ruined that a bit. We probably could be married by now and maybe have a little one of our own running around or you were close to giving birth to one. However, life happened the way it did.”

There were tears starting to form in your eyes. Roope releases his hold on you and guides you to stand up. You stand, and he goes down on one knee.

“Yn, there are no words to describe the love I have for you. Not a single one. However, I hope that if you let me be the happiest man on earth, it might give me enough time to find all the words. During the war, I was sending money to my mother to save for me to use to buy you a ring. That didn’t stop when I did what I did. I actually bought this ring the day before I went to see you. I felt that, though, despite my want to marry you right then and there, I knew we weren’t there yet. That doesn’t mean we aren’t there now.” Roope takes a deep breath. “Yn, will you marry me?”

“Yes, yes of course!” you tell him and Roope smiles.

“Yeah?”

“Absolutely!”

He gets up and places a kiss on your lips. It was salty from your tears but he wouldn’t have it any other way. Roope breaks away and places the ring on your hand.

“You did fly back home to me even if it took some time.”

“You never have to doubt it, yn,” Roope tells you as yours and his family cheers from the back porch. “No matter what, I’ll always fly back home to you.”

Taglist: @goalision @coffee-ontherocks @glassdanse @barzal-burakovsky @petey-patty @beauvibaby @boqvistsbabe @rmaye @heatherawoowoo @heaveniish @stars-canucks @tkapuckit @mellany1997 @nhlboyshavemyhart88 @heybarzy @2manytabsopen @habsfan @besthockeyfics @plds2000 @kaitieskidmore1 @iwantahockeyhimbo @sidscrosbyy @barzysandmarnersbitch @ollywahlygator (Join my taglist here!)

[let-me-luve-you]

Accidental Hurtful Words

Tom Holland x sister

Summary: Tom just wants to do a movie on his own but his siblings have other plans. This leads to words being said that he regrets saying and even thinking.

Warnings: Angst, car accident, rude sibling, hurtful words, probably crappy ending

A/N: I’m not from England so I apologize for anything that’s wrong. I also just pulled up a map of Kingston and picked two random roads to put in the story.

MASTERLIST    BUY ME A COFFEE

One month. That is how long your brother, Tom, had off between movies. Sam and Harry had been with him on the last one. He loved his brothers, but he wanted one movie where it was just him. Where he could focus on himself and not constantly have thoughts of “are my brothers okay?” or “Are they bored being here or are they keeping themselves entertained?”

Tom had two weeks left before he went to America to film his next film. He had yet to have the conversation to his brother, Harry, that he didn’t want him to come along this time. He was dreading it because he didn’t want to hurt his feelings. After many pep talks to himself, he finally decided today would be the day that he would tell him.

It was late morning. Tom had just gotten out of bed. He went into the kitchen and fixed himself some tea. He saw Harry pacing outside in the garden on the phone. When Harry hung up, he walked back inside with a big smile on his face.

“Morning Tom.” Harry smiled. “Got some good news.”

“Yeah? What’s that?” Tom said.

“I got a gig on your next movie. They are going to let me help the director.” Harry basically beamed. “They said they got you a house and I can crash in one of the rooms since they are paying. I’ll be flying out with you in a couple weeks.”

“Oh.” Tom said trying to sound excited. “That’s amazing. I’m proud of you man.”

“Oh and I think Y/N had some news or something. She said she was stopping by for lunch.” Harry mention Tom and his little sister.

Y/N is seventeen. She has been trying to get into acting. Just like her big brother. She has always looked up to him. She has always wanted to be just like him. Be just at good at acting as he is, be as kind-hearted, and all around decent human being. It had been your goal since you were 3 years old and he was 10 years old.

“Do you know what she’s wanting to tell us?” Tom asked.

“No idea. I knew she had auditions this week. And I think she had a meeting with her manager yesterday. Maybe she found a part.” Harry said.

Tom nodded and finished his tea. He felt annoyed. He just wanted one project for himself. One project he didn’t have to have any of his family members there. Every project since ‘The Impossible’ he had someone with him.

He got up and put his mug in the sink before going to his room to get ready for the day. About half a hour later, Tom was sitting on the couch scrolling through Instagram. He was trying so hard to relax and get rid of this tense and angry feeling to go away. He heard a knock at the front door before he heard it open and a soft “hello?” followed.

“In here.” Tom yelled. Y/N walked in and smiled at her brother. She ran over and gave him a hug. Over the past week, she had been trying so hard to get a part that she hadn’t seen much of him. “What’s got you in such a good mood? Harry said you had some news?”

“I do. I finally got my first big part in a movie!” You smiled. Tom felt a sense of pride swell in his chest. You had been working so hard to get your first part.

“That’s amazing Y/N/N! I’m so proud of you” Tom said as he wrapped you in a hug and kissed you on your forehead. “What movie is it?”

Y/N smiled shyly. She was nervous to tell him it was his movie. She had heard Tom talking to Harrison before the last one he filmed saying he wanted to go to a movie alone.

“It’s uh..” you stuttered. “It’s Left Drowning.” You kept looking at your hands. You heard Tom sigh. You looked up at him and he had a tired smile on his face.

“That’s great. We’ll get to work together.” Tom smiled as he stood up. “I’m going to go hit the gym. I’ll talk to you later.” Tom kissed the top of your head and walked towards his room.

Hours later, you had texted Tom to see if he wanted to grab dinner with you. You just wanted to make sure he was okay with you going. You didn’t want to upset him by not letting him go work on his movie alone. It had been 30 minutes and Tom still hadn’t text you back. You decided you would drive over to his house.

When you arrived, you knocked and let yourself in. You could hear murmuring in the kitchen and you followed to the sound. When you were just outside the door you heard Tom’s voice.

“Man I know I should be happy, but I really just wanted one movie where I didn’t have family on set. I would be okay with them visiting or something, but staying the whole 3 and a half months. I don’t know. I had it in my head I was going to be alone this time and it’s taking time to adjust.” Tom said on the phone as he leaned on the kitchen counter. You were trying so hard not to make a noise but you also didn’t want to eavesdrop. You were just about to make your presence known when Tom said something that made your heart drop.

“I’m pretty sure she only got the role because I’m her brother. No way she would of gotten this big of a role for her first time if it wasn’t for us being related.” Tom said.

You felt tears start forming and had to get out of there. Someone you loved and trusted just said the thing you were afraid of since you got the part. You were worried others would think that, but you didn’t think your own family would. You turned to run out of the house and accidentally hit a chair. You looked up to see Tom had turned and saw you. He paled noticing you had heard what he said.

“Y/N.” Tom whispered. “Haz, I’ll call you back.” He tried to slowly walk towards you but you ran towards the front door. When you got outside you sprinted to your car and locked yourself in. By the time you got it started, Tom was knocking at the window.

“Y/N/N. Don’t go. Let’s talk this out.” He shouted. You shook your head and put your car in reverse. You drove. You wanted to be as far a way from him as possible. Tom had let Sam borrow his car that afternoon so he took off after you on foot.

You drove a few blocks before you blacked out. Tom slowed as he saw the car run the stop sign. He saw it crash into the drivers side of the car.

“Y/N!” Tom yelled as he sprinted to check on you. He pulled out his phone and dialed 999. “Help! My sister has been in a car accident.”

“Whats the address sir?” The emergency lady asked. Tom looked around to find the intersection.

“At the intersection of Geneva Rd and Grove Lane.” Tom reached your car and saw that you weren’t moving and your eyes were closed. “Hurry she’s not moving. Y/N! Y/N! Can you hear me?” Tom yelled as he tried to open your door.

“Sir, emergency services are on their way. Please try to remain calm. Is anyone else involved?”

“Uh. Yeah the other driver. She uh...” Tom stuttered as he watch the other driver get out of her car. “She’s out of her car moving.” Tom watched as the lady lifted her arm and took a drink out of a bottle. “I think she’s drunk. It looks like she’s drinking alcohol. Please hurry. I can’t get my sister’s door open.”

Finally Tom heard the sirens. They immediately parked and ran over to Tom to see if he is okay.

“I just witnessed it. I’m fine! Please. You have to help her.” Tom said as he started to cry. The situation finally fully hitting him.

“We will do the best we can. Please step aside. We have to pry this door open.” Said the firefighter who was bringing out the jaws of life. 

Tom stepped back to watch as they cut the door off his sister’s car. He had bought that car for her for her sixteenth birthday. She was so proud of that car and took extra care of it. Tom sighed as he watched them put a neck brace on her and put her on a stretcher.

“Do you want to ride with her to the hospital?” The EMT asked.

“Yes. Let me grab her bag from her car.” Tom said as he ran to the car and then to the ambulance. He hopped in the back and immediately grabbed your left hand.

When they arrived at the hospital, they rushed you into a room so a doctor could look over you. You still hadn’t woke up. Tom was stopped and was told he had to stay in the waiting room. He paced for ten minutes before he called his parents and his siblings to tell them what had happened.

When Dom and Nikki arrived, Tom hugged his mother and cried. Saying it was his fault. She hugged him back as Dom went over to the front desk to see if there was an update.

“Okay so in about half a hour we should be able to go back to see her. They are just doing some x-rays and a CT scan. When they finish that we can go to her room and sit with her while we wait on the results. They also said she is now awake and alert.” Dom said walking back to his wife and oldest son.

“Oh that’s great.” Tom said with a sigh feeling so much better knowing she was awake and alert.

By the time Paddy, Sam, and Harry arrived, they were being let into Y/N room.

You were sitting up on the bed with a cast on your left foot and a sling on your right arm. The whole family walked in and gave you hug saying how glad they were that you were okay. Tom stayed back in the corner of the room just watching.

“I’ll be okay guys. Just some scratches and bruises and maybe broken bones, but I’ll be okay.” You smiled at your family.

“Y/N, what happened?” Nikki asked as she sat on the side of your bed.

“I don’t know. I was driving and then nothing.” You told her.

“Knock knock.” A police officer said as he leaned into the doorway. “We have some questions for Y/N and Tom if that’s okay.”

The family looked confused as to why they needed to question Tom but they all stood up and waited outside the room. The police officer left the door open so Harry stood by it so he could hear the conversation.

“Y/N, my name is Officer Johnson. I arrested the woman that hit you for drinking and driving. She was way over the legal limit.” You looked at him shocked. “You were very lucky that this wasn’t worse. Also that your brother here witnessed the accident and was able to call for help immediately. The woman that hit you has done this three other times, but somehow keeps getting released. It is now my personal goal to make sure she stays in so she can’t hurt anyone else.”

“Wow.” You said shocked at the news of what he just said. You looked over at Tom. “You saw it happen?” Tom nodded his head.

“We will keep you updated on if anything changes. You can stop by the station in the next few days to go to your car and get anything out of it that was left behind. Here is my card. Just call me and I will help you arrange getting your stuff.” He smiled at you and then walked out.

“Y/N. I’m so sor...” Tom started to say.

“What does he mean you witnessed the wreck?” Harry asked as he walked in the room. The rest of the family following looking between Harry and Tom.

“I saw the car hit her. I was chasing after her.” Tom said looking down at his shoes.”

“What did you mean it was your fault?” Nikki asked.

“I... I said some things to Harrison. Just to vent. I don’t... I don’t even know why I thought them.” Tom said as he turned to you. “but I am so sorry. I didn’t mean what I said. I.. I just had a rough day and I was venting about everything and you just happened to hear the part about you. Which isn’t true. I don’t think that because you are so much better than me.

“You are going to be way bigger than me and I’ll just be known as Y/N Holland’s older brother. I won’t even be remembered for my movies once you make it. Y/N/N you are incredible and got this role all on your own. I had no idea you were auditioning for this movie. They hired you because you killed it and they want you to be a part of this movie that is going to touch people’s heart.” Tom grabbed your hand and gave it a squeeze.

“It’s okay Tom. I forgive you. I was over there to talk to you about the role. I was going to back out if you didn’t want me to go. I heard you talking Haz about doing a movie without anyone being there with you. Wanting a movie you could just focus on yourself and not worry about anyone else.”

“And that was wrong of me. I think I was just feeling overwhelmed and put the blame on everyone else. I’m sorry for all of this.” Tom leaned over and kissed your forehead. “I promise I will take care of you until you get better. Then I’ll just take care of you because I love you.”

You smiled at your brother and reached up to give him a one armed hug.

“I love you too Tommy.” You kissed his cheek as you left his embrace. You leaned back and looked at your family. “I love all of you.”

[sorcerersofnyc]

The Last Thing Left (Zemo x F!Reader) 9/9 - The Epilogue

If it wasn’t so painfully ironic (and hilarious to watch,) Helmut would find the relationship between Sam and James a little sad.

Ghosts weren’t enough to hold two people together.

While they wait for Torres to locate Donya Madani, Zemo brings Sam and Bucky to the home he once shared with you.

You reunite and he reflects upon his relationship with you (his wife’s friend and his friend’s wife) and your journey from being people with mutual friends to partners.

Part Nine: You Carry On

Angst, brief allusions to sex, I use Serbian Cyrillic as a stand-in for Sokovian.

Note: Main Character is neutral in most regards, but the story was written with my own cultural background in mind. (In other words, I won’t say what she looks like but I envision her as being black.)

First Chapter | Previous

***

You watch him go.

You watch him leave you once again— watch him go off into some dark, unknown future you can never be a part of.

And it hurts.

It hurts to know how much you’ll miss him, hurts to think you'll never see him again.

You take a deep breath (and another and another and another) but the pain only spreads faster as dread closes in all around you.

You feel lost in it, drowned by it, changed by it—but you won’t surrender to it. You’ve walked this road before and you know the way forward. So you take a step, then another, and you turn away from the outside world with a heavy, ragged breath.

The kitchen is far too cheery now. The sun streams inside through the open curtains, and the smell of coffee lingers in the air. Helmut washed the dishes before he left, leaving only his favorite mug behind. It stares at you from its place on the countertop, its dark ceramic gleaming in the light.

You don’t feel your knees buckle or your hands shake, you don’t feel the mangled sob rising up from your chest, you don’t feel the tears that gather at the corner of your eyes and pour down your cheeks like heavy rain.

Your body lurches forward. You reach out to steady yourself but somehow manage to knock the mug over instead. It strikes the title with a sickening clink that echoes through the air.

It chips, but it doesn't shatter. The coffee spills from the mouth and spreads fans out in every direction, staining the tiles on the floor.

Helmut would never know you chipped his favorite mug—but you cry about it anyway.

You cry for the life you could have had together, one where you dumped the stale remnants of his coffee every morning, one where your first kiss wasn’t also the last, one where he held you every day, and you healed your hearts together instead of apart.

You cried because your feelings had no place else to go.

*

Time passes.

*

Time passes.

*

Time passes.

*

You’re alright; you don’t break, or bend, or toil beneath the weight of your grief. The world moves forward, and so do you:

Anežka returns. (“How was the Baron?” She asks you. “We’re the two of you able to… become familiar with one another?” You wish.)

You learn Helmut was taken to the raft. (You order his affairs and have his things sent over to him.)

Sam Wilson becomes Captain America. (He gives a speech that inspires the world to do better.)

The Flag Smashers are killed in a car bombing. (‘No suspects as of yet,’ the report says and your heart tightens at the thought of who might have been responsible.)

You carry on.

*

You receive a package in the mail one day, a thick brochure from The Raft outlining the specifics of a Prison Work Rehabilitation Program.

The front photo was disturbingly picturesque, framing the facility as less of a prison and more like a seaside resort.

'Propaganda,’ you think as you flip through the glossy pages. The program is endorsed by some guy named Thaddeus Ross. You think he was a general or a secretary or something but you aren’t quite sure.

The back of the brochure displays an image of a happy family reuniting and you roll your eyes. Prisoners on the Raft don’t get to go home to their families.

You toss the brochure away without a second thought.

*

A few weeks later, you’re sent flowers after an art show. It’s a beautiful arrangement; twelve thick-stemmed roses wrapped in gold foil.

It adds a classic touch to the modern look of the Visiting Artists’ Office, standing out amongst the dark tables and chairs. But it’s the card that catches your attention; it was left completely blank.

You aren’t sure how you feel about having a secret admirer but you take the flowers home regardless. They’d look nice in a vase near the window, the bright reds mixing with the autumn leaves.

The trip home is short and uneventful and you thank your driver on the way to the door.

You slide your house slippers on and are surprised to see Anežka’s pink one’s by the door as well. You can hear her in the kitchen, opening and closing the doors of the pantry as the air grows warm with the spices of her favorite tea.

“Anežka,” You call out, “I’m home!”

You set the flowers on a side table, barely conscious of the soft footsteps trailing in from the kitchen till Anežka sets her mug down on the coffee table.

“Look what I’ve got. A 'secret admirer’ sent them. Should we put them here or downstairs?” You take an artful picture of the arrangement.

“Neither is a wholly appropriate place.”

You freeze.

Your mind draws blank as it fails to process the words you heard someone other than Anežka speak.

You turn around quickly, knocking the flowers off the table as you do.

“Helmut?” Your voice lowers as a million feelings bubble up inside of you. They threaten to explode.

Helmut is there—right there—dressed in nothing but a bathrobe and his house slippers with a cat-like smile stretched across his handsome features.

He strides forward with confidence, stopping so close you nearly reel back.

“These are special flowers, драга, brought all the way from Ecuador.” He kneels before you, the hem of his robe splitting at the knee to offer a very seductive glimpse of his thigh.

He reaches around you, grabs the fallen bouquet, and sets them gingerly on the table as he stands. “We should place these in your bedroom so you may admire them every night.”

“What’s happening?” You finally manage to ask him, “what’s going on?”

“I’m home,” Helmut teases, speaking as though you failed to notice his soft brown eyes, his damp hair, or the heat that surges between you as he stands close enough to touch, to kiss if you wanted.

He brushes a hand against your cheek.

“Helmut,” you whisper again, but your voice is stern and more controlled this time. “How are you here? You’re supposed to be in Raft.” Despite your words, you lean a little closer, resting both hands against his chest, near the opening of his robe.

“It seems someone of great influence decided my sentence was better served outside the walls of the prison.”

“Like civil service?” You ask, but then you remember the brochure you received in the mail— the propaganda, or so you believed. “Or… Prison Work Rehabilitation?”

“Something like that. There’s a team,” he makes a flippant gesture with his hand before bringing it to rest on the curve of your hip. “Though I needed time to address the matter of my… financial limitations.”

“Limitations?”

“Of course.” He pulls you closer, encircling you in his arms. “The holder of my assets is quite a formidable woman. I thought it best to pay her a visit, to request access to the full extent of my resources. As stubborn as she is, I assume it will take a great many visits.”

“That would be wise,” You nod slowly, a wide smile coming to your face.

“I can’t be with you always, драга,” he tells you, “but I will be here.”

And you don’t quite remember what you promise in reply (or if you promised anything at all) because he kisses you.

Your fingers slide down his chest, brushing past his chest hair and the little charm he wears around his neck.

You don’t know how long you stay there, kissing, and sighing, and melting in the arms of the man you love, but you’re vaguely aware of being walked back against the wall, of the front door opening and closing at some point, and of Anežka pausing by the threshold, groceries in hand.

“Anežka,” He greets her, but his dark and hungry gaze lingers on you, only you.

“Hello, Baron… It’s good to see you.” Her voice waivers, but the sentiment is real. “M-Miss,” she nods in your direction.

“Hi, Anežka.” You’re not quite sure what to say.

“Why don’t you take a few days off?” Helmut suggests, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “I’ll take care of things here.”

“O-of course, Baron—Thank you.” Anežka glances between you one more time before setting the bags down near the door. “Good luck, Miss!” She calls out before leaving.

And as her footsteps grow quiet and hush in the distance, his eyes meet yours and his kiss finds its home upon your lips.

(And later when Helmut comes undone beneath your gaze and the rocking of your hips against his, you bring him home once again.)

And he keeps coming home to you.

***

And so we've reached the end. Thanks so much for reading! I appreciate all the support. This was my first fanfic in many years and I'm glad I could bring it to a close.

The end is a bit of wishful thinking on my part but I wanted to end on a happy note.

I'll probably write one or two bonuschapter that's basically just smut. So if you're 18+ and would like to remain on the taglist (or be added,) just let me know!

Taglist:

@actuallyanita, @fillechatoyante, @viviace, @buckyandlokicanhaveme, @sapphiredreamer26, @robur-bellicum, @apparrio

Previous

[natromanxoff]

Mercury Roadrunner's Interview about Freddie Mercury with Peter Freestone – Part III

Thanks very much to Mercury Roadrunner (Pavel Strashnyy) for letting me share his amazing interviews! Originally shared here. Check the tag "MR interview with Phoebe" to see the other parts.

Here are the 6 main topics of this interview, beginning of each topic is written in bold:

1. Freddie's clothes and beliefs, drugging story

2. Freddie's family

3. South American tour

4. Memories about Brian, Roger and John

5. Books, plays and opera

6. Before and after concerts, Michael Jackson, first memory about Freddie, what how would it be if he was still alive?

PS: So, here is our third part, and the first topic is about Freddie’s clothes for concerts. On the Hot Space tour, we can see arrows in Freddie’s clothes. What was so special for Freddie about these arrows?

PF: I don’t know. It’s just something that got into his mind. They are also in the video for “Body Language.” I think it’s just something that fascinated him at the time. He just decided he liked arrows.

PS: I see. And where exactly did you source all those arrowed vests and jackets for him, for concerts?

PF: They were actually all made in America, they were made for him. They bought the T-shirts and painted them on. And with the leather jackets and the other jackets, they just made them. There was that one big jacket he had. He only wore it, I think, once or twice. With the actual arrows sewn onto it. He literally wore it two times, I think. The reason he didn’t use it was because he couldn’t take it off on stage, because as soon as he started sweating it stuck to him. So, there was no way he could just take it off. That’s why he stopped using it. But it was just a phase he went through.

PS: Speaking about Freddie’s T-shirts, Freddie used to wear quite a few T-shirts with logos of different gay establishments, different gay clubs, such as Haven, The Works. And the question is, how exactly did he usually obtain such T-shirts? Were they given to him as presents or did he buy them?

PF: Most of them were. I mean, obviously, we offered to pay, but then the manager says, “No, no, no. Take it, take it.” Because, of course, it’s going to be good advertising for them, isn’t it?

PS: With such a superstar wearing their T-shirts. Speaking of clubs, have you ever visited the famous Studio 54 in New York?

PF: Yes, we were there quite often. Usually on the Sunday night. And, it was fine, it was good. It was the Sunday, because he went to The Saint on Saturday. It was fun, it was good. It was so very, very different because of the history that was attached to it. But it was good, it was big enough for people to hide in. If you wanted to be seen in a photograph – yes, fine, well and good. But if you didn’t, then there were plenty of places where you could just stand or sit, or whatever.

PS: In what ways was it different?

PF: I mean, the feeling of the place. Because they spent a lot of money on the interior. With all the different lighting, stage, everything was there. It had that, sort of, bit of glamour.

PS: Actually, as we mentioned the holiday of Easter at the beginning of our talk, I would like to ask you, in your understanding, was Freddie any kind of spiritual person? Maybe not religious but sort of a believer, as we can see a lot of lyrics for his songs where he mentions God.

PF: He didn’t follow any organised religion, because it’s something that he never really spoke about, because he felt that and politics were, in fact, very private to a person. But I do believe he had a faith, he did have his belief, but not in any way that we would recognise.

PS: Coming back to our topic about clubs, could you please try to remember the story about Freddie meeting one of the members of Village People in one of the clubs?

PF: I’m trying to remember which club we were in. It could actually have been The Works where we met him, because I know it was just a chance meeting. We then went to some promotion thing that the Village People were doing. And we were there, we met up with David Hodo; he was the construction worker. They became good friends, and they would meet up quite often in clubs whenever Freddie was in New York. But it was just a chance meeting.

PS: There were some kind of rumours that some accident happened to Freddie when he met one of the Village People members in a club. Do you remember anything like this?

PF: Accident, no. There was that time in one of the clubs, there was a group of us and David was there with us. I went to the toilet and told Freddie, “Just stay here.” And he says, “Yes, yes, yes.” And then I went to the toilet and when I came back, of course, he wasn’t there where he was supposed to be. And then David came and found me and said, “You better come and give Freddie a hand,” I said, “Why? What?” He said, “You have to see it.” We went round the corner and there was Freddie jumping in a big, sort of, net container where there were all the plastic cups from the drinks you just threw away. He was just jumping up and down in it, because someone had actually put something into one of his drinks, and he just had gone… happy. [laughs] So, between David and myself, we just lifted him out, took him and stood him by the bar and wouldn’t let him go anywhere.

PS: Coming back to the Hot Space times, you can be actually seen in the backstage footage of the Milton Keynes Bowl show, and you are walking together with Freddie to the stage. Can you please share any special memories about this show?

PF: The show itself, no. But the night before the show, he was bitten on his hand by his boyfriend at the time, Bill Reid. He bit him and drew blood between his thumb and his forefinger. So, Freddie was having a bit of a problem playing the piano at that show. As far as the music goes, it was another big outdoor Queen show.

PS: Speaking about the Hot Space tour, in general, what was the most specific moment or, maybe, your personal memory of it?

PF: No, not really. One tour blends into the next tour, whether it was Europe or America. When you are actually on tour, it’s basically the same every evening – soundcheck, show, out, hotel, travel to the next place. It became very much routine.

PS: As a viewer, you have seen only one Queen show, right?

PF: Yes, the show I have seen was one of the Wembley shows in 1986. It was the Friday night. He had friends over from America and he wanted me to look after them. And then Joe actually took care of him for the show.

PS: And you saw it not from the stage but as a viewer?

PF: Yeah. We were all sat in the royal box, which was, sort of, the VIP area. You don’t get any good view or anything, and this is in any show. It’s either right at the side or whatever. You don’t really see anything. It’s really a place where celebrities can go and sit so that the audience can go and see them. That’s what it was about, really.

PS: What are your memories about Freddie’s family? This is our second topic. What are your memories about Bomi and Jer.

PF: I probably saw them five times in my entire life. He tried very much to keep his music life totally separate from his family. The music side of him did not really fit with their strict Zoroastrian faith. He didn’t want to push their noses in it. He would bring them to one show each tour of Europe when they [Queen] were in London, and that would be it.

PS: Even if you saw his parents five times or something, could you remember, in general, your impression of his father? As we can see his mother, Jer, in some documentaries. But what was his father like?

PF: His father was just quiet, very, very quiet. Which was unusual in that sort of family, because normally it was the male who was dominant, and the females were submissive. But it was very much the other way round with this family. The mother did a lot more talking. I probably had more to do with them after Freddie died than when he was alive, because I talked to them to find out what they needed for the service and everything. The whole world had had him for twenty odd years, he was owned by the world, so I felt it was only right particularly at this time that his parents got what they needed. They should never be burying their son. That’s not supposed to happen. So, for them to be able to deal with the whole thing I felt it was only right to actually accommodate them with the funeral service and everything. So that’s why I say that I probably spoke more with them then than at any time before.

PS: Do you have, maybe, any kind of memories of Freddie spending time together with his sister, Kashmira?

PF: She came to Garden Lodge not even as much as his parents did, because she lived in a different city, she lived in Nottingham. If their parents came to Garden Lodge, maybe, six times, she would have been there, maybe, three. They spoke on the phone every now and then, probably not even quite as much as with his mother. It wasn’t a close, close family like so many people believe families should be, but then I fully understood it, I fully understood his feelings there.

PS: Do you find any similarities between Kashmira and Freddie? Are they in some ways like each other?

PF: I think so. But I found out a lot more in the more recent years than while Freddie was alive. She enjoys her life with what Freddie has given her. And the way she honours Freddie because Freddie gave her 25% of his money. And she’s buying these really classy, good quality jewellery and cigarette cases and everything, and then she lends them to the Victoria and Albert Museum in Freddie’s name. So, she’s enjoying the money but letting the world know that it’s only through Freddie. I admire her for that. If Freddie was to actually be seeing what she’s doing, he would be over the moon because she’s enjoying the money. So many people just cannot, but she is, she is definitely enjoying it.

PS: She has a total right to do so.

PF: Yes, very much so, because she’s doing what, I believe, Freddie would have wished her to do. Because he enjoyed his money, so that’s why he gave it to her so that she could enjoy her life, enjoy things. And, as I say, the things that she buys she lends to museums in Freddie’s name. So, he’s still there, he’s still represented. I think that’s perfect.

PS: Our third topic is about Queen’s first tour in South America, as it was a very special one. What are your favourite memories about this one, if you can try to remember?

PF: The memory that sticks in the mind was the police escort that we had going back from the first show in Argentina. There are photographs all over the place, with John Deacon playing with the gun and them travelling in an armoured truck and that sort of stuff. That was something incredible. It’s something that you could tell your grandchildren you were there, it’s one of those things. The shows themselves were wonderful because Freddie was playing to the biggest audiences that he’d ever played to at that point. And he loved it, he loved being on the stage. The memories I have are more offstage than onstage. There was the very, very quick drive from the hotel to the airport after the show in Venezuela, because the president died that day and they were going to close the country down to go into state mourning. If the band and the set and everything were still there, we would never have been allowed to leave. There were no flights, there was nothing. So, we drove so, so fast through to get out before the lockdown happened there. It was amazing. And then, of course, there was Mexico, in Puebla where there was this old, old stadium. And the backstage, you just wouldn’t believe what was there. It was just broken down, old cement and concrete. No locks on doors. There was one toilet that we had to create a sign for, so when you went in you put “Engaged”, and when you came out you put “Vacant”. There was no lock on the door. And then, of course, that was where there was the problem with the crowd. The band didn’t know anything about, none of us did until afterwards. The reason that batteries and everything were thrown at them on the stage was because, apparently, before the fans could go in, the police took all the batteries out of recorders, cameras and everything, so none of the show could be recorded or filmed. But then when they were inside, the crowd could buy their batteries back. And the crowd thought that this was part of a deal with Queen and that’s why they started throwing stuff at them.

PS: Very extreme concerts, right?

PF: But when Freddie was on stage, he thoroughly enjoyed it. It really fulfilled his dreams.

PS: The fourth topic is: A lot of people ask you about Freddie, but we must remember that actually you were quite close with all Queen members. My question is about each of them. What are your special memories or stories? Let’s start with Brian.

PF: There’s a photograph. There was Brian, myself and Brian’s security. We were down by the pool. I cannot remember which hotel. I was lying on the grass in the sun and Brian was there and we were chatting. And then his bodyguard came and just sat on me. There’s a photograph of it on the internet. And Brian just sat there laughing. He just laughed and laughed and laughed, and didn’t do anything to help me.

PS: Any special memory about Roger in all those years with Queen?

PF: Again, this was in South America where he and I had a go-kart race, there was this amazing go-kart track near one of the cities. I was out there with Roger, there was a group of us out there. We had this amazing race. Because he loves cars, he’s always driving cars. He decided he was going to be champion go-kart driver. That was fun. All the things are fun that we did. John had the family with him [in South America] some of the time. I used to babysit his children. I think there were three boys at the time. There’s photographs round and about of me with John’s children playing around at the airport. I was there to make sure to keep an eye on them. The off-duty times were really good memories.

PS: The fifth topic. Freddie, in one of his interviews, said that he considered reading books not a very interesting activity. Could you please try to remember whether there was some certain book or books that had an important meaning for Freddie?

PF: In the twelve years I knew him, I never saw a book in his hand. He would read magazines, like Architectural Digest, because he just loved furnishing things inside the house, on the properties he owned. But I never really saw him reading a book. But, saying that, with the intelligence that he had, he must have read books. I think probably they are things that he learnt at school. He was very clever. I finished the boarding school at eleven, and he carried on until he was seventeen, so he probably would have learnt so much more that I did. But I never saw him with a book in his hand.

PS: In that case, could you please try to remember any theatre play or opera libretto that he liked because of the storyline or the characters?

PF: It started off as a play but then it was made into a film. He saw the play in London when they put it on. And it was called “The Women”. He found that fascinating. It was a comedy film about how women dealt with divorce and separation and love, and all that sort of thing. It was just very quick-witted. He loved everything. You had to listen carefully to understand the joke. In so many of these films, they do short, quick sentences. He would pay attention to those sort of things. That one he went to because he wanted to see the play. Most of the time, he went to see plays because of the people who were in it. His friends would invite him to a show. I bought the tickets and took him to see the play “Little Foxes” in New York, and not because he would be interested in the play or what’s going on, it was purely because Elizabeth Taylor was the star. A lot of the time, he went to these things because of who was in it rather than what it was.

PS: Was there any opera libretto that he liked the most because of the story or characters?

PF: Not specifically for story and characters, because anything that Montserrat could sing, he just loved listening to her voice. He didn’t have to know the story behind it. It’s just as well because in most operas you don’t understand the story, because this mother lost this son, he was taken away by someone else, or she stole another one, and then this son falls in love with this person but that’s his sister. You know, you really do not want to know the stories of operas, you just want to listen to them.

PS: Speaking about you, what are your favourite books and writers?

PF: It really depends on my mood at the time. Actually, I do quite like Stephen King, but not everything that he’s done. I mean, I like the general style of his writing, of his books. Operas, I have about 1,500 operas in mp3’s and on physical CD’s. And I will listen to one every day. It just really depends on the mood. Mainly things written by Rossini, Bellini, Donizetti and Verdi. The storyline is almost always the same, except if it’s based on a historic fact. It’s always a love story, sometimes it ends happily and other times she dies of consumption or she dies of something else. As I say, generally, you don’t pay attention to the words. I ask so many people, when they listen to a song for the first time, do they listen to the music or do they listen to the words? The vast majority of people listen to the music first. It’s the same with opera. He had to be able to read music, although he might say he couldn’t because he did those piano exams. You have to read music. But I don’t think he was so interested to actually pick up a school. He would not sit at the piano and play something from notes. That he couldn’t do, he just would create it himself.

PS: Speaking about Stephen King, as you mentioned him, do you like his book “The Shining” and the film with Jack Nicholson?

PF: Very good. That one I like very much. I like “The Shining”. I thought the book adaptation was actually very, very good. Another one that I like of his was “Salem’s Lot”; there is a miniseries made of that which actually reflected the book very, very well. Because Stephen King is involved with the films of his books most of the time, they tend to be much better versions of the books than so many films. So many films are supposed to be based on a book than have all of the director’s own ideas and what it should be like and everything else. So, when you look at the film, you actually wonder if you’re looking at the right film.

PS: Must agree with this. As a close friend of Freddie, as a writer yourself and as a book lover, here’s a special question: With whom could you compare Freddie amongst fictional characters from books?

PF: [laughs] Oh brother! There isn’t one. [laughs] Not in anything I’ve read that Freddie could compare with. I mean, maybe, there’s a little bit of Freddie in so many different characters. For example, Sir John Falstaff. I don’t remember which Shakespeare play he’s in, but he’s in a couple of operas. And just that character, I can see a bit of Freddie in there. Anything passionate I can see Freddie in. Anything with a love story in it, because that’s what he was always looking for. Anyone specific, no, I don’t think that exists. So, a book would have to be written around him.

PS: The next topic is: What was Freddie’s excitement like right before going on stage? Was he mostly visibly excited or otherwise calm and deep inside himself before the show?

PF: Really, most of the time when I was there with him getting ready for the show, there was always a rule that everybody, all friends and family had to be out of the dressing room at least half an hour before the show. They would have to sit in the guest room, so the band could, sort of, concentrate. In Freddie’s mind, there was no reason to panic because the show was going to happen whether he panicked or not. He was actually quite calm going into a show. He would pump himself up but on his own. He would just move his arms around and jump a little bit. And it wasn’t the excitement, it was just to get the body moving because he knew what he’d appear on the stage. His body would not stop moving for an hour and a half, two hours. He had to basically warm the body up a bit. Vocally, he would do a little bit of vocal exercises, but not specific exercises, he would just hit notes to try and place his voice, so he had some idea of what he was going to do that night. But there was no visible excitement. I suppose, perhaps, there was more excitement in South America than any other show that I was at, because of the size of the audience and because it was a first. Any of the shows they did in South America were a first, they’d never been done before. There was a bit of excitement because he didn’t know what was going to happen. When he was touring the normal America, Europe, it was things he’d done before, so he knew what to expect.

PS: Speaking about backstage before the concert, we can actually see you walking with Freddie in Los Angeles, and there we can also see Michael Jackson. Do you remember this show and Michael backstage with Freddie?

PF: Again, there’s pictures of it. That was more after the show where Freddie went into the guest room. They actually started in the dressing room, because nobody was allowed in the dressing room half an hour before and half an hour after while they got changed. But once they had come down from the show, a few special guests would be allowed into the dressing room, but then the band would go into the green room where all the artists and guests were. I remember seeing Freddie talking with Michael. It was just interesting for me to see these two who were at the peak of their performances, although they were so different but they were so similar. I know it sounds stupid, but that’s what I felt.

PS: What is your favourite memory of you and Freddie visiting Michael?

PF: There’s too many, I suppose. For me, it’s playing video games with Michael Jackson, because he had this big room where he had the arcade versions of video games. He just picked one and called Freddie and me over, and we were playing. There was this old-fashioned tennis thing. An oblong screen and on each side, you had a pedal that you moved up and down to hit the ball. We were playing that. It was wonderful. It was actually in Encino, the house before Neverland, the house that his mother lives in now. But, I suppose, the thing that I took away with me from that day was purely the fact that Michael didn’t treat me any differently than how he treated Freddie. Whatever happened in his life, whatever the truth is, the way that man treated me will stay with me all of my life because, as I say, it was no different at all from how he treated Freddie.

PS: He was very open to you, right?

PF: Yes.

PS: Speaking about the opposite of the before stage time, what was Freddie like after the concert? What was his mood mostly like?

PF: Mostly, he was up. In the dressing room, immediately after the show, there would be shouting and screaming for anything that went wrong. They always wanted to give a perfect show, and when they couldn’t it was hard. They would really get it out of their system. But once that had been done, he was generally always in a good mood. He just couldn’t wait to get out. I understand why he was out every night, because you cannot go to bed after a show like that, you’re just so full of adrenaline it just wouldn’t work.

PS: It’s like the second wave coming?

PF: Yeah. All the adrenaline that appeared during the stage show had to go somewhere, it doesn’t drain off in five minutes. That’s why he was out until four or five in the morning.

PS: At what time did Freddie usually go to sleep?

PF: It depends on what we were doing. I would think that average time would be between three and four.

PS: Three and four in the morning, right?

PF: Yeah. Sometimes he might go at two, and if he was in the studio, sometimes he might go to bed at six.

PS: How many hours did he usually sleep?

PF: He was usually awake by nine o’clock, so he would normally sleep for six or seven hours.

PS: Did he have any kind of repeated night dreams that he, maybe, told you about?

PF: No, nothing like that. He never told me anything. He would say he had a good night or a bad night but wouldn’t really go into description of dreams.

PS: You mentioned many times that your favourite Freddie song is “My Melancholy Blues.” Could you please try to describe why it is your favourite song?

PF: Yeah, because it’s so very, very different, because as soon as you mention the name Queen you automatically think of big harmonies, multilayered guitars, just huge songs. And this was just the total opposite. It’s just got a piano, a bass, a bit of drums and a voice. It’s all so partly autobiographical of Freddie’s party. He used to have so many parties, but in the end the party’s over, he would find someone else. The party doesn’t have to be a party with drinks and all the rest of it, it could just be a good time he had with someone. It’s just the total opposite of your classic Queen song. It’s just so quiet, it’s so personal.

PS: Could you please quote your favourite line from the lyrics?

PF: I suppose it has to be the opening line. “Another party’s over and I’m left stone cold sober.” It’s just Freddie, it sums up Freddie.

PS: Was he really a bit sentimental and sad when the real parties were over?

PF: Sentimental, maybe, but not sad, because most parties that he had were usually a success, so he would be happy and sentimental. The thing is, if that one’s over, there can always be a next one. There’s no need to be sad.

PS: What is your very, very first memory and image of Freddie when you first met him?

PF: Oh, that’s easy, I know exactly. He’s not very tall, is he? He was 175 cm and I was 187 cm. I looked down at him. You look, everybody imagines Freddie to be a giant because of the videos, because of the way he is on stage. He just looks huge. So many videos are shot from just a little bit looking upwards which makes him look taller. It was great, just looking at him and thinking, “He’s not tall.” His personality, his aura certainly made up for that, because he could walk into a room and every head would turn. They could feel Freddie Mercury had walked into the room.

PS: The very first moment you saw him, did he walk into the room or did you walk into the room where he already was?

PF: I walked into the room because he was already there talking with some friends. This was after the Royal Ballet Gala. And then he, sort of, looked, he wasn’t talking and looking around, and I just went to him and I just had to tell him how wonderful I thought the whole evening was. It wasn’t like he was this massive great superstar who I was scared of, because I’d been dealing with stars for the last four years and people who he considered were real big stars. He often used to say how proud he was of the fact that he took me away from the opera house where real big stars performed.

PS: What was his response to your comments about his show? What was your first conversation like?

PF: It was strange because I expected it to be rock’n’roll, rough, the way he talked on stage, but he was polite, he was a gentleman. That was all totally unexpected, because you expect a rock’n’roll star just to have the words ready on the end of his tongue for this and that. And the only reason that he spoke with me, because normally he would not speak to a total stranger, was because his friends were around him. One of them could easily have taken him away if he wasn’t happy. That’s all he needed. But then we started talking and it was it. I mean, it was just a three- or four-minute conversation, not a lot. As I say, from the very start, I could not be over how polite he was.

PS: So it was enough for him to spend, like, four or five minutes with you to later contact you and ask you to work with him on tour?

PF: Yes. As I say, whatever happened in those four or five minutes obviously worked because of that phone call a week later. I can imagine, he would be talking with Paul Prenter because they were going out on tour and they didn’t have anybody looking after their costumes because Dane had walked out. I can imagine him, “Look, I was talking to someone, he does costumes at the opera house for the ballet. Why don’t we try and call him?” I can imagine how it was because I know him and what he was like.

PS: As you mentioned Paul Prenter, was there anything good in Freddie’s relationship with him? Do you remember any good moments with Paul Prenter?

PF: He kept Freddie happy for a lot of the time. He kept Freddie company. Freddie was never alone when he was around. Paul was always there. But he’s got that bad reputation and all the rest of it, which sort of he’s deserved. He did care about Freddie.

PS: Concluding our final part, Freddie Mercury would have been 75 years old this year, but if we imagine Freddie was born, let’s say, in 1986 and if he was only 35 years old today in the year 2021, in our modern times, what do you think he would be like today?

PF: That’s so hard to say because life is so different. At that age, he would have grown up with computers. If things still carried on like they have done, I don’t think he would be happy because people don’t buy albums anymore, they don’t buy CD’s, they don’t buy physical, everything is “download.” Part of the joy for him was designing the album covers. He hated working at home, he refused to work at home. But nowadays you have to work at home and then take your music into the studio to get it mixed. I don’t think he would be really comfortable in this time. Because there’s no music like Queen have done, that doesn’t exist anymore. There are no bands who do things like that anymore. Or the bands that do, they are all in their 70s. His music would go nowhere. I also personally believe we are all here where we’re supposed to be. I think, if Freddie had a real big choice, he would have been born fifty years earlier because he was that sort of Victorian, Edwardian gentleman. He was a real gentleman. And that sort of existence wasn’t around when Freddie would have been able to enjoy it. But then, how many rock stars do you know that have had at one point the largest private collection of antique Japanese woodblock prints? That just isn’t rock’n’roll, is it?

PS: And if he was 75 this year, in his 70s, what would he be like today?

PF: He would be miserable because he never ever wanted to be old. As you get older, you cannot physically do what you used to do. A 70-year-old cannot, in the very, very best of health, do what a 30-year-old can do. It’s just physically impossible. That deterioration would have upset him so much.

PS: If Freddie could talk to the new generation, our present teenagers and young people of today, what would his message to them have been?

PF: The thing I always got from him was that he cared for others just as much as he cared for himself. He did not put himself first, above anybody else. He just wanted to treat everybody nicely. That’s what he was like. And I think that’s what he would try and tell people nowadays because that doesn’t exist very much either anymore. Because this now is a world of “me, me, me.”

PS: So his message, in general, would be something like “You should take care of each other more”?

PF: Take care of each other, yeah.

PS: And if he could talk to exactly Queen fans, what would his message be today?

PF: “Well, just carry on and enjoy the music.” Because that’s something that all the Queens fans did. They loved the music. They’re the ones who are keeping it going now and creating new fans. So many students say to me, “My mother and father were huge Queen fans.” It’s going through the generations. Freddie has been gone thirty years, but people are still listening to his music as much now as they ever did.

PS: And we all hope that people will continue to listen to his music.

PF: No reason why not. We still listen to Rimsky-Korsakov, we still listen to Mozart. And they’re long gone.

PS: And he will be remembered for thirty, fifty and more years.

PF: I remember, this was a few years ago, when it was Mozart’s 250th birthday or something. And I did an interview and I said it would not surprise me at all that if in two hundred years people would still listening to Queen music, as they were still listening to Mozart. Because good music carries on.

PS: Let it be this way in years to come.

SPECIAL THANKS TO VALUREX FOR CONTRIBUTION AND ASSISTENCE

[noladyme]

The Wife - Chapter 5

It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a good fortune, must be in want of a wife. As rumors spread that Mr. James Delaney had returned to England – making a dramatic arrival at his father’s funeral – you might imagine mothers throughout London, rushing to present their marriable daughters to the man. They did not; and for three very good reasons. First; James Keziah Delaney was clearly damaged from his travels, and not a little dangerous. Secondly; it was the general opinion of the better society that Mr. Delaney had inherited his mother’s madness. Thirdly; Mr. Delaney was not single. In fact, he was very much married.

TW: angst, violence, blood, smut (6214 words)

The next week, Rosalind spent her days entertaining guests, or visiting; doing embroidery, and darning socks; turning Chamber House into something that resembled a home; and taking promenades with her husband. She spent her nights – and on occasion, mornings – letting that same husband take her any which way he wanted, and loving every moment of it.

On one such occasion, she’d woken to find him, wearing only his shirt; and bent over a mess of documents, looking frustrated, and tired. Climbing out of the small bed, she quietly walked over to him, and pressed a kiss to the top of his head. “I am working", he chided. “Did you sleep at all?”, she asked. “Enough. When you didn’t snore", he replied. “If you don’t want me sleeping next to you, then ask me to go to my own bed", Rosalind said, trying not to sound hurt. “No. You keep me warm", James said, took her hand from his shoulder, and pulled her down to sit on his lap. He caught her lips in a kiss, and pulled her as close as possible; making her feel his beginning hardness through the fabric of his shirt and her nightgown.

“I thought you had work to do", she breathed, as his lips travelled down her neck, and his hand dug into her bottom. “You distracted me”, he breathed against her collarbone. “You can’t be very good at your work, if you let yourself be so easily distracted”, Rosalind laughed. James pulled his head back, and raised his brows at her. “You believe you would be able to do a better job?”. He got on his feet, and made her sit on his chair; handing her a book of accounts. “Here. I’ve received a shipment of wine from France, and need to calculate the costs…”. “You mean to tell me your shipping company is an actual shipping company?”, she scoffed. “Keeping up appearances, wife”, James said. “Now, will you please help me calculate how much money I can make from sending this same shipment to Portugal?”. Rosalind blushed in embarrassment. “I wouldn’t know where to begin…”, she said. “Try”, James said, and kneeled in front of her. “Meanwhile, I will do my best to distract you”.

He lifted the hem of her nightgown, and dove his head under it; running his calloused and yet so very soft hands up her thighs. “James!”, Rosalind exclaimed. “How much did the shipment cost me?”, he said, brushing his lips against her inner thigh. His beard tickled deliciously against her skin. “It’s in the ledger���. “250£”, she said, gazing down into the book. “Hmm”, James muttered, his warm breath reaching her core. “And how much did I pay the captain of the ship to bring it?”. “75£… Oh, my…”. She felt a soft kiss against her mound. James flicked his tongue against her nub, and she jolted in her seat. He put his hands on her hips, and moved her bottom forwards on the chair. “Now, I have two captains offering me to take the shipment to Portugal”. His warm breath against her folds as he spoke, made her gasp. “One has good connections with a wine trader in Lisbon, but will charge me 130£ for his services”. He flicked his tongue again, and Rosalind threw her head back. “The other will charge me far less, but his connections aren’t as good. Which one should I choose?”. She received a torturously slow lick between her lower lips, all the way from her entrance to her nub. “I don’t… fuck…”.

James nibbled at one of her labia. “See, it is not so easy, when someone is distracting you”, he said, and pulled back from under her nightgown, looking up at her with chiding eyes. Rosalind let out a frustrated whimper. “Please…”. “Please, what? What do you want?”, James demanded. “You have disrupted my work; you’ve got me on my knees for you�� What do you want?”. It was always the same. James wanted Rosalind to tell him what she wanted him to do to her, and she was learning to ask for it, but still felt embarrassed every time she did. “Speak, woman!”, James growled with a mischievous glint in his eyes. “Please… use your mouth on me. Kiss me, and lick me, and… Oh!”.

James had dived under her gown again, and was devouring her with ferocity. His tongue stroked her labia, while he sucked on her pebble. Lifting one of her knees to rest over his shoulder, James pulled her further forwards on the chair; allowing him to lap into her entrance, and use his finger to stroke her nub. He sounded like he was enjoying a delicious meal, and his hold on her bottom was so hard, that she wouldn’t be able to get free, even if she wanted to. It didn’t take James long to have his wife crying out in pleasure, as she shook violently from her orgasm.

With his hands around her waist, James pulled Rosalind down to straddle him, and instantly entered her. Rosalind threw her arms around his shoulders, and grinded hard against him, to stretch out her delight. James pulled at her nightgown, to get it over her head, so he could suckle at her nipple. Soon, her thighs were beginning to burn from lifting herself up and down on him, and James lifted her off him; pushing her down to lay with her chest against the floor. He lifted her bottom into the air, and entered her again; thrusting with wild abandon. James hips slamming against her, were like spanks against her bottom, and he dug his fingers into her hips. He held one hand between her shoulders, and Rosalind clawed at the floor; needing to hold on to something – anything. In sheer desperation, she ended up grabbing on to the leg of the chair, which then skirted back and forth across the floor with each of James thrusts.

Sliding his hand under her belly, James stroked circles against her nub, and once again the coil in her belly tensed to the point of snapping. He used his free hand to lift her, so she was resting on her elbows, and when she cried out in extasy, he leaned down, and bit into her neck; like an animal marking his mate. The pain was welcome, only adding to and prolonging the jolts of pleasure going through Rosalind’s body.

With a loud growl, James pulled out of her, and climaxed himself; spilling himself on her back. She laid splayed out on the floor under him, panting for breath. “James…", she whispered. “I love you", James replied.

Rosalind felt a shiver go through her body, and her heart fluttered. She turned around to meet his eyes. James looked at her warmly, before suddenly, his face dropped. “Go get dressed. I must finish this", he said, and gestured towards his desk. His tone was brusque, and his expression dark. “But…”. “Not now. Do as I say”. He took a handkerchief, and quickly wiped her off, before getting on his feet, and back in his seat.

Rosalind put her nightgown back on, and left the attic quietly; confused but strangely warm at heart.

---

James spent the rest of the day searching every inch of the house for the Nootka Treat; even the places he’d already searched twice. He was checking loose floorboards, knocking on walls; and at one point, Rosalind found him covered in soot, from having searched the chimney. She tried not to let herself hope he would change his mind, and stay in England – or at least ask her to come with him to America – but in her heart, she could not help but wish for a future with her husband.

In the evening, James seemed more preoccupied than usual during dinner. After having tried to start any kind of conversation with him, Rosalind finally gave up, and sighed deeply. “I’ve reconsidered the curtains”, she said. “Perhaps we should forego them all together. I could walk around naked, and let who ever wanted to, stand in the yard, and watch me”. “Hmm”, James replied, for the seventh time. Rosalind had kept count. “Atticus could sell tickets, and Cholmondeley could sell his gas”, she continued. “I’m thinking two shilling a head”. “Make it three; and don’t let anyone tell you you’re worth less than that”, her husband grunted. Rosalind cocked a brow at him. “So, you are listening”, she muttered. “Hmm”, James replied. “You are very amusing…”.

Rosalind pushed away her plate. “James, what’s wrong? I know you’re not a conversationalist, but this is ridiculous”. James ran a hand down his face, and grunted frustratedly. “I’ve searched every fucking inch of this house, and I still haven’t found that treaty”. She took a sip of her wine, and looked down; a knot forming in her stomach. “Is it really that urgent?”, she asked.

“I will be meeting with Thoyt in the morning, to make up a will. In the event of my death, Nootka Sound will go to the Americans; making it unviable for the Company or the crown to kill me”. “But what about the Americans, then?”. “They’ve tried and failed. They even tried to take you, and I stopped them. As it is, our negotiations are going well; and they have more to win from letting me keep it”, James grunted. “But to make the will legal, I must be able to prove that it is mine”. “Will you be unable to leave if you cannot find it?”, Rosalind muttered. James met her eyes; his own hard. “Do you know where it is?”, he asked brusquely. “No! I swear, I don’t… But you can’t blame me for not wanting you to find it; if it will keep you here with me”. “Rosalind…”, James said, and shook his head softly.

She got up from her chair abruptly, and walked over to the fireplace. “Why can’t I go with you to America?”, she said quietly. James got up himself and walked over to sit on the sofa. “You don’t belong there”, he said, slouching down in his seat. The dog put its head on his knee, and he scratched it behind its ears. “You mean, I don’t belong with you”, Rosalind said. “Hmm…”, he nodded. “I’ve told you so, many times. You will be better off without me”. “But I won’t be happy”. She turned around, and a lone tear escaped her eye.

In a surprisingly gentle gesture, James took her hand and pulled her to him, making her sit on his lap. “I am here now”, he muttered. “For however long that is. Once you have your treaty and your ship, you will be lost to me”. James wiped her tear away, and pressed his lips to hers. “I am here now”, he repeated. He tutted at her small sobs. “No more of that. I’ve told you; don’t make me a weakness. You are better than that”.

They sat for a long time in silence, while James stroked her back. “Will you do one thing for me?”, Rosalind whispered. “Hmm?”, James responded. “Will you at least, for one night, share the bed with me, that we were meant to sleep in together, on our wedding night?”. Her voice was timid, as she looked at him through her lashes. James nodded curtly, and patted her thigh for her to stand. He took her hand, and led her up the stairs, to her bedroom. The house was quiet again, the only sound coming from their feet against the floor, and James soft hums.

James walked over to the chest which held Rosalind’s wedding gown, and pulled it out. “Put it on”, he said, and held it out to her. “James, no… Don’t make this…”, Rosalind said. “I never got to take it of you. I would like to do that”. Rosalind felt a smile form on her lips. “You want me to put it on, so that you can take it off me…?”. “Yes”, James replied matter-of-factly. “Alright”, she whispered, and took the dress from him. James nodded with a satisfied smile. “And the veil. There was a veil, was there not?”. Rosalind took off the dress she was wearing. “In the bottom of the chest”, she said.

James crouched in front of the chest. She was slipping the wedding gown over her head, and trying to ignore the stain on it, when she heard a click. “What is this?”, James said. Rosalind turned around, and walked over to join him. James had pulled at a clasp on the side of the chest, and the intricately carved wooden side fell off, revealing a hidden compartment. A rolled-up piece of parchment was propped up in there. “Oh, god…”, Rosalind said. Her heart dropped.

James sat down with his legs under him, and pulled off the string holding the parchment together. “Is that…?”, Rosalind croaked. “Yes”, James said. His voice sounded far away, as he stared down at the document. “This is the Nootka Treaty. The piece of paper documenting how my father bought the land and my mother from the Nootka Tribe”. “I didn’t know, James, I swear!”. He shook his head. “No, I know. You would have never let me near the chest, if you knew”. Rosalind clenched her hands. “I wouldn’t keep it secret from you. I could never do that”, she breathed. “Hmm”. He got on his feet, and walked towards the door. “Rosalind, I must see to this. I will see you in the morning”.

He closed the door behind him, and once again left his wife in her wedding dress; knowing she would not be sharing their marriage bed with him that night – if ever.

---

James stayed in the attic all night, and left the house early the next morning. Brace let Rosalind know that he had a meeting with Thoyt, and after that, some of his more secret connections. He looked quite solemn when he spoke; and Rosalind decided not to pry.

In the evening, after she had dined alone, James returned home looking like a thundercloud. “You’re late for dinner”, she muttered chidingly at him; from where she sat in front of the fireplace, with a book in her hands, and the dog resting its head on her feet. “Why did you not tell me of the Company man that has been following you?”, James demanded. His voice was ragged, and his eyes on fire. Rosalind frowned. “I don’t know what you’re talking about”. “The man who came for you, at Cholmondeley’s exhibition”. “He didn’t do anything to me. And I’ve only seen him twice”, Rosalind said. “Oh, it’s twice; now?”, James retorted. “How do you expect me to keep you safe, if you do not tell me of such things?”. “I didn’t know…”, Rosalind exclaimed. James stormed out of the room, and up the stairs. “James!”.

She ran after him, into her bedroom, where he was opening drawers and pulling out her belongings. “What are you doing?”, she said. “Pack up. I have a ship waiting for you at the port”, James grunted. She sprang over and grabbed his arm, as he pulled a travelling trunk from under the bed. “Stop, James. Why are you doing this?”. James grabbed her wrist, and held her close to him. “You are leaving London tonight”. “I will do no such thing!”, Rosalind sneered. “I cannot have you here, if you will not do as you’re told”, James growled. “Hmm. So, now you will pack your bags, and leave”.

He grabbed her nightgown from underneath the covers of the bed, and threw it into the open trunk. “Stop it!”, Rosalind cried out, and pushed James away from the trunk. “I have done everything you’ve told me to do, without question. You never said to tell you of every person I might come across. I didn’t know…”. Her heart was in her throat, and her hands were shaking. “I will not go. No… You can’t…”. Tears began streaming from her eyes. “I will carry you onto the ship, if I have to”, James said. “You will have to!”, Rosalind hissed through her tears. “Why are you doing this?”. “Because having you here comes in the way of my business”. She shook her head violently. “No… It’s because I’ve become a weakness to you”. “You don’t know what you’re talking about”, James said, and stepped back; creating further distance between them. His eyes were cold.

“You finally got your hands on that treaty, and now you’ve realized what you’re giving up… You’re looking for an excuse to part ways with me now, so it won’t hurt as much when you leave yourself”. Rosalind walked towards him. “I could come with you to America. There is no reason for me not to”. “No, you can’t”, he replied. “I don’t want you there”. “You love me, James. You said it yourself”, she said. “I don’t love”, he breathed, his eyes cold. “You love me!”, she insisted. “And that frightens you, because you think that means you have to choose between me and that wretched place, that you cling on to, out of some sick obligation you’ve inherited from your father… You don’t think you deserve happiness, and I pity you for it… James, you love me, and I love you”. James pounced on her; grabbed either side of her head, and stared menacingly into her eyes. “I have no use for your pity, and I have no use for your love!”, he hissed. “Pack your bags or don’t. If you’re staying, be it on your own head. You are not coming with me, because I have no more use for you. You and I are finished”. He spun around, and left the room; slamming the door behind him.

Rosalind felt as if all life left her body, and slumped over on the floor; her heart in a thousand pieces.

---

She did not get out of bed in the morning. Pearl came in with a tray of toast and eggs, but she could not eat any of it; merely stared up into the ceiling. When Pearl went to open the curtains, Rosalind asked her to leave them closed, only wanting darkness. At lunchtime, when the maid returned to fetch the uneaten food, and traded it for soup, she was still laying there; only blinking when her eyes teared up from dryness. She did not cry. She had no use for tears, after all.

Dinner went the same way; though it was Brace that came, instead of Pearl. “I made you bacon, ma’am; just the way you like it”, he said. “I know it’s not dinner-food, and that James doesn’t…”. “Take it away. I am not hungry”, she replied. “Rosalind…”, Brace tried, foregoing decorum. “You have to…”. “Take it away”. Brace sighed. “Should I at least relight the fire for you? It is bloody cold in here”. “There is no warmth in the Delaney house”, Rosalind whispered. The butler left the room quietly.

The next day was the same. She could tell from whispers outside her door, that Brace and Pearl were discussing how to best get through to her; how to help her. She had no use for their help. The maid came in to the dark room with a beautiful cake a few hours later. “We made you this, especially. Thought it might cheer you up…”, she smiled. Rosalind turned her back to her. “Give it to Winter”, she whispered. Pearl sighed. “Please, ma’am. You’ll make yourself sick like this”. “Hmm”, Rosalind replied. “A dead woman cannot get sick”. She heard the door close quietly, as Pearl left the room.

She woke from a dreamless sleep in the middle of the night, at the sound of yelling and arguing. She couldn’t make out all the words. “… up there, and you think getting drunk will solve…”, she heard Brace yell. James growled something in response. “… your wife! She won’t eat, just lays… you will just leave?”. Another series of growls and grunts. “… deserves better!”. “Yes she does!”, James roared. A door slammed, and glass shattered. She fell back asleep soon after; her body exhausted from lack of food or drink.

On the third day, she woke around noon. There was a tray of food on the bedside table, and her stomach was screaming for sustenance in such a manner, that she could no longer ignore it. She had use for food. Ingesting the toast and boiled egg, rather than eating it; she then got dressed, and did her hair up in a scarf. Though it had only been a few days, she did not recognize the woman in the mirror. Her cheeks were gaunt, and there were dark circles under her eyes.

She had use for air, so she put on a jacket and her boots, and without telling anyone, she left the house quietly, and began walking down the shoreline. Once the ground beneath her became too soft to walk on, without getting stuck, she made her way up onto the docks. The sounds of laughing made her look around the corner of a building, where she found Winter cutting up her cake in smaller pieces; sharing them equally between the younger children surrounding her. She felt a strange tug at the corner of her lip, and found that a smile had ghosted her face. Winter looked up at her, and waved. Rosalind waved back, and walked on. It was good that someone found use for the cake, when she could not.

Taking a moment to rest, Rosalind looked around the docks, and at the ships there. She found herself imagining where the ships might be heading once loaded. A sloop named La Charlotta she thought would go to Spain to trade for oranges. Another, named The Orlando, she saw as it rode the waves of the Baltic, to trade tea for whale oil. She saw a brig named Felice Adventurero, and was just about to mentally ship it towards Russia, when suddenly she knew exactly where it was going.

The Felice Adventurero was going to America; taking her husband with it. James was signing a piece of paper a boatswain was handing him, and overseeing the loading of crates onto the ship.

Rosalind froze in place, simply unable to move. All sounds around her disappeared, there were only whispers, as in her dreams – the ones where James had visited her. She saw him raise his head, and look around him; and then their eyes met. His expression was one mixed between a child being caught doing something wrong, and a man determined not to let anything faze him. For a long moment, they held each other’s gaze, then Rosalind looked at the ship again, nodded, and turned around; walking away. James had his ship, and was lost to her, forever. She walked back to Chamber House, and went into her bedroom, closing the door behind her.

Hours later, while Rosalind was seated in front of the unlit fireplace in her room, there was a soft knock on the door; and James entered. “You have your ship”, she said quietly. “Yes. I am negotiating safe passage, and as soon as I have it, I will sail to America”. “Hmm”, Rosalind replied. He stood looking at her for a moment, as if anticipating her to say something else. “I have made up the papers for you to have this house. Brace will stay behind, and is willing to stay on as butler”. She shook her head. “No thank you. Leave the house and everything in it to him”, she said. “I have no use for it. There are too many ghosts here”.

James grunted in confusion. “How will you make your way? You have no income”. “Perhaps I can go to Helga. Or perhaps I will live in a shack on the harbor, and live of scraps. It does not matter”. She pulled out her combs, and let her hair fall down her shoulders. “That is not who you are, Rosalind. That is not the woman I married”, James breathed. She finally turned around, and met his eyes. “The woman you married is gone. You are a widower…”.

His eyes widened. It was as if he was looking at a stranger, and he shook his head; looking almost afraid. “You should leave. This room is no place for you”, Rosalind said. James backed out of the room, unable to break eye contact with the woman who had been his wife. Rosalind turned back towards the fireplace, and let out a deep breath.

---

The whispers where like songs; a multitude of them. They scared her and soothed her, all at the same time. She stood waist-deep in water, and in her reflection, she saw that her face was covered in white paint, and her eyes black.

“Rose…”. Someone was calling to her from the shore. She turned around and saw him there; James. His eyes were pained. “Is this my dream, or yours?”, she asked in a whisper. “Rose…”, he said. “Come to me”. He reached out a hand, goading her closer. “No… This is my place now. You can leave it behind. You are free”. James shook his head fervently, and took a step out into the water. “This was not made for you. You don’t belong here”. “But you gave it to me”, Rosalind smiled.

James waded into the water, and was soon standing in front of her. He put his hands on either side of her face. “I am not leaving you in here. Please, my love…”. There were tears in his eyes. Rosalind knew she had to make him leave. She lifted her hand, and with a soothing smile, she put them on his chest, and he was jolted away from her; disappearing.

Spreading her arms out, Rosalind leaned backwards, and let herself fall into the water; and sink down into the darkness.

---

It was just before dawn when she woke. Unable to truly understand what she’d just dreamt, Rosalind crawled out of bed, and walked over to the washbasin to splash some water in her face. White paint came off when she dried herself with a towel. Getting dressed, she decided to take another walk, wanting to avoid facing any of the inhabitants of the house. The park seemed the obvious place to go, though she did fear having to face any acquaintances; so, she kept to the smaller paths.

As she was gazing over a small pond, she suddenly felt a hand on her arm. She spun around, and stood face to face with Thorne Geary. “I am sorry, Mrs. Delaney. I did not mean to startle you”, he said. “Mr. Geary… I have nothing to say to you”, Rosalind said. Her heart was in her throat, as her former assailant looked down at her with saddened eyes. “I know, I do… I want to apologize”, he said. “What happened… I was drunk, and a terrible fool. I cannot tell you how dreadfully embarrassed I am. You were right to strike me, I deserved nothing less, and far more”. Rosalind nodded, not knowing how to reply.

After a moment of them standing there, Geary, cleared his throat. “I should very much like to extend my apologies to your husband as well, but he was not to be found at home, or at his office”. He looked around. “Is he here with you?”. “I don’t know where he is”, Rosalind said quietly. Geary looked at her worriedly. “Are you quite alright, Mrs. Delaney? You look out of sorts”. “I’m just… It’s nothing”. He extended his arm to her. “Please, come sit on a bench. You look like you need rest”.

Without taking his arm, Rosalind followed the man to a nearby bench below a tree, and sat down next to him. “Are you sure you don’t know where Mr. Delaney is? Perhaps I could fetch him for you”, Geary said. “No, I don’t know. He is tending to business elsewhere”, Rosalind said, with an edge to her voice. “So you are all alone…”. Geary’s voice had changed, and when she looked at him, she recognized the beast who had attacked her at Musgrove’s party. Before she had a chance to cry out, something hit her over the head, and everything went black.

---

When she came too, she was in a dark room. She was wearing just her chemise and stay, an her feet were bare; and she was laying on a dirty mattress. There was a barred window at the top of one wall, and what looked like a heavy door in another. In the middle of the room was a table, and two chairs, facing each other. She could hear screams and nonsensical moans from outside the door. Fear instantly took her over, but she forced herself to focus. She got on her feet, and rubbed her arms for warmth. Who had taken her, she did not know; but whoever it was, she had done nothing wrong, and could not give them anything. They were doing this to get to James.

The door opened, and an older man with a smug expression entered the room, followed by two other men. One with the face of a concerned rat, and the other plump and looking like everything around him smelled foul. Lastly, a man in a dirty jacket and with beady eyes, slipped in behind them, and went to stand by the door. “Mrs. Delaney! I am glad we’ve finally been able to catch up to you”, the first man said. “We did have one of our agents wanting to speak with you at a chemistry exhibition you were at recently, but you must have been in a rush, because you slipped past him”. He reached out his hand. “I am sir Stuart Strange”. Bile rose in Rosalind’s throat, but she forced herself to seem indifferent.

“I should like my dress back”, she said as calmly as she could. “I’m afraid it’s been burnt; to avoid lice and vermin infestations”, Strange said matter-of-factly. “It’s procedure here at Bedlam”. “I’m in Bedlam?”, Rosalind croaked. “Yes, madam; you are. And for the long haul… Unless you cooperate”. “You don’t have the power to hold me here…”. “Money trumps power. Which happens to be one of the reasons the king hates the Company”. “Oh… Could I at least have a blanket…? For propriety and modesty”, she said. Strange laughed. “My dear, you are married to the devil Delaney. You are the furthest thing from proper”. He gestured at one of the chairs. “Have a seat”.

Shaking – partly from cold, partly from fear – Rosalind walked over to the chair, and sat down. Strange’s two minions flanked her. The man himself took the chair opposite her. “I will get right to the point. Your husband owns a piece of land on the west coast of America…”. “I am aware”, Rosalind said. Strange gave her strained smile at her interruption. “Yes… Well, as the situation would have it; this particular piece of land is of no real value, unless you know how to use it”. “As a naval trade station”. “Exactly! My, you are a clever one…”, Strange said overbearingly. “Before your husband returned from the dead, you were to inherit this land, and we had planned to buy it from you. Now, that is not an option”. “Unless you try to kill him again”. Rosalind moved a lock of hair out of her face, and kept her expression as calm as possible. “Which, as I understand is not an option, because the land will go to the Americans”. “Indeed…”, Strange said.

He gestured to the rat-like man, who placed two documents on the table. “What I have here is your future… Well, a selection of futures; and you will be free to have any one of them. It will be your choice in the end. Mr. Wilton, if you’d care to explain”. The rat-man opened one of the documents. “By law, as James Delaney’s wife, you have the power to claim him insane. All you will need, is for a doctor to sign this document; and Delaney will then be taken in to custody, and put here in Bedlam Asylum. That is what Dr. Kilroy is here for”. He gestured towards the beady eyed man at the door. “As his wife, you will then have power of attorney to handle his assets. You will then sell Nootka Sound to the honorable East India Trading Company, on behalf of your husband – for which you will be fairly paid – and you can live out your life in comfort”.

The man’s words made Rosalind shudder. “I can’t! That would be… no!”, she exclaimed. “We thought you might say that”, Strange smiled. “Mr. Pettifer?”. The plump man opened the second document. “This is a document stating your insanity”. “What?”, Rosalind gasped. “What is your evidence?”. “A Mr. Thorne Geary found you rambling about your husband, saying he was dead, when it is very clear he is alive. You were throwing yourself at him, tearing at your clothes; and wanting to let him have… carnal knowledge of you, at a recent event”. “That is a lie! He attacked me!”, she cried out. “My dear Mrs. Delaney. It is your word against his, and he is a respected gentleman; whereas you… Well, you married a murderer and a slave-trader… And, you’re a woman”. Pettifer gave her a haughty smile.

Strange leaned back in his seat. “It is very simple, Mrs. Delaney. Sign these papers, declaring your suspicion of your husband’s insanity; or I will have the doctor here sign these, declaring you insane. You will be in here Bedlam for the rest of your life”. Panic was beginning to take over, and Rosalind felt tears form in her eyes. Strange sighed deeply. “Doctor, why don’t you tell Mrs. Delaney what the procedure is for new patients here at Bedlam”. The doctor stepped forward, and pulled out a pair of scissors from his Pocket, “First, we cut of your hair, to avoid creepy crawlies. We have enough of those in the mattresses here”, he said, smiling at her with yellow teeth. “Then, it’s daily ice-baths for the first month, to expel the evil spirits from you. You will of course be naked during these baths, and I’m afraid we have no women employed here; so, you will have men taking care of said baths. They are not all trained physicians as myself, but they do their best; though they can get a bit handsy…”. He let out a raspy laugh.

Rosalind swallowed thickly, as a pen and a bottle of ink was laid in front of her. “I want to see my husband”, she whispered. “He is nowhere to be found”, Strange said. “Have you even tried looking for him?��. “No. And we won’t”. He let out an exasperated grunt. “Right. Dr. Kilroy?”.

The doctor stepped forwards, and before she knew it, Pettifer and Wilton had each grabbed one of her wrists; while Kilroy pulled the combs from her hair, and grabbed it in his fist; pressing her chest towards the table. Rosalind cried out in pain and fear, and her entire body shivered. “Please, stop…”. Strange forced the pen into the hand Wilton was holding down. “Sign the fucking document!”, he hissed. She heard the snipping of the scissors by her ear, and tears began spilling from her eyes, making the table wet against her cheek; which was pressed against it. “I want to speak with my husband. I want James!”, Rosalind whimpered. Someone bored an elbow down between her shoulder blades. “I’m not signing anything, until you let me speak to him. If you were going to admit me here, you would have done it already”.

Strange stepped back, exclaiming a frustrated growl. “Let her stew a bit. Some time in the collar should clear her mind”. Kilroy grabbed her left hand, and looked down at her ring. “We wouldn’t want this getting lost, would we?”, he said. Rosalind clenched her fist to avoid him taking it; but Kilroy pried it open, and managed to take the only thing she had on her, that still mattered. Without it, she felt truly naked. The doctor stepped back, and holding on to each of her arms, Pettifer and Wilton led her out of the room, and into a long dark hallway. Here, they were met by a large, dirty man; who grabbed her by the neck, and led her away. Dr. Kilroy followed close behind.

“She’s a pretty one, doctor”, the man holding on to her said. He slipped a fat arm around her waist, and held her against him. “You may have your fun with her soon enough”, Kilroy replied. “For now, it’s a little time in the collar”. “Too bad. She won’t be as clean after that”. Both men laughed.

Rosalind was led to a room about the size of a closet. A chain was attached to the wall, and at the end of was a collar of metal. She was forced into the room, and the large man fastened the collar around her neck.

The door was closed, and she was in complete darkness.

---

[x0401x]

Jeweler Richard Fanbook Short Story #17

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Play of Color

Shaved ice.

A summer that everyone, from kids to adults, knew about. But how to say this in English? I’d never been taught that. Could I even say it to begin with?

The beautiful man responded clearly to my offhand doubts, “‘Shaved ice’. Other options such as ‘ice frost’ and ‘snow cone’ also go into the category, but if you are to to regard the context of ‘ice that was shaved’ as important, then I believe ‘shaved ice’ is appropriate.”

“I see, so it’s a direct translation for ‘ice that’s been shaved’. Got it... A-Aaah! Didn’t you put too much syrup? Ah—”

“I will add more ice.”

A rattling sound echoed through the jewelry shop, where there was nobody but the shopkeeper and his employee. Sitting on the tabletop was an ice shaving machine. As one would expect, we couldn’t commit the barbarianism of placing it directly on a glass table, so three cloths were stacked under the machine’s legs. It wasn’t the manual and nostalgic type but an electric one.

A customer had come over with a paper bag from a famous home appliances mass retailer and bought a glittering yellow diamond that they had reserved, but on this occasion, they ended up forgetting the bag from the electronics retail store. The shopkeeper immediately noticed it and contacted them by phone, but they were in the Narita Express, going straight to Bali for vacation. Apparently, they would only be coming back in the beginning of autumn. What luxury.

The customer who was heading to the southern island had casually said, “You can use it if you’d like—actually, please use it and tell me how it went”, then bid goodbye to Richard with a lighthearted voice and hung up. Inside the paper bag was a brand-new ice shaving machine. It also came with small syrup bags. Seven types of them. The mango, ramune, cola, lime and peach ones were a shock to me, as lived in a world of strawberry, melon and lemon ones. So people could enjoy even things like the pleasure of actually visiting stalls at home nowadays?

That was how we decided to choose at our own discretion a time on the following day when there were no reservations, and began holding a shaved ice party for just the two of us. However, when I said in a joking tone that I honestly never thought we’d really get to be the first ones to use something that a customer had forgotten, Mr. Richard Ranashinghe de Vulpian sighed grievously.

“After what happened yesterday, he contacted me to inform that he had arrived in Bali. He posted on social media, ‘I forgot my ice shaving machine, so I asked an acquaintance to try it out. I’m looking forward to it’, so it seems we need to take a video of the shaved ice as fast as possible. Think of this as also a kind of service.”

“There’s all sorts of jobs out there these days.”

Marketing that introduced new products on social media wasn’t something uncommon these days. But I heard that this sort of business was strict about many things, such as obligations and deadlines, so it might be serious stuff in its own way. I thought up until this point, but then my head whispered, “No, hold on” to me. If this was really the case, then bringing along an ice shaving machine immediately before going to Bali didn’t make any sense. Could it be...?

“Did that person leave this here on purpose? It’s clearly something that you can’t bring into an airplane and would get in the way during the trip.”

“That is possible. But it is not something for a single jeweler to judge. There is a possibility that they thought they would be able to enjoy shaved ice at a beach resort but were mistaken, and are now feeling down. Oh... oh, mgh...”

“Ah, the ice turned into water. Didn’t you put a tad too much syrup?”

“Nonsense. From the market price, it is obvious that the more syrup, the merrier.”

“You told that wholesaler who came to buy a ring with lots of decorative diamonds the other day that ‘more doesn’t equal better’, though.”

“Those are two different things,” he said in an eloquent, beautiful Japanese that sounded like it had been cut and trimmed, at which I prostrated myself with a “hahaa”.

Despite the force in his eyes being certain, he seemed to be having trouble putting an appropriate amount of syrup. When he put an abundant amount of the mango, ramune, cola, lime and peach ones all together, the ski slope-like white canvas turned into a color that looked like that of Shinjuku’s gutters during a downpour. Richard would surely call this shade of gray “smoky quartz” or something like that. The fluffy pile of ice was gone, leaving a sleet – or just plain water – in the glass bowl. It would’ve been fine if he had added them little by little, but on second thought, I was thinking this way because I was Japanese, so I was used to the way we added shaved ice syrup to some extent.

As the jeweler, not discouraged, put his bowl under the ice shaving machine, pressed the button and added more ice with crunchy noises, I called out to him, “Hey. Can you lend me that for a bit?”

“I do not mind.”

I took the bowl of water in my hands, adding the syrups of each type little by little. I felt like the jeweler was staring fixedly at me, like, “You’ll only use that tiny little bit of them? Seriously?” but I ignored him. As they said, the last drop makes the cup run over.

The result was...

“Tadaaah.”

A snowy mountain had changed its form into a richly colored shaved ice. I thought it was pretty good, if I could say so myself.

His eyelashes fluttering as he blinked for a moment, the gorgeous jeweler whispered, “Hoo. Excellent. Beautiful.”

“Well, being told that by someone who’s like an incarnation of the concept of beauty is flattering.”

“Ahem. Anyway, this color is extremely tasteful. It bears a close remembrance to ammolite.”

“‘Ammo... nite’?”

“Not ‘ni’, ‘li’. ‘Ammolite’. Ammolite is a gemstone that derivates from living creatures, of which the components obtain an iridescent effect during the many years of fossilization.” Saying this, Richard opened a video on his phone and handed it over to me. I exchanged it for the bowl of shaved ice as if it were an assembly-line system.

What appeared on-screen was a cross-section view of the ammonite. It was split vertically like a CT image taken at a hospital. The contents were a rainbow-colored stone that sparkled brightly. A gradation of red, green and yellow. It changed depending on what angle you looked at it. A while ago, when I heard about the opal, it was revealed to me that this kind of effect was called “play of color”. Still, to think that the inside of a shell could go through such a transition. There was too much depth to the things that happened in nature, and they were immeasurable.

“So can this be called... a stone too...?”

“This would be something that happened about forty years ago, but it was classified as a ‘gemstone’ by the Gemological Society of America. Of course, I do not think it should be pushed through, even if the costumer themselves happen to say that ‘this is a fossil’.”

It apparently depended on how you thought of it. Thinking back, this applied even to the general idea of gemstones.

I flicked the phone’s screen, head-over-heels for the prism-like shells that showed up one after another. Some people used them as pendants or brooches by processing the glittering part with gold.

“How pretty. Hey, do we also have ammolites here in Etrang... eh?”

“There is a possibility that we will one day. Something the matter?”

The beautiful jeweler had been scooping the shaved ice with a tiny spoon and eating it. He wasn’t eating it in a rushed way at all, but half of the iceberg was already gone. With perfect moderation, so that the proportion of the colors of the syrups that I had added one by one wouldn’t crumble.

“D-Did you like it that much?”

“I have never eaten shaved ice at Japanese stalls. Having a frozen desert in a refreshing place like this has a nostalgic air to it.”

He had never waged shaved ice at a stall. Did that mean he had eaten shaved ice at some fashionable shop? Probably not, I thought. A normal Japanese person wouldn’t eat shaved ice at that pace. The reason went without saying. This pace was – how should I put it? – dangerous.

“Richard, hey, listen well. Shaved ice is—”

“Why are you coming close?”

“I’m telling you something important. You have to eat shaved ice at a high pace.”

“But why are you shortening the distance between us? You are too close.”

“Don’t get hung up on minor stuff. More importantly, you already ate a lot of this shaved ice, right? Aren’t you tired of it? I can eat the rest.”

“It is terribly disconcerting to hear this from the father of this work of art, but I do not see any reason for that whatsoever, thus I humbly decline.”

“Aah! Don’t gulp it down! I said don’t gulp it down!”

“I am not. I do not eat that way.”

“Like I said, that’s not what I’m talking about...”

“It is impolite for me to eat by myself. Hurry and make yours to eat as well.”

“Whatever happens got nothing to do with me...”

Glancing backwards at the jeweler as he gave me an aloof nod, I began making my own shaved ice.

Later on, after Richard pleased the customer by sending them pictures of the shaved ice, he reported back to me. He probably reported because the pictures he had sent to the customer was of the shaved ice that I had made for myself, on which the colors were scattered in the form of a whirlwind. I smiled back, replying that I was glad, and not saying anything else. I also didn’t tell him that, by the time he remembered we had to do a photo shoot of it, the beautiful jeweler was making a face that looked like a boy having a worrisome migraine due to some anguish towards the meaning of life and death.

Summer was not yet over. We also didn’t know yet whether or not the customer in Bali would come to retrieve the ice shaving machine. Etranger wasn’t that big, so Richard was probably troubled that it was left there. But if they didn’t come to get it, I might be able to enjoy eating shaved ice with Richard in the summer every year for a while, I thought. And each of these times, I’d be sure to make a shiny mountain of ice in the colors of a rainbow, just like an ammolite. Just like the sparkly smile that Richard showed, I thought that it’d be great if such a summer came around and was looking forward to it.